Disclaimer: Since its development in 1983, the animated series Dungeons and Dragons has belonged to the following at some point: Marvel Productions, TSR, Inc., Wizards of the Coast, Saban Entertainment, (according to rumor) Disney, and possibly even others. I guess my point is, it does not (nor has it ever) belonged to me. Oh, well! This story, however, does! I hope you enjoy it!
Rating: PG-13 for some language and violent elements
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
LEGACYChapter 9 -- Dire Straits
Varla Myers had no idea what time it was. Even if she knew how to tell time by the position of the sun, which she didn't, she wouldn't know the first thing about reading four suns! She kept instinctively glancing at her wrist, as though the watch that used to be there would suddenly appear to help her mark the minutes. Her jittery fingers found the edge of the delicate scarf that wrapped around her head and trailed down her back, and began to pick at the seam.
"Easy, Princess," Presto soothed as they came within sight of Tardos Keep again.
"How will we know when it's high noon, though?" she responded anxiously.
"It's not," he eased. "Not yet."
"I know but--" Varla thought back to this morning. It hadn't quite reached first light when she tried to contact Uni again . . . .
"Uni? Uni, can you hear me?"
Silence.
"Uni?"
"Yes, Mystic, I hear you. But we must speak quickly. Bane is watching me very closely."
"Presto and I are coming, Uni. Can you tell us how to reach you?"
"I know that I am somewhere in the lower city of Tardos Keep. I remember being taken through the old garden courtyard where the Dragonbane crop used to grow. I am in a cell somewhere near there now, for that is where Bane shall be taking me today at high noon."
"Why? What happens at high noon?"
"The city of Tardos is in such a location that the energy permeating from the Realm's four suns meet at an apex above the Keep at high noon. The force generated from this energy enters the courtyard at a centralized location and feeds the surrounding gardens with its life power. It is because of this, that Tardos was the only place in the Realm where Dragonbane was able to grow; it was the only location that received the suns' exact energy this way. Anywhere else, and the courtyards here would have been as barren as the surrounding Dustlands."
"So, even though this Dragonbane stuff isn't around anymore, the energy to grow it still enters Tardos at exactly noon?"
"That is correct, Varla. And the Dragonbane would grow here still, were it not for the Dark Lord Bane infecting the soil with his pestilence. Precisely at noon is when the evil one plans to corrupt the life energy of the suns once again . . . and use it to transform me into his own dark steed. He has already drained me far too much for me to resist his power."
"Oh, no--" Varla unintentionally broke her link with Uni as she realized how little time they had to reach her. Only until noon . . . and it was already growing light . . . .
As she stood with Presto with Tardos once again in their sights, the girl grew more and more worried that they wouldn't make it in time.
Presto tried hard to think of a plan to get them to the unicorn. The getting in wasn't the problem; it was facing this new and unfamiliar force of evil once they got there. But first thing's first, Wizard, he thought. First, they had to get through the doors. And if memory served, bluffing their way past any Orc guards at the entrance shouldn't be too tough.
* * *
Diana rounded the next dark corner, not even glancing back as she ran. 'Trust me,' he said! 'Watch and learn,' he said! 'We'll just walk right in,' he said! "Eric!" she called behind her to the Cavalier who was barely keeping up. "The next time you want to bluff, at least try to think of something good!"
"Hey!" the Cavalier panted from her heels, slowing down each time he risked a look back at their pursuers, "It was a good idea! It was working, you know!"
"Weapons salesmen!?" the Acrobat returned. "That was your big idea! Eric, you've spent too long as an executive! Do salesmen really talk like that?"
"How would I know?" Eric called back. "How would the Orcs know, for that matter? Besides, I was doing fine until they saw you with your javelin looking like you were gonna take their faces off!"
Diana gave an exasperated groan. "What was I supposed to do? Pose with it like Vanna White?" She surveyed her surroundings as she ran, before muttering, "I've had it with this!"
Eric continued to steadily puff his way through the dim hall. "We're inside, aren't we?" he returned. "Once we ditch these guys, we'll be-- Diana?" The Acrobat was no where in sight. "Diana! Where are--yahhh!"
Eric wailed as he felt himself suddenly tugged into a dark corner of the corridor; almost toppling into whomever had grabbed his arm. "Shh!" Diana's voice hushed him from somewhere in the dark as the pursuing Orcs rushed past the opening of their hiding place.
"Now . . . ," she began whispering, after a moment's reprieve. Eric suddenly became aware that Diana's voice came very close to his ear and that, in his attempt to squeeze further into the corner as the Orcs ran past, he must have ended up practically on top of her. He backed off, a bit flustered. ". . . You were saying?" she continued.
"Uh, yeah . . . once we ditch these guys--"
"Done," the Acrobat replied as though checking items off a list. Eric could swear that he could almost feel the satisfied grin that must be on her face right now.
"--We'll be able to find out what happened to the kids."
"To the dungeon, then, sir?" Diana offered. She stepped forward to peek around the corner.
At the sound of shuffling feet, Eric gripped Diana's elbows, pulling her back toward him as two Orcs ran past the entrance. They were headed in the opposite direction as the ones who had been pursuing he and Diana. He froze for a moment, his gauntleted fists wrapping firmly around the Acrobat's arms as he held her back against his chest. (Perhaps even a bit more firmly against his chest than actually necessary.) He didn't let go for many moments after the Orcs had gone. And when he did it was almost reluctantly.
