Chapter 4

The Race to the End.

Presto trudged onwards, hands tied behind his back. The Trogs had kept him walking for what felt like hours. He had no real sense of how much time had passed or how far he'd gone in these dank, depressing tunnels. It was also difficult to tell how many Trogs there were following behind, but he got the sense of hundreds of stomping feet as the noise echoed around the walls.

It difficult to keep optimistic under the circumstances; he was getting taken to "meet" the King Trog, and was worried about what was going to happen when he finally reached the Hall. But also he was anxious about Eric.

He desperately hoped the others would get the Cavalier out of that terrible place as soon as possible. The more of that stuff he drank, the more strange and disorientated he'd become. But the time Presto left, Eric had given up struggling. He was getting weaker with every drink and just lay, very still, on the floor of his cell only moving to be sick every so often. Presto hated seeing his best friend like that, but also he felt terrible knowing there was nothing he could do to help.

But he kept telling himself that Hank would know what to do, and wouldn't leave Eric at the mercy of the Trogs. OK, so those two had never really seen eye-to-eye, but the Ranger wouldn't let him suffer like that, no way! And as soon as they had the Cavalier, they would come after him.

He glanced round at his evil-smelling captors, wondering how they had gotten it into their small, lizard-like brains that Eric could "make" steel. The fact that he might have just worn it hadn't crossed their minds.

And just why the growing of steel was so important hadn't become clear until he'd been dragged of and shown to the whole Trog Clan, just before they'd left the Lair.

Steel seemed to be the whole basis of the Troglodyte culture, such as it was, and the Clan with the most steel were the ones with absolute control. Now they had (or thought they had) a human who could "make" steel for them, they were going to be the ones in charge!

The Trog Leader had made a special point of telling his comrades, in gruesomely graphic detail, exactly what would happen when Eric had "made" enough steel for a revolution. Just thinking about it made Presto nauseous again. If they were capable of doing THAT sort of thing to their own kind, what were they going to do to the poor ol' Cavalier when they discovered he couldn't make steel?

The Magician had realised that when the Trogs got back, they anticipated lots of lovely steel, and Presto then started to get seriously worried. There was no way Eric was gonna talk his way out of that one!

And even more frustratingly, instead of being able to help he had been dragged off to this dumb King-person's banquet. The only thing he could do was just hope that Hank and the others had gotten the Cavalier out before the Trogs discovered their mistake.

Meantime, all he had to do was 'entertain the King'. That doesn't sound too difficult! (Yes, but what are you gonna "entertain" him with?) Oh. (Yes. Exactly. "Oh!")

But at least he did have his Hat. It had taken him a long time to realise that they had tucked the Hat into his belt before leaving the Lair, presumably so he looked nice for the King. But that didn't help. First, his hands were tied behind his back, but more importantly, Presto still couldn't bring himself to use the Hat again. It just didn't feel right to use it. It was so powerful and so dangerous, he couldn't control it and hardly ever got it to do what he wanted. He didn't ever want to use it again.

(Ever is a long time, Presto)

Well, maybe not ever, but this was a dangerous situation and using the Hat would probably just make things worse. It was not a chance he was gonna take, unless he really, really, REALLY had to.

Thinking about his weapon did nothing to help his mood, and he kept his spirits up by imagining his friends following the Trogs, trying to find him in the dark tunnels. So he kept dragging his feet, hoping to leave a trail and managed to keep going.

Eventually, after a long time in the dark, there were more scuffing noises from ahead, and everyone stopped. A sudden hope appeared in the Magician. Perhaps it was Hank!

The Clan took up a defensive stance, with their spears at the ready. He thought of escape, but the two Trog guards weren't taking any chances. Keeping very quiet, he waited, but instead of seeing a golden arrow bursting through the dark, all he heard were more grunts; disgruntled grunts at that.

'Clan Four,' hissed the Trog on his left. 'Huh! Stupid Gnome-eaters! They're lost again!'

