Escape from Undermountain - Mark Anthony [55]
Not far off, Guss kept watch in one direction down the tunnel, while Muragh rested on a rock facing the other direction. The gargoyle had cheerfully offered to stand sentry. "I've just woken up from a two-century long nap," he had explained.
Muragh, in contrast, had been less than cooperative. "I won't be able to talk to you if I'm that far away!" the skull had complained. That was precisely the idea. Artek had ignored Muragh's protests and set him down on a rocky perch to keep watch.
He could hear the skull faintly now, muttering to himself in wounded tones. In truth, Artek did not care for the idea of stopping to rest, but after the ordeal in Arcturia's lair, Corin had been swaying on his feet, and Beckla's face had been drawn and haggard. Much as he hated to admit it, Artek needed rest as well. Time was precious, but all the time in the world would do them no good if they dropped from exhaustion. However, he had not been able to find sleep as easily as Corin.
With a start, Artek realized that Beckla's sleeping form was no longer next to that of the nobleman. He heard a rustling sound behind him and turned to see the wizard approaching out of the shadows, a wisp of magelight bobbing above her head. She knelt beside him.
"I brought you some water," she said softly. "And something to eat."
He accepted both gratefully, only then realizing how thirsty and hungry he was. The water came from damp moss, which he squeezed over his open mouth. The moisture produced was musty and bitter, but cool against his parched tongue. Beckla broke a piece off of some sort of round loaf and handed it to Artek. The food was soft, rich, and slightly nutty. He ate it ravenously.
"Where did you find a loaf of bread?" he asked in amazement after finishing the last morsel.
"Actually, it's not bread," the wizard replied. A weak grin touched her lips. "It's fungus."
Artek's eyes grew wide. He tried to spit out the last mouthful, but it was too late. Grimacing, he felt it slide down his throat and into his stomach. "You could have told me," he grumbled.
"Would you have enjoyed it so much if I had?" she asked.
"No," he was forced to admit.
Beckla broke off a piece of the fungus and popped it into her mouth. "It's really quite good. Besides, one can't be picky after living down here for a year. If it won't kill you, you eat it."
"Nice philosophy."
They were quiet as Beckla finished eating. Eventually Artek found himself gazing at Guss's dark form. The gargoyle stood as still as stone, gazing down the corridor.
"He can't be as good as he seems," Artek said quietly.
Beckla looked up in surprise. "You mean Guss?"
Artek nodded. "Guss said it himself-he was created to be a creature of evil. How can we be certain he won't suddenly turn on us?"
Beckla sat cross-legged, arranging her tattered shirt and smudged vest. "It's not how you're born that matters," the wizard replied firmly. "It's what you do with yourself. That's all that really counts."
Bitter laughter escaped Artek's throat. "Is that so?" he sneered. "Then why did the Magisters throw me in the Pit for a crime I didn't commit?" He did not let her answer, but went on. "I'll tell you why. It was because they knew orcish blood runs in my veins. In their eyes I was born part monster, and thus a monster I am bound to be." He shook his head ruefully. "And maybe they were right. Maybe I never will be anything else."
Beckla was silent for a long moment. Finally she gave his clothes a critical look. "Have you ever considered wearing something besides black?" she asked.
"What's the matter with black?" he asked defensively. "It's a very dignified color."
"It's a well-known fact that only evil people wear black," Beckla replied. "You might consider trying white for a change. It could do wonders for your