Artek let out a grunt. He knew well what it was like to be despised simply because he was not like others. Would the Magisters have been so deaf to his claims of innocence had orcish blood not run in his veins? He could feel sympathy for the Outcasts, for those who had chosen to live in the dark below rather than be feared in the light above.
'So it's these Outcasts who have Lord Corin Silvertor?' he asked finally.
Beckla nodded, confirming his guess. 'They're holding him prisoner deep in their territory.'
'Well, I don't suppose a ragtag band of misfits will give us much trouble,' Artek said gruffly.
At this, Beckla shook her head fiercely. 'You don't understand, Artek. The Outcasts are not what they used to be. Anyone scorned by the world above is welcomed among them. But they hate those who are whole-those like us. And over the years that hatred has… changed them.'
A chill snaked down Artek's back. 'Changed them?' he asked slowly. 'How?'
She gripped her staff with white-knuckled hands. 'I think their hatred melded with some dark magic that lingers in these corridors even now, so long after Halaster created them. The very stones exude an evil enchantment like a foul odor. The Outcasts fled the world above because they were perceived as monsters. And over time, down here in the darkness, they have become just that. The atmosphere of Undermountain has twisted them. I've never laid eyes on any of the Outcasts myself-few who do so survive. But accord-. ing to the stories, they're not human anymore.' Beckla could not suppress a shiver.
Artek stared at her in grisly astonishment. 'So why wouldn't they just kill Lord Silvertor?' he asked. 'From the description I got, Silvertor is young and handsome. If what you've said about the Outcasts is true, they would loathe him.'
'Yes, they would,' the wizard agreed solemnly. 'But you don't know the whole story. The Outcasts don't kill those who intrude upon their territory.' Revulsion choked her voice. 'Instead they twist their bodies and minds, turning the intruders into Outcasts like themselves.'
This time it was Artek who shivered. It was a horrible image. 'How do you know all this, Beckla?'
The wizard flashed a wan smile in his direction. 'I have my ways.'
He frowned at this enigmatic answer, and she let out a soft laugh.
'Actually, it's no mystery,' she explained. 'I'm not the only one hiding out down here. And rumors tend to travel pretty swiftly through these dreary tunnels.'
Artek nodded, temporarily satisfied with her answer. An uneasy feeling gathered in his stomach. He glanced down at the dark ink tattoo on his arm; the arrow was now halfway between sun and moon. Already six hours had passed. He didn't like the idea of meeting up with the Outcasts, but he had little choice. If he wanted to live, he had to venture into their territory.
He shot the wizard a questioning look. 'Are you certain you still want to come with me, Beckla?'
That little golden box of yours might be the only way I'm ever going to get out of here.' She crossed her arms, fixing him with an even gaze.
'You could just kill me and take it, you know.'
Her lips parted in a crooked grin. 'If I was going to do that, wouldn't I have done it by now?'
Despite his fear, he let out a laugh. 'I suppose so.'
Together, they stepped through the archway's gaping mouth.
While elsewhere the dank air of Under-mountain had been oppressive, here it was downright menacing. As they went, the darkness parted sluggishly before Beckla's flickering ball of magelight and closed turgidly behind them, like oily water in the wake of a ship. Artek found himself taking shallow breaths; he was reluctant to draw the noxious atmosphere into his lungs, as if once inside his body it might fester, filling him with its dark disease. He knew that they were not welcome here.
The two walked down a twisting tunnel; its walls were strangely curved and ridged. A dark, glistening mucus covered them, dripping onto the floor, which was nauseatingly soft and spongy under their feet. In all, the tunnel seemed as if it had not been hewn of stone, but was alive. Artek felt as if they had been swallowed by a gigantic creature, and were now moving down its long, sinuous esophagus. Hot bile rose in his own throat. He tried to force the queasy image from his mind, but had little success.
