Chapter 3

The Warlock started to pace. He walked round the altar, checking the goblet and the knife, across to the open window and then back to the altar to start again. Time lost all meaning in the uniform repetition of his actions.

Eventually, he heard the footsteps on the stairs and forced himself to remain calm. With a slow breath in, he turned to meet the Minion.

'We have the weapon, great Master.'

'Give it to me. Quickly.'

The Minion moved forward and bowed low, pulling the Ranger's Bow from its robes.

The Warlock grasped it tenderly, his hands shaking. He looked critically at its surface. Perfect, without the slightest scratch or blemish. It was beautiful.

'And the Ranger?' he asked absent-mindedly, still intent on the Bow.

The Minion nodded, 'We brought him here as you instructed, Master. But…'

'But?'

The Minion didn't say anything. Only when the Warlock took a threatening step forward, did it reply.

'He was damaged, Master. He resisted a great deal, but he is still alive.'

The Warlock nodded, his attention back to the Bow. He had it! He finally had everything he needed!

'Bring him!'

It was mid-morning by the time the gang were free of the mushrooms. From its edge the Lightning Forest was clearly visible across the rock-strewn valley, with its tall black trees and the occasional flashes of light.

Hank the new Barbarian trudged along at the back of the group, with his Club over his shoulder and his helmet sliding into his eyes, trying desperately not to think about Eric. That ungrateful bastard! And after they had gone to find him, as well!

It was not the first time Eric had gone off alone, but this time it was different. Firstly, he'd Hank's Bow. He was Eric the Ranger, who was supposed to be looking out for his friends, not some spoiled brat that could go slinking off under his Shield whenever he wanted to.

Secondly, he'd left in secret, in the middle of the night, leaving them unguarded. And after they'd been attacked by Dark Elves earlier in the day, too!

Hank shivered with a sudden cold. What if he hadn't woken at that point? Hank clenched his fist. He was not one for meaningless violence but the next time he saw the ol' Cavalier he was going to punch his lights out. Seeing that annoying face with a black eye would be very satisfying. They had never, ever, EVER been that close to death before. The one time they had really needed Eric, and he had let them all down.

Hank looked at the others.

Bobby was the only one to let his emotions show. Hank remembered the way the young boy had looked round at his remaining friends, eyes full of tears. Then his demeanour had changed to one of angry disregard, saying that he would set the Hat on the ol' Cavalier next time they saw him, and see how he liked that. The new Magician and his unicorn were walking purposely forward, with an 'I'll-show-you' kind of attitude that had no one fooled.

Both Presto and Diana were less easily comforted. Eric and Presto went back a long way, and the thought that his best friend could abandon him in the Realm was almost too much for Presto to bear. And Diana? However much she loved to taunt the Cavalier, they were friends of a strange sort. She had taken Eric's defection as some sort of personal insult. She and Presto were walking together behind Bobby, not talking, but they seemed to draw some kind of comfort from the other's presence.

Hank looked at Sheila, walking beside him once more. She clinked along in her mail and armour, the Cavalier's Shield slung over her back. He knew she hated this. How he wanted to put his arm around her, to hold her, and reassure her. But not in front of the others. She had barely said anything all morning, but just walked next to him. Suddenly she looked up, saw his gaze and smiled slightly.

'Hey, Hank,' called Bobby. 'Come see this.'

He was pointing across the valley, towards the shadow of the hills.

Hank ran up beside him, shielding his eyes with his hand. Not far ahead was a steep rise, covered in loose stones and large boulders. Beyond that the land dipped sharply, suddenly revealing a huge camp of seventy, perhaps one hundred horse-drawn caravans with people milling around. Off to the left there was a thin curl of smoke from a campfire.

'You'd better check it out, Sheila,' he said. Sheila looked miserably at her Shield and Hank grimaced. 'Sorry, force of habit. Diana? Will you go take a look?'

The new Thief nodded and pulled her Cloak up, disappearing. They saw her footprints heading off towards the camp. There was barely time to share some water and sit down before she was back with news.

'They seem to be traders,' she said, after taking a swig of water. 'The convoy seems headed to the village.'

