Disclaimer: All standard disclaimers apply. Don't own the series, but I do own the story.

Rating: PG-13 for violent situations and mild language

Author's Notes: This is for my very good friend Julie Jordan, who never let me forget about this fic – even when, sometimes, I really felt like it. If the story is good, it is probably because her encouragement only made me want to improve upon it. If it falls short in some way, that would be due to my own shortcomings. Many hugs to you, sweetie.

Thanks to everyone else who offered feedback and support. (Especially to Sealgirl for the Lego scene! ((hugs))) I hope you enjoy the end of the story. A very brief epilogue will follow.


Through a Mirror Darkly

by N.L. Rummi

I need to know if you were real.
I'd hate to think that I'd been fooled again.
And as the vision fades
I'll say I was blinded by your eyes.
I felt them burn.

Vertical Horizon



Chapter Six - Endgame

"You!" Rubin kept his hold on Sheila, but removed the blade from her throat. He pointed it toward the teenaged boy in front of him; it quivered noticeably. "Haunt me no further!" he said as Hank took another step toward him. "I killed you!"

With an insolent raise of his eyebrow, Hank loosed an arrow toward the floor directly in front of Rubin. The blast sent him floundering back and away from Sheila.

The Thief, still dazed, felt her head drop from his grip, but managed to keep it from hitting the floor again. She struggled back toward full consciousness, fought to reclaim control of her body, and slowly began to lift herself off her stomach.

Rubin landed hard on his back and stared in shock at the scorch mark the Ranger's arrow had left on the floor. This was no apparition.

He shifted his wide-eyed gaze to Hank. The contemptuous brass had vanished from the young man's face and he was now seething in anger as he drew another arrow. Rubin scrambled to his knees again and attempted to stand. His dagger trembled in his grip as he stared at Hank in disbelieving alarm. As he began to straighten, Hank released his next arrow, sending Rubin off balance yet again.

Rubin reached down to catch himself and his vision lowered to the scarlet stain on the Ranger's tunic. He pushed himself upright and backward for a few staggering steps.

"This isn't possible," he growled in protest. "I felt my blade enter your gut!" Rubin straightened defiantly, as though that allegation was enough to stop the advancing Ranger in his tracks.

Hank simply reached his hand beneath the front of his bloodstained tunic and pulled out an even redder leather pouch. He tossed it forcefully at the Assassin's feet. Rubin could see that it was a punctured water skin.

Rubin stared at it for a moment, then he blinked and brought his gaze back up to meet Hank's. He sneered and his eyes blazed. His grip on his dagger tightened. Hank raised another arrow to his cheek while the Assassin struck his own battle-ready stance.

Rubin stood glowering at Hank. Then he spun around and fled into the darkness.

Hank's arrow evaporated as he brought it down. He stared into the area where Rubin had vanished. After a moment, he turned back to tend to Sheila.

The Thief was kneeling on the stone floor of the Chamber of Ghosts, trembling as she looked at him. Hank fell to one knee in front of her. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Sheila brought a shaky hand to her mouth and squinted her eyes to fight back tears. Another dream? she thought in dismay. Or a hallucination? she added, wincing at the pain filling her head from its impact with the floor. Her hand unconsciously released her mouth and she reached it out in front of her. Or maybe I'm dead too.

Her fingers trembled uncontrollably as she held them only inches away from Hank's shoulder, afraid that if she tried to touch him he would vanish. "Are you real?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Hank smiled softly. "I'm not a ghost, if that's what you mean," he said gently. Sheila allowed her trembling hand to inch forward, tentatively touching the fabric of his tunic. She emitted a tiny cry when her fingertips made contact with a solid shoulder.

He was real. He was really real.

Hank brought his hand up to her face and she leaned into it. Then, with a sudden soul-shaking cry that was a mixture of sadness, relief, and disbelieving joy, Sheila tightened her fist intensely around the cloth at Hank's shoulder and pulled him to her in a fierce embrace, throwing her arms madly around his neck and crying as she held onto him for dear life. "Oh, Hank!"

Hank's arms around her were just as tight. He let out a shuddering breath and tried not to think of what could have happened if he had arrived only a few seconds later. He strengthened his grip and pushed the thought from his mind.

"I'm so sorry, Sheila. So sorry," he echoed over and over again as he brought up a hand to stroke her hair.

She pulled away from him suddenly, her face stained with tears. "How?" Sheila asked him in a cracked sob.

Hank shook his head. He suddenly looked as though he was ashamed. "I'm so sorry," he repeated again. "You were never supposed to see that. That's why I told you and the others to get out of there."

Sheila swallowed another sob. "You . . . you knew he was going to do that?" she asked.

"No," Hank admitted, "not that, exactly. Not at first. Dungeon Master told me that I would know who could be trusted and who couldn't. Believe me, it didn't take a lot of thought to figure out that guy was bad news. He acted like he trusted me too much, too soon. I guess I just planned for the worst," Hank explained as he rose to his feet. "Although," he added, flinching a bit as he straightened, "it wasn't all fake." He pressed his hand tentatively against his abdomen. "The water skin only blocked so much."

Sheila came right up with him, not daring to let go even for a second. She frowned and narrowed her eyes at the spot where Hank's wound would be. She reached for it. "Let me see."

Hank shook his head. "Not much to see at the moment."

"Hank, you're hurt," Sheila insisted and reached for his hand to pry it away from his stomach. Her body faltered a bit at the quick movement and her legs wavered. Sheila barely seemed to notice the dizzy feeling that still flooded her head from nearly losing consciousness before.

Hank noticed, however, and tightened his grip to steady her. He caught hold of her reaching fingers with the hand that had been pressed to his abdomen and held them firmly.

Sheila looked up at him slowly. Her eyes were shining with tears again. "Why did you let him hurt you?" she asked softly.