More Trogs? From a different Clan; a rival Clan? Presto stayed very still, wondering what would happen next.

There were more grunts and whispers for a very long time, as the two Leaders argued about what was going to happen. Then another slave was shoved forward, also with two Guards, and the whole group moved off again.

It was a man, at least five years older than Hank. Tall, with torn clothes, he was also securely tied and looked at Presto with a wary frown. There was a vague feeling of familiarity about him, but the Magician dismissed it.

There was no opportunity to talk as they marched onwards, but eventually the Trogs decided a break was needed and Presto and the man were shoved against a wall as the Trogs rested.

Presto sank to the ground, grateful for the chance to stop. The man moved to sit beside him.

'H-hi,' said the Magician nervously. 'I'm Presto.'

The man nodded.

'And I am Smar,' he said.

That name, it was familiar for some reason, and the Magician wrinkled his forehead, trying to think. He had met him before, somewhere. Umm. Where? I know it, I do…(Shall I give you a clue?) Clue? I don't need a clue… … …Oh, ok, I do need a clue…(Think mushrooms, think dragons, think mercha…)

'Of course!' he said, a little too loudly, as one of the Trogs turned and hissed at him.

'Of course,' he said more quietly, 'the merchants we met by the Mushroom Forest! You're their new leader!'

He and his friends had just defeated the Stone Dragon they'd met in the Mushroom Forest, and were crossing the Plane towards another possible portal. The Merchants were on their way to the nearby village, and had given them food and an opportunity to rest in safety.

The man nodded again.

'You are one of Dungeonmaster's Star Pupils.' The man looked at his robes with a light frown. 'And yet, I do not remember you as the Magician.'

Presto gave a half smile. It was going to be difficult to explain what had happened, and he didn't really like thinking about it. They all gotten their identities and weapons swapped round by that dumb Wish, and he'd made a truly awful Acrobat.

'The Warlock's Castle was destroyed,' said Smar. 'And I believe we have you and your friends to thank.' Presto couldn't help blushing. 'We heard that the brave Ranger duelled with both the Warlock and Venger, and banished them!' The Magician frowned. It hadn't been like that at all, but trying to explain was not gonna be easy.

'There were some who did not trust that the Pupils of Dungeonmaster could challenge the Warlock and win,' continued Smar quietly. 'I was one, I am afraid to say. But you succeeded! And we could return home, free from the tyranny of the Warlock and his Dark Elves.'

Presto smiled. He was glad that they fight against the Warlock hadn't been a complete disaster. They'd come within just a few seconds of going through the portal in the Lightning Forest, and if it hadn't been for Eric, they would have been home.

The thought of the Cavalier made Presto worry again. He hoped Eric was OK. Hank would get to him in time, then come and free the other Trog slaves. Hank wouldn't let them down.

'My friends will come and help,' Presto said. 'I know they will.'

Smar gave a big grin.

'You fill me with hope, Magician. And I wish to shake your Ranger's hand.'

'Well, you know…' started Presto, but he didn't continue. Not only did Smar look like he wasn't listening, the Magician realised he didn't want to explain. Hopefully, the man would just forget about it. Instead, he asked:

'What's gonna happen to us? Do you know?'

Smar's grin vanished.

'Yes Magician, I do. Every year, the Troglodyte King demands the best slave from each Clan to be given to him, as a Pledge of honour and trust.' The way Smar spat those last words out just reinforced what Presto thought about Trogs. 'They take slaves from the lands above, especially Dwarves. They hate Dwarves in particular.'

'But I didn't see any others,' said the Magician.

'They would be kept somewhere secure,' replied Smar. 'And out of sight.'

'Figures,' said Presto. 'I didn't exactly get the guided tour.' His new friend looked confused at the reference, but didn't ask. 'Why don't they try and escape?'

Smar's top lip twitched.

'The Trogs are vicious creatures. If one were to escape, all the others would be eaten as punishment. No one dares try. They are too afraid.'

