Escape from Undermountain

The Black Dart

The beautiful woman with sun-gold eyes stepped through the door, her green dress swishing softly. Artek smiled nervously, folding his hands behind his head and trying to lean back casually in the chair. Something sharp dug into the small of his back, and he grimaced in pain.

A faint shadow touched her smooth brow. "Is something wrong, my love?"

He forced a smile. "No, dearest. Only a passing sadness that you were away. But it has gone, now that you have returned."

Her red lips coiled into a pleased smile, and she turned to shut the door. As she did, Artek whispered quietly out of the corner of his mouth.

"Quit squirming, Muragh! You'll give us away." As Artek leaned against the skull to conceal it from view, Muragh's pointed jaw dug painfully into his spine.

"I can't help it," came the skull's muffled reply.

"Keep still!" Artek hissed.

"Did you say something, my love?" the woman asked, turning around.

"Uh, no," he said, loudly.

"Good," she murmured in a sultry voice, moving toward him. "Talking is not what I had in mind." Sitting on the edge of the table, she leaned toward him and lifted a slender hand to the bodice of her gown, as if to untie the leathern laces. Then, with startling swiftness, she reached into the cleft of her bosom, drew out a shimmering green object, and thrust it toward Artek's face. It was a tiny serpent with ruby eyes and emerald scales.

Artek grabbed her wrist and held it fast. The snake hissed, baring its fangs, mere inches from his face.

"Why do you resist me, my love?" the woman crooned, straining against his grip. Evil light flashed in her golden eyes.

"Because I do not care for poison snakes," Artek said through clenched teeth. He tightened his grip on her wrist.

"You judge me wrongly, my love," she countered. "This is a dreamserpent. Its bite will bring you only sleep, so that you will not feel pain as I transform your exquisite body."

“Transform?" Artek asked. "How?"

Strange exultation twisted her beautiful face. "You are strong, my love." She ran the fingers of her free hand down his cheek, his throat, his chest. "I could do much with you. You could bear it. I would give you the arms of an ogre, the claws of a lion, the scaled armor of a dragon, and the poison stinger of a scorpion." She trembled with excitement. "You would be utterly magnificent!"

She would make him a monster? Little did she know that he was already part monster. Crimson rage flared in his brain.

"I will be nothing for you, Arcturia!" he cried.

He leapt to his feet and slammed her hand-still clutching the dreamserpent-against the table. In one swift motion, he drew his dagger and plunged it downward. A shrill, inhuman scream pierced the air as Artek pinned the woman's hand to the table. Then the illusions that masked the chamber wavered and vanished, revealing the true nature of all within.

The beautiful woman was gone. Her skin was still emerald, but now it was composed of overlying scales, like those of the serpent. Wicked spurs of bone protruded from her elbows, her shoulders, and her knees. Instead of hair, a writhing mass of slimy black tentacles sprang from her head. Her wings were not a fairy's, but rather a foul insect's, and they buzzed spastically as she tugged to free her wounded hand. She shrieked again, baring long yellow fangs.

Apparently, Arcturia had made herself the subject of her own experiments.

Grabbing Muragh, Artek hurried through the door. No longer was the space beyond bathed in silvery radiance. The air was dank and murky, and fetid water streamed down the bare stone walls. The others were there, and they all looked up at Artek in shock and confusion. Beckla had not been experimenting with vials and beakers, but with broken sticks and dirty stones. Guss sat upon a heap of festering garbage, holding a clump of worms in his hand. And still in his grimy attire, Corin sat before a rickety table littered with cracked clay plates. The lord stared down at the bowl of putrid, black sludge he had been eagerly spooning up. His face went green.

"What… what happened?" Beckla asked, shaking her head.

"It was all an illusion," Artek explained. "Arcturia conjured visions from our fantasies in order to control us, so that she could use us for her experiments."

"Experiments?" Corin echoed in a quavering voice.

"I'll explain later," Artek said gruffly. "Right now we've got to get out of here."

He looked up at the stone archway through which they had entered the mad apprentice's lair. The gate flashed, and in it they saw the image of the chamber where they had dived into the dark pool. "Come on!" he shouted, urging the others toward the portal.

