"It is no insolence," Artek said in a deep voice from behind his mask. He gestured to Muragh, who hung from his belt. "Malar has spoken to me through this skull. He does not care for you or your gifts, M'kar."

Fury blazed in M'kar's eyes. However, behind M'tureth's mask, interest flickered in the cool gaze of the rival priest.

Artek did not give M'kar a chance to respond. He lifted his hands above his head. "Give us a sign, Malar! Tell us what you think of M'kar's desire to rule us all!"

A small object dropped out of the shadows above, landing with a plop on the stones-Guss's dead rat. Beckla had been right on cue.

"Malar has spoken," the skull intoned in an eerie voice. "Heed the sign! Malar has spoken!"

The priests gaped in horror at the skull. "Behold, it is a rat," Artek intoned while he had their rapt attention. "So that is what Malar thinks of you, M'kar."

Murmurs of shock rose from the gathered priests, while wicked chuckles issued from M'tureth's bronze mask. M'kar glared at the laughing priest. "Did you arrange this little travesty, M'tureth?" he demanded in rage.

"No, M'kar," M'tureth crooned. "It seems Malar has found a way to ridicule you himself. Clearly, your gifts have won you no favor."

"We shall see," M'kar spat.

The priest moved faster than Artek had thought possible. Before Artek could spring away, M'kar swung his clawed mace and roughly knocked aside Artek's mask. The mask clattered to the floor, spinning away. The priests stared at Artek in astonishment.

"An impostor!" M'kar cried.

"Now!" Artek shouted.

At that signal, a winged form flew between two columns, crimson cloak fluttering, snatching Corin from the jaws of the wolf. Guss flew back out while the priests stared in confusion.

"Kill him!" M'kar screamed in rage.

His words propelled the priests into action. As one, they lunged for Artek. In desperation, he grabbed the bronze vessel filled with entrails and heaved it toward the feet of the oncoming priests, spilling the contents of the bowl across the floor. The priests skidded upon the slimy entrails and went down in a tangled heap.

Artek did not waste the chance. He ran out of the temple, and the others met him on the steps. Guss slashed Corin’s bonds with his sharp talons.

"That was fun!" Muragh giggled. "Hike being a prophet of Malar."

"You're going to be a snack of Malar if we don't get out of here," Beckla said breathlessly.

"May I suggest that we run for it?" Guss proposed.

"You may," Corin agreed weakly.

A deafening noise rose from the temple. Someone was beating a gong of alarm. "Come on!" Artek yelled.

They dashed in the direction of the gate but were brought up short by a dozen priests who had answered the alarm. Hastily they turned and ran in the other direction with the disciples of Malar on their heels. They careened into the smoke-filled foundry and abruptly came to a halt. On the far side of the square stood a score of priests, all gripping clawed maces. Behind them the other priests approached at a run. They were surrounded.

"There's nowhere left to go!" Beckla cried.

Artek's eyes locked on something in the center of the smithy. "Yes, there is!" he shouted. Grabbing the others, he lunged for the open garbage pit. The priests swung their clawed maces, but the weapons only whistled through empty air. Artek leapt into the hole, pulling the others along with him. He could only hope that the pit was as deep as he had thought it was. As it turned out, it was deeper.

Artek sat up with a groan. Bite of garbage tumbled from his shoulders. It felt as if his body had been trampled by a stampeding herd of Vaasan thunderhooves.

"Where '… where are we?" asked a tremulous voice. It was Muragh. The skull still dangled from the belt of Artek's priestly garb.

"Good question," Artek said hoarsely. His darkvision adjusted, piercing the perfect blackness around them. They were in a small, rough-hewn cave. Beneath them was a heap of rotting refuse and rusting junk that had been tossed into the garbage pit so far above. Sudden panic clutched his heart Where were the others?

He shook his head, trying to clear away the disori-entation of the nightmarish fall. Then he remembered. After they had leapt into the pit, leaving behind the bloodthirsty priests of Malar, the hole had angled, and they had slid wildly down a steep stone slope, unable to stop their descent. Once again, Undermountain had pulled them deeper. Even Guss had been trapped, for the passage was too narrow for him to spread his leathery wings.

It seemed they had slid for hours, plunging ever deeper into the bowels of the world. Then, without warning, the tunnel had divided. Beckla, Corin, and Guss had fallen to the left, while Artek and Muragh had bounced to the right. The screams of the others had vanished in an instant. A few moments later, the harrowing ride had come to a jarring end. The tunnel had ended, and for a moment Artek had fallen through empty air. Then he had landed atop the garbage heap. Foul as the refuse was, he knew he should be grateful, for it had cushioned his fall, leaving him with bruises instead of broken bones.

Artek half-climbed, half-slid off the midden heap and stood stiffly. Sweat beaded on his brow. The darkness was hot and oppressive here. The weight of countless tons of rock pressed heavily from above. A sharp metallic odor hung upon the air, stinging his nostrils and burning inside his lungs. Then he heard a weird clicking sound that drew closer as he listened. He saw a dark opening in the far wall of the chamber-the source of the sound.

"Do you hear that?" Muragh asked nervously.

Artek nodded grimly. "Something is coming."

"Quick!" the skull whined in terror. "Hide us!”

"Wait a minute," Artek muttered. Tm the one who should be afraid. You're already dead, you know"

"And it's an experience I don't care to repeat," Muragh replied with a shudder. "Now move it!"

Much as Artek would have liked, there was no time to reproach the imperious skull. Moving silently, he padded toward the cave's wall and pressed his body into a shadow-filled fissure. The eerie clicking noise drew nearer. A red glow appeared in the opening in the far wall. A moment later, two creatures scuttled into the chamber.

Bugs-that was Artek's first thought But they were like no insects he had ever seen. They were easily as large as a man, but flat and round, with small heads and eight appendages, two of which ended in strangely shaped claws. Each seemed to have a lantern attached to the back of its head, and it was from these that the ruddy light issued. In all, they looked like weirdly distorted sea crabs. The blotchy carapaces that covered their backs were the exact color of rusted iron.

No, Artek realized in shock, their shells didn't simply look like iron. They were iron. And so was the rest of them. There was no doubt. His heat-sensing darkvision could discern the difference between living tissue and dead metal. Whatever these creatures were, they weren't alive at all, but some sort of mechanical devices. Yet they seemed to move with a rudimentary intelligence as they made for the garbage heap.

To Artek's further surprise, a tinny voice emanated from the pincer mouth of one of the creatures.

"Whrrr. Ferragans search for metal," it droned. "Good ferragans. Clkkk."

"Yes, search fallings from above," the other creature echoed in a metallic buzz. "Scrrr. Find metal. Squch be happy. Bzzzt. Good, good ferragans."

The crablike creatures-which were evidently called ferragans-scrabbled onto the garbage pile. Artek now saw that each bore two different types of claws: one shaped like a broad hammerhead, the other like a pincer with three multijointed prongs. With this latter claw, obviously designed for gripping, the ferragans began picking through the rubbish heap. When one found a piece of scrap metal, it reached back and placed it in a wire basket attached to its carapace, emitted a high-pitched clicking that sounded almost like gleeful laughter and then continued searching. Finally, their baskets full, the two creatures clambered off the pile.