Escape from Undermountain

The Hunt

Artek was the first to the shore.

Dripping, he pulled himself out of the chill river and onto the sandy bank. He grimaced as he stood, immediately hunching over to clutch his injured side. The cutlass wound was not deep, but the gash burned as if someone had poured molten lead into it. Behind him, Beckla stumbled onto the shore, followed by a bedraggled Conn.

"In the name of Mystra, what is this place?" the wizard gasped in an awed voice.

"Are we dreaming?" the nobleman wondered, gazing around them.

Artek frowned at their curious words. What were they talking about? Clenching his jaw against the searing pain, he lifted his head, and his oath of astonishment was added to theirs.

They stood on the edge of an enormous cavern. At least, it seemed like a cavern-high walls of rough stone rose all around them. Yet there was no rocky ceiling arching overhead, no dim cavern roof dripping with stalactites. Instead, there was a smooth azure dome, tinged by a faint yellowish haze. In the center of the dome hung a blazing orb of fire that filled the cavern with a warm golden light.

"Why, if s the sun," Corin breathed in astonishment.

Artek took a staggering step away from the river, toward the edge of a dense forest that filled the cavern. Tall trees danced under the touch of a soft zephyr. Of course, he realized. The blue dome was the sky, and the white puffs were clouds. Familiar as it was, the sight was so unexpected that he had not even recognized it.

"But this can't be," he murmured, shaking his head in confusion. The River Sargauth keeps flowing from here. We haven't made it to the ocean yet. And that means we're still underground, beneath Mount Waterdeep." He shot an uncertain look at Beckla. "Aren't we?»

The wizard nodded slowly. "I think so. There's no ocean in sight. And I would have noticed if we had passed through another gate." She gazed thoughtfully at the verdant forest. "Besides, this doesn't look like any place near Waterdeep that I know."

There was a whirring of wings as a dark form swooped down from the sky. Guss landed on the pebbly bank of the river, Muragh in hand. The gargoyle staggered dizzily and dropped the skull.

"Hey!" Muragh cried indignantly. "Try to be a little more gentle next time. These old bones are very delicate, you know."

Guss paid no heed to the skull's complaints. He lifted a clawed hand, rubbing his skull.

"What's going on, Guss?" Artek asked. Pain made him limp as he approached the gargoyle, and Artek was frustrated. The cutlass wound in his side was shallow. It shouldn't be hurting so much.

"I bumped my head," Guss said in a groggy voice.

"You did what?" Artek demanded incredulously.

Guss swayed on his sharp-taloned feet. "When I saw all that space, I became terribly excited," the gargoyle explained. "I wanted to fly up into it, but when I got as high as the cavern's walls, I cracked my skull on something. I couldn't see it, but believe me, it was hard as stone." The gargoyle groaned, and still gripping his head, sat down hard on his tail.

Curiosity flashed in Beckla's brown eyes. She opened her mouth to ask a question but was interrupted by a loud cracking sound. They all turned around. On the river, the hull of The Black Dart had broken in twain. The burning halves of the ship sank swiftly into the water, hissing as they submerged. In moments the old pirate schooner vanished from sight beneath the dark surface of the river, sunk at last to its watery grave.

Artek wanted to ask Guss more about the sky, but a wave of nausea suddenly crashed over him, and he too sat hard on the ground. Both he and Guss moaned in pain. The gargoyle let go of his head and clutched the oozing wound on his arm. Concerned, Beckla knelt beside them.

"Both of you are burning up," the wizard gasped as she felt their foreheads.

Muragh rolled toward them, coming to a halt on a small heap of gravel. "It's the zombie wounds," the skull said grimly. "It's begun."

"What's begun?" Corin asked.

"The transformation," Muragh replied, his mandible working. "A wound tainted with the filth of a zombie will fester. Gradually, the victim's body will start to die. But he won't stop moving. Instead, the victim will become a zombie himself."

The others stared at Muragh in horror. Artek shook his head weakly. All his life, he had been part monster. He had resigned himself to that fact. But to become a zombie was a fate he could not bear. "Kill me," he begged hoarsely. "Kill me before it's too late."

At last Beckla regained her senses. "Not so fast, Ar'talen," she said crisply. "I'm not going to give you two up for dead… er, undead just yet. Where's that vial of healing potion-the one you used to cure me of the wraith spider venom?"