"Wait!" screamed a grating voice, bringing them to a halt. In dread they turned around. Arcturia stood before the open door of the side chamber, clutching her bleeding hand. "Stay!" she cried. "Don't you understand? I can make you beautiful. Like me!"

"We're leaving," Artek growled.

Rage and desire twisted her hideous visage. "If I cannot have you, then you will die!" she shrieked. Her golden eyes blazed malevolently as she clenched her wounded hand into a fist. Dark blood welled forth. Foul words of magic tumbled from her tongue, and the blood began to glow with scarlet force. The gate!" Artek shouted in alarm. "Now!" They leapt for the portal just as Arcturia released her spell. Like a red serpent, deadly magic flashed from her wounded hand, speeding across the chamber to strike them down. Together, Artek and the others broke the gleaming surface of the gate. But just then, the image within flashed and changed. It was too late to stop. They fell through the gate as Arcturia's magic exploded behind them, shattering the archway. Screaming, they plunged down into nothingness.

Muragh said that six of Halaster's apprentices still lurked in Undermountain, Artek thought grimly. Just two more to go now.

He stared at the magical tattoo on his arm. Even as he watched, the wheel of dark ink moved slowly around the grinning death's head. The stylized sun had just passed the arrow. Somewhere far above- just how far he knew not-dawn was breaking over the city of Waterdeep. One whole day had passed already. He had only one more day to complete his mission. Only one more day to live.

He had found Corin Silvertor. That was something, at least. But they still had to escape from Undermountain, and it seemed they were farther from finding a way out than ever. A part of him wanted to give up, to lie down and die here in the darkness, but he was filled with rage at Darien Thai's betrayal. He could not quit, not now. The desire for revenge was too hot. Too strong. It would drive him on to the bitter end. He supposed he should be thankful for his orcish side, but it was that dark and feral part of him that had got him into this mess in the first place. He pulled down the sleeve of his jerkin, concealing the tattoo.

Artek surveyed his surroundings. Despite the murk, his darkvision let him see the rough walls of damp stone. The gate had dropped them into a natural tunnel of some sort, hewn by time and the flow of water. As quickly as it had appeared in midair, the sizzling gate had closed behind them. Neither Arcturia nor her crimson magic had followed them through the portal, but there was no telling where the gate had deposited them. For all they knew, they were deeper than ever in Undermountain.

In the darkness, he could make out the shapes of the others nearby. Corin lay curled in a ball, hands pillowing his head, snoring blissfully. Artek shook his head, wondering if the young nobleman truly understood the danger they were in. Maybe to Corin, this was all simply a grand adventure, like the fantastic tales told by a wandering minstrel. Artek almost envied the lord. Would that he himself had lived such a sheltered life, and knew the calm of such ignorance. But he had not, and he knew better.

Not far off, Guss kept watch in one direction down the tunnel, while Muragh rested on a rock facing the other direction. The gargoyle had cheerfully offered to stand sentry. "I've just woken up from a two-century long nap," he had explained.

Muragh, in contrast, had been less than cooperative. "I won't be able to talk to you if I'm that far away!" the skull had complained. That was precisely the idea. Artek had ignored Muragh's protests and set him down on a rocky perch to keep watch.

He could hear the skull faintly now, muttering to himself in wounded tones. In truth, Artek did not care for the idea of stopping to rest, but after the ordeal in Arcturia's lair, Corin had been swaying on his feet, and Beckla's face had been drawn and haggard. Much as he hated to admit it, Artek needed rest as well. Time was precious, but all the time in the world would do them no good if they dropped from exhaustion. However, he had not been able to find sleep as easily as Corin.

With a start, Artek realized that Beckla's sleeping form was no longer next to that of the nobleman. He heard a rustling sound behind him and turned to see the wizard approaching out of the shadows, a wisp of magelight bobbing above her head. She knelt beside him.

"I brought you some water," she said softly. "And something to eat."

He accepted both gratefully, only then realizing how thirsty and hungry he was. The water came from damp moss, which he squeezed over his open mouth. The moisture produced was musty and bitter, but cool against his parched tongue. Beckla broke a piece off of some sort of round loaf and handed it to Artek. The food was soft, rich, and slightly nutty. He ate it ravenously.

"Where did you find a loaf of bread?" he asked in amazement after finishing the last morsel.

