Escape from Undermountain

Fatal Game

"Now where are we?" Beckla asked in amazement.

"Near the end of our journey," Artek answered solemnly.

They stood beneath a high stone archway. Behind them, a corridor stretched into endless shadow. Before them lay their goal-the lair of the last apprentice still in Undermountain.

It was glorious. Walls of pale marble flecked with gold soared upward in vault after dizzying vault. An intricate mosaic adorned the lofty ceiling, depicting a fantastic sky: radiant day shone brilliantly upon one side, while night glittered with jewel-like stars upon the other. Light streamed down from the mosaic above-part of it sun-gold, part moon-pearl-refracting off the polished walls. It filled the chamber with shimmering luminescence.

In keeping with the ceiling, the chamber's expansive floor was a patchwork of marble squares, alternating in a checked pattern between white-gold noon and onyx midnight Each of the squares was perhaps three paces across, and the floor was bordered on all sides by a swath of mottled green marble. On the far side of the hall, set into a shallow nave, was a door of gold. Instinct told Artek that, for good or for ill, they would find the last apprentice beyond it.

Tucked in the crook of Artek's arm, Muragh let out a reedy whistle. "I'll say one thing," the skull murmured in awe. "Whoever this apprentice is, he certainly has a flair for decorating."

Over the centuries, no visible signs of age or decay had touched the grand hall, which seemed to indicate that it had not been abandoned. This, in addition to the sheer beauty of the chamber, boded well for their chances. Or at least, so it seemed to Artek. Together they conferred on a course of action-all except for Corin.

"I'll just try to stay out of your way," the lord said meekly. He huddled just inside the stone archway, his back to the wall, staring down at his scuffed shoes. Artek sighed quietly, but he reminded himself that there was nothing he could do.

They had come here to seek the help of Halaster's apprentice, so it seemed best to approach the wizard's door directly, without stealth. However, so as not to alarm the apprentice, they decided Artek should go alone at first. Then he would signal the others when he deemed it appropriate for them to follow.

"Wish me luck," he said nervously.

The others all did so-except for Corin. Taking a deep breath, Artek turned to stride boldly toward the golden door across the room. As he left behind the strip of mottled green marble where the others were gathered, his boot stepped first upon a square of black. He took another step forward, onto a square of white.

Then he ran face first into some sort of a wall.

Like sunlight glancing off a clear window, a plane of white radiance flashed momentarily in front of him. With a cry of pain he stumbled backward, onto the black square.

"What in the Abyss was that?" he muttered in confusion, rubbing his throbbing nose. Whatever it was, it had hurt.

Beckla stood up, a curious frown on her broad face. "It looked like a magical barrier blocked your way," she said.

Artek tried moving onto the white square to his left. Once again a thin plane of white energy sprang into existence before him, blocking the way. The same thing happened when he tried to move to his right. Knowing what to expect, he did not smash his face against the magical barriers. Perplexed, he turned around and stepped back onto the swath of green marble that bordered the floor.

"Something very strange is going on here," he grumbled in annoyance.

Beckla's eyes suddenly went wide with surprise, and Guss let out a low growl of shock.

"You aren't kidding," Muragh said with a low whistle.

Artek turned back around, and an oath escaped his lips. As he watched, something appeared out of thin air on the far side of the room. Images flickered into existence, wavered like desert mirages, then grew solid. No, not solid, for Artek could still see dimly through their ghostly forms. They stood in two straight lines upon the two farthest rows of black and white squares, one creature per square, sixteen in all.

The eight in the first rank looked to be dwarven soldiers of some sort: long-bearded, horn-helmed, mail-clad, and bearing shimmering half-moon axes. Standing behind them in the rear row-one to each side-were two tusked, long-armed ogres; two silvery knights mounted upon black steeds and bearing gleaming lances; and a pair of stern-faced sorcerers in pointed hats. These six flanked two tall, imposing figures in the center of the back row. Flowing mantles fell from wide shoulders; glimmering crowns rested upon high brows; pale eyes gazed forward in steely authority. Proud they were, and cruel: a king and a queen.

With terrible certainty, Artek knew it was going to be no easy task getting to the gold door across the room. Even if he could find a way to avoid the glowing magical barriers between white and black squares, he now had an eerie army to contend with. At the moment, the ethereal figures stood motionless, gazing forward with impassive, unblinking eyes. Yet Artek suspected this would rapidly change if he drew near.