The kids moved closer, making no attempt to hide, and soon two tall men were striding towards them. They greeted the Young Ones cordially, but kept a wary eye on Hank, much to his annoyance. Then he remembered he wasn't the Ranger any more. A little boy like Bobby with a Club was one thing, but an almost grown man carrying such a weapon was entirely different.

The men questioned them for a short while, keeping their distance, but when Diana mentioned Dungeonmaster's name, their demeanour changed.

'So you are Dungeonmaster's latest pupils?' said the taller of the two. He looked to his companion. 'Perhaps we should take them to Arhala?'

The companion nodded, then smiled.

'We should have known that Dungeonmaster wouldn't forget about us.'

Hank stopped himself from asking more. They were on their way home, and Dungeonmaster had said nothing about meeting anyone on the way. But then, when did he ever?

The smell of freshly-cooked food greeted them as they walked into camp, and a line of people, mostly women and children, watched them as they walked past. Some of the children chattered excitedly and pointed at Uni, who strutted along with her head held high, obviously enjoying the attention. The two men lead them through the maze of cream-coloured carriages towards the campfire. Huge, brown billows of smoke wafted up into the sky and the sound of crackling wood grew louder. They stopped within sight of the fire beside a smallish carriage.

'Arhala,' one called, 'we have brought guests.'

An old woman stepped out of the caravan. She was at least 80 years old, judging by the lines on her face, and she stepped forward using a stick as her prop. The two men bowed at her.

'Dungeonmaster's pupils,' said the shorter man.

'So these are the Young Ones we have heard about!' she looked round them with a bright glint in her eye that belied her age. She stared at their little unicorn, then said:

'Haret, Smar, go! Arrange some brew, and some bread for us.'

The two men bowed once more and left. The old woman bent down beside Uni.

'A unicorn, and such a pretty one!' She reached out and gently stroked Uni's head. The unicorn shook with pleasure. 'It's been so long since I've seen one. Of all the signs, this is the most welcome.'

'Signs?' asked Presto.

'I have lead these people for many years, young Acrobat. It is time they had a new leader.'

As she spoke, one of the men appeared suddenly from around a corner.

'There is plenty of bread and brew out by the cook's carriage, Arhala.'

She waved her hand at the Young Ones.

'Come! We will toast our good fortune.'

The kids exchanged confused looks but followed the woman as she walked slowly away from the fires to a long carriage with an open side. Someone had set out three covered baskets and a large, open-topped barrel with a ladle attached by a rope, as well as seven wooden seats.

Hank inhaled deeply, savouring the smell of freshly made bread. He hadn't smelt anything like that since home. All the comforts of that life seemed very far away now. He inhaled once more and couldn't stop himself licking his lips, remembering the tastes and smells of Earth, everything that they had missed. How he wanted to go home. This time they would make it. This time…

'Sit here Barbarian, and we can talk.'

Arhala pointed to the seat next to her, and the others gathered round on the rest of the seats. She passed them the bread, soft, warm and very easy to eat; and brew, which tasted suspiciously like alcoholic tea with a dash of lemon juice. Uni sat at Arhala's feet, and the old woman fed her unicorn-sized portions of bread every so often.

'Why do you Young Ones come this way? This is not a safe place, even for brave heroes like you.'

Presto blushed at the word "heroes" and Sheila smiled.

'We are on our way to a portal to our Home world,' she said wistfully. 'Maybe this time we'll get through.'

The old woman seemed surprised.

'There is no portal within miles of this valley,' she said. She must have seen the crestfallen looks the gang exchanged, because she quickly asked:

'Who sent you here?'

'Dungeonmaster,' replied Hank, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice.

Arhala nodded sagely.

'The Dungeonmaster knows far more than I do of these matters. He would not send you on a fruitless quest.'

There was an empty pause, a high-pitched, petulant voice in Hanks head saying: 'But that's all Captain Shortness ever does.' The others seemed to hear similar voices, as they all looked just as uncomfortable. Arhala looked round the group then asked:

'Where did he say this portal was?'

She looked at Hank expectantly.