"Actually, it's not bread," the wizard replied. A weak grin touched her lips. "It's fungus."

Artek's eyes grew wide. He tried to spit out the last mouthful, but it was too late. Grimacing, he felt it slide down his throat and into his stomach. "You could have told me," he grumbled.

“Would you have enjoyed it so much if I had?" she asked.

"No," he was forced to admit.

Beckla broke off a piece of the fungus and popped it into her mouth. "It's really quite good. Besides, one can't be picky after living down here for a year. If it won't kill you, you eat it."

"Nice philosophy."

They were quiet as Beckla finished eating. Eventually Artek found himself gazing at Guss's dark form. The gargoyle stood as still as stone, gazing down the corridor.

"He can't be as good as he seems," Artek said quietly.

Beckla looked up in surprise. "You mean Guss?"

Artek nodded. "Guss «aid it himself-he was created to be a creature of evil. How can we be certain he won't suddenly turn on us?"

Beckla sat cross-legged, arranging her tattered shirt and smudged vest. "It's not how you're born that matters," the wizard replied firmly. "It's what you do with yourself. That's all that really counts."

Bitter laughter escaped Artek's throat. "Is that so?" he sneered. "Then why did the Magisters throw me in the Pit for a crime I didn't commit?" He did not let her answer, but went on. "I'll tell you why. It was because they knew orcish blood runs in my veins. In their eyes I was born part monster, and thus a monster I am bound to be." He shook his head ruefully. "And maybe they were right. Maybe I never will be anything else."

Beckla was silent for a long moment. Finally she gave his clothes a critical look. "Have you ever considered wearing something besides black?" she asked.

"What's the matter with black?" he asked defensively. "It's a very dignified color."

"It's a well-known fact that only evil people wear black," Beckla replied. "You might consider trying white for a change. It could do wonders for your image."

Artek let out a dubious snort. "I'll keep it in mind," he muttered. "So what about you? What's your unattainable dream? Back in Arcturia's realm, I saw you working happily with potions and powders-at least, you thought you were."

Beckla was silent for a moment. At last she held out her hand. The shimmering wisp of magelight floated down to hover above her hand. She moved her fingers, and the glowing puff danced, changing from blue to green to yellow and back to blue again. Abruptly she waved her hand, and the light vanished. She reached out, motioning as if pulling something from behind Artek, and the wisp of magelight appeared in her hand once more.

"That's a fancy trick," Artek said, impressed.

Beckla released the light, and it floated above her head once more. "But that's all it is," she said ruefully. "A trick. A ruse to entertain commoners and simpletons, and nothing more." She bit her lower lip, staring away into the darkness, then finally turned to regard Artek with her deep brown eyes. I'm а small-time wizard, Ar’talen. I know a few real spells, and I can fake a dozen more. But I can't do anything more than a thousand other would-be wizards can. Do you know what real mages, so mighty in their high towers and mystic laboratories, call people like me?" She shook her head in disgust. "Runts. That's what they say when they see us. If they bother to look our way at all."

"You're good enough to have survived in this maze for a year," Artek offered.

But Beckla's eyes grew distant, as if she had not heard. "Just once I'd like to be the mage in the tower," she whispered. "I would learn the deepest, most powerful spells, discover the mysteries of the most ancient artifacts, and create new magic the like of which no one has ever seen." She shook her head fiercely. "But even if I dwelled in the highest tower, I would not look down on those outside. I would open my doors to all the so-called runts. I would welcome them into my study, and teach them real magic, so they would never again have to hang their heads in shame when another mage walked by!"

Only then did she realize that she had clenched her hands into fists. She fell silent, forcing her fingers to relax.

"You'd give anything for that, wouldn't you?" Artek asked softly.

She swallowed hard and suddenly looked away, as if his words had cut her somehow.

"We should be going," she said. "I'll wake Corin." She swiftly stood and walked away, leaving Artek to stare after her.

Artek told Guss that they were ready to move on, then went to retrieve Muragh. He returned to find Corin happily munching on a piece of something soft and white.

"What is this food that Beckla found?" the lord asked with his mouth full. "It's absolutely delicious!"

Artek held in a smile. "I think it's some kind of bread."

"I'll have to get the recipe," Corin said as he popped the last bite into his mouth.

