Disclaimer: Dungeons and Dragons the Cartoon, and all its ensuing characters, is the property of TSR/Marvel, or maybe its successor, Saban Entertainment, or possibly Wizards of the Coast, or maybe even Hasbro, or at one time BCI Eclipse, or it could now be Mill Creek Entertainment, or, heard once in a rumor, Disney. In other words, nobody's really sure who owns it, but it's definitely not the author of this story. The author stands accused of all other characters in this story, and pleads insanity. Copyrighted characters are being used without permission, but with love and the best of intentions. Actual owners of the cartoon, whoever you may be, fear not: I am not making any money from this, so no sue I. And yes, I borrowed a smidge of Tolkien and stuck it in here too. But guess what? I don't own that, either.

A big, fat, humongous Thank You goes out to my buddy Cole del Tigre, a.k.a. Robert, for being my sounding board, beta reader, offerer of great ideas to steal, and general encourager for this story. Another thank you goes to my friend John S. for the unflagging motivation.

Dastirum

by Kryschenn

o o o

Chapter 1: The Rest of the Riddle

o o o

"I am sorry that your quest for a way home met with failure. Perhaps you will have better luck in the future. But now, there is great danger ahead. The Duke of Darkness has taken over the land of –"

"Wait, Dungeon Master. We only want to hear two things. How do we find Tiamat, and how do we use her to beat Venger once and for all?"

"Listen to me, Ranger. Do not let your anger control you. The course you are taking can only lead ... to ... ruin ...? So then. It has come to this."

o o o

All things considered, their latest adventure could have turned out a lot worse.

With a thoughtful harrumph, Presto tried not to dwell on it, instead drawing the point of his new dagger across the bark of the fallen log next to where he sat. As yet, he hadn't discovered what special power this knife had. Though he'd been testing it in different ways for the past four days, he'd had little success. Yet despite the discouraging lack of results, he hadn't given up because he was sure it would do something eventually. His current operating theory was that he just didn't know what to ask it to do. Weapons of Power were pretty specific that way. Yes, each of the Weapons had great powers, but for the most part, they were very specialized powers, and the wielder had to know what it was capable of doing before he could use it properly.

Which explained his Hat, when you came right down to it. Lately, it had been working even worse than usual, if that was possible.

He considered the better example of Eric's Shield, and glanced up at his friend. It caused him a slight grin to note that Eric was currently batting out a small fire at the hem of his cape, which had accidentally trailed into their camp fire. The Shield could deflect a blow from a war hammer and the Cavalier would barely even feel it, or create a domed force field that could protect an entire group, or it could even act with enough power to let its wielder prop up tons of falling rock with a minimum of effort. But it could not, for instance, let Eric fly. The Shield was a shield, and its powers were related to shielding, no matter how hard Eric asked it to do something else.

Presto was sure it was the same case with this dagger. It probably had some very distinct, knife-like power, and Presto figured he just wasn't yet asking it to do whatever it was that it was supposed to do. Presto sighed quietly. All this guessing was getting old fast. He should have given the dagger a thorough testing in the Dragon's Graveyard before they'd gotten out of that crazy place.

There. The Dragon's Graveyard. He was thinking about it again.

It had been unexpected to the point of frightening to see their normally level-headed leader lose it so completely, and for the first couple of days after the fight in the Dragon's Graveyard, the rest of the group had treaded pretty gingerly around the Ranger. The way he'd snapped and gone off on a single-minded determination to kill Venger, willing to commit premeditated murder despite clearly knowing what he was doing was wrong, had scared them all, plain and simple. And judging by the look of pure shock on their guide's face which melted into such crushing disappointment when Hank had so succinctly told him to shove it, Presto suspected that even Dungeon Master had been keeping his distance for much the same reason.

Honestly, Presto had felt all that subsequent pussyfooting around was pointless. Yes, it had been touch-and-go from the beginning, but in the end they'd all witnessed their leader manage to bring himself back to his senses at the last possible moment, and not kill the pinned and defenseless Venger. Everything was back to as close to normal as it could be in this world. They all knew that Hank had made the right decision, that his conscience was clear.

And not one of them was giving a second thought to what Presto was going through.

