Here they are, all standing in a row.
There it was — Malacastra, the fortress of Countess Querella, cut out of the face of a black mountain, eaten out by caves and mines and passages. A high, black wall, and on the wall, a row of spikes, and on the spikes —
"Ahhhhh, Eric! Eric! Look at that! Look at those! I mean, look up there!"
"Myyiiiihhh!" yelped Uni, and hid trembling behind Bobby.
"N-n-n-n-now-now-now-now, P-p-p-presto…they're probably not REAL heads! Sh-she probably just f-forgot to take down her Halloween decorations!"
"Those are no Halloween decorations, Eric," said Hank, sternly. "Diana, you were right. I think we'd better make tracks out of here before — "
"HOLD!" rang out a voice like glass broken on steel. "Who dares trespass on our lands of Malacastra?!"
Looking up, they saw standing in the midst of the rotting heads of humans, and orcs, and dwarfs, and lizardmen, and elves, a young girl, clad in rich royal robes of azure and violet. In stature she seemed about Bobby's age, and exceptionally well-formed, with thick sable-brown hair, china complexion, and eyes like pale moonstones — but there was something hard about her, something inexorable and unforgiving.
"If you're Countess Querella," shouted Hank, "we came to ask you a favor!"
"To ask a favor, indeed! You'll find I'll give you more than you asked for. Forward, my flind warriors! Cast the intruders into the lair of the vilstraks!"
A troop of large humanoids, with cat- or bear-like heads, began to pour out of various caves and portals in the surrounding rocks. Quickly they formed a semicircle around the young ones, and drew steadily nearer, spinning ominous looking steel bars.
Presto turned to Eric. "You know, Eric," he hissed, "just sometimes I think it might be better to be a wimp, than to be such a simp!"