They were all ready, and Artek considered which way to go. The tunnel looked the same in either direction: jagged stone walls, damp floor, and stalactites hanging like teeth from the ceiling. It was Guss who had an answer.

"Can't you hear it?" the gargoyle asked, cupping a clawed hand to his pointed ear. "There must be an underground river down there somewhere."

Artek took a few steps forward and cocked his head, listening. He could barely hear a faint rushing noise, and new hope glimmered in his heart. All rivers, even those underground, must eventually run into the sea. This just might be the way out they were looking for.

"Good work, Guss," he said, giving the gargoyle an affectionate slap on the back. Immediately he regretted the action-the creature's spiky hide hurt. He clutched his stinging hand.

"Sorry about that," Guss said sheepishly.

"My fault." Artek winced. "I forgot that you're made out of stone." He shook his hand, and the pain dulled to a throb. "Now let's get moving."

Artek led the way down the tunnel, holding

Muragh in the crook of his arm. Beckla followed on his heels, her magelight floating above her head. Corin came next, and Guss brought up the rear, keeping watch on the darkness behind. Before long the water on the floor became a swift-flowing rivulet. They were heading down-always down, cursed Artek inwardly.

The sound of running water grew steadily louder, until it thrummed off the stone walls. Soon a damp spray drifted in the air, cool against their cheeks. They rounded a sharp bend in the tunnel, and the voice of the river became a thundering roar. A vast space opened before them. Beneath their feet stretched a steep, rock-strewn slope, and at the bottom raced a broad expanse of dark, frothy water. Beckla's blue magelight glinted off the onyx surface of the subterranean waterway.

"This must be the River Sargauth!" Muragh exclaimed, practically leaping from Artek's hands as his jaw opened and shut in excitement.

"The Sargauth?" Artek asked.

Muragh managed to approximate a nod. "It has to be. Only the Sargauth could be this large. According to all the stories I've heard, it winds its way through the middle levels of Undermountain until it joins up with Skullport, the pirate city hidden in the sea caves that border Waterdeep Harbor. Once it passes through Skullport, the Sargauth flows out into the harbor."

A thrill raced through Artek's mind. If the skull was right, then the river could be their means of escape. "How do you know all this, Muragh?" he demanded.

"Is it the ore in you that makes you so positively dense?" the skull asked testily. "Remember, I spent a good deal of time floating in Waterdeep Harbor before the mermen found me. I know every underwater rock and cave in that big puddle."

"And I'm sure you'd tell us about every one if we give you half a chance," Artek said with a snort. Before Muragh could reply, he gripped the skull's mandible, holding it tightly shut. Ignoring Muragh's muffled grunts, he gazed at the dark river. Here was a road to freedom. All they had to do was figure out how to travel it. "We need to find a way to float on the river, to let it carry us out of this maze," he murmured, more to himself than the others.

Apparently Corin heard his words. "Er, how about if we use that?" the nobleman asked tentatively. As one, the others followed Corin's pointing hand. Beckla quickly raised her magelight higher. Artek let out an oath.

It was a ship.

The ship rested by the shore of the river nearest to them, caught on a jagged spur of rock that jutted up from the dark waters of the Sargauth. It was a two-masted schooner, small, sleek, and highly maneuverable. Such crafts were a common and much-feared sight along the Sword Coast, for they were favored by pirates for their speed and agility. By the look of it, this ship had been trapped here for many years. The remnants of the sails hung listlessly from the masts in gray shreds like cobwebs. Most of the rigging had rotted and snapped, and blotches of black mold covered the hull like some leprous disease. The ship listed precariously to the starboard side, pressed against the rocks by the swift-moving current of the river. However, there was no breach visible in the hull. If the ship could be freed from the rocks, it might yet be seaworthy.

Artek scrambled down the slick slope to the bank of the river, and the others followed quickly behind. Upon close examination he saw that the rocks had indeed punched a hole in the hull, near the prow of the ship. However, the gap was small and, at present, above the surface of the river. If its makers had known their craft, the ship would still be dry inside. True, once it was righted, the hole would be below the surface. Yet the ship likely could sail some distance before it took on enough water to founder, maybe even far enough to reach the sea. Dim but still visible, the ship's name was painted across the prow: The Black Dart.

