Escape from Undermountain

Beauty Perilous

"Run…”

Artek tried to shout the word, but it escaped his lips only as a strangled whisper. Fear radiated from the far end of the tomb in thick, choking waves. He tried to back away from the dais, but his legs betrayed him. Against his will, he fell to his knees, bowing to the dread majesty rising before him. Behind him, Beckla and Corin did the same.

Icy wind shrieked through the ancient chamber. Crimson mist poured down the steps of the dark dais, filling the air with a bloody miasma. Trailing tattered funereal garb and yellowed wisps of dried flesh, the long-dead wizards climbed from their sarcophagi. They stood before the stone coffins, orbless eyes blazing, pointing accusing fingers at the humans. Two keening voices rose in shrill chorus.

Defilers! Trespassers! Foolishly have ye dared to transgress upon our domain!

The words pierced Artek's skull, flaying his mind. He clutched his hands to his ears, but he could not shut out the deafening shrieks.

Accursed breathing ones! Our guardians may be no more, but still ye shall not profane our tomb. Ye shall pay for this violation with your throbbing hearts!

The undead apprentices stretched out their leathery hands, and scarlet energy crackled on the tips of their clawlike fingers. Artek grunted in fear as he felt a tugging deep in his chest. With stiff, terrible slowness, the mummified wizards took a lurching step forward. They reached their ragged arms out still further, hands blazing with fell magic.

Artek screamed in pain. He threw his head back, arching his spine. His heart leapt wildly, straining against the inside of his rib cage, as if at any moment it would burst from his chest and hurtle through the air to the waiting hand of Talastria or Orannon. A moment later, Beckla and Corin echoed his cry, writhing as their own beating hearts were called by the dread wizards.

The undead horrors continued to hobble forward, until they stood upon the very edge of the dais. The nearer they came, the more the pressure in Artek's chest increased. He gnashed his teeth in agony as a trickle of dark blood oozed from his nose. He could not breathe. So this is how it ends, he thought dimly. Dying at the hands of the dead. He might have laughed at the irony of it, but when he opened his mouth, he could only scream.

The wizards grinned evilly, empty eye sockets blazing. A little closer, and their dire magic would be strong enough to rip the beating hearts from the chests of their defilers. Together, Talastria and Orannon took one more stiff step forward.

Numb and dried as they were, their feet did not sense the stone step beneath them. The two undead wizards lurched forward at the unexpected drop. Their brittle feet crumbled upon striking the top step of the dais. Withered arms shot out as the apprentices fought to preserve their precarious balance. The sudden motion caused ancient sinews to snap like old bowstrings. Talastria and Orannon let out a terrible, soul-rending shriek, and then, like grisly puppets with their strings slashed, they pitched forward. Their desiccated bodies struck the sharp stone steps and burst asunder. Disarticulated bones rolled down the steps, crumbling as they went.

By the time the remains of the two wizards reached the floor before the dais, all that was left were shards and scraps. For a moment, scarlet sparks of magic sizzled around the crumbled remnants of the gruesome mummies, but these, too, were soon extinguished. Yellow dust settled to the floor. After ten centuries, Talastria and Orannon were truly dead.

Artek slumped forward as the near-fatal magic released his heart. He clutched his chest, drawing in deep, ragged gulps of air. Gradually the wild throbbing of his heart slowed to a more steady pace. Turning his head, he saw Beckla and Corin pull themselves to their knees. The wizard wiped the blood from her lips with the back of her hand. Corin was hunched over, retching, but then he managed to straighten himself, his blue eyes wide in his pale face.

Muragh had rolled a short distance away. "Well, I guess that will teach you to respect the dead," the skull said in a slightly smug tone.

Artek did not even bother to reply, having had more than enough of dead things for the moment. Stumbling to his feet, he moved to help Beckla and Corin up. All were rattled by the experience, but no one seemed gravely injured.

"Now what?" Beckla asked hoarsely after recovering some of her composure.

Artek straightened his leather jerkin, then ran a hand through his short black hair. He gazed around the ancient tomb. "I can't say that I really care to hang around this place any longer than we have to, but I suppose we should look around. Talastria and Orannon may be dead for good, but there still could be something here that might help us."

"Very well," Corin agreed weakly. "But if any more corpses pop out of coffins, we're leaving."

For once the nobleman received no argument.

