Escape from Undermountain - Mark Anthony [70]
"Maybe something's gone wrong with the tattoo," said Beckla.
"Maybe," Artek answered skeptically. "But that's not the only thing. Right now it's spring in Waterdeep, but the heat of this sun feels more like midsummer to me."
Beckla did not have a response to this, and Artek decided it did not truly matter. His life was tied to the magical tattoo, and so it was all that mattered. According to the tattoo, he had half a day and a night to live. It was time to get moving. Leading the way, he plunged into the thicket of trees.
The forest was even denser than it had looked from the outside. Trees grew close together, spreading their branches into a thick green canopy high above. In the dappled shadows below grew myriad vines and bushes, some covered with alien-looking blooms. Pale mushrooms grew from the rotting bodies of fallen trees. None of the plants were any that Artek or the others recognized. The air was damp and muggy, and soon all of the humans were sweating profusely. Tiny, bothersome insects danced in the air, flying into their ears and up their noses, making them sneeze. As always, Muragh chattered ceaselessly as they went. However, Corin was unusually silent. The young lord walked quietly at the rear of the party, eyes cast down upon the ground.
"So, tell me," Muragh went on in his reedy voice. "If we are really still underground, how is it that this forest can survive here?"
For a change, someone actually answered the skull's question. "I don't know," Beckla said, shaking her head as she lowered a glowing hand. "However, as far as I can tell with my magic, nothing about these woods is enchanted. These are all perfectly normal, mundane trees. Somehow, they must be getting all the light and water they need to-"
Artek held up a hand, silencing the wizard's words. He paused, listening with his slightly pointed ears. He heard something: a rustling, followed by the cracking of a dry twig. Something was lurking in the undergrowth just ahead. Whatever it was, Artek knew it was best to consider it dangerous. Whispering, he explained what he had heard to the others. They quickly formed a plan, and in moments were ready to act.
Beckla pointed a finger at the bushes ahead and intoned the words of a spell. Shimmering darts of energy sprang from her fingertips and struck the tops of the bushes, instantly vaporizing them. That was Guss's cue. Snarling as Artek had instructed him, the gargoyle swooped down from a high branch where he had perched, diving toward the bushes. There was a hoarse cry of fear, and a shabby form leapt out of the bushes. Artek jumped from behind a tree, tackling the running form. His quarry struggled wildly, but Artek was the stronger, and he pinned the other to the ground.
"No, don't take me to him!" cried a cracked and terrified voice. "Waukeen save me! I saw what happened to all the others. My heart! His tooth will pierce my heart! And his eyes. Too bright, his eyes. They burn as he crushes them in his jaws. They'll crush me, too!"
So terrified was the voice that Artek was startled and moved to pity. He loosened his grip-though not so much as to lose control-and leaned back, gazing at his quarry. It was what was left of a man. He was clad in strange, flowing clothes that might once have been fine but now were filthy and tattered. His tangled hair was matted with leaves, and a scraggly beard clung to his chin. His gaunt body was half-starved, and dark eyes stared madly from his twisted face.
Artek gazed at the broken man. "We're not going to hurt you," he said, gripping the man's shoulders firmly but gently.
For a moment the madman struggled, then went limp. A look of wonder crept onto his haggard face. "You're not on the Hunt, are you?"
Artek shook his head. "The Hunt? What do you mean?"
"The Hunters from the Temple," the man said, licking his lips fearfully. "Have you not seen them yet? Ah, but you will. You will! Their god is a beast, and a master of beasts. And beasts we are to him." Weird laughter bubbled deep in