Escape from Undermountain

Gargoyle's Gift

Artek stood atop a stone pillar.

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.

"We have to keep going down this corridor," Corin whispered urgently. "It's the only way to Wish Gate."

Beckla shook her head. "We'll never get past Halaster's little pet."

Artek clenched his hand into a fist, punching the wooden wall. He could not believe that they had survived so many perils only to be defeated by a mouse.

"There is a way," said a gruff voice.

The others looked up in surprise. It was Guss. "I could go out into the hallway first and run in the opposite direction. That way, the mouse would follow me and the rest of you could get to the gate."

"But that thing will kill you!" Beckla cried.

Guss's serious expression did not waver. For a moment he was silent, and then he spoke in quiet words.

"During all those centuries I dwelled in the tomb of Talastria and Orannon, I always thought there was something wrong with me. I couldn't bring myself to slay the tomb's defilers as my brethren did. I thought… I thought it was because I was a coward." The gargoyle gazed at the others, his green eyes glowing brightly. "But that's not true. I simply had never met anyone whom I wanted to protect Until now."

The gargoyle reached out to grip Beckla's hand gently in his own.

"Please," he said softly but insistently. "Let me do this thing. It is what I was created for."

Beckla snatched her hand away. Corin and Muragh gazed at the gargoyle with shock. Sorrow weighed heavily on Artek's heart, but a smile touched his lips. Guss knew who he was now-truly, deeply, with all his stony heart, Artek thought. Would that he could say so much. He would not deny Guss's chance to be whole.

Artek laid a hand fondly on the gargoyle's spiky shoulder, "Maybe you were created from evil, but you're a good creature to us. Never forget that"

Gratitude filled the gargoyle's eyes, but there was worry as well. "You would do well to heed your own words, Artek Ar'talen."

The others made their farewells then, though time forced them to be quick. Beckla's good-bye was the most tearful, and she was reluctant to release the gargoyle from her embrace.

"I'm going to miss you so much, Guss," she said quietly. ~\.

"And I you, Beckla," the gargoyle replied, squeezing her tight in his stony arms. "You, more than anyone, have taught me that I can be what I choose to be. Thank you, Beckla Shadesar. Remember me."

She shook her head fiercely. "How could I ever forget you?" But she could manage no more words beyond that.

The gargoyle flashed a toothy grin and extended his onyx talons, truly looking like the fearsome creature he had been created to be. But the same kindness glowed in his eyes.

"Here I come, Fang!" Guss bellowed. Tour doom is upon you. And its name is Terrathiguss!"

The gargoyle shredded the paper door with his claws and leapt through the tatters. The mouse squealed, its bloody whiskers twitching. Guss ran down the corridor. The mouse scrabbled after him while the others dashed into the hallway, watching in horror.

Guss was fast, but the mouse was faster still. It pounced, landing on the gargoyle. The two caught each other in a terrible embrace. Guss's talons raked across the mouse's belly, staining its snowy fur with crimson. It shrieked, then dug its teeth into the gargoyle's shoulder, and green ichor flowed. Wrestling with each other, the two creatures crashed into a wall. Thin wood splintered. As one, mouse and gargoyle tumbled through the hole and were gone.

Artek was first to the gap in the wall. Beckla and Corin-who held Muragh-were a half-second behind. Together, they peered through the hole.

Beyond the edge of the tabletop, on the floor far below, lay the mouse, its fur drenched with blood. It twitched once, then lay still. Scattered around the mouse were a dozen jagged shards of gray stone, stone that looked just like the remnants of a broken statue-the statue of a gargoyle.

Clutching a hand to her mouth, Beckla turned away. Corin cradled Muragh in his arms. By force of will, Artek swallowed the lump of sorrow in his throat. There would be time for mourning later. He gripped Beckla's hand.

"Let's go," he said.

The others nodded, and they started back down the hallway. Moments later, they burst through a paper door and into a small room. Wish Gate hung on the far wall like a shimmering emerald mirror. Artek looked down at his tattoo. The sun had brushed the arrow. How long did he have now? Three minutes? Two? There was no time to waste.

He gripped hands with Beckla and Corin; the nobleman held Muragh in his other hand. They approached the shimmering gate.

"Where are you going to wish us to?" Beckla asked.

