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
Quick-Note: Sorry for the unexpected delay. I've been having laptop trouble. Also, for those who have read this chapter in Darkhaven already, this is only slightly different. The text is mostly the same, but the arrangement of the sequences has changed a bit, for the better, I think. Thanks, Tarvok, for the initial advice and Chance for the additional input!
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LEGACYChapter 10 – The Hidden Blade
Bobby groaned and rubbed his aching shoulder, windmilling his arm as he walked, trying to force the stiffness out. After spending so many hours with his arms bound, it was not surprising that he was still in pain, but the Barbarian still cursed his limbs for not ridding him of the ache sooner. As his arm came around and he allowed it to hang at his side, Teri slipped her hand into his, giving him a smile as they walked on.
"Maybe we should take a break," Sheila advised, still worried about what her brother had been through.
"Hank, how long did it take for you guys to get to the Citadel from Tardos Keep?" Bobby asked, trying to ignore Sheila's concern.
"A couple hours if we walked straight," the Ranger replied. "But we got a late start because we were still trying to find out where you were. So we ended up having to stop for the night." He placed a hand on the Dreamer's shoulder. "If it wasn't for Teri, we wouldn't have even been able to guess what had happened at all, or even known where to begin."
Teri blushed a bit as Bobby looked at her and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "It was really Varla who found out where you were," she said modestly. "If she hadn't been able to contact Uni, anything I saw in my dreams would have been worthless. It wouldn't have told us what direction to travel."
Bobby scowled broodingly. Uni. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her after he had been so careless in allowing Kadysse to mess with his mind. "I'm sorry, guys," he grumbled as he looked at Ayesha. At least nothing had happened to his niece. "I can't help but think that it's all my fault we're scattered around like this. If I had just waited at Tardos until morning, we could have met up with you and we'd all be together. Hell, we might even be home right now!"
"You didn't know," Sheila said. "And as for Tardos, we almost knocked on the door, ourselves. None of us ever thought that the Keep would be invaded and captured."
"The important thing right now is to find the others," Hank added. "Tardos is the best place to return to because we know that Presto and Varla are there already. Maybe we'll even get there in time to help them."
"And maybe Eric and Diana are on their way back there, too, with Toby and John!" Ayesha offered hopefully.
Bobby smiled at everyone's optimism. In his own mind, however, they couldn't get there fast enough. He wouldn't feel better until everyone was back at Tardos Keep and Uni and the others were safe. He shielded his eyes from the suns, taking the opportunity to shrug the kinks out of his other shoulder. Yes, the sooner they got there, the better. He just hoped it would be before dark. "Hank, what time do you suppose it is anyway?"
The Ranger noted the positions of the four suns. "I'm not exactly sure, Bobby, but I'd say it's probably close to noon."
* * *
The pain was stunning and flooded her head as she opened her eyes. It was as though it had a mind of its own and decided that it didn't want the Mystic to sleep through what it had to offer; and so remained dormant, waiting for her to wake up.
Varla's eyes could focus on nothing, not just because of the pain that filled her head, but also from the blackness that surrounded her. Her mouth was pasty with the taste of bile at the sudden panic that knotted her stomach. Nothing but darkness all around her . . . and no idea as to how to get out. For a few moments Varla couldn't move. Then she gripped her head and rolled to her side--
--Or, at least, she tried to. As she attempted to turn over to curl into a protective ball, the Mystic found herself falling. The sudden feeling of air beneath her again caused her to cry out, but it was short lived as she bumped into the floor which, as it turned out, had been only a few inches away. She must have been lying on something. Like a mattress, or a . . . .
Varla heard a groan, but it didn't come from her. Then she remembered what had happened. She reached her arm out and groped through the darkness. "Presto? Daddy? Is that you?"
Another groan and then she felt his hand clutching hers. It was a few moments before he was able to speak. "You okay?" His voice was so hoarse.
Varla was relieved. Still petrified, but knowing that Presto was here in the darkness with her offered some comfort. "My head's killing me," the young girl whimpered, unable to hold in her sob.
"Mmm-hmm," Presto groaned in response. Varla could tell that he was trying to move and was probably in a lot of pain as well. Even more than her, in all likelihood, since she had obviously landed on top of him when they hit the bottom of the pit.
Presto cursed under his breath as he strained to lift himself, actually believing that he felt his bones scrape together as he moved. "Man, I can't see a thing," he said lamely, focusing on the least of his afflictions.
"Me neither," Varla responded from the black.
"No," Presto emitted the word in what sounded like a half-grunt, half-laugh. "I think they finally broke." The Magician was referring to his glasses. One of the stems had, indeed, broken off. But there was no time to worry about that right now. He balanced them on his nose as best he could. "We have to get out of here," he said, returning to the task at hand. He felt around the floor surrounding him for the familiar feel of thin, cone-shaped cloth . . . before remembering that Bane had taken his magic hat. Perfect!
