"Clkkk. Good ferragans," they droned in mindless monotones. "Found metal. Whrrr. Good, good ferragans.'' The creatures scuttled from the chamber and were gone.

Artek crept from his hiding place. He considered following the ferragans, then decided against it. What would be the point? Where could they lead him that would be any better than this pit? Either way, he had lost the others-and himself. There was no telling how deep below the surface they were now. The darkness seemed to creep into his heart, snuffing out his wan hopes. He would never get back to the city in time now. In disgust, he cast off the priestly garb of Malar. With a desolate sigh, he sat down on the foot of the garbage heap, setting Muragh beside him.

"Why are you just sitting here, Artek?" Muragh said in puzzlement. "What's the matter with you?"

He did not answer the skull. Instead he stared at the tattoo on his arm. The sun had just passed the arrow. In the world above, night had fallen. Just twelve more hours, and all of this would be over.

"I wish it would just happen now, so I could get it over with," he whispered bitterly.

"You wish what would happen now?" Muragh asked.

"This," Artek growled, striking the tattoo with his opposite hand. "What's the point in waiting to die?" He shook Ms head grimly. "I wish I were already dead."

"Don't say that"

Artek stared at the skull in surprise. Muragh's reedy voice had dropped to a grim whisper. His lipless mouth no longer seemed to be grinning, but clenched in anger. His orbless eyes bore into Artek.

"Don't ever say that," Muragh repeated darkly. "You don't know what it's like. You can't know. You can't" The skull shuddered, though whether in terror or rage-or perhaps both-Artek could not tell. He shook his head, unsure what to say!

"Isn't this just perfect?" Muragh asked with bitter mirth, "Here you want to throw away your life, and I would give anything to have mine back. Even for just twelve hours. Whatever time I had left, even if it was only a minute, I wouldn't squander it. I would enjoy every second of it, and be grateful for what I had." Despite his lack of flesh, Muragh's expression was somehow rueful. "Life is always most wasted upon the living. The gods sure have a twisted sense of humor."

Shamed, Artek hung his head. Again, he had proven himself utterly thoughtless. He might as well have been a rich man throwing away a loaf of bread in front of a starving beggar. Finally he looked at the skull. "What is… what is it like to…?“

"What is it Like to be dead?" the skull finished for him. "Is that what you want to know?"

Artek nodded. For a long moment, he thought Muragh was not going to answer. Then the enchanted skull spoke in a low, eerie voice.

"It's horrible, that's what it's like. It's cold, and dark, and empty, utterly empty. Maybe it's better for those who have truly departed. Maybe they manage to find some kind of peace. I wouldn't know. Fm half in the world of the dead and half out of it. I dwell in the chill of the grave, but I still gaze upon the land of the living. It's torture. I can see the light and warmth that I can never feel again."

Sighing, Muragh whistled through his broken teeth and his few remaining wisps of rotting hair moved in the slight breeze. At last he went on.

"The worst of it is the loneliness. I could bear it all if it weren't for that. Death is lonely. So terribly lonely. I know I can never be alive again. It's just a dream. But I wish…" It seemed impossible, but Artek thought he saw a bead of moisture trickle from Muragh's empty eye socket and run down his cheek.

Artek gazed at the skull with troubled eyes. All this time he had been wallowing in his own self-pity, cursing the lot fate had drawn for him. Yet here was one to whom fate had dealt a far crueler hand, and he bore it far more stoically than Artek ever had. Artek felt ashamed, and knew he should. He could learn a lesson from the skull. Even if he had only a short time left, he would not simply throw it away.

"I can't pretend to know what you've gone through, Muragh," Artek said. He laid a hand gently on the skull's yellowed cranium. "But I want you to know that you aren't alone. Not anymore."

Muragh worked his fleshless jaw, but for once the enchanted skull was speechless. Artek laughed softly, then scooped up the skull. "Come on. I don't know how far away the others are, but they had to land somewhere. No matter how far it is, well find them." His orcish eyes piercing the gloom, he moved stealthily through the opening through which the ferragans had disappeared and into a twisting tunnel beyond.

He had gone only a short distance down the passage when Muragh found his voice. "Wait a minute, Artek!" the skull said. There's something I need to tell you. I think I know where we are."

Artek stopped and stared at the skull. "Well, why didn't you say so before?"

"I didn't want to interrupt our touching moment," Muragh quipped.

Artek had no reply.

"Anyway," the skull went on, "I've never been here before, but if the rumors I've heard are even half true, then the name of this place is almost certainly Trobriand's Graveyard."

Artek sighed, hoping this wasn't a waste of time. Now that he had shaken off his despair, every second counted. "And just who is this Trobriand person?"

"He's one of Halaster's apprentices."

Artek swore.

"Didn't your father ever teach you a lesson about using foul language?" Muragh asked dryly.

"Of course," Artek replied. "Where do you think I learned all these curses?"

Ignoring the skull's groans, he thought about the implications of this new knowledge. Between the mad voyage of the pirate ship and the perils of the Hunt in Wyllowwood, he had all but forgotten their quest to locate one of Halaster's apprentices. If they could find Trobriand, maybe they could convince him to show them a gate out of Undermountain.

"Tell me more," Artek said, his excitement growing.

In the darkness, he listened as Muragh told all that he knew of Trobriand. There was not much. Trobriand was also called the Metal Mage, for his ultimate goal was to create mechanical beings that were stronger, faster, and smarter than any living creature. Over the centuries, this pursuit had both consumed and eluded him. While he constructed countless metal horrors that were swift and powerful, none approached the level of intelligence he desired. According to the rumors, the Metal Mage cast the failed results of his experiments down into a pit deep in Under-mountain-a place thus known as Trobriand's Graveyard.

It doesn't sound hopeful," Artek said when Muragh finished. "But there must be some way we can contact Trobriand. I can't believe that he doesn't keep an eye on his old creations, just to see what they're up to down here. But first we must find the others.''

Gripping Muragh, he continued down the tunnel. Before long, a ruddy glow crept into the air. Clanging sounds echoed off the stone walls. Finally, Artek came upon an opening in the left side of the passage, and cautiously peered within.

In the chamber beyond, a pair of ferragans was busily at work. Artek could not tell if they were the same two he had seen earlier. They all seemed to look the same. One operated the bellows of a glowing forge, while the other hammered pieces of red-hot metal with its claw. In the corner sat a third ferragan who was missing several of its legs.

"Clkkk," emanated a sound from the broken ferragan's pincer mouth. "New legs good. Scrrr."

Evidently Artek was witnessing a repair job in action. He moved quickly past the opening. No alarm went up. No ferragans scuttled in pursuit. They had not seen him. He continued soundlessly down the tunnel. More chambers opened up to either side, and in several others ferragans went about their tasks: unloading wire baskets of junk, sorting through stray bits of metal, and forging new body parts. What these mechanical creatures lacked in wits they certainly made up for in industriousness.