Beckla shot him a scathing look. "And here I thought thieves were supposed to be dexterous and graceful."
"Everyone has their off days," Artek snapped.
With a wet, sickening sound, a blister in the opposite wall burst open. A twisted form climbed out, trailing sticky strings of ichor-an Outcast. It was a thing of grotesque distortion, all bubbling flesh, rubbery limbs, and glistening organs fused together in the vaguest mockery of a human form. Bulging eyes sprouting from a half-exposed brain focused malevolently on the three humans. The misshapen creature began dragging itself toward them.
Another straining blister exploded, then another, and another. All around the chamber, Outcasts pulled their slimy bodies out of the walls and floor. Each lurched, jumped, or slithered forward as best suited its own contorted shape. A score of lopsided mouths grinned evilly, revealing countless teeth as sharp as glass shards.
The Outcasts advanced, and Artek and Beckla
retreated toward the boiling pit. Corin cringed behind them, whimpering softly. At least the twit was no longer blathering, Artek thought darkly. It was small consolation.
Artek came to a halt, his boot heel on the very edge of the pit. He bent down cautiously and snatched up the golden box before it could topple over the rim. Eyeing the bubbling vat warily, Beckla lowered the end of her staff into the green liquid. There was a hiss and a puff of acrid smoke. Hastily she pulled out the staff, and her eyes went wide. The end had completely dissolved away.
"I think we're in trouble, Artek," she gulped.
"You don't say?" he said caustically.
The Outcasts closed in.
"Quick, Artek!" Beckla shouted. "You've got to open the gate!" She thrust her staff forward. A bolt of blue energy shot out, striking an Outcast only a few paces away. The thing let out an inhuman shriek, its flesh smoking, but it continued to lurch toward them.
"I hope I don't have to know any magic words to use this thing," Artek muttered. This time he wrenched the lid open by force, breaking the finely wrought gold latch.
Instantly a small silvery disk rose out of the box. The disk grew swiftly, floating in midair, until it was as wide as Artek's arms. Through its shimmering surface he could just make out an image: the stone walls of the alley where he had parted ways with Melthis and Darien Thal.
There was no time for hesitation.
"Jump!" Artek shouted.
He grabbed Beckla's and Corin's hands and threw himself toward the disk. At the same moment the Outcasts lunged for them, and a rubbery hand brushed Artek's arm. Then he broke the surface of the shimmering disk and fell through the gate, dragging the others with him. It felt exactly as if they had plunged into icy water. The dim scene of the alley wavered before them, drawing nearer, as if they were slowly surfacing from the bottom of a cold, deep pool.
Then, with a terrible wrenching sensation, the vision of the alley was torn away. The three spun wildly, as if caught in a fierce riptide. Artek cried out, feeling Corin's hand separate from his own, but his voice made no sound in the frigid void. The cold sliced his flesh and splintered his bones. Then all sensation vanished as the three plunged downward into endless darkness.
Until now.
A throbbing hum resonated in the air, shattering the ancient silence. A brilliant silver line appeared in the dusky air, causing shadows to flee to the corners of the room and cower. Crackling, the silver line widened into a jagged rift. Three large shapes tumbled out of the gap. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the blazing gate folded inward upon itself and vanished. The sharp smell of lightning lingered in the stale air.
With a groan, Artek pulled himself to his feet and shook his head dizzily. Only once before had he ever felt this groggy, and that had involved a jug of blood-wine, a half-orc barmaid, and a dance called The Dead Goblin. After a moment, his darkvision adjusted, and he saw Beckla sprawled on the stones some distance away. Hastily he moved to the wizard, fearing that the fall had injured her, but his sharp ears caught a muttered string of strikingly graphic curses and oaths. He grinned, his slightly pointed teeth glowing in the darkness. Beckla was just fine.
Gripping the wizard's hand, he hauled her to her feet. Wavering blue light flared to life on the end of her staff, illuminating the chamber. Nightmarish friezes covered the walls, and grotesque statues lurked in the corners. Artek shuddered. Whatever this place was, it had been created by a mad and evil genius.
Beckla spoke with a frown. "Granted, it's been a while since I've been to the surface, but this doesn't exactly look like the streets of Waterdeep to me."
"I don't understand," Artek replied in confusion. "When I opened the gate, I saw the alley where I left Darien Thal. We were heading right toward it. And then…" He shook his head, trying to remember the disorienting seconds after they had jumped through the gate.
Beckla gazed at one of the friezes. The stone relief depicted a tangled mass of writhing bodies tumbling into a jagged pit. Nervously, she looked away. "I have a very bad feeling about this," she said grimly.
"You're not the only one," Artek gulped.
Beckla looked around in the dim light. "So what happened to the lump? I mean, the
lord?"
