"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."