Artek bared his pointed teeth; the expression was not a smile. "If it works, then you'll see."

Fixing his wish in his mind, he tightened his grip on the others. Then, as one, they leapt into the gate.

This time the nothingness was green. Then blue. Then black as ice at midnight. The cold was worse than before, and far, far longer-crueler than anything they had felt. Artek thought it would freeze his very soul to splinters, and his consciousness dwindled, like a dying spark lost in a winter night. Then, just as the spark wavered on the edge of being extinguished, cold dark became blazing light, and the universe exploded.

Falling through a sizzling aperture, they landed on a cushioned surface. Artek blinked and looked down. It was a thick, luxurious rug-an expensive one, by the look of it. His feral grin broadened. He recognized this room. The wish had worked.

With a snarl, he leapt to his feet. Corin and Beckla pulled themselves up behind him. They were in a gaudily decorated room filled with gilded wood, rich tapestries, and ostentatious displays of gold and silver. Before them stood two men. One was clearly a wizard: bald-headed, hook-nosed, and clad in a brown robe. The other was tall and elegant, with dark hair and gleaming green eyes, fashionably clad in purple velvet and silvery silk. He had frozen in the act of putting on a thick, black walking cloak.

"Going somewhere, Lord Thai?" Artek asked.

Only for a second did shock register upon the lord's handsome face. Then his visage grew smooth once more, his hooded green eyes glittering like a serpent's. A cruel smile coiled around the corners of his lips.

"Artek Ar'talen," he said with an almost imperceptible nod. "Exaggerated as the stories concerning your prowess seemed, it appears now they underestimated you."

Artek took a menacing step forward. Beckla and Corin flanked him on either side. "Save the compliments, Thai," Artek spat. "They're wasted on me. There's only one thing I want from you."

Thai affected an expression of mock regret. "Oh, do forgive me. But I really am in a bit of hurry. I have an important appointment to keep." Wicked laughter rose in his chest. "It seems that a foolish little titmouse of a lord has turned up missing-hardly a great loss, I know-and in his stead I am to be elected to the seventh seat on the city's Circle of Nobles."

Corin hung his head at Darien's cutting insult. Worried, Beckla glanced over at the young man.

Artek laughed bitterly. "What was it you told me when you first offered me this task, Darien?" He snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes. I remember. 'Among Silvertor's rivals are those with dark ambitions. They see the Circle as a means to rule over all the city's nobility, and as a position from which to launch an all-out assault against the hidden Lords of Waterdeep.'"

"Well, then," Darien said with dark mirth. "I did not lie about everything."

Darien's wizard gripped his staff. "Shall I dispose of this refuse for you, my lord?"

"Hush, Melthis," Darien crooned. "Be polite. These are our guests, after all. Besides, in just a few more seconds, the worst of them will be disposed of for us."

Artek glanced at his dark tattoo. The sun was nearly centered upon the arrow. The windows of Darien's mansion glowed deep red-it was almost dawn.

Artek walked up to the dark-haired lord and thrust out his arm. "Have your vulture take it off, Darien," he hissed between clenched teeth. "Now. If you don't, I swear, you won't outlive me."

Darien sighed deeply. At last he nodded. "Very well, if you put it that way." He turned toward the bald-headed wizard. "Melthis?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Die," Darien said flatly. The lord pulled his right arm from beneath his heavy cloak, and three whirling prongs sprang from the end of the burnished steel Device where his hand should have been. Before Artek could react, Darien plunged the spinning prongs into the wizard's chest. Melthis jerked spasmodically, his eyes going wide in disbelief, his mouth opening silently.

Darien pulled the bloody Device back. Melthis slumped to the floor, blood pouring from the ragged hole in his chest. The wizard twitched once, and that was all.

"Damn you, Thal!" Artek shouted in fury. "Why?"

Darien's smiled with an almost mad glee. "Melthis was weak and stupid. Had you threatened my life, he might have capitulated and given you what you wanted, removing the tattoo. But now there is no chance of that." His voice rose exultantly. The seconds are slipping by, Ar'talen. Can't you feel them draining away, one by one? You've lost. If you were wise, you would use these last moments to make peace with whatever uncouth gods you orcish rats worship in your rancid little holes in the ground."