Carefully they began to search the tomb, examining the walls and poking through the broken statuary. They had been searching for only a few moments when a sound drifted on the air: a low grunting interspersed with high-pitched squeaks and damp snorts. Artek froze.

"Do you hear that?" he hissed to the others.

Beckla nodded. "It sounds like some sort of animal," she whispered back.

Corin stared at them in alarm. "I really think we ought to be going now," he gulped.

Artek shook his head grimly. "Not without knowing what's likely to be following us when we do." He cocked his head, listening. There it was again: a grunting, shuddering sound from the far end of the tomb. Steeling his will, Artek pulled the dagger from his boot and stealthily made his way toward the stone dais. The animal sounds grew louder. Whatever the thing was, it was definitely lurking behind the dais.

Clutching his dagger, Artek soundlessly ascended the steps. He moved carefully between the two stone sarcophagi and cautiously peered over the back edge of the dais. The sniffling sound reached his ears clearly now. Something gray, scaly, and muscular crouched in the shadows behind the dais. Artek's darkvision adjusted to the murk, and his jaw dropped in surprise. He backed away, hurrying down the steps, and returned to the others.

"It's a gargoyle," he whispered.

Beckla glanced at the shattered remains of the bestial stone statues that littered the tomb. "A gargoyle?" she asked in confusion. "Like these?"

Artek nodded darkly. "Only it's alive."

Corin clutched a hand to his mouth. "Alive?" he gasped through his fingers. "But what's it doing?"

Artek frowned in puzzlement. "I'm not entirely sure. But I think that it's… crying."

Beckla and Corin traded startled looks. "Crying?" they echoed as one.

"Maybe you'd better come look for yourselves," Artek told the others. "I can't be certain, but I don't think it's too dangerous. If it was, it probably would have attacked us by now."

Beckla was game to try, but Corin had to be tugged along forcefully.

"Hey!" Muragh piped up. "Don't forget me!"

"I should be so lucky," Artek grumbled, picking up the enchanted skull.

Keeping close together, they ascended the dais and peered over the back edge. Beckla held out her hand. Blue magelight drove away the shadows, revealing the creature below.

In the light, Artek saw that it was indeed a gargoyle. The creature huddled on the floor with its back turned toward them. Its scaly hide was rough and gray as stone, and rocklike muscles knotted its powerful frame. Stubby bat wings protruded from its broad back, and onyx horns sprang from its knobby head. The gargoyle's gigantic shoulders shook as it grunted and sniffled.

The poor thing," Beckla sighed.

Artek and Corin stared at her. "The poor thing?" Artek repeated in disbelief.

The wizard glared at him. "It's sad," she replied in annoyance.

At the sound of their voices, the gargoyle let out a snort and looked up. Both Artek and Corin jumped back, but Beckla did not so much as flinch. Somehow the creature's doglike face was more endearing than frightful. Sorrow shone in its glowing green eyes.

"What's wrong with you?" the gargoyle growled in a gravelly voice. "Why are you just standing there? Aren't you terrified of me?"

Trembling, Corin opened his mouth to speak, but Beckla elbowed him sharply in the side. The nobleman's mouth promptly snapped shut.

"No, we're not," the wizard answered seriously.

The gargoyle let out a dejected sigh, wings drooping. "I was afraid of that. Not that I'm surprised-I never was any good at guarding the tomb. Now I'm the last, and an utter failure." The gargoyle sniffed, wiping the dampness from its scaly cheeks with a clawed hand.

"Corin," Beckla asked, "do you have a handkerchief?"

"Of course," the nobleman replied in confusion. He pulled a slime-covered silk cloth from the pocket of his velvet coat. "But what do you-?"

Beckla snatched the handkerchief from his hand, then hopped down from the dais. She held the cloth out toward the gargoyle. "Here," she said gently.

The gargoyle stared at her in surprise, then hesitantly accepted the handkerchief. The creature lifted the grubby cloth to its long muzzle, then let out a trumpeting snort. When it was finished, it politely offered the dripping handkerchief back to Corin.

The nobleman accepted it reluctantly, looking vaguely queasy.

Artek watched all this with growing fascination. He crouched on the edge of the dais and eyed the gargoyle critically. "Excuse me," he said carefully, "but I was always led to believe that gargoyles were terrible and ferocious creatures-stone statues given magical life for the sole purpose of maiming and killing."

"They are," the gargoyle agreed.

Artek scratched his stubbly chin. "Well, no offense intended, but you don't exactly fit the bill."