He fixed Beckla with a piercing look. "You had to wish us to the apprentice's lair, rather than to the apprentice himself."

She shrugged her shoulders sheepishly. "Oops."

Artek let out a groan of exasperation. "How did I know you were going to say that?"

Beckla drew her eyebrows together in a scowl. "Look, Ar'talen. I was a little pressed for time. The thanatars were about to chop us to bits, if you recall. We really didn't have the opportunity to debate whether I should wish for this or that. We're lucky we made it out of there at all." She gestured toward the phantasmal army. "I think it would be more productive if we all directed our energy to the problem at hand."

The wizard was right, but Artek shot her a nasty look all the same, just to let her know he was not happy. He crossed his thick arms across his black leather jerkin and studied the scene before him with dark eyes. "It's like some game the apprentice has prepared for us," he murmured to himself.

To his surprise, someone answered him. "It's not just some game," said a quiet voice. "It's lanceboard."

Artek turned around. It was Corin. The young lord gazed with his clear blue eyes at the eerie figures across the room. "Don't you see?" Corin went on timidly. "With those black and white checks, the entire floor serves as the playing board. And those figures over there are the opponent's playing pieces."

Artek turned back toward the gigantic lance-board. It made sense-the apprentice would not let just anyone enter his domain. They had to best the wizard at a game of lanceboard first. If they could do so, it was likely the apprentice would view them favorably. But something odd struck Artek. "If those are our opponent's playing pieces, then where are ours?"

Beckla swallowed hard. "I think we're them."

Even as her words chilled him, Artek knew they were right. No ghostly army had appeared on their side of the marble gameboard. They themselves were the only playing pieces they were going to get.

"Why don't I just fly across the room?" Guss asked.

Wings flapping, the gargoyle rose into the air. He was no more than three feet off the floor when a plane of white magic flashed above him. He fell back to the green marble, landing with a grunt.

"Oh, I suppose that's why," he winced, rubbing his scaly tail.

"Well, this is just wonderful," Artek growled in disgust, running a hand through his short black hair. "I've never played a game of lanceboard in my life. I don't even have the foggiest notion of the rules."

He looked to Beckla, but the wizard shook her head. So did Guss. Neither knew how to play the game. Artek's gaze drifted toward the yellowed skull he had set down on the green marble.

"Well, don't look at me," Muragh said defensively. "I was just a lowly priest of Lathander in life."

The others turned their eyes toward Corin. The young lord looked up in shock, his face drawn.

"No," he whispered hoarsely, slowly shaking his head back and forth. "Not me…"

Artek quickly moved forward and knelt besideb Corin. "You know how to play lanceboard, don't you?" he asked intently.

Corin opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. It didn't matter. Artek already knew the answer. Corin had recognized the gameboard and the playing pieces. Like every noble child, he had learned to play the game.

"You have to help us, Corin," Artek said gravely. He gripped the young man's shoulders. "You have to help us get across the room. You're the only one who can do it."

Corin tried to back away, but Artek's strong hands held him firmly. "But I can't," the nobleman gasped. "Don't you understand? If I make a mistake, you'll all be killed."

"And if you don't try, we'll all die for certain," Artek growled.

Tears sprang into Corin’s eyes, along with a look of terror. "You don't understand. I can't do it. I tried… I tried to be worth something, but I failed. You said so yourself." He shook his head. "He was right. He was always right. I suppose I deserved it," Corin sobbed.

In sudden dread, Artek gazed at the noble. A coldness crept into his heart, and dark realization into his mind. He gripped the young man's shoulders more tightly, searching his frightened face. "What did he do to you, Corin?" Artek asked. "By all the gods, what did your father do to you?"

Beckla, Guss, and Muragh stared at them in shock. A low moan escaped Corin’s lips.

"Tell me!" Artek demanded, baring his white teeth.

This time he did not wait for an answer. With brutal force, he spun Corin around. He gripped the lord's dirty silk shirt in two hands and tore it apart

"Ur thokkar!" he swore in the language of orcs.

Crisscrossing the skin of Corin’s back were countless pale scars. Artek had seen enough thieves flogged in public squares to know what the raised weals were-lash marks. As a child, Artek had often received the cruel abuse of his father's tongue, and once or twice, Arturg had even struck him. But never this. Never had he suffered anything like this.