'The Lightning Forest, to the South.'

'That is a dangerous place, my children. The Forest claims the lives of the unwary. But there is a secret path through to the central clearing, if that is where the portal is.'

The others looked at Hank too. He shrugged.

'I guess it must be, Dungeonmaster didn't give us specific directions. He said the Circle of Stones.'

'How are we gonna get through, Hank?' asked Sheila earnestly. But another thought distracted him. Eric. He could never get through on his own.

The old woman smiled at Sheila.

'Don't worry, child,' she said reassuringly. 'I will share its secret with you. There is only one safe way through the Lightning Forest. You must always take the left-hand fork.'

The conversation paused as they ate the bread, everyone smiling except Hank. They knew the secret, they could easily get to the portal. But what about Eric? The new Barbarian took a deep breath, fighting the discomfort inside. Eric chose this, not him. Eric left of his own free will. He had abandoned them, not the other way round. He took a big gulp of brew and tried to think of a question to take his mind of that damn Cavalier.

'Where exactly are we?' was all he could come up with.

'This valley, and the Fungi Forest you have just come through, are known as 'Zilzad's Playground'. Zilzad is an Imp, one of only a few left in the Realm. If you caught him, he would grant you a Wish.' Arhala frowned. 'But they never worked out the way they aught to.'

'No kidding!' muttered Presto, with a longing look at Bobby's green robes.

'But the Warlock now controls this whole area.' Arhala turned and pointed to the squat castle on the western horizon, its single tower rising up high above the horizon. 'His arm has grown long, and we are leaving for safer lands. There are many dangers here. You should not delay, my young friends.'

'Aw, don't worry about us,' said Bobby. 'We'll be home for dinner!'

'What sort of dangers?' asked Diana.

'The Warlock is now master of the Elves of the Lightning Forest. They have become Dark and Evil, bound to carry out his every desire. They roam the valley and forests at night, hunting the unwary.' She lowered her voice. 'The Warlock will soon be too strong. He covets magic and is always seeking to increase his power. You Young Ones would do well to stay out of his way.'

'Why don't you just fight him?' asked Bobby.

Arhala suddenly laughed, making Hank jump.

'My young Magician, look around you and tell me what you see.'

Bobby looked, then said:

'I just see carts and carriages, and a few rocks.'

Arhala smiled at him.

'We have nothing but what you see here. We have no power against the likes of the Warlock. So we are leaving for a place that does. In the village to the North, Chief Kalesh has granted us safe haven.'

'We've just come from there!' said Bobby excitedly. 'It's great, no Warlock would be dumb enough to attack it!'

'Unfortunately, our way is blocked. The Stone Dragon that feeds in the Fungi Forest is close by, so we must risk waiting in the Warlock's lands. Our caravans would be easy targets.'

'Don't worry about that,' said Bobby proudly. 'We took care of it earlier. No sweat!'

Arhala looked round the faces of the group in surprise.

'The Dragon? It's gone?'

Hank nodded, pleased at the look of delight on the old woman's face, and quickly explained how they had defeated it.

'This is wonderful news!' said Arhala. 'We must move immediately, before the Warlock hears of this!' She signalled to a passing child. 'Go, bring Smar quickly. Tell him I have good news.'

The old woman looked round gratefully at the group, then bent down to ruffle Uni's red main.

'Thank you, my young friends. You have helped more than you know. And I have up my mind,' she added cryptically. Smar appeared quickly and the old woman rose to greet him. 'The Dragon has gone. We are leaving here immediately. Sound the chimes and call the scouts back.'

Smar looked confused, but nodded his ascent. Arhala looked into the younger man's eyes.

'And you will lead them through the Fungi Forest, Smar.'

The man stiffened, realising what she had said, then gave a wide smile.

'Thank you for your trust, Arhala.'

He turned and ran quickly off through the camp, giving the orders as he went. In less than a minute, the camp was full of noise and activity.

'We should go too,' Hank said. 'Thank you for your advice, and the food.'

Arhala nodded, watching the people around them rushing past.

'I hope you Young Ones get home.'

