The Ring of Winter

Before either Artus or Pontifax could reply, Ibn clapped his hands. 'Inyanga, bring some chairs for these gentlemen.' The boy had apparently foreseen the order, for before his father finished speaking, he had dragged two wooden stools to the tired explorers.

'It is best to do business when comfortable,' Ibn said, but he did not take a seat himself. Instead, he leaned on the counter, openly sizing up the strangers before him. 'What brings you to Chult? If I understand your goal, I can better help you to reach it, do you see?'

'We wish to hire a guide and six bearers, and buy supplies for a few weeks trek into the jungle. But we prefer not to discuss our reasons for being here,' Artus began, 'There are others-'

'No need to say more. I understand entirely,' the shopkeep said, holding up a restraining hand. 'I will tell you this, though. The men and women here will do no traffic with slavers. It is something we will not tolerate, do you see?'

'Of course,' Pontifax said. The mage nodded emphatically. 'We're no slavers. You can count on that.'

'Then I can help you,' Ibn replied, 'but not for a few days. This very morning, before dawn, the only guide in Port Castigliar has gone away with the unpleasant young woman from your ship. It is too bad you could not travel together, but-'

'Young woman?' Artus repeated, shocked, 'No young woman got off the Narwhal this morning.'

Ibn shrugged. 'I could be mistaken, but I doubt so very much. Only locals and people from trading ships stop here, and yours has been the only vessel in days.'

'Was there an elf with her? A young, blond-haired fellow?' Pontifax asked, rubbing his chin.

The boy, who had been watching the mage from atop a pile of crates, shouted down, 'No. She left the camp with the guide. No bearers and no supplies: She was very rude to me and my father.'

'She tried to strike Inyanga when he shouted at her for tracking mud into the store,' Ibn noted. He pulled a large ledger from beneath the counter. 'The guide leaves a record of his destination with me. I am his agent, do you see?' After flipping past a dozen yellow-edged pages, he frowned. 'There is no entry here. Perhaps this woman is searching for the same thing you are, for she is certainly as secretive.'

Artus was on his feet before the book clapped shut. 'There has to be another guide here. You, perhaps? Or the boy?'

'Absolutely not,' Ibn said. 'Inyanga and I, we will not leave our home, and the bearers, they are slaves freed from galleys along the coast. They work here to earn their passage home, do you see? They do not know this place any better than you.' He slid the ledger back under the counter. 'You will have to wait for the guide to return. Until then, you can stay in one of the huts. A few are empty now, since three of my bearers bought passage back down the coast aboard a merchant ship last week.'

The door slammed open, and the leader of the Narwhal's shore party stuck his head into the depot. 'All the stuff is on the beach,' he shouted. 'Stacked and covered with a tarp. We're going.'

'Not until I inventory the boxes,' Ibn replied. He vaulted over the counter. 'Pardon me, gentlemen, but Captain Bawr's men have trouble counting their own fingers and toes.'

Artus and Pontifax watched the shopkeep hurry outside. 'We could risk going on alone,' the mage ventured halfheartedly.

'That would be foolish.' Inyanga climbed down from the crates. 'You would not last a whole night in the jungle alone. There are goblins and wildmen who would eat both of you for dinner.' The boy laughed. 'And the Children of Ubtao. They do not like strangers roaming around in Ubtao's jungle. Then the bearers would bring you back, and my father would have to bury what's left of you in the ground beside the beach, like the other men who came here and wandered off on their own.'

Artus knew many tribes in Chult worshiped Ubtao as the mightiest of gods, the maker of men and animals. Perhaps these 'children' were his high priests. 'Well, Pontifax?' the explorer sighed.

'What else can we do?' the mage replied. 'We take up residence here in Port Castigliar until the guide returns.'

Here lies Wurthek of Tethyr.

He has gone to chart the realms beyond.

Artus pulled a clinging vine off the tombstone. It was as thick around as his thumb, and, when it hit the ground, the vine snaked slowly back toward the jungle. Artus merely stared at it; the rain and the somber setting had dampened his already-dark mood so much that anything less than a charging dragon would have gotten a similarly subdued reaction.

The explorers' graveyard started at one end of Ibn's store and ran behind it for almost its entire length. By the shopkeep's count, it held one hundred and eight bodies. Stones marked most of the sites, though the jungle had long ago reclaimed some of the ground. High, thick-rooted trees towered overhead, their fronds sheltering Artus from much of the downpour. Creepers wound around the grave markers and anything else that stood still too long. Hidden in the wall of green, birds called and monkeys chittered and shrieked. Other, more ominous sounds echoed from the jungle, too, but they were far-off and muted.

Over everything hung a blanket of hot, humid air, thick with the sickly smell of rotting vegetation. Not even the breeze from the sea, only a few hundred yards away, could force the pestilent haze away for long. Like the jungle itself, the humidity soon reclaimed its lost ground.

I wonder if Wurthek's wife knows where he is? Artus pondered grimly, crouching before the marker. He cursed not having his journal; he could have written down all the names-the ones still legible, anyway-and taken them back to Suzail with him.

'He was a mapmaker,' came a voice from behind him.

Ibn squatted next to Artus and pointed to the stone. 'I cut these myself, do you see? When the men and women from your part of the world make it back this far, but can go no farther, I let them rest here until Ubtao calls them. Then I bury them, as is the custom in the northern lands. They seem safe enough, I think.'

'Does anyone know this man is buried here?'

'Ubtao does,' Ibn replied, 'and whatever gods the mapmaker worshiped. I send a list north with the ships, but sometimes I don't have names to put on the stones or the list.' Glancing at Artus, he added, 'Since you haven't offered your name, I would only have a symbol to go on your marker-if Ubtao calls you to his home before you leave the port.' Ibn opened his left hand. In his palm lay a silver Harper pin.

'I think you're mistaken,' Artus said. 'That's not mine.'

'No,' Ibn said. 'It's mine. You have one of your own.' Before Artus could protest, be dropped the pin into a pocket and held out a calloused hand. 'This morning the men from the Narwhal told me your name and what you did to save the ship from the dragon turtle. Like many Harpers, I have heard tales of your adventures. I am honored to meet you, Artus Cimber.'

There was little else Artus could do, so he greeted the Harper as amicably as possible. 'Well met,' he said, clasping wrists in a traditional northern gesture of friendship. 'I suppose you've been waiting for me.'

Ibn smiled and nodded. 'The package Theron left for you is inside the store. I have kept it safe, just as he asked.' A look of concern washed across his features. 'Theron is well, I hope. The case of fever he took away with him was quite serious. I have not heard from him-or anyone else in the Heartlands-for weeks now.'

Artus tried hard to mask his relief, but his heart was racing. Theron hadn't told the Harpers after all, or the message hadn't reached here yet. If the guide got back soon, he might actually get away without the Harpers meddling in his quest. 'I saw Theron the night I left Suzail,' Artus said at last. 'His mind wandered back to the jungle now and then, but I think he'll recover.'

'He had a terrible experience with the Batiri-the goblin tribe, do you see?' Ibn straightened, his knees creaking at the effort. 'There are many horrible things in Ubtao's domain, but many beautiful things, as well. Theron found more terror thin beauty, I'm afraid.'

'He didn't mention anything about a package,' Artus said, following Ibn back to the warehouse. He glanced back at the graveyard, only to see the creeping vine wind its way around Wurthek's tombstone once more.

'He wished you to be surprised.' Ibn stopped at the door. 'I will get the package, then come to your hut. There is something for Sir Hydel here, too.'