"I suppose we ought to keep going," she said, half hoping that Macenion would insist on rest and food.

"Definitely. Whatever set these guards will know, soon enough, that we've passed them. If we're to have any surprise at all, we'll have to go on. Why? Are you hurt?"

"No." Paks sighed. "Bruised, but no more. I wish we were out of here."

"As do I." Macenion gave a short laugh. "I begin to think that my elven relatives have more wit than I gave them credit for—they may have been right to tell me that I would find more trouble here than treasure."

But along with her fear and loathing of the underground maze in which they were wandering, Paks felt a pull of excitement. In a corner of her mind, she saw herself telling this tale to Vik and Arñe in an inn somewhere. She checked her sword for damage, finding none, and turned to Macenion. He nodded his readiness, and she set off carefully, sword ready.

They passed an open door into an empty room on their right, and another like it a few feet down on the left. Ahead of them, the corridor turned again. Paks looked at Macenion and he shrugged. She flattened against the wall and edged forward to the turn. She could hear nothing. She widened her nostrils, hoping for a clue to what lay ahead. Her own smell, and Macenion's, overwhelmed her nose. Finally, with a mental shrug, she peeked around the corner. An empty corridor, its dusty floor scuffed and disturbed. Four doorways that she could see in the one quick look she allowed herself. A crossing corridor a short run ahead.

"Do you have any of your feelings about any of this?" asked Macenion when she described what she'd seen.

"No. Not really. The whole things feels bad, but nothing in particular."

"Nor can I detect anything. I wish our friend who wants our help would give us some guidance."

Paks felt around in her mind to see if anything stirred. Nothing but a faint desire to get moving. She sighed. "Let's go, then."

The doors that opened off the corridor were all of wood; all bore the scars of some sort of fire. One gaped open, and they could see into a small room with stone shelves built into the walls. At the cross corridor, Paks took one corner, and Macenion the other. To the right, her way, the corridor ended in a blank stone wall perhaps fifty paces away. To the left, it opened after perhaps thirty paces into a chamber whose size they could not guess. Macenion cocked his head that way, and Paks began to edge along the wall of the cross corridor toward the chamber door. Macenion stayed where he was.

As she neared the opening, Paks felt a wave of confidence. Surely they were going the right direction. Macenion was being too cautious, as usual. She hesitated only a moment before putting her head around to see what the chamber was like.