"They're in a hurry," Diana remarked over her shoulder to Eric as she felt his grip slowly release her.
"And if they're after us, they're going the wrong way," Eric said. He paused thoughtfully before adding, "You don't suppose they've got reinforcements following up the rear, do you?"
Diana kept her eyes glued to the hallway as she inched toward the mouth of their hiding place. She tentatively peeked around the corner and directed her voice back at the Cavalier. "Okay, coast is clear. Stay behind me, Eric, and watch our backs." The Acrobat eased out of the corner and moved silently along the hallway, drawing her staff as she walked. Eric emerged behind her and tread, not quite as quietly in his armored boots, but kept a close eye on their rear for any more soldiers.
It was not, however, an Orc soldier who spotted them.
* * *
"Master Mordreth?" came a voice from the blackness that was as inky and unctuous as the shadows that made up the creature's body.
"What is it?" The throaty hell-rumble from the Dark Lord of Destruction filled the upper chamber of the fortress.
"The Young Ones are loose in the castle." Shadow Demon slid from the darkened umbra in the room and cautiously approached one of his current masters.
"I know," Mordreth replied with disinterest. He remained turned to the window.
"But, Sire," the phantasm tried to clarify, his smoky head bent, "The Young Ones that I speak of are two of Dungeon Master's former pupils . . . the ones who defeated Venger."
Mordreth turned to the dark apparition, his skeletal mien spreading into a demonic smile. "Interesting," he sneered. Two red lights shone from deep within the empty sockets of his eyes.
* * *
Presto and Varla crouched by the stairs leading up to Tardos Keep. They had managed to traverse the valley leading to the once-impenetrable city without incident. Now, it was time for a plan. A little magic might help.
Presto thought back to the time that Varla, the Illusionist, had disguised he and his friends as Orcs so that they could sneak into Venger's Forbidden Tower. What he wouldn't give for one of those illusions right now.
"Will you tell me about her sometime?"
The Magician bent his head to look at his daughter. "Who?"
"Varla," she answered. "Your Varla. Did you love her? As much as you love Maggie?"
Presto smiled. His daughter's ability to read thoughts was going to take some getting used to. "I guess there's a lot that I can talk to you about now," he answered as he ticked a curved finger under her chin. "Varla was very special. I promise I'll tell you all about her someday." He turned back to face the titanic doors of Tardos Keep.
"Bobby and Venger said she was an illusionist. If she was here, we could conjure up some kind of disguise," the Mystic offered.
"Of course!" Presto exclaimed as he removed his hat. "We are in the magic business, after all!" Holding the hat before him, the Magician twiddled his fingers over its opening. "Hat of mine, it's been a while, but help us breach those gates in style!"
A mound of cloth was spewed forth from the magic hat and crumpled on the ground at Presto's feet. It was quickly followed by a purple quarterstaff. "Hey! Not too shabby!" the Magician said as he rustled through the cloth to inspect it. "Not too . . . . Okay, so it's a little shabby."
Presto grumbled as he held up the tattered and moth-eaten hooded cloak that his hat had produced. If it had really been over two hundred years since they had left the Realm, this cloak looked as though it had been lying around for at least that long! Varla, in contrast, was in awe of what her father had been able to do. "Wow!" she breathed.
Presto dismissed what he would have thought of as failure at the sound of his daughter's approval. He smiled, then noticed that he had obtained only one cloak. He wrapped it around himself and tried to usher Varla inside as well. She fit, but wouldn't remain concealed as they moved. "I guess I could try for another," the Magician offered dubiously. "Then again . . . ." He swung the cloak around Varla's shoulders and lifted the hood to cover her face.
"What?"
"I could pose as your prisoner," Presto told her. "We'll look less suspicious heading for the dungeons if one of us is a prisoner. Just walk tall and make with the attitude -- like you know exactly what you're doing!" He remembered how Hank had done just that when they dressed as Venger's troopers to free Sheila and Alfour from the Archmage's dungeon.
Varla gave him a cockeyed look from beneath the hood, which had slipped back a bit. "Um, Dad?" she said as she looked up at him, "I don't think they're actually going to believe that you're my prisoner!"
Presto pursed his lips. Although the Magician was never the tallest nor the strongest of any of his friends, in fact he still wasn't, he was certainly the better choice of the two to play the captor right now. Varla was right, but, "I don't want you seen," he told his daughter.
"They already know I'm here," she said as she slid the cape back off her shoulders. "Maybe, if they don't know you're in the Realm yet, you could surprise them!"
Oh, sure! Presto grinned wryly at his daughter's confidence before reluctantly accepting the cloak from her. He checked the suns' positions in the sky before raising the hood. "Give me your wand," he said. "A prisoner wouldn't be carrying a weapon."
The girl obeyed and he tucked it away inside the pouch at his waist. He then picked up the staff, which began to glow and hum with a purple light at Presto's touch. "Here's goes nothing!" he said as he shoved Varla, as gently and yet as convincingly as possible, up the steps and toward the door.
Upon reaching the heavy wooden entrance, Presto rapped on it with his quarterstaff and was greeted, in short order, by a menacing Orc. Presto cleared his throat and summoned a deep, craggy voice. "Prisoner for Lord Bane!" he hissed, nudging the girl from behind with the staff.
