Artek surveyed his surroundings. Despite the murk, his darkvision let him see the rough walls of damp stone. The gate had dropped them into a natural tunnel of some sort, hewn by time and the flow of water. As quickly as it had appeared in midair, the sizzling gate had closed behind them. Neither Arcturia nor her crimson magic had followed them through the portal, but there was no telling where the gate had deposited them. For all they knew, they were deeper than ever in Undermountain.

In the darkness, he could make out the shapes of the others nearby. Corin lay curled in a ball, hands pillowing his head, snoring blissfully. Artek shook his head, wondering if the young nobleman truly understood the danger they were in. Maybe to Corin, this was all simply a grand adventure, like the fantastic tales told by a wandering minstrel. Artek almost envied the lord. Would that he himself had lived such a sheltered life, and knew the calm of such ignorance. But he had not, and he knew better.

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 «aid 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 image."

Artek let out a dubious snort. "I'll keep it in mind," he muttered. "So what about you? What's your unattainable dream? Back in Arcturia's realm, I saw you working happily with potions and powders-at least, you thought you were."

Beckla was silent for a moment. At last she held out her hand. The shimmering wisp of magelight floated down to hover above her hand. She moved her fingers, and the glowing puff danced, changing from blue to green to yellow and back to blue again. Abruptly she waved her hand, and the light vanished. She reached out, motioning as if pulling something from behind Artek, and the wisp of magelight appeared in her hand once more.

"That's a fancy trick," Artek said, impressed.

Beckla released the light, and it floated above her head once more. "But that's all it is," she said ruefully. "A trick. A ruse to entertain commoners and simpletons, and nothing more." She bit her lower lip, staring away into the darkness, then finally turned to regard Artek with her deep brown eyes. I'm а small-time wizard, Ar’talen. I know a few real spells, and I can fake a dozen more. But I can't do anything more than a thousand other would-be wizards can. Do you know what real mages, so mighty in their high towers and mystic laboratories, call people like me?" She shook her head in disgust. "Runts. That's what they say when they see us. If they bother to look our way at all."

"You're good enough to have survived in this maze for a year," Artek offered.

But Beckla's eyes grew distant, as if she had not heard. "Just once I'd like to be the mage in the tower," she whispered. "I would learn the deepest, most powerful spells, discover the mysteries of the most ancient artifacts, and create new magic the like of which no one has ever seen." She shook her head fiercely. "But even if I dwelled in the highest tower, I would not look down on those outside. I would open my doors to all the so-called runts. I would welcome them into my study, and teach them real magic, so they would never again have to hang their heads in shame when another mage walked by!"

Only then did she realize that she had clenched her hands into fists. She fell silent, forcing her fingers to relax.

"You'd give anything for that, wouldn't you?" Artek asked softly.

She swallowed hard and suddenly looked away, as if his words had cut her somehow.

"We should be going," she said. "I'll wake Corin." She swiftly stood and walked away, leaving Artek to stare after her.

Artek told Guss that they were ready to move on, then went to retrieve Muragh. He returned to find Corin happily munching on a piece of something soft and white.

"What is this food that Beckla found?" the lord asked with his mouth full. "It's absolutely delicious!"

Artek held in a smile. "I think it's some kind of bread."

"I'll have to get the recipe," Corin said as he popped the last bite into his mouth.

They were all ready, and Artek considered which way to go. The tunnel looked the same in either direction: jagged stone walls, damp floor, and stalactites hanging like teeth from the ceiling. It was Guss who had an answer.