Stunned, Artek released Corin. The young lord pulled the tattered remains of his shirt back over his shoulders, concealing the scars once again. Hesitantly, he looked up with wounded eyes at Artek. For a moment, all Artek could see was a small, golden-haired boy in a corner, injured and afraid, trying with all his courage not to cry.

"I had to bear it," Corin said finally in a quiet voice, barely a whisper. "I couldn't weep. I couldn't resist. I had to bear it because if I did, then maybe he would love me."

Trembling, Corin continued, as if words long dammed up inside were now rushing from him of their own volition. The others could only listen in growing horror. "I was the youngest of three sons, you see. Corlus, my eldest brother, was to inherit the Silvertor estate. My other brother, Cordair, was the most like my father, being skilled at arms and gambling, and well liked by other men. And then there was me.

"My mother died in childbirth when I was born. I think my father always blamed me for that. At least, I used to tell myself that he did. That way it all made some sort of sense-there was a reason that nothing I could ever say or do pleased him." As he spoke, Corin kept his gaze on the floor. "Most of the time he just ignored me and kept busy with Corlus and Cordair. But once a moon or so, he would come home reeking of wine, and feeling sour-tempered from losing at gambling. He would roar for me at the top of his lungs, and I didn't dare refuse to come. I would And him in his chamber, his riding whip in his hands. That was when…"

Corin suddenly looked up at the others. A smile twisted his lips. "Fate is strange, isn't it? Who would have thought that my father would outlive my brothers? But Corlus died of the red fever, and Cordair got a knife in the heart when he was caught cheating at dice in a tavern by the harbor. Then this winter my father finally died. The physicians said it was the drink that did it. I came to him at his deathbed. And do you know what he told me? 'You are the one I should have outlived.' That was all he said. Then he died." Corin’s gaze returned to his shoes.

"My father's death left me as the sole heir to the Silvertor legacy. And to his seat on the Circle of Nobles. Our House is one of the oldest in the city, and there has always been a Silvertor on the Circle-the vote is a mere formality. I suppose I should have been happy. But I wasn't." He clenched his hands into fists. "I didn't — want his House. I didn't want his blasted seat on the Circle. I could never please my father. How could I possibly please all of the other nobles in Waterdeep?"

Forcibly, he unclenched his hands and let out a weary sigh. "The truth is, when Lord Darien Thai invited me on the hunt into Undermountain, I secretly hoped something would happen to me-something bad. I told myself it would all be so much easier that way." Wiping the tears from his cheeks, he looked at Artek. "And here I am," he finished softly. "I know you can never forgive me for getting you into this, Artek. But I want you to know that I am sorry-terribly sorry."

For a long time, Artek could say nothing. All this time he had thought of Corin as a mere nuisance, as an object to be rescued and nothing more. In that, he had been no better than the young lord's father. Perhaps worse. He of all people should have known better. He knew what it was like to be scorned by one whose love he craved; he knew what it was like to learn to loathe himself. If Corin’s father were still alive, Artek would have vowed to kill him. But vengeance cannot be gained from the dead, and the living are left to bear the scars inflicted.

At last Artek drew in a deep breath. Maybe it was too late for him, but Corin was young. Maybe there was still time for the young man to find a sort of healing, to be whole. Artek reached out and gripped Corin’s shoulders. He gazed into the young man's eyes and would not let him look away.

"Listen to me, Corin," he said solemnly. "Listen to me, because I speak the truth. I was wrong. Your father was wrong. You aren't worthless. You have to believe that. I know that there are voices inside you, voices that tell you otherwise, but you have to stop listening to them because they, too, are wrong. No one deserves what happened to you, Corin. Do you hear me? No one."

At last Corin stopped struggling and held still within Artek's grasp. Artek kept talking.

"Don't you see, Corin? We need you. All of us. You're the only one who can get us across that lance-board. You're the only one who can help us." Black eyes bore into clear blue ones. "Please," he whispered. "Won't you try?"

For a long moment, Corin sat as if frozen, staring with unseeing eyes. Artek despaired, fearing his words had fallen upon deaf ears. Then Corin’s pale visage seemed to melt, and he blinked, drawing in a shuddering breath. At last he nodded. "I can't promise anything," he said in a hoarse voice. "But I will try."