They had gone only a short way when the moist tunnel divided. They paused, and Artek pulled the heart jewel out of his pocket. The blue light glimmering in the center was stronger now. He moved a few paces down the right-hand passageway. The gem 'flickered. He retraced his steps, then padded down the left-hand tunnel. The glow inside the heart jewel steadied and strengthened.
'This way,' Artek whispered.
Beckla followed after him, and the two moved down the slime-covered passage. Before long the tunnel forked again, and again. Each time Artek used the glowing heart jewel to determine which way they should take. Soon they found themselves in a labyrinth of networking tunnels, branching and rejoining countless times in a chaotically braided pattern. Artek began to wonder if they could ever find their way back out if they needed to. He did not voice his fear.
A distant thrum vibrated in the air. It was so low that they felt it more than they heard it, reverberating beneath their feet, almost like the sound of a beating heart. Otherwise, the winding tunnels were utterly silent. The grunts and howls that had drifted out of the mouth-arch had ceased. The quiet was even more disturbing.
'Where are the Outcasts?' Artek hissed when the silence became almost unbearable.
Beckla bit her lip nervously. 'I don't know. But I almost wish they would just show themselves. I don't think facing them could be any more horrible than wondering and waiting.'
There was nothing to do but keep moving. The tunnel opened up before them, and they found themselves in a smooth-walled chamber. Glossy shapes were embedded in the wall, livid and throbbing, like huge organs. Sickened, they hurried across the squelching floor and moved through a circular opening in the far wall.
Artek glanced at the heart jewel in his hand. The light m the center was so bright they hardly needed Beckla's magelight. The glow pulsed steadily, echoing the lost lord's heart. Silvertor was still alive. And by the rapid rate of his pulse, Artek guessed he was terribly afraid-as well he should be in this place. But the nobleman was close now, Artek was sure.
They rounded a sharp bend, then skidded to an abrupt halt. Something was embedded in the tunnel wall, something alive. It writhed beneath a translucent sheath of tough mucus, like an insect inside a chrysalis. In dread fascination, Artek and Beckla approached.
It was a person. For a moment, Artek thought it might be Lord Silvertor, but as they drew near, he saw that this was not so. It was a woman, some other prisoner of the Outcasts. She struggled vainly against the viscous bonds that held her within the wall. Her eyes bulged when she saw them, and she pressed her face against the clear sheath that covered her, stretching it. She opened her mouth, screaming. No sound came out, but Artek could understand her words by the movements of her lips. Help me, she was screaming. Please, by all the gods, help me.
'We've got to cut her free!' Beckla cried.
Artek reached for the saber at his hip. In horror, he froze. It was too late.
Slick tendrils snaked out of the wall and plunged into the woman's body. They pulsed like veins, pumping her full of dark fluids. She screamed, convulsing violently. All at once she fell still. As Artek 'and Beckla watched in revulsion, her body began to change. Her skin dissolved, revealing glistening muscles and organs beneath. As if of their own volition, her body parts began to undulate, rearranging themselves into hideous and alien new shapes. The woman twitched and shuddered. She was still alive, but she was transforming into something else.
There's nothing we can do,' Artek gasped, feeling side. He grabbed Beckla's arm. 'We have to go!'
The wizard nodded jerkily and stumbled after him. They careened down the tunnel, passing more prisoners embedded in the moist, fleshy walls. All were in the process of being transformed; all were beyond hope.
The tunnel opened into another chamber, one with pink walls and a ribbed ceiling. Thick green liquid bubbled in a pool in the center of the room. A caustic stench hung in the air, burning their eyes and noses. The jewel in Artek's hand flared brilliantly.
'He's got to be here!' he gasped, gagging on the stinging air. He spun around, searching the slime-covered walls.
'There!' Beckla choked, pointing.
They rushed to the far side of the chamber. A body was embedded in the wall, struggling beneath a taut, fibrous sheath. Artek peered through the covering, dreading what he would see. He glimpsed a young man with a
