Guss vanished.
The others stared in astonishment. One moment the gargoyle was there, standing beside them, and the next moment he
wasn't.
There was no flash, no thunder, no sparkling magic. Guss had simply and completely disappeared. Humming an eerie tune under his breath, Halaster took the figurine of the golden-haired man and, stretching his arm, set it down in the model, on the edge of a chasm.
This time it was Corin who vanished.
This display before them was not merely a model of Undermountain's levels-it
was
Undermountain. By means of his vast magic, Halaster had bound the miniature and the real mazes inexorably together and what happened in one labyrinth happened in the other. Given his madness, Halaster probably thought this no more than a game. He was like a cruel boy burning his toy soldiers for fun, but each of the figurines he manipulated represented real, living beings: animals, monsters, and men. And now he had created five new figurines to add to his amusing little playhouse.
Artek lunged for the model to snatch up the likenesses of Guss and Corin, hoping that would return them to the laboratory. A thin sheet of crimson magic sprang into being between him and the table, throwing him violently backward. He clambered to his feet in time to see the mad wizard place the tiny skull figurine in a chamber next to a green pool. In the blink of an eye, Muragh was gone.
This time Artek lunged for the wizard himself. Once again crimson magic flashed, tossing him backward like a rag doll. Unperturbed, Halaster set the figurine of the short-haired woman in a chamber lined in shining silver. Beckla shouted in horror, but her cry was cut short as she vanished from sight. Artek watched in dread as Halaster took the remaining figurine-the man in black-and reached toward the model. Though he knew it was futile, once more Artek threw himself at the ancient mage. He was only halfway there when, laughing with wicked glee, Halaster set the figurine atop a miniature stone column. Everything blurred into gray.
The elemental was mesmerizing, even beautiful. He almost thought he could see a lithe figure whirling in the center of the white-hot corona. He supposed it was better this way. It was wrong to live on after all his brethren had passed into stone, but now it would not be much longer. Behind him, the stone wall began to sag. Rivulets of liquid rock dripped downward. Searing pain filled Guss's body as the fire elemental danced nearer. Just a few more moments. Then he would return to the stone that had spawned him. Like the wall, he, too, began to melt.
With white-knuckled hands he clung to the edge of a precipice. Darkness yawned beneath his feet. Somewhere far, far below he could hear the sound of water, but it was a long way down. His boots scrabbled against the cliff face, but it was no use. The stone was too smooth. He tried to pull himself up, but the darkness seemed to drag him downward. There wasn't enough strength in his arms and what little remained was quickly waning.
At last, his fingers could hold on to the sharp edge no longer. His hands started to slip, then let go. His last thought was of how he wished he'd had a chance to say good-bye to Artek and the others. Then he plunged downward, falling into deep-but not endless-darkness.
"Of course you're staring, you ninny," he muttered to himself. "You're a skull. You don't have eyelids. Staring is all you
can
do."
Even before the emerald fluid touched the old bones of a nameless creature-dissolving them in an instant-Muragh had known it was acid. He had hopped and rolled as far as possible to the edge of the small, circular stone room, but he could go no farther. The acid continued to rise.
"I wonder if it can hurt to die when you're already dead?" he asked himself nervously.
With every second, the edge of the hissing pool drew nearer. It looked as if he was about to find out.
Countless faces leered at her from the jagged, shardlike mirrors that covered the walls, floor, and ceiling of the chamber-all horribly distorted. Bloated, bloodshot eyes stared at her, and twisted mouths laughed in silent mockery. They were hideous. Yet still more hideous was the knowledge that the faces were her own, each one a broken reflection of her own horrified visage.
Beckla spun dizzily, but in every direction the horrid, shattered faces gazed back at her. Screaming, she sank to the floor, and the sharp-edged mirrors that covered it sliced her knees. She tried shutting her eyes, but that made it even worse, for then she could feel all the loathsome eyes boring into her flesh. She opened her eyes and reeled again. It felt as if at any moment her mind would shatter like the crazed mirrors, breaking into a thousand distorted pieces from which a whole could never again be reconstructed. She had to get out but could see no doorway. Only eyes, mouths, and faces, faces, faces.
