Earwig stared with all his might. “No, nothing.”
“I don’t either. But I think I hear something.”
“Caramon,” said Earwig after a moment. “I can’t hear anything because your heart’s beating too loudly. Do you think you could make it stop?”
“What do you want me to do? Drop dead? Besides, that’s not my heartbeat! It’s the same noise I’m hearing, and it sounds like cogs grinding together.”
“Are you sure?” said Earwig skeptically. “It sounds just like a heartbeat to me.”
“Yes, I’m sure!” Caramon snapped. “Well, come on. We can’t stand here all night.”
The two moved forward. The cavern was much the same as the one Earwig had discovered in the city above. There were the same flickering torches, the same stone dais. But, reaching the entrance, they saw something on top of the dais—the altar used to create the gate between the Abyss and Krynn.
It appeared to be a large box, uneven on all sides, adorned with gold and silver and bronze. Strange, evil-looking figures had been engraved on its shining surface.
“Wow!” Earwig cried and, before Caramon could stop him, the kender dashed into the room.
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“No! Wait!” the fighter yelled.
“What? What is it?” Earwig cried in excitement, spinning around. “What’s wrong?”
Caramon’s heart was in his throat. He had to cough to get it back down. “Just . . . don’t ever . . . run into a … place like this . . . without looking first!”
“All right, Caramon.”
The fighter winced, anticipating the next question.
“Why?” asked Earwig.
, “I just thought you might like to live a little longer!” Caramon growled. The warrior stared into the room, blinking his eyes, raising his sword. “Earwig, behind you!” he shouted.
“Whu— ?” The kender swung his hoopak around in a great arc. “What is it, Caramon?” he shouted, batting at nothing. “I can’t see anything!”
“That— thing,” Caramon cried, pointing. “It looks like a … a … hand!”
“Oh, yeah! Wow!”
A slender, sinuous, extraordinarily beautiful arm appeared out of the air, hand waving aimlessly, seemingly grasping for something it could not see.
Earwig reached up his own hand. “Hullo. My name’s — ”
“No!” shrieked Caramon, but the arm passed straight through Earwig’s fingers.
Earwig stared. “Well, how rude!”
The kender tried to catch the hand again, but it always passed right through him. Growing bored, he skipped over to inspect the box.
Caramon held his bastard sword, ready to swing. He stepped slowly into the room, turning to regard the entrance, then turned back to the box.
“Don’t touch it!” he reprimanded the kender sharply.
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Earwig snatched his hand back.
“What are we supposed to do with it?” he asked.
“Destroy it,” the fighter replied, involuntarily ducking as a shadowy arm passed above him. Several mor§ arms appeared, hands reaching down out of the darkness. “That’s what Raistlin told us to do.”
“How?” Earwig eyed the sealed box with a professional air. “I don’t suppose you could hack it to bits?”
Caramon gave the box a troubled glance. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, what are we doing down here, then?” demanded Earwig in exasperation.
“Don’t ask me! I just. . . always figured that Raist’d be here to help us.”
“Well, if we can’t destroy it, then let’s open it and see what’s inside.”
Rubbing his hands in anticipation, Earwig jumped up on the dais. He inspected the box, running his hands along the artifact’s sides, attempting to find a keyhole or a crack.
“Earwig, I’m not sure about this—” Caramon began, his attention divided between the kender and the flailing arms.
“Ah, ha!”
A loud click came from the box, and a crack opened in its center, running around it horizontally.
“Oops,” said Earwig.
Caramon, having been with other kender on adventures, knew that dreaded word all too well. He immediately assumed a fighting stance.
“What is it? What did you do. Earwig?”
“Nothing!” said the kender with an air of offended innocence. “But I think you could pry this open now.”
Caramon edged his way toward the dais, noticing, as he moved, that the weaving arms were becoming more real. There were now too many to duck, and the warrior