"We've lost," he said, his hopes dying.

"Not yet!" Corin cried out. "It seems you've forgotten the same thing our opponent has." He pointed toward a small yellow object that for some time now had sat unnoticed near the side of the gameboard. "Now, Muragh!"

Grinning toothily, the skull rolled forward, moving in an unobstructed diagonal line-straight toward the enemy King. The ghostly King's mouth opened in a silent cry of surprise and fear, but it could not move aside. Muragh careened directly into the ethereal form. The King's arms spread wide as a blazing column of green fire sprang from the floor beneath its feet. A second later, many more pillars of emerald magic shot toward the ceiling, each consuming one of the remaining enemy game pieces. As suddenly as they had appeared, the columns of fire dissipated-the ghostly figures were no more. Artek stared in wonder. They had won.

With no opposing pieces, all they had to do now was avoid the magical force walls by moving correctly. They made their way swiftly across the game-board and stepped onto the swath of green marble bordering the far side.

Artek gripped Corin's shoulder. "You did it," he said with a fierce grin.

Corin smiled. "I did, didn't I?" he asked in amazement.

Their jubilation fell into silence as their eyes turned toward the golden door in the wall. It was time to see what waited beyond.

Together they approached the nave. Any thought of one of them going alone had been dismissed without discussion. There was no doorknob, so Artek reached out to push on the door. Just as his fingers brushed the smooth, gold surface, the door swung silently inward. A puff of dry air rushed out, and they stepped into the space beyond.

The chamber was small, with no other doors or openings but the one through which they had entered. The walls and floor were of the same gold-flecked marble as the outer hall. The only furnishings were a table and chair hewn of polished onyx. A male figure sat in the chair, slumped forward over the table. His rich velvet robes had long ago decayed to tatters, and his withered skin clung like old parchment to his yellowed bones. Rotted gray hair drooped over his bony shoulders. It was the last apprentice. And by the look of him, he had died in this room long centuries ago.

Artek shook his head sadly. Had it all been for nothing-the entire perilous game of lanceboard? He didn't know why he was surprised. He really should be getting used to disappointment by now.

"Look," Beckla said softly. "There's something in his hands."

She approached the mummified apprentice and carefully removed an object from the grip of his brittle fingers. It was a small, silver disk with thin writing engraved upon one side. They gathered around Beckla to read the words:

The deeper you go, the deeper I get. If you jump sideways, you may find me yet.

– H.

Without doubt the H at the bottom stood for Halaster. Evidently, this riddle was a clue that the mad mage had left behind to help his students find him. Only it seemed this apprentice had died trying.

Artek glanced down at the inky tattoo on his arm. The wheel continued to spin slowly, inexorably. The moon had long passed the arrow, and now the sun drew near. By his best guess, it was no more than an hour until daybreak in the city above, no more than an hour until the tattoo sent out a fatal jolt of magic, stopping his heart forever. For all he knew, the last apprentice had spent centuries trying to solve Halaster's riddle, and without success. Artek doubted they could answer it in a mere hour. He shook his head sadly. The others sighed. There was no need for words. They had run out of apprentices, and out of hope.

"Well, now what?" Muragh piped up finally, unable to bear the gloomy silence. "Are we all just going to stand here moping at each other until we turn to dust?"

"No, the rest of you shouldn't give up," Artek said solemnly. "You may yet find a way out of Under-mountain. You've still got a chance, but I'm afraid I don't have one much longer."

"Neither do we, really," Beckla replied darkly. She glanced at Corin, a strange sorrow in her eyes. "I haven't seen much food or water in this part of Under-mountain. We won't last for very long without both."

After a moment, Artek nodded gravely. He respected the wizard too much to argue with her. She and Corin might be able to keep searching for a few more days before thirst and exhaustion overcame them. But only if they were lucky.

Artek turned toward Guss and Muragh. The gargoyle gripped the skull tightly in his clawed hands, worry showing in his glowing green eyes.

"Even after the rest of us are… gone, you two don't have to quit searching for a way out of here," Artek told them seriously. "You can keep looking for as long as it takes. Eventually, you're bound to find a gate that will take you out of here."

Beckla ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. "I'm afraid that won't do them much good," she said sadly. "Muragh and Guss aren't alive in the conventional sense of the word. Neither of them could pass through a gate without a living being accompanying them."

Artek hung his head in sorrow. So they were all doomed together. He started to sink to the floor in despair.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, it struck him. He stared at the wizard, as if looking for an answer. Something was not right.

"Wait a minute, Beckla," he said in confusion. "If Guss can't go through a gate all by himself, why did you send him to test the one we found in the cave in Wyllowwood?"

The question caught the wizard entirely off guard.

Her mouth opened in surprise, and she stumbled backward. After a moment, she tried to sputter an explanation, but Artek cut her off. All this time, something about the wizard had been bothering him. Something had been nagging at the back of his mind, but he had been too busy to really consider it. At last, he knew what it was.

"That gate would have worked for some of us, wouldn't it? Don't lie to me anymore, Beckla," he hissed, baring his pointed teeth in a feral snarl. "I know now that you already have. Your hair gives you away. When we first met, you told me that you had lived in Undermountain for over a year. And your clothes look it. But your hair is short, as if it had been recently cut. Don't try to tell me that you did such a fine job with the edge of your, dagger."

Beckla did not deny his words. Instead, she braced her shoulders, gazing at him, deep remorse in her brown eyes.

"Damn it, Beckla!" Artek snarled. "Tell me what in the Abyss is going on here!"

The wizard took a deep breath.

"I've betrayed you," she said.

Crimson rage surged in Artek's head, and blood pounded in his ears. His orcish side howled in silent fury at the utterance of the cursed word-betrayed. He gripped the edge of the onyx table, knuckles white, teeth clenched. He could not let go. He did not dare. There was no telling what violence his hands would commit if he did. He glared at Beckla with smoldering black eyes.

"Tell me," he commanded hoarsely.

They were the only words he could manage. The others stared at Beckla in astonishment, trying to comprehend what was happening. At last, the wizard nodded. Pain burned in her brown eyes, but her shoulders were straight, her too-square jaw resolute.

"I'll explain everything," she said solemnly. "I know now that I can't lie to you anymore. Though once I tell the truth, I imagine that you'll most likely decide to kill me. Not that I could blame you. There's only one thing that I ask. Just let me finish before you… deal with me. I think you owe me that much."

"No promises," Artek hissed. His arms trembled. He wished to let go of the stone and crush a living throat instead. "Just talk."