Artek tried to move, but he was too weak. His skin was burning as if on fire. Sweat poured down his face, but he felt terribly cold. "It's… it's in my pocket."

"I don't usually do this sort of thing until I've known a gent for a while, but…" The wizard reached into the pocket of Artek's black leather breeches, and pulled out the glass vial. It was empty except for a few purple drops at the bottom. "Corin, do you have another one of these?" she asked the nobleman.

He shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid that was the only one I had."

Beckla tilted the vial, eyeing the residue critically. "I guess well just have to hope this is enough."

The wizard unstopped the vial and poured a drop of the precious fluid on the angry scratch on Guss's arm. She spread the potion over the wound with a finger, then turned to Artek. With Corin’s help, she managed to pull off Artek's leather jerkin.

"Are you wearing a fur undershirt, or does all that belong to you?" she asked dryly.

"Very funny," Artek growled. "You'd be hirsute yourself if you had ore blood in you. And let me say that I think it looks a lot better on me than it would on you."

"I won't argue with you there."

Perhaps because his flesh had been forged from stone, Guss's wound had only begun to fester. Artek's looked far worse. The shallow cut ran along his left side onto his muscular chest. The center of the wound was bright red, but the edges were disturbingly dark and gray-the color of a corpse's skin. Three drops remained in the vial, and Beckla used them all on Artek, spreading them carefully to cover the entire wound.

"Now what?" Artek gasped.

"We wait," Beckla replied gravely. "If it's going to work, it shouldn't take long."

Even as she said this, Guss let out a grunt of surprise. Though still open and bleeding, the wound on his upper arm no longer oozed ichor, and the signs of festering had vanished. It appeared no more than a normal scrape.

"I think something's happening," Artek said.

A violet radiance glowed around the wound on his side, then abruptly vanished. Like Guss's injury, the scratch was not healed, and still bled freely, but the alarming grayness was gone. Artek breathed a sigh of relief. His sweating ceased, and the preternatural chill left his bones. He shrugged his jerkin back on over his broad shoulders and stood.

Corin clapped his hands together. "I'm so terribly glad that you two aren't going to become zombies," he exclaimed happily. "I believe I received my fill of battling undead on the pirate ship."

The nobleman glanced in Artek's direction, and Artek had the sudden feeling that the young man was looking at him expectantly. What in the Abyss could Corin possibly want? Artek shifted uncomfortably, searching for something to say.

"Well, you did a good job against the zombies, Corin," he muttered finally. "That was some fancy swordplay you used back on the ship."

Corin’s face lit up brightly at this compliment. He puffed out his chest and opened his mouth to reply.

"Next time, you might even want to try fighting with your eyes open," Artek added sharply before the lord could speak.

Corin’s mouth snapped shut and his shoulders slumped. A crestfallen expression replaced the look of pride on his boyish face. Artek swore inwardly. Once again he wondered if he had been too harsh on the nobleman, but he couldn't concern himself every moment with Corin’s sensitive feelings. He had more pressing concerns. Like getting them out of this place alive. Grumbling to himself, he turned away.

"Well, we can't follow the Sargauth any longer,"

Artek said "It loses its banks just past this shore. So we'd better start exploring," he said» leading the way toward the edge of the forest. "If we're going to find a way out of this place, we have to figure out where and what it is first."

"Maybe we could build a raft from these trees and keep sailing down the river," Beckla suggested hopefully.

"Not unless you can cast a spell and turn our hands into axes," Artek replied, eyeing the towering trees. "The only blade among us is this damned cursed saber. It would take me a year to cut down one of these trees with a sword. And in case you've forgotten, I have considerably less time than that before this thing stops my heart." He glanced down at the tattoo on his arm. After a moment, something odd struck him, and he gazed up at the sky. That's strange," he said with a puzzled expression.

"What's strange?" Muragh piped up. "Other than myself; of course."

Artek pointed to his tattoo. The arrow was now midway along the circle between sun and moon. "According to this, it's high noon up above, on the surface. The sun should be directly overhead in Waterdeep. But here the sun is more than halfway past its zenith, and sinking. Reckoning by the sun here, it's a good four or five hours after midday."

"Maybe something's gone wrong with the tattoo," said Beckla.

"Maybe," Artek answered skeptically. "But that's not the only thing. Right now it's spring in Waterdeep, but the heat of this sun feels more like mid; summer to me."

