The Ring of Winter - James Lowder [5]
The man sitting across the table stared fixedly at Artus. His face was caught up in a look of casual disinterest, though his green eyes revealed the excitement he felt at examining the Mulhorandi pendant. He turned the silver disk over and over in his brown-skinned hands.
"Well, get on with it, Zintermi," Artus sighed. "Go ahead and blow us up."
The man nodded, brushing off his friend's ill humor with a practiced air. He'd known the explorer for almost twenty years, from the time Artus had entered the House of Oghma as a student. The boy had taken readily to the subjects Zintermi taught-the history and lore of Faerun. Sadly, though, he'd lacked the discipline necessary to become an instructor himself. "Close your eyes, Master Cimber," the scholar said. "This should take but a moment."
Zintermi untied the silken cords holding his sleeves closed at the wrists, then rolled the sleeves to his elbows. Gingerly, he took a vial of powder from the pocket of his black vest, then unstoppered it and poured the contents onto the fat tallow candle that flickered between him and Artus. With a hiss, puffs of gold, white, and black smoke rose over the table.
"Grant me the knowledge I seek, great Oghma." Zintermi lowered his voice to a powerful bass rumble. "For I have sought truth and recorded it in your name, bound the past for all to study and captured the fleeting lives of great men on parchment. Allow me the blessing of understanding, that I may exalt it in the transient world of mortals, that I may show others the light of reason, that-"
"That I may drone on forever," Artus grumbled. He gave his former teacher a withering look. "I'm not a yokel at a county fair, impressed by smoke and chanting. If you haven't caught on yet, Zin, I'm really worried about this thing. It may be cursed!"
Artus noticed then that the other patrons of the Black Rat were staring at him. Magic certainly wasn't uncommon in such establishments. It was often in taverns and hostels that traveling mages did their best business. From the frightened looks on their faces, he assumed they had heard him mention a curse. No one in Cormyr took such matters lightly.
Zin cocked an eyebrow. "We will need to continue this exploration out in the street if you don't keep your voice down." He turned a suddenly smiling face to the barmaid. "Have no fear, my dear. The only curse from which my friend suffers is occasional rampant stupidity."
Artus bristled at the insult. The others laughed, returning to their food and chatter.
"Now," the scholar said, slipping into the pedantic tone Artus always found incredibly annoying, "we obviously need to discuss the importance of praying to Oghma before delving into such mysteries. As you should know from your years-"
His hand held up to stop the lecture, Artus nodded. "As always, Zin, you're right. Go on with the service." He slouched back in his chair. "Just wake me up when it's over."
The droning prayer resumed. Closing his eyes, Artus let his mind wander. He had nothing against scholars like Zintermi; he actually respected the man quite highly. Much of what he knew about history, myth, and archaeology he'd learned from the old man. It was Zin's sanctimony that always set him off, that damned mile-wide streak of religious certainty. Artus was certain of only three things in his life: himself, the trustworthiness of Sir Hydel Pontifax, and the importance of the Ring of Winter.
The problem was, the latter two certainties had begun to conflict in the past few months. Hydel had been in favor of the quest for the ring ten years ago, when Artus had first decided the legends were true. They had taken up the hunt eagerly, intent on finding the ring and using it for good causes. Neither wanted the power the artifact granted in itself, but such power was necessary to fight the dark forces that were always threatening to overwhelm the lands of Faerun.
Yet more and more often Pontifax was voicing strong objections to the hunt. He claimed Artus had become blind to the reason behind the quest, that