"Theron picked the menu?" Pontifax asked.

"That was his gift for you, Sir Hydel," Ibn replied. " 'A good meal for Pontifax before he's subjected to trail rations for days on end.' "

"I always said that man knew how to live," Pontifax said happily. Yet as he followed Ibn out of the hut he warily eyed the snake coiled around the shopkeep's arms. Just what, he wondered, did the natives of Chult consider a good meal?

A clatter on the hut's tin roof woke Artus. He sat up, dagger in hand, even before he realized he was fully awake.

The gem in the dagger's hilt lit the room enough for Artus to see there was no immediate danger. The rain had stopped hours ago, the drumming of raindrops replaced by the soft roll of the ocean and the steady, faraway blanket of sounds of the jungle. It was still dark outside; he could tell that much from the gaps around the door and the hole at the base of the back wall. Pontifax snored sonorously, well-fed upon a meal of fish, koko-yams, plantain, and palm wine. Had he dreamed the noise? Perhaps a monkey had leaped from a tree and-

Something struck the door and a voice cried out, high and filled with fright.

Artus leaped to the door and braced himself against it. "Pontifax, quick!"

Startled from a deep sleep and a pleasant dream of a room in Cormyr's finest inn, the mage was slow to his feet. "What's going on?" he murmured, rubbing his eyes with awkward fingers.

"Help, Father!"

"Mystra's wounds!" Pontifax cried. "That's Inyanga!" Artus stepped to one side of the door, then pulled it open. A tall figure, pale and ghostly by the fight of Artus's dagger, blocked the way. Its body was made entirely of crystal-clear ice. The explorer had faced assassins like this before, minions of the Cult of Frost, conjured servants of Kaverin Ebonhand.

Cursing, Artus grabbed for the door. The frost minion lashed out, knocking the sheet of metal from its hinges. The door crashed to the ground. Swiftly the explorer jumped back, but the assassin grabbed him by the front of his tunic and lifted him from the ground. It raised one massive fist to strike.

A tiny ball of fire hissed across the hut. It struck the frost minion in the side, then burrowed in. The assassin probably didn't feel any pain, but it was sentient enough to sense danger. It dropped Artus and tried to dig the ember out. Too late. The pinpoint of fire exploded, and the minion's clear body filled with flame, then shattered into a thousand shards.

Artus wiped a line of blood from his cheek where one of the larger shards had grazed him. The other fragments had been too small to do any damage.

The mage smiled sheepishly. "Sorry," he said. "A bit of an overreaction."

"At least we know it's Kaverin," Artus said. He gestured to the scattered shards of ice. "This is like an engraved calling card."

There was noise in the compound now-doors being flung open, shouts of alarm, and the clatter of weapons. Artus charged outside and was immediately knocked to the ground from above. The roof! He tumbled, feeling icy hands fumble for his throat.

When Artus stopped rolling, another of Kaverin's frost minions was on top of him, its weight crushing the air from his lungs. Its arms were as thick around as fenceposts, its hands like dwarven hammers. It turned its smooth, eyeless face toward Artus and reached for his throat, but the explorer struck with his dagger. The enchanted blade carved a deep furrow in the assassin's arm. Another frantic blow, and the limb shattered. Water dripped down on Artus as the thing loomed over him, melting even as it tried to choke him with its one remaining arm.

Again and again, Artus dug his dagger into the frost minion, gouging out chunks of ice. Half its head was gone, then much of its torso. Artus felt the thing's grip falter. It went stiff then, and dropped onto him, lifeless ice once more.

Ibn pushed the cold mass from atop the explorer. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Artus said softly, his throat raw from the attack. He sat up and looked at the hut. Pontifax knelt in the doorway, consoling Inyanga.

"I climbed on the roof to watch over you," the boy said between sobs. "I saw them coming from the jungle, but I thought it was two of the bearers and their child."

Something about Inyanga's words jarred Artus's mind. A child? Artus pushed himself from the ground. "Pontifax!"

In the darkness of the hut, a figure no larger than a human toddler had slipped through the gap beneath the back wall and stolen up behind the mage. The frost minion had been diminished by the heat, so much so that it barely resembled a man. That was to its advantage, though. Its hands were no longer large enough to strangle Pontifax, but they had melted to points at the ends.

It rammed one spearlike arm through the mage's back.

From the compound, Artus saw his old friend gasp, then slump forward. Inyanga screamed. The boy reached for the figure that still stood with its arm buried in Pontifax's back. Stiffly the frost minion jerked free. It disappeared into the hut and out through the hole where it had entered.

Ibn pulled the sobbing child away from Pontifax as Artus stumbled to his friend's side. "Maybe not an overreaction," the mage said. He gasped as Artus removed the ice dagger and tried to staunch the flow of blood.

"Quiet," Artus said. He cradled the old man's white head in his arm. "I'll pull you through."

Pontifax stiffened as pain spasmed through him. "Don't let… Kaverin get the ring," he hissed, staring with wide, clear eyes at Artus. "But be careful what you do to get it. You'll become like him if you let the end of the quest blind you to the path you take to reach it."

Artus felt his throat constrict. "Gods, Pontifax, I'm sorry. This is my fault."

The mage managed a smile. "Not your fault," he whispered. "Not even the curse." He closed his eyes. "Be a good soldier. Don't cry till I'm gone."

Artus struggled to hold back the tears, unaware of the men and women looking on in horror and pity. After a moment, the mage slipped quietly away. The tears came then, burning like molten metal as they coursed down his face. But the pain didn't scald away Artus's thoughts and regrets. The only things that offered him comfort were Pontifax's final words and the kindly smile on the mage's lips, a smile not even death could erase.

"Wake up, Artus."

"Please, Pontifax, not again. I'm sorry. You have to know that by now."

"Artus?"

The explorer rolled over and opened his eyes. The sunshine pouring in through the door blinded him momentarily, and he threw an arm up to block the light. "Oh,.. Ibn. Go away," Artus croaked.

"No," Ibn replied flatly. "This is not good." He laid a hand on Artus's shoulder. "To grieve, that is right, but to let someone's death kill you, too…that is not the way of the world, do you see?"

"It is just for murderers to be killed," Artus said through gritted teeth. The pounding headache that had been with him ever since he'd finished off an entire bottle of palm wine flared then, egged on by Ibn's low voice and his own angry words, "I'm guilty. That's all you need to know."

"All I need to know is you've been in this hut ever since we buried Sir Hydel, drinking, but not eating, sweltering away in this little room." Ibn picked up the longbow Theron had left for Artus, then began to batter the tin wall. The din was deafening.

"Gods!" Artus screamed, blocking his ears. "Stop that!"

Ibn paused long enough to say, "You'll have to stop me yourself."

Artus's hand went to his boot, but his dagger was gone. In fact, all he had on was a short, ragged pair of breeches.