DISCLAIMER: Vacancy: one disclaimer for the cartoon "Dungeons and Dragons". Must make clear who owns what. No references necessary. Apply within.
STORY: Set after directly the events the episode 'Winds of Darkness'.
It is also set after the story 'Only Heroes Make it Home' but it is NOT necessary to read 'Only Heroes Make it Home' to understand this story, since it is not a sequel. (And I'm absolutely sure about it this time!)
RATING: PG13.
THANKS: Goes, as always, to all who reviewed my other stories. It is always wonderful to get a review, and I find it much easier to write when I know that there are people out there that are enjoying it. Thanks to all!
INTERLUDE
Chapter 1
A Well Deserved Rest
It was something Presto always found difficult. The tension inside him had been growing since they'd left the Grotto of Darkness, the same feeling that he often had after they'd defeated another minion of Evil.
He'd thought that he'd get used to it, but he had never had much practice at success before he arrived in the Realm. But it wasn't so much the fact that they won, that Evil had been defeated, again. No, it was the speed, the sudden change. One minute they were fighting for their very lives, the next it was over, as if someone had just switched off the bad guys. The adrenaline was still in his system, making him jumpy, in spite of their surroundings.
He sighed, watching the dark shadows dance on the tavern's walls.
They had Hank back, safe and sound. Now the Darkling had been banished, Martha could finally go home to her family without fear of what would happen to them. Everything was back to normal, but he still felt strange. They had been in some tight spots before, but in the fight against the Darkling, something was different, something that he couldn't quite understand.
'Hey, Presto! Whatya thinking about?'
The Magician looked up.
The six Young Ones were in a room in an old tavern in the City of Mindril. When they had returned with news of the Darkling's destruction (and a few of the freed prisoners) they had been welcomed with open arms and offers of lodgings. It was a nice change.
That evening, the owner had served them a superb, home-cooked dinner and the Young Ones were now lounging about in one of the private rooms above the bar. They didn't get the chance to lounge that often. That was a nice change too.
'Whatya thinkin' about?' asked Bobby again.
The Barbarian was sitting in front of the open fire with Uni lying beside him, snuffling in her sleep. His Club was with the Bow and Shield in the corner of the room, along with his Viking helmet.
'Aw, you know,' said Presto. 'Being here, being free. Being alive.'
The Barbarian nodded. They all knew what he meant; they'd all felt it too at some time. It was this stupid place. Presto shivered, cold despite the thick robes and the roaring fire. There was a sudden murmur of laughter from the bar downstairs.
'So, guys, what we gonna do now?' asked Diana.
The Acrobat was stretched out across the chair opposite, her long legs dangling over the side. The firelight glinted off her golden jewellery.
'Search for Krin, I suppose,' said Hank. He was resting on a big sofa-like chair with Sheila, his arm round her shoulders. He hadn't strayed far from her side since the Darkling's Grotto. In fact, now Presto thought about it, he hadn't strayed far from her since they'd last seen Venger. 'That's what Dungeonmaster said,' the Ranger added.
There were soft murmurs of approval from the others. Presto could remember their guide's words: "I have heard of a great magician, by the name of Krin, who might be able to send you home." Another chance to get back to Earth, another adventure.
But tonight, Presto was tired of adventures. Was this ever going to end? He had been feeling pleased with himself earlier that evening. OK, so his magic hadn't worked that well against the Darkling, all it had done was suck some of that horrible fog stuff up, but they had Hank back safely and saved the Realm, again. That was all that mattered. But that was all they seemed to do. Each riddle lead them round in circles, never back home. He pulled his green Magician's clothes in more tightly and tried to sink deeper into his chair.
'Dungeonmaster hasn't given us much of a clue this time,' said Sheila sleepily. 'How are we gonna find Krin? All we have is a name.'
'Maybe he'll tell us more later,' said Hank. 'But we'll head south tomorrow.'
'Aw, Hank! Do we have to?' said Bobby. 'Those hills look awful high!'
'It won't be so bad,' said Sheila. 'We'll cross them in a few days.'
'And you never know what's hiding in them,' added Eric darkly.
The Magician glanced at the Cavalier in mild surprise. He was sitting in the far corner of the room, deep in shadows with his back against the wall, and so well hidden it was hard to make out his blue chainmail and yellow armour. Presto couldn't see his face.