"I didn't plan on it," the Ranger admitted. "I didn't know what to expect from him, so I wanted to be protected somehow without giving myself away. He was a lot stronger than I thought, so when he pulled the knife on me all I could do was sort of help his aim a bit." He glanced down to the red stain on his tunic. "Better where there was some protection than anywhere else. Plus, I figured if Rubin thought I was dead, it would make it easier to sneak back in here. So I let him think it." Hank shook his head in remorse. "I swear to you, Sheila: I thought you guys would be long gone and that I would meet you back in Xanaton later."

Sheila stared up at him. Her expression was an odd mixture of sorrow, weariness, and disbelieving hope. One of Hank's hands pressed securely against her back while the other tightened its grip on her fingers. Sheila sighed heavily and dropped her head to his shoulder. Hank could feel her boneless exhaustion finally seeping out of her as he held her close to him again.

"But where did you go . . . after?" Sheila asked. Her voice was muffled as her face remained pressed against his shoulder. "I . . . I looked for you. I searched for you." Sheila's words became heated – accusatory. She pulled away from him. Her expression was angry now. "I was practically destroyed over this, Hank! We all were. Why didn't you come to us, first?"

Hank couldn't meet her eyes. He hung his head. "I know," he said quietly. "I can't say anything other than I'm sorry. There was a shallow cave a few feet below the top of the cliff. I used my arrow to swing inside it and stayed there until I was sure Rubin was gone. It took me a while to get out. There was some kind of bottomless chasm underneath me so, believe me, that wasn't easy."

"I know," Sheila hoarsely replied.

"There weren't many solid outcroppings I could use to climb out, either, even with my arrows," he tried to explain. Hank gestured toward a puddle of black cloth, discarded on the ground a few feet away. "When I finally made it back, I found a guard outside and borrowed his stealth cloak. That's how I got in. As soon as I arrived here, I saw you. I'm so sorry," he repeated again. "You're right: I should have gotten word to you and the others. But by the time I reached the top of the chasm, I thought it might already be too late."

Hank glanced up gingerly and found himself looking into unmistakably angered blue-green eyes. It was clear that Sheila had risked everything to come in here and finish what he had started. Hank shuddered to think that his actions could have cost her life. If Rubin had harmed her . . .

Sheila, for her part, was deeply angered. He had been there! He had been right there below her while she cried her heart out for him. She suddenly shoved herself away from him and pointed an accusing finger toward his face. "Don't you ever, ever do that to me again, Ranger!" she said. "Or I'll never forgive you! I swear to God, I won't! Ever!"

Hank smiled in spite of himself. She was so beautiful, even when she was furious with him. "I won't," he said. "I promise."

Sheila stood, fuming, in front of him for a few more seconds. Then she felt the fight seep out of her. Her shoulders sagged and she managed a weak but joyful smile. Sheila stepped toward Hank and melted back into his arms, eternally grateful that his arms were really there.


After leaving the Chamber of Ghosts, Sheila filled Hank in on everything that they had discovered since parting company two days ago. She told him how they had learned that Dungeon Master's task was to rescue the members of the Choros Sect – the League of the Soul – from Rubin's control. She also told him that their friends were still outside, trying to keep the diversion going until Sheila returned with Isolde.

Hank listened with determined interest as the two made their way through the dank halls of the caverns. He agreed that their best bet was to find Isolde first. Helping her would certainly help them in their mission.

The two Young Ones traveled rather easily through the underground caverns, although they were constantly aware that Rubin knew they were here. Sheila was completely undetectable while veiled in her cloak, and Hank, while not completely invisible, was somewhat clandestine himself. Even if other assassins took notice of him, he looked very much like the rest of them while wrapped in the stealth cloak.

"It's getting so cold," Sheila whispered as they entered a particularly dark hallway.

Hank nodded. "This is where the ice chamber is," he told her. "And a lot of empty cells. If Rubin has Isolde, he would probably keep her down here, hidden away from the other assassins. The others never question him, but they did seem to trust Isolde. And something tells me that Isolde would probably have a lot to say about Rubin now – things he wouldn't want those other kids to hear. He might be afraid they'd actually listen."

"He doesn't even trust his own brainwashing ability, does he?" Sheila remarked as she continued to glance inside the tiny windows of each cell.

Hank suddenly didn't feel her next to him. Even when she was invisible, he always seemed to be able to tell if she was there or not. He turned back around at the sound of a door creaking open. As Hank backtracked several steps to the cell doorway, he suddenly heard Sheila quietly call his name. He slipped through the opening, and his breath caught in his throat.

The Thief was standing before an unconscious Isolde, whose arms were bound high above her head. The girl dangled limply from her chains as Sheila gently patted her cheek, trying to rouse her. Sheila turned back to Hank and shook her head.

"I think she's hurt pretty bad."

Hank swallowed and took a step back as he drew an arrow. "Hold on to her, Sheila," he instructed as he took aim at the chains.

Sheila supported Isolde's limp form as Hank's arrow sliced through her bonds. Isolde crumpled onto Sheila's shoulder and the Thief eased to her knees so her legs wouldn't buckle under the girl's dead weight. Isolde drifted into consciousness at the sudden sensation of freedom and met Sheila's cloudy eyes with her dark ones. Although she was too weak to show her surprise, Isolde managed a grateful croak in the back of her throat to which Sheila responded with a soft smile. "You're welcome," she said.

"Isolde? Hang in there," Hank said quietly as he rushed to her side. The girl's eyes flew open then. They shimmered with unshed tears as she gazed, disbelieving, at the Ranger. She glanced down to his reddened tunic and stretched out a shaking hand to it.

"Rubin . . . ," she managed as she licked her parched lips. "He said . . ."

