Escape from Undermountain n-3 Read online

  Artek snarled, baring his pointed teeth, his handsome face twisted into a sinister mask. Corin let out a cry of fear, leaping backward. Beckla paled, shocked by the fury her words had unleashed.

  "Damn you!" Artek hissed, advancing on the startled wizard. Words sprang from his mouth as if someone else spoke through him. "You have no right. I am Garug-Mal! I will rend your flesh for this insult. I will splinter your bones!"

  Artek grabbed Beckla and shoved her roughly against a stone wall. His hands encircled her throat. The desire to kill seared his mind. The wizard's body shook, but she clenched her jaw and gazed unflinchingly into his eyes, refusing to show fear. This only enraged his orcish side further; his fingers contracted tightly. Beckla gasped for breath as her airway inexorably closed.

  No, Artek! Don't do it!

  The voice was faint and distant, barely piercing the roaring in his brain. He ignored it, gritting his teeth as he tightened his grip.

  Don't kill her!

  This time the voice was stronger. Uncertainty tinged his rage. He hesitated.

  This doesn't have to be you!

  At last he recognized the voice. It was his own-at least, that of his human side. For a second, dark and light halves warred within. Then, with a strangled cry, he tore his hands away from the wizard's throat and lurched back. Beckla stumbled forward, clutching her throat, gulping in ragged breaths. Artek shuddered, staring at his clenched hands, sickened at how close to killing they had come. He looked up. Though her lips were tinged with blue, the wizard was grinning.

  That was dangerous, Beckla," he said, his voice low and grim. "I could have killed you. I almost did. You took a foolish gamble."

  "But it worked, didn't it?" she rasped smugly. "Corin and I need you, Ar'talen. We have to stick together if we're to have any hope of getting out of here. I guessed that only a little orcish anger would burn through your stupid self-pity, and I was right."

  Artek scowled at her. "Well, you don't have to act so pleased about it."

  "Oh?And why not?"

  He had no answer to that, and settled for a sullen grunt instead. Risky as it had been, the wizard's plan had worked as intended. Despair and hopelessness had been burned away by his rage. Artek wanted nothing more now than to have his revenge on Lord Darien Thai, and the only way he could achieve that was to escape from Under-mountain. He found himself returning Beckla's grin. As violent as his orcish side was, it had its uses.

  Corin gasped as he realized what the wizard had done. "Oh, bravo, Beckla!" he exclaimed, clapping Ms hands together, tattered lace cuffs fluttering. That was simply brilliant. A virtuoso performance." He snapped his fingers as an idea occurred to him.

  "Why, perhaps it would hearten Artek further if I uttered the same epitaph. Now, what were the words?" He braced his shoulders and lowered his voice, speaking the words with exaggerated bravado. "Malth al nothilk, Artek Аr'talen!"

  For a moment Artek and Beckla stared at the puffed-up lord. Then both burst into laughter. Corin frowned in confusion.

  "I don't understand," he sputtered. "Why are you laughing? Aren't you supposed to be absolutely furious with me? I just said your heart was a goblin's!"

  "No, you didn't," Artek replied.

  "Well, what did I say?" the nobleman asked indignantly.

  Beckla let out a snort. "You said, Tour ears are made of cheese, Artek Ar’talen.'"

  The two broke into renewed peals of mirth. Corin stared at them with a hurt expression until Artek took pity on the lord.

  "Don't worry, Corin," he said. "Well make an ore of you yet." He gave the young man a friendly slap on the back, and Corin stumbled forward, eyes bulging at the force of the blow.

  "Er, thank you," he murmured. "I think."

  His black leather creaking, Artek prowled back and forth. He knew what they needed to do-get out of Undermountain. Now, how by the Shadows of Shar were they going to do it? The obvious thing was to attempt to work their way upward through Halaster's mad labyrinth. However, according to Beckla's spell, they were terribly deep-deeper than anyone had gone and managed to return in nearly a thousand years. Artek didn't like those odds, and instinct told him that there was little hope in heading upward. But what other alternative was there?

  His black eyes glittered sharply. The inkling of an, idea crept into his cunning mind. He turned toward the wizard. "Beckla, you said that Halaster enchanted the walls of Undermountain so that no one could magically teleport in or out."

