Escape from Undermountain - Mark Anthony [39]
There was little in the room but a few heaps of rusted metal and rotted wood. Atop one of the piles of refuse was a yellowed human skull. A drooping, frayed tapestry hung on one wall, and Artek yanked it down and spread it on the cold floor. As gently as he could, he laid the limp wizard down on the worm-eaten cloth.
"How… how is she?" Corin asked quietly, hovering over them.
Artek shook his head. It didn't look good. He laid a hand on Beckla's throat. Her flesh was as cold as ice, and he could feel no pulse. He held his dagger before her mouth, but the cool steel did not fog. She was not breathing. Artek turned her head, and on the side of her neck were a pair of small, dark wounds.
"The wraith spider bit her," he said grimly. "I suppose the thing was poisonous." A tightness filled his chest, and his eyes stung. He had only just met the wizard, but she had helped him when he was alone, and he considered her a friend. "Beckla is dead, Corin," he said hoarsely.
"No, she isn't."
Artek glared up at the nobleman. "This really isn't the time for your boundless optimism, you know."
Corin looked at him in surprise. "But I didn't say that," he gulped.
Artek frowned. "Well, if you didn't say it, then who did?"
"Hello there!" called a cheery voice. "It was me! I said it!"
Artek leapt to his feet and Corin spun around. Both stared in confusion. There was nobody else with them in the chamber.
"Over here!" It was the voice again: odd and hollow, almost like the sound of a low flute. "On the rubbish heap. No, not that one. This one!"
Artek and Corin blinked in shock as their eyes finally fell upon the mysterious speaker-a yellowed skull. Lower jaw working excitedly, it hopped and spun atop the pile of refuse.
"Surprised, eh?" the fleshless skull gloated.
"You could say that," Artek said cautiously, wondering if they were again in danger.
The skull clattered its teeth happily. "Good! I like surprises! The name is Muragh, Muragh Brilstagg. At least, that was my name when I was alive. Of course, I'm not half the man I used to be. By Lathander, I'm more like an eighth! Some fool soldier cut my body away, and then went and threw my head in the harbor. The fish had a good time with me. Do you know what it's like to have your eyeballs eaten by eels and your brain sucked out by starfish?" The skull rattled its jaw, as if shuddering. "Let me assure you, it isn't much fun."
Maybe the thing wasn't dangerous, Artek decided, but it certainly was talkative. He approached the skull. "You said that our friend isn't dead, Muragh. What makes you think so?"
"I don't think so," the skull replied smugly. "I know so."
And arrogant as well, Artek amended inwardly.
"The wraith spiders may not be alive themselves, but they don't like to feed on the dead," the skull explained in a reedy voice. "Their venom only stuns-that way they can wrap their prey in webs and snack at their leisure."
A chill ran down Artek's spine. The skull's words conjured a grisly image. He glanced back at the still form of the wizard. "So how long will it take for the effects of the venom to wear off?"
"Not long," Muragh replied. "No more than three or four-"
"Hours?" Artek interrupted hopefully.
"Days," the skull said.
Artek's heart sank. He couldn't simply leave Beckla here for three days with no one to protect her but a talking skull. It was too much of a betrayal-and that would make him no better than Darien Thal. But in three days he would be long dead.
"Wait a minute!" Corin piped up. "I think I have something that might help." The nobleman fumbled about his grimy velvet coat, searching the pockets. "Aha!" he exclaimed, pulling out a small object. "Here it is." He held up the item-a glass vial, filled with a thick, purplish fluid.
"What is that?" Artek asked dubiously.
"A healing potion," Corin replied. "My family's healer gave it to me before I embarked on the hunt. I hadn't thought of it before-it wouldn't do much good if Beckla were dead. But if she's only injured…"
Hope surged in Artek's heart. "Give me that," he snapped, snatching