"He was exaggerating," Hank replied with a gentle smile as he clasped her trembling fingers. "It's a long story. I'll explain everything once we've gotten you back to your people." Isolde smiled weakly, and relaxed her body as she shut her eyes. Somehow, she felt that everything would be all right now.

Hank got around behind Isolde, and he froze. Even in the dim torchlight, he could see what had happened to her back. His stomach turned as his eyes settled on the newly formed slices created by Rubin's whip. The bloodied lesions had dried over the last few hours; moving her could easily mean reopening them. Hank didn't want to hurt her again, but they couldn't leave her here either. His hand hovered over the wounds, trying to think of the best way to cover them. He removed the cloak that he was wearing and draped it across her back. The girl winced at the touch of the fabric to her lacerated skin; a quiet whimper sounded from her throat. But she allowed him to proceed as he wrapped the cape entirely around her and lifted her off the ground.

For Isolde, the pain was excruciating, but she trusted Hank. She finally trusted someone. She grit her teeth and dealt with the pain.

"Okay," Hank hurriedly breathed, as he held Isolde tightly in his arms. "Let's find the others."


The Young Ones had actually managed to fight their way through the entrance of the Sect and into the main chamber. Bobby was their driving force as he clubbed his way into the bowels of the cavern, desperate to find his sister. Sheila had been down here far too long and the young Barbarian was a fit of anger and fear. If that Assassin had hurt her the way he hurt Hank, no force, in this world or any other, would be able to calm the boy's fury. He hopped up on a table and took a swing at the young assassins who were attacking him, splintering their weapons and driving them back.

Eric spotted an open doorway and began to back toward it. He kept his shield raised in front of him and signaled to Diana that he was going to try and make a run for it. She moved into position to cover his retreat. The Cavalier decided that something must have happened to Sheila, and he was determined to find her. He wasn't about to lose another friend in this world.

"Keep them busy!" he shouted as he spun around and made a break for the darkened hallway ahead.

Diana's limbs throbbed as she parried the attack of an assassin who had tried to move past her to get to Eric. She remembered the words of her gymnastics coach during training sessions: the only way to truly work the muscles was to push them to the point of failure. She thought she must have gone beyond that point by now. And still the endless stream of combatants came at them.

Failing or not, don't give up on me! she ordered her quivering muscles with an exhausted grunt as she used her staff to drop several more attackers.

Diana's body jolted with a start at the sensation of pressure against her body from behind. Her head spun around, and she saw Eric was now back-to-back with her. "I thought you left!" she shouted.

"Ch-change of plans!" Eric responded with a gulp. Diana shifted her gaze to see yet another band of assassins emerging from the corridor toward which Eric had previously been running. The rest of her friends had also begun backing toward her and the Cavalier. The four children and Uni formed a cluster in the center of the room, facing the young assassins who were closing in from all directions.

The Young Ones were completely surrounded.


"Stay back," Hank whispered a warning to Sheila. He positioned himself as flat against the wall as possible. The Thief stood behind him as a group of assassins ran past the entranceway ahead of them. "They're headed for the main chamber," Hank pointed out. "In a big hurry, too. I wonder if the—"

"YEEEAAAGGGHHH!"

Sheila's head whipped around Hank's shoulder at the sound of the wordless battle cry. It had come from somewhere in the next room and below them. "That's Bobby!" she exclaimed. "He and the others must have gotten inside."

"And from the looks of things, they could probably use some help. There are a lot of assassins headed their way," Hank replied. He turned his attention to Isolde in his arms. "Looks like we're gonna have to scrap Plan A," he said. "She's in no condition to help us like this."

"So what's Plan B?" Sheila asked.

"Isolde, is there any way you can walk?" Hank asked. She nodded weakly and clenched her teeth as Hank helped her lower her feet to the floor. Sheila immediately reached out and gripped Isolde tightly, but gently.

"Plan B is you get Isolde out of here and I go in after the others," Hank said. "We'll meet up with you two outside. We'll have to think of another way to save the rest of the sect."

Sheila nodded with a desperate "Be careful." She began helping Isolde to limp away. The other girl arduously bit her lip. She clung to the Thief, as though Sheila were a human crutch.

Hank readied his bow as he rounded the corner and ran toward the main chamber.


"Back off, creep!" Bobby roared to an advancing attacker. "Or you'll be sorry!" The boy hefted his club threateningly, the fury in his eyes shrouding the fatigue of his body.

"Presto!" Eric cried as he ducked behind his shield, "you're our resident wizard! How about a little wiz!"

"I-I'll try, Eric," Presto muttered nervously as he removed his hat and started twiddling.

"Alaca-whatziz,
Please clear the room
By scattering these guys
With a loud ka--"

BOOM!

The rest of Presto's spell was drowned out as several bright explosions erupted between the Young Ones and the advancing assassins, forcing the latter group to retreat back several feet.

Diana shielded her eyes from the intense flashes before gazing, flabbergasted, at Presto. Eric shared her stupefied expression.

"Whoa, Presto!" he gasped. "How did you—?"

The Magician shrugged confusedly, mouth gaping. "I-I didn't!" he exclaimed. "I didn't even get to finish the spell."

"Then what . . . ?" began Diana as she glanced instinctively around the large chamber. Her eyes finally settled on a ledge directly overhead. A shudder rippled through her body and she needed to re-grip her javelin to keep it from clattering out of her hands.

Eric followed her gaze and also froze. His hand gripped the shoulder of the person beside him to steady himself. When he saw that he had actually grabbed onto a nearby assassin, he recoiled with a nervous, "Yeeesh!" The Cavalier quickly raised his shield, then turned his attention back to the ledge.

Bobby, however, was not as tongue-tied as his friends. "HANK!" he whooped jubilantly as the Ranger drew another arrow.