'That's terrible!' said Presto, 'All of them?'

Smar nodded.

'Yet it is very effective. Not one slave has ever made it out alive, once they are in a Trog cell.' He gave a mirthless smile. 'It is said that the only way out of a Trog cell is in a pot.'

Presto gulped.

'P-pot?'

Smar didn't bother to nod.

'So, Pledges don't sound too bad after all,' said Presto as hopefully as he could.

'But we are not much better off than those we left behind,' Smar said with a sigh. 'Whether it is by a Trog Clan, or the Trog King, we are all still eaten.'

'What!' said Presto. 'It's in the pots for us all anyway?'

Smar nodded.

Entertain the King…(Not sounding so good now, is it?) It's not the entertainment I had in mind!

There was a grim silence. So he was gonna get eaten. How many times had that almost happened to him since they arrived in the Realm? They'd almost been lunch for some creature or other almost every second day. But what was really depressing wasn't so much the fact that he was gonna end up on the wrong side of a dinner table, it was that he wasn't even surprised any more. This place was definitely getting to him. The Trogs close by shifted a little. Their rest wasn't gonna last much longer.

'What I don't understand,' said Presto eventually, 'is why they got so worked up about making steel?'

The man caught his breath.

'Making steel?' said Smar urgently 'What do you know! Tell me!'

'Me and a friend were captured last night. They think he can make steel. What are they…'

The man was looking around nervously. The Guards were starting to look restless. They would be moving again soon. But when Smar next spoke, his voice was almost too quiet to hear.

'This friend? He made steel? For the Clan?'

Presto shook his head.

'No,' he whispered back, 'they made a mistake. Eric was wearing steel armour, and he had a steel Shield, and they just thought he "made" it.' It was making even less sense each time he thought about it. But Smar was looking worried. 'What's it all about?'

'There is a Prophecy,' Smar told him. 'These creatures love steel, they think of it all the time. They believe there is someone, a human, who can "create" steel. The Clan who owns such a human would be invincible. That is why they take humans from above.'

'Eric?'

The man nodded.

'But they're wrong! Eric can't make steel, he just wore it!'

'When the Trogs discover this, your friend will be in very great danger.'

Presto hesitated. He didn't really want to know, but he had to ask anyway.

'They fed him this stuff, a drink. Do you know…?' Presto stopped. The look on the other man's face was frightening.

'H-he drank it? T-the Water of the Trogs?'

Presto sighed.

'He didn't have a lotta choice. They forced him.'

The man looked shaken.

'The Water of the Trogs is not made for us humans to drink,' said Smar carefully. Presto waited but the other man didn't say anything else, and the expression on his face made the Magician very glad of his ignorance. But, before he could think of another question, the Trogs nearby started to stand. It was time to go, and they wouldn't get the chance to talk again.

As the Trog Guards pulled him up and pushed him forward, Presto thought back to the condition Eric was in with that same, terrible sinking feeling. There was no way Eric was gonna be able to do anything to stop the Trogs.

Hank and the others were his only hope.


They travelled all day, towards the biggest mountain, and hopefully Presto.

Following their noses, they and had found a Trog entrance hole, stinking as usual. In spite of the danger that they might have met more Trogs, they had all gone in this time, even the reluctant unicorn, and were moving down towards the centre of the mountain.

Hank was guiding them forward, praying he had read the tracks correctly. It was desperately slow going. The glow from the weapons added to the dim torchlight, but every time the found some marks in the mud, but they couldn't be sure which way they were heading, there were too many footprints. He drove them on ruthlessly, not even allowing any breaks for food or water. But, even as they went, he knew it wasn't going to work.

They weren't gonna make it in time, there was too much ground to cover. Presto was gonna end up in the Hall before they could reach him.

He cursed himself.

This was all going wrong. They weren't going to reach Presto in time to help, and he'd left Eric behind…He'd made the wrong call.