' Artek could not suppress a toothy grin. He encircled Corin in his strong arms, embracing him tightly. The young man stiffened. Then, tentatively, he lifted his arms to return the embrace.

"Excuse me, Artek," Corin gasped after a time, "but I'd like to breathe now."

"Oh, sorry!" Artek exclaimed, releasing the young man from his grip.

Corin stood, smiling shyly. "Actually, you're all rather in luck, you know. Though my father never placed much stock in it-it wasn't a blood sport, you see-I was something of a champion at lanceboard among my peers." He clapped his hands together. "Now, let's get started. We have a game to play."

A new air of confidence and authority gradually crept into Corin’s words and actions. For the first tune since Artek had met him, the young man truly seemed like a lord. He surveyed the gameboard critically, forming a strategy.

This isn't going to be simple," Corin murmured, his expression one of intent concentration. "Our opponent has a full complement of playing pieces, and we are only four."

"Make that five!" Muragh piped up, rolling toward the nobleman's feet

Corin actually laughed as he picked up the skull. "Ah, then there is some hope after all," he said.

With crisp commands, he directed the others to their starting locations on the first row of the game-board. Artek took the King's position, and Beckla the Queen's, next to him. Corin placed Guss on the end, in the role of an Ogre, and took a Knight position for himself. Muragh, to his delight, was a Sorcerer.

After this, Corin instructed each of them on the manner of their movement.

"Artek, when you first stepped onto the board, it was where Muragh is now, on the starting square of a Sorcerer," Corin explained. "Sorcerers can only move along a diagonal. That's why you encountered the magical barrier when you tried to move forward and side-to-side."

Artek nodded at the nobleman's words. As long as they moved according to the rules of the pieces they were playing, they should be able to walk across the board without encountering the glowing barriers.

Corin continued to instruct them in the rules of their movement. As King, Artek could walk in any direction he chose, but only one square at a time. Beckla, acting as the Queen, could also move in any direction. However, she could go as many spaces as she wished. Upon learning of this advantage, she flashed Artek a smug expression. Guss, the Ogre, was informed that he could move as far as he wished along straight lines, but not along a diagonal, which was Muragh's sole ability as Sorcerer. Corin had taken the most difficult role for himself, for a Knight was forced to move in a curious pattern: two squares in a straight line, then one more square to either side.

Once they knew the rules, they were ready to begin.

"It looks like the starting move is up to us," Corin decided. "We're playing from weakness, but that doesn't mean we can't act boldly. King, move-one square forward."

Artek stepped from his white starting square onto the black square before him. No magical barrier appeared to block his passage. He let out a sigh of relief.

The moment Artek finished his move, an ethereal figure on the far side of the chamber abruptly began to move. One of the dimly transparent dwarves in the front row-Soldiers, Corin called those pieces- stepped one square forward, then halted, standing as still as before.

"I was afraid of that," Corin said grimly.

"Afraid of what?" Artek asked in growing dread.

"This really is just like a game of lanceboard," the nobleman replied. "Every time one of us moves, one of our opponent's pieces gets to move as well."

Artek shifted uncomfortably on the black square. "Wait a minute, Corin. Isn't the point of this game to capture your opponent's pieces?"

The young lord nodded silently.

"All right," Artek went on. "Then what happens to one of us if we're captured by another piece?"

Corin took a deep breath. "All captured pieces are removed from the gameboard," he said evenly.

The others shivered as the implication of these words registered upon them. A chill danced up Artek's spine, and he licked his lips nervously. Removed from the gameboard. It sounded very… final.

"I guess well just have to keep from getting captured, won't we?" Artek said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

It was their turn again.

"Sorcerer!" Corin called out. "Diagonal to your left, two squares. Protect your King."

His mandible working furiously, Muragh hopped and rolled into position. As he came to a halt on his square, one of the ghostly Knights leapt the Soldier in front of it and sallied out onto the gameboard. Corin himself moved next, mirroring the enemy Knight's position. The knight moved again. Corin tracked him. This time another Soldier moved forward.

"Ogre, ahead two and challenge!" Corin commanded.

Guss obeyed, lumbering forward toward the middle of the board. One of the opposing Sorcerers drifted menacingly in his direction but could not have captured him anyway, for Guss and the translucent Sorcerer were on opposite colors.