Hank snapped out of it when it really counted, Presto mused, and Bobby? Everyone can forgive him for going on his own rampage. He's just a kid. I don't think he's really developed a clear picture of what's right and what's wrong just yet, and being that upset about Uni being hurt, plus losing another chance to get home, well, I think we all understand. And he probably figured that if Hank was going off about killing Venger, it was fine for him to say it too. Sheila's talked to him. Talked to both of them. They're all cool now. But what about me? Has anyone thought about what I did?

Idly, his mind clearly not on what he was doing, he balanced the mystery knife across his finger and watched it for a moment. Then he glanced in the direction of the setting suns. No, its power was definitely not to act as a compass.

I'm the one that pinned Venger, Presto reminded himself. I had the power to immobilize him, to leave him completely helpless. And I did. Hank didn't make any secret of what he was intending. I knew he meant to kill Venger. I wanted him to do it. I even set him up to shoot Venger like a fish in a bucket, and so what if it wasn't a fair fight any more? It didn't bother me a bit.

With a sigh, Presto tucked the dagger into its new place in the sash around his waist. As fascinating as it was, the knife was just his temporary distraction, really. Experimenting with it was supposed to keep his mind from pondering what he considered to be the darker side of his personality that had so recently been revealed to him. And it was obvious how well *that* was working. So he'd tinker around with the knife more later. Right now, he figured that if he was going to dwell on his own shortcomings, he might as well give it his all. Plopping his chin into his hands, he stared off morosely across the fire. One miserable blue funk with a side of self-loathing, coming right up.

I figured we were all going to see Venger's head blown into crispy-fried bits, the Magician freely admitted to himself. I didn't know that Hank was going to change his mind at the last second. He did the right thing in the end. I had the chance to do the right thing, too. Why didn't my conscience bug me about it? I could have released that binding spell at any time, even after Hank fired that arrow, and given Venger a fair chance to dodge it. So what does it say about me that I didn't?

"Hey, Presto!" Eric's voice interrupted just as Presto's mental self-flagellation was building up a good head of steam. The Cavalier sat down on the log next to him, smelling just slightly of singed wool. "What's up?"

"What's up?" Presto repeated vaguely, still staring into nothing. By rote, he recited dully, "'Up' is a two-letter preposition indicating direction opposite the flow of gravity."

There was a beat of silence, and Eric just stared. "Ooooookayyy ..." he drawled slowly, not sure what else he could say to that one.

Blinking, Presto shook himself out of the place he was dwelling inside his head when he realized what had just come out of his mouth. "What? Oh, sorry." He waved his hand absently, which caused Eric a few vague fears about an accidentally-cast spell. "Kind of an automatic response there. It's a nerd thing."

"Yeah, right," Eric answered, sounding a little more cocky this time. "You practiced that one in front of a mirror."

"Every day before school," Presto agreed with a ghost of a smile, which felt good. Maybe this was what he needed right now. He and Eric could banter about nearly anything, and in the end, Eric's bombastic manner and skewed world-view usually cheered the Magician right up.

"Thought so," Eric nodded. "Okay then, instead of tapping your inner dictionary again, allow me to repeat myself differently. Why are you sitting there brooding like ... like ..." He shrugged. "Like someone who broods a lot?"

Great.

Plunking his chin back into his palm, Presto sighed deeply. So much for distracting himself from the topic. "Chickens have broods," he attempted anyway, halfheartedly.

"Huh," Eric mused. "So what you're telling me is that avoiding brooding means nobody will call us chicken?"

Presto just sighed again. It did not escape Eric's notice that he had passed the opportunity to pounce on the intentionally wide-open remark. That wasn't a good sign. Usually Presto glomped on just about any remark he made, whether it was wide-open, intentional, or just some poor, innocent bystander remark. It was, for the Cavalier, the final straw. "Okay. So," he finally asked directly, running his fingers through his hair in mild frustration. "What's wrong? You keep having these spells of ... okay, not a good word choice there. You've been sitting around not acting like yourself when you think nobody's looking. You've been doing it since we got back from the Dragon's Graveyard. You think I haven't noticed?"

Well, there was no denying it, it looked like his little secret was more out in the open than Presto had realized. Still, it wasn't exactly something he wanted to talk about, not even with Eric, who was the best friend he had in this crazy world. His seeming lack of a conscience made Presto a monster in his own mind. How was anyone, even his best friend, supposed to be okay with something like that? "I ... kinda miss Varla?" he ventured hopefully.