'Oh, don't be so pessimistic, Cavalier!' said Diana.
'I'm in a pessimistic mood,' he replied without sarcasm. 'And I'm going to bed, it's an early start tomorrow.' He looked round at the astonished faces of his friends. 'What? What'd I say?'
'What's got into you?' asked Diana. 'If it wasn't for the armour, I wouldn't recognise you!'
Presto smiled in agreement. There was something odd about Eric. He hadn't been the same since they had left the remains of Venger castle. Even his stint as stand-in leader hadn't cheered him up. There was a hard, almost ruthless determination about him, as if getting home had suddenly become much more important.
The Magician shivered again. Eric taken charge of them all so confidently when Hank was gone. He'd stood up to Dungeonmaster; he'd ignored the sensible-but-safe advice of Martha. Damn it, he'd been a good leader, even if it was just for a couple of nights. Presto didn't know which surprised him more, that Eric had taken up the challenge of leadership or that he'd done it so well. The last time they were Hank-less had been a disaster. The Magician frowned. He didn't like thinking about their time with the Cloud Bears, or remembering how he'd felt when they thought Hank had betrayed them. He was feeling bad enough without thinking about that too!
The Cavalier had crossed his arms and was scowling at the others.
'That's real funny, guys,' said Eric shortly. 'But gimme a break, OK! It's not like needing sleep is unusual!'
'Oh, don't lets bicker. Please,' said Sheila. 'I like us all being here, together again.'
Hank tightened his grip on the Thief's shoulders as she spoke. Presto looked from one to the other. There was definitely something going on with them this time. Then he sighed, and fidgeted with his Hat. Sheila's words made him feel inexplicably uncomfortable.
Together.
At the beginning, when they first arrived here, there was no way he would have admitting these feelings to anyone. But now, they'd all grown together, like a family. They'd all learned to trust each other, even if it had taken some longer than others.
Suddenly, he knew what was bothering him and turned to his five friends, needing to speak.
'Do you know how close we came to losing that time?' he asked. 'I thought we were goners for sure.'
They all knew it was going to happen. One of these days, they would find an enemy they couldn't handle. One of these days, their luck was going to run out, and then not even Dungeonmaster would be able to help.
There was a long silence. Everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing. It had been too close against the Darkling. Eric had summed it up when he spoke to Martha, just before Dungeonmaster had appeared: 'I didn't expect you to come help us, but I'm sure glad you did.'
Sheila snuggled closer to the Ranger as everyone, including the Cavalier, turned to look at Hank.
'How do you feel now, Hank?' asked Diana.
The Ranger shrugged.
'Better for some food, I think,' he replied. 'But I still feel kinda weird.'
'We were lucky,' said Diana. 'If Martha hadn't come to help, we wouldn't have been able to get you back.' She smiled at the Ranger.
'I'm sure glad she did,' said Bobby.
'You know, we're really lucky to find people like her in this place,' said Sheila, resting her head against Hank's shoulder. 'Not everyone is so friendly.'
'And we're lucky to be together,' murmured the Cavalier from the background.
Presto nodded. Not everyone was so fortunate. It was times like this he really felt these people were his family.
'I don't know what I'd do without you guys,' he said warmly. 'I mean it. This place is terrible, but it would be a thousand times worse on my own.'
He thought back to the time he'd spelled his friends to that dumb Giant's castle. That was not his finest hour! Sheila smiled at him, from the depths of Hank's embrace.
'We need you too, Presto,' she said.
There was a brief silence, then Eric snorted.
'Oh, please! This is too much! Any more sugar and I'll need an insulin injection!' He stood up. 'And I'm still going to bed.'
'Oh no, Eric,' said Sheila. 'C'mon, stay and talk for a while.'
Presto looked down at the Hat in his hands. Maybe a little magic could cheer everyone up, something to remind them how lucky they were to have each other, something to take their minds off the home-shaped hole inside.
Absentmindedly, he waved his hand over the Hat.
'You know, we're sure lucky to have each other. Abra-ca-dabra, abra-ca-dember, do something that we can remember!'
Everyone had turned to look at him. Nothing happened.
