Escape from Undermountain - Mark Anthony [90]
Tucked in the crook of Artek's arm, Muragh let out a reedy whistle. "I'll say one thing," the skull murmured in awe. "Whoever this apprentice is, he certainly has a flair for decorating."
Over the centuries, no visible signs of age or decay had touched the grand hall, which seemed to indicate that it had not been abandoned. This, in addition to the sheer beauty of the chamber, boded well for their chances. Or at least, so it seemed to Artek. Together they conferred on a course of action-all except for Corin.
"I'll just try to stay out of your way," the lord said meekly. He huddled just inside the stone archway, his back to the wall, staring down at his scuffed shoes. Artek sighed quietly, but he reminded himself that there was nothing he could do.
They had come here to seek the help of Halaster's apprentice, so it seemed best to approach the wizard's door directly, without stealth. However, so as not to alarm the apprentice, they decided Artek should go alone at first. Then he would signal the others when he deemed it appropriate for them to follow.
"Wish me luck," he said nervously.
The others all did so-except for Corin. Taking a deep breath, Artek turned to stride boldly toward the golden door across the room. As he left behind the strip of mottled green marble where the others were gathered, his boot stepped first upon a square of black. He took another step forward, onto a square of white.
Then he ran face first into some sort of a wall.
Like sunlight glancing off a clear window, a plane of white radiance flashed momentarily in front of him. With a cry of pain he stumbled backward, onto the black square.
"What in the Abyss was that?" he muttered in confusion, rubbing his throbbing nose. Whatever it was, it had hurt.
Beckla stood up, a curious frown on her broad face. "It looked like a magical barrier blocked your way," she said.
Artek tried moving onto the white square to his left. Once again a thin plane of white energy sprang into existence before him, blocking the way. The same thing happened when he tried to move to his right. Knowing what to expect, he did not smash his face against the magical barriers. Perplexed, he turned around and stepped back onto the swath of green marble that bordered the floor.
"Something very strange is going on here," he grumbled in annoyance.
Beckla's eyes suddenly went wide with surprise, and Guss let out a low growl of shock.
"You aren't kidding," Muragh said with a low whistle.
Artek turned back around, and an oath escaped his lips. As he watched, something appeared out of thin air on the far side of the room. Images flickered into existence, wavered like desert mirages, then grew solid. No, not solid, for Artek could still see dimly through their ghostly forms. They stood in two straight lines upon the two farthest rows of black and white squares, one creature per square, sixteen in all.
The eight in the first rank looked to be dwarven soldiers of some sort: long-bearded, horn-helmed, mail-clad, and bearing shimmering half-moon axes. Standing behind them in the rear row-one to each side-were two tusked, long-armed ogres; two silvery knights mounted upon black steeds and bearing gleaming lances; and a pair of stern-faced sorcerers in pointed hats. These six flanked two tall, imposing figures in the center of the back row. Flowing mantles fell from wide shoulders; glimmering crowns rested upon high brows; pale eyes gazed forward in steely authority. Proud they were, and cruel: a king and a queen.
With terrible certainty, Artek knew it was going to be no easy task getting to the gold door across the room. Even if he could find a way to avoid the glowing magical barriers