"I'm going to miss you so much, Guss," she said quietly. • ~\.

"And I you, Beckla," the gargoyle replied, squeezing her tight in his stony arms. "You, more than anyone, have taught me that I can be what I choose to be. Thank you, Beckla Shadesar. Remember me."

She shook her head fiercely. "How could I ever forget you?" But she could manage no more words beyond that.

The gargoyle flashed a toothy grin and extended his onyx talons, truly looking like the fearsome creature he had been created to be. But the same kindness glowed in his eyes.

"Here I come, Fang!" Guss bellowed. Tour doom is upon you. And its name is Terrathiguss!"

The gargoyle shredded the paper door with his claws and leapt through the tatters. The mouse squealed, its bloody whiskers twitching. Guss ran down the corridor. The mouse scrabbled after him while the others dashed into the hallway, watching in horror.

Guss was fast, but the mouse was faster still. It pounced, landing on the gargoyle. The two caught each other in a terrible embrace. Guss's talons raked across the mouse's belly, staining its snowy fur with crimson. It shrieked, then dug its teeth into the gargoyle's shoulder, and green ichor flowed. Wrestling with each other, the two creatures crashed into a wall. Thin wood splintered. As one, mouse and gargoyle tumbled through the hole and were gone.

Artek was first to the gap in the wall. Beckla and Corin-who held Muragh-were a half-second behind. Together, they peered through the hole.

Beyond the edge of the tabletop, on the floor far below, lay the mouse, its fur drenched with blood. It twitched once, then lay still. Scattered around the mouse were a dozen jagged shards of gray stone, stone that looked just like the remnants of a broken statue-the statue of a gargoyle.

Clutching a hand to her mouth, Beckla turned away. Corin cradled Muragh in his arms. By force of will, Artek swallowed the lump of sorrow in his throat. There would be time for mourning later. He gripped Beckla's hand.

"Let's go," he said.

The others nodded, and they started back down the hallway. Moments later, they burst through a paper door and into a small room. Wish Gate hung on the far wall like a shimmering emerald mirror. Artek looked down at his tattoo. The sun had brushed the arrow. How long did he have now? Three minutes? Two? There was no time to waste.

He gripped hands with Beckla and Corin; the nobleman held Muragh in his other hand. They approached the shimmering gate.

"Where are you going to wish us to?" Beckla asked.

Artek bared his pointed teeth; the expression was not a smile. "If it works, then you'll see."

Fixing his wish in his mind, he tightened his grip on the others. Then, as one, they leapt into the gate.

This time the nothingness was green. Then blue. Then black as ice at midnight. The cold was worse than before, and far, far longer-crueler than anything they had felt. Artek thought it would freeze his very soul to splinters, and his consciousness dwindled, like a dying spark lost in a winter night. Then, just as the spark wavered on the edge of being extinguished, cold dark became blazing light, and the universe exploded.

Falling through a sizzling aperture, they landed on a cushioned surface. Artek blinked and looked down. It was a thick, luxurious rug-an expensive one, by the look of it. His feral grin broadened. He recognized this room. The wish had worked.

With a snarl, he leapt to his feet. Corin and Beckla pulled themselves up behind him. They were in a gaudily decorated room filled with gilded wood, rich tapestries, and ostentatious displays of gold and silver. Before them stood two men. One was clearly a wizard: bald-headed, hook-nosed, and clad in a brown robe. The other was tall and elegant, with dark hair and gleaming green eyes, fashionably clad in purple velvet and silvery silk. He had frozen in the act of putting on a thick, black walking cloak.

"Going somewhere, Lord Thai?" Artek asked.

Only for a second did shock register upon the lord's handsome face. Then his visage grew smooth once more, his hooded green eyes glittering like a serpent's. A cruel smile coiled around the corners of his lips.

"Artek Ar'talen," he said with an almost imperceptible nod. "Exaggerated as the stories concerning your prowess seemed, it appears now they underestimated you."

Artek took a menacing step forward. Beckla and Corin flanked him on either side. "Save the compliments, Thai," Artek spat. "They're wasted on me. There's only one thing I want from you."

Thai affected an expression of mock regret. "Oh, do forgive me. But I really am in a bit of hurry. I have an important appointment to keep." Wicked laughter rose in his chest. "It seems that a foolish little titmouse of a lord has turned up missing-hardly a great loss, I know-and in his stead I am to be elected to the seventh seat on the city's Circle of Nobles."

Corin hung his head at Darien's cutting insult. Worried, Beckla glanced over at the young man.

Artek laughed bitterly. "What was it you told me when you first offered me this task, Darien?" He snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes. I remember. 'Among Silvertor's rivals are those with dark ambitions. They see the Circle as a means to rule over all the city's nobility, and as a position from which to launch an all-out assault against the hidden Lords of Waterdeep.'"

"Well, then," Darien said with dark mirth. "I did not lie about everything."

Darien's wizard gripped his staff. "Shall I dispose of this refuse for you, my lord?"

"Hush, Melthis," Darien crooned. "Be polite. These are our guests, after all. Besides, in just a few more seconds, the worst of them will be disposed of for us."

Artek glanced at his dark tattoo. The sun was nearly centered upon the arrow. The windows of Darien's mansion glowed deep red-it was almost dawn.

Artek walked up to the dark-haired lord and thrust out his arm. "Have your vulture take it off, Darien," he hissed between clenched teeth. "Now. If you don't, I swear, you won't outlive me."

Darien sighed deeply. At last he nodded. "Very well, if you put it that way." He turned toward the bald-headed wizard. "Melthis?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Die," Darien said flatly. The lord pulled his right arm from beneath his heavy cloak, and three whirling prongs sprang from the end of the burnished steel Device where his hand should have been. Before Artek could react, Darien plunged the spinning prongs into the wizard's chest. Melthis jerked spasmodically, his eyes going wide in disbelief, his mouth opening silently.

Darien pulled the bloody Device back. Melthis slumped to the floor, blood pouring from the ragged hole in his chest. The wizard twitched once, and that was all.

"Damn you, Thal!" Artek shouted in fury. "Why?"

Darien's smiled with an almost mad glee. "Melthis was weak and stupid. Had you threatened my life, he might have capitulated and given you what you wanted, removing the tattoo. But now there is no chance of that." His voice rose exultantly. The seconds are slipping by, Ar'talen. Can't you feel them draining away, one by one? You've lost. If you were wise, you would use these last moments to make peace with whatever uncouth gods you orcish rats worship in your rancid little holes in the ground."

Beckla raised her hands to cast a spell. "No!" Artek roared. "He's mine!" Orcish rage cast its blood-red veil before his eyes. Drawing the saber at his hip, he lunged forward. He swung the blade in a whistling arc, precisely aimed to sever the lord's neck.

But before it connected, the saber jerked in Artek's hand, wrenching his arm painfully. The blade changed direction of its own volition, and Artek twisted his body, barely managing to keep from severing his own leg.

"You are a fool, Ar'talen," Darien laughed. "You should have known you could not harm me with that blade. I was the one who gave it to you, after all."