Beckla did not have a response to this, and Artek decided it did not truly matter. His life was tied to the magical tattoo, and so it was all that mattered. According to the tattoo, he had half a day and a night to live. It was time to get moving. Leading the way, he plunged into the thicket of trees.

The forest was even denser than it had looked from the outside. Trees grew close together, spreading their branches into a thick green canopy high above. In the dappled shadows below grew myriad vines and bushes, some covered with alien-looking blooms. Pale mushrooms grew from the rotting bodies of fallen trees. None of the plants were any that Artek or the others recognized. The air was damp and muggy, and soon all of the humans were sweating profusely. Tiny, bothersome insects danced in the air, flying into their ears and up their noses, making them sneeze. As always, Muragh chattered ceaselessly as they went. However, Corin was unusually silent. The young lord walked quietly at the rear of the party, eyes cast down upon the ground.

"So, tell me," Muragh went on in his reedy voice. "If we are really still underground, how is it that this forest can survive here?"

For a change, someone actually answered the skull's question. "I don't know," Beckla said, shaking her head as she lowered a glowing hand. "However, as far as I can tell with my magic, nothing about these woods is enchanted. These are all perfectly normal, mundane trees. Somehow, they must be getting all the light and water they need to-"

Artek held up a hand, silencing the wizard's words. He paused, listening with his slightly pointed ears. He heard something: a rustling, followed by the cracking of a dry twig. Something was lurking in the undergrowth just ahead. Whatever it was, Artek knew it was best to consider it dangerous. Whispering, he explained what he had heard to the others. They quickly formed a plan, and in moments were ready to act.

Beckla pointed a finger at the bushes ahead and intoned the words of a spell. Shimmering darts of energy sprang from her fingertips and struck the tops of the bushes, instantly vaporizing them. That was Guss's cue. Snarling as Artek had instructed him, the gargoyle swooped down from a high branch where he had perched, diving toward the bushes. There was a hoarse cry of fear, and a shabby form leapt out of the bushes. Artek jumped from behind a tree, tackling the running form. His quarry struggled wildly, but Artek was the stronger, and he pinned the other to the ground.

"No, don't take me to him!" cried a cracked and terrified voice. "Waukeen save me! I saw what happened to all the others. My heart! His tooth will pierce my heart! And his eyes. Too bright, his eyes. They burn as he crushes them in his jaws. They'll crush me, too!"

So terrified was the voice that Artek was startled and moved to pity. He loosened his grip-though not so much as to lose control-and leaned back, gazing at his quarry. It was what was left of a man. He was dad in strange, flowing clothes that might once have been fine but now were filthy and tattered. His tangled hair was matted with leaves, and a scraggly beard clung to his chin. His gaunt body was half-starved, and dark eyes stared madly from his twisted face.

Artek gazed at the broken man. "We're not going to hurt you," he said, gripping the man's shoulders firmly but gently.

For a moment the madman struggled, then went limp. A look of wonder crept onto his haggard face. "You're not on the Hunt, are you?"

Artek shook his head. "The Hunt? What do you mean?"

"The Hunters from the Temple," the man said, licking his lips fearfully. "Have you not seen them yet? Ah, but you will. You will! Their god is a beast, and a master of beasts. And beasts we are to him." Weird laughter bubbled deep in his throat.

The others approached cautiously and gathered around the madman. Artek allowed him to sit and studied his twisted face. Certainly this ragged fellow had seen something that had frightened him out of his wits. Artek wondered what it could be, and also how tills man-and these Hunters he spoke of-had come to be here in this strange forest. The answer might give them a due to a way out.

"Can you tell us more about this Hunt?" Artek asked quietly. He gestured to the trees around them. "Or what this place is?"

The madman looked warily from side to side. "They'll be coming soon. We can't stay here."

"Please," Artek urged gently. "It won't take long. And then well let you go free. You have my word."

The other man's dark gaze bore into Artek. He spoke in an eerie voice. "No one is free in Wyllowwood. Not for long, anyway. I am the last. I know."

The madman then began to speak in a chantlike voice. His tale was difficult to follow, for he spoke in disjointed sentences, and often interrupted himself with broken laughter or moaning sobs. From what Artek could piece together, the man's name was Solthar, and he had been a merchant of some sort. While Solthar was traveling, a sudden storm had come upon his caravan. Seeking shelter, he and the rest of the party had entered a cave-only to find themselves in this forest. They had searched for a means of escape, but to no avail.