More tears welled up in the creature's glowing green eyes. "I know," it said forlornly.

"Now look what you've done, Ar'talen," Beckla scolded him. "You've made him cry again."

Artek shook his head in astonishment. He was having a hard time dealing with this. He gave the gargoyle a questioning look. "All right, then maybe you should tell us exactly what you are doing here, ah…"

"Terrathiguss," the creature finished. "Terrathiguss the Gargoyle."

"Well, at least your name is somewhat frightening," Artek acknowledged.

"Do you really think so?" Terrathiguss asked. "Not much else about me is." Muscled limbs flexing easily, the gargoyle climbed onto the dais and gazed around the tomb at the shattered remnants of the other stone gargoyles. "I don't know what went wrong. We were all created at the same time. Talastria and Orannon made us, you see. They used their dying energy to conjure us into being, and ordered us to keep guard over their tomb. But I was the last one they made." The gargoyle shook its head ruefully. "And somehow I was different."

"Different?" Artek asked.

The gargoyle nodded solemnly. "Do you mind if I sit?" Startled by the creature's manners, Artek could only nod. With a clawed hand, Terrathiguss fastidiously dusted off a corner of one of the sarcophagi. Then the creature perched neatly on the stone coffin.

"For a thousand years, my brethren and I stood guard over this tomb," Terrathiguss went on in his gruff yet oddly warm voice. "Oh, it wasn't as boring as you might imagine, for we spent most of that time in stone form. Time passes very quickly for us when we stand as statues. I suppose it's rather like sleeping for a living creature, though I can only guess." The gargoyle shrugged its massive shoulders. "Anyway, we became flesh only when interlopers entered the tomb. And then we promptly tore the defilers to shreds."

Terrathiguss shook his head sadly. "At least, my brethren tore the defilers to shreds. At first I joined them, but before long I realized that it wasn't the same for me as for the other gargoyles. They seemed to truly enjoy rending hapless adventurers limb from limb. They would laugh loudly, and always fought over who got to eviscerate the last screaming victim. During the first century or two, I tried killing a few adventurers myself But I only felt sorry for them, and I dispatched them as quickly and painlessly as I could." The gargoyle rested its knobby chin on a clawed hand. "As time went on, I took to just hiding behind the dais and letting the others do all the work. My brethren never seemed to notice. They were always too busy having fun."

"But what happened to the others?" Beckla asked, glancing at the broken statues.

"I'm not sure exactly," Terrathiguss replied. "None of us were. One day we woke up from our stony sleep to find that one of our brethren had cracked and crumbled during our slumber. After that, every time we awoke, we saw that another one or two had fallen to ruin while we were sleeping. I suppose it was simply age. Even enchanted stone can crack with time, and even magical creatures can die."

"So you're the last?" Corin asked breathlessly. Caught up in the creature's tale, he had forgotten his fear.

"I'm afraid so," the gargoyle said glumly. "I woke when you first entered the tomb, and I hid behind the dais. Now I see that I was the only one to wake.

There were three others besides me when last we became stone. All must have crumbled since then." The gargoyle's voice turned into a sob. "What a cruel joke that I am the last! I should have attacked you when you entered the tomb. I should have protected my creators. Instead I hid like a coward, and now Talastria and Orannon are no more. I suppose I will crumble, too, now that they are destroyed."

Beckla tapped her cheek thoughtfully. "I'm not so certain. It seems to me that if you were still under their power, you would have turned back to stone with their destruction. But you're still flesh. I think that perhaps you are free of them."

The gargoyle glanced up at Beckla in surprise. "Free?" A look of wonder crossed his doglike face. The green light in his eyes flashed. "Free." He murmured the word again in amazement.

As the gargoyle contemplated the wizard's words, Artek drew the others aside.

"So what are we going to do with it?" he asked quietly.

"It's not an it? Beckla replied testily. "It's a him. I'm going to call him Guss."

"Whatever for?" Artek asked.

Terrathiguss is too long," Beckla explained. "And it really doesn't suit him. He's much too nice to have that kind of a name."

Artek shook his head, trying to follow her reasoning. "But why call it-I mean him-anything at all?"

“Because we're adopting him," Beckla said crisply.

"Oh, how delightful!" Corin exclaimed happily.

"Are you insane, wizard?" Artek hissed. "In case you hadn't noticed, he's a. gargoyle. We are not adopting him!"