"Omigod!" Varla suddenly exclaimed. "How long have we been down here? We have to help Uni!"
Presto's heart sank. He had no idea how long they had been out, or if they even had a chance to help the unicorn now. But one thing was for sure: they couldn't do anything sitting down here. Presto struggled to get to his feet, then collapsed with a strangled cry, clutching his hammered ribs.
"Daddy?! Are you okay?" Varla asked with deep concern.
"Fine," Presto managed, momentarily thankful for the darkness that surrounded them so Varla wouldn't see that he was lying -- although she could probably hear it in his voice. Presto didn't want to focus on that right now. He needed to find a way to get them both out without his hat.
The Magician froze for a moment to gather himself before attempting to move again, preparing for another shooting pain through his side. He let out a whoosh of air and prudently removed his hand from his ribs. As he brought it down, it brushed against the pouch at his waist. Wait a minute! He froze again. "Varla, come here!"
The Mystic brought her arms up in front of her, fingers searching through the air for her father. "Where are--?" The girl suddenly felt Presto grab her wrist and press a thin wooden stick into her hand. Her wand. Varla had forgotten that her father still had it.
The Mystic was relieved to have it back, but suddenly terrified all at once. If she had the wand, Presto would expect her to use it. She was, again, suddenly unsure whether she could. "Presto, I don't know," she muttered.
"You have to," the Magician insisted, "If you can move objects, you can certainly lift yourself out of here. Just concentrate!"
"I just don't know if I can lift both of us," she said warily. "I could barely lift a rock! And the last big thing I tried to move, . . . well, . . . I blew it up!"
Presto sighed. "Varla, honey, you're the only one capable of doing anything right now," he informed her. "If you don't think you can do us both, you're going to have to leave me here and find help somehow."
Varla stiffened. There was no way she was going to leave Presto behind. Even if she didn't quite trust her abilities, she had to try. "Move behind me," she instructed. Presto smiled arduously. He knew she could do it. Now all she had to do was trust herself, like she did before.
Presto moved with difficulty closer to Varla as the girl gripped her wand tightly in both hands and shut her eyes. The delicate stick began to glow faintly. Presto's stomach turned as the dim light finally enabled him to see her bruised face and head and her torn clothing. It was all he could do to keep himself from telling his daughter to forget the whole thing; that she had already been hurt enough; that she would stay safe if she just stayed down here. Presto wondered for a moment if he would be able to use her wand -- to go up in her place. The thought disappeared quickly. No matter what they were to face up there, he couldn't justify leaving her down here alone. He moved behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder; the other tightly clutching his side again.
The soft glow of the wand surrounded them both as the Mystic concentrated on what she wanted it to do. Presto, as though it would help, whispered a few magic words of his own: "Winds that blow and sands that shift, we need to get topside, so give us a lift!" Whether his words actually supplied any assistance or not, the Mystic and the Magician soon felt their feet leave the ground. Presto applied gentle pressure to Varla's shoulder, encouraging her onward. They were almost to the top, but Varla wasn't about to look.
Even when their feet rested firmly on the ground in the room above the pit, she was reluctant to break her concentration, as though that would send them plummeting downward once more. It wasn't until Presto spoke that Varla finally opened her eyes to see what she had done. "Varla! You did it, Princess!"
The Mystic looked around as the wand's glow died down and almost whooped for joy at her success. Catching herself before she made any betraying noise, the girl instead turned to her father and hurled herself at him in a fervent hug. She felt Presto flinch and heard a stifled noise, like he was trying to hold in a painful grunt, and she immediately jumped back. "I thought you said you were okay!" She took her first look at her father and cringed at the deep purple welt on his head and the accompanying bloodied tear in the left sleeve of his robe. She could only imagine what his back and side must look like -- where he had landed -- as well as where she had landed on top of him. "Are you okay?" she prodded him for the truth, offering him one of the colorful scarves from her dress to use as a bandage for his bleeding arm.
Presto smiled at her simple gesture. "I will be," he assured her with a groan, accepting the colorful scarf with a comforting grin and allowing her to help him wrap his upper arm. Then he looked around. Uni was no longer in the room. Bane must have taken her to the courtyard. Either that, or it was all over. Presto forced himself not to think about the latter. "Come on," he grunted as he made for the door. "We've got a ceremony to stop."
Varla nodded and followed him, praying that they weren't too late.
* * *
The rumble still echoed through Mordreth's castle, and the thick dust that flooded the hallway after the ceiling came crashing down was enough to gag. Diana lie on her back with her eyes closed, but she didn't need to see the rubble around her to know that it must resemble the fallout of an earthquake or a cave-in. As the particles of dust entered her lungs, she heaved in a choking breath, but had difficulty expelling it due to the dead weight on top of her.