"Sheesh, Presto, you missed her before we went to the Dragon's Graveyard," Eric reasoned with a dramatic eye-roll, obviously not dissuaded. "You didn't act like this until after we got back."

"Well, uh ... okay," Presto sighed, casting around mentally for anything to fill in the blank. "It's just ... it's this dagger I took," he finally decided.

"No, it's not," Eric countered immediately, proving he was a little more perceptive than most people credited him for. "Not unless its power is to cause clinical depression in whoever holds it."

That gave Presto pause. He looked away, guiltily, and couldn't quite bring himself to say anything further.

Sliding off his seat, Eric sat on the ground with his back to the log, propping his elbows against it casually, legs outstretched. After a moment of staring off in the same direction that Presto was, he realized the Magician just wasn't going to take the lead in this conversation. So, taking a stab in the dark, he asked quietly and very seriously, "Is it about what ol' DM said? That one's been bugging me a lot."

This got a confused blink and a frown out of Presto, who turned to look at Eric curiously. "Huh? Okay, you lost me. He says a lot of stuff, all the time. What exactly did he say that bugs you ... well, more than normal anyway, and when?"

"When we were getting out of there," Eric said, waving his hand generally upwards in a gesture that was supposed to encompass the Dragon's Graveyard, wherever it was. "We were pretty much through the portal thingamajig. But I swear ..." Eric paused, pursing his lips thoughtfully. This had been troubling him for a few days now, especially since it was turning out that no one had heard it but him. "You sure you didn't hear Dungeon Master say anything to Venger?"

Shaking his head slowly, Presto thought a moment before he answered, "Something he said to Venger? Not to us? Um." He ran everything he could remember of those last few, crazy minutes in the Dragon's Graveyard through his head one more time, but nothing leapt out as unusual. "No, I don't think so. I mean, I know they were still there even though we were leaving, but I don't think I heard either of them say anything. Did you?"

Eric didn't reply right away. So Presto hadn't heard it either. It turned out that neither Sheila nor Diana hadn't either, when he'd asked them earlier. Well, maybe he was just going crazy. Or he'd been hearing things. The noise of the portal, the swooshing through the space between worlds, the vaguely seasick sounds his friends were making all must have played tricks on his ears. Dungeon Master couldn't possibly have called Venger his son ...

"Nah. It's nothing," Eric said dismissively. "Just the evil voices in my head telling me to eat more vegetables. But waaaay back to the original question, why are you all mopey all of the sudden?"

Presto was still wondering just what it was that Eric thought he'd heard. That was by far the more interesting topic, but apparently there was no hope for making it last as a diversion. "It's just ... things just seem a little different now," he admitted carefully, pushing his glasses back up his nose to give himself a moment to think. If he phrased this right, Eric would understand. Wouldn't he? After all, at one point or another, hadn't every one of them shown a staggering lack of good judgement over something? "I mean, we almost killed Venger, you know, in cold blood and all. Did you ever think that we'd be capable of actually killing someone? Especially like that? I mean, I mean, if it was turned around, Venger wouldn't really care if we could fight back or not. And we didn't care either, for a minute there. We were all ... well, okay, I guess I should say *most* of us were this close to doing exactly what he would have done to us." The Magician held up his thumb and forefinger, less than half an inch apart to indicate what he meant by "this close."

"Yeah," Eric agreed, holding his fingers up in a similar manner. "Changing your aim just this much makes the difference between blowing someone's head off and setting him free." He scowled faintly. "Of course, I'm not saying that it isn't as irritating as wet sand in my underwear."

"Um, I really didn't need that mental image," Presto interjected.

"Okay. Sorry. DRY sand in my underwear," Eric corrected himself. "But the point is ... um ... did I have a point?" He took just a second to haul his train of thought back onto its tracks. "Oh, yeah. We'd be better off without Venger breathing down our necks all the time. So would the whole Realm. *If* he stayed dead, that is. The guy regenerates bodies like a cat hacks up hairballs. But it's like Hank said, killing Venger like that would have made him every bit as bad as Venger himself. Letting ol' Horn Head go really was the right thing to do, as miserable as it may make our lives later." He gave a stretch and a yawn, showing that the topic did not concern him overmuch. "So that's what you're all upset about? Gimme a break, Presto! Hank's got a good head on his shoulders -- yes, you just heard me admit that -- and he's not going to turn into some cold-blooded killer on us."