Beckla raised her hands to cast a spell. "No!" Artek roared. "He's mine!" Orcish rage cast its blood-red veil before his eyes. Drawing the saber at his hip, he lunged forward. He swung the blade in a whistling arc, precisely aimed to sever the lord's neck.

But before it connected, the saber jerked in Artek's hand, wrenching his arm painfully. The blade changed direction of its own volition, and Artek twisted his body, barely managing to keep from severing his own leg.

"You are a fool, Ar'talen," Darien laughed. "You should have known you could not harm me with that blade. I was the one who gave it to you, after all."

Artek tried to cast down the sword. He would squeeze the life out of Darien with his bare hands if he could just release the cursed blade. But it was all he could do to keep the saber from turning on him again.

Darien tossed his cloak back, holding the bloody Device before him. He started moving for the door. "Out of my way-all of you! Waterdeep is going to be mine. And no one can stop me."

There was a sharp ringing of steel.

"I can," someone said.

All turned in surprise. It was Conn. He stood before Darien, rapier drawn. Gone from the young man's face was all the pale uncertainty of before. Authority blazed in his brilliant blue eyes, and despite his ragged, grimy clothes and smudged cheeks, his nobility seemed to shine forth. For all of Darien's rich velvet and silver silk, he looked like a lowly beggar next to Corin.

Mocking laughter escaped Darien's throat. "You can't kill me, boy. And even if you could, you wouldn't. You haven't the guts. Now scurry back to your little House of Silvertor, and perhaps, when I rule the city, I might let you live. After all, you're really not even worth killing."

Corin said nothing. He gripped his rapier tightly, his jaw set in firm resolution. The Device buzzed on the end of Darien's arm. For a protracted moment the two stared at each other, deciding who would make the first move.

Without warning, Darien let out a cry of pain. He hopped on one foot, clutching the other with his hand.

A pale, round form gnawed with yellow teeth at the flesh of his ankle: Muragh. With his left hand, Darien grabbed the skull and hurled it across the room. Muragh struck a wall with a sickening thud, then fell to the floor. After that, the skull did not move.

Muragh's teeth had done little damage, but Darien had been thrown off balance and Corin did not waste the chance. His rapier flashed in a bright arc, severing Darien's right arm above the wrist. The Device bounced to the carpet, its steel prongs still whirling violently. Darien stared in horror at the gory stump of his arm. He clutched it to his body and stumbled back against a polished mahogany wall. The cruel arrogance in his eyes was replaced by terror as Corin advanced, leveling his rapier at Darien's chest.

Darien shook his head slowly, tears streaming from his eyes. "Please," he whined piteously. "Please, Lord Silvertor. I beg of you. Have mercy!"

Corin hesitated only a moment. "No, Darien," he said quietly. "Mercy is for innocents."

Darien opened his mouth to scream, but was cut short by the whiplike sounds of Corin's rapier. Corin withdrew the blade. For a moment it seemed his blows had done nothing-Darien stared forward with an almost peaceful expression. Then blood began to flow from a dozen wounds on Ms arms and torso. A line of crimson appeared around his neck. Cleanly severed, Darien's head rolled to one side while his body slumped to the other, and both fell to the floor in a rapidly growing pool of blood.

"Do forgive me," Corin whispered. The rapier slipped from his numb fingers as he stared at the grisly scene he had wrought.

Artek lifted the cursed saber. He willed his hand to release the hilt. To his amazement, the blade fell to the floor. Then he felt it: the first pinpricks of pain in his arm. His eyes locked on the tattoo. The sun was centered squarely on the arrow now. Sparks of crimson magic sizzled around the lines of dark ink, and he shuddered as blazing agony traveled swiftly up his arm, reaching toward his heart.

Now that he had finally come to the end, he found that he was not afraid anymore. Perhaps it was because he finally knew who he was. And it was Guss who had shown him, with his noble sacrifice. If a gargoyle could be good, then so could Artek. It didn't matter what one was created to be. What mattered was how one lived one's life. He knew now that he didn't have to choose between being good and being part ore. He could be both.

Artek threw his head back, calling out to the heavens. "Arturg! Arthaug! My fathers before me! I come to you!"

"No!" a voice screamed.

It was Beckla.

The wizard rushed toward him as he fell to his knees. She raised her hand. Something gold and crimson shone on her finger. "Gate!" she cried. "Open!"

