Getting inside had turned out to be remarkably easy. Delbin was very proud of himself. As far as he knew, during his search through the upper floors of the main building, he had done none of the things that, for some reason, irked his minotaur companion. His only problem now was not knowing where to look next. Kaz was in this place somewhere, and Delbin had the feeling that something was going to happen very soon, and there might be no one to prevent it except him.

Looking down at the dark elf and the indistinct phantasm that Argaen insisted on addressing as Galan Dracos, a name Delbin knew from Kaz, the kender felt an odd, unfamiliar emotion stir within him. A member of any other race would have recognized it immediately, but not a kender. It was a rarity among his own kind, but Delbin had spent enough time among the other races so that he was finally able to put a name to it.

Fear.

Sardal had wanted to say more, and Kaz had certainly wanted to hear more, but such was not to be, for something chose that moment to come prowling through the corridors.

This was no dreadwolf. They had no inkling exactly what it was, save that it was a guardian, a watchdog of sorts. A watchdog on two feet, which was how they first became aware of it. Kaz heard the footfalls.

Whatever it was breathed heavily, so that they could hear it at all times. Sardal, with a shake of his head, indicated that it had not yet picked up their presence. That was a hopeful sign. A dreadwolf would have been hot on their trail by now. Nonetheless, it was heading in their direction.

With the unknown danger wandering toward them, Kaz and the elf had no choice but to retreat down the hall. Speed was of the essence, but so was stealth.

For Sardal, moving silently was no problem. For a being of Kaz’s stature, built for strength and not for subtlety, it was next to impossible. His feet seemed to find every uneven portion of the floor, causing him to stumble several times. Naturally the battle-axe bounced against the wall more than once because of this. Each time, he expected creatures to come boiling out of the stone walls.

Their unseen pursuer moved ever closer, but it didn’t seem as if it had taken real notice of them. Kaz began to wonder if the thing was deaf. Even he would have known by now there were some intruders.

Sardal paused at one point, looking back in the direction they had come from. The footfalls of the creature behind them had finally faded to nothing. Kaz thought the elf looked rather pale.

“What’s wrong?” the minotaur asked.

“I scarcely can believe it, but I think I have been leading us in circles.”

A shriek caught them both by surprise. Something huge, furry, and two-legged threw itself on Sardal, who went down with a muffled cry. Kaz readied a strike at the rampaging attacker, but there was too much risk of hitting the elf instead. Abandoning his battle-axe, the minotaur took hold of the creature from the back and tried to pull it off the elf.

They struggled at a stalemate for several seconds. Then the head of the creature slowly bent back as Kaz pulled at it. He slipped one arm around its neck, further strengthening his hold. The head swiveled to look at him, and the minotaur caught a glimpse of the only face he had ever seen that would make an ogre or a goblin look handsome by comparison-not to mention the face of the biggest vermin he could possibly imagine.

The ratman released its hold on Sardal and twisted around, trying to get its sharp teeth and claws on the minotaur’s bare skin. Kaz would have none of that, however. Strong though it was, the monstrosity was at a disadvantageous angle, and Kaz slowly tightened his grip on his adversary’s larynx. Jaws snapped a few inches from his face and claws scratched his chest and arms. He refused to budge.

With a gurgle, the creature suddenly convulsed in his arms and went limp. Kaz saw blood running down its back. Sardal had stabbed it from behind.

“I would recommend haste, minotaur. I sincerely doubt that this poor misfit is alone.”

Kaz found himself scanning each dark corner thoroughly, as if ratmen were about to come leaping out of every corner now. “Agreed. I just have to retrieve my-”

After a moment of waiting for Kaz to finish his sentence, Sardal finally asked, “Your what?”

The minotaur did not reply at first, instead gazing around the hallway. In frustration, he kicked the dead ratman.

Sardal watched him impatiently. “Is there something amiss?”

“Honor’s Face! I can’t find the battle-axe you gave me!”

“Perhaps it was thrown during battle…”

“I put it down here.” Kaz pointed at a spot no more than a couple yards from the site of the struggle. “I was afraid I might chop your head off instead of his.”

“Then it is lost, minotaur, and we had best depart before those who took it return. They might be some of his brethren.” The elf indicated the corpse and shivered slightly. There was something disgusting about such a creature. He doubted whether the beast had been born like that. More likely, it was something that Argaen had stolen from some Black Robe. Sardal hoped it had never been human.

“Let me try something first.” Kaz, now smiling, closed his eyes. Whoever had stolen his battle-axe was in for a surprise. How could they know that he could summon it back to him? He pictured the weapon, the mirrorlike axe head gleaming, and called it to him as he had done before.

“What is it you are doing?” Sardal asked, his tone hinting of annoyance.

Kaz opened his eyes and stared at his hands-an empty pair of hands. “It’s not here!”

The elf looked at him worriedly.

“The axe! It comes to me when I call it, when we’re separated!”

“It does?”

Leaning toward the elf, Kaz looked into his eyes. “You didn’t know that?”

“No… but it might explain things a bit. I always thought there was some secret about that axe. The dwarf would never explain. Said I should just keep it ready. He wanted it kept away from those who would misuse it, but he saw that someone would eventually have need of it. I think he was almost as confused as I am now. It is quite possible that Reorx worked through him. I often wondered about that. The battle-axe sounds like a product of his mischievous mind. Anyone who would forge a thing like the Graystone of Gargath…”

Kaz was completely ignoring the elf. He stared grimly at his empty hands. With the battle-axe, he had stood some chance, however little, against Argaen and Dracos. He had even come to believe that the twibil was the key to destroying the emerald sphere-didn’t Magius’s wizard’s staff shatter it the last time?

“We have to move on,” Sardal was concluding, “with or without your axe.”

The minotaur nodded. “We must be on guard for traps.”

‘Those are aptly timed words, minotaur! They will make an appropriate epitaph for you!”

Argaen Ravenshadow was suddenly there before them, his left hand stretched back as he prepared to hurl something at the two stunned figures.

Only moments before, Delbin had watched wide-eyed as the dark elf, face alight with obsession, seemed about to achieve what he had failed to do before. Ravenshadow had one arm raised high and the other pointed toward the emerald sphere. His outstretched hand barely skimmed the surface of the artifact. The elf’s body trembled.

Above the sphere, the misty form of Galan Dracos seemed to intensify. Delbin got the odd impression that the wraith was waiting for something, something that had as yet not manifested itself. The form shifted and twitched in what the kender guessed was growing impatience.