The Ring of Winter (28 page)

“Let’s find out,” Artus said. He hurled the lightning bolt.

In the instant before the bolt struck Skuld, a silver shield appeared in the guardian spirit’s hands. He held it before him, braced with both sets of arms. Then the lightning hit, and shards of silver exploded into the air. Skuld looked down in amazement to where the shield had been a moment earlier. Fingers had been blown off three hands, half the wrist from the fourth. The bloodless wounds glistened like polished glass.

Then Skuld’s gaze wandered from his ragged hands to his chest. The lightning had burned a gaping, charred hole right through him. Eyes wide with surprise, the silver guardian stiffened and fell backward. He lay there, twitching and gasping, his filed teeth making him look like a beached piranha.

“You’re next, Kaverin!” Artus pulled another of the diamonds from his pocket. At a word it burst into a bolt of lightning.

The goblins standing between Artus and the palace scattered, and Sanda ran forward. “Let my father go!” she cried.

Kaverin clutched Rayburton’s throat with one stone hand. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snarled, lifting his hostage off the ground and positioning him like a shield.

“Sanda, get back!” Artus shouted. He stepped forward and raised the lightning bolt.

“Throw it, Cimber.” Kaverin shook Rayburton like a doll. “Let’s see if those bolts destroy human shields as efficiently as they do mystic ones.”

A murmur from the milling goblins tore Artus’s attention away from Kaverin. In the locust-littered dust, Skuld was struggling to his feet. Shiny new silver flesh had replaced his missing fingers and mended his shattered wrist. A puckered scar marked the spot where the hole had gaped in his chest.

That wasn’t the only thing sending ripples of unrest through the mob, a fact Kaverin realized at the same time as Artus. “I don’t think they like you aiming a killing bolt at their beloved monarch,” Kaverin said. He moved in front of M’bobo, keeping Rayburton as his shield, of course. In his best Goblin, he shouted, “The raiders want to kill your queen!”

Fear held the Batiri in a strong grip, but their loyalty to their ruler was stronger. A few warriors moved to Skuld’s side, helping the four-armed guardian to his feet. Others closed ranks before the palace, blocking Sanda and Kwalu from the stairs. Without warning, an arrow flew from the mob, cutting into Artus’s shoulder. The explorer cried out and stumbled back. A steadying hand from Sanda prevented him from falling or dropping the lightning bolt.

Seeing Artus wounded broke the spell of terror holding the goblins at bay. They swarmed forward, ready to finish the work the lone archer had started. Kaverin’s howl of laughter could be heard even over the din of the Batiri charge.

Artus threw the lightning bolt at the ground. The explosion blasted chucks of earth and rock into the front rank and opened a wide pit in their way. It slowed the charge enough for him to follow Sanda and Kwalu into the mob of goblins standing between them and the jungle. The fighting was furious, but they cut and smashed a swath through the Batiri line. The trio raced into the jungle, bruised and bleeding, a horde of yowling cannibals on their heels.

Kaverin pulled Rayburton down the palace steps and hurried to Skuld’s side. “Follow Cimber and the others,” he snapped. “Make certain one of them stays alive long enough to make it back to Mezro.” As the silver-skinned giant turned away, Kaverin added, “And leave a trail along the way—just in case Cimber has any more tricks up his sleeve and you don’t come back.”

Skuld touched the shiny scar on his chest. “If this is the worst Cimber can do, he is a dead man.” He bowed and dashed into the jungle.

Frowning, Kaverin watched his servant disappear into the night. “I said the same thing myself a hundred times before,” he muttered.

Torches flared to life around the shattered village as the goblins set about the unwelcome task of gathering the dead and patching together their homes. M’bobo supervised the work from the palace steps, pointing out tasks with Balt’s scimitar. “We need more Batiri real soon,” she said to Kaverin. As if to emphasize the point, two young goblins tossed a locust-ravaged corpse onto a pile of bodies next to Grumog’s pit.

“Can’t you call in the other warriors?” Kaverin asked. He forced Rayburton to sit on the stairs at the queen’s feet. “You said there were hundreds of smaller Batiri villages all over the area.”

“They no come if we can’t promise chow or good pillage,” M’bobo replied. She pointed at the gory pile of bodies. “Hey! Hurry up and burn ‘em. You want they should get up again?”

Kaverin’s flame-red eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “Get up again?”