  "That's right."

  "So how was it that the gate Melthis gave me was able to transport us so much deeper? Doesn't that mean that it is possible to teleport here?"

  The wizard shook her head. "No, it doesn't. Like I said earlier, gates are different. A spell of teleportation instantly moves a person or object from one place to another. And Halaster's magic blocks such spells. But when you pass through a gate, you don't really move at all. Instead, the gate magically brings two different places close together. It's space that moves, not you."

  Artek frowned at this explanation. "I don't exactly follow you."

  "I suppose that's why I'm the wizard," she replied dryly. "Here, I'll show you." She reached out and grabbed the pebble that still hovered in midair from her earlier spell. She held her hands flat and apart, the pebble resting on her left palm. "Say I'm the pebble, and I want to get from my left hand to my right. If I cast a teleport spell, it's like jumping from hand to hand instantly." With a deft flick of her wrist, she tossed the pebble and caught it in her right hand. "But a gate works more like a window opening between two places. Effectively, it brings the two locations next to each other." She moved her hands until they were touching. "Then it's only a short step sideways from one place to the next." She tilted her right hand, and the pebble rolled onto the left. She tossed the pebble toward Artek. "Got it?"

  He snatched the pebble out of the air, then held it between his fingers, studying it thoughtfully. "Got it." He digested this new information, and gradually his.plan grew clearer. "So instead of trying to find our way up through an endless maze, all we need to do is find another one of these gates."

  If there are any others," Beckla amended cautiously.

  There have to be others," Artek replied. "All the stories tell how Halaster abducted living things-people and monsters alike-for use in his magical experiments. He had to have some way to bring them down here. And from what you've said, a gate is the only way."

  Beckla crossed her arms over her white shirt, her expression skeptical. "I still say our surest bet is to head upward. But I suppose it wouldn't hurt to look for any gates on the way."

  That was close enough for Artek. "Then it's settled," he said firmly. "Darien hasn't beaten us yet. And neither has Undermountain. One way or another, we're going to get out of here."

  Corin jumped excitedly. The lord had become quite caught up in Artek's stirring speech. "Oh, this is going to be positively fun!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. Т had no idea that getting lost could lead to such a marvelous adventure."

  Artek bit his tongue. Corin would find out soon enough for himself that this was going to be anything but fun.

  Artek had noticed earlier that there were no doors in the room-at least, none readily apparent to the casual eye. All four walls of the chamber were of solid stone, each covered with a grotesque frieze of tortured souls. But Artek was not going to believe their quest was over before it had even begun. He doubted that even a mad wizard would build a room without a door-what would be the use? Thief s instinct told him that there had to be a way out of the chamber. All they had to do was find it.

  "All right, let's search the walls and floor," Artek told the others. "There has to be a hidden door in this room somewhere. Look for anything at all that stands out or seems unusual in some way."

  He moved to one of the walls and began running his hand over the bas-relief carvings that covered it, searching for any seams or inconsistencies in the stone. Corin and Beckla exchanged unsure looks, then followed suit. Each pored o
ver his or her respective wall, attempting to find any sign of a secret portal. Before long, Artek's head throbbed with concentration. The friezes made it difficult. The intricate relief carvings of writhing bodies could be obscuring something-a crack, a hole, a gap-he might otherwise see. However, there was nothing to do but keep searching.

  Just when he was beginning to lose hope, Beckla let out an excited whoop. "I think I've found something, Artek! There's a thin seam around the neck of one of these carvings. I think the head is some sort of knob. It looks like it could turn."

  That sounded promising. Artek hurried toward the wizard. That's good, Beckla. But don't touch it yet If the knob is a trigger for a secret door, it could be trapped. We need to check it out before we turn it."

  "Oh," Beckla replied as she snatched her hand away from the carving. "Oops."

  Artek halted in alarm. The last time Beckla had uttered that word, she had nearly set his hindquarters on fire. He shook his head slowly, staring at her. "Please tell me you didn't…"

  Beckla grinned at him weakly. "I did."