Corin shook his head. This is difficult with so few pieces. Do you see, Artek? There's a clear diagonal between you and that Sorcerer-and that's the only way he can move. You're in danger now. However, I can move to protect you."

"Wait a minute!" Artek protested. "Won't the Sorcerer be able to capture you then?"

"If so, then our Queen will be able to take him," Corin replied with only a slight quaver in his voice. "Well have to hope our opponent is not yet ready to sacrifice one of his pieces." Before Artek could argue further, Corin moved two and then one, ending up standing between Artek and the enemy Sorcerer.

Fortunately, Corin's reasoning proved correct. The Sorcerer did not capture Corin. Instead, it moved diagonally back one square, taking itself out of Guss's path.

"Good, we've got our opponent on the retreat," Corin said. "Now is the time to keep pressing forward."

Following Corin's directions, they executed several more moves, making good progress across the board while avoiding the opposing pieces. Then one of the enemy Knights galloped silently forward, lance aimed menacingly at Artek.

Corin let out a sharp laugh. "It seems our opponent grows impatient. The Knight is in your path, Queen, and Ogre is protecting you. Capture him!"

Beckla swallowed hard, straightening her vest. "Here goes nothing," she said dubiously. The wizard steeled her shoulders, then moved boldly forward, stepping onto the same square as the enemy Knight. The Knight lowered its lance toward her, but its horse reared back, opening its mouth in a silent scream. A gout of green fire sprang up from the floor, consuming the Knight as it rose toward the ceiling. A moment later, the magical fire vanished.

Beckla stared at the faint scorch mark on the floor-all that remained of the Knight. "Something tells me we definitely do not want to get captured," she said.

The others could only nod in agreement. They continued to move across the board, but their progress was slower now. Corin was deep in concentration, and sweat beaded on his smooth brow. It was becoming steadily more difficult to avoid capture. Artek took an opposing Soldier, and Guss a Sorcerer-both opposing pieces were consumed by pillars of emerald flame.

"Queen, move two to your left!" Corin called out. Just as Beckla started to step in that direction, the nobleman shouted in alarm. "Wait! Stop!"

Beckla halted, no more than an inch from the edge of her present square.

"I'm sorry," Corin said breathlessly. "You'll be exposed to their Ogre from that position. I didn't see it until it was almost too late."

Corin studied the board again. Seconds stretched into long minutes. The others watched him in growing alarm. The nobleman muttered under his breath, going through move after move in his mind. It seemed he could find none that would not result in capture. Finally, he looked back at Artek, his expression grim.

"I'm afraid we're out of choices. There's only one thing I can think of, and I'm afraid it's a rather risky gambit. If it fails, we're lost."

Artek gazed at him unflinchingly. "I trust you, Corin."

For a moment, it almost seemed a faint smile of gratitude touched the young lord's lips. He nodded. "Very well, then. It's time to gamble our King. Let's just hope they take the bait. King! Ahead one!"

Artek did as instructed. In response, an opposing Soldier moved one square out of the way. In sudden alarm, Artek saw that he was surrounded on three sides. An enemy Knight, Queen, and Ogre were all in position to capture him. It had been his last move. There would be no escaping.

"We've lost," he said, his hopes dying.

"Not yet!" Corin cried out. "It seems you've forgotten the same thing our opponent has." He pointed toward a small yellow object that for some time now had sat unnoticed near the side of the gameboard. "Now, Muragh!"

Grinning toothily, the skull rolled forward, moving in an unobstructed diagonal line-straight toward the enemy King. The ghostly King's mouth opened in a silent cry of surprise and fear, but it could not move aside. Muragh careened directly into the ethereal form. The King's arms spread wide as a blazing column of green fire sprang from the floor beneath its feet. A second later, many more pillars of emerald magic shot toward the ceiling, each consuming one of the remaining enemy game pieces. As suddenly as they had appeared, the columns of fire dissipated-the ghostly figures were no more. Artek stared in wonder. They had won.

With no opposing pieces, all they had to do now was avoid the magical force walls by moving correctly. They made their way swiftly across the game-board and stepped onto the swath of green marble bordering the far side.

Artek gripped Corin's shoulder. "You did it," he said with a fierce grin.

Corin smiled. "I did, didn't I?" he asked in amazement.

Their jubilation fell into silence as their eyes turned toward the golden door in the wall. It was time to see what waited beyond.

