Chapter 2
Altered Images
'Shouldn't we keep going?' Bobby said to Hank.
Since leaving the village, all the Barbarian had done was walk and ask unanswerable questions.
The rain was still driving down and water poured down the hillside, making the rocks slippery and the grass muddy. Huddled together under a small tree, all they could do was wait until the storm had passed.
But they were fast running out of choices. It had already been two days since they'd left the Village, and they had seen no sign the others. They had gone back to the Orc encampment, in the hope of finding some trace. There was only one other way out, and they followed the path out towards the grassland, and the forest far beyond.
Then the rain had started, and come down in thick waves of water, drenching everything within minutes. They'd continued through the rain for a few more hours then taken shelter. He'd known full well that the rain would wash away any sign of the others, but chose not to tell that to Bobby.
'Shouldn't we keep going, Hank?' repeated the Barbarian.
'We will. Once the rain has stopped.'
Bobby made no reply, silent with impotent anger. If it had been one of the others he would have discussed their options, but the Barbarian needed simple instruction and confident answers. Any hint that Sheila or the unicorn was in mortal danger, and he would go rampaging off, on his own if need be, his Club at the ready.
Hank couldn't let him do that. Keeping control of Bobby was the first step to successfully regrouping.
And while they waited, their friends became more lost. This was just one more delay.
Was there no hope?
'Greetings, young Pupils.'
There was a flash of relief, as brief as a blink, as he turned to see the Dungeonmaster standing in the rain just behind them.
Every time before, he'd trusted their Guide; trusted that he knew what was going on, even if he had no power to stop it. But there was something different now. Hank knew it even before the old man spoke.
'Greetings, young Pupils,' he said again.
The Barbarian looked up, anticipation brimming in his expression.
'Dungeonmaster! Are we glad to see you! Where are the others? Are they safe?'
The old man didn't reply, but an expression passed over his face that Hank had rarely seen; it was a hard, conniving look that seemed totally alien to the kind man they all knew.
'What's going on?' demanded Hank.
Only Bobby seemed shocked by his tone.
'I do not know,' said Dungeonmaster.
It was not the answer Hank had expected. The old man had never admitted a weakness before.
'There are a great number of powers in this Realm,' said their Guide. 'And there are some against which even my magic must fail.' There was a pause, as the old man struggled to find the right words. Finally, he lifted his hands, a cloudy orb of magic forming. 'My magic has been disrupted and I cannot now see the Realm I tend.'
There was an edge of bitterness in his voice that Hank didn't like.
'Do you know what's happened?' he said.
'Someone is using the Fourth Mirror of Nynad.' The old man spat the name out as if it burned his mouth just to say it.
'A Mirror?' said the Barbarian. 'What can it do?'
'It can do a great deal, young Barbarian. Once, a very great time ago, there was one who had tried and failed many times to gain power, using up the goodwill of his fellows and the loyalty of his acolytes as he went. But the failure of his efforts only made him desire dominion more. To that end, he created five potent Mirrors with the power to see into past and future and present. Each one was designed with a specific purpose in mind: to control and corrupt the Realm it viewed.'
'What happened to them?' said Bobby.
'Three of the Mirrors were destroyed, by accident or malice, and only two remain. One has been lost for centuries, and the other, I found. And I hid it.'
'You hid it? Why didn't you just destroy it? Or take the bad magic out?'
'No, Barbarian. These Mirrors are the tools of Evil, but they have the power and magic controlled within them. Destroying it could only bring harm to the Realm. Very few things can affect the power of a Mirror. My magic is not one of them.'
The Ranger had listened to Dungeonmaster's tale with a growing sense of dread. The old man was burdening them with information this time, as if in need of someone to listen to him. And there were no riddles.
They had faced many things in this Realm, but always they had the aid of their Guide. Now that had changed, and whoever had this Mirror had a great advantage over them.
'Who's using it?' said Hank, though he feared he already knew the answer.
'I do not know for certain,' Dungeonmaster replied. 'But I suspect Venger; for the shadow of the Mirror rests on you all. You are masked from my sight, all of you.'
The Dungeonmaster did not continue, but looked out across the sodden grasslands towards the distant trees.
'You don't even know if they're alright?' said Bobby. Their Guide shook his head.
'But how did you find us?' said Hank.
Dungeonmaster turned to look the Ranger in the eye.
'I searched. I went to the Village and spoke with the Chief.'
