In the entry hall, Sanda offered an abrupt farewell. “Wish me luck.” That said, she headed for the door.
“Wait!” Artus shouted. He rushed down the hall to her side. “I wish I were going with you.”
Sanda looked deeply into Artus’s eyes, then suddenly dropped her gaze to the floor. “Remember what I said about spending time with mortals. That applies to you, too, Artus.”
In silence Artus watched Sanda leave. When the explorer turned around, he found Kwalu watching him. The negus had a mask of casual disinterest on his face, but the odd look in his eyes told another story. “She would not be so blunt if she did not care for you,” he said simply, then turned back to the archway. “I am going to a meditation chamber I’ll meet you here at dawn.”
“For what?” Artus asked.
“I will school you in the etiquette of Mainu’s court,” the negus offered over his shoulder.
Just before Kwalu disappeared under the arch, Artus said, “Where are you going? I didn’t see any door leading out of the audience chamber.”
“There is only one door inside the temple.” Kwalu pointed at the darkened archway. “It takes you anywhere you wish to go, to any of the thousand rooms Ubtao built for his followers.”
After the negus had gone, Lugg trundled out from behind a pillar to sniff at the archway. “If we have to wait ’ere till morning, I wonder if this thing leads to any kitchens ’ereabouts?”
Artus stared at the empty pedestals, wondering which of them was reserved for Sanda. “I think I’ll just go to get some rest,” he said.
At the door to the plaza the explorer paused. He’d never find his way back to his quarters alone, not through that maze of alleys. Besides, it wasn’t really fair to leave the wombat on his own. “Why don’t you come with me, Lugg. I know a park that has some interesting shrubbery, if you’ve a taste for that sort of thing.”
The meeting with Mainu that morning was brief and extremely formal. It was also held underwater, at the bottom of the murky Olung River.
As King Osaw had told Artus, the Olung bordered Mezro to the west and south, curving gently through three of the city’s quarters. In many places the mystic defensive wall ran parallel to the river, in others right on top of it. The animals that made their home in or around the muddy water didn’t seem to notice. Hippos wallowed near the shore, watching kingfishers dive for minnows and other small fish. Turtles and crocodiles basked in the sun, rolling languidly into the water if anyone got too close. They sent ripples across the round leaves of water lilies as they submerged.
Such was the domain of Mainu. From a sumptuous court at the bottom of the river, she ruled the Olung for ten miles to either side of the city. The bara was undoubtedly the strangest Artus had met, and how he came to be in her presence proved stranger still.
Just after dawn, Artus had set off from the Temple of Ubtao. Lugg shied away from trudging to the river on such a sunny day; like goblins, wombats preferred to travel by night. At the riverbank, the explorer called out a ritual greeting and, dressed in his tunic, boots, and pants, waded into the water. After two or three steps, the bottom fell away. Artus plunged into the tepid river, gasping in a mouthful of muddy water as he sank.
After the panic subsided, he found himself breathing the stuff. Artus was used to it now, though the river had the same grimy quality as the air around the metalcrafters’ market in Suzail. The oddest thing was coughing, which he did frequently. With each hack, he sent a jet of bubbles swirling around his head.
Artus was trying his best to muffle just such a coughing jag when Mainu finally responded to his plea for aid on behalf of King Osaw.
Artus Cimber of Cormyr, she said, her voice flowing across his mind like the river’s gentle current, we are greatly saddened by this news. As we are loyal subjects of Ubtao and of King Osaw, negus negusti, we will do everything we can to help defend Mezro.
Mainu paused, her long hair floating around her like a veil of seaweed. She was a thing of the Olung, of that there could be no mistake. Her face and her body were nothing more than a more profound darkness within the murk of the river. She swayed and rocked with the current, held in place by long, thin fingers that gripped the throne with fierce strength. Only her eyes seemed out of place—bright and glowing like the sun.
The bara turned those golden eyes on Artus, who kneeled before her turtle-shell throne. We thank you for delivering this message, Master Cimber, and express our hope you will aid Mezro against the Batiri. If you do, we will afford you the honors due a warrior of Ubtao. The creatures of the Olung will bow to your wishes, and the waters of my river will do you no harm.
Artus kowtowed, touching his forehead to the carpet of flowing green leaves. The kind offer sent a wave of relief over him; the soldiers flanking Mainu’s throne were as awe-inspiring as any he had ever seen. A strange mix of human and lobster, the guards were girded in black shells, very much like a knight’s most impressive plate armor.
Their hands were massive claws, and their tiny eyes extended upon long stalks. You honor me with your kindness, great mistress of the Olung, Artus replied, just as Kwalu had coached him.
At a slight flick of Mainu’s chin, the lobster-men moved forward to escort Artus back to the shore. The explorer rose and bowed again. King Osaw thanks you, Mainu, as will all of Mezro when this war is over.
The mistress of the Olung took in Artus’s gratitude without expression. One thing before you go, Master Cimber, she said. Is this threat to Ubtao’s city great enough for the king to summon all the barae to the cause?
I do not know all of King Osaw’s plans, great mistress of the Olung, Artus replied politely.
Mainu nodded. Perhaps that will be your next task. Master Cimber, to contact the other bara, the one you have yet to meet. If you are asked to deal with the outcast, remember that he will do anything for Mezzo—and that is what makes him truly dangerous.
The lobster-men flanked Artus as he walked back to the bank. Once out of the river, the explorer found himself dry and the water miraculously gone from his lungs, though he coughed out river silt most of the way back to the temple. Kwalu met him at the temple door, a sheaf of battle plans tucked under his arm.
“What can you tell me about the seventh bara?” Artus asked as he and Kwalu entered the Hall of Champions. “I mean, Mainu mentioned something about an outcast. That’s who she meant, right?”
The negus stopped dead in his tracks. “As far as you are concerned, there are only six barae—my father. Lord Rayburton, Sanda, Mainu, T’fima, and me. The reasons why we do not speak of the other, not even his name, are too complicated to go into now. It should be enough that we do not want him in the city again.”
“But—”
Kwalu turned on his heels and strode off toward the archway. “Perhaps we can discuss the matter after we drive Kaverin and the Batiri back to the jungle.” The negus glanced at Lugg, who was curled into a ball in front of one of the statues, snoring. “I must report to my father. If you want to wait here, I will inform you of our plans for troop placement when I’m done.”
The wombat snorted awake. “Well?” he demanded. “What are you doing to get Byrt back?”
Artus traced the name of one of the fallen barae with his finger. “We are going to wait for the Batiri to attack us,” he sighed.
“But they might kill ’im before then! Poor Byrt!”
“Look, I didn’t say I agreed with the plan, but I’m not in charge here.” The explorer paced to the next statue. “In fact, the more time I spend in the city, the more certain I am that I wouldn’t want to be.”