"Get down!" Hank shouted. His friends obediently complied as the Ranger loosed his weapon toward the advancing assassins behind them. The arrow bound the attackers together and provided a window of escape for the others.

Diana straightened up and smiled. "Hank!" she breathed, quietly echoing Bobby's joy.


Isolde groaned in pain and gripped Sheila tighter to pull her to a stop. "What is it?" the Thief asked with concern. Isolde looked up at her, her face determined and commanding.

"I need to go back, girl," she said, her voice just as assertively bold as Sheila remembered.

The Thief frowned. "We can't," she replied with rushed annoyance. "I have to get you out of here. Hank and the others are going to meet us outside."

"I will not abandon—!"

"You're injured, Isolde. And it's too far to go back." Sheila unintentionally snapped at her. The look in Isolde's eyes said that she was determined to have her way, but Sheila would not back down either. "Hank can take care of himself," she added in frustration. The Thief hadn't wanted to leave Hank either, but she knew he wanted her to do this.

Isolde shook her head. "Not Hank," she insisted. "My friends. I won't leave them here . . . with him."

Sheila understood that Isolde was referring to her fellow assassins. The Thief hesitated. Saving the members of the Choros Sect was the task that Dungeon Master had charged them with. But was this the best way to do it? Isolde was hurt very badly. Did she have the strength to lead them away from Rubin?

"We can't go back all that way, Isolde. It's too far," Sheila repeated firmly.

"I know a shorter way," Isolde assured her.

"Halt, intruders!"

The sharp order from behind caused Sheila to jump with a start. She spun her head around to see a young boyish assassin standing behind them. In his hands, he gripped a long spear.

"Turn around and approach me slowly," he commanded.

Sheila knew they couldn't run – not with Isolde like this. She would have to think of something, but she needed to buy time first. Holding firmly onto the other girl, Sheila started to bring them both slowly around to face the boy.

Isolde lifted her head from its spot against Sheila's chest. Her eyes watered in pain as she met the boy's gaze. "Korl," she croaked out, "you must let us by."

"I-Isolde?" the boy stuttered. "You're alive! Rubin said that Lloros had killed you." He shakily began to lower his spear.

"A lie," Isolde breathed as she tried to swallow her pain. "Everything Rubin has said has been a lie. You must let us by so we can stop him."

Korl suddenly gripped his spear tightly and raised it again, anger in his eyes. He began to advance on them with a slight limp. Sheila noticed that the boy was injured, as though he had been battered recently. Still, he came at them.

"If you are now against Rubin, you are against us all," he growled. His voice, however, seemed hesitant and robotic. "You know what happens to traitors, Isolde."

Isolde felt a panic well up inside of her. Was this how she had been? Blindly loyal to everything Rubin said? Had she been such a fool that she hadn't seen his cruel dominance?

Islode raised a shaky hand and gripped Sheila's shoulder. She turned her gaze upward at the Thief. "Please," she murmured, "Please, Sheila. Help me to save them. We have to go back. Please."

Sheila was startled as she met Isolde's eyes. This was the first time that the former assassin had actually called Sheila by her name, rather than by some degrading title. Isolde's face had become pleading and frightened as she trembled against the Thief's body.

"Please," she uttered again.

Sheila sighed. "I've never tried this before," she muttered as she eyed Korl approaching them menacingly. "I'm not sure if it will work with two people, but if you can trust me, I'll give it a try."

Isolde nodded shakily.

"Okay, then," Sheila exhaled. "Hang onto me tight!"

Isolde obeyed and clung firmly to Sheila as the Thief reached back for her hood. She yanked it over her head with one hand and swung the cape around both of them with the other. Korl charged with his spear raised, but came to a dead stop as both young women vanished before his eyes.


"Come on, guys!" the Ranger called to his friends. He fired another arrow and sent even more assassins retreating back. "We're getting out of—!"

Hank's words were cut off by a sharp grunt, and he disappeared from sight.

"Hank!" the others cried in unison.

"Come on!" Eric yelled. He and the other Young Ones maneuvered around the fettered assassins and ducked out of reach of others. They headed toward a set of stone steps that Eric hoped would lead to the ledge above.

Hank had landed hard, face-down on the ground. He noticed a tight pressure around his legs, which released as Rubin's whip snaked away from them. The Ranger turned over quickly and looked for his bow, which had skidded across the floor and out of reach. He quickly scrambled forward and made a grab for it. His arm stretched out, and a steel-soled boot came down onto his hand.

Hank made a strangled growl as Rubin ground his foot into the knuckles that Islode had injured only days before. The Ranger could feel them bleeding again.

He glared angrily up as the Assassin wreathed his whip and attached it to his belt. Rubin then unsheathed his jagged sword, snarling down at Hank and applying even more painful pressure to the Ranger's damaged hand.

"You," Rubin spat. "You have caused far more trouble than you're worth, boy. I can now understand why my Master wished you dead." He pointed his sword at Hank. "This time I intend to make certain that you stay that way." Hank scowled at Rubin with unflinching contempt as the blade settled under his chin.

"RUBIN!"

The Assassin turned his head at the cry, which was accompanied by a sizzling surge of electric energy. Rubin found himself, once again, staring down the golden shaft of the Ranger's weapon. Only this time, it wasn't Hank who was leveling the arrow at him . . .

It was Isolde.

Sheila came tearing around the corner and slid to a dead stop at the scene before her. She had no idea where Isolde had gotten the strength to suddenly get away from her like that. The other Young Ones also made their way to the rocky escarpment and skidded to a halt behind Sheila.

"Isolde!" the Thief pleaded. She took a step toward her.

