The king's words trailed off, and Artus turned to the circle of mages. Capturing Skuld may have been easy for them. Holding him prisoner was obviously a different matter. Sweat beaded upon their brows, and many of them gritted their teeth in concentration. One man, his short beard white with age, swayed where he stood. A boy helped to steady him, whispering encouragements to the exhausted mage.

Suddenly, shrieks of pain and horror went up from the sorcerers, underscored by a peal of triumphant laughter that rang out over the din of battle. At the far edge of the Scholars' Quarter, a silver-skinned figure grew larger and larger, until at last it towered over the libraries and schools. Skuld looked down at the chaotic streets and laughed again, his filed teeth glinting in the twilight.

The ten bars of energy around the giant had expanded to contain him. Each of Skuld's four hands grasped a snaking bar, wrenching it first this way, then that. He tried to twist them apart, smash them, even bite them to pieces, but nothing seemed to work. His laughter turned to shouts of rage. Cursing, he grabbed one bar with all four hands and shook it violently.

This time only one member of the sorcerous circle cried out-the white-bearded old man. As Skuld battered the band of energy, the mage quivered and quaked. A thin line of blood snaked down his arm, a line that matched the fracture in the hissing band of light in Skuld's grip. When the bar broke, the mage's arm snapped. The bone jutted out like a spear tip, but still he kept his place, held up by the shoulders of those to either side him.

"I can help against Skuld," Artus said, "maybe even stop the goblin attack, but I need to get to Ras T'fima. Can the army spare a flying mount to take me to his camp?"

"There's no need for that," Kwalu said. "Hard to believe, but T'fima came to help us."

"He's here?" Artus shouted. "Where?"

"Near the Residential Quarter," the king said. "He's guarding the old people and children until they can-"

The explorer bowed perfunctorily and raced away. King Osaw and Negus Kwalu watched Artus until the crowd of warriors swallowed him. "Perhaps he will be able to convince T'fima to do more than shepherd children tonight," Kwalu said bitterly. "We need his power over the weather if we are to drive the Batiri out of Mezro. I don't know why he came back if he did not plan to use the powers Ubtao granted him."

The king shrugged. "Mezro inspires odd loyalties, and not all of them are grounded upon worship of Ubtao." He looked back to where Artus had disappeared into the throng. "Have faith in that, if Artus cannot sway T'fima, he may be able to discover some other way to aid the city." Osaw nodded. "Yes, I think that very likely indeed."

Arrows rained down around Artus as he charged behind the Mezroan lines, toward the Residential Quarter. The warriors' shields protected the army from the shafts fired low to the ground, but the mages could keep their magical barriers over only the most important people in the rear ranks. This left the land in between the sorcerous protection a prime target for the Batiri archers, who fired blindly over the front ranks in hopes of hitting someone.

The growing darkness compounded the danger. If you lit a torch, an archer could aim for the light. If you tried to move about in the dark, you were likely to shatter an ankle in one of the holes opened by the pteradons' bombing raids or slice apart an arm or leg on a weapon dropped by a wounded warrior. Still, the darkness wouldn't be a problem for long; from the red glow to the east, Artus guessed that the goblins had set fire to the crops farthest from the river. The blaze would spread quickly, lighting the night with its hellish radiance.

"Hey! Look out there!"

A pteradon swooped low over the front rank of warriors, too fast for anyone to land a solid blow with spear or club. The birdlike reptile opened its beak in an angry squawk-just enough for Artus to get a hold on its lower jaw.

The fin radiating back from a pteradon's skull was very much like a ship's rudder, so when Artus yanked the raider's head down, it lost control of its flight. That, coupled with the explorer's weight, made the flying lizard spin out of the air. Together Artus and the pteradon rolled across the cobblestones. Talons scraped at the explorer's legs and stomach, while the creature's wings buffeted his face and arms. Before the pteradon could think to bite his fingers off, Artus wisely let go of its beak. By that time, the two were so tangled together that they continued to tumble across the plaza as one.

That, was a fortunate thing, since the pteradon finally lost its grip on the bomb it had been clutching in one taloned foot. The silver egg bounced once, twice, then exploded. Artus didn't see the burst of flame, but he heard the roar and felt the wave of fire and barrage of cobbles that struck the pteradon. He understood in that instant why the Mezroan warriors favored dinosaur-hide armor; the flying lizard wrapped angrily around him shielded him from the blast.

The pteradon itself was not so well served by its hide. The blast sent a fragment of the pavement through its skull. It took four warriors to drag the thing's limp corpse from atop Artus, even with him straining against its bulk from below.

"Was anybody hurt?" the explorer puffed as he climbed out from under one ragged wing. He looked around. A few injured warriors were being helped away, but they were still walking.

A young boy stared at the explorer in awe. "Nobody was hurt too bad," he said. "You bounced enough times for everyone to run."

Artus rubbed his shoulder. The scuffle hadn't done much good for the arrow wound he'd gotten at the Batiri camp. "Have you seen Ras T'fima?"

"I can take you right to him," the boy shouted happily. Lifting a small, round shield of studded leather over his head, he hurried away. Every few steps he looked back, to be sure the explorer was still with him.

They found T'fima near the edge of the maze of buildings and alleys that made up the Residential Quarter. The boy took one look at the mage, nodded to Artus, and ran back toward the temple. T'fima was as volatile as ever, shouting instructions at anyone who got close and gesturing broadly with his fat-fingered hands. Bits of gravel clung to his tightly curled hair, and dirt covered his tobe.

A small army of old people, wounded warriors, and very young children flooded past T'fima on their way to their homes. It would be safer for them there, since the goblins would surely get lost in the twisting, turning streets. In case any Batiri got past the contingent guarding the district, a handful of warriors were passing out clubs and daggers to the people who could wield them. Artus had no doubt the goblins would be in for quite a surprise if they ventured into the narrow lanes.

T'fima himself had a globe of blue light caught between his hands. He lifted it gently over his head, as if it were wrought of some fragile crystal, then let it go. The globe floated there until the sorcerer pointed toward a group of one-eyed goblins massing for an attack. With a high, shrill whistle, the light flew toward the Batiri. It struck them, but didn't explode or burst into flames, as Artus had expected. The globe splashed over the first dozen goblins like soft summer rain. After the shock wore off, the stunned cannibals laughed and raised their spears.

In a show of contempt, T'fima turned his back on the Batiri and went about directing the defense of the Residential Quarter. Artus drew his dagger and moved to intercept the goblin pack before it could take advantage of the sorcerer's bravado.

Yet as soon as the Batiri took a step forward, blue light began to leak from their empty eye sockets. Their leader tried to shout an order, but only magical radiance poured out over his black tongue. He seemed to choke on it, dropping his spear to clutch helplessly at his throat. The others never got the chance to shout. Before they could open their mouths, they burst like overfull wineskins, their corpses disappearing in a flash of blue before the first drop of blood hit the ground.