The others said their goodbyes and moved off towards the now smouldering fires. But Hank paused, and waited until the others were out of earshot.

'Have you seen anyone else today?' he asked.

The woman shook her head.

'Are you sure? He's dressed in green, with a golden Bow?'

'No one else has come this way, Barbarian.' Hank grimaced at the sound of his new title. The woman looked at him and nodded, as if something made sense.

'It was said that Dungeonmaster's pupils were six in number,' she said 'And their leader was the Ranger.'

Hank couldn't look her in the eye for some reason. Why was Eric always the cause of so many problems? Even when he wasn't around, he still managed to make trouble.

'It is not safe to wander in these lands, Barbarian,' said Arhala. 'Do not underestimate the Warlock. He will take any opportunity he can.'

The new Barbarian still didn't speak, but nodded curtly, then ran off to catch up with the others.

Arhala's words worried him so much that he didn't speak to anyone else until they had crossed over the rest of the valley and had reached the edge of the Lightning Forest. He lagged behind, walking on his own, occasionally casting quick looks back towards the Fungi Forest. Diana and Presto were talking excitedly about the Forest and the portal. Sheila was talking to Bobby, having discovered that Hank was in no mood to chat.

When he finally reached the eves of the Forest, Sheila was waiting for him. The others stood a respectable distance from the edge. Big, blue sparks were clearly visible, arching between the branches of the black trees. In front of them was a narrow path, leading into the Forest. Sheila watched him approach, a look of concern on her face.

'Hank? You OK?'

The new Barbarian looked past her to the trees and the path, watching the forks of lightning crackle randomly through the branches. He had half expected Eric to be there, waiting for them to catch up with a smug smile on his face. But there was no new Ranger.

'Hank?'

'C'mon guys,' shouted Diana, 'What are you waiting for?'

'Its Eric, isn't it?' said Sheila quietly. 'What are we going to do?'

Hank shrugged. It is not safe to wander in these lands. Damn that Cavalier!

The others had noticed something was up, and were coming to join them. He waited until they were all there, then said:

'What should we do, about Eric?'

There was a sullen silence, one wanted to talk about their one-time Cavalier, but eventually Sheila said:

'You don't think he's in trouble do you? What did Arhala say to you at the end?'

Hank frowned, hearing Arhala's warning once again. It is not safe to wander in these lands.

'She hadn't seen him,' he replied. 'You know what he's like. He could be anywhere.'

'What kind of trouble could he get himself into?' Sheila said.

'What kind of trouble couldn't he get himself into?' countered Bobby with a scowl.

Hank looked round at the others. Time was probably running out. Who knows how long the portal would stay open. Another chance to get home would be gone.

'It's not fair, Hank,' said Diana. 'He left us, remember. We can't search the who valley for him, he could be anywhere!'

'He's probably eating hotdogs and pizza at this very moment,' said Bobby bitterly. 'With his feet up in front of the TV.'

'It was his choice, Hank,' said Diana, 'We can't wait.'

Hank took an idle swing at the loose stones on the path with his Club. It is not safe to wander in these lands. He felt suddenly very angry, more angry than he had been in a long time, since that day when he had decided they had gone to find the Dragon's Graveyard. Eric had left them, not just that, he had left them unprotected. He had taken the Bow and gone off home on his own. If this portal closed before they got to it, how was he going to keep them others safe with just a Club? They needed their Ranger!

Dungeonmaster had been wrong this time. Trust in friendship? Some friend Eric was! Ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach, without another word Hank turned and led the others into the forest.

Head hurting, arms hurting.

There were strange noises, and an unpleasant, greasy smell.

Cold.

Where was he? What happened? Why couldn't he move?

Eric opened his eyes slowly, letting his eyes get used to the low light levels.

He was alone in an unfamiliar room, unlit except for a few rays of sunlight that leaked through the single, open window. The outline of a long, wooden table was visible in the middle of the room, and the walls were covered with dark drapes that seemed to suck the light into them.

There was a cold, rough feeling against his back and he realised his shirt was missing. What was going on? What had he done this time? His head hurt too much to panic properly.

