"This place is huge," Artus said. "How have you kept it hidden all these years? Hundreds of expeditions have come to Chult looking for Mezro, but…"

Rayburton pointed to the line of high palms that marked the beginning of the jungle. "A wall surrounds the city. It's a vast circle-the city, I mean-and the sorcerers here constructed the wall a little over five hundred years ago, to stop the Batiri from raiding."

"And I went under it," Artus said, "without ever knowing it was there."

"Oh, you felt the effects of the wall," Rayburton corrected, "though you didn't know it at the time." In response to Artus's puzzled look, he added, "Lugg and Byrt told me you passed into an area that glowed with golden light right before you stumbled into the mined part of the library. Then it became hard to think. Wall, that light was a side effect of the wall. It's invisible above ground, but there must be some element in the tunnel walls causing an alchemical reaction, making it visible. Do you see?"

It was clear Artus didn't see. Rayburton scowled and tried again, his voice taking on a decidedly pedantic tone. "The wall's not bricks and mortar, it's magic. A sort of, er… wall of confusion. Anyone who gets near it without wearing one of these-" he tugged at the triangle of silver hanging from one ear "-becomes hopelessly muddled and wanders away. You did us a favor by stumbling in here; we got the architects to seal off the tunnel so no one else can make the same discovery."

"A wall of confusion. So that's why Theron got lost when he followed you from the Batiri camp," Artus said, more to himself than to Rayburton. The older man let the comment pass without an explanation.

As the crowd thinned, Artus got a look at their destination-the huge temple that rose up at the heart of Mezro. Four wide streets, one at each major point of the compass, emptied into a circular plaza. At the center of this roundabout stood the most beautiful structure Artus had ever seen.

The temple towered over all the other buildings in Mezro. Flying buttresses jutted out from its wall like the elegant, muscular legs of a hunting beast waiting to spring. An arcade of piers marked the first floor, topped by a row of arches. Above these stood a long set of stained glass windows, sparkling like thousands of cut gems before the setting sun. A glittering, golden dome capped the roof.

As Artus reached the edge of the plaza, he noticed something peculiar about the temple. At first he dismissed it as a trick of the tight or, perhaps, a warning that his fatigue was returning. "Lord Rayburton, the temple looks like…" He cocked his head. "It only has one wall."

Rayburton nodded. "Amazing, isn't it? No matter where you stand, you see the same wall, from the same perspective. Some sort of dimensional trick, I suppose. When a temple is built by the god it's meant to honor, you should just accept it and marvel."

The closer Artus got to the temple, the more its grace and subtle beauty overwhelmed him. The walls weren't built of stone blocks, but interlocking triangles of crystal. The dark gems looked as fragile as Sembian lace and glistened seductively. Looking at the walls was like staring at clouds; the longer Artus gazed at the swirls of light and shadow, the more fantastic the shapes that appeared before him. At first they were simple things-squares and circles, half-formed faces and bodies. Then the mace and hawk crest from his tunic appeared on the wall, broken into hundreds of tiny images at the center of each triangular block. At first he thought it was a reflection, but no matter how much he moved, the image remained still in the crystals.

The crest warped and twisted, becoming the harp and moon symbol of the Harpers. That changed swiftly to a pair of bands, black as pitch and clutched into angry fists. After a moment, the hands clasped together. The color bled out of them, and they became the kind, smiling face of Pontifax. Artus reached out, but his friend was gone, lost in a tangle of trees and vines. The jungle closed in, filling all the crystals with a deep green radiance.

It was then that a simple image formed against the riot of trees: a ring, a plain band of gold flecked along the edges with sparkles of light. No, not light. Frost.

The Ring of Winter.

"It's here!" the explorer cried. "I know it's here."

"Artus!"

The voice came from far, far away. It tugged at his consciousness, but Artus pushed the nagging thoughts aside. If he stared at the ring in the crystals long enough, if he focused all his thoughts upon it, he would learn where the Ring of Winter was hidden.

"Master Cimber! Oh dear, he's gone quite rigid. I hope you don't have a sizeable pigeon population in this square."

That high, cheerful voice insinuated itself into Artus's mind and threatened to tear his thoughts away from the ring. He knew, too, someone was shaking him by the shoulders. He didn't heed the call, but instead stared at the ring as it spun slowly in the crystal before him, close enough to touch. Forget what Rayburton said, a voice told him. You've spent your life searching for the Ring of Winter. It's here in Chult. It can be yours.

A fierce pain in his ankle shocked the siren call out of the explorer's mind. "Hey!" he shouted, hopping backward. In doing so Artus tripped over the large brown wombat, who still had his teeth locked onto his boot.

"Leave it to Lugg to cut to the heart of the matter-or the foot, in this case," Byrt chimed. "Well done."

Lugg released his hold on Artus's ankle. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he said, "More like extremely rare." He spit and stuck out his tongue. "Feh. That's really 'orrible tasting, that is."

"What… what happened?" Artus murmured. He rubbed his eyes. The image of the Ring of Winter remained clear for an instant, then faded.

"A property of the temple walls," Rayburton said. "Rather like a massive scrying crystal. Allows you to see into your own heart. I should have warned you not to look too closely. You've been standing there for the better part of an hour." He extended a hand and helped Artus to his feet. Only then did the dazed and bemused explorer notice the two other people standing between him and the temple wall.

The first was a tall, stern-faced Tabaxi. Like the other Mezroans, he was dressed in a flowing tobe. His was not white, but purple, with small green triangles clustered over his heart. Unlike the others Artus had seen, this man carried a weapon-a war club, which hung at his waist. From the muscles cording the man's bare arms, he could quite obviously wield the knobbed cudgel to good effect.

"This is Negus Kwalu," Rayburton said, gesturing toward the stone-faced Tabaxi. "Eldest son of King Osaw."

Artus dusted himself off and bowed deferentially. He knew enough about Tabaxi culture to recognize negus as the title reserved for princes in direct line to the throne.

Kwalu's brown eyes narrowed to slits as he studied Artus. He stood perfectly still, a square-featured statue staring at the explorer. From the hard line of the negus's mouth and the crease of concern on his jutting brow, Artus guessed he was not faring well in the prince's silent test.

Finally, the negus offered a few clipped phrases. The tone alone told Artus they were a formal greeting and welcome to the city, though Kwalu hardly seemed pleased to deliver it. Rather than risk offending the man by mangling a reply in Tabaxi, Artus smiled as genuinely as he could and bowed again. Kwalu nodded, then turned on his heels and marched off toward a huge amphitheater on the other side of the plaza.

For an instant, the explorer was certain he had struggled through the difficult exchange with as much grace as possible. A woman's bright laughter shattered that thought almost as quickly as it had formed.

"You realty don't speak Tabaxi, do you?" the young woman said in Old Cormyrian, then laughed again. The sound was clear and refreshing, like a cool spring rain.