Artek glanced about. "Silvertor let go of my hand as we passed through the gate," he said. "The fool could have landed anywhere nearby."
Suddenly, a cry of fear emanated from one of the shadowed corners of the chamber.
"Help! Help!" a voice wailed piteously. "I've been caught by a terrible monster! It's going to eat me! Please, somebody-help!"
Artek and Beckla exchanged looks of alarm, then dashed toward the corner. Artek's hand dropped to the hilt of his saber, while Beckla gripped her staff tightly. Artek swore inwardly. That foppish young lord was his one ticket to freedom-and to continued life. If the fool had managed to get into trouble already, Artek was going to… well, he wasn't going to
kill
Silvertor-he needed the lord alive-but he would come up with something
extremely
unpleasant.
Artek and Beckla reached the opposite corner of the chamber. The wizard's magelight pierced the gloom to reveal Lord Corin Silvertor, flailing wildly in midair, hanging by his coat from the jaws of a huge beast. His pale face was agape with terror. In the shadows behind him loomed a terrifying, evil shape that looked like a cross between a lizard and a wolf. For a frozen second, Artek stared in horror. Then laughter rumbled in his chest. Next to him, Beckla burst into peals of mirth.
"What's wrong with you two?" Corin cried fearfully. "Can't you see that the dastardly monster has got me! So far I've been able to hold the foul beast at bay with my bare hands, but I don't think that I can stave it off much longer! You've got to help me. Please!"
This was too much for Artek and Beckla. They leaned against each other, shoulders shaking, howling with laughter. Corin gaped at them in terror and confusion. Then, aided by Beckla's glowing blue magelight, realization gradually dawned on him.
The monster was made of stone. In the soft light emanating from Beckla's staff, the thing was clearly revealed to be a statue. Cracks covered its dusty shape, and one of its gnarled legs had been snapped off and lay nearby. The collar of Corin's velvet coat had snagged on a sharp tooth in the statue's gaping lower jaw, suspending the nobleman in midair. Apparently it had caught him when he tumbled out of the gate.
"Well, isn't this awkward," Corin said sheepishly.
"For you, at least," Beckla snorted.
The nobleman gave her a wounded look but said nothing.
Artek scrambled up the basalt statue and perched on its flat skull. He drew a dagger from his boot and cut the fold of blue velvet that had snagged the stone tooth. With a yelp, Corin fell to the floor, and Beckla helped the stunned lord to his feet. The nobleman did his best to arrange his expensive clothes, but they were torn and smeared with dark slime. He brushed his long, pale hair away from his high forehead.
"You could have warned me before you cut my coat, you know," he said indignantly as Artek lightly hopped down from the statue.
"I know," Artek said amiably, slipping the dagger back into his boot.
Corin's blue eyes grew large at this impertinence. He stared at Artek and Beckla, then swallowed hard. "You two aren't dangerous, are you?"
Beckla smiled nastily. "As a matter of fact, we are."
Fear blanched Corin's boyishly handsome face.
Artek shot Beckla an annoyed look, then turned back toward the nobleman. "Don't worry, Silvertor. We may be dangerous, but we came here to rescue you. This is Beckla Shadesar. You can tell she's a wizard by her peculiar notion of humor. She's on the run from her old master, who she turned into a green slime. And I'm-" He licked his lips nervously. Why didn't this ever get any easier? "I'm Artek Ar'talen."
A strangled sound of fear and surprise escaped Corin's throat, and he hastily backed away. "You're Artek the Knife?"
"Oh, get over it," Artek growled.
Apparently this was easier said than done. Corin shrank against a wall, hand to his mouth, staring at his rescuers in turn, as if trying to decide of which he should be the more afraid. Artek turned his back on the nobleman; they had other matters to worry about.
"So where do you think we are?" he asked Beckla. "The gate could have transported us anywhere on the continent of Faerun."
She shook her head. "I'm not certain. But I have an idea. And I don't much care for it."
"What is it?"
"I'll show you."
The wizard bent down and picked up a loose pebble from the crumbling floor. Laying it on her outstretched palm, she murmured an incantation. A pale white aura flickered around the pebble. Beckla drew in a deep breath, then blew on the stone. The aura vanished. The pebble was dark and ordinary once again.
"I was afraid of that," Beckla sighed.
"Am I supposed to be impressed?" Artek asked dubiously.
She scowled at him. "As a matter of fact, you are. I just cast a spell of teleportation on the pebble."
"But it's still here."
"Exactly. That's because the walls of this place are imbued with an enchantment to prevent anything from magically transporting in or out."
"Wait a minute," Artek protested in confusion. "The walls of
what
place?"
Beckla spoke a single grim word.
"Undermountain."
Artek swore an oath. Instinctively, he knew the wizard was right. This place had the same oppressive feel as the rest of Undermountain. No, it was even stronger.
