“Never,” Rayburton said firmly.
Kaverin yawned and rubbed his tired eyes, then placed the head in Rayburton’s lap. “Whatever the secret is, it’s something you share with T’fima, since he says he’s quite old, too—at least that’s what Feg heard before that fanged thing ate him.” He scowled at the memory of the image he’d seen through the winged monkey’s eyes just before it died—a blur of black fur and razor-sharp claws.
Stoutly, Rayburton fought the urge to flinch from the grisly head or turn away in disgust. “If you want to know, go ask T’fima then,” he said. “You’ll get the same answer from him, I daresay.”
Reaching down slowly, Kaverin took one of Rayburton’s fingers in his cold, stony grip. He pulled it backward, just to the point where it strained, but didn’t break. “Won’t change your mind, will you, milord?”
Rayburton gritted his teeth against the pain and shook his head.
“Quite certain?” Kaverin asked flatly.
Again Rayburton shook his head.
Kaverin didn’t ask a third time. He pulled the finger until it touched the back of the prisoner’s hand. Rayburton stifled a scream, refusing to give his torturer the pleasure of hearing him cry out.
“Bravo,” Kaverin cooed. “Just the sort of control I would expect from a man of your breeding, milord.” He gripped another finger. “This will be a challenge, I think.”
“You monster,” Rayburton hissed through clenched teeth.
Kaverin smiled a predatory smile. “You don’t know the half of it.” He broke another finger, then grabbed a third. “If it comes to it, Lord Rayburton, I will kill you. Then I’ll find your daughter—Oh, don’t look surprised. The lovely young woman mentioned her relation to you in T’fima’s hut, before my spy was so rudely slaughtered,” Twisting the finger sideways, he added, “Maybe she’ll be more cooperative.”
“Why don’t you just ask me?” Byrt chimed from his cage. “I’m a regular font of knowledge. License to lecture granted by the College of Bards on Orlil, order of fabulists. No literary masterpiece too obscure for our attention. Rules of grammar enforced with spirit—root words are a wombat’s specialty, don’t you know.”
“Take that idiotic thing outside,” Kaverin said coldly. “Give it to the queen’s guards.”
As Skuld hefted the cage, Byrt pressed against the bars. His blue eyes were locked on Rayburton. “You’ll need to keep him alive if you want to cash in on his fountain of youth, Kaverin.” When the stone-handed man ignored him, the wombat added, “Ask him what it takes to become a bara of Ubtao. The benefits are quite good, from what his daughter told me.”
“No!” Rayburton lurched forward, making the chair scrape ahead a foot or two. Phyrra’s head rolled from his lap and bounced off Kaverin’s leg before coming to rest under a table. “Don’t tell him,” the bara cried.
Kaverin held up a hand, and Skuld paused at the door. “Why would Rayburton’s dear daughter tell you anything important?”
Glancing up at Skuld, Byrt said. “This will take a while, so you might as well put me down.” When the silver giant didn’t move, the wombat shrugged. “Suit yourself, but don’t blame me if one arm is longer than the other three from holding me up so long.”
“Do not try my patience,” Kaverin said. “I do not brook fools easily.”
“Why would you ever—” Byrt swallowed the rest of the retort. “Sanda told me because she likes animals, has a gift for dealing with them, you might say.” He looked at Rayburton apologetically. “Like her dad, she’s a bara of Ubtao—a sort of mystical guardian of Mezro on behalf of the god. In return for serving the public good, they are granted eternal life.”
“Don’t tell him anything else!” Rayburton shouted.
“Quiet, old man,” Kaverin said. He backhanded Rayburton without so much as looking at him, then strolled to Byrt’s cage. “So why do I have to keep him alive, now that I know the secret?”
Byrt cleared his throat. “When a bara dies, Ubtao chooses his successor from everyone who presents himself at the temple in the city’s center—” he leaned close to Kaverin and lowered his voice conspiratorially “—but you’ve got to go to the temple to be considered. You see the obvious problem, of course?”
“Of course,” Kaverin admitted. “If I kill him before I’m in the temple, ready to undergo the ceremony to become a bara, the good people of Mezro would be sure another candidate got there before me.” He paced a few steps, then looked back to the wombat. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me where the city is or how it’s hidden?”
Byrt’s blue eyes took on a haze of vagueness. “Sorry, I’m just a tourist in these parts. If you let me go right now, I would be utterly lost.”
“Then how did you find the city in the first place?” Kaverin asked.
“Couldn’t tell you,” Byrt said merrily. “It was all Artus’s doing. Lugg and I were in a daze, but he found us shelter from the storm and put a thatched roof over our heads. Frightfully bright fellow, Artus. I hear you two go way back.”
Kaverin gestured to Skuld. “Give him to the queen.”
“I protest!” Byrt cried as he was carried from the room.
“You might show some gratitude. After all, I saved you the trouble of breaking any more fingers—”
The slam of the door cut off any further pleading. Kaverin strolled to a long couch that faced his prisoner. “I guess I’ll have to keep you alive, at least until we get into the city and test out the pig-bear’s claim.” He clacked his knuckles together. “And as far as finding Mezro is concerned, we’ll just wait for your daughter and that idiot Cimber to try to rescue you. Then we’ll simply follow them back to the city.”
“Why are you doing this?” “Rayburton rasped.
“I told you before, milord. The key is immortality.” Kaverin stretched out on the couch. “Since I know your secret, I’ll share one of mine—not anything that would give you a weapon against me, of course. Just some information that’ll let you know how serious I am about solving this little mystery… .”
Kaverin’s voice trailed off and his head dropped to his chest. He started awake instantly and turned his attention back to Rayburton. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever been dead,” he said. “I have, thanks to Cimber and that bloated mage Pontifax. They murdered me about three years ago. The authorities in Tantras even called it murder.” He covered another yawn with one jet-black hand. “I don’t begrudge them that. We’d been destroying little parts of each other for years—I’d send an assassin after Cimber, he’d gather evidence of wrongdoings and have all my associates arrested. My killing Pontifax’s wife sent them both over the edge. Looking back, it was bad judgment on my part. Still, you can’t undo the past. Cimber and Pontifax swore a vendetta against me, caught me in a tavern without my bodyguards, then blew me into a hundred pieces.”
Kaverin studied Rayburton’s face, watched contentedly as horror mixed with the pain. “So down to Hades I went, to the Realm of the Dead. When you were in Cormyr, the Lord of the Dead was Myrkul. Not any longer. That’s Cyric’s domain now.” He snorted. “It’s a good thing that homicidal maniac killed Myrkul and took his godhood, because he was willing to cut a deal with me: I get to live out the rest of my life, just as if Cimber hadn’t caught me in Tantras, but only so long as I sow chaos and destruction in the North. That’s why I’m after the Ring of Winter. No other artifact in the history of the world has such potential for destruction.”
“I never found the ring,” Rayburton snarled. “You won’t find it here.”
“But there had to be a reason you were in Chult looking for it,” Kaverin said. He held up his hand. “But that’s something we can discuss later. Where were we? Ah, yes. My deal with Cyric.” Lashing out with one stone hand, he shattered a skull resting atop the couch. “The price for all this was a bit steep, I’ve come to find out. When I do die, I go straight back to Cyric for an eternity of torture.”