Artek smacked a fist against his palm. This is it. This is our way out, I'm sure of it. All we have to do is find a way to free the ship."

Beckla crossed her arms, surveying the vessel. "Easier said than done. I imagine her crew tried their best to free her from the rocks, and they couldn't manage it. A ship like this would have a score or two of sailors aboard. I don't know how the four of us could succeed where forty failed before."

"You mean the five of us!" Muragh corrected indignantly.

Artek squatted down, studying the ship. The wizard was right, of course. No doubt The Black Dart's crew had indeed tried to free her. An image drifted to mind of the pirate schooner laden with booty, its crew rough and merry, as it evaded the tall ships of Waterdeep's Harbor Watch. It sailed into a cave, meaning to hide in the underground waterways until the coast was clear. When the captain finally ordered them to sail back down the Sargauth, they found they were caught on the dark rocks, which their lookout had missed in the gloom. Despite their struggles, the ship remained caught between river and rock, like a piece of metal between hammer and anvil.

Artek wondered what had become of the crew. Had they jumped ship, hoping the chill waters of the Sargauth would carry them back to lighted lands? Or had they remained here in the dark, dying slowly of starvation and madness? He shivered, forcing the latter thought from his mind. No crew of sailors would choose to remain here, he told himself. Not unless they were ordered to by their captain. And even then they would probably mutiny. But it hardly mattered-Artek saw no point in exploring the ship. They probably would never be able to free it.

He stood up with a sigh. "Maybe there's no use in wasting our time here," he said glumly.

"Actually, I might be able to arrange something," Guss said. The others stared at the gargoyle in surprise. "I have a way with stone," the monster explained with a toothy grin. "I was conjured from it, after all." He pointed to the boulders that trapped the ship. "Ill go have a talk with those rocks over there. The rest of you get ready, just in case it works." The others exchanged curious looks as Guss wandered over toward the rocks.

The aft section of The Black Dart lay only a few feet from the shore, and its deck was tilted in their direction. With a running leap, Artek launched himself into the air and managed to grab the edge of the deck. With a grunt, he flexed his arms, heaving himself up and onto the deck. He searched until he found a bit of rope that seemed only slightly rotted. Looping it around the aft mast, he threw the end over the side to haul Beckla and Corin up. Moments later, the two stood beside him on the slanted deck, Muragh clutched tight in Corin's white-knuckled hands. Neither nobleman nor skull had appreciated being hauled up like so much cargo.

"Hold on, Guss!" Artek called out above the roar of the river. "We should look around first before we try anything!"

The gargoyle, squatting on the jagged spur of rock that trapped The Black Dart, waved up at the others on the deck. Figuring that Guss had heard and understood, they turned to look for an entrance into the ship's hold;

But the din of the river had drowned out Artek's words, and Guss mistook his call as a signal to proceed. He knelt atop the slick heap of boulders, and stroked the rocks with a hand, almost an affectionate gesture. He seemed to whisper to the stones.

All at once, the massive boulders shifted. Leathery wings flapping, Guss rose into the air, hovering above the outcrop. There was a low groan, and a shudder vibrated through the schooner. Guss gestured toward the bank, and the rocks shifted again, rolling toward the edge of the river. As they did, the ship gave a violent jerk.

Artek, Beckla, and Corin stumbled wildly, grabbing at railing, mast, or post to keep from being flung overboard. Timbers creaking, the ship began to right itself. The deck rose beneath their feet, became level, and continued to roll, tilting alarmingly to the port side. They screamed as they were tossed again. Artek feared the schooner was going to capsize, throwing them into the icy waters of the river. However, a moment later the ship rebounded, rolling back in the other direction. When it became level again, the schooner wobbled, then finally stabilized on its keel.

With a grating sound, the ship slid past the rocks that had blocked its way. Dark water swirled around its hull as the schooner drifted out into the swift center current of the river. A damp breeze tugged at the tattered sails. Artek let out a cry of surprise-they were moving.

"Guss!" he called, as the gargoyle settled onto the deck, stubby wings flapping. "I told you to wait!"

The gargoyle slumped. "Oh, dear! I must have misunderstood. Fm sorry."

