Beckla bit her lower lip. "I think he's telling the truth, Artek."
"Have pity on the poor chap, Ar'talen," Corin added worriedly. "He's been through a great deal."
Artek glowered at the skull. At last he sighed in exasperation. "All right, I believe you, Muragh. We won't go looking for Muiral. The truth is, I really don't care to face any more of those wraith spiders." He shook his head. "But if we can't go to Muiral for help, where are we going to find another one of Halaster's apprentices?"
"Actually, I have an idea," Muragh said cheerfully. The skull leapt from Artek's hands, fell to the floor, and rolled toward the doorway. "Well, don't just stand there," he said in annoyance. "Open the door. In case you hadn't noticed, I don't have hands."
The three exchanged dubious looks. At last Artek shrugged. Following a talking skull seemed an unlikely way to escape from this maze, but he supposed they had little choice. He unlocked the door, then scooped Muragh into his arms as they headed out into the corridor.
"We need to be very careful here," Muragh said in a hollow whisper. "Right now we're on the edge of Muiral's Gauntlet."
"Muiral's Gauntlet?" Artek asked softly.
"Is there an echo in here?" Muragh replied acidly. "Yes, Muiral's Gauntlet. The room where you encountered the wraith spiders is part of it, but only a small part, and not the worst. Not by far." The skull whistled sadly through his teeth. "Muiral's quite mad, of course. Searching for his master and failing addled his brain. What little sanity he still possessed after that was destroyed when he grafted himself onto that giant spider's body. These days his only pleasure comes from toying with the victims he gates down from the surface. He sends them into his Gauntlet and watches to see how far they can get through the maze of dangers he's created."
"Let me guess," Beckla said uncomfortably. "No one ever makes it out of Muiral's Gauntlet alive."
Muragh grinned, despite his lack of flesh. "Well, Muiral certainly wouldn't think it very much fun if they did."
"So where are we going, if not into the Gauntlet?" Artek asked nervously.
"This way." The skull tugged at Artek's hands, leading him toward the mouth of a side tunnel. "Before I ended up here, I got caught inside a gelatinous cube. Not a fun experience, by the way-very cold and slimy. It was the cube that brought me into Muiral's Gauntlet. I remember the path by which it slithered here. And I recall seeing something very interesting along the way."
Artek glanced sharply at the skull. "Something interesting? What is it?"
"You'll see," Muragh replied mysteriously.
After this the skull became unusually reticent. Artek decided not to press for more answers, but rather to enjoy the quiet. His ears were ringing from Muragh's previous chatter. He walked stealthily down the narrow passageway, following the tugs and jerks of the skull in his hands, as Beckla and Corin came behind. Unfortunately, after the acid pit and the fire in the spider room, the wizard's staff was a lost cause. However, it seemed she could make do without it, for a wisp of blue magelight danced on her outstretched hand, lighting the way for the group.
Guided by Muragh's tugging, they traveled through a tortuous series of dank corridors and murky chambers. Before long Artek lost all sense of direction. At first, here and there, they encountered glowing wisps of green webs dangling from the ceiling, and from time to time they caught a whiff of the same evil scent that had permeated the wraith spider lair. However, as they progressed, they soon left all traces of the eerie webs and spiders behind. Though still dark and stifling, the air here was no longer so oppressive and menacing. The three humans found themselves breathing a little easier. It seemed Muragh knew what he was doing.
Artek glanced down at the tattoo on his arm. The moon had passed the arrow now. In the world above, night had fallen. Not that it really mattered-it was always night down here.
"How much farther, Muragh?" Artek asked quietly.
"We're close now," the skull piped up brightly. "And you can quit whispering, you know. We left Muiral's territory behind ages ago."
"Maybe I like whispering," Artek replied.
"Suit yourself," Muragh sniffed.
Artek started to clench his hands. How much force would it take to shatter an old skull, he wondered?
"Hey, stop that!" Muragh complained. "You're giving me a headache!"
