"I think maybe you've jumped a little too deep yourself," Muragh noted acerbically.
Artek ignored him. "Don't you see, Beckla? You said it yourself, back when you were explaining to me the difference between teleporting and using a gate. Teleportation is a fast but direct journey between places." He brought his hands together. "But using a gate is Шее jumping-"
"Sideways," Beckla breathed.
Artek snapped his fingers. "Exactly! That's the key to finding Halaster. If every use of the Horned Ring takes you deeper, eventually you would have to reach the deepest part of Undermountain. And where else would the Mad Wizard be except at the very bottom of his own maze?"
"Do you think we really dare disturb Halaster himself?" Corin asked, a startled expression on his smudged face.
"It's our only chance," Artek replied. "He's the only one who could transport us out of here. What have we got to lose?"
"You can count me in," Guss said with a grin.
"Me too!" Muragh added.
"And me," Beckla said firmly.
Corin smoothed his grimy, tattered silk shirt, then gripped the rapier at his side. "Well, I'm not about to miss all the fun."
Artek surveyed the determined faces of the others. He had entered Undermountain alone. Never had he expected to find such allies, such friends, in its dark depths. His heart swelled. "Let's do it," he said.
They gathered close together, making certain each still had a ruby. Then Beckla raised the ring. "Gate!" she ordered. "Open!"
The misty portal appeared before them.
"Here goes nothing,'' Artek murmured.
Together they jumped through.
They fell sprawling to the floor of a great cavern. An acrid smell hung in the dank air. Artek heard a strange clinking sound and looked up.
Glittering blue scales armored the vast, sinuous body of a blue dragon. Like sapphire sails, leathery wings spread open in a menacing display. Red eyes flaring hotly, the dragon stretched its serpentine neck, rising off the mountain of gold, silver, and jewels upon which it sprawled.
"Thieves!" it shrieked in a deafening voice.
The dragon opened its toothy maw, preparing to kill them with its deadly breath.
"Beckla, the gate!" Artek cried. "Open it!"
The wizard needed no prompting. She shouted the words. Instantly, the glowing portal, appeared in the air before them. They threw themselves toward the billowing mists just as a terrible crackling filled the air. Blazing bolts of blue lightning emanated from the dragon's maw, sizzling toward them. Just before they were engulfed by searing, sapphire death, the magical fog swallowed them. Dragon, cavern, and lightning vanished.
They quickly lost count of the jumps they made using the Horned Ring.
Sometimes they landed in musty stone corridors and dim tombs. Other times they found themselves suddenly facing snarling abominations ready to rip their throats out. Once, they plunged into bone-chilling water, and another time they landed on a small basalt islet lost amid a sea of molten lava. Each time, Beckla quickly resummoned the gate, and they leapt through, passing from one peril to another in dizzying succession.
Then they landed on a stone floor. Thick clouds of dust billowed sluggishly around them. They were in a cobweb-filled antechamber. By the look of it, no one had set foot in this place in centuries. But there was no time to waste-they had to keep jumping.
"Gate, open!" Beckla called out.
The portal appeared, and they lunged through.
They landed on a stone floor. Thick clouds of dust • filled the air around them.
Artek blinked in surprise. It was the same antechamber they had landed in a moment ago. The jump had taken them no deeper. Then he realized why.
"We're here," he said.
This was it. The very bottom of Undermountain.
As they stood, their eyes fell upon a small, nondescript wooden door set into one wall. There was no other exit. The five exchanged uncertain looks but there was only one thing to do. They approached the door, and Artek turned the brass knob. The door swung open.
"Blast it-company!" hissed a cracked voice. "I must have forgotten to reset the poison-spiked welcome mat again. Well, don't just stand there like you don't have the brains of a black pudding among you. Shut the door. You're letting in a draft!"
They were so startled by these words that they could only numbly obey. Closing the door, they took a step into the chamber beyond. No, not chamber, Artek corrected himself. Make that laboratory.
If there was any rhyme or reason to the laboratory, it was beyond Artek's comprehension. Chaos ruled supreme here. Vials and beakers balanced precariously on makeshift tables fashioned from moldering books. Weird objects cluttered crooked shelves: mummified animal parts, jars filled with staring eyeballs, and small stone idols with leering expressions. A bucket carelessly filled with jewels sat next to a glass case that enshrined a collection of toenail clippings. Candles had been stuck with melted wax to every available surface: floor, shelves, books, jars, and the skulls of articulated skeletons. However, they seemed to cast more smoke than light, filling the room with flickering shadows that tricked the eye. In all, it was like the locked attic room of someone's mad uncle-peculiar, musty, and vaguely sinister.
Then Artek saw the old man. It took some concentration to pick him out from among the mess. He was clad in a drab black robe that was belted crookedly around the waist with a frayed bit of rope. Scraggly gray hair hung loosely over his stooped, bony shoulders as he bent over a wooden table, muttering and cackling to himself as he worked on something hidden from view.
Artek guessed that the man was a lackey of Ha-laster's. However, if he was a doorman, he wasn't a very good one. The fellow seemed to have completely forgotten about their presence. After a moment, Artek cleared his throat. "Excuse me," he said hesitantly.
The old man continued to mutter to himself, poring over the table before him.
Gathering his courage, Artek took a step forward. This time he spoke more loudly. "Excuse me, but we're really in a bit of a hurry. We were wondering if you could tell us where we might find Halas-"
The old man looked up, twisting his head to peer back over his shoulder. His ancient face was nearly lost beneath a long gray beard and spiky eyebrows- all Artek could make out was a bladelike nose and two colorless eyes as cold and piercing as ice.
"What?" the old man interrupted. "You're still here?" He blew a snort of disgust through his ratty mustache. "I must have forgotten to oil the trigger on the boulder over the door as well. Well, if you're not going to have the decency to die, at least stop being such a nuisance with all your chatter. Can't you see that I'm working? Now make yourself useful and hand me that."
He thrust a bony finger toward a small jar of black paint on a nearby shelf. Before Artek even knew what he was doing, he hopped forward to obey the command. Chagrined, he brought the jar of paint to the ancient man. Artek craned his neck, but could not quite glimpse what the other man was working on. It was something very small. After a moment, the old man cackled in glee.
"Done!"
Scooping up several tiny objects into a withered hand, he marched with surprising swiftness toward an opening in the far wall and disappeared beyond. Artek exchanged curious looks with the others. After a moment's hesitation, they followed after. Stepping through the opening, they found themselves not in another chamber, but on the edge of a vast cavern. A red-gold light hung upon the dank air, but it appeared to have no source. Artek blinked in astonishment as the others gasped behind him.
Arranged in haphazard fashion around the cavern were a score of tables, every one a dozen paces long and half again as wide. Sprawling atop each of the tables was what appeared to be an intricate maze. Artek approached one of the tables and shook his head in wonder. This wasn't just any maze, he realized.