The Orc regarded both with a snort. "Password," he grumbled.
Oh, brother! Presto's legs felt like jelly and his face blanched with consternation. A password! ". . . Ah, yes! . . . Of course! . . . Th-the password! . . . ," he fumbled, the raspiness that he was forcing into his voice starting to break as he struggled to remember the phrase that had gotten them into Venger's fortress all those years ago. "The password . . . is . . . ."
Presto suddenly felt a voice in his head . . . and an alien slogan. ". . . Droolomuk Cwalfore!" he said confidently.
The Orc sneered briefly, then stepped aside so they could pass.
Presto heard the door shut behind them as the two rounded a corner. "Thanks!" he breathed to Varla.
"No problem!" the girl whispered back. "That was the easiest mind I've read since coming here! It was like an open book! And the words he was looking for were right there!"
"Yeah, well, Orcs aren't known for their mental prowess, that's for sure!" Presto's grin widened at the thought that his daughter had been able to not only read the Orc's thoughts, but also convey the message to him . . . all without the aid of her wand, which still remained tucked inside his pouch. He made a mental note to mention it later.
Presto and Varla made their way down a long staircase that, if the Magician remembered correctly, led to the gardened courtyards below. What they found there, however, looked more like an unkempt greenhouse of toxins; the once beautiful blooms and plant life now resembling a forest after a fire, while the mirrored pools were reduced to crevices of black repugnant sludge.
The Magician glanced around helplessly at the place that had once been so magnificent, strong, and unblemished in every way. "C'mon," he said, "Let's find Uni."
Varla stopped and glanced up. "Look!" she whispered, pointing toward the ceiling. Sure enough, just as Uni had told her, there was an opening high above, through which the Mystic could see a sliver of sky. The area below the opening was a wide circumference of decimated flora. "Was that the Dragonbane?" Varla asked.
"Probably," Presto replied, "We never actually saw where it grew." In fact, the Young Ones hadn't even known what it looked like until they unwittingly used it to destroy Venger's Demodragon.
"Then this must be where Bane will be bringing Uni," Varla added. "That means she must be nearby!" The girl looked to the lofty ceiling high above once more. She placed a hand above her eyes as though that would help her to see farther. There were no suns showing through the opening just yet. They had some time . . . but probably not much.
Presto guided Varla through the courtyard, still wrapped in the cloak in case anyone spotted them. His grip on her shoulder tightened when she stopped suddenly. "I . . . hear something," she murmured.
"Is it Uni?" Presto whispered back.
"I don't know," Varla answered, "But it's coming from . . . in there!" The Mystic pointed toward an arched doorway leading into a darkened hall. "Maybe that's where Bane is keeping her!"
The two moved carefully through the shadows, Varla stopping every few feet to try to contact the unicorn. She wasn't having any luck. Maybe, she thought, because Presto still has my wand. She was about to suggest that what she heard had been nothing and that they should try somewhere else, when a faint light caught her eye from beneath a door up ahead.
Presto eased the girl behind him and tentatively tried the handle. It opened easily. And inside, the Magician saw the source of the light.
Several sinewy magic coils were radiating dimly through the room. The restraints that they formed were tying down a brilliant single-horned animal. Presto gasped, wide-eyed, at the beast. He recognized the white body, the orange mane and tail, and the weakened bleating groan that rattled up from her throat as her eyes found the Magician. It was Uni. Not the Uni he remembered, but Uni nonetheless.
Varla impatiently scrambled around Presto to see the tethered unicorn for herself. Uni's dazzling glow from the other day had faded a bit, replaced by a lackluster gray color that was visual proof of her weakened state. The straps that held her low to the ground were like vines of pure poison, sinfully draining the regal creature of her power. Uni began to thrash as she spotted Varla, emitting weak, goat-like noises that were so unlike the noble whinnies of her first appearance.
"Gaa -- Baa!"
"Uni, what is it?" Varla asked quietly as she stepped away from Presto. "We're gonna get you out of here!"
Uni attempted to stand, but faltered under the tethers that were holding her down.
"Gaaaa -- Baaaa!"
Presto fell into step behind Varla. "Uni! It's me, Presto! We've come to--"
"GAAAA -- BAAAA!"
"Uni?" Varla said as she stopped, confused by the unicorn's urgency. "I don't understand!"
Uni stopped struggling and met Varla's eyes; the unicorn's were dulled by pain but wide with warning. Go . . . BACK, Mystic!
Varla's stomach twisted as the words flashed through her head. She spun around to face Presto, but found herself looking past him . . . at the figure who had appeared in the doorway.
"Welcome, young Mystic!" Bane's serpent-like voice hissed at her. With a wave of his hand, the torches along the walls sprang to life, lighting the darkened gloom of the chamber. Presto and Varla found themselves standing before a large crevice in the floor; a shadowy pit that had been hidden previously by the darkness and that separated them from Uni. Bane focused his glare on the disguised Presto.
"You have done well, my friend," he said to the cloaked Magician, who stood staring at the dragon-like creature that donned the former garments of Venger. "I had thought we were rid of this one. You shall be rewarded a handsome bounty for bringing her here."
At that, Bane struck out with his hand. His clawed fingers curled open and out shot a ghastly magical, whip-like cord from the center of his palm, like those that bound Uni. It sped like lightning toward Varla. The sinew surrounded the girl, holding her fast, and she screamed upon feeling its intense power.