Together they approached the nave. Any thought of one of them going alone had been dismissed without discussion. There was no doorknob, so Artek reached out to push on the door. Just as his fingers brushed the smooth, gold surface, the door swung silently inward. A puff of dry air rushed out, and they stepped into the space beyond.

The chamber was small, with no other doors or openings but the one through which they had entered. The walls and floor were of the same gold-flecked marble as the outer hall. The only furnishings were a table and chair hewn of polished onyx. A male figure sat in the chair, slumped forward over the table. His rich velvet robes had long ago decayed to tatters, and his withered skin clung like old parchment to his yellowed bones. Rotted gray hair drooped over his bony shoulders. It was the last apprentice. And by the look of him, he had died in this room long centuries ago.

Artek shook his head sadly. Had it all been for nothing-the entire perilous game of lanceboard? He didn't know why he was surprised. He really should be getting used to disappointment by now.

"Look," Beckla said softly. "There's something in his hands."

She approached the mummified apprentice and carefully removed an object from the grip of his brittle fingers. It was a small, silver disk with thin writing engraved upon one side. They gathered around Beckla to read the words:

The deeper you go, the deeper I get. If you jump sideways, you may find me yet.

— H.

Without doubt the H at the bottom stood for Halaster. Evidently, this riddle was a clue that the mad mage had left behind to help his students find him. Only it seemed this apprentice had died trying.

Artek glanced down at the inky tattoo on his arm. The wheel continued to spin slowly, inexorably. The moon had long passed the arrow, and now the sun drew near. By his best guess, it was no more than an hour until daybreak in the city above, no more than an hour until the tattoo sent out a fatal jolt of magic, stopping his heart forever. For all he knew, the last apprentice had spent centuries trying to solve Halaster's riddle, and without success. Artek doubted they could answer it in a mere hour. He shook his head sadly. The others sighed. There was no need for words. They had run out of apprentices, and out of hope.

"Well, now what?" Muragh piped up finally, unable to bear the gloomy silence. "Are we all just going to stand here moping at each other until we turn to dust?"

"No, the rest of you shouldn't give up," Artek said solemnly. "You may yet find a way out of Under-mountain. You've still got a chance, but I'm afraid I don't have one much longer."

"Neither do we, really," Beckla replied darkly. She glanced at Corin, a strange sorrow in her eyes. "I haven't seen much food or water in this part of Under-mountain. We won't last for very long without both."

After a moment, Artek nodded gravely. He respected the wizard too much to argue with her. She and Corin might be able to keep searching for a few more days before thirst and exhaustion overcame them. But only if they were lucky.

Artek turned toward Guss and Muragh. The gargoyle gripped the skull tightly in his clawed hands, worry showing in his glowing green eyes.

"Even after the rest of us are… gone, you two don't have to quit searching for a way out of here," Artek told them seriously. "You can keep looking for as long as it takes. Eventually, you're bound to find a gate that will take you out of here."

Beckla ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. "I'm afraid that won't do them much good," she said sadly. "Muragh and Guss aren't alive in the conventional sense of the word. Neither of them could pass through a gate without a living being accompanying them."

Artek hung his head in sorrow. So they were all doomed together. He started to sink to the floor in despair.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, it struck him. He stared at the wizard, as if looking for an answer. Something was not right.

"Wait a minute, Beckla," he said in confusion. "If Guss can't go through a gate all by himself, why did you send him to test the one we found in the cave in Wyllowwood?"

The question caught the wizard entirely off guard.

Her mouth opened in surprise, and she stumbled backward. After a moment, she tried to sputter an explanation, but Artek cut her off. All this time, something about the wizard had been bothering him. Something had been nagging at the back of his mind, but he had been too busy to really consider it. At last, he knew what it was.

"That gate would have worked for some of us, wouldn't it? Don't lie to me anymore, Beckla," he hissed, baring his pointed teeth in a feral snarl. "I know now that you already have. Your hair gives you away. When we first met, you told me that you had lived in Undermountain for over a year. And your clothes look it. But your hair is short, as if it had been recently cut. Don't try to tell me that you did such a fine job with the edge of your, dagger."

Beckla did not deny his words. Instead, she braced her shoulders, gazing at him, deep remorse in her brown eyes.

"Damn it, Beckla!" Artek snarled. "Tell me what in the Abyss is going on here!"

The wizard took a deep breath.

"I've betrayed you," she said.