Escape from Undermountain - Mark Anthony [102]
"And this must be the River Sargauth," Corin added from nearby, pointing to a thin strip of glittering blue fashioned from crushed sapphire.
"And here's the tomb where you found me," Guss said excitedly, pointing to a small chamber at the end of another table.
"It's times like these that make me really wish I still had fingers," Muragh muttered to no one in particular.
Artek shook his head in disbelief. "Everything's here. Everything. It's absolutely perfect."
The old man approached. "Of course it is," he said. "I made it, didn't I? And it's taken me quite a few centuries to get it just right, if I do say so."
Startled, Artek stared at the ancient man. A chilling suspicion began to coalesce in his mind.
Just then the old man glanced down and frowned.
Near the center of the table, a band of adventurer figurines faced a dozen clay goblins. "Humph! I don't like those odds." The old man reached into his pocket and drew out a strange-looking pair of shears. Opening the handles, the shears extended like an accordion, stretching toward the figurines. A cruel light flashed in his eyes as he squeezed the handles together, and the blades of the shears snapped shut, lopping off the heads of three of the adventurer figurines. Only one remained intact. The old man let out a burst of maniacal laughter, retracting the shears. "That's better!"
The others watched with growing discomfort as the old fellow wreaked further havoc upon the miniature Undermountain. He moved from table to table, flooding rooms with water, melting wax monsters with the flame of a candle, and smashing tiny adventurers at random with a silver hammer. All the while, he let out hoots of malevolent glee, as if it were all a capricious game he was inventing as he went along.
A small white mouse suddenly scurried down a tiny corridor in one of the models, squeaking shrilly.
"Ah, Fang, there you are," the strange old man said, clucking his tongue. "You've been hiding again, haven't you? You know I don't like it when you hide. Next time it may be bang with my silver hammer."
The old man picked up the mouse and held out a tiny object. It was a miniature sword. "Go give this to the warrior on level four, chamber sixty-two. I don't want her to die just yet. She's been far too much fun." He set the mouse back down on the table. "Now shoo! Shoo! And don't hide the next time I'm looking for you."
Fang let out a decidedly recalcitrant squeak, then took the sword in its mouth before scurrying away through the tabletop maze.
Meanwhile, Corin had been studying the miniature labyrinth on a nearby table. "I've always simply adored models," he murmured. He pointed to a dark circle of polished onyx. "What's that?" he asked in delight.
The old man peered over the young noble's shoulder. "That's Midnight Lake."
"And what about this?" Corin pointed to a tortuous series of chambers and corridors.
The old mage let out a snort. "That's the Gauntlet of my idiotic half-spider apprentice, Muiral. He never could find me. But then, none of them did. Poor students one and all, they were."
Artek and Beckla exchanged shocked looks. However, Corin wasn't really listening. "And how about this?" He pointed to a small square that glowed with an eerie green light.
The old man glowered at him. "You're certainly full of questions, aren't you? That's Wish Gate. It will take you anywhere you wish to go."
Artek's pointed ears pricked up at this. "Even out of Undermountain?" he asked.
"I said anywhere, didn't I?" the old man grumped. "Now, I've had more than enough of your questions. I'm quite busy, you know. So be quiet-or get yourselves killed. Do anything, as long as you just stop pestering me!"
The others drew away, gathering on the far side of the cavern.
"Did you hear him?" Artek asked softly. "He called Muiral his apprentice. It can mean only one thing."
Corin's eyes suddenly went wide. He glanced