by Mark Anthony
Artek could not suppress a toothy grin. He encircled Corin in his strong arms, embracing him tightly. The young man stiffened. Then, tentatively, he lifted his arms to return the embrace.
“Excuse me, Artek,” Corin gasped after a time, “but I’d like to breathe now.”
“Oh, sorry!” Artek exclaimed, releasing the young man from his grip.
Corin stood, smiling shyly. “Actually, you’re all rather in luck, you know. Though my father never placed much stock in it—it wasn’t a blood sport, you see—I was something of a champion at lanceboard among my peers.” He clapped his hands together. “Now, let’s get started. We have a game to play.”
A new air of confidence and authority gradually crept into Corin’s words and actions. For the first time since Artek had met him, the young man truly seemed like a lord. He surveyed the gameboard critically, forming a strategy.
“This isn’t going to be simple,” Corin murmured, his expression one of intent concentration. “Our opponent has a full complement of playing pieces, and we are only four.”
“Make that five!” Muragh piped up, rolling toward the nobleman’s feet.
Corin actually laughed as he picked up the skull. “Ah, then there is some hope after all,” he said.
With crisp commands, he directed the others to their starting locations on the first row of the gameboard. Artek took the King’s position, and Beckla the Queen’s, next to him. Corin placed Guss on the end, in the role of an Ogre, and took a Knight position for himself. Muragh, to his delight, was a Sorcerer.
After this, Corin instructed each of them on the manner of their movement.
“Artek, when you first stepped onto the board, it was where Muragh is now, on the starting square of a Sorcerer,” Corin explained. “Sorcerers can only move along a diagonal. That’s why you encountered the magical barrier when you tried to move forward and side-to-side.”
Artek nodded at the nobleman’s words. As long as they moved according to the rules of the pieces they were playing, they should be able to walk across the board without encountering the glowing barriers.
Corin continued to instruct them in the rules of their movement. As King, Artek could walk in any direction he chose, but only one square at a time. Beckla, acting as the Queen, could also move in any direction. However, she could go as many spaces as she wished. Upon learning of this advantage, she flashed Artek a smug expression. Guss, the Ogre, was informed that he could move as far as he wished along straight lines, but not along a diagonal, which was Muragh’s sole ability as Sorcerer. Corin had taken the most difficult role for himself, for a Knight was forced to move in a curious pattern: two squares in a straight line, then one more square to either side.
Once they knew the rules, they were ready to begin.
“It looks like the starting move is up to us,” Corin decided. “We’re playing from weakness, but that doesn’t mean we can’t act boldly. King, move one square forward.”
Artek stepped from his white starting square onto the black square before him. No magical barrier appeared to block his passage. He let out a sigh of relief.
The moment Artek finished his move, an ethereal figure on the far side of the chamber abruptly began to move. One of the dimly transparent dwarves in the front row—Soldiers, Corin called those pieces—stepped one square forward, then halted, standing as still as before.
“I was afraid of that,” Corin said grimly.
“Afraid of what?” Artek asked in growing dread.
“This really is just like a game of lanceboard,” the nobleman replied. “Every time one of us moves, one of our opponent’s pieces gets to move as well.”
Artek shifted uncomfortably on the black square. “Wait a minute, Corin. Isn’t the point of this game to capture your opponent’s pieces?”
The young lord nodded silently.
“All right,” Artek went on. “Then what happens to one of us if we’re captured by another piece?”
Corin took a deep breath. “All captured pieces are removed from the gameboard,” he said evenly.
The others shivered as the implication of these words registered upon them. A chill danced up Artek’s spine, and he licked his lips nervously. Removed from the gameboard. It sounded very … final.
“I guess we’ll just have to keep from getting captured, won’t we?” Artek said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.
It was their turn again.
“Sorcerer!” Corin called out. “Diagonal to your left, two squares. Protect your King.”