Bobby, Uni and Diana walked ahead, keeping a close look out for any sign of more Trogs, or Presto. Sheila was walking at the very back, her head bowed. She wouldn't even look at him.

Finally, Hank couldn't stand it any longer. This had to be one of the worst times of Hank's life; not only was he haunted by the worry he only chose to go after Presto because of that stupid argument with the Cavalier last night, but he'd managed to hurt Sheila in the process. He hated seeing her so unhappy, so he slowed and fell into step beside her. When she looked up at him, he could see the glint of fresh tears.

They walked for a while in silence, but eventually the Thief spoke.

'Did you know this was gonna happen, Hank?' she asked. 'Did you know what they would do?'

He couldn't lie to her, but he couldn't bring himself to explain.

'No. Not really,' he said.

'Not really…but…' she prompted. He remembered the Amazons words once again: they're the worst sort of evil, vicious carnivores that it's been my misfortune to meet in this crappy place. If that wasn't a warning about how dangerous they were, what was?

'I didn't know what they would do,' he paused, 'but I knew they were cruel. And Evil. And capable of almost anything.'

There were more tears in her eyes. He hated himself for hurting her like this.

'You should have told me,' she said. 'You should have trusted me.'

She didn't say it bitterly, but he could tell she was very upset.

'Look, Sheila, I thought it was for the best.'

Her scowl hurt more than he'd excepted.

'For the best? You had no right to make that choice, Hank! I was the one who had to…' she stopped. 'I turned my back on him, Hank. I left him behind to die. You should have told me what you knew, then, at least I might have been prepared.'

Hank felt his stomach lurch. He didn't know which part he hated himself for more; leaving the Cavalier or getting Sheila into this situation.

'He's not gonna die,' said Hank, putting an arm round he shoulder. But that wasn't what Dungeonmaster had said: there will only be time to help one…Oh God, what have I done?

He forced himself to think of the rest of the riddle, they certainly had no allies, they hadn't seen anyone since they'd left Mindril, but what about the key to their trust? What did a key matter, if they couldn't find anyone? The riddle made no sense. It was no comfort to think of all the times the riddles had eventually made sense, as this time, the Ranger had the terrible feeling he wasn't going to figure it out in time. If he didn't, they were all gonna…

'Hey, Hank!' called Diana suddenly, distracting him from his depressing thoughts. She was pointing to the ground. Close to the wall, clear in the mud, was a Presto-sized boot-print, pointing the way they were heading.

Hank gave a big smile, relieved that at least they were going in the right direction. They still had to catch up with the Trog Clan, and figure out a way of freeing the Magician, but they had at least done one thing right. He gave Sheila's shoulder a quick squeeze.

'It will be OK,' Hank assured her, wishing he believed it himself. 'We'll help Presto and get back for Eric, you'll see.'

Sheila glared at him.

'But if you're wrong, Eric's gonna end up dead,' she said. 'And it's gonna be our fault!'


Aching. Afraid. Alone.

It was the story of his life these days! How many times had this happened recently? He couldn't even be bothered keeping count.

Eric was still sitting at the back of his cage, awaiting yet another visit from the Guard. Sheila had long since gone, along with any hope of help, but the Cavalier was very close to not caring anymore. He wasn't even sure why he'd said what he'd said to her. What had happened to his selfish attitude? What had happened to his looking-out-for-Number-One-attitude that had worked so well in the past? What had changed?

He gave a tiny scowl; that was such a dumb question! He already knew what had changed, but why was he doing this? Was it really just to prove a point to someone he'd probably never see again?

But ultimately it was the look on his best friend's face that had made it easy. How could the Magician be dumb enough to take the word "entertain" at face value, anyway? Presto would be very lucky not to end up as a Wizard sandwich, unless the others got to him first!

The Cavalier was ashamed he didn't have the courage to tell Presto outright what the Trogs obviously wanted him for. He couldn't face bringing Presto back down to earth like that; the Magician was having a hard enough time dealing with the Hat, without worrying about his own safety too. And at least Presto hadn't been fed that… stuff; it was making him feel strange, in a way he didn't like.