"VARLA!" Presto cried reflexively as he leapt forward, abandoning his charade. He wrapped his arms around his daughter from behind, and curled his fingers around the taught energy vine that encircled her body, attempting to break it. Presto strained through gritted teeth as he could feel the sinew draining his strength as well. He twisted at it, hoping that he could prevent the evil current from reaching Varla by absorbing it with his own hands. Somewhere far away, he could hear Uni whinnying in protest.
Presto raised his watery eyes as a hand gripped the hood of the cloak he was wearing, whisking it away from his head. "Well, what have we here?" Bane sneered amusedly. "If it isn't the former Dungeon Master's pathetic Wizard!" Presto grunted as, with every word, the dark creature seemed to send even more magic coursing through his body. He stared at Bane, daggers of hatred forming behind the wire rims of his glasses.
"Stop it! No! Daddy!"
Presto could hear Varla's fearful protests. His only comfort through the onslaught of energy was the fact that if his daughter was able to speak, she must be doing better than he was.
"I am disappointed," Bane mused tauntingly, "You are not nearly as troublesome as I had imagined." He sent another jarring jolt through the electric cord. "In fact, your foolish sentiment has made this quite easy. Pity."
Bane reached forward with the hand that was not controlling his magic and removed Presto's hat from his head. "I suppose you will not be needing this," he said, almost wearily. "I am sure that my Master will be most grateful for it. Farewell then, . . . Wizard!"
Varla felt the magic that bound her suddenly release and recoil back toward Bane, who enveloped the tether back into his palm. He raised his other hand and, swiping it through the air, sent a magical wind toward she and Presto. The Mystic felt her body twist and slam against her father as the world upended and she was suddenly tumbling through empty space. Rocky walls rushed past her eyes as the cold darkness of the pit engulfed them both. Everything happened so fast that it barely registered in her mind. She could hear Uni's panicked whinnies growing farther away as she saw the dirt floor of the dungeon pit rush up toward her, plunging her into darkness with a sickening jolt.
* * *
Toby Beckett could no longer hear the Orcs behind him. This worried the youth because they had been following him so persistently through the dark hallways. He hoped they hadn't gone back in search of John.
He stopped and cautiously eyed the corner up ahead. Maybe they had gotten around him by another path and were waiting in ambush somewhere. Toby suddenly wished he hadn't ditched the spear. But running with it through that first narrow hallway had been so hindering that, even though it left him weaponless, he had promptly lost it.
Looking around, he saw that he was most definitely alone for the moment. He was struck with a brief ray of hope. Perhaps he really had lost them. After all, the Orcs hadn't struck him as being the sharpest knives in the drawer. Maybe--
Toby jumped at a noise and spun around. There was nothing there, but the sound had been enough to snap him back to reality. Mordreth's guards could be anywhere. He began to cautiously pick his way along the dank wall until he came to a room with an open door.
Toby prudently glanced into the room, poking his head around the doorjamb inch by inch. What he saw there made his stomach jump anxiously. On a table near the far wall was his whip and John's medallion. For a moment, the boy would have raced in and fell upon them, but stopped himself. The two weapons where just lying there . . . unguarded . . . like bait. There was no way--
Then something else caught Toby's eye. On the far end of the room, opposite the table with the weapons and directly parallel to the Fighter, was a stone staircase leading to another door on the high wall. Toby's heart jumped as a flash of beige and red scampered past the opening. The thought of a possible trap waiting for him was momentarily abandoned as he instinctively cried out.
"John!"
* * *
Eric grabbed Diana's arm as he suddenly stopped and whipped around.
* * *
"Toby?! Is that you?"
The Squire scrambled back to the doorway upon hearing his name. Looking down, he saw Toby race into the room. Simultaneously, he watched as an enormous Orc soldier emerged from the shadows and swiped at the Fighter with a roughly made, primitive club.
Toby leapt back and cast his eyes to the door again. "John!"
John emerged through the door and stood on the first platform of the stairs, deliberating as to what he could possibly do. He started to come down. "Stay there!" Toby shouted at him. The boy froze.
Toby braced himself to face the Orc who came at him again with an uncivilized grunt. As the club swung again through the air, the Fighter lunged forward, ducking below the blow and staggering himself on the floor before scrambling to this feet and making a beeline for the weapons. He scooped them up and spun around the table as the Orc's next blow reduced it to splinters.
While the Orc pried his club from the remains of the table, Toby rooted himself to the center of the room and cast his eyes toward the young Squire. "Catch!" he shouted as he hurled the medallion upward. The boy made a one-handed lunge for it, overcome with a feeling of partial relief as his fingers wrapped around the golden disk. He looked to Toby again, then into the hallway behind him. "Come on, Toby! Let's go!"
Toby started to run for the stairs, but was halted by the nearing sound of the Orc behind him. He was forced to stop and face the brute again. "Go, John! I'll catch up!"
"But, Toby . . . !"
The Fighter uncurled his whip and glared at the approaching Orc. He shot another quick look up to John. "Go!"
As the Squire reluctantly doubled back and disappeared into the hallway, Toby stood ready to face the guard. His lips curled over his teeth in a confident sneer. "Okay, round boy! Let's dance!"