"Once you find yourself in Wyllowwood, there is no escape," Solthar said. "Unless you throw yourself in the icy river. Some did. Yes, some did, and they drowned. I cannot will myself to follow them. Soon perhaps. Soon. But not yet!"

"But what about the rest of your traveling companions, Solthar?" Artek asked intently. "Did they all cast themselves into the river?"

Solthar shook his shaggy head. "Oh, no. The Hunt took most of them. The Hunters will take you, too. Into the jaws of the beast they'll throw you. And then-snap!" He clamped his hands together, like a mouth closing, then trembled in fear.

After this, Solthar spoke only in unintelligible fragments. They had learned all they could from the mad merchant. Knowing there was no use in keeping him, Artek told Solthar he could go. The madman shot them one last queer look, then scurried away, disappearing into the undergrowth.

Artek rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It sounds like a gate, doesn't it?" he asked. The cave that Solthar and the others stumbled through."

Beckla gave a vague shrug. "Maybe. It's hard to say from his tale alone."

Yet, for some reason, Artek was sure. Perhaps it was thief s instinct. "I think we should at least check it out. If we can find the cave, that is."

He gazed expectantly at Beckla. Finally she sighed and nodded. "All right. If it is a gate, my magic should be able to home in on it. But if it isn't, well be wandering in circles, you know."

Beckla spoke in the language of magic, and once again her hand glowed with a faint blue light. For a moment she shut her eyes, letting her hand float before her. It drifted slowly toward the right. "This way," she said, walking off into the forest.

She ran headlong into a tree. "Ouch!"

"Maybe you should consider opening your eyes first," Artek suggested.

"Really, Ar'talen?" she replied acidly. "Why, you're absolutely brilliant." The wizard opened her eyes and, muttering under her breath, marched onward- this time avoiding the trees in their path.

The sun above had sunk only a short way more in the sky when the trees thinned, and they found themselves on the edge of a glade. The short hairs on the back of Artek's hands and neck prickled. There was danger here. With a quick gesture he brought the others to a halt. Cautiously, he peered through a tangle of branches into the glade beyond.

In the center, next to a small lake, was a compound of low buildings ringed by a wall of ruddy stone. Soaring above the other structures was a great dome painted bright crimson. Dark smoke rose from within the compound, and the reek of charred meat drifted in the air. It was an evil smell. Artek realized this place could only be the temple of which Solthar had spoken in dread.

Artek watched men enter from the opposite side of the glade. They wore crimson cloaks and rode toward the temple on black horses. They passed through an archway in the wall and vanished within.

"I think we would do well to circle around this place," Artek whispered to the others.

Plunging back into the depths of the forest, they gave the temple a wide berth. The trees drew nearer together, and the undergrowth thickened. Cruel thorns tore at their clothes and scratched their skin. Finally, because his stony hide was immune to the thorns, Guss was forced to lead the way, hacking out a path with his sharp onyx talons. Sweating and bleeding, the humans followed behind. Only Muragh was not bothered by the journey, tucked as he was in Beckla's pack, and his constant chattering was almost as tortuous as the march. Just when Artek was ready to give up in exhaustion and turn back, the trees came to an abrupt end. Before them rose a high wall of jagged rock. They had reached the edge of the vast cavern. In the wall was a narrow gap.

Beckla's hand glowed bright blue as she stretched it out toward the opening. She nodded gravely. "There's magic in there, all right."

Keeping together in a tight knot, they entered the mouth of the cave. The floor was dry and sandy, and the walls oddly smooth, as if scoured and polished by some ceaseless force over long years. They rounded a sharp bend and found themselves at the end of the narrow passage, which opened into a landscape beyond.

It was a desert. The golden sun beat down upon wave after wave of sand. Dunes stretched like a great yellow ocean to a distant horizon. A parched, gritty wind blew into the fissure, chafing their skin even as it did the stone walls. Artek shook his head in awe and confusion. As far as he knew, the closest desert to Waterdeep was hundreds upon hundreds of leagues away. Wherever this place was, it was nowhere near the city.

Beckla raised her glowing hand. A matching blue aura glimmered across the opening before them, almost like a thin pane of glass. "I think I understand now," Beckla said in amazement. She turned to the others. "This opening is a gate. And see? The sky here has the same yellowish tinge as the sky above the forest."

