The Ring of Winter - James Lowder [14]
Kwee Chan Sen was right at home in the unusual surroundings of Theron Silvermace's study. He was a native of the eastern nation of Shou Lung and had the rounded features, almond-shaped eyes, and night-black hair of those highly cultured people. He wore a silk patch to hide the eye made blind and milk-white by a barbarian arrow. His hair hung in a warrior's topknot, an honor he had gained from five successful campaigns. Kwee had left Shou Lung four years earlier, when his uncle, the former minister of war, was executed for treason. He had joined up with Theron during a trek across the Hordelands; now he lived in the explorer's sprawling home, a setting he found conducive to contemplation of his family's disgrace.
"I am going to make myself some tea," Kwee said softly as he crossed the room. There was a strange, frightened look on his usually serene face. "You should take some, Theron. Perhaps it will expel the fever."
"Tea," Theron scoffed. "Better bring me some brandy instead. How about you, Artus?" When the younger man shook his head, Theron said, "Bring him one anyway."
After Kwee was gone, Theron pushed himself up on the daybed. "Odd, but he doesn't like to hear about the goblins," he said. "He's fought barbarians and orcs, and all sorts of weird Shou beasts, but these stories really unnerve him."
Artus was certain it was the effect the goblins had wrought upon Theron that was disturbing to the loyal Kwee, but he said nothing. Instead, he asked, "How did you escape?"
"As I said," Theron murmured, "they did in the guide and the bearers. Me and some poor fellow from a neighboring village-a chief's son named Kwalu-they were saving for a sacrifice to some… thing they worship. Grumog, they called it. I used to hear its roars echoing up from the pit-did I tell you this god-thing lived in some underground cavern? No? Well the goblins intended to toss me and this Kwalu fellow into the pit at the center of their village. We were to be sacrifices to that horrible beast…"
Theron's eyes glazed, and Artus sat back to wait. It had been this way all evening: fits of relatively lucid discussion, followed by periods in which Theron lapsed into silence or incoherent babbling. He'd been at the older man's side since arriving an hour ago. It had taken until an hour before that to settle the sizeable bill for damages to the society's library and healers for the unfortunate Ariast. She'd recover from the guardian spirit's attack-eventually. Fortunately, Hydel had volunteered to write the necessary apology-disguised-as-a-report for the society president. Things would be smoothed over, but at the cost of more than a third of the money gained from their last expedition.
"Snow," Theron muttered. "I never in my life thought snow would save me in the jungle." Artus turned sharply to find Theron staring at him. "That's what saved me from the goblins and whatever it was they worshiped."
Is he rambling again? Artus wondered. Snow in the jungle, in the middle of the hot season? But when he looked at the bedraggled explorer, Theron's eyes were clear. "Can you be sure they didn't move you to a mountain village?" Artus asked.
"When I escaped I was nowhere near the mountains," Theron snapped. "I've been through more jungles than you've been through taverns, so I know what I'm talking about."
"Someone with an incantation to control the weather? They're common enough."
Theron smiled. "Oh, it was someone with magic all right, but no damned spell. It was the Ring of Winter."
"Just because it snowed doesn't mean the ring's there," Artus sighed. Obviously a fever dream had granted this delusion about the ring. He rose slowly. "Is there anything I can do for you before I leave? I'll call Kwee and-"
"Don't be such a dolt!" Theron bellowed. The sudden exertion left him coughing. He slouched back on the pillows and caught his breath. "Sit down and listen to this, then tell me the ring isn't in Chult."
Artus did as he was told, surprised to see the Theron of old spring