* * *
Eric released the Acrobat and ran, stopping only at a divergent set of hallways to decide which to take. He could hear Diana shouting behind him. "Eric! Wait!"
The Cavalier glanced back quickly at her before choosing the path to the right and racing toward an ascending set of stairs. Diana stopped at the fork, watching him leave. "Eric!" she called out again fruitlessly. She started to run after him when her ears suddenly perked up and she turned. She stood listening for a moment before racing down the other path, toward the faint sound of battle.
* * *
The Fighter jumped away from the swinging club and shot out with his whip, missing the Orc but forcing him to struggle for balance. The Orc spun around to regain his footing and grabbed his own whip that had been looped at his side, snapping it menacingly on the ground before taking a stance in front of Toby again.
Toby took a step back. He would make a break for the stairs if he could, rather than waste all of his energy fighting this thing. He looked up to the doorway above, remembering how his whip had grappled around that tree branch back at the canyon and hoisted him up the rock wall. If he could find something to latch onto, he could save himself the time and effort of running up the steps and catch up with John a lot quicker.
But he looked for too long.
Toby heard a crack and whipped his head around in time to see the Orc's lash sailing toward him. Instinctively, the Fighter struck out with his own weapon. The two whips met in mid-air and became entwined together.
The Orc snarled as he tugged his arm back.
"Whoa!" Toby felt himself jerked off his feet and dragged to the ground in front of the brute, his hands still tightly clutching his whip. He emitted an aching groan as he felt the heavy foot of the Orc press upon his back to keep him down. Toby could only take shallow breaths as the beast's crushing weight began squeezing the air from his lungs. He struggled to look up as the Orc raised his club again.
"Hey!!"
The Orc seemed startled at the shout, but did not deviate from his task. The club continued its ascent, even as Mordreth's guard directed his attention toward the doorway adjacent to both he and the downed Fighter.
The silhouette of a figure had appeared in the torch-lit hallway, striking a very determined stance and brandishing what looked to be a long staff. The voice came again, full of rage. "Come on, Porky! Let's see you pick on someone your own size!"
The Orc snorted at the figure, whose slender frame ironically could not have even equaled half of his immense girth. But the odds didn't seem to faze this individual, who gripped the staff until it began to glow with a jade green light.
Toby stared up at this person, who stepped forward until the shroud of shadows from the hall ebbed away from her (Her?!) to reveal an amazonian warrior. The weapon that she carried glowed fiercely, her appearance of fury heightened by the light that the staff cast into the furrowed anger-lines in her face as she scowled at the Orc. The Orc's heavy foot on Toby's back was no longer causing a breathing problem for the boy . . . as he had been holding it since spotting the woman -- a woman that he knew. He had to blink back his wide-eyed doubt before looking at her again.
"What's the matter?" she growled at the guard, "You got Spam between the ears instead of a brain? Get - away - from - him!"
Toby swallowed hard. "A-Aunt Di!?"
* * *
John tore blindly through the hallways of Mordreth's fortress. At several points he stopped and turned, feet quivering as though they wanted to head back in the other direction to help Toby. He had felt that the Fighter should have joined him by now. Panic made his heart race and he clutched his medallion without slipping it back around his neck.
It was around the next turn that he saw it -- a brief flicker of daylight. John skidded to a halt and walked cautiously toward it, not sure if it was real. He stayed close to the wall and inched forward until he was certain that it was indeed the open portcullis up ahead. The Squire felt as though his heart leapt from his chest and ran out into the open ahead of him. He couldn't believe how eager he was to get back into that crazy world beyond the door. After all that had gone on inside this castle, the prospect of wandering through the Realm again was a welcome change.
John froze as he eyed the open gate, blinking at it longingly. He turned back to face the dark hallway from which he had come. No, he couldn't leave. Not yet. Not without Toby.
He took a running step back in the other direction -- back toward the Fighter . . . .
. . . Then stopped at the sound of a hellish growl from behind. The Squire turned slowly and found himself staring back in the direction of the door -- at the malevolent skeletal creature who now stood in front of it. The young boy gulped hard. "M-Mordreth?" he breathed.
The Dark Lord's bony helm sneered as the Squire whispered the dreaded name and two scarlet bulbs seemed to flash from deep within the crevices of his eye sockets. "Welcome, Young One," Mordreth rumbled. "You have reached your end."
John fought an overwhelming surge of panic and defeat as the Dark Lord sneered at him again and raised a glowing hand. The boy's fingers tightly gripped his medallion. Please, please, please . . . ! No . . . !
John wailed as Mordreth emitted a blast toward him. He held up his amulet to ward off the blow. But the bolt spiraled away from the youth and struck the floor behind him, sending John to his hands and knees.
He staggered up and glanced forward again to meet the glowing hollow eyes of the evil one in front of him. The boy felt himself quaking in fear. Mordreth again raised a fiery hand, this time aiming it at the ceiling. The rocks above began to glow, then rapidly descend. John's eyes widened in terror, before squeezing shut as he waited for the impact. He instinctively thrust his arms upward, medallion in hand.
He did sense a jolt, actually feeling the large slab of ceiling land upon the power of his force field. For a moment, he was relieved. His weapon had saved him! John's momentary ease quickly melted away as he saw Mordreth still standing in the doorway, grinning evilly at him.
The Squire soon found out why.