"Stay back, all of you!" the girl commanded, addressing them only with her voice as her eyes remained glued to Rubin. She winced in pain. Her lacerated shoulders spasmed as she drew Hank's arrow farther back, poised by her cheek to kill.

Isolde stepped closer to Rubin, emerging on the ledge in full view of the assassins below. "Get away from him!" she hissed, prompting Rubin to remove his foot from the Ranger's hand and pull back his sword. The Assassin turned slowly, fastening a furious glare onto his former protégé. Hank's right hand instinctively flew to his damaged one. He climbed to his knees and began to see stars as he finally allowed himself a split second to focus on the pain.

A split second, however, was all he could afford.

The Ranger looked at Isolde as he rose to his feet. A maddened smile had spread across her lips and her eyes flashed with the same murderous gleam that Hank had first noticed in them. Her entire body trembled as she stared Rubin down. It was amazing that the fire in her eyes hadn't caused the man to instantly combust where he stood.

"Liar!" she hissed again.

"Be careful, girl," Rubin cautioned. If he was panicked, he was hiding it well. "The others can see how you are bringing chaos to their order. If you fell me, they will never permit you to escape alive. They know their place, unlike some traitors." He spoke his words carefully – maliciously enough to try and shake Isolde's nerve and loudly enough for his other followers to hear key statements.

Isolde began to cackle maniacally. "They know?" she laughed. "And just what do they know? Do they know that you are the one who betrayed them? Each and every one of them? Just as you betrayed me?" She took a staggering step toward him. "What do your rules of conduct and order say when the defiler is you, Rubin?" she growled. "You stole me away from my home, convinced me that Lloros was my enemy, and filled me with the lust for his blood. MY OWN FATHER'S BLOOD!"

A few confused gasps and murmurs rose up from the crowd below.

"Wretched girl," Rubin snarled. "You dare attempt to start an insurrection? After all I have done for you?" He raised his sword.

Perhaps it was her fury, or perhaps it was a knee-jerk reaction from panic, but Isolde instantly loosed an arrow and grazed Rubin's shoulder. He dropped his blade in his hand with a growl and it clattered over the ledge into the main hall below. With wild, terrified eyes, Isolde quickly drew another arrow and leveled it at Rubin once more.

"What you have done is kept me a prisoner and trained me to kill so that I might exact your revenge against my father!" Isolde said, her arms trembling as much as her voice as she held the arrow. The flame of the weapon burned as brightly as Hank had ever seen, matching the girl's intense emotion. "What former loved ones must they kill for your revenge, Rubin?" Isolde motioned to the other assassins in the main chamber below. "Fathers? Mothers? Friends? People who care for us – who would meet their deaths at our hands because of your twisted revenge!" Isolde steeled herself; the arrow's flame was mirrored in her eyes.

"This ends," she said. Her voice was suddenly low and as jagged as torn metal. "Now."

"Isolde," came a gentle voice from beside the raging girl.

Isolde did not look at Hank, although she began trembling again as she became aware of his presence.

"Do not try to stop me, Hank," she shuddered as she gripped the electric bowstring even tighter. Sheila took a few frantic steps toward them, but Hank stopped her with a raised hand.

"What are you waiting for, wench?" Rubin provoked tauntingly, trying to bring her attention away from Hank and back to him. "Go on. Do it."

"Don't do this, Isolde," Hank pleaded as he reached for the weapon. "You don't have to."

"Yes, I do!" Isolde growled with another manic giggle as she shrugged away from his reaching hand. Suddenly her voice crumbled into a cracked sob. "It would be so easy, Hank. So easy," she whimpered as she gripped the bow. "After what he did to my father . . . to me . . . . After what he tried to do to you."

"Isolde, remember when I told you that I understood?" Hank asked gently. "I do. I do understand because I've been where you are. So believe me when I tell you that destroying him won't make it better. All it will do is make you a killer. And you're not a killer, Isolde. I know you're not."

"He tried to turn me into a killer," the girl smoldered. Her aim was still true, although her body continued to tremble with rage and fear.

"Let us see what you have learned," Rubin interrupted again. "Hesitation is a sign of weakness, girl. Kill me."

"And if you do this, he'll succeed," Hank said, ignoring Rubin with impossible calm. "He's not worth that."

Isolde began to cry fully. "I just want it to be over," she wept. "Just to be over . . ."

Hank finally succeeded in gripping the bow; his bloodied left hand closed gently over Isolde's trembling one. She allowed herself to meet his gaze – turning her head with tears streaming down her face.

"It is over," Hank said. "He can't hurt you or the others any more. My friends and I are going to take you home . . . to your father."

Isolde's body shook with sobs as she relinquished her hold on the Ranger's weapon. Hank gripped the bowstring and the fierce arrow dissolved into the air. He angrily eyed the defeated Rubin who staggered back a few steps.

There was relief on Rubin's face; he had clearly believed Isolde would have killed him.

Isolde's body sagged and she turned face Hank. Her eyes were sad – full of remorse and humiliation. She was unable to meet the Ranger's gaze for very long. Instead she turned her eyes to the many children gathered in the hall below. They were looking up at her – quiet and confused. She managed a sad smile. "It is over," she whispered, echoing Hank's words. "For all of us."

Hank smiled and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Hank!" Sheila shouted as she finally rushed forward. "Are you two all right?" She appeared beside Hank, who nodded. His smile widened as he turned to her, momentarily taking his eyes off Rubin.

A hollow ringing echoed in Isolde's ears: The quick chink of metal sliding against metal. It had gone unnoticed by the others, but it was one of the sounds that she knew by heart. She started instinctively and spun around, pulling away from Hank's hand.

"Rubin . . ." she said.

Isolde turned to find him looming directly over her. She met his gaze full-on and her body jolted in alarm. The Assassin's mud-brown eyes sparked as he looked down at the girl and his lips curled over his teeth.