Sobbing, she hunched over. As she did, a reflection caught her eye. A thought pierced the growing madness that clutched her brain. Perhaps there was a way after all.
He was in a vast, dimly lit hall. A line of freestanding columns stretched in either direction, each perhaps ten paces apart. Like the one Artek stood upon, all ended abruptly, supporting nothing but thin air. If there was a ceiling to this place, it was lost in the gloom above. With his orcish eyes, he could just make out the floor of the hall below. It was writhing. Even without his darkvision he could have guessed the nature of the slithering shadows by the dry hissing that rose on the air-snakes. There were hundreds of them, thousands. And more than a few of them were probably venomous.
Glancing down at the dark tattoo on his forearm, he saw that the sun was nearly touching the arrow now. Dawn was just minutes away. And his death with it.
Artek flinched at a sudden, reverberating
boom!
There was a long moment of silence, followed by a second crash. Then came another, and another. His jaw fell in grim surprise. It looked as if something else were going to kill him first.
The pillars were falling. Even as he watched, one of the columns farther down the line tilted in his direction and struck the column next to it with a thunderous cracking of stone, causing this column to begin to fall as well. It was a chain reaction-one by one, they were all going to topple.
The tenth column from him began to fall. Then the ninth. He turned, took as much of a running start as the constraining surface allowed, then leapt to the top of the next pillar. Letting his momentum carry him forward, he tensed his legs and sprang to the pinnacle of the next pillar in line. Behind him, the columns continued to topple. The seventh farthest from him fell. Then the sixth. He kept jumping.
His lungs burned with effort. The fourth column behind him crashed to the floor, and then the third. He could not jump fast enough-the columns were gaining on him. A few seconds more and he would crash to the snake-strewn floor below with a thousand tons of stone. Then he saw it hovering in midair just ahead: a glowing square filled with billowing gray mist. He blinked in confusion. How could this be?
There was a deafening crash and the stone beneath his feet gave a violent shudder. He fell sprawling to the top of the pillar and nearly went flying over the side. He gripped the edge, hauling himself back up. As he did, the column tilted wildly, then began to trace a smooth, fatal arc toward the floor below. The pillar was falling.
With a desperate cry, Artek sprang up and forward with all of his strength. For a terrified moment, he thought he wasn't going to make it, but then his body broke the surface of the gate, and he fell down into gray emptiness.
As before, his body seemed to dissolve away. He had no substance, no flesh-only a naked, quivering consciousness to be flayed raw by the bitter cold. Thankfully, the horrible sensation lasted only a second. There was a flash. The reek of lightning filled his nostrils, and he fell hard to a stone floor. Groaning, he pulled himself to his feet.
A trio of trolls stood before him.
They reached out with long arms, baring countless filthy, pointy teeth. With a cry of alarm, Artek fumbled for the cursed saber at his hip and drew it with a ring of steel. He did not wait for the trolls to attack first. He swung the saber, striking the arm of one of the creatures. The limb snapped with a brittle sound and fell to the floor. The troll did not so much as blink. Its companions were equally still. Artek stared in puzzlement.
Cautiously, he approached the creatures, tapping one with his saber. It tottered, then fell backward. As it struck the floor, it shattered.
Clay, Artek realized in amazement. The trolls were made of clay. The cursed saber did not compel him to attack the harmless figures. As he stared down at the broken monster, he noticed that the floor looked odd. He scratched the stones with the point of the saber, and a thick line of gray curled up, revealing brown wood below. It was paint. What was going on here?
Before Artek could think of an answer, there was a sizzling sound as a gate appeared in the air above. A form dropped through, landing on the floor with a soft
oof!
It was Beckla. He quickly helped the wizard to her feet as the gate flashed into nonexistence. The wizard's brown eyes were wide and staring, almost mad. At last she shuddered and looked at Artek.
"Where are the others?" she gasped.
