The nobleman glanced in Artek's direction, and Artek had the sudden feeling that the young man was looking at him expectantly. What in the Abyss could Corin possibly want? Artek shifted uncomfortably, searching for something to say.
"Well, you did a good job against the zombies, Corin," he muttered finally. "That was some fancy swordplay you used back on the ship."
Corin’s face lit up brightly at this compliment. He puffed out his chest and opened his mouth to reply.
"Next time, you might even want to try fighting with your eyes open," Artek added sharply before the lord could speak.
Corin’s mouth snapped shut and his shoulders slumped. A crestfallen expression replaced the look of pride on his boyish face. Artek swore inwardly. Once again he wondered if he had been too harsh on the nobleman, but he couldn't concern himself every moment with Corin’s sensitive feelings. He had more pressing concerns. Like getting them out of this place alive. Grumbling to himself, he turned away.
"Well, we can't follow the Sargauth any longer,"
Artek said "It loses its banks just past this shore. So we'd better start exploring," he said» leading the way toward the edge of the forest. "If we're going to find a way out of this place, we have to figure out where and what it is first."
"Maybe we could build a raft from these trees and keep sailing down the river," Beckla suggested hopefully.
"Not unless you can cast a spell and turn our hands into axes," Artek replied, eyeing the towering trees. "The only blade among us is this damned cursed saber. It would take me a year to cut down one of these trees with a sword. And in case you've forgotten, I have considerably less time than that before this thing stops my heart." He glanced down at the tattoo on his arm. After a moment, something odd struck him, and he gazed up at the sky. That's strange," he said with a puzzled expression.
"What's strange?" Muragh piped up. "Other than myself; of course."
Artek pointed to his tattoo. The arrow was now midway along the circle between sun and moon. "According to this, it's high noon up above, on the surface. The sun should be directly overhead in Waterdeep. But here the sun is more than halfway past its zenith, and sinking. Reckoning by the sun here, it's a good four or five hours after midday."
"Maybe something's gone wrong with the tattoo," said Beckla.
"Maybe," Artek answered skeptically. "But that's not the only thing. Right now it's spring in Waterdeep, but the heat of this sun feels more like mid; summer to me."
Beckla did not have a response to this, and Artek decided it did not truly matter. His life was tied to the magical tattoo, and so it was all that mattered. According to the tattoo, he had half a day and a night to live. It was time to get moving. Leading the way, he plunged into the thicket of trees.
The forest was even denser than it had looked from the outside. Trees grew close together, spreading their branches into a thick green canopy high above. In the dappled shadows below grew myriad vines and bushes, some covered with alien-looking blooms. Pale mushrooms grew from the rotting bodies of fallen trees. None of the plants were any that Artek or the others recognized. The air was damp and muggy, and soon all of the humans were sweating profusely. Tiny, bothersome insects danced in the air, flying into their ears and up their noses, making them sneeze. As always, Muragh chattered ceaselessly as they went. However, Corin was unusually silent. The young lord walked quietly at the rear of the party, eyes cast down upon the ground.
"So, tell me," Muragh went on in his reedy voice. "If we are really still underground, how is it that this forest can survive here?"
For a change, someone actually answered the skull's question. "I don't know," Beckla said, shaking her head as she lowered a glowing hand. "However, as far as I can tell with my magic, nothing about these woods is enchanted. These are all perfectly normal, mundane trees. Somehow, they must be getting all the light and water they need to-"
Artek held up a hand, silencing the wizard's words. He paused, listening with his slightly pointed ears. He heard something: a rustling, followed by the cracking of a dry twig. Something was lurking in the undergrowth just ahead. Whatever it was, Artek knew it was best to consider it dangerous. Whispering, he explained what he had heard to the others. They quickly formed a plan, and in moments were ready to act.
Beckla pointed a finger at the bushes ahead and intoned the words of a spell. Shimmering darts of energy sprang from her fingertips and struck the tops of the bushes, instantly vaporizing them. That was Guss's cue. Snarling as Artek had instructed him, the gargoyle swooped down from a high branch where he had perched, diving toward the bushes. There was a hoarse cry of fear, and a shabby form leapt out of the bushes. Artek jumped from behind a tree, tackling the running form. His quarry struggled wildly, but Artek was the stronger, and he pinned the other to the ground.
"No, don't take me to him!" cried a cracked and terrified voice. "Waukeen save me! I saw what happened to all the others. My heart! His tooth will pierce my heart! And his eyes. Too bright, his eyes. They burn as he crushes them in his jaws. They'll crush me, too!"
So terrified was the voice that Artek was startled and moved to pity. He loosened his grip-though not so much as to lose control-and leaned back, gazing at his quarry. It was what was left of a man. He was dad in strange, flowing clothes that might once have been fine but now were filthy and tattered. His tangled hair was matted with leaves, and a scraggly beard clung to his chin. His gaunt body was half-starved, and dark eyes stared madly from his twisted face.
Artek gazed at the broken man. "We're not going to hurt you," he said, gripping the man's shoulders firmly but gently.
For a moment the madman struggled, then went limp. A look of wonder crept onto his haggard face. "You're not on the Hunt, are you?"
Artek shook his head. "The Hunt? What do you mean?"
"The Hunters from the Temple," the man said, licking his lips fearfully. "Have you not seen them yet? Ah, but you will. You will! Their god is a beast, and a master of beasts. And beasts we are to him." Weird laughter bubbled deep in his throat.
The others approached cautiously and gathered around the madman. Artek allowed him to sit and studied his twisted face. Certainly this ragged fellow had seen something that had frightened him out of his wits. Artek wondered what it could be, and also how tills man-and these Hunters he spoke of-had come to be here in this strange forest. The answer might give them a due to a way out.
"Can you tell us more about this Hunt?" Artek asked quietly. He gestured to the trees around them. "Or what this place is?"
The madman looked warily from side to side. "They'll be coming soon. We can't stay here."
"Please," Artek urged gently. "It won't take long. And then well let you go free. You have my word."
The other man's dark gaze bore into Artek. He spoke in an eerie voice. "No one is free in Wyllowwood. Not for long, anyway. I am the last. I know."
The madman then began to speak in a chantlike voice. His tale was difficult to follow, for he spoke in disjointed sentences, and often interrupted himself with broken laughter or moaning sobs. From what Artek could piece together, the man's name was Solthar, and he had been a merchant of some sort. While Solthar was traveling, a sudden storm had come upon his caravan. Seeking shelter, he and the rest of the party had entered a cave-only to find themselves in this forest. They had searched for a means of escape, but to no avail.