The Ring of Winter - James Lowder [72]
"Thank you," Artus said in Tabaxi, leaning close to the light globe standing upon the nightstand. The radiance dimmed. Then the globe went dark.
Inside the opaque sphere, a complicated arrangement of gears and levers ground silently to a halt, and the four tiny creatures that worked the device sat down. The light makers, or so Rayburton called them, resembled elves in their slender forms and graceful movements, but they had no faces or other features to distinguish one from another. All the globes in Mezro were powered by them.
"Are you sure these things aren't prisoners?" Artus asked.
Rayburton shrugged. "Whenever someone builds a globe with the proper works inside, they just show up, ready to work. They don't eat, don't sleep. They make light and wait to make light." He stood and peered into the globe. "Near as I can guess, they're some sort of quasi-elemental, and the mechanical setup must summon them or act as a gate to their home plane somehow. Damned useful, whatever they are."
Picking nervously at the corner of the book, Artus turned to Rayburton once more. "So you've lived this long because you are a bara of Ubtao." He sighed. "You never found the Ring of Winter…"
The kindness fled the older man's eyes. "No, Artus. I don't have the ring." Rayburton paced to the window and glanced outside, squinting against the late afternoon sunshine.
"But the society's histories say you were searching for it when you disappeared from Cormyr," Artus pressed. "Can you tell me anything-"
Rayburton turned so the explorer could not see his face. "You seem like a good and honorable man," he said softly. "The Ring of Winter holds nothing for you."
"Then the stories were right. You were searching for it in Chult," Artus said eagerly. He pushed himself out of bed and straightened the long, shapeless shirt he wore. "Why did you think it was here?"
When he turned, Rayburton did little to conceal his anger. "You're a fool. The Ring of Winter is a terrible force for chaos and destruction. When I lived in Cormyr, I saw its handiwork-whole villages covered in ice, the people frozen, their faces paralyzed in agony. All the wearer of the ring needed to do was imagine the place under a dozen feet of ice and snow." He studied Artus, gauging the shock that colored the younger man's features. "And that was a minor display, by someone who wanted to let the king know he wasn't the only power in the land. The ring has the might to bring the whole world to its knees."
"I never heard about the ring destroying a Cormyrian village," Artus admitted.
"The chroniclers must have been careful to hide it. Wouldn't have done the crown much good to look so helpless against dark sorcery, I suppose."
"That story only makes me want the ring more," Artus said firmly. "Such a mighty artifact should be used for good, to free people from fear and injustice."
Rayburton smiled weakly. "A noble sentiment, but spoken like lines from a bad play." He laid a hand on Artus's shoulder. "Most of the people who scrambled for the ring said things like that, even in my time. But if you hunt for something long enough, you begin to desire it for no other reason than to finally possess it."
"Gods, the thing is cursed." Artus sagged wearily back onto the bed. "It took Pontifax's life, and I'm no closer to finding the damned thing than I was before. He died for nothing."
"No," Rayburton said. "There's no curse on the ring other than the desire it inspires in men like you." He shook his head. "And me, as you know. I hunted for the ring for five years before I came here."
"Then you