Even as she said this, three more gates crackled into existence. Each spat out a single figure before vanishing. Corin and Guss groggily picked themselves up, while Muragh rolled in a dizzy circle.
The young nobleman blinked in bewilderment. "I don't understand. I was plummeting to my death. Then a gray square appeared below me and I fell into it and… and here I am."
"I was about to be melted into slag when the same thing happened to me," Guss said with a shudder. Wisps of smoke still wafted from his scaly hide.
"And I was on the verge of being dissolved into skull soup," Muragh said in a quavering voice.
"What is going on?" Artek wondered. "Where are we?"
"We're in Undermountain," Beckla said in awe.
"I can see that," Artek replied dryly.
"No, not the real Undermountain," Beckla countered. Her forehead crinkled in a frown. "Though I suppose we
are
there, too."
"Make up your mind," Artek said.
"Don't you see?" Beckla circled the chamber, studying the clay trolls, the painted walls, the wooden floor. "We're inside the miniature." She waited for the others to absorb this fact and then went on.
"It was the Horned Ring," the wizard explained. "I thought that if each of us still had a ruby from the ring, there was a chance it might be able to gate us all to the same place. So I concentrated on Halaster's cavern as I invoked the ring. And it worked. It brought us all here." She ran a hand through her short hair, gazing around. "Only something went wrong. The magic that binds Halaster's model of Undermountain must permeate the entire cavern. I think there must have been some strange interaction between the Horned Ring and that magic."
In shock, Artek stared at the clay trolls. He had thought them to be statues, but now he knew that wasn't so. They were figurines-the kind with which Halaster populated his model of Undermountain. This entire room was no more than a few inches long.
"By all the bloodiest gods!" he shouted, whirling to look at Beckla. "Do you mean to tell me that each of us is now the size of one of Halaster's figurines?"
The wizard nodded grimly. "In a word, yes. And I imagine that, somewhere in Undermountain, there are now five life-sized clay replicas of us, falling off cliffs and getting dissolved by acid. Somehow the interference between the model and the ring has caused us to switch places with our figurines."
Artek staggered, leaning against a painted paper column for support-this was too much. "At least it won't be much work to bury me," he said in a slightly manic voice. "No need to dig six feet. Six inches will do fine."
"Wait a minute," Corin said. The nobleman paced quickly back and forth, his face lined in thought. "This might not be as bad as it seems."
"Apparently, you have a better imagination than I do," Beckla noted dubiously.
"Actually, my idea is really rather simple," Corin went on. "Halaster seems to have taken great care in making this miniature an exact working replica of Undermountain. Don't you see?" He paused meaningfully. "It's perfect
in every way."
"Spit it out, Corin!" Muragh griped. "What are you getting at?"
Artek looked at the young man in astonishment. "I see what Corin means," he said. "Wish Gate!"
"Indubitably!" Corin cried.
"Of course!" Beckla exclaimed. "Halaster has taken almost pathological care in recreating every detail in this model-there's no reason to believe that the miniature Wish Gate won't act just like the real one."
Artek glanced up. Hadn't each of the models been roofless? All he saw above them was a hazy, red-gold glow. He turned to the gargoyle. "Guss, do you think you can fly up and see if you can spot Wish Gate?" Guss nodded enthusiastically. Stubby wings flapping, he rose into the air.
Crimson magic crackled. The gargoyle let out a yelp of pain and dropped back to the floor.
"The magical barrier," Beckla groaned. "It must work from the inside as well as out. Only Halaster can move something in and out of the model."
Artek was not about to give up so easily. "Well, we'll just have to find our way out of this level the hard way, like mice in a maze. Come on!" Forcing himself not to look at the tattoo on his arm, he kicked open the door and dashed into the painted hallway beyond. The others were right on his heels.
They ran down corridors painted in imitation of damp, moldy stone, passing countless figurines: monsters with glass splinter fangs, wizards gripping toothpick staves, and heroes wielding sewing-needle swords. Artek let his orcish instincts guide him as he tried to home in on their target. Finally, he came to a halt, and the others stopped, panting.