Artek frowned in puzzlement. "But what does it mean?"

"I know it's hard, but do try not to be so dense, Ar'talen," Beckla said with a scowl. "Don't you see? The entire roof of the cavern is a gate. The gate opens onto this desert. That's how the forest gets the light it needs to survive so far below ground. I suppose the necessary water comes from the river and the lake."

Guss scratched his head. "So when I cracked my skull on the sky, that was really the cavern roof?"

Beckla nodded in agreement. "That's right."

"Wait a minute," Artek protested. "This doesn't make any sense. If the entire sky is a gate that lets through sunlight, why didn't Guss simply fly through into the desert beyond?"

The wizard tapped her cheek with a finger. "I think I know the answer to that," she said finally. "Guss, why don't you try to step through the gate here?"

"Oh, after you," the gargoyle said hurriedly.

Beckla sighed in exasperation. This is just a test, Guss. You don't have to be polite, you know."

"Oh," the gargoyle said sheepishly. He shrugged his massive shoulders, then stepped through the gap. At least, he tried to step through. There was a blue flash, and he was roughly thrown backward into the others.

"That's what I was afraid of," Beckla said glumly.

"What?" Artek grunted. That I would get crushed by a gargoyle?"

"Sorry!" Guss apologized, leaping off Artek and helping him to his feet.

"Not you, Ar'talen," Beckla said in annoyance. The gate. It obviously works in only one direction. People- and sunlight-can pass through to the forest. But they can't go back out. Just Шее Solthar said."

Artek felt his hopes evaporate like water in the hot desert sun. "It doesn't really matter. This gate couldn't have helped me. Or Corin. Wherever this desert is, it's certainly more than a day's journey back to Waterdeep. And less than a day is all both of us have to get back." He laid a big hand on Beckla's shoulder. "But this could have given you a way out of Undermountain. Fm sorry."

For a moment her brown eyes were troubled, then she shook off his hand. «I’ll survive."

Leaving the fissure, they returned to the edge of the forest. However, Artek had no idea where they should try to go. He was out of ideas.

"Shall I lead the way this time?" Corin asked. Before anyone could answer, he drew his rapier and began hacking at the tangle of branches and vines before them. However, the thin blade merely bounced off the dense foliage. It flew from the nobleman's grip and landed quivering in the ground directly between Artek's legs.

Corin’s face blanched. Artek gripped the rapier and jerked it out of the ground. He did not have the time to deal with Corin's foolishness. His blood began to boil. He couldn't suppress his orcish rage.

"I could try again," Corin said hopefully, reaching for his rapier.

Artek did not hand the blade to him. "No, Corin," he growled. "Don't try again. In fact, don't try anything again." Baring his pointed teeth, he advanced on the startled lord. "Don't do anything, don't say anything-don't even think anything. Understand?"

"But I-"

Artek interrupted him. "No buts, Corin," he snarled viciously. "You've landed us in enough trouble already. Escaping is going to be hard enough without you getting us into worse straits with your antics. Haven't you gotten it though your silly noble head yet that you're-"

Despite his anger, Artek clamped his mouth shut on the hurtful words he'd nearly uttered. It was too late. The damage had been done. Corin gazed at him with wounded eyes.

"That I'm what?" the nobleman asked quietly. "Go ahead, Artalen. You can say it. After all, I've heard it often enough." Artek gazed at him in silence, while the others looked on in concern. Corin shook his head ruefully. "Fine, then. I'll say it myself. I'm worthless. That's what you were going to say, wasn't it? That I'm stupid, and soft, and utterly worthless."

A look of defiance colored his pale visage. "Well, maybe you're right," he went on bitterly. "Maybe I am worthless. My father certainly would have agreed with you. Then again, you don't know me any better than he did. You don't know what my life has been like." He clenched his hand into a fist. "You don't know the first thing about me!"

Corin drew a deep breath, forcing his fingers to unclench. A fey light crept into his blue eyes. "Well," he said calmly, "I won't trouble you any further. I'm sure you'll fare far better without my presence to hinder you. I wish you all the best of luck. Good-bye."

With that, the young lord plucked the rapier from Artek's surprised hand, then turned and plunged into the forest. Artek started to lunge after him, but a hand on his shoulder halted him. It was Beckla.

"Let him go," the wizard said softly. "Give him a little time to himself."

