"Circles within circles," she chanted softly. "Meanings within meanings. Grant me your guidance, Mystra, Lady of Mysteries, Goddess of Magic. Help me understand the nature of the enchantment that lies before me."
As the others watched in fascination, Beckla continued to chant, now in the ancient tongue of magic. After a moment, sparks of sapphire fell from her hands. They traced a slow spiral to the ring below, imbuing it with pale blue radiance. Lines of concentration furrowed the wizard's brow. Her hands began to tremble. Suddenly, her brown eyes flew open, and the blue sparks vanished.
"Oh!" she gasped.
"What is it?" Artek asked in alarm.
Beckla shook her head slowly. "She usually doesn't answer when I ask her questions like that. At least not so clearly."
"Who are you talking about?" Artek demanded.
"Mystra," Beckla replied.
Artek slapped a hand to his forehead in incredulity. "What? You're telling me that the goddess Mystra just spoke to you? She told you what this ring is?"
The wizard nodded solemnly. That's right. She is the patron goddess of wizards, after all."
"I know that," Artek sputtered in disbelief. "But the gods don't just answer every little question you put to them." -.,
"Apparently, sometimes they do," Muragh quipped. The skull addressed Beckla. "It seems Artek here is having a little problem with the matter of his faith. But I'm sure the rest of us would very much like to know what Mystra told you."
Beckla picked up the ring and held it gingerly in her hand. "It's a wishing ring," she murmured. The wizard's face suddenly seemed strangely troubled.
"A wishing ring?" Muragh exclaimed. "But that's wonderful! It means we can wish our way right out of this dump. Come on! What are you waiting for?"
"Not so fast, Muragh," Beckla countered. "It doesn't work that way. Remember those enchantments that Halaster bound into the walls of Under-mountain, the ones that keep anyone from magically transporting out? Well, that goes for wishes, too. If we try to wish our way out of here, we'll probably find ourselves in some random part of Undermountain, and our wish wasted to boot." She lifted the ring, gazing through its open center. "There's only one wish left in this thing. We have to use it wisely."
Artek scratched the dark stubble on his chin. He was still skeptical that the goddess Mystra had truly spoken to Beckla. But even if the wizard was wrong about the ring, it couldn't hurt to make a wish on it. And if she was right…
He glanced at the silversanns at the far end of the chamber. The glowing creatures still slithered and undulated in ecstasy, completely oblivious to their ssspecimens.
Artek turned back to the others. Then he had it. The last apprentice!" he said, snapping his fingers. "The ring can't transport us out of Undermountain. But it can take us to the last of Halaster's apprentices! It's our only hope."
Beckla arched a single eyebrow. "I thought you didn't believe that this is really a wishing ring. Have you changed your mind so soon?".
He glared darkly at her. "You're not making this faith thing any easier, you know. How will the ring work if we don't even know who or where the apprentice is?"
Beckla smiled smugly. The ring knows."
"All right, we'll give it a try," he growled. "Beckla, you put on the ring. Now, let's all gather close so-"
His words were cut short as the chamber's iron door burst open with a thunderous boom! It flew through the air and struck one of the silversanns, crushing the hapless creature against a stone wall. For a moment, its antennae twitched jerkily, then went still.
A half-dozen steely forms lumbered through the gaping doorway, serrated claws waving menacingly.
"SQUCH! WRONG!" one of the thanatars droned angrily.
"PRISONERS! OURS!" intoned another.
Razor-sharp tails swiping wickedly, the thanatars charged the silversanns. Apparently, the lobster-creatures had decided they did not care for Squch's decision concerning Artek and the others. The silversanns screeched in terror, waving their feelers wildly as they tried to slither out of the reach of the larger mechanicals. Several were too slow, and the thanatars caught them in their pincers and squeezed, cleaving their sinuous, metallic bodies in two. The halves fell to the floor, twitching feebly. The thanatars droned in what seemed like satisfaction. Then one of the lobster-creatures caught sight of the adventurers.
"PRISONERS!" it droned. "GET!"
The thanatars lunged forward, and the five companions gaped in horror.
"Now, Beckla!" Artek cried.
Jamming the ring on a finger of her left hand, the wizard opened her mouth. At first nothing came out but a fearful croak. She took a deep breath, then tried again. This time, faint words escaped her lips.
"I wish… I wish we were in the lair of the last of Halaster's apprentices," she gasped.
The thanatars opened their jagged pincers, ready to snatch up the prisoners. But a sudden, brilliant flash of azure light sundered space. In an instant, the stony chamber, the writhing silversanns, and the violent thanatars vanished. For a single moment, humans, gargoyle, and skull were neither here nor there. Then came another blinding flash, and a new reality abruptly coalesced around them.
Fatal Game
"Now where are we?" Beckla asked in amazement.
"Near the end of our journey," Artek answered solemnly.
They stood beneath a high stone archway. Behind them, a corridor stretched into endless shadow. Before them lay their goal-the lair of the last apprentice still in Undermountain.
It was glorious. Walls of pale marble flecked with gold soared upward in vault after dizzying vault. An intricate mosaic adorned the lofty ceiling, depicting a fantastic sky: radiant day shone brilliantly upon one side, while night glittered with jewel-like stars upon the other. Light streamed down from the mosaic above-part of it sun-gold, part moon-pearl-refracting off the polished walls. It filled the chamber with shimmering luminescence.
In keeping with the ceiling, the chamber's expansive floor was a patchwork of marble squares, alternating in a checked pattern between white-gold noon and onyx midnight Each of the squares was perhaps three paces across, and the floor was bordered on all sides by a swath of mottled green marble. On the far side of the hall, set into a shallow nave, was a door of gold. Instinct told Artek that, for good or for ill, they would find the last apprentice beyond it.
Tucked in the crook of Artek's arm, Muragh let out a reedy whistle. "I'll say one thing," the skull murmured in awe. "Whoever this apprentice is, he certainly has a flair for decorating."
Over the centuries, no visible signs of age or decay had touched the grand hall, which seemed to indicate that it had not been abandoned. This, in addition to the sheer beauty of the chamber, boded well for their chances. Or at least, so it seemed to Artek. Together they conferred on a course of action-all except for Corin.
"I'll just try to stay out of your way," the lord said meekly. He huddled just inside the stone archway, his back to the wall, staring down at his scuffed shoes. Artek sighed quietly, but he reminded himself that there was nothing he could do.
They had come here to seek the help of Halaster's apprentice, so it seemed best to approach the wizard's door directly, without stealth. However, so as not to alarm the apprentice, they decided Artek should go alone at first. Then he would signal the others when he deemed it appropriate for them to follow.