By force of will, Artek managed to keep his fingers from squeezing. "Sorry," he grumbled.
"I'm touched by your sincerity," the skull quipped sarcastically. "Now turn left here."
They passed through an archway and found themselves descending a narrow spiral staircase. The steps were slick and treacherous. Several cracked beneath Artek's boots, and one gave way completely when Corin trod upon it. If not for Beckla's quick hand pulling him back, the nobleman would have crashed into Artek, and both would have gone tumbling breakneck down the steep staircase. The steps seemed without end as they delved deeper into the darkness.
Finally the staircase stopped, and they stepped through an opening into a passageway so broad that it was not so much a corridor as an avenue. A line of basalt columns ran down the center of the hall, supporting the arched ceiling high above. The columns were skillfully carved into the shapes of trees, conjuring the illusion of walking down a sylvan boulevard under the shadows of dusk.
Artek let out a low whistle, turning his head to try to take in the grandeur of the subterranean road. "I'll give Halaster one thing-he knew how to think big."
"Actually, Halaster didn't build this passage," Muragh said. "It's even older than the mad wizard. This road was built by dwarves of the clan Melairkyn. In ancient days, they constructed an entire city here, called Underhall, far beneath the surface."
"What happened to them?" Beckla murmured in awe.
"No one knows for certain," Muragh replied. "They disappeared centuries before Halaster stumbled onto their delvings in the course of his excavations. Most likely they were slain by the duergar-dark dwarves who skulked in these halls until Halaster showed up. He decided he wanted Underhall for himself. Not being keen on sharing, Halaster eradicated the duergar like so many rats. After that, Underhall became part of Undermountain proper."
Artek took a deep breath. The weight of years hung heavily on this place. He almost could hear the ghostly ring of hammers, drifting in the air like echoes from the past.
"Is this what you wanted to show us, Muragh?" he asked.
"No, over there," the skull said, clacking his jaw in the direction of one of the stone columns.
Artek and the others approached the column. Scratched into the dark stone were several lines of strange, flowing writing. Beneath the writing was an arrow that pointed down the ancient road. The words looked somehow familiar, but Artek could not make them out. Whatever it was, it wasn't written in the common tongue. He shook his head, his annoyance growing.
"Muragh," he warned, "please don't tell me that you brought us all this way just to look at thousand-year-old markings."
"What's wrong with you, Ar'talen?" Muragh complained. "Can't you read what it says?"
"No, I can't," Artek snapped. He glanced questioningly at Beckla.
"Don't look at me," the wizard told him. "I can't read it either. Though I'm willing to bet it's a naughty poem," she added with a disgusted glance at the skull.
"Excuse me," Corin said suddenly, pushing past them to get a closer look at the column. He peered at the words with his blue eyes, then clapped his hands excitedly. "Oh, this is absolutely fascinating!"
Artek and Beckla stared in shock at the nobleman.
"You can read this, Corin?" Artek asked.
"Of course," Corin replied smoothly, as if it were a silly question. "It's written in Thorass."
"Thorass?"
"That's right," the nobleman said. "Thorass, also known as Auld Common. It's the tongue our ancestors spoke long ago, and from which the current common tongue is derived. I learned to read it as a child, studying the old Silvertor family history. It goes back centuries, you know. In fact, it all started when-"
"I'm sure your family's story is enthralling, Corin," Artek interrupted. "But we're in a bit of a hurry. Do you think you could just tell us what this says?"
Corin studied the words a moment more, then nodded to himself. " 'On this, the fiftieth day of our search for our master, came we to this place,' " he translated.
"That's it?" Artek asked.
"That's it," Corin confirmed. "Oh, except for this." He pointed to the last two lines of writing. "The message is signed,
Talastria and Orannon."
"And who are they?" Beckla wondered.
Artek made a leap of intuition. "I think I know," he said. "The message says that they came here in search of their master. Who could that be, except for Halaster himself? So Talastria and Orannon were two of his apprentices."