"We've been making steady headway in one direction this whole time," he said between breaths. "We've got to be near the edge of the maze by now."
Guss walked up to the wall before them, eyed it critically, then lashed out with a clawed fist. His hand punched through paint and wood. Ruddy light poured through the opening. "Looks like you're right, Artek," the gargoyle said with a grin.
Artek peered through the opening. Guss had punched through an outer wall and they were indeed on one edge of the maze. Just beneath was the edge of the table upon which this level sat. Beyond that, the drop to the floor below seemed hundreds of feet, not the three or four he knew it to be.
"Help me widen this," he said, tearing away a chunk of wood.
The others lent their hands to the task, and in moments the opening was wide enough for them to crawl through. Once on the other side, they balanced precariously on the edge of the table.
"Hey, how come we haven't turned big again now that we're outside the model?" Muragh asked in annoyance.
Beckla answered his question. "I don't think we'll return to our normal size until we're finally out of Undermountain-that should break the connection between us and our figurines."
"There!" Corin said, pointing across what seemed a vast gap to the next nearest table. "I think that's the table that holds the model of the Wish Gate level."
Artek shook his head doubtfully. "I suppose it's no more than three feet to that table, but it might as well be a mile. How are we ever going to get across?"
"Guss the gargoyle, at your service," Guss announced cheerfully. He hovered over them, leathery wings flapping. "I hope you don't mind, but I'll have to take you one at a time."
Their laughter fell short as a gigantic shadow loomed over them, blotting out the light. A great craggy moon rose over the model, two smaller pale spheres embedded in its surface. Only after a second did Artek realize that it was not a moon at all but Halaster's wrinkled face. The wizard was bending over his model. A gigantic, wrinkled hand stretched in their direction. They cowered against the wall of the maze as the hand loomed nearer. One careless swipe, and they would be flattened like bugs. Artek clenched his jaw, trying not to scream.
The hand hovered directly above them, then continued on, reaching to manipulate some objects elsewhere in the maze. Artek forced himself to breathe again. Halaster had not seen them. But they might not be so lucky next time-they had to hurry.
Artek tried not to think about the seconds slipping away as Guss valiantly ferried each of the others across the gap to the other table. Finally, it was Artek's turn. Though Guss was clearly growing tired, he did not complain, and at last set Artek down gently on the table's edge. They shrank into the corner between wall and tabletop for a moment, but no shadow loomed above. Apparently, Halaster had not noticed their little adventure.
The magical barrier had prevented Guss from setting them down within the maze, so Beckla blasted a hole in the wall of the model with a spell. They crawled through the smoking gap, into the labyrinth beyond.
"You got the closest look at the model, Corin," Artek said. "You lead the way."
For a moment, a look of uncertainty crossed Corin's face. Then-with visible effort-he squared his shoulders and nodded. "All right, follow me."
Artek grinned. Two days ago, Corin would never have accepted such a responsibility-the young lord had grown on this journey.
Ignoring their weariness, they ran down painted hallways and punched through doors of stiff paper. Nothing stood in their way now. They were almost to Wish Gate.
They turned the corner and found themselves facing a gigantic white beast with blood-red eyes. It gnashed its long, yellow teeth and saliva trickled from the corner of its mouth. The five stared in horror. This was no clay figurine.
Emitting a high-pitched squeak, the creature lumbered toward them, dragging a pink, ropelike tail behind. Understanding broke through Artek's terrified stupor-this was no monstrous abomination of the underworld. It was Fang, Halaster's pet mouse. But the creature was now thrice their size, making it a monster indeed. It seemed angry at their intrusion upon its territory. Its claws scrabbled against the floor, gouging the gray paint. Baring its razor-sharp teeth, it lunged for them.
With a roar, Guss lashed out an arm, swiping Fang's pink nose with his talons. The mouse squealed in pain, raising its bloodied snout into the air. The five dashed into a side chamber. They shut the stiff paste-and-paper door, hoping it was enough to keep the mouse at bay. A moment later, they heard a scratching outside.