Presto felt a familiar surge of frustration and vulnerability. He was always lagging behind, always needing a pep talk from Hank or a kind smile from Sheila. They expected too much of him. He couldn't live up to what they wanted from him. And why, why-why-WHY wouldn't the dumb Hat just work for once!
'Give up, Presto!' said Diana with a grin.
But Presto didn't want to give up. He hated it when the Hat didn't work, even though the sensible part of him knew that he should be used to it by now. Was he ever going to get it to work properly?
'C'mon, you dumb Hat! At least do something!'
The Magician frowned and peered into the Hat. Nothing was there.
He looked up and Eric finally smiled, for the first time since Dungeonmaster had disappeared. That's something, thought Presto. At least I've made my best friend smile.
'It was a nice try, Presto,' said the Cavalier. 'But I guess we'll have to live without magic for a while. I'm going to bed.'
Eric turned to leave, ignoring Sheila's frown. Presto looked back at the Hat. He was going to make it work if it was the last thing he did! He stuck his hand in to rummage around. That sometimes worked.
'C'mon,' he murmured, 'Do something! Anything!'
Suddenly, the soft material of the Hat gripped his hand like a vice. Presto cried out, and tried to pull back, but it wouldn't let go. The pressure grew, and the Magician couldn't get away, the pain in his hand increasing exponentially. He looked at his friends in desperation.
Eric had gripped the handle of the door. Diana was watching him leave, a slight, sad frown on her face. Hank and Sheila were looking at each other, smiling at some private joke. Bobby had leaned back, his eyes closed and his hand on Uni's mane.
But as Presto watched, he realised they weren't moving.
The weapon contracted again. There was a sharp tug on his arm then, without warning, he was pulled through the Hat, and was falling…
Presto was uncomfortable. There was a nasty, suffocating smell and he was very hot. He was sweating and something was digging into his back. Something sharp. Why did it always happen on days when he wasn't on watch? It wasn't like they were anywhere dangerous this time. Mindril was a nice, safe place. What could go wrong there?
He shifted awkwardly again, steadfastly refusing to open his eyes and wake up. But the discomfort didn't lift. Darn it, why couldn't he get a bit of peace! Was that really so much to ask: a bit of peace for a night before they went tramping over the Realm again? Why did it have to be him?
The Magician groaned quietly and tried to turn over.
His hand touched something excruciatingly hot, and immediately he opened his eyes.
He'd spent years in the Realm, and was used to unpleasant surprises. But he was totally unprepared for what he saw: just two colours - brown and orange - in the form of huge, smooth brown cliffs and bubbling, hot orange lava.
That was all.
Fortunately, his reflexes had also improved. He was standing in an instant, backing away from the lava flow as far as he could, away from the heat and that horrible, orange glow. Then he screwed his eyes tight shut, and waited.
Minutes passed.
It's just a dream, it's just a dream. (A pretty realistic dream) OK, a pretty realistic dream. (A very realistic dream) OK. So maybe I'd go as far as a very realistic dream. But it's not real, that's the important point. It's still a dream. (Are you sure?) Of course I'm sure! I can tell a dumb dream when I see one! (Are you really sure?) Yes! (Really, really?) Yes! (Definitely certain?) YES! DAMNIT YES! (Well…you'd better take another look, just to check) Is that a good idea? I'd much rather just wake up. (But you'd better just take a look, just to be safe) Safe? Safe from what? I wanna wake up! (Look see if it's gone) Yes, I suppose I should just check... (What are you waiting for?) Wouldn't you like to check first? (But I am you) Oh, yes. We could check together? (I'd much rather wait here) Great! That's real helpful! (But you still haven't checked) I know. I should. (Yes) I definitely should. (Yes) I will.
Pressed against the cliff, he braced himself, and opened his eyes a fraction.
Yes, the orange lava was still there. Don't panic.
Yes, the brown cliff was still there. (No, don't panic!)
Yes, there was still no way out. I'm not going to panic. Panic is bad. Panic is bad.
He closed his eyes again and waited for a few seconds. Then he opened them again, wider this time.
Mindril was gone. (Remember, no panicking)
The tavern was gone. I'm not going to panic.