As he tried to move, he felt the ceiling slip down a bit further. He quickly realized that in order to get out from beneath the crushing rock above, he would have to cease the power of his weapon. And he wasn't close enough to the edge of the slab to make it out from underneath in time.
A glowing light surrounded Mordreth as the Dark Lord vanished from John's sight. His rumbling voice, however, remained. "I shall return, Young One, for your Weapon of Power. Once you have ceased to be."
The Squire began to cry as he stretched skyward, holding the ceiling up.
* * *
Diana didn't wait for the Orc to act. She raised her javelin high and took aim at the creature's hand. Extending it quickly, she knocked the club from his grip, as though striking out with a cue stick. The Orc stared, dumbstruck, at the sudden disappearance of one of his weapons.
Again, the Acrobat didn't give the beast time to recover -- or remember his whip. She brought the end of the staff straight down and, taking a few running steps, planted it directly in front of the Orc, raising herself up and over his head. As he turned to see her land behind him, easing his foot from Toby's back in the process, Diana hurled her staff through the air with a wild cry, catching the Orc on the side of the head and dropping him quickly.
She gave a wry half-smile at the brute's recumbent form before turning her attention, finally, to her nephew. Diana reached down to help him up.
The teen was dazed, but unhurt. He gripped Diana's wrist tightly and got to his feet. "Aunt-- Aunt Di! . . . How did you--? . . . Where--? . . . H-how did you know?"
Diana smiled at him, a bit wearily, and opened her arms for a grateful and long overdue hug. "Are you kidding?" she joked into his ear as tears began to cloud her vision, "You didn't think we were going to let you kids have all the fun, did you?"
Toby laughed, still bewildered, extremely relieved, and in complete disbelief of what he had just witnessed. He always knew that his aunt was special. But here in the Realm, she seemed larger than life. Bobby had been right; Diana was, indeed, amazing. Toby held onto her with everything he had.
* * *
The Fighter had been recaptured. It was the only explanation that John Montgomery could think of as to why Toby never showed up. Recaptured . . . or killed, he thought with growing terror.
Then an even more frightening thought struck him. What if Toby was free? Free and looking for him? Lost in a different hallway? What if the Fighter arrived here a few minutes from now to only find a rock wall, never knowing that John was underneath? Never knowing that the way out was on the other side? Never knowing that the Squire had held it up as long as he could? What if I die here?
The force field generated by his weapon was impenetrable. John knew that. But he also knew that it was only as strong as the power he could force into it. And that was fading fast.
John's entire body ached with his effort to hold his arms aloft and force strength into his amulet to keep the rock ceiling above his head. The rock was close now, frighteningly close, and exceedingly heavy. The young boy strangely thought of his reading class in school and the story of the Titan, Atlas, who held up the sky. He hadn't liked that class, but now he wished he had paid more attention. Maybe there was a clue in that myth as to how he, not a Titan but a mere boy, could keep this up. One thing was for sure: he didn't dare look at the ceiling again.
Gradually, John began to notice the pain in his muscles less and less -- as though it had been there forever; and would be there forever. As the rock pressed inexorably upon him, he thought about what might really happen if he ran; if he just made a wild lunge to get out of range. Testing the waters, he inched a bit to the right, but a booming sound echoed in his ears and was joined by even more pressure from the ceiling above, forcing the youth lower, almost to one knee. He tried to straighten up to the way he was before, but found that he didn't have the strength to raise the ceiling any higher. The best that he could hope for was to prevent it from dropping any lower. And for that, he had to remain still.
He kept his arms up high and tried to turn his head to scan the hallway behind him for Toby. The eleven-year-old boy desperately wanted someone with him. He didn't want to die alone. He at least wanted someone to know that he had been here. His thoughts flew to the others. What had happened to them? No doubt they were in the middle of saving the entire Realm by now while he stood here bawling like a baby. Don't cry! Don't cry! he ordered himself -- without success.
His dad wouldn't have cried. His dad had been a hero here. That's what Bobby had said. But John was no hero. He wasn't like Eric. And he was going to die here.
The boy knew that he would be instantly killed and his heart raced again in cold panic. Or would he? Would he die quickly or would the ceiling just press upon him and slowly crush him? John's eyes blurred with the tears he was trying to keep back. He felt nausea and a deep, cutting terror.
His hands trembled as he clutched his medallion, the force field flickering as his young strength was taxed and drained. He prayed that his weapon would at least get destroyed, too . . . so Mordreth would get no use out of it. The Squire let out one exhausted wail as he sank to the floor and the medallion's energy faded completely . . . .
. . . Death, however, wasn't what he had expected. There was no noise and no pain; no sensation at all, in fact -- aside from the perpetual ache that seemed commonplace by now. The boy felt a strange and peaceful relief . . . mingling with the nausea . . . then realized something: He couldn't quite catch his breath.
. . . Weird . . . .
Dead people don't need to pant for air. Dead people don't feel every muscle in their bodies quiver and ache from overuse. And dead people don't feel as if they might throw up at any second.
John did.
Somehow . . . he wasn't dead.
Looking up, John saw that the ceiling remained hovering above his head. (Even a bit higher above his head if that were possible.) Something had stopped it.
"John--?" A labored voice came from behind him. A familiar voice. John's panic was renewed as he slowly turned.