His mandible working furiously, Muragh hopped and rolled into position. As he came to a halt on his square, one of the ghostly Knights leapt the Soldier in front of it and sallied out onto the gameboard. Corin himself moved next, mirroring the enemy Knight’s position. The knight moved again. Corin tracked him. This time another Soldier moved forward.
“Ogre, ahead two and challenge!” Corin commanded.
Guss obeyed, lumbering forward toward the middle of the board. One of the opposing Sorcerers drifted menacingly in his direction but could not have captured him anyway, for Guss and the translucent Sorcerer were on opposite colors.
Corin shook his head. “This is difficult with so few pieces. Do you see, Artek? There’s a clear diagonal between you and that Sorcerer—and that’s the only way he can move. You’re in danger now. However, I can move to protect you.”
“Wait a minute!” Artek protested. “Won’t the Sorcerer be able to capture you then?”
“If so, then our Queen will be able to take him,” Corin replied with only a slight quaver in his voice. “We’ll have to hope our opponent is not yet ready to sacrifice one of his pieces.” Before Artek could argue further, Corin moved two and then one, ending up standing between Artek and the enemy Sorcerer.
Fortunately, Corin’s reasoning proved correct. The Sorcerer did not capture Corin. Instead, it moved diagonally back one square, taking itself out of Guss’s path.
“Good, we’ve got our opponent on the retreat,” Corin said. “Now is the time to keep pressing forward.”
Following Corin’s directions, they executed several more moves, making good progress across the board while avoiding the opposing pieces. Then one of the enemy Knights galloped silently forward, lance aimed menacingly at Artek.
Corin let out a sharp laugh. “It seems our opponent grows impatient. The Knight is in your path, Queen, and Ogre is protecting you. Capture him!”
Beckla swallowed hard, straightening her vest. “Here goes nothing,” she said dubiously. The wizard steeled her shoulders, then moved boldly forward, stepping onto the same square as the enemy Knight. The Knight lowered its lance toward her, but its horse reared back, opening its mouth in a silent scream. A gout of green fire sprang up from the floor, consuming the Knight as it rose toward the ceiling. A moment later, the magical fire vanished.
Beckla stared at the faint scorch mark on the floor—all that remained of the Knight. “Something tells me we definitely do not want to get captured,” she said.
The others could only nod in agreement. They continued to move across the board, but their progress was slower now. Corin was deep in concentration, and sweat beaded on his smooth brow. It was becoming steadily more difficult to avoid capture. Artek took an opposing Soldier, and Guss a Sorcerer—both opposing pieces were consumed by pillars of emerald flame.
“Queen, move two to your left!” Corin called out. Just as Beckla started to step in that direction, the nobleman shouted in alarm. “Wait! Stop!”
Beckla halted, no more than an inch from the edge of her present square.
“I’m sorry,” Corin said breathlessly. “You’ll be exposed to their Ogre from that position. I didn’t see it until it was almost too late.”
Corin studied the board again. Seconds stretched into long minutes. The others watched him in growing alarm. The nobleman muttered under his breath, going through move after move in his mind. It seemed he could find none that would not result in capture. Finall
y, he looked back at Artek, his expression grim.
“I’m afraid we’re out of choices. There’s only one thing I can think of, and I’m afraid it’s a rather risky gambit. If it fails, we’re lost.”
Artek gazed at him unflinchingly. “I trust you, Corin.”
For a moment, it almost seemed a faint smile of gratitude touched the young lord’s lips. He nodded. “Very well, then. It’s time to gamble our King. Let’s just hope they take the bait. King! Ahead one!”
Artek did as instructed. In response, an opposing Soldier moved one square out of the way. In sudden alarm, Artek saw that he was surrounded on three sides. An enemy Knight, Queen, and Ogre were all in position to capture him. It had been his last move. There would be no escaping.
“We’ve lost,” he said, his hopes dying.
“Not yet!” Corin cried out. “It seems you’ve forgotten the same thing our opponent has.” He pointed toward a small yellow object that for some time now had sat unnoticed near the side of the gameboard. “Now, Muragh!”