His friends were gone. (Uh-oh)
He closed his eyes, and realised he was shaking, and taking short, rasping breaths. He didn't move for a short while. Then once again, the Magician opened his eyes and looked round, trying to concentrate on taking in enough air rather than what he could see. He licked his dry lips.
He was at the bottom of a gully of smooth brown rock. A few meters away there was a bubbling river of lava, flowing right to left. He could see the heat shimmering off its surface. There's something familiar about this place, Presto, ol' buddy (Yes, something very familiar)
He looked round again, and saw other colours. He could see the green of his robe. Far to his right he could make out a huge, black range of mountains.
'There is something real familiar about this place,' he said out loud. He had definitely been here before. 'It's like being inside a memory or something.'
It was enough to give him more confidence. He was sure he'd been here before.
'It must be a dream,' he told himself. 'But where the heck is this place?'
He looked to the left. There was a narrow ledge between the lava and the cliff; it seemed to go on for a good distance. Perhaps if he went along there he could get a better idea of what was going on.
'Maybe it'll change into gym class round the corner,' he said with a squint smile. 'Then at least I'll know what's gonna happen!'
His hand tightened in determination, and he felt a sudden pain. Looking down at his hand, he saw a burn across his knuckles and realised there was something else was wrong. His glasses were still on his nose, but there was a large crack in one of the lenses. Not only that, there was a big, red smudge over it. He reached up to his face, felt blood running down his cheek.
But there was something in his hand. His Hat! He still had his Hat! It was still in his hand. He gave a loud sigh.
'Thank goodness! Am I ever glad to see you,' the Magician told his Hat.
Instinctively, he waved his fingers over it. But nothing happened. No friendly green glow, no magic, no bits of useless junk. He tried again, but still nothing happened.
Presto shuddered, grasping the warm wall to keep upright. He had felt afraid before; how many times had he been afraid since they came to the Realm? But this was a new kind of fear. And with it came a new kind of panic, a panic beyond that of even Eric faced with an Orc army.
The equation was terribly simple: "Alone No weapon No chance of surviving."
He stood there, immobile, watching as the lava flowed past him, desperately trying to keep breathing. What if this wasn't a dream? All his senses kept trying to tell him what his mind didn't want to hear. This was real! He really was standing near a river of lava at the base of a cliff, with no way out and no magic Hat!
The words he'd though earlier came back to him. One of these days, their luck was going to run out, and then not even Dungeonmaster would be able to help.
Was this it? Was the game over?
No! he thought suddenly. It couldn't end like this! He couldn't let it end like this, no way! He was alone, that was true, but he's been alone before. Everyone had been alone before. They had all survived; they had all known the others were out there, somewhere, trying to help. It was the same now. He had to keep that thought in his mind.
All he had to do was keep going. Hank wouldn't give up on him. Hank wouldn't let the group fall apart. They would be searching, he knew they would be. The thought of his friends searching for him tipped the balance. He had to get out, somehow.
'C-c'mon, Hat,' he said shakily. 'L-let's go find the others.'
Keeping his back to the wall, Presto inched along the ledge. It was a huge risk. He had no idea if there even was a way out, but he couldn't give up! Hank wouldn't give up, no way! The girls wouldn't give up, Bobby wouldn't, Eric…well, Eric probably would, at least for a while. Presto smiled. It was a good job the ol' Cavalier wasn't here. Trapped inside his steel armour, he'd roast for sure!
The Magician tried to think of a happy memory, a good one, not of his home or family, but of his friends: like the time they went to Tardos, or had stayed with Rahmoud, or when they met Varla.
At the thought of the Illusionist, Presto gave a goofy grin. There it was again, that wonderful floaty feeling he got whenever he thought about her. When would he see her again? The thought of seeing Varla again helped him keep going.
The Magician went about a hundred feet along the ledge and was close to a corner, so he stopped, feeling pleased. The magic-free Hat was still scrunched up in his hand. He gave it a quick wave.
'So, you're still not working?' he asked it.
He looked carefully at the weapon. Why was there no magic? Was it this place, did magic not work here? Or did the Hat need a recharge again? It was such an awkward weapon, and even after all their time in the Realm, he still didn't understand it; perhaps he never would. He moved on, unable to decide what was wrong.