He had stopped being sick a few hours ago, which had pleased the Guard for a time. But over the past few hours, he'd noticed a change in the Trog. At first it had looked bored, but with each visit, it became increasingly angry and Eric knew time was running out fast.

It knew he didn't make steel. He knew, it knew. And it knew, he knew, it knew. How long it would be before the Guard finally decided he wasn't worth the effort was anybody's guess.

But not even that was the most pressing problem, as very soon it wasn't gonna matter what the Trog thought; Eric was gonna be unconscious if he drank any more. The liquid burned each time he swallowed some, and slowly it had gotten into his system, and it made the rest of him burn too. He could feel his body slowing down; it took an effort of will to focus on the ground or to even move his head.

He didn't know what was in it (and he NEVER wanted to find out), but it was toxic with a capital T.

Part of him, the more optimistic part, was all for giving up and hoping that somehow he survived. After all, that strategy had worked surprisingly well so far in the Realm, even against Demodragon. But the tiny part of him that took a more objective view was telling him that there wasn't gonna be a last minute rescue this time. His friends weren't suddenly gonna come bursting through the door to help him. He'd made sure of that himself.

Forcing himself to think and not panic, he tried to weight up the options. If he was going to do something, it would have to be now.

He knew he couldn't take much more of that stuff. This was his last chance. Any more and he was never going to recover. Logic won out over apathy and his hand formed into a fist: the decision was made. Even though he could hardly move, he was not going to stand for this any longer. The next time it showed it's face, that Trog Guard was gonna get a whole lot more than it bargained for.

He pushed himself up to kneeling, ignoring the numbness and nausea he got every time he moved. There was only one thing he could do.

It wasn't much of a plan; catch the Guard off balance and run, hopefully getting to the cage door first. It always left the key in the door, every time without fail. If he could get out first, he should be able to trap it.

Eric waited, trying to concentrate in spite of the sickness and the fear. He knew this was a long shot. He was feeling weak, and light-headed, and ached through to his soul. The Trog wasn't just gonna let him walk out without trying to stop him.

Sure, he'd been picked on and beaten up, but he'd never actually been in a real fight before. Not a proper, one-on-one brawl, and certainly not with something as big and strong as that overgrown lizard Guard. He'd watched from the sidelines, but had always managed to talk his way out of problems, one way or another.

This was different. There was only one way to get out of this.

He seemed to wait for hours before he heard the click of the lock and the bolt begin slid back on the main door.

Breath caught in the back of his throat. He'd never really noticed how big that thing was. This wasn't gonna work! But I've gotta try, he told himself. I have to try!

The Trog Guard lumbered over, unlocked the door of the cage and took two steps forward, reaching out to grab Eric by the arm, just as it had done each time before. Except this time, the Cavalier ducked just before it caught him and rolled sideways over the ground towards the open door.

The Guard hissed in anger and lunged after him. Eric managed to push himself standing and swung a right hook round as hard as he could at the Trog's face. It connected with an agonising crunch; Eric was sure he had broken his hand, but the Trog stumbled back, taken by surprise at the force. It only took a few seconds, but that was all the Cavalier need to reach the door, pull it shut and lock it, taking the key out too, just to be on the safe side.

Then he stumbled back against the wall, his hand throbbing, watching the enraged Trog try to break free.

It wasn't going to take him very long.

Eric gulped down air, trying to stop panicking. This hadn't been part of the plan, the Trog was supposed to stay in the cage. It wasn't supposed to break out! What was he gonna do now?

As it howled and hammered on the wooden bars of the cage, Eric staggered out of the door, pushing it shut, but knowing all it would do was slow the Guard down. The next door ahead wasn't going to be much better, but Eric forced himself to move again.

He shut the second door, and leaned against it. The was no noise from behind, but the Guard would be coming, it wasn't gonna take it more than a few minutes to smash its way out of the cell.