  The wizard gestured to the twisted stone figure on the wall. Its screaming head now pointed backward. Artek lunged forward, reaching out to turn the figure's head back around, but it was too late.

  There was a hiss of stale air, followed by a low grating sound. The floor vibrated beneath their feet, and the three stared around the room in surprise. At first it was not apparent what was happening-until Corin voiced the truth.

  "Look at the walls!" die nobleman cried. They're closing in!"

  Artek swore in alarm. The young lord was right. The chamber's two long walls were slowly but inexorably moving inward. Artek gripped the figurine, turning the head back around. It was no use. The trap had been sprung, and the walls continued to close in. Artek guessed they had no more than a few minutes before the slabs met and crushed their bodies to a pulp. The open stone mouths of the writhing damned no longer seemed to be screaming, but laughing.

  "Quick!" Artek shouted over the rumbling. There's got to be another trigger, one that will stop the trap!"

  Hastily, he began searching one of the walls as it pressed forward. Needing no other inducement besides fear, Corin and Beckla leapt toward the other wall and did the same. As they searched, they were forced to keep stepping backward as the walls closed in. There were fifteen paces between them, then ten, then five. Frantically, Artek kept searching. He felt something brush his back. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Beckla staring at him with wide eyes. The walls were no more than two arm lengths apart.

  That's odd," Corin announced. "The arm on this figurine looks almost like a lever."

  "Well, then pull it!" Beckla cried urgently.

  Corin put his hands behind his back. "Oh, no. Not before Artek checks it. You heard what he said before."

  Artek craned his neck, gazing with wild eyes at the nobleman. "Pull it, Corin!" he shouted.

  The lord shook his head. "If I pull that lever, we may find ourselves in worse trouble yet. You told Beckla not to…"

  "Never mind!" Artek barked. His back was against one wall, the other just four feet away. Three feet. Two. "Just pull the lever!"

  Corin sighed in exasperation. "Well, this is all very contradictory. But here goes…" He gripped the stone arm and pulled the lever. The floor dropped out from beneath their feet, and the three plunged downward, screaming. The two walls met with a clap of thunder above their heads, grinding together with bone-crushing force. For a moment more they continued to fall through darkness. Then, with three grunts, they struck a hard stone floor.

  Artek groaned as he sat up. Magically restored though it was, his body still wasn't used to all this falling and landing, if it ever had been. He probed gently with his fingers, wincing as he found numerous tender spots. However, nothing seemed to be broken.

  Pale blue magelight flared into being. Beckla slumped against a wall, gripping her staff, grimacing but whole. With painful effort, Artek turned around, wondering how Corin had fared. He stared in amazement as the nobleman leapt easily to his feet, briskly dusting off his tattered finery.

  "That was positively thrilling," Corin said exuberantly. "The danger! The excitement! The narrow escape!" His blue eyes shone brightly. "I don't suppose we could do it again?"

  "Are you sure we can't kill him, Ar'talen?" Beckla grumbled, slowly pulling herself to her feet with the help of her staff.

  "Don't tempt me." Joints and muscles protesting, Artek stood.

  Corin eyed the others speculatively. "You know, I'm beginning to get the distinct impression that neither of you likes me very much."

  "Wherever would you get such an idea?" Artek replied facetiously.

  "Oh, I don't know," Corin mused. "I suppose it's all this talk about wanting to kill me. One might construe that as an indication of dislike."

  "Really? What a fascinating interpretation."

  The nobleman beamed. "Why, thank you, Ar'talen!"

  Artek and Beckla exchanged meaningful glances. There was no need for words.

  By the glow of the magelight, the three stood at the beginning of a corridor. Smooth stone walls rose to a flat ceiling high over their heads. Artek could see the trapdoor through which they had fallen. It was now blocked by the bases of the thick stone walls that had nearly crushed them in the room above. The darkness was dense and stifling here, retreating sullenly before the magical light of Beckla's staff, and only a few paces at that. A rank odor like the putrid reek of decay hung in the air, so thick that it almost seemed to leave on oily residue on their skin and inside their lungs. It was a stench of evil.