Hank's attention snapped back to what was in front of him. He stiffened as he saw Isolde's body suddenly go rigid. A weak, surprised noise rattled up from her throat as she staggered back. Hank saw Rubin pull the dagger he had drawn out of the side of her abdomen.

Hank and Sheila reached forward to catch Isolde as she slid to the floor. Hank could only stare for a moment in shock – first at Isolde, then at Rubin.

The Assassin re-sheathed his blade in the small metal scabbard at his waist. "Now you all see," he growled to the entire room. "That is what happens to traitors."

Hank finally forced himself to move and his body jerked toward Rubin in anger. The Assassin turned and fled into the shadows behind him.

"Take care of her, Sheila," Hank instructed the Thief as he clambered to grab his bow. He sprinted into the dark corridor after Rubin.

Sheila continued to cradle the injured girl. Diana flew to assist her friend and applied desperate pressure to Isolde's bleeding side. The girl whimpered in delirious agony and grabbed instinctively onto Sheila's hand. Presto's fingers twiddled madly over his hat, in the hopes of pulling out something he could use as a tourniquet. Eric shoved his way past the Magician and sprinted after Hank with Bobby at his heals.


Rubin scrambled around several dark corners in an attempt to lose the pursuing Young Ones. He soon found himself at the doorway to the Chamber of Ghosts. Glancing behind him, he could see the light from Hank's drawn arrow approaching from around the distant corner. Rubin slipped inside the chamber and barricaded the door from within.

Hank reached the door moments later and ran into it shoulder first. It was clearly locked – a fact which didn't stop Hank from throwing himself against it again. In his steely anger, he almost didn't notice the hand that soon gripped his shoulder. He turned to see Eric beside him.

"Need some help, buddy?" the Cavalier grinned as he joined Hank in attempting to break the door down. The ancient wood didn't even creak.

"Wait," Hank panted as he backed off. "Wait." Eric stepped to the side as well and Hank took aim at the door. He unleashed a barrage of light arrows in rapid succession. None of them could dent the door.

"Let me try!" a voice shouted from behind them. It was followed by a barbarous, wordless cry. Hank and Eric stepped aside as Bobby came barreling through, his weapon raised. The sound of the club striking the door resonated like a gong through the labyrinthed halls.

"Hold it, Bobby," Hank said, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder before he could try again. The Ranger looked puzzled. "That didn't sound like the door," he said. "There must be some kind of magical field around it."

"What?" Eric cried. "So how're we gonna get in?"

The sound of a shouting mob rose in the three boys' ears. Hank, Eric and Bobby spun around to see Rubin's assassins bearing down upon them, weapons raised. Eric ducked behind his shield as the horde of youths overtook them.

He cautiously peeked out after several seconds of not being attacked.

"Step aside, Ranger," said one of the young assassins, addressing Hank.

"Korl," Hank replied. "Please, we have to—"

The boy grinned wryly. "We are here to help you, brother," he interrupted. "Just as you tried to help Isolde. As you once tried to help me."


Rubin backed away from the door and listened, panic-stricken, to the Young Ones' attempts to get inside. He prudently gripped his upper arm, where Isolde had struck him with Hank's arrow. The wound burned intensely, but didn't bleed. The light arrow must have cauterized it instantly.

Rubin glared fearfully at the door. That wooden barricade alone should not have been enough to hold them. Not with their magical weapons. And now, it seemed as though Rubin's own assassins were attempting to break the door down. Yet all were somehow prevented from entering. That could only mean one thing . . .

"Master!" Rubin whispered with equal parts fear and relief. He glanced around the lighted circle in which he stood, searching for his savior.

A thunderous voice echoed through the chamber. "Rubin. I am here."

The Assassin, unable to pinpoint exactly where the voice was coming from, slid to his knees and invoked the ceiling. "Master, thank you! Thank you for keeping them from reaching me!" He fell prostrate, cowering in homage and gratitude before his unseen lord.

"Fear not, Rubin," the voice rumbled. "Your punishment shall never be met at the hands of the Young Ones."

"Thank you. Thank you," Rubin chanted, keeping his face to the ground.

"I reserve that for myself."

The Assassin looked up in panicked confusion. "What? No!" he protested in a terrified voice. "Master, I—"

"—have failed me for the last time, Rubin. I warned you that another failure would result in severe punishment."

Rubin shook his head in frantic objection as his Master's words echoed through the shadows all around him.

"Not only were you unable to dispose of the Ranger, but Lloros and Xanaton have not fallen. You have furthermore lost control over your entire sect of assassins. You shall suffer greatly for this."

Rubin watched in horror as a dead pale hand emerged from the shadows, aglow with a violent fiery light. A convulsion shook him and he scrambled backward, begging abjectly, "Master! Please! Show mercy! I shall not fail you again!"

"No, Rubin," the voice sneered, "you shall not."

As the flaming light was released, an ear-splitting shriek filled the chamber. It remained as a horrific echo, long after all else had vanished.


"What happened?" Eric asked, cautiously quiet. The crowd of youngsters had gathered around the door of the Chamber of Ghosts, their ears pressed intently to the wood. After it had become apparent that they would be denied entrance, they began to hear muffled cries from within. They ceased their attacks upon the door at that point and just listened. A surging blast was the last thing they heard before an eerie silence hung in the air. The doors then creaked open of their own power.

Hank eyed the doors suspiciously. "I don't know, Eric," he answered after several seconds of startled silence. The entire group moved cautiously toward the door and entered the Chamber of Ghosts.

The room was completely empty. Rubin was gone.

Korl instructed the assassins to each grab one of the free-standing torches that circled the center of the room and check the shadows around the perimeter for any signs of their treacherous leader. They found none. In fact, all exits were bolted from the inside.