He had to buy himself more time. He had to try and…

But instead of doing something useful, like running, the Cavalier wobbled, then slumped to the ground. He had never felt like this before. Light-headed, unpleasant, evil; this was the worst feeling in the world. He looked down at his right hand, realising that he couldn't even flex it. The knuckle had split and he was gonna have a fabulous bruise there in a few hours… if he was still alive in a few hours.

What's the point in running? he asked himself. He could never get far enough away to escape. And how was he gonna find the others, they were off helping Presto and probably weren't within miles.

He closed his eyes, wondering how he could have been dumb enough to think that life was finally going to go his way for a while. He'd enjoyed being leader; and as for the Harlequin, well…

There was a grating thump from somewhere behind, squashing the fleeting thoughts.

He had to move, but he knew the Trog would hunt him down if he tried to run.

For the first time, he looked around properly. In front of him were two doors, one was half open, and from what he could see, the room behind looked like it was full of junk. The other door was very sturdy, with a heavy lock on it.

And it gave him an idea. He couldn't run, but maybe he could hide for long enough to lose the Guard and find a different way out.

He pushed himself up, and tried the key in the lock. It turned with a rusty rasp, and Eric pushed open the door and went in, ignoring the sudden worry that he'd walked into the Trog nursery or something. He made sure the door was shut before looking up.

He had never seen anything like it.

There were rows upon rows upon rows of wooden cages, all stuffed with people. Almost all of them were grimy-looking Dwarfs, with a few Gnomes thrown in for good measure. They stared at him as if he had five heads, which had a depressingly familiar feel to it.

And he stared back at them, too sick to feel properly surprised. He didn't even wonder what they were doing there; he just stared.

From the middle cage, a Dwarf stood up and moved to the bars. Perhaps he had once been of high rank, as all the others looked at him with the greatest respect. He was only four foot high and had thick red hair and a long platted beard that almost reached the floor. As the Dwarf stood, thick chains jangled, and Eric realised they were all securely manacled together.

A wave of sickness hit him, and he swayed. What was he going to do? He couldn't help, and he couldn't hide. What am I gonna do?

The Dwarf gestured him forward and pointed at Eric's left hand. The Cavalier looked down, surprised to see that he was still holding the Trog's big, copper key. The Dwarf said something incomprehensible, pointing to the key. So Eric moved forward and held it out, just because it seemed to be important.

The Dwarf took it and turned to his cellmates, chattering wildly in a clumsy-sounding language.

Then, abruptly, there was dead silence. Eric didn't need to be told why. He turned, feeling the room swim as he moved his head. The Trog guard was at the door, looking very, very annoyed.

Eric stood still, waiting for the overwhelming panic he'd so often felt. But it never came. He could hardly feel anything anymore, and he didn't move as the Guard walked forward slowly, glaring at him. He saw it flex its claws ready to attack.

He tried to dodge to blow, but the Trog was too fast. It grabbed his shoulder; he could feel the claws sinking in. He expected pain, but there was only a dull, itchy feeling.

The room spun as he was dragged out and back down to the cell. He knew that once he got there he was never ever getting out again, not that he had the strength to do anything about it.

He had just made everything worse. But somewhere deep inside he felt he'd made the right decision. Those Trogs were gonna get him one way or another, and at least he hadn't gone down without some sort of a fight.

The Guard slammed Eric against the wall of his prison, knocking the breath out of him, and forced the liquid down his throat once more. He coughed and spluttered, only swallowing a mouthful.

But that was enough. His throat burned as if he'd drunk liquid fire and everything started to slip out of focus. This was it. He'd cheated death many times before but now, the game was finished.

'Ssss-teel!' it hissed. The Trog gripped him by the throat, pulling him up off the ground. 'Make it!'

The Guard slowly tightened its grip making the world go fuzzy round the edges.

And the last thing Eric remembered was the bright, angry gleam in the Trog's eyes.