As Presto had noted, Eric was usually a bit more observant than most people would credit him for, so it frustrated the Magician that the Cavalier hasn't picked up on his emphatic use of the word "we." Did no one at all recognize Presto's major part in the near-disaster? Even Eric seemed not to realize that Hank hadn't exactly acted alone. "Oh, well, actually, it's not him I'm worried about, really," he began, working himself towards making his admission. Then, abruptly, he stopped, and looked around their little camp. "Except for right now, actually. Where is he?"

Eric frowned again, fairly certain that Presto had intended to say something else entirely. But he couldn't begin to guess what, so he filed it away for the moment, knowing that pushing would make the Magician clam up that much more quickly. He followed Presto's eyes around the camp, making a quick head count to be sure everyone accounted for. Bobby was over there, patiently picking burrs and small twigs out of Uni's mane, and the stupid little Unicorn was sprawled happily on his lap, soaking up the attention. Sheila and Diana were by the fire, preparing what looked like one of the more abundant dinners they'd had in some time. The slow-moving river nearby had practically been jumping with fish, and Diana was skewering the ones they had caught earlier, stuffing them with some sort of unidentified but tasty culinary herb in preparation for roasting over the fire. Sheila was next to her, stirring up something with a bunch of mushrooms and some weird root vegetables that was starting to smell downright delicious. And Hank was ...

"Oh, yeah," Eric remembered. "The girls asked our fearless leader to go get some more firewood to cook dinner." He leaned back against the log with a deep sigh, reveling in the fact that he wasn't doing any of the work this evening. "Personally, I think he's taking any excuse to go play with that shiny new Sword he nicked out of the Dragon's Graveyard."

"Gotta admit," Presto agreed, "there's something kind of neat about being able to chop down a tree in one whack." Thoughtfully, he pulled the as-yet powerless dagger halfway out of his belt and took another look at it. He hadn't been the only one to take a "souvenir" from the Dragon's Graveyard. Sheila had as well, when she grabbed that Healing Net that Dungeon Master had demonstrated. Diana hadn't wanted to take any additional Weapons, though, saying rightly that anything more than she already carried would actually hinder her Acrobatic skills, and Bobby had been too preoccupied with Uni to even think about taking anything. He still hadn't figured out why Eric had passed on the opportunity, though. "Say ... Eric?" he wondered, holding the knife out for the Cavalier to see. "You think that maybe Tiamat might not be too happy with us for taking these? I mean, we kind of stole these out of her home, you know."

"Oh, pfffft! Is THAT what you've been moping about all this time?" Eric laughed. "As far as I can see, Tiamat doesn't really care about us personally. She's not going around trying to take our Weapons back or anything, and you know these babies," here he drummed his fingers on the edge of his Shield, "had to have come from the same place. Her beef is with Venger and all she sees us as is maybe a way to get rid of him for her. I'll bet she's glad we took them because it just increases our chances against him."

Both of them looked up as Hank returned to the campsite, and, just as Eric surmised, he was carrying a large armload of firewood that was so neatly and cleanly chopped that it could have been cut by a precision laser. A plain, sheathed broadsword hung unassumingly from his belt at his left side, and, also as Eric had guessed, he looked like he'd been rather enjoying himself out there. "Yeah, but ..." Presto argued after an acknowledging nod to their leader. "Look at it this way. Venger says he can use the Weapons to destroy Tiamat. And we just brought a whole bunch more of those Weapons into this world." He sheathed the dagger again with finality. "That means more Weapons that Venger can get at and use against her, if he ever actually takes them from us. If you think about it from Tiamat's point of view, we really didn't do her any favors by taking these."

Indeed, Eric did think about it for a moment. "What d'ya mean, 'we'?" he finally said, holding his hands up, fingers spread to show they were empty. "You didn't see *me* take anything. I'm not worried. When Tiamat's five angry heads show up, she can eat the five of you for lunch, and I'll be perfectly safe!" He paused to let out a good laugh.

"Yeah, then you'll be stuck here alone with Uni," Presto noted with a his first unforced smile in several days.

Eric's face immediately soured. "You make a good case for being dessert," he conceded. "But seriously. I can't believe you've been worrying yourself sick all this time over taking a few extra Weapons from Tiamat. You'd know if she was mad about it. She's the freakin' Queen of the freakin' Dragons, and if she wanted them back, she would have come after them by now."