The Squire's eyes trailed up the figure who now stood above him. The knee-high armored boots, the golden breastplate and the protective mail suit beneath, the mid-length red cape -- all these things were unfamiliar -- but the person's face . . . .
Dad!
The boy's mouth moved as he stared at the Cavalier, who now bore the weight of the ceiling on a golden shield, but he could force no sound out.
It was Eric who spoke, clearly and authoritatively between strained breaths. "John, . . . listen to me . . . . I want you to head out that way, okay?" He motioned with his head toward the still-open portcullis. "Go on."
"D-Dad?"
John dumbly shook his head, mouth gaping.
"John . . . ," Eric tried to assert his voice. Even as the weight of the rock above made it necessary to spend less energy on speaking, Eric still forced the words out strongly. "Son, . . . I need you to go out there . . . and wait for me." A pained grunt escaped his throat, as the ceiling above trembled upon his shield. "Go . . . now!"
John's heart raced with terror. "I -- I can't."
Eric turned an enraged glare to his son. "GO!" he shouted, his desperation making his trembling voice sound stronger than it actually was. "JOHN, GO NOW!"
John froze. He wasn't sure if he was more frightened by the situation, or by his father's sudden fury. Eric had never screamed at him like that before. Not but a minute ago, John never thought he would see Eric again. And now, for as exhilarated as he was that his father was actually here, he was suddenly petrified of him at the same time.
The boy rose shakily to his feet and looked to the exit. Eric had said he would meet John outside. But . . . .
No.
Eric wouldn't be able to follow him. John knew this. He had a feeling Eric knew it, too.
As John looked from the open gate back to his father, Eric gave him an encouraging, insistent nod, trying resolutely to hide his growing fatigue. "Go on!"
John made up his mind. He looked at Eric for a solemn moment, whispered, "I-I'm sorry, Dad," and then raced past the Cavalier back into the hallway of the castle.
"John!" Eric couldn't turn. Couldn't move. "Damn it! JOHN!"
The Squire didn't look back. He had to get help. Now, he had to go back and find Toby. "I'll be back, Dad!" he cried as he ran. "Just hang on!" Please, hang on! And he vanished around the corner.
The Cavalier's legs felt as though they would buckle beneath him. "Please, God, keep him safe," he whispered through gritted teeth as he sank lower from the weight of the ceiling. I love you, Son.
* * *
Toby pulled away from Diana at the sound of someone screaming his name. For a minute, the Fighter was annoyed. That was John; and he clearly hadn't listened. Toby knew the boy's first instinct had been to stay and help him, but he didn't think John would throw caution to the wind by screaming like that.
Until he heard it again.
"TOBY!"
There was urgency in the Squire's voice. Panic . . . even sheer terror. "John?" Toby cried in response as the boy appeared in the doorway, his face soaked with sweat, both from running and from fighting the dread that Toby saw in his eyes.
Diana must have seen it, too. "John!" she also shouted, racing over to the young Squire and falling to her knees, forgetting for a moment that he probably had no idea who she was. Toby was right behind her as she caught hold of John's shoulders. "Where's Eric? I-I mean your father?" she demanded.
John didn't hesitate, nor did he ask how she knew his dad. "Back there!" He pointed up the stairs and into the darkened hallway behind him, his voice a bundle of tangled sobs. "You have to help him!" he begged.
"I will," Diana said as she rose to her feet. She then directed her voice at her nephew. "Watch him," she ordered steadily.
"But--," Toby began, but was silenced by Diana's cold, hard stare.
"Don't argue with me, Tobias Jackson Beckett!" she warned. "Stay with John and watch him!" The Acrobat clutched her weapon and dashed up the steps.
John felt Toby's hand on his shoulder, but was too frozen with fear to turn around. "Don't worry, Johnny Boy, she'll help him," he heard the Fighter's voice say. Toby was trying to be cheerful, although he could only manage a thin, worried smile. "That's my Aunt Diana."
* * *
Diana was overcome with a sick feeling when she spotted the Cavalier bent under the unrelenting weight of the rock ceiling. Even with the power of his shield, he couldn't keep that up forever. Sweet Jesus, she thought as she ran, This is not good! Very little else had time to flash through her brain as she found herself adding even more force to her sprint to reach her friend. "Eric!" she cried.
"John?" the Cavalier inquired weakly.
"Safe," Diana replied as she slid under the rock behind him.
"Get out!" he strained, "My weapon can take care of this!"
"I can't tell you what a relief that is, Eric," Diana remarked at his obstinacy as she inserted her staff between the floor and ceiling and extended it until it touched both. She mentally braced the rod as best she could to keep it from bending. "But I think you've had enough fun for one day!" She held the javelin securely for a few moments before trying to extended it even higher. It held, but it wouldn't for long, and she only succeeded at raising the ceiling a fraction of an inch. "No good, Cavalier," she groaned as she struggled to help Eric bolster the rock, "That's all I've got. It'll have to do. C'mon out!"
"I can't," Eric managed. "The ceiling lowers every time I try to move."
"Eric, we can't just stay here!" Diana's voice whooshed out through her exertion.
I never asked you to come in! Eric thought fleetingly, although he was grateful for the minor relief that the Acrobat's weapon provided. "Look, I've tried, okay? The two of us can hold it together, but only one of us can leave at a time! And taking turns seems counterproductive!"