Eric tried to move, but his arms were held firmly outstretched by the thin rings of steel around his wrists. He was pinned against the wall, and could barely breath without pain shooting through his shoulders. It felt like he was being pulled apart.

Slowly, memories of the days before came back, the Imp and the arguments. They had stopped for the night next to the crystal, in the shelter of some mushrooms and he had taken first watch. All he'd done was worry about Venger's Master, and how to use that Bow. Nothing had happened until the end of his watch.

He'd heard noises and gone across to the crystal's remains, intent on catching that nasty little Imp, but no one was there. Then hands had grabbed him, catching him completely unprepared. The Bow was twisted out of his hand and a rough cloth was forced into his mouth. He'd panicked, struggling vainly in spite of the rain of fists. Finally, there were urgent whispers all around him and he'd felt a sharp pain in his head, then it all went a big, black blank.

He groaned. None of the others would've been caught like that! How could he have been so stupid, going off on his own, in the middle of the night? Now he was stuck in some crappy little castle, with no weapon and no option but to wait for rescue. There was no way to break free without outside help, and the others would be doubled over with laughter when they found him. He could just imagine it. How embarrassing! They would never let him hear the end of this one.

He gave the bands one final, painful tug then leaned back against the wall. He was just going to have to wait. They might at least have left me somewhere comfy, he thought, his spirits rising a little. My arms will be ten feet long by the time the others get here.

To his left there was a sudden movement, a soft swish of drapes and a man approached. He was tall, with an air of cold superiority similar to Venger's. He stopped in front of his prisoner and stood calmly, staring at Eric with bright eyes. His long, black hair tied was back in a plait and he wore long flowing blue robes, held at the waist with a black belt.

The confidence Eric had felt moments earlier faded. This man seemed so purposeful and threatening, and was obviously not going to leave him to be humiliated in private. The man stood in front of him, watching.

'Who are you?' Eric asked, when he couldn't stand the man's harsh gaze any longer.

'I am pleased you are finally awake,' said the Warlock, completely ignoring Eric's question. 'My Minions were harsher than I wished. But now you are conscious, we can proceed with the ritual.'

Ritual? I don't like the sound of that, thought Eric, panic starting properly. The possibility that he was in really big trouble hadn't occurred to him until then.

The Warlock paused, looking at Eric with narrowed eyes.

'So you are the mighty Ranger? The leader of Dungeonmaster's little group?'

'Ranger?' said Eric, frowning. Why was that familiar?

The man raised the Bow in front of Eric's face.

'Do you recognise this?'

Eric nodded, suddenly aware that every move of his head made him feel sick.

'My Bow,' he said, his voice sounding oddly high. Saying the words felt strange: my Bow. It really was his Bow; he was the Ranger now.

The man handed the weapon to a nearby Minion.

'This is one of the most powerful offensive weapons in the Realm,' the Warlock said, 'if you are prepared to use it properly. It can subdue most creatures, and is certainly powerful enough to make me stronger than Venger himself.'

Eric gulped. A man with a Venger grudge, he didn't want to get caught in the middle of this at all.

'Well, um, now you have my Bow, I can just leave? Can't I?'

The man still ignored him.

'I know you freed the Imp, and I hope you found it as troublesome as I did. You may enjoy watching when the weapon is tested, after the ritual.'

There it was again, that word - Ritual. His interest was definitely piqued, in spite of his growing panic.

'Ah, what sort of ritual?' asked Eric. He tugged against the magic holding him down. Rituals didn't sound good, especially for the one who happened to be tied up.

This time, the man paused before saying:

'Magic weapons are both strange and temperamental things, Ranger. Yours is no exception. You are the Bow's True wielder, and I must sever its connection to you. But I need something else, something more from that weapon. I must combine its magic with mine, I must bond them together.' The Warlock smiled. 'So I will take your essence, your spirit. As the rightful owner of the weapon, you will make its power much, much stronger. It will be the most powerful weapon in the Realm!'

'How?' Eric found himself asking, his mouth moving before his brain could stop it. Did he really want to know the answer?

The man before him produced a thin knife from his belt and smiled.