"H-he got away?" Bobby asked, looking around at the vacant chamber.

Hank held his arrow aloft for more light. There was an odd electric charge in the air, and a strange, very unpleasant smell that Hank couldn't quite place. "Somehow, I don't think so, Bobby," he guessed.

They didn't waste any more time in the Chamber of Ghosts. While Korl and the young assassins did a final search of the room, Hank, Eric, and Bobby dashed out the door and back to where they had left the others.


Sheila raised her eyes nervously, fearful that it was Rubin coming back and not Hank. When she saw the Ranger round the corner that led back to the escarpment on which she sat holding Isolde, she breathed a sigh of partial relief. Her worried look never disappeared from her face completely, however.

The Thief's appearance of distress was contagious and Hank visibly paled when he met her eyes. "Is she . . . ?" he asked.

"She's alive," Diana answered as she applied pressure to Isolde's wound with a hotel towel that Presto had produced from his hat. Then she shook her head. "I don't think Rubin hit anything major, but there's no way of knowing for sure," she said. "She may be all right, but we have to get her some help. Now."

That answer was only partially reassuring to Hank. He knew how long it would take to get Isolde back to Xanaton, and he could see, from the look of the towel Diana was holding, that she had already lost a great deal of blood. He knelt beside Sheila as Korl and the other members of the Choros Sect returned to the room.

"Isolde?" Hank asked cautiously. "Don't worry. We're going to get you home." He placed his hand on top of hers.

Isolde blinked her eyes open. They were pained and glassy, but alert. She glanced at the people around her.

"Isolde," Hank said resolutely. "You're okay. You're going to be all right; we just have to get you out of here."

"Forgive me," the girl whispered. "Forgive me for the trouble that I have caused."

"Nonsense, my child."

The entire group turned as the Dungeon Master strode amiably through the parting crowd.

"Dungeon Master," Sheila breathed in a sigh of relief. "Are we glad to see you!"

He smiled warmly at each of his Young Ones before settling his kind eyes on Isolde. "Contrary to what you may think, my dear, you have done more good than you know. You have aided these Young Ones in saving the League of the Soul . . . and, in return, have found your own as well." He turned to Hank. "And to you, Ranger: Your trust in your own heart has helped Isolde to find the good in hers. Well done, my boy."

"Dungeon Master," Hank said, "is there anything you can do to help?"

The gnomish old man sighed and approached the injured girl. Her eyes were hazy and full of fear as he placed a gnarled hand upon her moist forehead. Isolde swallowed hard before whispering beseechingly to Dungeon Master, "I want to go home."

"That can be easily arranged," Dungeon Master said with a smile. "I have an old friend who has been deeply missing his daughter." Isolde relaxed and closed her eyes again. Her breath evened out and she slept.

Dungeon Master turned again to his pupils, taking particular note of Hank's lingering worry. "Do not fear, my friends," he said. "Everything will be all right now."

His hands began to glow with an electric, silvery light – one he had once used to transport the Young Ones and himself across the Realm. The ancient mage concentrated as he summoned the strength needed for his magic to envelop all of them.

"Where are we going?" Bobby asked.

"The lost souls are returning home, Barbarian," Dungeon Master replied. "And we are going back to Xanaton."

"You're sending everybody home?" Eric cried. "How come it's never that easy for us?" he added in a groaning complaint to Presto.

"Your purpose is more complex, Cavalier," the old man responded as the silvery light surrounded everyone in the chamber. "Every task that you undertake lays the path to your home world."

"Pfft," Eric scoffed under his breath. "What's he paving it in? Gold?"

Dungeon Master continued to speak gently. "My friends, for every lost soul that you help to find their way, you come one step closer to finding yours. One day, you shall find the soul who will complete your journey. For no child should ever remain lost."

As the magical glow engulfed everyone to teleport them away from the sect, Hank looked at the Dungeon Master. He was convinced he saw tears in the old man's eyes.


When Isolde awoke, it was to the sight of Lloros' weary but smiling face. As she glanced around, she began to recognize her old bedroom in Xanaton. Her hand stirred against her wounded abdomen.

"Try not to move," Lloros instructed. "The healers have been able to treat many of your wounds, but it would be best if you remained still for a while." Although it pained him greatly to see his daughter like this, the mage's eyes twinkled with adoration, gratitude, and pure joy at just having her here – alive and safe.

Isolde's eyes brimmed with tears, both from happiness and from lingering guilt. "I am so sorry, Papa," she started to say.

Lloros, unable to hold himself back any longer, swept the girl into his arms with the exuberance of love that only a father can have for his child. He held on to her as though he needed to make up for the time he had lost. "My Isolde. My precious, precious treasure. It is I who am sorry. I shall never leave you alone again."

Isolde could feel his love, almost as though it flowed through her – a kind of magic. That magic would always be here to protect her now. She would heal. They both would.

Lloros placed his daughter back upon her pillow and smiled again. "There is someone else here who is grateful to see that you are finally awake. He and his friends are leaving today and he wished to see you before he departs." The mage rose and stepped away. Isolde could see that Hank had been standing behind him. She smiled brightly as he sat beside her.

Her smile became a solemn one as she met his eyes. "You are leaving?" she asked sadly as she tried to sit upright.

Hank nodded. "You found your home," he said. "We need to keep looking for ours."

"I shall never forget you, Flax," Isolde teased, then corrected herself with a gracious nod of her head. "Hank."

The Ranger laughed. "Hey, as long as you're going to be okay, you can call me whatever you want."

"Thank you," Isolde said quietly, echoing the sentiment that Lloros and his people had been bestowing upon the Young Ones during their stay in the city. "Thank you for everything." She reached forward and Hank took her hand. Isolde looked down at the fresh bandaging around his knuckles where she had cut him. "Did the healers not cure you?" she questioned.