"Whew!" Muragh groaned. "I thought you were never going to get it!"
"You could have just told us, you know," Artek noted caustically.
"What? And spoil all your fun?"
Artek bit his tongue. It wasn't worth a reply. The important thing was that they had found the ancient trail of two of Halaster's apprentices.
"Come on," Artek said. "This arrow must indicate the direction the apprentices were traveling in. If we follow, we may find what became of them-and maybe a way out, too."
Together, they hurried down the underground avenue in the direction the arrow had indicated. Clouds of thick dust settled sluggishly in their wake. Their shadows, conjured by Beckla's pale magelight, rippled across the passage's walls like weird giants from an ancient nightmare. Artek tried not to look at them-this was an eerie place. In silence they continued on as countless tree-columns slipped by.
It was Beckla who saw the words scratched into the wall beside a keyhole-shaped archway. The stones of the arch itself were oddly scorched and cracked.
" 'It took us many days to destroy the fire elementals that barred this door,' " Corin translated slowly. "But now the way is clear, and our search continues, on this the fifty-sixth day of our quest.' "
As before, the message was signed
Talastria and Orannon.
Beneath it, an arrow pointed through the archway. They stepped through the opening and into a dim corridor. Artek shivered. It was strange to be retracing the ancient steps of the two lost apprentices. Steeling his will, he started down the corridor. The others followed. After the loftiness of the main avenue, this passage was cramped and forbidding-apparently, it had been a lesser way of Underhall. Dark water dripped down the smooth stone walls and trickled across the floor. Unconsciously, the three humans drew closer together.
When they came to a flight of stairs, an arrow scratched into the wall pointed down. Talastria and Orannon had come this way. Artek led the others down a hundred slimy steps before the corridor leveled out and continued on again through the darkness.
"What are all these strange silvery marks on the wall?" Corin wondered aloud. Though he spoke in a whisper, the sound of his voice hissed uncomfortably around the corridor. No one had an answer for him.
Four more times they came to a flight of steps, each longer than the one before. At the head of every stairway, an arrow indicated that the two apprentices had descended it. Breathless, they reached the bottom of the fifth flight only after Artek had counted five hundred steps. It was there that they finally learned the answer to Corin's question. Another message was scratched into the hard surface of the wall.
" 'We know not what day of our search this is, for all sense of time was lost to us in the arduous battle for the five stairs,' " Corin said, reading the ancient inscription. " 'Upon every step of every stair waited a fiend of the underworld, conjured by our master's magic. To gain but a single step, we were forced to slay a slavering fiend. We destroyed a hundred on the first stair, two hundred on the next. Never did we stop-save to rest briefly and restore our magic-until we destroyed the five hundredth fiend on the fifth and final stair. We are both gravely wounded from the ordeal, yet surely only something of the greatest worth could lie beyond such a terrible barrier. It is our belief that the end of our search is near at last. And surely, once we find our master, he will make us whole once more.' "
"A fiend on every step," Beckla echoed with a shudder. "It must have taken the apprentices years to get past these stairs. The silvery marks on the walls must be scars left from the spells they cast to destroy the creatures."
Artek nodded grimly. "Let's see what they found at the end of their search."
It was not much farther. After a hundred paces, the corridor ended in a pair of massive stone doors. Emblazoned on the door were letters of gold. The letters spelled out two words that they all now easily recognized:
Talastria
and
Orannon.
The group exchanged uneasy looks, and Artek pushed on the doors. They swung open easily. Beckla held out her hand, and the flickering magelight illuminated the long chamber beyond.
The sides of the chamber were littered with countless fragments of stone. Only after a moment did Artek realize that some of the fragments were shaped like clawed hands, others like leathery wings, and still others like grotesque heads-they were parts of gargoyles. Dozens of them had once lined the chamber, but now they were smashed to bits. At the far end of the room was a dais of dark stone, and on the dais rested two oblong boxes hewn of porphyry. No, not boxes, Artek realized. Sarcophagi.