She writhed to turn to her side, and she felt the weight release; Eric rolling off of her and propping himself up on one elbow as Diana coughed out the tickling dust. He placed a hand on her back as she struggled to draw in air that was free of debris. "Are you all right?" he asked, following his question with a series of choking breaths himself.
Diana finally turned, bleary-eyed, back to him. "That was stupid, Eric. Really stupid."
"You're saying that like you're surprised!" Eric replied hoarsely, forcefully clearing his throat of the last of the dust.
Diana struggled to get to her knees, her entire body a mesh of aches and pains -- from her chest and stomach where Eric had plowed into her, to her back and head where she had hit the stone floor. She turned herself around so she would face him. "What you did," she gasped, "Could have gotten us both killed! Then where would that leave your son?"
Eric only shook his head. "Saving one person that I care about at the expense of another doesn't sit too well with me," he replied with uncharacteristic earnest.
Diana didn't speak, not even to ask him to clarify. She stared at him somberly for a moment, then wrapped her arms around his neck in a fervent hug, not caring that his returning embrace put painful pressure on her bruised back. "Thank you," she whispered. After a few seconds she pulled away and crawled toward the pile of rubble searching for her staff.
She found it in two pieces, the javelin clearly having snapped under the weight of the ceiling after Eric's tackle had forced her to let go. She grabbed the broken fragments of her weapon and fitted the splintered ends together. The jade glow illuminating from the staff fused the jagged ends, and the weapon was whole once more. She used it to raise herself painfully to her feet. The lump that was forming at the back of her head made her dizzy, but Diana did her best to ignore it.
Eric got up as well, and realized that his legs wouldn't stop shaking. After forcing his muscles to remain locked and stiff beneath him, they now quivered involuntarily from overuse. The Cavalier found himself moving like a beginning gymnast on a balance beam, conscious of every wobbly step he took as he walked over to where his shield had fallen. "Where's John?" he asked the Acrobat.
"I left him with Toby," she answered, hurrying over to Eric as fast as she could, leaning heavily upon her staff. "The two of them are back that way." She pointed toward the darkened hallway from which she had come.
The Cavalier glanced back at the pile of rubble behind them as he offered a shaky shoulder of support to Diana. "Well, we can't get out this door, anyway," he said. "Keep your eyes peeled for another way out on our way to get the boys."
Diana grinned as she gripped Eric's arm with one hand, in an attempt to give him the support he needed as well, and her staff with the other. "Is your son going to be glad to see you!" she told him.
* * *
John pulled Toby along the hallway. The Fighter was wary about leaving the spot where Diana had left them, but at the same time he was concerned that if they stayed put, they were just asking for more Orc soldiers to find them. Making their way through the halls at least made them moving targets; more importantly, they were now armed moving targets. And if they walked in the direction that John pointed out as the one that would lead them to the others, then maybe they would even get there in time to help. It had been far too long already.
Toby's hand clamped down on the Squire's shoulder at the sight of the next corner and drew the boy back a bit. "What?" John asked quietly.
"Orcs maybe," Toby whispered back as he eyed a large moving shadow cast upon the wall ahead of them. The Fighter uncoiled his whip and held it ready as he instructed John to stay beside him. The elongated shadow grew a bit smaller every moment and Toby knew that meant that whatever it was, . . . it was heading toward them; drawing nearer to the corner. He held his breath and waited.
He released that breath in a sigh of relief upon seeing what he had thought to be one large Orc soldier actually materialize into two smaller figures as Eric and Diana rounded the corner, leaning heavily on each other. John bobbed impatiently at the Fighter's side before rushing forward, calling out to Eric. "Dad!"
Eric's ears caught the sound and he abruptly lifted his head and pulled away from Diana, forgetting for a moment about his unsteady legs and stumbling to the floor after the first few steps of an awkward, staggering run. John, however, was by his side in an instant. Eric smiled at him and said the only thing he could think of by way of a greeting, "Hey, Sport." He then grabbed his son in a fervid embrace.
Diana grinned and caught the eye of her nephew. The two exchanged a knowing smile before the Fighter walked over to receive a hug from her as well.
"How did you find us, Dad?" John finally asked.
Eric shrugged as he pulled away from the boy. "Didn't I tell you I would come to one of your things?" John flashed a huge smile, which Eric returned. "Granted, it's not a hockey game, but it's a start."
John was overjoyed. Even though they were still surrounded by the bleakness of Mordreth's castle, he had never felt better in his life. He looked up at Diana and smiled, a smile of sincere thanks, which she returned warmly. His eyes caught sight of something on their way back to his father -- the Cavalier's shield. He stared long and hard at it, or, more specifically, at the griffin head that adorned it, until Eric followed his gaze. Both then focused their vision on the identical crest blazoned upon John's tabard and medallion.
