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Cormyr. Bully for me. I
have no doubt you will make it to this port once I tell you of my
extraordinary rescue at the hands of
Lord Rayburton. The gifts I leave with Ibn will help you in the jungle: Trust
to him for everything else. If you do not know by now, he carries the silver
harp and moon.
No matter what or who stands in your way, Artus, you must struggle on. The
thing you seek must
be found, then turned to good.
Beware the goblins and the dinosaurs the giant lizards the locals call Ubtao's
Children. They are the greatest dangers you will face.
Theron Silvermace
Below there was one more passage, written in another hand, neater but very
small. Artus took his dagger from his belt and used the glow of its hilt to
read by.
I have had Ibn sew my badge to the tunic. I hope you don't mind, but I wish to
be with you on this expedition if only in this small way.
"He asked me to add the last part," Ibn said as Artus folded the parchment
again. "He had become too ill to write it himself, do you see?"
Artus handed the note to Pontifax. "Burn it after you've read it." He held the
tunic up. There, over the left breast, was Theron's family crest. White thread
made the diving falcon and spiked mace contrast sharply with the verdant
cloth. Artus closed his eyes for an instant, regretting the disagreement that
had marked his parting with Theron.
Ibn placed the bow and quiver of arrows on one of the mattresses. "These
Master Silvermace bought from me. I purchased them in trade long ago from an
elven sailor. They are from Evermeet, I am told, crafted by the bowyers and
fletchers of the royal family." He laughed. "Even if that is not true, they
are wonderfully wrought."
A gout of flame devoured the parchment in Pontifax's hands. After the mage
dusted the ashes from his palm, he sighed. "Thank you for watching over these
things."
Ibn bowed. "Any Harper would do the same." He settled back against the wall.
"Theron would not tell me what he found in the jungle, saying only that it was
not a Harper matter and I would be safer if I did not know about it."
"He was wise not to tell you," Artus said. "There are many who would stop at
nothing to gain information about our quest."
He peeled his wet, sweat-soaked shirt off and dropped it to the floor. Old
scars some small, some long and twisted marred his back and stomach. The
medallion hung heavily on its chain, still encased in a cast of solid white
paste. Artus studied the now-lifeless medallion, then shrugged on the tunic
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Theron had left for him. "It's light and very cool. And," he added, flipping
the hood over his head, "this will keep the sun off quite nicely."
"You look like a monk," Pontifax chuckled. "Brother Artus of Oghma to the
rescue."
Artus pulled the hood down. "Perhaps I should reconsider my calling if I look
so dashing in this," he said.
"I'm certain Zin would have me back in the order if I asked."
"These men who are after you," Ibn interrupted, "are they Zhentarim? I have
seen the marks left by the tortures they employ. Yours are very much like
them."
Artus lifted his shirt and traced a puckered line across his stomach. "You're
very observant, Ibn. The scars most of them, anyway I got in the dungeons of
Zhentil Keep, at the hands of the Zhentarim. They aren't the ones who tried to
kill me aboard the
Narwhal, though. They favor magic over brute force, so they would never have
been so crass as to push me overboard during a battle."
"You know," Pontifax said, "it could be the Red Wizards. Maybe that's why they
took your journal." He gave Artus a stern look. "After all, you stole it from
them in the first place."
Artus frowned and crossed his arms. "Or it could be the Slashing Skulls, or
the assassins' guild of
Iriaebor, or those lunatic halflings from the Shar, or any one of fifty groups
that'd like to see me dead." He paused and took a deep breath. "It could even
be Kaverin Ebonhand, for all we know. This has Cult of
Frost written all over it."
"Wait a moment," Ibn said. "I'd heard Kaverin Ebonhand was dead."
"You're right," Pontifax said glumly. "Kaverin was dead, the bastard. We
killed him ourselves not three years ago."
"But, if you killed him... ?"
Artus picked up the bow, which very nearly matched his height. As he braced it
against the wall to string it, he asked, "You've heard how Kaverin lost his
hands for murdering a Harper?" When Ibn nodded, the explorer continued. "After
that sordid business, he swore to kill me and Pontifax. We clashed now and
then, especially after he murdered his way to the head of the Cult of Frost.
Anyway, one day in Tantras, he slipped up and we caught him."
"I blasted him to pieces with a lightning bolt," Pontifax noted grimly.
Artus studied one of the arrows and fit it to the bow. "We should have dealt
with him sword-to-sword or called in the local watch, but he'd found his way
out of their jails a hundred times before."
With a quick pull, Artus fired the arrow across the hut. It split the skull of
the snake that was in the process of crawling through a gap beneath the rear
wall. The serpent's head was as large as a man's fist.
"The end result of all this is Pontifax and I are still wanted for Kaverin's
murder in Tantras. The government was annoyed at us interfering with their
local problems even if they knew Kaverin was a murderer and worse so they
tried to haul us in on a dozen different charges."
"But if you killed him . . . ?" Ibn prompted.
"Some say Kaverin made a pact with the Lord of the Dead, but that may be a
myth." Artus tossed the bow aside. "We do know that he came back from the
dead, as rotten as ever, and he's never slipped up again. The Cult of Frost
now shields him from everything. We haven't even been close to catching him in
three years, though he keeps trying to kill us."
In the silence that followed, Ibn pulled the arrow from the snake's skull.
"This is a fine shot, Master
Cimber," he said, "but do not be so cavalier about what you kill in the
jungle. More importantly, you must never leave a creature's corpse lying
about. If you do not eat it, burn it." He pulled the rest of the snake all
five feet of it into the hut. "It is too bad Theron chose the menu for dinner
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tonight. These are quite good when cooked correctly."
"Theron picked the menu?" Pontifax asked.
"That was his gift for you, Sir Hydel," Ibn replied. " 'A good meal for
Pontifax before he's subjected to trail rations for days on end.' "
"I always said that man knew how to live," Pontifax said happily. Yet as he
followed Ibn out of the hut he warily eyed the snake coiled around the
shopkeep's arms. Just what, he wondered, did the natives of
Chult consider a good meal?
* * * * *
A clatter on the hut's tin roof woke Artus. He sat up, dagger in hand, even
before he realized he was fully awake.
The gem in the dagger's hilt lit the room enough for Artus to see there was no
immediate danger. The rain had stopped hours ago, the drumming of raindrops
replaced by the soft roll of the ocean and the steady, faraway blanket of
sounds of the jungle. It was still dark outside; he could tell that much from
the gaps around the door and the hole at the base of the back wall. Pontifax
snored sonorously, well-fed upon a meal of fish, koko-yams, plantain, and palm
wine. Had he dreamed the noise? Perhaps a monkey had leaped from a tree and
Something struck the door and a voice cried out, high and filled with fright.
Artus leaped to the door and braced himself against it. "Pontifax, quick!"
Startled from a deep sleep and a pleasant dream of a room in Cormyr's finest
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