Beckla smiled. "Oh, it's all right-we're moving now, and that's what counts. How did you get those stones to shift, anyway?"

Guss shrugged his massive shoulders. "I just asked them if they would mind moving a few feet to the side, that's all. Rocks are really very cooperative, as long as you're polite."

Beckla stared with mouth agape, clearly unsure how to respond. For his part, Artek didn't really care how Guss had managed to move the rocks, or even that the gargoyle hadn't listened. Beckla was right- the ship was free, and that was all that mattered.

Beckla tossed her glowing magelight into the air. The blue wisp rose to the top of the foremast, hovering there to cast its light over the ship. Rough walls of stone slipped rapidly by as the schooner sailed down the Sargauth.

"Do you think the crew drowned?" Beckla asked. The deck was empty except for a few weathered crates and barrels, with no sign of the pirates who had once manned the schooner.

They must have abandoned the ship once it got stuck," Artek said. "I certainly would have. Maybe their bodies are strewn about the maze. Or maybe they're at the bottom of the Sargauth."

"Now this is an adventure!" Corin exclaimed merrily.

Without warning, the schooner lurched roughly to one side. Artek grabbed for a worm-eaten railing, barely managing to keep his feet. He turned around, then swore hotly. Corin stood at the prow of the schooner, hands on the ship's wheel. As Artek watched, the nobleman whistled cheerfully and spun the wheel around. The ship lurched in the other direction, drifting dangerously near the cavern wall.

Artek stumbled forward. "Give me that!" he said, pushing the surprised lord away. Artek carefully turned the wheel, bringing the rudder back to center. The ship steadied, sailing down the middle of the river once more.

"Were you actively trying to dash this ship against the walls of the cavern?" Artek growled angrily.

"I was only trying to steer," Corin replied in a small voice.

"Leave the wheel alone. Go over to those old crates and sit down. And don't touch anything else!"

The nobleman nodded silently, then hung his head. He trudged toward the crates and sat with a sigh, staring at the deck. For a moment, Artek wondered if he had been too harsh with Conn. The lord was young, after all, and had only meant to help. Finally, Artek shook his head. He had other things to worry about.

Moving to the rear of the ship, he examined the aft mast. The sails were rotted and rent with holes, but they might manage to hold some air. A stiff wind blew down the cavern in the same direction as the river's current. If they could position the sails right, they might add a little of the wind's speed to the river's, making their progress swifter.

"Beckla, come help me for a moment," Artek said. As she approached, he pointed to a horizontal boom. "If we move this cross-mast, we might be able to catch some wind in the sails."

Beckla nodded and gripped the boom.

Artek turned around to untie a frayed rope. "Now push when I say-" His words turned into a cry as the boom struck the back of his head with a resounding crack.

"Oops," said Beckla.

Artek spun around to glare at the wizard, rubbing the back of his head. A painful lump was already starting to rise. "You know, I'm really starting to get tired of hearing you say that."

Before she could reply, the ship suddenly tilted to the side again, nearly sending them sprawling to the deck. Artek looked up to see a figure standing before the ship's wheel.

"Corin!" he shouted angrily, marching forward. "Didn't I tell you to keep your hands off that wheel? Now get away from the-"

His words faltered as he saw the lord look up in pale-faced surprise from his seat on the old crates. If Corin wasn't steering the ship, who stood at the wheel?

As if to answer the question, the figure turned around and grinned. Artek's blood froze. The thing was clad in grubby breeches and a loose, tattered shirt that once might have been white. A grimy red scarf covered its head, and a curved cutlass hung from its cracked leather belt. It was a pirate, clearly long dead. Its bloated flesh was wet and rotted, and one eyeball dangled loosely from the socket. The sickly reek of decay drifted thickly through the air. Even as Artek watched, a chunk of putrid flesh dropped from the pirate's arm, falling to the deck with a nauseating plop.

"Artek, I think you'd better turn-around," Guss said grimly.

Reluctantly, Artek tore his eyes from the undead pirate. He turned to see a trapdoor opening in the deck of the ship. More pirates climbed out, shambling as they spread across the deck. Artek counted ten of them, then twenty, then thirty, and still they kept coming. All wore rusted cutlasses at their hips. And all of them were quite dead.

The crew of The Black Dart had not abandoned the ship after all.