"Quiet, Ar’talen!" Весklа said crossly. "You'll hurt his feelings."

Sputtering, Artek tried to come up with a sensible reply to this madness. Beckla breezed by him, approaching the gargoyle.

"It's decided, Terrathiguss," she said cheerfully. "We're trying to get out of Undermountain, and you're welcome to come with us. I would like to call you Guss, too-it's a much nicer name for you. But it's all up to you, of course."

The gargoyle leapt to his feet in surprise. "Well, I like Guss just fine," he gasped, "but do you really mean the rest? You want me to come with you?"

Beckla nodded solemnly. "We do." "All of you?" Guss asked. He looked hopefully at Artek.

Artek opened his mouth, but a sharp glance from Beckla made him rethink his reply. "Yes," he grumbled darkly. "All of us."

"You might be sorry, you know," Guss said gravely. "I was created by dark wizards as a creature of destruction. I am evil by nature."

Beckla smiled. "I rather doubt that."

The gargoyle grinned back at her, displaying row upon row of sharp teeth. Somehow the expression was more charming than terrible. Artek was forced to admit to himself that Guss did seem friendly. And it couldn't hurt to have a gargoyle on their side.

"Look at this!" Corin said suddenly.

The nobleman had been rummaging inside one of the stone coffins, and his eager face was covered with dust. He gripped a tattered book in his hand.

The others gathered around Corin as he opened the tome. The brittle yellow pages were covered with the same spidery writing as the messages the two apprentices had scratched on the walls.

"I think it's their diary!" Corin exclaimed excitedly, thumbing through the book.

Artek peered more closely at the tome, but he could not make out the ancient writing. "Can you read it?"

Corin frowned, squinting at the murky text, then shook his head. "It's written in Thorass, all right. But I'm afraid the ink is too faded to make out more than a word or two. Perhaps I could-wait a minute! What's this?"

The nobleman flipped back to the page that had caught his eye. It displayed a map showing twisting halls joining myriad chambers. "I think this is the great avenue of Underhall we were in before," Corin said, pointing to a broad passage.

"What's this?" Beckla asked, pointing to a chamber with an X marked inside it and a line of text scrawled beneath it.

Corin studied the words for a moment. "I think I can make this out," he murmured, then nodded. "Yes. To the lair of our sister Arcturia.'"

Artek looked up in interest. "Their sister? What does that mean?"

Muragh bounced up and down in his hands. "Are you an idiot?" the skull piped up urgently. "Who else could be the sister of Talastria and Orannon besides-"

"Another apprentice," Artek finished in amazement. He rubbed the top of the skull with his knuckles. "Good thinking, Muragh. Especially for someone who doesn't have a brain."

"Thanks," the skull huffed in annoyance, squirming but unable to escape Artek's grip.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Beckla demanded, hopping off the dais. "Let's go find this Arcturia."

At first, Guss was reluctant to step outside the door of the ancient tomb, fearing he would turn to stone. But Beckla gripped his clawed hand and coaxed him through the portal. Finally he crossed the threshold, then cringed, eyes clenched shut, waiting for doom to fall upon him. Nothing happened. When he opened his glowing green eyes and looked down at his hands, they were still scaly flesh. He looked up at Beckla in wonder, then gave her a toothy grin.

Following the map, they made their way back up the five sets of stairs and down the broad, dusty boulevard hewn by the Melairkyn dwarves. Turning down a side passage, they wended their way through a maze of corridors until at last they came to the chamber marked on the map. There was nothing inside the small stone room but a round pool of dark water.

"Don’t tell me this was a wild goblin chase," Artek said glumly.

Beckla cautiously approached the pool, held out her hands, and spoke several words of magic. The dark water suddenly shone with a radiant blue light. Beckla nodded in satisfaction, then withdrew her hands, and the light faded.

"The pool is enchanted," she said, turning to the others. "While I can't be entirely certain, I think it's a gate."

"Either that or it will transform us into two-headed slime worms," Artek said. "We probably ought to do a few tests before we jump in."

"For once I agree with you, Ar'talen." The wizard started back toward the others. As she did, her boot heel skidded on the damp stones beside the pool. She reached out to balance herself, but it was too late. With a cry, Beckla fell backward into the dark surface of the pool.

The others rushed to the edge of the pool. Artek peered into the murky depths. "I can't see her!" he said frantically.

"And you won't, no matter how hard you look," Muragh replied, his reedy voice grim. "Not if this really is a gate."