After watching a warrior set a torch to the pyre, the queen said, “Yeah. Jungle full of walking dead. Sometimes Batiri get up if you don’t burn ‘em quick. Sometimes they don’t, though.” She brushed aside the topic with a wave of the scimitar. “So, can you promise chow?”

“Of course,” Kaverin said smoothly. “If you gather enough warriors, I’ll promise you all the Tabaxi in Mezro. There should be enough humans there to feed your warriors for a whole year.”

Queen M’bobo licked her gray lips in anticipation and called for her runners.

Artus scratched furiously under the bandage on his shoulder. The arrow wound wasn’t serious, but the poultice applied by the Mezroan surgeons felt like nothing so much as ants crawling over his skin. “Look,” he said, “whatever his reasons, T’fima slid the gems into my pocket. I think he wants to help the city. He just won’t admit it.”

Sanda nodded her agreement, but Kwalu remained unconvinced. Since returning to Mezro a few hours past, they had been arguing the point—that is, when they weren’t catching an hour of desperately needed sleep or being attended by surgeons. Now the three crossed the moonlit plaza surrounding the Temple of Ubtao, bound for the council chamber to see King Osaw.

“It was only a guilty conscience that made him give you the lightning gems,” Kwalu noted sourly.

“We wouldn’t have escaped the goblin camp without them,” Sanda said. “At least they gave us a chance against Skuld.”

Kwalu ran his thumb over a chip in his war club. Somewhere in the jungle lay a goblin’s corpse with a corresponding dent in its skull. “Our own fighting skill freed us from the goblins, that and my father’s warriors. If they hadn’t arrived when they did, the goblins would have overrun us for sure.”

That was something Artus disagreed with strongly, but there was no more time to argue. The temple door stood before them. No guards or attendants flanked the portal, no torches set it off from the dark crystal walls of the weird structure. Somehow, though, an inner radiance lit the yellowish brown wood. The inlaid panels depicted men and women living within a labyrinth of vines. Around some corners lurked dinosaurs, around others gorgeous fountains and quiet pools. At the center lay the temple itself—Artus squinted and leaned closer. Three tiny figures, positioned just as he, Sanda, and Kwalu were, stood at the temple door. The explorer was never certain if his eyes had deceived him, for at that moment the negus pushed the temple door open.

The eyes of Mezro’s greatest heroes fell upon Artus as he entered the temple. Statues lined both sides of the long corridor, gigantic figures carved in glossy black stone. On one side of the door, a woman danced at the heart of an inferno, flames trailing from her hair and curling from her fingers. Across from her, a young boy held his arms to his side, soaring above stone clouds. Eagles swooped around him, talons extended, beaks open in joyous cries of war.

“These are the barae who have gone to Ubtao,” Sanda whispered reverentially. “The ones on the right side are the seven original paladins.”

As Artus followed her toward a darkened arch at the end of the hall, he glanced up at the other statues in the Hall of Champions. An old man held a hammer over an anvil, a razor-sharp spear tip in the making. Next to him a woman raced a jaguar along a stony path, both charging forward at full speed. Other men and women cast in equally fantastic poses looked down on him with steady gazes, unseeing yet full of understanding. There were empty pedestals farther up the hall, one on the right and a half-dozen to the left. These, Artus assumed, were reserved to honor barae who were still alive.

From behind one of these pedestals Lugg appeared. “You ain’t got ‘im back, ‘ave you?”

Artus stopped before the brown wombat. “No,” he sighed. “They stopped us before we could rescue Byrt or Lord Rayburton.”

Lugg hung his head. “That’s it, then,” he said mournfully. “Poor little Byrt’s for it now. They’ve probably cooked ‘im up already.”

“Don’t give up hope,” Sanda said. She knelt down and scratched behind the wombat’s ear.

At the end of the hall, Kwalu paused. “The king is waiting,” he said.

The explorer couldn’t bring himself to tell Lugg he had little hope for finding Byrt alive, but from the look in the wombat’s eyes, it was clear he understood.

Kwalu, Sanda, and Artus passed through the arch together. The explorer was amazed at the audience chamber that lay on the other side. The arch had been dark, but color and light filled the room beyond.

The walls of the triangular chamber were made of stained glass, and even though the sun had gone down hours ago, light poured through the windows in boldly slanting rays. A mosaic covered the floor, depicting the entire city of Mezro. As on the main door to the temple, tiny figures moved on the mosaic, going about their business beneath the feet of the counselors. In the center of the room, where the mosaic temple stood, King Osaw sat in a huge throne. He was alone in the cavernous room.