Sickness welled up inside Hank at the words. He'd carried that poor, lifeless girl back to her family, just for them to see what was failure looked like.
'There is no time to dwell on the past, Ranger,' said Dungeonmaster. 'To use the Mirror is a test of strength, only one of great individual power would be able to control what it shows them. But the more the Mirror is used, the more it affects the user. It corrupts them; infusing them with the dark and violent essence of its maker. If it is truly Venger who wields the Mirror, then you must find the others, before it is too late.'
'Will they die?' asked Bobby, his lip starting to tremble.
'No. Something much worse.'
It was obvious that the Barbarian didn't understand, but the young boy was never going to admit it. But Hank knew; he knew from the way Dungeonmaster was glaring at him. Responsibility weighed down across his shoulders once more, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to draw up the strength of mind and spirit to carry on in spite of what had gone before.
It came as no surprise to find that, when he opened his eyes, the Dungeonmaster was gone.
They'd been running; and there was no way to know how far the two of them had travelled in the days since the fight. The pursuing Orcs had lost them in the forest, but they were now lost themselves. At the time, they'd had no choice but to keep going, but Sheila the Thief was regretting her decision to venture inside this dark, treacherous place.
So far, keeping them both going had taken all her attention. But now, as her injured companion rested against a tree, she let the full impact of the situation sink in.
They were lost. They had no food, nor water, and nothing to ease the pain of her friend. She'd staunched the blood as best she could, but it wasn't good enough.
She had to find the others. Hank would know what to do.
Hank… Just the thought of his name lifted her heart.
The last time she'd seen him he'd scooped up the young girl from the ground, and was waiting for them to follow him out of the Orc camp. Then there had been a shout for help from Presto. Both she and the Cavalier had responded, knowing the Ranger had his hands full.
But the Orcs were too strong; Diana and Eric tried to hold them back while Presto worked his Hat, but it all went wrong. Even the Magician's last, desperate spell had failed; and now she was here, effectively alone.
And they would not survive long alone.
With a glance to her unconscious companion, she knew she had to go now, before it was too late. Cold, creeping certainty filled her. If she delayed, her friend would die. But how would she ever find her way back here, even if she did find someone to help?
Hank… she needed her Ranger.
To despair was not in her nature, but there were no other options: she had leave.
'I'll come back with help,' Sheila whispered as she stood. 'I'll be as quick as I can, Diana.'
Venger had waited with a growing sense of confidence; the Mirror became more cooperative every time he used it to watch the remaining children. Apart from proving to be most enjoyable, events were moving quickly and the moment he was waiting for would soon be here; and the prisoner must be ready to witness it.
The boy had been left in the coldest and most unpleasant cell the Orcs could find, and left to wait in the darkness. Fear would be growing in the boy, but Venger knew simple brute force would not be sufficient; he would have to be much more cunning to achieve his dark ends.
And he would have to be very careful. There were still risks, even with the foresight of the Mirror at his disposal. Over time, he would learn to control the Mirror fully, but at the moment he could not see all that he'd wished to. There was also problem of that two-faced Seer; he need to know what she was planning as he might be able to use her schemes to his own advantage. But his first priority was ensuring the prisoner was ready.
Now, as he entered the dungeon for the first time, with the Drow Priestess at his side, he stared at his young enemy, letting the anger build.
He had wanted this to be the Ranger. He'd wanted this to be the Ranger, so very much. He'd wanted to make that Ranger suffer, to make him crawl on his kneels and beg for mercy. Desire grew; desire to hurt the Ranger, desire to corrupt the Ranger and the desire to see the Ranger on his knees, begging for the scraps of Venger's attentions.
The Ranger was the one he hated, and that hatred grew more potent with every passing moment of every passing day.
The prisoner was curled up in a corner, almost naked, his body covered in long, deliberate scratches, shallow to maximise the discomfort and the loss of blood. The Drow had also ensured that he'd had no food and only minimal water.
Looking down, he knew in his heart that this one was not going to cause him any trouble. His courage had come from his friends; and after only a few days, he was beginning to weaken.
The boy looked up, and for a moment Venger thought he would speak. Then the boy looked away, and Venger had what he'd come down to the dungeon for: he knew he would win.
The preparations were finished; the magic was ready, as were the Drow. All he had to do now was await the right moment to strike, and the boy would be his.
And when the boy was his, the weapons would follow, and he could finally make the Ranger pay for his arrogance.
With that thought lingering in his mind, Venger smiled and turned away.