  With no other options evident, the three started down the corridor. The tunnel plunged straight through the darkness, without openings or side passages, The sickening odor grew more intense as they walked, but there was nothing to do but swallow their bile and press on. Soft, ropy strands dangled from the ceiling. Artek guessed they were moss or fungal growth, for they glowed with a faint and noxious green light. They ducked to avoid the strands and kept moving.

  Though he couldn't be sure, Artek had the sense that the passageway was leading gradually downward. He swore inwardly. They needed to go up, but it seemed everything they did only took them farther down. It was as if Undermountain itself were somehow conspiring to pull them deeper.

  After a time, the inky mouth of a smaller tunnel opened up to the left. The fetid stench was stronger here, pouring like black water out of the side opening. Yet it wasn't just the smell that spilled from the tunnel-there was a malice as well, distant and faint, but chilling all the same.

  "There's something down there," Beckla whispered nervously.

  Corin nodded, his smudged face pale. "And whatever it is, I don't think it's terribly friendly," he added in a squeaky voice.

  "Just keep moving," Artek countered. He felt the malevolent presence as well. He wiped his sweaty palms on his leather jerkin and kept his sensitive eyes peeled.

  They continued down the murky passageway. The mouths of more tunnels opened to their left and right. Some were blocked by fallen rubble, and others were dry and dusty. But the same pungent reek wafted outward from several tunnels, as did the aura of evil. Without deciding aloud to do so, the three picked up their pace. Then Artek detected it- a subtle shift in the movements of the air.

  "There's a space ahead," he whispered excitedly. "And a faint breeze. I think there's a way out. Come on, it's not far."

  The others needed little urging. They started into a jog, hurrying down the passageway. At the same moment, the aura of malice swelled behind them. They reeled, nearly overwhelmed by the vile emanations of hatred. Something was following them, and it was gaining.

  "Run!" Artek yelled.

  Gasping, they hurled themselves down the tunnel, the darkness following thickly on their heels. An eerie whispering sound echoed all around. Lungs burning, the three kept running. All at once the walls of the tunnel fell away, and they found themselves dashing across a cavernous chamber. Strange white shapes l
ittered the floor, crunching brittlely underfoot. Dense clumps of the same strands that had filled the tunnel hung from the high ceiling like a weird inverted forest, filling the room with a ghastly green glow. Artek caught another wisp of fresh air, stronger now. Then he saw it on the far side of the hall-a faint rectangle glowing amid the gloom. A doorway.

  "Hurry!" he shouted, heedless of what might hear his voice.

  The eerie whispering grew louder, filling the chamber. Thick blackness poured out of the opening behind them like a putrid flood. Legs pounding, Artek outpaced the others. As he neared the doorway, he saw that it was covered with more of the same green, glowing strands. With a cry, he hurled himself at the portal. Instantly his cry became one of pain as bitterly cold threads burned the skin on his hands and face. The silken material stretched under the force of his impact, then abruptly snapped back, throwing him roughly to the ground.

  He stared up at the door in surprise, rubbing his throbbing hands. Then he leapt to his feet, drew a knife from his boot, and slashed at the chaotic weave that covered the door. The blade bounced back, jarring his wrist painfully. He had not so much as damaged one of the cords.

  "What is this stuff?" he said in hoarse amazement as the others came to a halt behind him.

  Beckla drew in a sharp breath, staring upward. "I think I know."

  The strange whispering grew to a maddening din. The threads hanging from the ceiling stirred. Ghostly shapes scuttled down the glowing strand.

  "Webs," Corin gasped. "They're spiderwebs!"

  As they watched in horror, half a dozen bloated forms dropped down from the tangle of webs above, while several more scurried from the opening through which they had entered the chamber. They were spiders, but like none Artek had ever seen. They were huge, each the size of a dog. Their bulging bodies, as pale and waxy as corpses, were eerily translucent, and their long gray legs trailed off into dim tendrils of gray mist. Dark saliva bubbled from their vague pincer mouths, and their multifaceted eyes shone malevolently, like flame reflected off black jewels. Whatever these things were, it was clear they were not truly alive, but wraiths, in hideous spider form. As they drew near, Artek realized the nature of the white shapes littering the chamber's floor. They were bones.