"I wouldn't count M'tureth out yet, M'ordil," a second voice replied.

"M'tureth has captured but thirteen in the Hunt," a third voice said hotly. "Clearly M'kar has the favor of Malar."

Artek drew in a hissing breath. Malar. So that was who these priests worshiped-they were disciples of the Beast God. This was worse than he had feared. The Magisters had outlawed the Cult of Malar years ago in Waterdeep because theirs was a bloody and violent religion. Malar was held to be the master of all beasts, but he did not love them. Rather, he considered them tools to be used as he wished in order to further his evil machinations. And, to Malar, humans were just another kind of beast. Banished from the city above, the priests must have found their way into Undermountain and continued their worship in secret.

Just below them, three menacing figures came into view. They were clad in leather armor trimmed with bronze and had crimson cloaks about their shoulders. Feral beast masks of beaten bronze covered their faces. Each wore a mace at the hip, tipped with a heavy bronze claw, and white animal skulls dangled from their belts. One of the priests was enormous, the second of middle height but broad-shouldered, and the third tall but thin. An idea struck Artek. He looked at Beckla and Guss and saw that they were turning to look at him. Apparently they all had the same idea.

They waited for precisely the right moment, then as one they heaved themselves over the top of the wall and dropped down. The three priests never knew what struck them. Artek dispatched his target with a sharp blow to the base of the skull, while Guss employed a crackling neck-twist and Beckla a heart-stopping jolt of magic. They quickly dragged the three bodies behind one of the low buildings.

Moments later, three priests strode from behind the building: one short but broad, one tall and lean, and one large all over. A human skull now dangled among the animal skulls attached to the shorter priest's belt

“Нее, hee!" Muragh giggled. This is fun!"

"Be quiet!" Artek hissed. He adjusted his bronze mask, making certain it covered his face. While he knew little of the Cult of Malar, he did know one thing-the penalty for desecrating a temple was death. It would not do to be discovered. His anger had cooled in the face of danger, and Artek found he was now glad for the presence of the others.

Walking slowly but boldly, so as not to attract undue notice, the three wended their way among the stone buildings toward the crimson dome. As they went, they passed several other priests. Each time Artek s heart lurched in his chest, fearing discovery. However, each time the other priests merely saluted with a fist as they passed. The three impostors mimicked the action and continued on.

Rounding a corner, they found themselves on the edge of an open square. Acrid smoke drifted in the air, along with the clang of hammers on metal. It was difficult to make out what was going on through the choking haze. Crimson fire glowed in what seemed to be forges, and hissing steam rose from bubbling vats. Artek suspected this was the smithy where the priests forged their masks and clawed maces. In the center of the foundry was a dark, gaping pit From time to time, one of the workers approached the hole and tossed in an unwanted piece of refuse. Apparently, it was a garbage pit, and a deep one at that, for Artek never heard anything thrown into it strike bottom.

Clutching their hands to the mouths of their masks so as not to breathe the noxious fumes, they hurried on. At last the crimson-domed temple rose before them. To Artek's surprise, no sentries stood watch around the column-lined pavilion. Apparently, here within the high walls of their stronghold, the priests of Malar expected no interruptions. Artek grinned fiercely behind his mask. It was going to be rather fun to rattle those expectations.

Quietly ascending the marble steps that surrounded the temple each of the three stood behind a column and peered into the smoky dimness beyond.

The favor of Malar has shone upon the Hunt!" a majestic voice echoed from inside the dome.

Artek's dark eyes gradually adjusted to the murk, and he bit his lip to keep from swearing at what he saw. In the center of the temple was a hideous statue wrought of black metal. The priests apparently created more than just masks and maces in their foul smithy. The statue had been crudely forged in the shape of a grotesque, gigantic wolf. Bloody light flickered in its slanted eyes, and rancid smoke poured from its gaping maw, as if some terrible fire burned in the pit of its belly.

A dozen priests stood around the idol. Huddled at the statue's feet were two bound prisoners. Their faces were covered by bronze masks molded into expressions of terror. One of them was a man whose ragged clothes and scraggly hair recalled Solthar. The other was a slender man with long golden hair. Artek clenched his hands into fists-it was Corin.

The priest who had spoken before wore a mask with a haughty expression. He gestured to the two prisoners. "Behold! I, M’kar, bring not one, but two beasts as gifts for the jaws of our lord, Malar!"

The gathered priests murmured in appreciation. All, that is, except for one who stood slightly apart from the others. Somehow, his bronze mask seemed to frown. Artek guessed that had to be M'tureth- M'kar's rival.

"Let the feeding begin!" M'kar thundered.

Two priests gripped the bedraggled man. He struggled against them, but his bonds held his arms and legs fast It was no use. Together, the two priests lifted the man into the open jaws of the statue. There he lay, eyes wide with terror behind his mask, wondering what was to come. He did not have long to wait.

"Is Malar hungry?" M'kar asked in a sinister voice. "Is he pleased with the gift?"

One of the other priests reached into a bronze basin and drew out a handful of slimy, ropelike strands. With a queasy grimace, Artek recognized what they were- animal entrails. The priest flung the entrails onto the stone floor, then studied the patterns they formed. After a moment, he nodded. "The augury speaks dearly. Malar is pleased. Let the feeding begin!"

With his clawed mace, M'kar tapped the statue's brow. A rumbling almost like a growl emanated from the statue, along with a hiss of steam, and then the jaws began to close. The prisoner screamed, straining against his bonds in vain. His screams were cut short as the wolf's iron jaws clamped shut. A moment later, the beast's maw opened slowly once more. The jaws were empty, save for foul smoke. The sacrifice had been accepted. Now all eyes turned to the other prisoner before the statue.

Artek quickly backed away. They had only seconds to rescue Corin. He had an idea, but whether it would work or not was another matter.

"Beckla, I could use that dead vole trick of yours now," he whispered.

She stared at him in confusion. "The teleport spell, you mean?"

"Yes. Only we need something for you to teleport. An animal of some sort. It doesn't have to be alive. In fact, it really shouldn't be."

Guss let out a dejected sigh. "I found this a little way back. I was saving it for my lunch, but as long as it's an emergency…" He pulled a very dead rat from beneath his cloak, its limbs curled with rigor mortis.

"That was going to be your lunch?" Beckla gagged, staring at the rat.

"This is not the time to discuss gargoyle eating habits," Artek hissed in annoyance. "Now here's my plan. Listen close, Muragh. Fm going to need your help."

Moments later, Artek boldly strode into the temple, leaving the others outside. The priests looked up at him in surprise. Corin lay within the jaws of the wolf, his blue eyes nearly mad with fear behind his mask. The augur held a handful of dripping entrails, ready to cast them onto the floor.

"What is the meaning of this?" M'kar demanded. "You are not of the Inner Circle. I should have you fed to Malar for this insolence!"