"No, I ... I guess that's really not what's bugging me," Presto said after a beat, which earned him an unamused grunt from Eric.

"This is a pretty stupid guessing game," Eric said bluntly. "Here I'm trying to be all helpful and figure out what's wrong and even cheer you up because you're just no fun when you're moping. See how nice I am? So work with me here." He held up several fingers of one hand, and tugged at his ear with the other. "Okay, how many words? Sounds like ...?"

Presto rolled his eyes. "Um. Sounds like ... Dungeon Master!"

"Huh?" Eric screeched to a verbal halt for just a second. "Dungeon Master's got you all depressed? I thought you said you didn't hear ... oh, wait, wait, I got it. You figure His Shortness is all miffed that we told him to stuff it, and so you think he's not going to show up and feed us a bunch of 'blah blah blah' and run us around in circles any more and ..."

"No," Presto interrupted, pointing over Eric's shoulder. "I mean, Dungeon Master!"

Eric froze. Of course. Dungeon Master. What impeccable timing the little twerp had. Always, always when his mouth was shooting off of its own accord ... Pasting a beauty-pageant smile on his face, he turned his head to follow the direction of Presto's finger, which pointed to the other end of the fallen log. "Dungeon Master!" he said cheerfully. "We were just talking about you!"

"So it would seem," their diminutive guide said neutrally as the others, having heard Presto's outburst, dropped what they were doing and came to gather in a rough semicircle around the fallen log. "Nothing bad, I should hope?"

"Oh, nah," Eric waved his hand in the air nonchalantly. "Just, you know, wondering where you've been the past few days. All we do is sit around, camping, talking, fishing, playing a little three-on-three soccer, all that boring safe stuff when you don't have something more exciting for us to do."

Nodding slightly, as if he knew the Cavalier would provide the perfect opening, as usual, Dungeon Master answered, "Then perhaps what I have to say will interest you. If, that is," he added, shooting a sidelong glance towards Hank, "I may speak freely?"

Hank had the good grace to look a little chagrined. "Yeah, um ... about that," he said, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck in an unconscious gesture of embarrassment. He'd long since asked forgiveness from everyone else for the uncharacteristic explosion of temper that had almost cost them all, but four days had passed without being able to really apologize to the person he figured he'd disappointed the most. "Okay. Look, I was way out of line. I'm sorry. I know you had something important you were trying to tell us and, well, I just went off the deep end on you. Something about ... um ..."

In his fit of anger and frustration, Hank actually hadn't heard what Dungeon Master had been trying to tell them at all. He glanced at Eric, who he knew had been paying a little more attention at the time. The Cavalier immediately prompted, "The Duke of Darkness, whoever that is, taking over some land somewhere."

"Right. Duke of Darkness," Hank agreed, sounding rather contrite about it, though he managed a lame grin. "So ... if I promise no interruptions this time, is it too late to ask what that was all about?"

"Not at all, Ranger," Dungeon Master replied graciously, accepting the apology and leaving it at that. "In fact, it is that very topic I bring to you now."

"If at first ya don't succeed, try, try again," Eric immediately interrupted, instantly earning him a sharp rap on the back of his head from Diana. "Ow! Okay, okay! No interrupting, I get it. Sheesh." Smoothing his hair back into place, Eric gave Dungeon Master one very long, speculative look. Clearly there was something important on his mind and he was debating whether or not to ask it. After a second or two, he shook his head, as if deciding against it, or at least putting it off until later. Instead, he laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the log in a supremely relaxed pose, eyes closed. "So, Dungeon Master," he said with mock cheer, "let's hear all about El Dukerino!"

"The Duke spreads his particular brand of Darkness in the lands to the West," Dungeon Master informed them calmly. "With very little military force, he has systematically driven villages and cities into capitulation through fear alone. In this way, he has been slowly expanding his conquered territory."

"Expanding his conquered territory. Sounds like a real peach," Eric muttered, then cracked one eye open a bit, just to give himself a bit of advance warning in case Diana was going to smack him again.

"Indeed, he has the potential to become a significant threat to the Realm," Dungeon Master agreed. "His tools are fear and despair, which vanquish hope more completely than any show of arms."