Eric grinned wearily. "Who's your tailor?" he asked as he tousled his son's hair.
Eric shook his head with a smirk and attempted to stand, leveraging himself slightly with John's shoulder. "Well, let's go, 'Squire,'" he announced with a grunt as he rose to his feet. John scrambled to pick up the Cavalier's shield and Eric chuckled, seemingly no longer in pain and even touched by the boy's eagerness. He smiled broadly and looked at all of them. "We need to find a way out of here."
And he turned.
The Cavalier's smile quickly melted as he found himself staring into a set of hollow skeletal eyes, lit only by two scarlet bulbs of light. Before he could shout for everyone to get back, Mordreth's massive hand shot forward and closed around his throat. Eric only had enough time to shove John away from him before the Dark Lord lifted him off the floor.
"No!" John screamed at the top of his lungs as Diana simultaneously commanded both boys to take cover. The Squire was rooted by terror and the Acrobat literally had to shove him toward Toby as she drew her staff up for fighting. Eric clawed at the huge hand that encircled his neck, kicking wildly, trying to feel some scrap of floor beneath his feet. He managed to open one eye to glare at the Dark Lord before him, who held him at arm's length with a vicious smile spread across his skeletal face. Mordreth squeezed tighter and the Cavalier's vision was corrupted by tears and a swell of blackened spots. Yet he continued his struggle.
Diana rushed forward, swinging her extended javelin over her head with a wild cry. She jammed it into the floor and hoisted herself over Mordreth's head, pivoting on the balls of her feet as she landed and swinging the staff toward the Dark Lord with all her strength.
He caught it.
As the javelin soared toward the back of Mordreth's head, he reached back and caught it, straight-armed, not the least bit fazed by the force that Diana put behind her thrust. Diana stared wide-eyed as the Dark Lord of Destruction turned his head downward toward her, his smile widening. "These are the Young Ones who defeated my Master's first champion?" he snarled. "I had hoped for something more."
Diana glanced down in time to see the large gauntleted hand holding her javelin begin to glow with a fiery energy, but not in enough time to react. A surge of power traveled up her staff and speared through the Acrobat's body as though she had been gripping a lightning rod in an electrical storm. She screamed, but couldn't pry her fingers away from the volted javelin. The world faded into black as Diana gritted her teeth and struggled with consciousness. She still couldn't see anything when she felt Mordreth pull his arm forward then back swiftly, taking her with it like a game of snap-the-whip, and sending her tumbling across the floor. He then turned his attention back to Eric. "You are even more foolish than the pathetic inhabitants of this Realm," his hellish voice rumbled at the Cavalier. "At least they do not come searching for their doom."
"Hey, Bonehead!" Toby shouted and struck out with his whip, snapping it around Mordreth's waist. He attempted to pull his enemy off balance when the Dark Lord's hand clamped around the lash, pulling it taut. The Fighter glanced down in surprise when the rigid whip suddenly seemed to writhe in his hands. Toby found himself gripping the tail end of a black serpent where his weapon used to be, and stiffened in fright. Mordreth, gripping the hissing head of the snake, flung it, fangs bared, toward the youth. Toby recoiled with a strangled cry and dropped his weapon, stumbling backward into John. The moment his fingers released the viperous serpent, it crumpled to the floor -- a whip once again. Toby stared at it in disbelief. An illusion!
Diana fought the need to pass out tooth and nail, forcing her eyes to remain open and seeing nothing but dancing stars and a swirling haze as she struggled to drag herself back toward Mordreth and the Cavalier. The evil one glanced down at her again. "Annoying insect," he growled.
He loosened his grip on Eric's throat momentarily, as though getting some kind of perverse pleasure out of giving the Cavalier the presence of mind to see what he was about to do, then released the electric energy yet again, this time charging the ground all around the Acrobat. Eric tried to yell out to her, but could only manage a guttural strangled sound as he continued to pry at Mordreth's grip.
The constant stream of voltage coursing through her made it pointless to scream. Diana painfully grit her teeth and clawed at the stone floor beneath her. She could visibly see the blue electricity rippling up and down her limbs; every second that she remained on that floor bringing with it a fresh shock. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Toby moving. "GET BACK!" she cried, before collapsing in a nerveless heap.
John clutched his father's shield and stood beside a raging Toby as both boys kept their distance from the electric floor. Regardless of Diana's warning, the Fighter tried desperately to find a way to her. One step on the stones near her feet sent a jolt through the boy that propelled him back toward John. The Dark Lord turned a vacuous eye toward them. "Fear not, young fools," he growled. "It shall soon be your turn."
"W-what are we going to do?" John cried as he watched helplessly.
"I DON'T KNOW!" Toby screamed in desperation. "Aunt Di! Aunt Di, ANSWER ME!"