"The enchantment is Halaster's doing," Beckla went on. "The mad wizard wanted to make certain no one found an easy way out of his maze."
"So how deep are we?" Artek asked hoarsely.
"Let's find out," Beckla replied without relish.
She whispered another incantation over the pebble, and it began to glow again. With a final word of magic, she cast the pebble into the air. It did not fall, but floated high above them.
"The ceiling represents the surface world, and the floor the very bottom of Undermountain," Beckla explained. "The pebble will tell us where we are now."
The wizard made an intricate gesture with her hand. The pebble began to descend. It continued to sink slowly as they watched in growing alarm. At last it came to a halt halfway between floor and ceiling.
"Is that very deep?" Artek asked nervously.
Beckla nodded. "If we were still in the halls where we met, the pebble would be no more than a foot below the ceiling." A haunted look crept into her brown eyes. "I don't think anyone has ever been this deep in Undermountain before. At least, not any who lived to tell about it."
Cold dread filled Artek's stomach. "But that's impossible," he said emphatically. "You said that we couldn't teleport out of the maze. You didn't say that a gate would fail as well!"
"A gate is different from a teleport spell, Artek." Beckla fixed him with a piercing look. "It should have worked. What did you do?"
"It wasn't me!" he said defensively.
"Well,
somebody
did something."
At this Artek nodded, scratching his chin. "You're right. And there's only one person who might be able to help us understand exactly what happened."
As one, Artek and Beckla turned to glare at Corin.
"What?" the lord gasped in shock, clutching a hand to his chest. "You can't possibly believe that I had anything to do with this."
"No, I don't," Artek replied gruffly. "But I think it's time we heard your story all the same."
Corin mopped his face with the ruffled cuff of his coat. The effort did little besides smear around the grime, but the nobleman was oblivious to this fact.
"Let's see," Corin began. "It all started when Lord Darien Thal invited me on a hunt into Undermountain. I had never ventured into Halaster's halls before, and I was thrilled at the prospect. It's all the rage these days, you know."
Artek and Beckla rolled their eyes but kept listening.
"The hunting party set out from Lord Thal's private entrance into Undermountain," Corin went on, his enthusiasm growing. "We were a grand sight. A dozen strong, and all bearing bright swords. Of course, I had my trusty rapier here." He patted the slender blade at his hip.
Artek barely managed to stifle a snort. A real monster wouldn't even feel the bite of that rat-sticker. Nobles, he thought derisively-they were all fools of fashion, and nothing more.
"I was having an absolutely marvelous time." Corin's bright expression darkened. "That is, until I got lost. It was my own fault. I lingered behind to examine a fascinating stone vase-I think it was Third Dynasty Calishite-while the others continued on ahead. When I tried to catch up, the rest of the party was nowhere to be seen. We had been making for a place called the Emerald Fountain. I tried to find the fountain, hoping to meet the others there, but it was no use. And then," said Corin, shuddering, "the Outcasts captured me."
"Wait a minute," Beckla interrupted. "Why were you going to the Emerald Fountain?"
"It was Darien's idea," Corin answered. "He said it was a magical font, and that if I drank from its waters, I would gain wisdom beyond my years. I could do with a little extra wisdom, as I am to take the seventh seat on the Circle of Nobles in two days' time."
"It's not wisdom you would have gained from drinking from the Emerald Fountain," Beckla said darkly. "Death is all you would have found in its green waters."
"But Darien's my dearest friend!" Corin protested. "Why would he tell me to drink from the fountain if it wasn't safe?"
Artek bit his lower lip. That was a good question. "Tell me something, Silvertor," he said. "If you were not present when the vote was held, who would ascend to the Circle of Nobles in your stead?"
Corin shrugged. "Why, I imagine Lord Thal is the next in line. But what does that-oh!" The young lord's eyes went wide with sudden realization.
Artek nodded. This was all starting to make sense. He plied Corin with more questions about Darien Thal and the hunting trip and soon pieced together a story. While he wasn't certain if it was exactly right, he knew it couldn't be far from the truth.
Without doubt, Lord Darien Thal wanted the vacant seat on the Circle of Nobles for himself. He had invited Corin on a hunt into Undermountain, secretly planning for the young lord to meet with an unfortunate "accident," after which nothing would stand between Darien and the seat on the Circle. Yet Darien had not counted on Corin getting lost before the foolish young lord could be disposed of.
That's where I came in, Artek thought angrily. Darien did not want to take the chance that Corin would somehow manage to stumble on a way out of Undermountain in time for the vote. He needed someone to go below and finish the job. All along it had been Artek's task not to rescue Corin, but to make certain that he never returned from Undermountain. The golden box from Melthis had not malfunctioned at all. The gate had taken them exactly where Darien had intended-deeper into Undermountain.