"Whoa, wait a minute," Presto said, holding up his hand, unknowingly making it clear that nobody really understood the 'no interruptions' injunction in this conversation. "If he's a threat to the Realm, and he's taking over all these territories, how come Venger hasn't decided to, like, do something about it? I mean, after we saw him deal with Kelek, it's kinda obvious that he doesn't stand for competition."

"The Duke of Darkness is a *potential* threat," Dungeon Master repeated with emphasis. "The lands he as taken are relatively small, and though at one time he was a servant of Venger's, as a conqueror in his own right, he has not yet made himself truly worthy of Venger's notice. Perhaps that will change, perhaps it will not. His potential to become a threat to Venger depends entirely on whether he pursues that which Venger claims as his own."

"And what a mess *that* will be," Diana commented thoughtfully. "Ticking off Venger is never pretty. Well, I suppose that would teach this Duke a thing or three."

"Indeed," Dungeon Master agreed. "As with all, our potential lies not only in the decisions we make, but how we accept the consequences those decisions bring."

It was a fairly neutral comment, and Dungeon Master looked neither right nor left when he said it, but Presto was nearly convinced that it was directed specifically at him. And that Dungeon Master hadn't been talking about the Duke of Darkness at all.

"So what's this got to do with us?" Bobby chimed in, entirely missing the subtext that Presto was reading. "Sounds like if he keeps doin' what he's doin', then Venger's gonna notice and he's gonna take care of this Duke guy for us!"

"Meyaaah, morrr uhhhs!" Uni agreed enthusiastically, nodding her head vigorously.

"Perhaps this is true. But until such time as Venger takes notice," Dungeon Master countered, "hundreds more will suffer and die amidst squalor and decay. Their deaths would mean nothing to either the Duke of Darkness or to Venger. Such travesty must not be allowed to continue. But the task is not without reward, my pupils. You might ask how it is that the Duke of Darkness can domineer so many lands at once, while barely requiring an army to back him."

Dungeon Master paused for a long, dramatic moment. The only sound was a few pops from the camp fire and a well-timed rustle of a breeze in the trees. Finally, it was Eric who bit. Still leaned back in his state of casual ease, he asked with a noticeable dose of sarcasm, "Gee, Dungeon Master. I have to ask how the Duke of Darkness can domineer so many lands at once if he barely requires an army to back him up."

"And well you should, Cavalier," Dungeon Master answered evenly. It was almost becoming a game any more, and despite the fact that they all knew it, a multitude of grins were duly stifled. "Much of the Duke's power lies in his ability to circumvent a city's defenses, and to do so quickly and with no warning. He travels neither by land nor by air, but by the use of a mystic Sphere of ancient origin, imbued with the power to bend space around itself, bringing together points that may otherwise be hundreds or even thousands of miles apart. Merely by exerting his will and focus on the Sphere, in one step the Duke of Darkness is able to travel anywhere that he can visualize."

"So that's just like teleporting," Bobby reasoned, scratching Uni's ears proudly. "Like what Unicorns can do!"

"Precisely, Barbarian," Dungeon Master agreed. "Though over much greater distances. As I said, anywhere the bearer of the Sphere can visualize."

"Great, but, uh ..." Presto began hesitantly, "how is that a reward for us?"

"I suppose the answer to that depends on one thing," Dungeon Master replied thoughtfully. "Are you able to visualize your home?"

It took less than one second for everyone to see the bigger picture that Dungeon Master was painting for them. Even Eric sat up with sudden attention. "So ... let me make sure I understand here. This Sphere thingy isn't limited to just teleporting around this world?" he asked intently. "We can wish ourselves to a completely different planet?"

"Such a possibility has not yet occurred to the Duke of Darkness," Dungeon Master explained. "But the space around us can bend and fold in ways beyond our imagination. To the Sphere, distance is but an abstract. Origin and destination are simply two points to be brought together."

"Good to know," Eric said with a nod as the others looked at one another with tempered optimism. The Cavalier leaned back into his state of relaxation, but this time with a genuine smile on his face. "Really, really good to know."

"Even better to know would be how to find this Duke guy," Diana suggested. "You just said 'the lands to the West'." She paused to sweep her arm wide, covering an entire quarter of the compass in one gesture as she leaned with her other arm casually on her Staff. "That's a lot of territory."