The boys' desperate cries seemed to satiate Mordreth and he reveled in listening to them as he turned back to Eric. "The meddlesome Young Ones have caused my Master a great deal of trouble in the past, Cavalier," he rumbled, his voice quiet, but deeper than the depths of Hades itself. "Fitting that you and your accursed friends and offspring have returned to the Realm in time to share its fate!"
Eric wrenched and twisted at the hand that dangled him above the floor. His eyes burned at the evil being before him. Strangely, he felt no emotions similar to the ones he may have felt at another time in his life. There was no fear. None. Only rage -- pure, unadulterated rage. "I am disappointed," Mordreth mused. "No proud words, Cavalier?"
Eric's facial features trembled as he glared hotly at the evil creature. ". . . Go to hell, . . . you son of a--" His last words were choked out of him as the Dark Lord tightened his grip, completely cutting off Eric's wind.
"I did not think so," the creature sneered.
"DAD!" John frantically scanned the room for something -- anything. His line of vision fell to the Fighter's whip that lay in a discarded pile on the ground. Then to Diana. His eyes widened suddenly. "Toby, can you use your whip to get that?"
Toby's eyes followed the Squire's pointing finger to where Diana's staff lay on the floor beside her. He reached for his weapon but hesitated for a moment, his trembling fingers mere inches from it, almost expecting it to morph back into its serpentine form. He grit his teeth and forced himself to snatch it up quickly, thrusting it forward, grappling around the javelin, and flinging it back toward him. It clattered at John's feet. "Now what?"
John gripped the staff tightly and examined it. The poker-straight javelin was far from ideal, but it would have to do. He yanked the golden disk from around his neck, dropping it to the ground in front of him, and leveraged it at a slight angle with the tip of his boot.
"John!" Toby cried incredulously. "What do you think you're doing?!"
"Just an old fashioned slap shot," the boy muttered as he raised Diana's staff in a backswing. "Hey, Skull Face!" he called out to Mordreth, then brought the staff down against his medallion with as much force as he could, sending it sailing toward their enemy.
Mordreth looked up, surprised, in time for the medallion to strike him squarely in the skull and send him floundering and falling back, dropping Eric in the process and killing the magic that had been electrifying the stone around Diana.
As soon as the Cavalier hit the floor, both boys were running again, Toby toward Diana and John toward his father. The Squire stopped suddenly, his attention drawn to a luminescence at his belt -- at his empty scabbard. He looked at Eric and began running once more.
The Cavalier tried desperately to scramble away from Mordreth before the Dark Lord recovered, while at the same time trying to find a moment to gasp and choke for air. He wasn't being very successful in either case. Out of the corner of his bleary eye, he saw Mordreth moving again from where he had fallen and croaked out an order for somebody to get him his shield. Eric felt a weapon pressed into his hand, but it was not the leather straps that he was accustomed to slipping over his arm. It was something else -- long and heavy. He managed to squint his eyes into focus on it.
A sword.
What in the world? He looked up at John who was hovering over him. "Where did you get this?" he demanded hoarsely as he struggled to his knees, with the help of the blade. He turned on his hands and knees to face the recuperating Dark Lord with his son behind him.
"I-It's yours," the boy muttered, his mouth dry as a desert as he watched Mordreth rise.
Eric snapped his head back to look at John briefly. "I don't think so, John," he gasped as he fought to stand. "My only weapon was the shield. Where did you find this?"
"I think I always had it," John replied hurriedly, "In an empty holster in my belt. Venger said it would show up when it was needed." He stared in terror at Mordreth, who was straightening to his full height. The fiery bulbs in his eye sockets were brighter than before; a newly formed, black fissure snaked down the front of his skull where John's medallion had struck him. He raised a glowing hand to the pair in front of him. "I'd say we need your sword now!" the boy added.
Eric gripped it tightly but awkwardly in both hands as he eyed Mordreth. He had no idea how to use this thing. He didn't even know where it came from or what it could do. "Son," he breathed in a unsure voice, "It's not my--"
"It has to be!" John insisted in a quiet whimpery sob. "It has to be because . . . I . . . I think I'm your squire!"
Eric cast a sideways look at his son, a boy who meant more to him than anything in the world -- in any world. A boy who was, quite possibly, the only thing for whom Eric would willingly travel back down a road he would have gladly left behind. A boy who, like Cassie had told him, needed to know how much Eric really loved him. The Cavalier would protect this boy . . . even if it meant using a weapon with which he was unfamiliar . . . even a weapon that had come from Venger . . . because it had also come from his son; his squire.
Eric would protect all four of them with another weapon as well. One of his own that, likewise, always seemed to appear from nowhere whenever he needed it most -- even as a spoiled teenager when it seemed so against his character. His courage. And he would do so to his dying breath. The Cavalier wrapped his fingers tightly around the hilt of the long silver blade with steely determination and girded himself for what was to come. "Get behind me," he ordered.