Artek glared at her. "A little time to get himself killed, you mean? In case you'd forgotten, that foolish young noble is the reason Fm here in the first place! Hell owe me big when we finally get out of here."

Beckla thrust her hands on her hips, her brown eyes flashing with fire. "And in case you'd forgotten, it's because of your idiotic talk that he's run off into the forest."

Artek opened his mouth, but he had no reply to her stinging words. She was right.

"Well, you've botched things up rather nicely," Muragh said.

"Don't worry," Guss said, his gruff voice reassuring. "We won't let him get too far ahead."

Artek nodded silently. He moved a short distance from the others to think. Why had he said those harsh things to Corin? They sounded exactly like the sort of things his father had said to him when he was just a child. Arturg had been a hard.teacher, and it had seemed Artek's thieving skills had never lived up to hi? father's expectations. Even when he had grown into a man, and his abilities had far surpassed those of his father, Arturg's voice had still echoed stingingly in his mind. As a child, Artek had vowed never to speak cruelly to another as Arturg had to him. Yet he had broken that vow with Corin, hadn't he? Like father, like son. Arturg would be proud of you, he told himself bitterly. He hung his head in shame.

In the distance, an eerie sound echoed through the forest. Artek looked up. The sound came again- high, clear, and menacing. It sounded like the call of a hunting horn.

"Did you hear that?" he asked the others. By their fearful expressions, they had. Dread growing, Artek gazed into the trees where the nobleman had disappeared. The sound of the horn had come from the same direction. "Conn."

With a cry, Artek leapt forward and ran swiftly through the entangling forest. Beckla and Guss followed him as quickly as they could manage, but Artek moved with the strength and grace of a wild animal, ducking beneath low branches and leaping over fallen tree trunks. He soon outpaced the others. His nostrils flared as they caught a familiar, rusty scent-blood. He pushed through a thick curtain of vines, then skidded to a halt.

It was Solthar. A long spear, decorated with crimson feathers, had pierced his chest, pinning his body to the trunk of a tall tree. His feet dangled limply a foot above the ground, and his head lolled forward, staring with blank eyes. He was dead.

The vines rustled and parted as Guss and Beckla caught up with Artek. Both gaped in shock when they saw Solthar dangling from the tree.

"He was right," Beckla said. The Hunt did find him in the end."

Something in the leaf litter caught Artek's eye. He bent down and picked it up. It was a small square of grimy silk. He swore under his breath.

This is Corin’s handkerchief," he said grimly. He looked up at the suspended body of the madman. The hunters Solthar talked about must have come upon Conn. The old man must have actually tried to help him."

"I don't think it worked," Muragh said.

Artek dug in the pocket of his breeches and pulled out a small blue stone-the heart jewel he had used to find the lost lord in the lair of the Outcasts. Blue light pulsed rapidly in the center of the crystal. Corin was still alive, but he was terrified.

"Come on!" Artek growled. "We have to find Corin."

Artek dashed through the forest again, running in the direction in which the gem's light was strongest. As he ran, he tried to recall what Solthar had said about these strange Hunters. Their god is a beast, and a master of beasts. And beasts we are to him. His eyes. Too bright, his eyes. They burn as he crushes them in his jaws." Artek was filled with a deep sense of foreboding. He tightened his grip on the jewel. Instinct burned in his brain, urging him to hurry.

Without warning, the trees gave way to grass. Artek stumbled to a halt, chest heaving. He blinked and realized that once again he stood on the edge of the large clearing by the lake. In the distance lay the walled temple, its crimson dome gleaming like blood. A moment later, Beckla and Guss crashed out of the underbrush to stand beside him. As one, they stared in horror at the scene before them.

Far across the green field, a gangly form ran desperately while three crimson-cloaked men on dark horses rode swiftly behind. It was Corin. The lord stumbled and fell sprawling on the grass. The horses leapt over him, then circled around as their riders laughed. Corin lurched to his feet and stumbled on. The hunters blew their horns and spurred their mounts after him. The bastards, Artek thought with a snarl. They were toying with the nobleman.

Artek lunged into a run, racing across the field. He was far too slow. He was less than halfway there when the hunters tired of their game. One scooped up Corin, flinging the lord over his saddle, and the three riders rode through the archway in the temple's wall, disappearing inside. There was a distant but audible boom! as an iron door shut, sealing the opening. Artek stumbled and fell to the ground, utterly exhausted.

Corin was alive, but Artek had lost him.