"Entering the Duke of Darkness's keep uninvited is nearly impossible to someone whose power does not match his own," Dungeon Master explained with a shake of his head. "Instead, consider the territories he has conquered. On the brink of capitulation to the Duke is the city of Dastirum, in the heart of the Uaine Flatlands. Though he is distant, his focus is there."

"So," Hank reasoned, figuring he wasn't going to get in trouble for interrupting since just about everyone else had already done it, "we go to this Dastirum place, make enough noise to get the Duke's attention, and he shows up by way of the Sphere to try and stop us."

"Indeed," Dungeon Master agreed.

"Any chance you'll let us know how to get to Dastirum?" Hank asked hopefully.

"The path is yours to follow, but for at least some of the way, you will have a guide," Dungeon Master began, which earned a strange sound from Bobby.

"No way!" the Barbarian exclaimed. "The last guide we had turned out to be Venger in disguise! He's prob'ly gonna show up and make think he's Human so he can try to get even--"

"Bobby!" Sheila scolded, laying a restraining hand on her little brother's shoulder. "I don't think Dungeon Master would set us up for something like that. Would he?" she added, directing her gaze at Dungeon Master and making her tone stop just short of sounding like a challenge.

"At the moment," Dungeon Master answered calmly, "Venger is, as you would say, lying low and is unlikely to offer you any trouble for some time."

"Well, yeah," Presto muttered. "I mean, after the way we scared the bejabbers out of him, he's probably too busy changing his shorts to even think about leaving his castle!"

"Your guide," Dungeon Master continued as if he hadn't heard a thing, "was once what you are now. He will proclaim himself as such, and he will know you before you know him. Though he may not be entirely Human," he added with a glance of acknowledgment towards Bobby, "his trustworthiness is beyond reproach, and his knowledge of the Duke of Darkness is something you might find invaluable. And it seems your dinner is beginning to burn."

"What?!" Diana exclaimed, just as Sheila let out a desperate, "Oh, no!" Quickly, they all turned to dive towards the fire, trying to save the meats and vegetables they'd worked so hard to gather. But no more than two steps were taken by any of them before they realized what they were looking at. Though the fish were sizzling nicely over the open flames, and the vegetable stew was bubbling happily away, no part of their dinner was even approaching a charred state.

They all stared in silent disbelief.

"Did he ... *seriously* just trick us into looking away?" Sheila asked slowly, looking at Hank, who had given in to the urge to slap his forehead.

"Yeah ... and we seriously fell for it," the Ranger replied with an exasperated sigh.

It was no use to even act surprised, they all knew Dungeon Master was long gone. So instead, Diana turned to Eric, the only one who had not moved to rescue their dinner. He remained where he was, kicked back and relaxed, arms behind his head as he leaned against the fallen log, eyes still closed. She nudged one of his greaves with her toe. "So, did you get all that?" she asked.

Eric's eyes immediately popped open. "Got it," he said, sounding surprisingly serious. "Duke of Darkness, lands to the West, very little military force, systematically driving villages and cities into capitulation through fear alone, slowly expanding his conquered territory." He paused and flashed Diana a brilliant grin. "Want to hear the rest of it?"

"No, I'd rather not be confused twice before dinner," the Acrobat answered, bending down to pat Eric's head. "Just as long as you've got it all stored up there in your noodle for us when we need it."

"Ya know, that's kinda freaky how you can do that," Bobby chimed in as Eric batted Diana's hand away, then changed his mind and accepted it when she offered it to help him stand.

"Do what, remember what Dungeon Master says, word for word?" Eric asked, brushing stray leaves and bark off the back of his cape. "I finally figured out that knowing the exact words makes all the difference, kid. Close just doesn't cut it." He paused thoughtfully, and then admitted, "But I gotta say, for whatever reason, it's gotten a lot easier since I spent a day *being* Dungeon Master." He took a long moment to reflect back on that strange, strange day, then shrugged it off entirely in light of far more important matters. "I'm starving. What's for dinner?"

"Venison," Diana deadpanned as the aroma of roasting fish wafted towards them. "And you know, what you just said, I think you're right. About the day you spent being the Dungeon Master. We've all noticed it. Ever since Darkhaven, you really have been able to help us a lot with Dungeon Master's riddles." Draping one arm over Eric's shoulder, she leaned close and informed him conspiratorially, "I bet you're even starting to think more like him."

Eric leveled her with a glare. "Like I said before," he reminded, "there's no need to be insulting."