John did as he was told just as Mordreth's magic began speeding toward them. Eric locked his legs at shoulder width and held the unfamiliar weapon aloft, then made a sudden 90 degree turn, dragging John with him as the magic swept past them. Both could feel the violent freeze radiating from the icy blue blast as it soared by and hit the wall, blowing part of it away. The Cavalier's gaze focused on where John had previously dropped the shield.
"This sword won't do any good if I can't get close enough to use it!" he said as Mordreth readied another attack. He looked toward a shallow pile of rocks that the Dark Lord's magic had blasted out of the wall. "You head for those at the next attack," he commanded the boy. "I've gotta get my shield!"
"But--" John began to protest, but was cut off by Mordreth's magic. Eric separated from his son, pushing him toward the rocks to hide as he made a break for his shield. The Cavalier turned as the Dark Lord started formulating another spell, stepping cautiously back and trying to get Mordreth to focus on him -- away from John and away from Toby who was attempting to move the limp Diana. Eric shuddered as he took a brief second to look at her, before turning his attention back to Mordreth. The Dark Lord regarded Eric with a snarl and raised his hand again. The Cavalier turned and bolted for his shield.
As soon as Eric's back was turned, Mordreth refocused his attack, striking out toward the Squire before the youth could reach the rock pile. John swerved and screamed as the force from the blast sent him sailing to the floor, dazed and helpless without his medallion.
Eric turned his head at John's cry. The boy's plight was grave, but in a few more steps the protection of Eric's shield would be within reach -- and the Cavalier couldn't defend either one of them without it. He made a few more reluctant steps toward the downed weapon as he turned again to see Mordreth take a menacing step toward John, his hand aglow once more.
Screw it!
Eric's feet awkwardly slid from beneath him, as though he was running on ice, as he abandoned his shield and abruptly changed direction. Catching himself with one hand on the stone floor, he stumbled back onto his feet and charged toward where his enemy had John trapped.
Mordreth sneered viciously. "Farewell, young fool," he rumbled as he released the energy at the panicked boy.
Eric slid between them as the spell struck, sword thrust out in a horizontal parry; not knowing if it could save both of them, but not caring, as long as his son behind him remained unharmed. He screamed an involuntary curse as the power of the magic striking the sword numbed his hands, staggering him. Then turned his head as a flash of white light blinded his vision.
The sword suddenly pulsed in his grip, burning with the magic that had struck it but, miraculously, not going any further. Eric looked up and squinted at the throbbing radiance as the Archmage's spell, which had been raining upon the new sword, suddenly changed color from an icy blue to a brilliant white and remained trapped within the blade.
Mordreth seemed just as surprised as Eric for the briefest of seconds, then raised his hand again with a predatory snarl. The Cavalier did not want to give the evil creature time to act. Wailing, he swiped awkwardly and blindly through the air with the magic-charged sword as another flash of brilliant white forced his eyes to squeeze shut once more. Eric heard a malevolent roar and opened one eye as he suddenly felt the pulsing magic rush out of the sword and speed toward his enemy. It surrounded Mordreth like an orb; he a dark nucleus trapped in a circle of white.
Eric stared in disbelief from the orb to the sword in his choking grip; a sword that suddenly dematerialized in his hand in a swirl of pale white light and shot toward the confines of John's scabbard, disappearing inside and leaving it empty once more. Eric waved his hand over the opening of the barren sheath, but the blade did not appear again. He turned back to stare at the imprisoned Archmage, muttered something inaudible and collapsed against John, finally gasping for air. The boy wrapped his arms around his father's neck and shoulders.
A bright flash and a rumbling quake shocked them back to alertness. The Lord of Destruction continued to thunder inside his spherical prison until he succeeded at punching a hole through its surface. Eric scrambled to sit up straight and turned to John to grip the sword again. The weapon remained invisible and dormant, as though it had never been there at all. "Damn it!" Eric swore under his breath as he turned his head to where Mordreth was struggling to free himself. "Come on! Come on!"
The Dark Lord's arm hung limply from the cavity in the orb for a moment, clearly weakened from casting spell after spell to puncture through the enchanted wall around him, especially since the white magic redirected all of his spells back at him -- just as it had done when it struck Eric's sword. He now raised his hand toward them, a violent icy flame engulfing it.
Eric turned desperately back to John. "Get it back here!" he shouted, motioning toward the sheath.
"I-I can't!" the boy insisted. "I don't know how I did it before! It just appeared!"
Eric stared, panic-stricken, at the Archmage's glowing fist. He looked to his shield, several long yards away, convinced that he would never reach it in time. "You shall not leave here alive!" Mordreth's voice rang in his ears. "I shall see to that!" Eric pushed John further behind him.