Grinning toothily, the skull rolled forward, moving in an unobstructed diagonal line—straight toward the enemy King. The ghostly King’s mouth opened in a silent cry of surprise and fear, but it could not move aside. Muragh careened directly into the ethereal form. The King’s arms spread wide as a blazing column of green fire sprang from the floor beneath its feet. A second later, many more pillars of emerald magic shot toward the ceiling, each consuming one of the remaining enemy game pieces. As suddenly as they had appeared, the columns of fire dissipated—the ghostly figures were no more. Artek stared in wonder. They had won.
With no opposing pieces, all they had to do now was avoid the magical force walls by moving correctly. They made their way swiftly across the gameboard and stepped onto the swath of green marble bordering the far side.
Artek gripped Corin’s shoulder. “You did it,” he said with a fierce grin.
Corin smiled. “I did, didn’t I?” he asked in amazement.
Their jubilation fell into silence as their eyes turned toward the golden door in the wall. It was time to see what waited beyond.
Together they approached the nave. Any thought of one of them going alone had been dismissed without discussion. There was no doorknob, so Artek reached out to push on the door. Just as his fingers brushed the smooth, gold surface, the door swung silently inward. A puff of dry air rushed out, and they stepped into the space beyond.
The chamber was small, with no other doors or openings but the one through which they had entered. The walls and floor were of the same gold-flecked marble as the outer hall. The only furnishings were a table and chair hewn of polished onyx. A male figure sat in the chair, slumped forward over the table. His rich velvet robes had long ago decayed to tatters, and his withered skin clung like old parchment to his yellowed bones. Rotted gray hair drooped over his bony shoulders. It was the last apprentice. And by the look of him, he had died in this room long centuries ago.
Artek shook his head sadly. Had it all been for nothing—the entire perilous game of lanceboard? He didn’t know why he was surprised. He really should be getting used to disappointment by now.
“Look,” Beckla said softly. “There’s something in his hands.”
She approached the mummified apprentice and carefully removed an object from the grip of his brittle fingers. It was a small, silver disk with thin writing engraved upon one side. They gathered around Beckla to read the words:
The deeper you go, the deeper I get.
If you jump sideways, you may find me yet.
—H.
Without doubt the H at the bottom stood for Halaster. Evidently, this riddle was a clue that the mad mage had left behind to help his students find him. Only it seemed this apprentice had died trying.
Artek glanced down at the inky tattoo on his arm. The wheel continued to spin slowly, inexorably. The moon had long passed the arrow, and now the sun drew near. By his best guess, it was no more than an hour until daybreak in the city above, no more than an hour until the tattoo sent out a fatal jolt of magic, stopping his heart forever. For all he knew, the last apprentice had spent centuries trying to solve Halaster’s riddle, and without success. Artek doubted they could answer it in a mere hour. He shook his head sadly. The others sighed. There was no need for words. They had run out of apprentices, and out of hope.
“Well, now what?” Muragh piped up finally, unable to bear the gloomy silence. “Are we all just going to stand here moping at each other until we turn to dust?”
“No, the rest of you shouldn’t give up,” Artek said solemnly. “You may yet find a way out of Undermountain. You’ve still got a chance, but I’m afraid I don’t have one much longer.”
“Neither do we, really,” Beckla replied darkly. She glanced at Corin, a strange sorrow in her eyes. “I haven’t seen much food or water in this part of Undermountain. We won’t last for very long without both.”
After a moment, Artek nodded gravely. He respected the wizard too much to argue with her. She and Corin might be able to keep searching for a few more days before thirst and exhaustion overcame them. But only if they were lucky.
Artek turned toward Guss and Muragh. The gargoyle gripped the skull tightly in his clawed hands, worry showing in his glowing green eyes.
“Even after the rest of us are … gone, you two don’t have to quit searching for a way out of here,” Artek told them seriously. “You can keep looking for as long as it takes. Eventually, you’re bound to find a gate that will take you out of here.”