"But where has it taken her?" Corin asked, wringing his hands.

Artek made a decision. "There's only one way to find out."

The nobleman's eyes went wide. He started to back away from the pool. "Oh, no. You don't intend to-"

"Grab him, Guss!" Artek shouted.

The gargoyle caught the squirming lord in his stony arms. "Got him, Artek," Guss grinned. "Ready?"

Artek gave a sharp nod. "As Ш ever be." He tightened his grip on Muragh. "Let's go."

Together they leapt into the pool.

Chill water closed over their heads, and they plunged down through freezing darkness. A brilliant light appeared below and grew rapidly into a silvery rectangle. Together they fell through the glowing gate. Artek's senses were abruptly turned on their sides as he found himself not falling through the portal like a trapdoor, but rather stepping through it, as if walking past a sheer curtain of cool silk and into a shining room beyond.

"Greetings, wanderers," said a shimmering voice. "Welcome to my abode."

For a moment Artek was utterly disoriented. At last he blinked and saw that he and the others indeed stood in some sort of chamber, but he could make out few details. Everything was washed in glowing silver light. Then the light dimmed as a figure stood before them, and they all gasped.

She was beautiful. Her skin was as green and radiant as emeralds, and long hair tumbled about her shoulders in waves of polished jet. She wore a pale, diaphanous shift that seemed to accentuate the lushness of her smooth body rather than conceal it. Blue wings-as fine as those of a dragonfly-fluttered gently behind her. Eyes as bright as the sun shone from her delicate, nymphlike face.

Finally, Artek found his tongue. "Arcturia?" he murmured in wonder.»

Her laughter was like clear water on crystal. Indeed, I am Arcturia," she said in her bell-like voice. "And who else had you expected to find beyond the gate?"

Artek turned to glance at the portal behind them. It looked like a polished silver mirror hung within the carved stone archway, reflecting not this room, but rather the chamber with the dark pool. Even as Artek watched, the portal flashed, and the image changed, showing a shadowed hallway. After a few moments the silvery door flashed again. Once more the image shifted, now displaying a vast throne room.

"Many gates lead to this one," Arcturia said in answer to his look of wonder. "But that need concern you no longer, for now you have found me. Come-you must be thirsty, hungry, and tired. I will take you each to a place where you may find rest and peace."

Rest and peace. The words echoed deliciously in Artek's mind. Suddenly he could think of nothing else. It was exactly what they needed, but could they truly find it with one of Halaster's apprentices?

Arcturia reached out a slender hand toward Corin, whose eyes seemed to glaze over as he looked upon her with a rapt expression of joy. She smiled and led the nobleman away into the silvery light. He did not resist. Soon she came back to lead Beckla and Guss away in turn. They did not resist either, and Artek found he could only watch them be taken away. He could not move, and he was not sure if he even wanted to.

At last she came for Artek. She slipped her cool fingers into his. Come, her voice whispered gently in his mind, though her ruby lips moved only to smile.

Muragh jerked in the crook of Artek's arm. "I don't like this," the skull hissed through yellowed teeth. His few wisps of rotted hair waved in agitation. "She's a little too friendly, if you ask me. Something is wrong here."

However, the skull's urgent words were no more than a dull buzz in Artek's ears. As if in a dream, he seemed to float forward, following the green-skinned maiden.

"Artek, don't do this!" Muragh cried out. "listen to me, I know what-"

Utterly unnoticed, the skull slipped from Artek's arm, clattering to the floor and rolling away. With an absent smile, Artek followed after Arcturia.

As they proceeded, he caught brief glimpses of the others. Corin sat in a velvet chair at the end of a long dining table laden with pewter platters, crystal bowls, and goblets of beaten gold. His grimy clothes had been replaced by new finery of blue silk trimmed with silver braid, and his golden hair was neatly drawn back from his powdered face by a cloth ribbon. Two servants in elegant kneecoats waited upon him, heaping his plate with steaming delicacies and filling his cup with crimson wine. The nobleman sighed happily, then dug ravenously into the rich feast laid out before him.

Artek wondered if that was what life was like in House Silvertor. Then the scene passed by, and thoughts of the nobleman drifted from his mind. A moment later he glimpsed Guss. The gargoyle sat upon a greensward, surrounded by wildflowers. Bathed in the warm light of an unseen sun, Guss leaned contentedly against an oak tree. He plucked a purple flower and held it beneath his muzzle, closing his eyes in bliss as he breathed deeply.