The flash of light that met their eyes was not Mordreth's magic however, but the glowing white orb itself as something struck it, causing it to crack. The backlash of the sword's condensed, spherical magic, suddenly loose, reacted with Mordreth's evil energy again, creating a terrific explosion that banished the Dark Lord from their sight. His rumbling roar could be heard echoing in their ears, even after his form had vanished.
Eric looked to his right. Diana had collapsed onto all fours; spent after using all the strength she could muster to hurl her javelin at the glowing orb to crack it. She breathed heavily as she attempted to straighten up and sit back on her haunches with Toby's help. She waved the boy over to where her staff had fallen and he ran for it. As she attempted to stand, she faltered, but Eric was already there, keeping her from falling flat again. He wrapped his arms around her and, for a moment, he didn't care how awkward things were between them. He just wanted to hold her . . . and thank God that she was alive.
Diana raised a shaky hand and gripped his shoulder, wincing in pain. He caught a brief whiff of ozone from the electricity that remained as an aftereffect of Mordreth's spell. "Haven't felt this drained since Starfall," she muttered, trying to dismiss the inexorable ache that she felt both inside and out. Her flesh still crawled and her insides felt on fire.
"Are you all right, Aunt Di?" Toby asked as he returned with her javelin.
Diana smiled grimly and reached out a quivering hand to grasp the staff. She managed to shrink it down and tuck it into her belt. "Let's put it this way," she murmured as she attempted a weak laugh, "You know how your grandfather likes to tell that story every Christmas about how your dad shocked himself when your Uncle Matthew dared him to stick one of the metal ornaments in the wall socket?" Toby nodded. "Well," she continued, "I am never, never laughing at that story again!" Toby grinned soberly.
"W-where did he go?" John asked as he approached the others, looking around apprehensively for Mordreth.
"Don't know," Eric responded, winded, as he hugged Diana tighter -- an action that was not lost on his young son. "Don't care."
"One thing's for sure though," Diana added, "If he's anything like Venger was, it won't be long before he comes back. We should make ourselves scarce." And the Acrobat struggled against Eric to lift herself.
A not-too-distant battle cry sounded in the Cavalier's ears -- the clamor of approaching Orcs. "No time for that," he announced as he struggled to his feet and scooped Diana up into his arms, squelching her attempt to stand on her own. "You can be mad at me for this later," he said in response to her groan of protest. "Right now we gotta go!" Eric's legs were shaky themselves, but he didn't seem burdened by her weight. Probably just the adrenaline, he thought as he turned to John. "Get that for me and let's move!" he called, gesturing toward his shield.
The Squire ran for his father's weapon, then raced over to search for his own. Toby had beaten him to it and snatched up the golden disk from where it had fallen -- where Mordreth used to be. The Fighter shook his head with a smile as he held the makeshift "puck" out to John. "And you thought your weapon wouldn't kick butt! I'm impressed, John," he took a moment to say. "You did good, pal. Really good!"
John took the medallion and slipped it back around his neck, grinning at Toby's gesture. "This from the guy who didn't think I could do things for myself!" he said as he ran along beside the Fighter, following Eric and Diana.
"I stand corrected," Toby replied, "You must be one hell of a hockey player!"
Eric rounded into the next hallway and skidded to a stop. He saw shadows of approaching Orcs from around the corner in front of them. Diana turned her attention to a narrow window to their left. It looked like an arrow slit window, but a tad wider. For defending the fortress? Not that anyone in their right mind would dream of attacking this place. Well, she thought with a hint of rueful amusement, Present company an exception, naturally! The important thing was, the window looked wide enough for a human being to squeeze through and, thankfully, too narrow for an Orc. She gripped Eric's shoulder to get him to look at it as Toby and John appeared behind them.
"The green guys are coming at us from behind, too, Mr. Montgomery," Toby announced to Eric.
"Put me down," Diana instructed the Cavalier. "There's a ledge out there. If I can vault to it--"
"Not on your life!" Eric countered.
"But, Eric, I can--"
"Aunt Di!" Toby cut in as he brushed past everyone, "This is my department!" The Fighter uncurled his whip and snapped it once. Then, drawing back, he sent it out the window toward the narrow outcropping that Diana had spotted. It extended until it reached the target and grappled around it. Toby gave it a tug to test its hold.
"Everybody grab on!" he instructed. Each one gripped a section of the lash, Eric doing so one-handed so he could keep his other arm around Diana's waist. The Acrobat managed to hold on as well, with trembling fingers, and all of them, one by one, mounted the windowsill and swung out into the open air, tightly gripping Toby's whip. The Fighter went last, holding the whip by its handle so as to control their descent, and the four dangled loosely in the howling wind that snaked through the turrets of Mordreth's castle.