Eric looked at the knife and struggled furiously, ignoring the stabbing pain in his arms and torso, but the steel held him fast.

The Warlock frowned, the knife still held high.

'Restrain him!' he ordered.

A Minion, dressed in Black robes materialised beside its Master. It came up close, close enough for Eric to see the malice in its eyes. Then it punched him in the stomach, leaving the Cavalier gasping for breath. He went limp.

The Warlock ran his fingers slowly along Eric's right arm, feeling for a vein. Another black clad Minion appeared, carrying an ornate, silver cup that was large enough to hold a serious amount of liquid. It held the goblet under Eric's upper arm.

Suddenly, there was the cold touch of metal, then he moaned in pain as the knife sliced into his flesh across the side of his bicep. He felt the blood flow out over his skin and heard the soft plinks as it dripped into the cup, faster and faster.

The new Ranger had no idea how long the man collected blood for, but eventually he began to feel dizzy and his head sagged forward.

When the man turned away, the goblet was full. Blood still flowed from the cut in his arm, and Eric struggled against waves of unconsciousness. Held with a grim fascination, he watched as the Bow was brought to the table close by and laid on the luxurious velvet.

Candles and incense were lit at either end, then the Warlock began to chant in an incomprehensible language. He dipped his fingers into the blood he had collected from Eric and smeared it over the Bow's handle. Thin curls of smoke wafted through the room, giving off a heavy, earthy fragrance, but even that couldn't disguise the sharp smell of fresh blood. The sound of low chanting was all Eric could hear, the same words, over and over and over, almost lulling him to sleep.

Finally, the Warlock poured the remaining blood over the whole bow, from tip to tip, covering it in blood. There was a faint sizzling noise, like meat on a barbeque.

From a hollow in the altar, the Warlock produced a rough-hewn, purple crystal and held it over then Bow.

'Make it mine!' he shouted.

Thin crackles of lightning coursed down the Warlocks arm and body, and over the table to the Bow. A thin beam of white light came from the crystal, smacking directly into Eric's bare chest. There was no pain, just a growing emptiness. His eyes almost flickered shut. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't move.

Slowly the light from the crystal faded, and Eric suddenly started to breathe once more. He gulped in air as the Warlock reached forward and picked up the Bow, now as black as the night sky.

'Bring me the Imp!' The Warlock's voice sounded different, deeper, with an edge to it like the crack of a whip.

A high-pitched eeeping echoed round the room as the Imp was dragged in, a short chain fastened round its neck. It looked around furtively, searching for an escape.

The man snarled at it, his teeth showing white in the pale light.

'You won't escape your punishment this time!'

He pulled a deep red arrow, the colour of Eric's blood, then fired. There was a roar, like the burning of a fire in a grate as the arrow sliced through the air and crashed into the Imp, wreathing it in red fire. It shrieked, again and again, and again.

Eric closed his eyes, as the shrieks became grunts, and the grunts became pants. When he looked up the Imp was lying limply on the floor of the chamber, bands of red flame round its wings and neck. It was unable to move. A Minion picked it up and carried it to the window.

'I think that will teach you not to play tricks on those more powerful than yourself,' said the Warlock.

The Imp wriggled in vain, panic in its eyes as it was dangled out of the window, then there was a long wrenching scream that faded as it fell.

Eric stared at the window, numb with shock and magic. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening! The Warlock turned slowly to look back at his prisoner.

'A successful test, I think,' said he with a wild smile. There was a gleam in his wide eyes that had been absent before, the look of a man consumed by power. 'The Conduit worked! The transfer is complete!'

The Warlock walked right up to Eric and grabbed his jaw, forcing his head back.

'Now, what shall I do with you?'

'Please… don't drop… me …out of …the … window,' he spluttered, 'I mean… don't…'

Come on guys. Where are you when I really need you?

There was a sudden, low rumble from the left and the Warlock looked round, letting go of the Cavalier. Eric looked too, a thin smile on his face. They wouldn't have left him, not really. He would have to tell Hank to work on his timing.

But the smart comment died on his lips as he looked up, and saw the face of Venger.