"If this man allies with the Batiri, he is the same as the things that stalk the dark corners of Ubtao's jungle at night," King Osaw began softly. He studied Artus's face for a moment, then added, "Will you help us to rescue the bara?"

"Of course, Your Highness," Artus replied. "I will tell you anything I can about Kaverin and the silver spirit."

King Osaw nodded, then turned to Sanda and Kwalu, issuing orders in a low tone. When the king was done speaking, he left the circle of warriors and made his way back into the temple. The men who had been using the canvas to shield Lugg from the sun now made it a stretcher for the wounded wombat.

"Don't forget," Lugg said to Artus as he was hefted off the ground. "You promised to save 'im."

"I won't forget," Artus murmured, though he had his doubts there would be anything left of Byrt if they found the Batiri. Kaverin would keep Rayburton alive-at least until he learned what he could about Mezro and the Ring of Winter-but the little gray wombat could only offer cheerful, but inane comments. Kaverin's probably killed him already, Artus decided sadly.

Sanda gestured toward the Residential Quarter. "Kwalu went to get your bow and knife," she said.

"Wait," Artus said, "where are we going?"

"To talk to Ras T'fima," Sanda said. "The Batiri captured Kwalu a few weeks ago, when he was on a hunt far from the city. My father and I raided their camp. Anyway, T'fima was the one who provided the blizzard that gave us cover." She looked away, nervously plucking at one of her braids. "I hope he'll help us again."

"Wouldn't it be easier to go after the Batiri with an army?" Artus asked.

Sanda shook her head emphatically. "The goblins are spread out, but there are many more of them than there are Mezroan soldiers. Besides, we disbanded the army years ago. There was really no need for us to maintain one. People like Kwalu keep the military arts alive, of course, but mostly on a theoretical battlefield." She scanned the plaza, impatient for the negus's return. "That's why we're going to ask for T'fima's help," Sanda added absently. "His magic is worth more than a thousand soldiers."

Artus ran a hand through his hair, which was damp with sweat from walking to the plaza. "T'fima must be some sorcerer to whip up a blizzard in this type of heat," he said. "Wait. Let me guess. He's a bara, right? Two thousand years old?"

"Fifteen hundred years," Sanda said, smiling at Artus's exasperation. "The same as King Osaw, though T'fima was younger than the king when he was chosen by Ubtao."

A slight twinge of disappointment crept into Artus's thoughts; secretly he had hoped to find T'fima had used the Ring of Winter to make it snow, "Yes, well, King Osaw did look like he'd lived through a rainy season or two," Artus noted archly. "How old was Osaw when he became a bara?"

Sanda lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Eighty-five, but don't let that fool you. He's had a gaggle of children over the years-Kwalu was bom not much more than one hundred years ago. The negus still acts like a spoiled child sometimes, but he's really-"

The conversation ended abruptly when Kwalu arrived. Not only did the negus carry his own weapons-a broad-bladed spear, dinosaur-hide shield, and vicious-looking war club-but Artus's bow, quiver, and dagger, too. He unceremoniously dumped the explorer's weapons into his arms, then produced another large knife and handed it to Sanda. As Artus struggled to keep the quiver from up-ending, Kwalu started out of the plaza at a loping run,

"We'd better hurry," Sanda said. She stepped to Artus's side and held out a silver triangle. "This may hurt a little." Swiftly she touched the triangle to Artus's right ear, and it fused to the lobe.

"Hey! That really smarts!" Artus shouted. He tried to pull the earring off, but it wouldn't budge. "Look, I'm not sure I want to attach any magic jewelry to myself just now," he said. "I had this medallion stuck around my neck and-"

Sanda turned to follow Kwalu. "It's the only way for you to pass through the city wall without being affected by the magic," she shouted over her shoulder. "We can take it off after we rescue my father."

Artus gave the silver triangle one last tug, cursed long and loud in Cormyrian-after all, no one could understand him, so restraint was unnecessary-then started after Sanda and Kwalu. They were making good time through the streets, and the explorer had to run at top speed to catch them. He was puffing even before they reached the outer edge of the Scholars' Quarter. There the streets trailed off into rubble, the finely tended parks into tangles of wild vegetation.

"When will we pass through the wall?" Artus asked between gasps.

Sanda wasn't even winded. "We already have," she said, taking stock of the explorer with obvious concern. "Artus, you really need to pace your running. Set a stride that will match ours, but won't tire you so. We have a few miles to go yet."

The explorer was in good shape, but running in this sort of heat was something to which he was just not accustomed. Still, Artus did his best to work into a longer, more relaxed stride. Though he couldn't hope to match Kwalu's exhausting pace, he managed to keep Sanda and the negus in sight. That the Mezroans trusted Artus to do so was illustrated clearly by the fact that they never looked back to see if he was still with them.

When vines and bushes began to obscure the trail, Kwalu slowed a little. A short time later, the negus stopped. Without explaining why, he began a careful search of the brush to either side of the path.

Artus didn't particularly care why Negus Kwalu had called a halt. He collapsed onto the ground, arms straight out from his sides. After a moment, he mustered enough strength to pull his hood over his face to block the sun.

"You'd better get up," Sanda said. Even from her voice, Artus could picture the sympathetic look in her green eyes. "Your muscles will cramp up if you stop moving, and we'll be running again in a moment. Kwalu spotted some signs of the Batiri. He wanted to look around and get an idea of the number of warriors in the raiding party."

Groaning, Artus tried to sit up. He groaned louder when he realized he was lying on top of his bow. "Why don't you just bury me here. I'll come back as a zombie or a ghoul. Then I can chase Kaverin back to Cormyr on foot without ever getting tired."

A firm hand grabbed Artus by the arm and pulled him to his knees. "Don't joke about such things," Sanda hissed.

Artus thought to reply, but Kwalu had started off again toward Ras T'fima's camp. Sanda quickly fell in behind the negus, and Artus started slowly after them. He found out within a few steps that Sanda had been right; the muscles in his legs throbbed with cramps.

It wasn't long before the jungle thinned again, and the trail cleared. Artus assumed they were nearing the camp of the Tabaxi sorcerer, but before he saw any signs of habitation, he heard frantic shouting. It drowned out even the incessant cries of the monkeys and birds in the canopy. At first Artus thought T'fima might be under attack by the goblins. Sanda and Kwalu didn't react to the screams and moans, though. They pressed on through the clutching vines and saw-leafed bushes as if they heard nothing unusual.

T'fima's camp was small-little more than a sprawling hut and a garden situated on the bank of a peaceful, slow-moving river. Part stone, part sod, the hut leaned drunkenly against a tall, thick tree. Its roof was equally haphazard, composed of palm fronds, tin plates, and air. The garden was quite a sight, too; at first glance Artus couldn't tell if there was a single planned crop in amongst the weeds.

The piles of broken stone littering the clearing were the strangest thing about the camp. Heaps of granite and limestone, slate and shale all ran together. They were highest near the hut itself, forming a narrow, waist-high valley that ended at the front door. And at the highest point of these mock canyon walls sat a night-black cat with sharp fangs and exceedingly large claws.