Toby spotted the Orcs as they appeared in the window, spears raised. "Going down," he announced as the whip began lowering them to the ground, the wind blowing them in a circling spiral as they descended. When all had touched down on terra firma, Toby flicked his wrist up, loosening the whip from where it had grappled around the ledge, and pulling it back to him as it shrank back down to its natural length. It wreathed itself and the Fighter reattached it to his hip. "Ground floor, ladies and gentlemen," he proclaimed. "Let's move out!"
Eric lifted Diana up again, much to her annoyance. "I am seriously going to kill you, Cavalier," she droned.
"Just until we get far enough away," he returned, glancing back at the window above in case the Orcs were still determined to take aim at them with those spears.
"Where are we going, Dad?" John asked as he jogged alongside his father, holding the Cavalier's shield reverently.
"Back to where we came from," Eric replied. "Back to Tardos Keep. I only hope that's where the others are headed, too."
* * *
Presto eased along the wall with Varla beside him. The fact that they hadn't run into any Orc soldiers so far was both good and bad news. Good -- because it left them able to return to the courtyards undetected; Bad -- because the yard was probably were all the Orcs were, gathered there to witness Bane's ceremony; Even worse -- there was a possibility that it was already past noon and that they were too late. Presto felt it best not to mention the latter to his daughter.
"Do you really think we might be too late, Presto?" Varla asked worriedly.
The Magician shook his head with a heavy sigh. Holding back information from this girl was going to be like trying to keep a secret from the town gossip. "I don't know, Varla," he answered honestly, "But we're gonna do our best."
As the two drew nearer to the archway that emptied out into the courtyard, they slowed and cautioned their pace. Presto kept one arm tightly wrapped around his ribs and waved Varla behind him with the other before bringing it up to rebalance his broken glasses as he stopped and peeked around the corner.
He managed a brief sigh of partial relief. Uni was there, still tethered, still struggling, but most importantly, still Uni. Her feet were wearily sumping through the sludgy remains of the Dragonbane. They weren't too late, but the unicorn was in position and the time left could be anywhere from a matter of minutes to a matter of seconds. They had to do something now.
The Magician cursed the fact that he didn't have his hat. "Well," he muttered, "Guess we'll just have to do this the old fashioned way. Use our brains!"
"At least we're one up on them in that department," Varla quipped.
Presto smiled soberly and began to formulate a plan. He managed to spot Bane among the Orcs and noticed that the Dark Lord of the Plague had the magic hat draped over his belt. If there was a way to get to it . . . .
"Varla," he said, "Do you think you can create a diversion long enough for me to get out there?"
The girl poked her head around the corner in the direction that Presto was pointing and blanched at the sight. Countless Orcs filled the courtyard, not to mention Bane himself at the front. "No way!" she breathed. "I can't do that!"
"Varla, listen to me," Presto urged, "I think I have an idea, but I still need to get my hat back. If you can keep them distracted from here, I'll be able to go out there and help Uni."
"B-but I want to go with you!" Varla stammered.
"This is more important, Varla," Presto insisted. "If you can do something to draw their focus, I think we might just have a shot."
"Okay," the Mystic surrendered reluctantly and backed farther into the darkened hallway; far enough that she could still see Bane and the hat without being spotted herself. Once she was tucked away in the shadows, Presto eased around the corner and into the courtyard, thankful that the Orcs were paying more attention to their master than to anything else. "Be careful, Daddy," Varla whispered after him.
The Magician ducked behind the remains of a fountain, keeping his eyes on Bane as the Dark Lord's hands began to glow and formulate the evil energy to infect Uni. The unicorn thrashed weakly. Presto eyed the hat at Bane's waist, and waited. Come on, Varla, he thought. If you're gonna do this do it fast!
Presto shifted his weight as he crouched in his hiding place, momentarily forgetting about his battered ribs. They reminded him quite emphatically of their presence and the Magician did his best to suppress a startled grunt of pain -- not successfully enough.
The two nearest Orcs turned at the sound and Presto froze, mentally willing them not to move; to ignore him instead. Their Orcish sense of mindless duty and suspicion won out and they began to advance on the fountain to inspect the noise. Presto gulped and shrank down as far as his aching body would allow. He risked a look back to Bane and the hat. Come on, Varla, do your thing! he thought, `Cause I think I'm about to have company!
* * *
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Author's Notes: I suppose the Cavalier had to get a sword at some point! (Now that he's old enough not to impale himself with it! *G*) I thought it would be an interesting touch, but it is certainly not intended to make Eric into a one-man fighting machine. (God, no!) The Cavalier has a bit of hero in him but he's definitely not He-Man! I had wanted to make a concrete representation of that courageous part of him that emerges when needed most. And, of course, he does need to depend on someone else to make it work. (When it decides it wants to work, that is!)
On Another Note: Kudos to Fanfiction.Net for overcoming the difficulty plaguing their site a few weeks ago! It's great to see the place up and running smoothly again. This author certainly thanks you for all that you do! Here's to continuous success!
To be continued! . . .