The ledge got narrower. It was unbearably hot now. Sweat ran into his eyes and he could feel the tickle of heat all over his body. Very soon, it felt like he'd been swimming.
'Gee, I never wanna a hot bath again!' he murmured. 'And I'd kill for a glass of water!'
His eyes were dry from the heat, and his nose burned as if he'd tried to inhale his chemistry set again. He was looking down almost all the time, making sure his feet were secure on the ledge and that he was as far away from the lava as possible.
The Magician stopped again, coughing. Looking back, he couldn't see more than fifty feet or so. He was round the corner, but how long it had taken him, he couldn't guess. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes then took a quick peek ahead.
The cliffs seemed to be getting lower. A few hundred feet ahead they seemed almost climbable! The ledge got wider eventually, but there was a small stream of lava that cut across his path not far ahead. It was barely a foot across, but was glowing a bright yellow. The air shimmered ominously above it.
Presto would have gulped but his mouth was too dry. He'd come so far, too far just to be stopped by a little stream. He would have to jump it, but it looked dangerous: very, very, very dangerous!
He looked at the Hat, not even bothering to wave over it.
'You don't feel like producing a pair of wings, do you?' he asked it. 'No? Didn't think so.'
What was he gonna do? What would Hank do, if he were here? thought Presto. He had a sudden image of the Ranger, carrying Sheila in his arms, boldly striding over the lava as if it was just a little mud. Presto smiled. Yes, that's just what Hank would do! And he could imagine Bobby the Barbarian there too, saying "Aw, c'mon Presto! It's easy!" Diana would have already jumped it and be running off to see what was round the corner. Eric would be cowering at the back, complaining about the hot air, urging him just to get on with it so they could get outta this dumb place.
That was the best advice: Just get on with it so he could get out. Don't think about it, do it!
He took a deep breath, hoisted his robes and ran, not stopping to think about how crazy the whole idea was.
It was over in an instant. A pulse of unbearable heat and pain, then he was on the far side, on his knees, panting. He looked back, his throat painfully dry. I did it! (YOU DID IT!) I really made it! (You sure did! Way to go, Presto!) Grinning, he pushed himself standing and took a good look around. No, there was no mistake.
'Woo-who!' he shouted suddenly. 'I did it! I DID IT!'
(You're on fire!)
He looked down at his robes, the hem was smouldering and there was a small fleck of flame.
'Ahh! AHHH!' he shouted, whacking it with his Hat. 'Fire!'
He whacked it for a minute, until he was sure it was out then looked at the Hat. It was OK too.
'Phew, that was a close one!' he said to the limp Hat in his hand. The wild rush of adrenaline and elation hadn't gone, and the Magician quickly looked round again. On this side of the stream, the ledge was a lot wider, much wider than it'd looked. There was a clear path onwards, and the cliffs seemed to get lower too. This was gonna be easy!
With the hem on his robes still charred and smoking, he marched off as fast as he could, feeling like he could do anything. It was a wonderful sensation, and it carried him forward for another hour.
All the time, the ledge got slowly wider and the cliffs lower.
Finally, Presto rounded a corner and stopped dead in surprise. It was like something he'd seen in his imagination.
In front was a huge lava lake with low, brown cliffs all around. Curls of steam and smoke lifted off its surface. Bubbles of molten rock burst erratically, sending puffs of sulphur into the air. The smell was terrible. Close by was the dark entrance to a tunnel, and wafts of fresh, cold air blew in.
But the tunnel didn't hold his attention. Not far from the pool's edge there was a stone: A big, rectangular stone.
He looked around anxiously, memory flickering on the edge of his consciousness. More than ever, he knew there was something disturbingly familiar about this place. But where? It was more like he'd imagined it, or been told about it than seen it before. He almost recognised it.
He walked up to the giant monolith, and touched it gingerly. It was smooth metal not stone with a number of strange markings along the bottom. He tapped it gingerly with a nail. It was hollow, like a gong.
A gong?
Now he'd definitely heard of that before…Diana had said something… When? Where? C'mon brain, remember!
His brain was still working, and the word 'gong' brought the memory back into proper focus.
'O-oh. N-no!' he stammered.
Presto looked around again, suddenly much more afraid. How had this happened? Was he dead?
Why was he back in the Underworld?