A shout suddenly echoed down the tunnel. It was not the drone of a ferragan, but a human voice.

"Get your rusty hands off me!"

Artek would recognize that tone of cutting indignation anywhere. It was Beckla.

He sprang into motion and dashed down the tunnel. The walls fell away, and he found himself in a large cavern, its stony ceiling lit by a flickering crimson glow. A fierce heat wavered in the air, created by a bubbling pit of molten metal in the center of the chamber. Even as Artek watched, a ferragan dropped a chunk of iron into the pit. It melted and sank into the glowing pool. Then another sight caught his eyes, and his heart lurched in his chest.

Three ferragans each dragged a struggling form toward the smoking pit. Two of the forms wore crimson cloaks, and all three wore masks of beaten bronze. Artek was surprised that the masks had not come loose in the fall down the pit.

"Unhand us immediately!" the figure without a cloak cried imperiously. Corin.

"Chhhk," one of the ferragans said. "This metal is reluctant."

"Must not resist," another iron creature droned. "All metal must be melted. Vrrrt. That is Squch's rule."

Dark realization struck Artek. Seeing their bronze masks, the dull-witted ferragans must have mistaken Beckla, Corin, and Guss for pieces of scrap metal. And now the creatures were going to melt them down.

Wizard, noble, and gargoyle fought against the pincers that held them, but living muscles-even those forged from stone-were of no use against hard iron. The ferragans clambered near the bubbling pit and raised their jointed appendages, preparing to cast their struggling burdens toward the vat of molten liquid. Beckla, Corin, and Guss would be burned alive. Artek had to do something. But what?

Before he could think of an answer, a piercing sound-high and keening, like an alarm-filled the air of the cavern. The ferragans abruptly froze. In what seemed like terror, they stared at an opening in the far wall of the chamber, their glass eyes bobbing on the ends of wiry stalks.

Clanking, a half-dozen hulking forms appeared in the far opening and scuttled into the cavern on multiple legs. Their shells were as bright as polished steel, and they waved great serrated claws before them and dragged flat, razor-sharp tails behind. To Artek, they looked for all the world like gigantic steel lobsters. They surrounded the three ferragans cowering near the pit of liquid metal.

"HALT!" one of the creatures ordered in a thrumming monotone.

"DROP!" commanded another.

Clicking in fear, the ferragans opened their pincers, releasing Beckla, Corin, and Guss. The three fell to the floor mere inches from the edge of the fiery pit. They tried to crawl away but were stopped by the impenetrable line of lobster-creatures.

"PRISONERS!" said one of the steel-shelled newcomers. "OURS!"

Beckla tore off her bronze mask, and Guss and Corin did the same, staring at the creatures in horror. As they revealed their faces, pitiful squeaks and rattles rose from the three ferragans.

"Clkkk! Not metal!" they wailed in their buzzing voices. "Bad ferragans! Whrrr! Prisoners for thanatars only! Not for ferragans! Scrrr! Must re-forge ferragans! Bad, bad!"

Evidently consumed by remorse at their mistake-and their apparent failure to be good ferragans-the three crablike creatures lurched forward and heaved their rusty iron bodies into the pit of molten metal. They clicked and squealed, pincers waving, as their carapaces began to glow: first red, then orange, then white-hot. Melting, they sank into the pit and were gone. The remaining ferragans kept their distance, staring submissively at the lobster-like creatures that the others had called thanatars. While the ferragans were workers, the thanatars were obviously the police.

"TAKE!" one thanatar commanded, and several others reached their serrated claws toward the three captives near the pit.

Artek gripped the hilt of the cursed saber at his hip, but he resisted the urge to leap into the room swinging. He wasn't certain he could kill-disassemble?-even one of the steel-shelled thanatars, let alone six of the things. Yet he couldn't let them simply drag the others off to some dark prison.

Once again Artek's dilemma was resolved as several more mechanical forms slithered into the chamber. Things are getting stranger by the second, he thought. The new creatures were sleeker than the others, as dark as polished jet, with sinuous, many-sectioned bodies and countless undulating legs. If the ferragans were crabs and the thanatars lobsters, then these new metallic monsters were giant silverfish. They had no eyes, but dozens of wiry antennae sprouted from their heads, waving before them. Clearly, the antennae were their primary sensing organs.

"SILVERSANNS!" one of the thanatars intoned. Somehow the word resonated with derision.

"Not are thessse prisssoners, yesss?" one silver-sann said, in a hissing voice.

"Ssspecimens are they," added another. "Ssstudy them we will. Take them not to prissson, yesss?"

The thanatars glared at the silversanns, but they hesitated, their claws hovering over the prisoners. Artek sensed a rivalry between the strong-bodied thanatars and the obviously more intelligent silversanns. And right now that rivalry was the only thing keeping the others alive.

The largest of the thanatars-and evidently their leader-advanced on the silversanns. "PRISONERS!" the creature said again. "OURS!"

"Have them when done with our ssstudies you may, yeses?" a silversann replied.

"Ssstudy, yeses?" echoed another. It stroked Beckla with its feelers. The wizard recoiled in disgust.

"SQUCHP the lead thanatar said in protest. "PRISONERS. OURS!"

Squch. Artek had heard the ferragans utter that word earlier. It almost seemed like a name of some sort. It was as if the thanatar were saying that this Squch had granted them all prisoners.

"But to uses ssspecimens Sssquch gave, yeses?" the leader of the silversanns countered. "Oursss ssspecimens are. Yesss, yesss?"

Artek shook his head. Evidently, the silversanns thought this Squch person had given the captives to them. While he couldn't be sure, he guessed that Squch was the leader of all of the mechanical creatures. They certainly seemed to speak his name with reverence and fear.

The thanatars waved their claws menacingly at the silversanns. The slinky mechanicals cowered-clearly they were not created for battle like the lobster-creatures-but they did not give any ground. Fear rose in Artek's throat. If there was a fight, Beckla, Corin, and Guss would be caught in the middle-and likely torn apart.

"Quick!" Muragh hissed. "Do something!"

"I'm thinking!" Artek muttered back. Then an idea struck him. There was no time to decide whether it was good or bad. Taking a deep breath, he left the safety of the tunnel and ran into the cavern. "Greetings!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

As one, all the mechanicals turned in his direction.

"Great," Muragh mumbled. "You've got their attention. Now what?"

Artek swallowed hard. "It seems that you're at a bit of an impasse," he said loudly. "Perhaps your leader, this Squch of yours, could help you resolve it. Why don't you ask him what to do?"

The metallic creatures stared dumbly at Artek. His words were lost entirely upon them. Only the silversanns seemed to grasp part of what he had said, their supple antennae waving uncertainly.

"You'd better speak to them in a language they can comprehend," Muragh whispered.

Artek nodded. He tried again, choosing his words carefully and speaking in his best imitation of their tinny voices. "Prisoners?" he asked, pointing to his companions and then himself. "Specimens?" He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Ask Squch. Squch knows."