The king regarded the negus, Sanda, and Artus with hooded eyes as they kneeled before him and told of the attack on the Batiri village. When they described how they had escaped back to Mezro, however, he covered his withered face with his hands. “Kaverin Ebonhand is coming to Mezro,” the king said. “He will lead the Batiri here and bring our city down around us.”

“Impossible,” Kwalu snapped. “The wall hides the city. Even if he wanted to, Kaverin could not find us.”

“Why do you think the silver-skinned one let you return here, untouched?” Osaw asked. He turned clear eyes to Artus. “This Kaverin is a clever man. If, as you have told me, he seeks immortality, he will raze the city to find the secret of the barae. Lord Rayburton must have told him how he has lived so long.”

Sanda leaped to her feet. “Father wouldn’t reveal our secrets, even if Kaverin tortured him.”

“There is no disgrace if he did, Alisanda,” the king replied, motioning for her to sit. “Your father is a wise man, but he feels pain like anyone.” He looked distractedly at the mosaic. “Right now, I miss his counsel greatly.”

Tapping his wax club on the floor impatiently, Kwalu said, “There is no danger to Mezro. Even if this scoundrel finds the city, he won’t be able to pass through the wall.”

King Osaw smiled, a mixture of warmth and patronizing acceptance for his son. “As always, Negus Kwalu, your courage makes you believe yourself invincible. You will find that no wall can stand against every foe.”

Finally Artus spoke up. “When they were captured, both Byrt and Lord Rayburton wore the earrings that neutralize the wall. Kaverin or Skuld will certainly figure out how they work, given time.”

“Then we must prepare for war,” the king concluded. “Kwalu, you must bring the citizens together to stand against the Batiri.” The negus nodded his agreement, and Osaw turned to Artus. “You, Master Cimber, must go as my messenger to Mainu, the bara who controls the river that borders the city to the south and west. Tell her Mezro has need of her and explain the threat. If she can promise to hold the Olung River against the Batiri, we can focus our defenses to the north and east.”

Artus touched his forehead to the floor, then stood. “Of course, Great King. I shall go at once.”

“Sleep first,” Osaw said. “But only until dawn. You must not appear ragged to the bara of the river. She loves pomp and ceremony more than anything in this world.”

Sanda stood, too. “I will go into the jungle and search for one of Ubtao’s Children, a beast that will be worthy of fighting for the city.”

“Take a dozen warriors with you, Alisanda, and do not go far,” the king commanded. “You will be needed to defend the city.”

Osaw stood, ending the audience. Artus and the others left the king pacing across the mosaic, hands clenched behind his back.

In the entry hall, Sanda offered an abrupt farewell. “Wish me luck.” That said, she headed for the door.

“Wait!” Artus shouted. He rushed down the hall to her side. “I wish I were going with you.”

Sanda looked deeply into Artus’s eyes, then suddenly dropped her gaze to the floor. “Remember what I said about spending time with mortals. That applies to you, too, Artus.”

In silence Artus watched Sanda leave. When the explorer turned around, he found Kwalu watching him. The negus had a mask of casual disinterest on his face, but the odd look in his eyes told another story. “She would not be so blunt if she did not care for you,” he said simply, then turned back to the archway. “I am going to a meditation chamber I’ll meet you here at dawn.”

“For what?” Artus asked.

“I will school you in the etiquette of Mainu’s court,” the negus offered over his shoulder.

Just before Kwalu disappeared under the arch, Artus said, “Where are you going? I didn’t see any door leading out of the audience chamber.”

“There is only one door inside the temple.” Kwalu pointed at the darkened archway. “It takes you anywhere you wish to go, to any of the thousand rooms Ubtao built for his followers.”

After the negus had gone, Lugg trundled out from behind a pillar to sniff at the archway. “If we have to wait ‘ere till morning, I wonder if this thing leads to any kitchens ‘ereabouts?”

Artus stared at the empty pedestals, wondering which of them was reserved for Sanda. “I think I’ll just go to get some rest,” he said.

At the door to the plaza the explorer paused. He’d never find his way back to his quarters alone, not through that maze of alleys. Besides, it wasn’t really fair to leave the wombat on his own. “Why don’t you come with me, Lugg. I know a park that has some interesting shrubbery, if you’ve a taste for that sort of thing.”