The thanatars lowered their claws and the silversanns drooped their antennae in gestures of submission. "SQUCH!" they spoke in reverence. "Sssquch, yesss. Sssquch!"
"What have you brought me?" Squch demanded, pincer mouth moving. Unlike that of the others, the scorpion's speech was surprisingly intelligible, though clearly inhuman.
"PRISONERS!" the thanatars intoned.
"Ssspecimens are they, yesss?" the silversanns contradicted.
"I will be the judge of that," Squch snapped.
Legs moving swiftly, the metallic scorpion scrambled forward. Artek reached out his arms, keeping the others from trying to get up and run.
"Yes, you are wise, soft one," Squch said with a weird rattling that was almost like laughter. "I am a scaladar. To flee from me is a grave error." The scaladar lowered its barbed stinger, brushing the point softly across Artek's cheek. The reek of venom filled his nose. He clenched his jaw to keep from flinching-to move was to die. The scaladar laughed again and raised its stinger.
"We won't flee," Artek said gravely. "You have my word."
"Why have you intruded upon my domain?" Squch demanded, crimson eyes flaring.
Artek licked his lips nervously. It was now or never. "We come seeking the wizard Trobriand."
The silversanns hissed in terror, and the thanatars clacked their claws in agitation. Squch's stinger flicked forward, and the din instantly fell into silence. The scaladar loomed threateningly above Artek. "You dare to speak that name in my presence, soft one?"
Artek exchanged uncertain looks with the others, then slowly rose to his feet. What did they have to lose? Gazing into the burning eyes of the scaladar, he told of their search for one of Halaster's apprentices and a gate out of Undermountain. When he finished, the scaladar laughed its brittle laughter again.
"You are a fool, soft one," Squch replied. "Trobriand cares nothing for nonmetal creatures such as you. You would gain no help from him."
Artek was not going to give up so easily. "You may be right, Squch. But with all due respect, I'd like to try just the same. Please-do you know where we can find your maker, Trobriand?"
The scaladar's stinger trembled in sudden rage. A drop of venom fell from the barbed tip. It hissed and smoked as it struck the floor, burning a pit into the stone. "Do I know where you can find Trobriand? Do I know where you eon find Trobriand?" Squch's silver armor rattled in fury. "If I possessed such knowledge, do you believe that I would still be here, existing in this wretched hole in the ground?"
Artek backed away, shaking his head in confusion. The scaladar advanced on him.
"Do you know what we are to Trobriand?" Squch droned furiously. "Trash! Refuse! Garbage! He created us. He forged our bodies. He gave us thoughts. Yet when he grew tired of us, he cast us down into this pit!"
The scaladar waved a claw at the fearful thanatars and silversanns. "The Metal Mage discarded most of these walking scrap heaps for their stupidity. Oh, but not I! I was too clever, you see. That was my flaw. Trobriand feared my intelligence, feared that I would usurp his power. And he was right. I would have. And I will do so yet. Then I will rise from the ground, and lay eyes upon this city I have heard of in rumor, a city which has no stone above it, but only air, a city filled with foolish, pliable soft ones. Yes, I will gaze upon this city. Then I will make it my own."
The scaladar's crimson eyes bore into Artek. "You come from this place, do you not, soft one?" the silver creature crooned in sudden interest. "Come, tell me about it. Tell me all that you know, and perhaps I will not kill you."
Artek did not know what to say. It was clear that this creature was utterly mad-no wonder Trobriand had discarded it. Yet Artek sensed that there were some kernels of truth in the scaladar's ravings. Instinct told him that Squch had not exaggerated Trobriand's dislike for living creatures. Even if they could find the Metal Mage, Artek knew that Trobriand would not help them.
Tin sorry, Squch," Artek said carefully. "I'd like to help you, but we don't have time right now. If you let us go, we'll come back later and-"
"Stop!" the scaladar cried. "You underestimate my intelligence, soft one. You cannot deceive me with your transparent lies. If you will not freely tell me what you know, I will find another way to learn it." Squch waved a claw at the silversanns. Take these foolish soft ones to your laboratory. Extract what knowledge you can from their heads. Once you have it, you may do whatever you wish with the rest of them."
The silversanns cluttered excitedly at this news.
They snaked past the glowering thanatars and coiled their smooth antennae around the prisoners. Before Artek could protest to Squch, the silversanns dragged him and the others out of the cavern and down a dark tunnel. The prisoners tried to break free of the metallic strands that gripped them, but it was no use. The antennae were as strong as steel wire.
The silversanns took them to a dim chamber and dropped them on the floor. One of the creatures shut and locked a heavy iron door-so much for the only visible route of escape.
The chamber of the silversanns was filled with all manner of clutter: clay pots, cracked vials, broken staves, moldering books, and countless metal tools of inexplicable function. All lay carelessly strewn about or heaped into haphazard piles that seemed to have no obvious rhyme or reason. The silversanns gathered at one end of the chamber, speaking in sibilant whispers. Evidently, they were trying to decide how to extract the knowledge of their new ssspecimens, Artek thought grimly.
Corin sighed glumly, sitting slump-shouldered on the cold stone floor. "I'm sorry, everyone," the young lord said ruefully, "This is all my fault. We wouldn't be in this scrape if I hadn't gone and dashed off into the forest like such a dolt." He looked up at Artek with sad blue eyes. "You were right, you know. And so was my father. I can't do anything well. But you needn't worry. I've learned my lesson. I won't try to help ever again." He sighed deeply. "I apologize for getting you into this, Ar'talen. For your sake, I hope you can get me to Darien Thai and force him to have that tattoo fixed. But for my part, I don't care if I ever see the surface again."
The nobleman hung his head and fell silent. Guss gazed at him with worried green eyes, cradling Muragh in his clawed hands. Beckla shot a sharp look at Artek. It was clear she wanted him to say something. Artek just shook his head. Everything he had said before had been thoughtless and cruel. What could he say now that wouldn't simply cause more damage? It was better if he simply remained silent.
With a sound of exasperation, Beckla stood up. The silversanns were still engaged in a secret debate, and the wizard took the opportunity to poke around in the heaps of clutter surrounding them.
"Look at all this stuff," she said in sudden amazement.
"What is it?" Muragh asked.
She rummaged through one of the piles. "Broken wizard staves. Shattered wands. Cracked potion vials. Old spellbooks." The wizard looked up in wonder. "It's all magical paraphernalia."
Artek quickly stood. "Is there something that might be able to help us?"
Beckla frowned. "I'm not sure. Pretty much all of it seems to be broken or damaged. But there might be something of interest here…"