Arrows rained down around Artus as he charged behind the Mezroan lines, toward the Residential Quarter. The warriors' shields protected the army from the shafts fired low to the ground, but the mages could keep their magical barriers over only the most important people in the rear ranks. This left the land in between the sorcerous protection a prime target for the Batiri archers, who fired blindly over the front ranks in hopes of hitting someone.
The growing darkness compounded the danger. If you lit a torch, an archer could aim for the light. If you tried to move about in the dark, you were likely to shatter an ankle in one of the holes opened by the pteradons' bombing raids or slice apart an arm or leg on a weapon dropped by a wounded warrior. Still, the darkness wouldn't be a problem for long; from the red glow to the east, Artus guessed that the goblins had set fire to the crops farthest from the river. The blaze would spread quickly, lighting the night with its hellish radiance.
'Hey! Look out there!'
A pteradon swooped low over the front rank of warriors, too fast for anyone to land a solid blow with spear or club. The birdlike reptile opened its beak in an angry squawk-just enough for Artus to get a hold on its lower jaw.
The fin radiating back from a pteradon's skull was very much like a ship's rudder, so when Artus yanked the raider's head down, it lost control of its flight. That, coupled with the explorer's weight, made the flying lizard spin out of the air. Together Artus and the pteradon rolled across the cobblestones. Talons scraped at the explorer's legs and stomach, while the creature's wings buffeted his face and arms. Before the pteradon could think to bite his fingers off, Artus wisely let go of its beak. By that time, the two were so tangled together that they continued to tumble across the plaza as one.
That, was a fortunate thing, since the pteradon finally lost its grip on the bomb it had been clutching in one taloned foot. The silver egg bounced once, twice, then exploded. Artus didn't see the burst of flame, but he heard the roar and felt the wave of fire and barrage of cobbles that struck the pteradon. He understood in that instant why the Mezroan warriors favored dinosaur-hide armor; the flying lizard wrapped angrily around him shielded him from the blast.
The pteradon itself was not so well served by its hide. The blast sent a fragment of the pavement through its skull. It took four warriors to drag the thing's limp corpse from atop Artus, even with him straining against its bulk from below.
'Was anybody hurt?' the explorer puffed as he climbed out from under one ragged wing. He looked around. A few injured warriors were being helped away, but they were still walking.
A young boy stared at the explorer in awe. 'Nobody was hurt too bad,' he said. 'You bounced enough times for everyone to run.'
Artus rubbed his shoulder. The scuffle hadn't done much good for the arrow wound he'd gotten at the Batiri camp. 'Have you seen Ras T'fima?'
'I can take you right to him,' the boy shouted happily. Lifting a small, round shield of studded leather over his head, he hurried away. Every few steps he looked back, to be sure the explorer was still with him.
They found T'fima near the edge of the maze of buildings and alleys that made up the Residential Quarter. The boy took one look at the mage, nodded to Artus, and ran back toward the temple. T'fima was as volatile as ever, shouting instructions at anyone who got close and gesturing broadly with his fat-fingered hands. Bits of gravel clung to his tightly curled hair, and dirt covered his tobe.
A small army of old people, wounded warriors, and very young children flooded past T'fima on their way to their homes. It would be safer for them there, since the goblins would surely get lost in the twisting, turning streets. In case any Batiri got past the contingent guarding the district, a handful of warriors were passing out clubs and daggers to the people who could wield them. Artus had no doubt the goblins would be in for quite a surprise if they ventured into the narrow lanes.
T'fima himself had a globe of blue light caught between his hands. He lifted it gently over his head, as if it were wrought of some fragile crystal, then let it go. The globe floated there until the sorcerer pointed toward a group of one-eyed goblins massing for an attack. With a high, shrill whistle, the light flew toward the Batiri. It struck them, but didn't explode or burst into flames, as Artus had expected. The globe splashed over the first dozen goblins like soft summer rain. After the shock wore off, the stunned cannibals laughed and raised their spears.
In a show of contempt, T'fima turned his back on the Batiri and went about directing the defense of the Residential Quarter. Artus drew his dagger and moved to intercept the goblin pack before it could take advantage of the sorcerer's bravado.
Yet as soon as the Batiri took a step forward, blue light began to leak from their empty eye sockets. Their leader tried to shout an order, but only magical radiance poured out over his black tongue. He seemed to choke on it, dropping his spear to clutch helplessly at his throat. The others never got the chance to shout. Before they could open their mouths, they burst like overfull wineskins, their corpses disappearing in a flash of blue before the first drop of blood hit the ground.
Artus grimaced at the gory sight, but could not fault the sorcerer for effectiveness. The goblins the globe had missed retreated, leaving the Mezroans to continue their work.
'Give her a dagger!' T'fima was shouting as the explorer got close. He pointed at an old woman. 'She couldn't lift a club, let alone hurt someone with it. At least with a blade she might get lucky and blind someone!'
'Ras T'fima,' Artus said, placing a firm hand on the sorcerer's shoulder.
Slowly the ras turned. 'We have things to do here,' he rumbled. 'Either give us a hand or get out of the way.'
'I want the Ring of Winter,' the explorer said, towering his voice just a little.
'And I told you before I don't know anything about it!'
People had begun to turn toward the mage and the stranger. Artus glanced at the upturned faces. Fear held a tight grip over many of these people. It wouldn't do to challenge their protector openly. 'I know you aren't a bara,' Artus whispered to T'fima, leaning closer. 'The master of the dead told me. You've been using gem magic to keep yourself alive-just like your cat-and you used the ring to cause the blizzard that saved Kwalu.'
T'fima's eyes got as large as full moons. Muttering, he slipped a hand into the pocket of his tobe. Artus was faster, though. The explorer grabbed the last of the diamond slivers and said the command word. A bolt of lightning appeared in his hand, illuminating the area with cold white light
'I'm not your enemy,' the explorer hissed.
T'fima shook his head. 'How can I be sure of that?'
Turning away from the sorcerer, Artus heaved the lightning at the distant goblin line. The bolt sizzled just off the ground. A few of the more observant Batiri in its path scattered before it struck. Two dozen charred corpses was all that remained of those that didn't.
'I've hunted for the ring for a decade,' Artus said, forcing calm into his voice. 'I've wanted to turn its power to good. Now there's another reason for me to have it-to save Mezro, to rescue Lord Rayburton and Sanda and the others from the goblins.'
The sorcerer took his empty hand from his pocket and waved away three warriors who were obviously coming over to see what the argument was about. 'And who'll be there to rescue the city from you once you get the ring?' T'fima growled. 'Rayburton couldn't control it. That's why he brought it here-he froze an entire village solid in Cormyr. Killed hundreds of people. That's why he gave it to me to hide, so he'd never be tempted to use it again.'
Artus closed his eyes. The disaster Lord Rayburton had told him about-he had caused it! 'Ancient history,' he heard himself say. 'Besides, I'm not Rayburton.'
'I froze the jungle for miles around, made it snow for three days instead of the hour I had intended.' T'fima grabbed the front of Artus's tunic. 'Don't you see? I could control weather once-that was Ubtao's gift to me-and yet even I couldn't bend the ring to a good cause!'
Artus pushed T'fima away. 'The reason you used the ring was so Osaw and the others wouldn't discover you weren't a bara any longer,' he said. 'If Kwalu was killed, they'd hold the ceremony to install a new paladin to replace him. Ubtao would have chosen