Beckla ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. “I’m afraid that won’t do them much good,” she said sadly. “Muragh and Guss aren’t alive in the conventional sense of the word. Neither of them could pass through a gate without a living being accompanying them.”
Artek hung his head in sorrow. So they were all doomed together. He started to sink to the floor in despair.
Then, like a bolt of lightning, it struck him. He stared at the wizard, as if looking for an answer. Something was not right.
“Wait a minute, Beckla,” he said in confusion. “If Guss can’t go through a gate all by himself, why did you send him to test the one we found in the cave in Wyllowwood?”
The question caught the wizard entirely off guard. Her mouth opened in surprise, and she stumbled backward. After a moment, she tried to sputter an explanation, but Artek cut her off. All this time, something about the wizard had been bothering him. Something had been nagging at the back of his mind, but he had been too busy to really consider it. At last, he knew what it was.
“That gate would have worked for some of us, wouldn’t it? Don’t lie to me anymore, Beckla,” he hissed, baring his pointed teeth in a feral snarl. “I know now that you already have. Your hair gives you away. When we first met, you told me that you had lived in Undermountain for over a year. And your clothes look it. But your hair is short, as if it had been recently cut. Don’t try to tell me that you did such a fine job with the edge of your dagger.”
Beckla did not deny his words. Instead, she braced her shoulders, gazing at him, deep remorse in her brown eyes.
“Damn it, Beckla!” Artek snarled. “Tell me what in the Abyss is going on here!”
The wizard took a deep breath.
“I’ve betrayed you,” she said.
Horned Ring
Crimson rage surged in Artek’s head, and blood pounded in his ears. His orcish side howled in silent fury at the utterance of the cursed word—betrayed. He gripped the edge of the onyx table, knuckles white, teeth clenched. He could not let go. He did not dare. There was no telling what violence his hands would commit if he did. He glared at Beckla with smoldering black eyes.
“Tell me,” he commanded hoarsely.
They were the only words he could manage. The others stared at Beckla in astonishment, trying to comprehend what was happening. At last, the wizard nodded. Pain burned in her brown eyes, but her shoulders were straight, her too-square jaw resolute.
�
�I’ll explain everything,” she said solemnly. “I know now that I can’t lie to you anymore. Though once I tell the truth, I imagine that you’ll most likely decide to kill me. Not that I could blame you. There’s only one thing that I ask. Just let me finish before you … deal with me. I think you owe me that much.”
“No promises,” Artek hissed. His arms trembled. He wished to let go of the stone and crush a living throat instead. “Just talk.”
Beckla sighed. “As you wish,” she said simply. “Not everything I told you was a lie.” She shook her head ruefully. “Some of it was all too true. I am indeed a small-time wizard. I’ve been kicked out of more mage schools than I can count, usually for lack of money.” A sardonic smile twisted her lips. “Though once or twice it was for telling the master mage just where he could stuff his wand. In case you hadn’t noticed, I can be a little abrasive at times.”
“Oh, I hadn’t noticed, really,” Guss murmured politely.
Beckla winked at the gargoyle in gratitude. Then her expression grew grim.
“All right, here’s the part you don’t know,” the wizard said, crossing her arms across her grubby shirt as she paced before the table. “It wasn’t by chance that I happened upon you in the upper halls of Undermountain, Artek. But it really was blind luck that I was there in time to help you with those flying snakes. The truth is, I haven’t spent the last year in Undermountain. I came in by a private entrance no more than two hours before you entered the maze yourself. Before that, I had been informed of Corin’s whereabouts. You see, it was my job all along to lead you to the lost lord—that’s what I was hired to do.”
“Hired?” Artek asked. “Hired by whom?”
Beckla paused and then spoke without emotion. “Lord Darien Thal.”
An animalistic snarl ripped itself from deep in Artek’s throat. Somehow he had known he was going to hear that foul name again. He let go of the table, bearing down on Beckla. Only by great effort did he keep his shaking hands at his sides. The others looked on, mouths agape.