Artek thought he should call out to Guss in greeting, but Arcturia gently pulled him onward, and he quickly forgot about the gargoyle. They passed an archway through which Artek glimpsed a dim chamber. He could see Beckla standing before a wooden workbench. Her face was intent as she ground colored powders with mortar and pestle, and combined glittering potions in glass beakers. She held a crucible over a candle's flame, and glowing blue smoke billowed out to her evident satisfaction. It seemed that she was researching a powerful new spell.

At last Arcturia brought him to a halt in front of a wooden door. Again her voice whispered in his mind, though her lips did not move. Beyond this door you will find all that you desire, Artek. Open it…

The emerald-skinned woman seemed to fade away into the silvery light, leaving Artek alone. He gripped the brass doorknob. For a moment he hesitated, but it was as if he could not control his hand. A force was pulling him from the other side of the door. He opened it and stepped through.

"Father!" a clear voice cried. "You're home!"

A small form raced across the cozy, firelit room and flew into his arms. It all seemed so familiar. Artek found himself lifting the dark-haired boy into the air.

"You're getting big, Arneth!" he said. He was not sure how he knew the boy's name, but he was certain that the boy knew him.

"Yes, I am," the boy replied seriously. "What did you bring me?"

Artek reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown paper packet, though he could not remember putting it there. "I hope this will do."

Arneth took the packet and opened it. "Candy!" he exclaimed happily. "Thank you, Father!" The boy dashed away with his new treasure.

A pretty woman in a green dress set a steaming bowl down on a wooden table. She looked up and smiled, her sun-gold eyes glowing. "Your supper is ready, Artek."

Artek caught the woman in his arms and held her tightly. He felt lucky to have this warm home, bright son, and beautiful wife. It was all he had ever wanted in life. Why question things? He was going to enjoy it to the fullest. He glanced at the door through which Arneth had disappeared, then grinned broadly.

"It's not stew I'm hungry for," he said wickedly, squeezing the woman tight.

She laughed, filling the air with a tinkling sound, like the ringing of a crystal bell. "Very well, husband," she said. "But there is something I must do first. Wait just a moment, and I will return."

She pushed him gently into a chair, brushed a soft finger against his lips, and disappeared through the door he had entered. Artek leaned back, sighing contentedly, dreaming of the pleasure that was to come.

"Artek!" a distant voice said. "Artek, pick me up! Please!"

The voice was so faint and hazy that he thought he had imagined it. He started to slip into his daydreams once more, but something nudged his foot. He looked down in surprise to see a skull on the floor, its jaw working frantically. For a moment he stared at the thing in amazement, but soon found himself bending down to pick it up.

"Artek!" The skull hopped madly in his hands. "It's me! Muragh! Wake up, you fool!"

Memory flooded back into Artek's mind. "Muragh," he gasped in surprise. "What are we doing here? Where are the others?"

"They're trapped in illusions, just like you are," the skull said urgently. "And let me tell you, rolling all the way here to warn you was not easy. You're all in terrible danger!"

"Danger?" Artek asked. "What do you mean? And what's all this about illusions?"

"Look through my eyes," the skull said. "Then you'll understand."

"What do you mean?"

"Fm not alive-illusions don't work on me," Muragh explained hastily. "There's a crack in the back of my skull. If you look through it, you can see out of the holes in my eye sockets. The magic in my skull will filter out the illusions you perceive. Hurry!''

Artek still found himself unable to think clearly. He lifted the skull and, squinting, peered through the crack in the back of Muragh's cranium.

Artek stood in shock. Still gazing through the skull, he looked all around. No longer was he in a warm, firelit chamber. It was a room, all right, but the walls were covered with mold. There was no fireplace, no door in the wall through which Arneth had run. There was a table and chair, but both were rickety and worm-eaten. The chill truth crashed over him in a wave, and a pang of loss clutched his heart. It was an illusion-the house, the fire, Arneth, all of it. All of it, perhaps, except the woman.

"You said we were in danger, Muragh," he whispered intently.

"Arcturia isn't what she seems," the skull replied. "She plans to use you and the others as subjects for her experiments."

"Experiments?"

"Yes! I heard her talking to herself after she left you here. She plans to-"

The skull was interrupted by a clear voice from outside the door. "Here I come, husband," the voice purred. "I hope that you are ready."

Artek stared at Muragh in terror as the door began to open.