Read Online Escape from Undermountain by Mark Anthony - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark Anthony
Tags: General Interest
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this thing will kill me!"
This statement sent them both into breathless paroxysms of laughter.
"At least I have this," Artek choked through his mirth. He showed her the golden box. "When I find the nobleman, all I have to do is open this and a magical gate will appear, leading back to the surface."
Beckla gazed at the box with wide eyes. "Oooh. That's very nice!" She looked from side to side, then giggled mischievously. "Listen, I have a secret to tell you."
Artek leaned dizzily closer. "What is it?"
She bit her lip, then smiled crookedly, speaking in an exaggerated whisper. "I know where he is. Your lost lord. He's not far. I could take you right to him."
Artek sat up straight. Instantly the giddiness drained from him. That was the advantage of dwarven firebrandy, and the reason it was such a rare and expensive commodity. Its highly intoxicating effects ceased the moment one wished them to. He stared at her, his black eyes deadly serious.
"You know where Lord Corin Silvertor is?"
The wizard's face quickly grew solemn as she too willed away the effects of the firebrandy.
"I do."
Artek bore into her with his black eyes. He could see her pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat, but she did not look away. Thief's instinct warned him that she was not telling him everything. But she was not lying. Of that he was certain. She did indeed know where to find the lost lord.
"Take me to him," he said intently.
"Take me with you," she replied in an even voice.
For a silent moment the two gazed at each other. Then a reluctant smile spread across Artek's face; this time, it was not from the firebrandy.
"It looks like we have a deal, wizard."
Beckla beamed brightly in reply. She stood, gripping her wizard's staff. "All right, thief," she said crisply. "Let's go rescue us a nobleman."
3
Outcasts
Artek and Beckla came to a halt before a high basalt archway shaped like a gaping mouth. Whether the maw was open in laughter or a scream was impossible to tell. Green mold clung to the stony lips, and black water dripped from jagged teeth. Distant sounds drifted through the archway: grunts, snarls, and high-pitched howls. They were almost like the noises of animals. Almost, but not quite. Beyond the mouth lay darkness.
"This archway marks the border of the territory of the Outcasts," Beckla whispered. A faint blue radiance bathed her face, emanating from the wisp of magelight hovering on the end of her staff.
"The Outcasts?" Artek asked quietly. The oppressive silence seemed a living thing. It did not like the intrusion of their words. "Who are they?"
Beckla shook her head grimly. "What are they might be a more appropriate question."
Artek gazed at her in puzzlement. Quietly, the wizard explained her cryptic words.
"I think they were people once," she began. "But they were shunned by the world above and driven down beneath the city. I suppose it was because they were different. They were the city's malformed, its ill, its mad." She shook her head ruefully. "I don't know why people are so terrified of those who aren't exactly the same as everyone else. But they are. They fear difference, and hate it. I imagine that was what drove the Outcasts down. It wasn't their fault they were different, but it still made them pariahs. I think that over the years, one by one, the unwanted of Waterdeep retreated down into the sewers beneath the city, and many eventually found their way into the halls of Undermountain."
Beckla gazed thoughtfully into the darkness with her deep brown eyes. "There's a whole world down here beneath the city," she murmured. "One that those who walk the daylit streets above have no idea even exists."
Artek let out a grunt. He knew well what it was like to be despised simply because he was not like others. Would the Magisters have been so deaf to his claims of innocence had orcish blood not run in his veins? He could feel sympathy for the Outcasts, for those who had chosen to live in the dark below rather
This statement sent them both into breathless paroxysms of laughter.
"At least I have this," Artek choked through his mirth. He showed her the golden box. "When I find the nobleman, all I have to do is open this and a magical gate will appear, leading back to the surface."
Beckla gazed at the box with wide eyes. "Oooh. That's very nice!" She looked from side to side, then giggled mischievously. "Listen, I have a secret to tell you."
Artek leaned dizzily closer. "What is it?"
She bit her lip, then smiled crookedly, speaking in an exaggerated whisper. "I know where he is. Your lost lord. He's not far. I could take you right to him."
Artek sat up straight. Instantly the giddiness drained from him. That was the advantage of dwarven firebrandy, and the reason it was such a rare and expensive commodity. Its highly intoxicating effects ceased the moment one wished them to. He stared at her, his black eyes deadly serious.
"You know where Lord Corin Silvertor is?"
The wizard's face quickly grew solemn as she too willed away the effects of the firebrandy.
"I do."
Artek bore into her with his black eyes. He could see her pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat, but she did not look away. Thief's instinct warned him that she was not telling him everything. But she was not lying. Of that he was certain. She did indeed know where to find the lost lord.
"Take me to him," he said intently.
"Take me with you," she replied in an even voice.
For a silent moment the two gazed at each other. Then a reluctant smile spread across Artek's face; this time, it was not from the firebrandy.
"It looks like we have a deal, wizard."
Beckla beamed brightly in reply. She stood, gripping her wizard's staff. "All right, thief," she said crisply. "Let's go rescue us a nobleman."
3
Outcasts
Artek and Beckla came to a halt before a high basalt archway shaped like a gaping mouth. Whether the maw was open in laughter or a scream was impossible to tell. Green mold clung to the stony lips, and black water dripped from jagged teeth. Distant sounds drifted through the archway: grunts, snarls, and high-pitched howls. They were almost like the noises of animals. Almost, but not quite. Beyond the mouth lay darkness.
"This archway marks the border of the territory of the Outcasts," Beckla whispered. A faint blue radiance bathed her face, emanating from the wisp of magelight hovering on the end of her staff.
"The Outcasts?" Artek asked quietly. The oppressive silence seemed a living thing. It did not like the intrusion of their words. "Who are they?"
Beckla shook her head grimly. "What are they might be a more appropriate question."
Artek gazed at her in puzzlement. Quietly, the wizard explained her cryptic words.
"I think they were people once," she began. "But they were shunned by the world above and driven down beneath the city. I suppose it was because they were different. They were the city's malformed, its ill, its mad." She shook her head ruefully. "I don't know why people are so terrified of those who aren't exactly the same as everyone else. But they are. They fear difference, and hate it. I imagine that was what drove the Outcasts down. It wasn't their fault they were different, but it still made them pariahs. I think that over the years, one by one, the unwanted of Waterdeep retreated down into the sewers beneath the city, and many eventually found their way into the halls of Undermountain."
Beckla gazed thoughtfully into the darkness with her deep brown eyes. "There's a whole world down here beneath the city," she murmured. "One that those who walk the daylit streets above have no idea even exists."
Artek let out a grunt. He knew well what it was like to be despised simply because he was not like others. Would the Magisters have been so deaf to his claims of innocence had orcish blood not run in his veins? He could feel sympathy for the Outcasts, for those who had chosen to live in the dark below rather
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