"What do you see?" he prompted Zag.

I'm not sure, he mumbled. It's another hallway, darker than the last, but I think I can make out a staircase.

Guerrand felt hope flutter in his chest. "Back in you go," he commanded, then waited a few moments before drawing the mirror back, taking it up in his long fingers.

Suddenly he heard a scream behind him. Esme! He whirled about and spied her on a shield-sized platform that was rapidly rising skyward from a shaft in the center of the rotunda's floor. She clamped off a second terrified scream with one hand. Dropping into a crouch, the young woman used the other hand to grip the side of the circle of marble as it brought her ever closer to the sunlit opening in the peak of the rotunda.

Guerrand ran to the base of the shaft. "Hang on!" he called up. Stuffing the mirror in his pack, he looked desperately for some lever on the thick metal column that rose several stories above on the platform of marble. He found none. Guerrand began to fear she'd be shot out of the opening like a stone from a catapult.

Near the top, the shaft ground to a stop. "I'll think of some way to get you down!" he called lamely.

"Do you think this thing will lower itself? Oh, bother," he heard her mutter. "I won't wait for that. Stand back," she called, kneeling at the edge of the platform to address him directly.

"Esme, no!" Guerrand yelled, but he was too late.

Esme threw herself from the platform. Horrified, Guerrand ran beneath her, expecting to catch her, or at least break her fall. The young mage plunged for a heartbeat, but then her decent slowed until she was floating gently like a feather to the floor. Smiling, Esme did a dramatic one-foot landing.

"Feather fall spell," she explained calmly, considering the mixture of horror and relief on Guerrand's face.

"Next time tell someone what you're about to do," her companion growled.

"I'm fine, if you're wondering," Esme said lightly, ignoring his anger.

Abruptly both apprentices jumped away from the parqueted marble as the shaft began to move again, sinking soundlessly back into the floor. The platform looked once more to be a seamless circle of inlaid black marble.

Hey, that looked like fun, said Zagarus, who'd left the confines of the mirror.

"Everyone, stay away from the parqueted shapes," commanded Guerrand, scowling at Zag's response. "Standing on that inner circle must have activated a trap."

As traps go, it seemed harmless enough, said Zagarus. Aren't you the least bit curious to learn what the other shapes do?

"What if they release an army of bugbears or wraiths, or kill intruders instantly?" Guerrand asked aloud, snorting. "I think I can live without knowing any of that."

If Belize was concerned about anyone getting in, posed Zagarus, why didn't he trap the. doors? We've encountered nothing the least bit threatening.

"That's what worries me," said Guerrand, scratching his head. "I just don't understand why he's made it so easy for strangers to get in."

"Maybe," suggested Esme, "he assumes everyone is cowed by his position and wouldn't dare break in."

Guerrand gave a humorless smile and a shake of his head. "All the guessing in the world won't give us those answers. The second door seems like it might lead to Belize's laboratory. Let's get back to the task, while luck is still on our side. Zag? Hey, where are you?"

Guerrand turned around just as the curious sea gull stretched out a webbed foot, placing it on a red triangle in the parquet pattern.

"Zagarus!"

The cry came too late. The marble floor abruptly opened beneath them all. Man, woman, and bird tumbled through dark, fetid air. Squawking his startlement, Zagarus took to wing. The sea gull floated up, looking for a way out, or at least a crack of light.

Beneath him, Guerrand and Esme plummeted like rocks, without even time to think of a saving spell. In a tangle of limbs, they crashed onto a hard flagstone floor. Wincing, Guerrand rolled off his right side and away from Esme. He did a quick check and felt badly bruised but otherwise unhurt.

Guerrand looked over his shoulder at Esme. She was on her side in a motionless heap, her face turned away. Then he saw her left leg and gasped. It was twisted at an impossible angle, obviously broken. She's lucky she's unconscious, he thought. That leg's going to hurt like the Abyss when she comes to. Biting his lip, he forced himself to very gently realign the leg. Unconscious, Esme groaned.

What should I do now? Splint it? With what? Guerrand looked about anxiously. Though it was dark, he could see that they were on the edge of a raised stone platform in some vast, cavernous room. Behind him was a wall of fieldstone and mortar.

Just then he heard his familiar plop to a landing nearby. "Zag!" Guerrand cried in relief, then remembered how they'd got here. He glowered. "Thanks to you, Esme's leg is broken."

Really? The sea gull waddled over to look closely. Oh, my. For once, the gull was speechless.

"You can make up for it by flying back out of here and getting a strong, straight limb to use as a splint."

The bird's feathered head shook from side to side. I'm afraid I can't do that. The floor closed right after we fell. Zagarus looked up. Worse still, we fell down a shaft. The ceiling in here looks normal, but the shaft is about three times your height, I'd guess. You'd have to stack up a lot of crates to get back up that way. I've looked for another opening, but I haven't found one yet. You're a mage. Can't you just blip us out of here, or at least fix her leg?"

Guerrand frowned his frustration. "Teleporting is far beyond my skill. And wizards aren't healers. Come to think of it, though," he said, reaching into his pack, I've got some herbs, that, when combined are supposed to be a great analgesic." He pulled out several small burlap sacks. "I only hope we won't be needing the spell for which the peppermint was intended."

Guerrand lifted Esme's head. "This would be better in tea, but she'll just have to choke down the leaves." He parted her lips with a finger. On her tongue he placed a pinch of the crushed, dried peppermint and cream-colored meadowsweet flowers soaked in oil of clove.

The taste of the acrid leaves must have penetrated

her foggy slumber, because at that moment Esme's eyes popped open. Struggling to sit up, she let out a strangled scream at the stab of pain in her leg. Guerrand quickly pinched her lips shut to keep the herbs inside. Her honey eyes puddled, then rivers of tears flowed down her cheeks, splashing Guerrand's hand.

"You've broken your leg," Guerrand explained hastily, releasing her lips. "The herbs are bitter, but you must swallow them. They'll ease the pain." She gulped down the bitter concoction.

"We need to splint the break," he explained gently, then came upon an idea. Once again, he fished around in his pack and retrieved two items. Closing his eyes intently for several moments, he opened them and sprinkled powdered iron onto a small wood shim. "Silas sular."

With a slight snapping sound, the shim thickened and lengthened until it was nearly the size of a cane. Guerrand then used some strong cord from his pack to lash it securely to the outside of Esme's leg. The lines of pain in her brow eased noticeably once the limb was immobilized.

Esme brushed the tears from her cheeks. "That's much better. Help me sit up, please." Guerrand complied, sliding her gently from the platform to prop her back against the fieldstone wall.

"Do you know where we are?" she asked weakly. She could see only the suggestion of a table ahead and below in a dark, wide expanse.

"Zag says we fell down a shaft and the floor closed back up," supplied Guerrand, still kneeling at her side. He lifted his head to gaze about, then wrinkled his nose. "Something smells awful, though."