"So, what do you suggest we do?"
"Damned if I know," Eric said strainingly.
Diana wrestled to keep her staff straight under the weight of the ceiling for a moment, before coming to a decision. "Listen, Eric, I think I have an idea."
"Eureka," the Cavalier groaned.
"Can you get yourself turned around to face me?"
"This better be ingenious," Eric muttered wearily as he shifted his grip on his shield so that he could rotate his body while keeping his weapon aloft. As he slowly came around and his eyes focused on Diana, he flashed her a labored smile. "Making progress now, aren't we?"
She returned his grin wanly before surveying the distance between him and the edge of the rock a few feet behind her. He was nearly in the center; a good ten yards away from her, at least. A bit far. "Are your legs too tired to run?"
"Have they ever been?" he joked.
"Okay then, listen," Diana grunted, "Get ready to sprint like hell!"
"No good," Eric returned, "If we both try to run, this thing will crash down faster than the Stock Market of '29!"
"I wasn't going to suggest that we both go at once," Diana told him jadedly. "You're too far away from the edge for that to work anyway. Listen, my javelin is not nearly as strong as your shield for this type of thing, but if I need it to, it'll hold long enough for you to get past me."
"You don't understand," the Cavalier insisted, "Once I leave, you'll be stuck! It's impossible to move without dropping the ceiling! And that stick of yours isn't gonna hold it long!"
Diana's eyes bore into his. "Like I said, it'll hold long enough."
Eric suddenly felt sick. "I hope you're not saying what I think you're saying!" Diana didn't respond; only met his stare with emotionless, inflexible eyes. "You are totally, purely, certifiably, in-need-of-some-serious-medication, out of your mind!" he wailed, his voice suddenly finding strength. "I'm not leaving you here!"
"Eric, listen to me," Diana said, her voice stern yet calmly insistent, "I've said a lot to you over the years. But if you've ever cared for anything I've ever had to say, please listen to me now. You don't have the option to be stubborn about this! You have a son who needs you and you need to go back to him!"
"Not if that means--"
"Eric! I made a promise to a little boy that I would help his father and I intend to keep it!" Diana was unwavering in her position. "Don't make me into a liar. Not to a little kid! Your son loves you and needs to see that you're okay!"
Eric hesitated, his eyes never leaving hers. He could see in them that the Acrobat had no intention of following him out. He, however, had no intention of leaving her here. He slowly shook his head. "I-I can't, Diana," he muttered, suddenly forgetting the intense weight of the rock. "I won't leave you."
"Damn it, Eric! You have to!" she hissed, more like a disguised sob. "You have a responsibility to that boy! Trust me, it's a responsibility I would die for! If you want to help me, then do this: You put your son first! Put him first now and put him first when you get him home! Remember what I said last night. Don't waste the time you have with John. And don't give him up for anything. Not for your job, not for me, not for anything!"
Eric stared dumbly at Diana, who was fully crying now but still forcing her words out with tremendous strength and resolve. "Eric, your son has lived his entire life without a mother! Don't let him lose you, too! And don't let me be the one who couldn't stop that from happening! Please!"
Eric's face was soberly pale and his voice throaty and guttural. "Okay," he conceded as his features became harsh.
Diana felt relieved at Eric's surrender. But equally petrified, as the ramifications of his decision were quite final. "Tell Toby I love him," she pleaded dryly.
A fleeting image of Kosar flashed through her head. The thought that she could be seeing him shortly gave her some comfort. Maybe this was what Dungeon Master meant. She braced herself, nodded to the Cavalier, and he carefully, reluctantly, lowered his shield.
The Acrobat felt the sudden jolt from the ceiling as it weighed entirely on her staff now. She knew it would only be a matter of seconds before the pressure from above caused her weapon to buckle and snap. She focused as much mental energy as she could to keep it from doing that until after Eric was clear. She shakily raised her head to the Cavalier, who was only standing there, watching her. Was he out of his mind? "Eric! There's no time! Go! I can't hold this!"
Eric sprinted.
Diana watched as he made a mad dash for the edge of the stone slab above their heads. She offered up a thankful whisper, mingled with a frightened prayer. She prayed that it would end quickly. Diana met Eric's eyes as he passed,—
— then suddenly turned and headed straight for her. Diana had no time to react or question as a sudden impact hit her dead center, driving the wind from her lungs. The world reeled and Diana could see nothing. She felt her javelin suddenly wrenched from her hands as the ceiling met the floor with earthquake force.
* * *
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Notes: Don't you just hate when things aren't uniform? I've been attempting to revise my previous chapters to compensate for the fact that FF.Net doesn't seem to like the way I format the title section of my story. I've been trying a few different ways; hopefully one will work so I can make all the chapters look (somewhat) similar to each other! (Blasted perfectionism!)
In other news, sorry it took so long to get this chapter up. The next one shouldn't take so long. (It's amazing what summer vacation and foot surgery will force you to sit down and do!)
Let me just take the opportunity (again!) to thank those who have reviewed! Especially those who keep coming back! You know who you are, and I hope you know what your kind words mean to this little authoress! (In answer to one, in particular – is the first "force of evil" down? Yes. Out? . . . well, that's an entirely different story! Venger kept coming back, as you well know. And you know what they say about a woman scorned!)
Remember that feedback is the food and drink of any author. Don't forget to review! *VBG*