As she spoke the words, a glowing square filled with billowing gray mist appeared before them. Deadly crimson magic crackled around Artek's tattoo. He arched his spine in agony. His heart jerked in his chest.

Filled as he was with pain, he almost didn't notice as Beckla grabbed his arm and thrust it into the shimmering gate. The wizard held his arm fast, keeping the magical portal from pulling Artek fully into its cold mists. Instantly, Artek's pain vanished. The fire in his arm turned to ice as his flesh melted away in the nothingness beyond. His heart gradually slowed to a steady pace. Finally, the wizard pulled his arm out of the swirling mists. The gate sizzled and vanished.

Artek stared at his arm in wonder. The tattoo still marked his flesh, but the crimson magic was gone, and the image no longer moved. Golden daylight spilled through the glass windows into the room. Dawn had come and he was still alive.

"What happened?" he asked in amazement.

Relief flashed in Beckla's brown eyes. "Our bodies become incorporeal when we pass beyond a gate," she explained. "I figured that the tattoo's death magic couldn't work if there was no arm for it to travel up."

"Good reasoning," he murmured, flexing his arm.

"Lucky guess," she replied with a smirk. "The spell was set to work at a specific time. That time has passed. I think the magic has been negated. It's just a mundane tattoo now."

Artek grinned at her. "You're really not a bad wizard at all, you know."

"And I'm going to get even better," she said. From the pocket of her vest she pulled out a score of folded parchment sheets. "I picked these up in the lair of the silversanns, in Trobriand's Graveyard. The spell-books there were all torn up, but some of their pages were still whole. Every one of these is a new spell, Artek, enough for years of study." She carefully tucked the papers back into her vest. "Maybe I won't ever be the greatest wizard in the city. But I'm well on my way to becoming a good one."

Artek could only laugh in agreement. They stood up, looking to Corin. The nobleman, tears streaming freely down his dirty cheeks, turned away from Darien's corpse.

Artek's mirth was replaced by concern. "Are you all right, Corin?" he asked quietly.

The young lord nodded, roughly wiping the tears from his cheeks. "I am now-thanks to you, Artek. I won't ever let anyone tell me I'm worthless again."

Artek said nothing. He reached out to grip Corin's shoulder. After a moment, he tousled the lord's hair. "Don't you have a vote to be getting to?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Corin replied, suddenly beaming. He glanced down at his ragged clothes. "I'm not exactly dressed appropriately, but it will have to suffice. I've decided that I really don't care if I please the other nobles or not."

Beckla cast a sideways glance at Artek, then stepped toward the lord. "Do you mind if I go with you, Corin?" she asked, her eyes shining.

Corin grinned shyly, then nodded. "I would like that very much," he replied gently, taking her hand in his.

Artek gaped at the two in shock. "But I thought women always fell for the roguish type!" he sputtered.

Beckla winked slyly at him. "Not in this story, Ar'talen. I need a dose of goodness in my life."

Artek could only shake his head, his expression both chagrined and bemused.

"Oh, before I go," Corin said, "you should know that my first action in the Circle will be to recommend that a certain Artek the Knife receive a full pardon for all past crimes. The fellow will have a completely clean start."

Artek looked up at the young man in surprise. "He won't waste it," he said.

Corin nodded solemnly. "I know."

Without further words, Corin and Beckla dashed from the room and out into the dawning streets. For a moment Artek stared after them, feeling terribly alone. He wondered how it was possible to feel so glad and so sorrowful at the same time. At last, with a sigh, he turned to leave.

"Hey!" a reedy voice piped up. "Don't forget about me!"

Artek swore. How could it have possibly slipped his mind? He hurriedly knelt and picked up the skull. "Muragh, are you all right?"

"I'm going to have a nasty headache," the skull groaned. "And believe me, when all you are is a head, headaches are no fun. But I’ll be all right."

Artek grinned, his spirits rising. It looked as if he wasn't so alone after all. Picking up the skull, he headed outside. The city was just beginning to stir, getting ready for the day. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen so bright a morning.

"So," Muragh said, his jaw working, "did I ever tell you about the time the mermen in Waterdeep Harbor used me to play an impromptu game of finball?"

"No," Artek laughed. "But I'm sure you will."

"Well," the skull chattered happily, "it all began when I had the misfortune of getting eaten by a swordshark…"