Hank shrugged. "For the most part," he answered. "The injury is healed, but some of the marks are still there." He looked at her with a grin. "There are some scars I don't mind living with. And I'll never forget you either."

Isolde looked at him for a moment as though she might say something else. Then simply gave his hand a squeeze. "I told you that everything would be all right," Hank said as he got up to leave. "I know it's going to stay that way for you now, Isolde."

"Hank?"

The Ranger turned.

"I would be very grateful for a kiss goodbye," Isolde said timidly.

Hank smiled as he remembered how she had practically forced herself on him a few days ago. She was very different now. He bent down and placed a gentle, if somewhat hesitant, kiss on her forehead.

Isolde looked up at him and smiled one last time. "You will thank Sheila for me as well?" she asked.

"I will," the Ranger answered as he turned to exit the room. He paused in the doorway and saw that Lloros had once more taken the girl in his arms: Two lost souls who had finally found each other again.

Hank descended the stairs to rejoin the others, who were outside preparing to leave. He was stopped by Golon on the way. The man placed his hand on the Ranger's shoulder with a sheepish half-smile.

"Thank you, my friend," he said to Hank. "I hope you can forgive me for my accusations. I was bitterly wrong. You and your companions truly are allies to the people of Xanaton. If there is anything we can ever do, name it and it shall be done."

Hank clasped hands with the man and nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Golon," he said, and continued down the stairs to meet his friends.

Eric met him first, just outside the door. "Hey," he said, "You ready?"

Hank nodded.

"Listen," the Cavalier warily continued, "I just wanted to say that I'm glad you're back. Glad you're not . . . you know."

Hank smirked at Eric's earnestness, and reached out to take his friend's hand. They held a firm handshake for a few seconds, then Eric tugged on the Ranger's arm, pulling him into a grateful hug. "I don't know what we'd do without you, buddy," Eric continued. His words were more sincere than they had been the time they rescued Hank from the Darkling. However, Eric being Eric, he still didn't want to have the Ranger looking at him when he said them. He threw in some of his hallmark wisecracks after releasing Hank from the hug. "Can you warn us though . . . the next time you want to take an extended vacation without us? I don't know how many more of these I can take."

"That reminds me," Hank said as the others approached. "Here, Presto. I owe you one, pal." The Ranger reached beneath his leather tunic, into his small hip pouch, and pulled out a small, empty, and slightly crushed cardboard box. He tossed it to the Magician. "That thing probably saved my life."

Presto inspected the box and let out a tiny laugh. "I remember this!" he exclaimed. "It's the Jell-O!"

"Yep," Hank affirmed. "When I thought we'd use it some night, I figured we'd eat it. I never dreamed I'd be filling a water skin with it so I could fake my own death."

Bobby stared wide-eyed and impressed. "How'd you make it cold?"

"One hour in the Choros Sect ice chamber and you have instant frozen Jell-O. A few more hours in a water skin under my tunic and you have one dagger-proof stomach complete with the fakest looking blood you've ever seen."

Presto beamed at his inadvertent ability to help. He looked at Eric. "It may not have been as fancy as crème brûlée, but it was sure a heck of a lot more useful." The Cavalier scoffed in response.

Diana approached Hank with a look of mock annoyance. "Well, Ranger, it wasn't fake enough to keep us from being frantic about you," she scolded. As Hank started to apologize (for about the millionth time since arriving back in Xanaton) Diana's disapproval melted into a bright smile. She threw her arms around his neck, just grateful that he was alive.

As Diana backed away from Hank, her eyes fell on Sheila. "Ahem," she cleared her throat. "I think we should scout ahead to make sure everything's on the up-and-up. Wouldn't you agree, boys?"

Presto and Bobby hurriedly nodded and Uni pranced ahead of them as they strode toward the gates of Xanaton, looking back with impish grins.

Diana had not gone a few steps before she was forced to turn back to get Eric, who had again missed her point. "Let's go, Eric," she instructed. "Presto, Bobby and Uni need us."

"What?" Eric asked lamely. He motioned to Hank and Sheila. "If they're not ready to go yet, then I don't see why—"

His words were cut off as Diana tightly gripped his arm and dragged him toward the drawbridge. "C'mon, Cavalier," she droned. "You're with me."

Eric stumbled after her, tripping over his own metal boots. "Aw, Diana," he teased, "I always knew I'd grow on ya."

"Yeah," the Acrobat scoffed, "like a fungus."

Hank and Sheila followed their friends out of the city, but lagged behind. When they reached the rolling hills just beyond Xanaton, Sheila pulled Hank to a stop. "I need to say something," she told him quietly.

Hank did not respond, but simply looked at her. The morning suns were shining upon her face and reflected in her eyes. Hank couldn't remember the last time she looked so beautiful. He shook the thought out of his head. These were exactly the kinds of ideas he had to avoid if he was to continue to get them all safely through this Realm and back home. His responsibilities as leader—

"Hank?" Sheila's voice cut through his reverie.

"Sorry," Hank apologized. "I was listening. I just . . ." Hank glanced around awkwardly. This was the place where he had released Isolde and then followed her toward the Choros Sect . . . where he had ordered Sheila to go on into Xanaton without him . . . where he had kissed . . . Oh, God, why had he allowed himself to do that?

"When I thought you died," he heard the Thief say, "I felt more lost and alone than I ever felt in my entire life." Hank suddenly felt his face get very hot.

"It was more than just losing a great friend," Sheila continued.

Hank felt his stomach give an uncomfortable flip-flop. He was eager to hear what she had to say, but dreading it at the same time.

"We would have lost a wonderful leader."

Hank unconsciously narrowed his eyes. That, he had not been expecting.

"I don't know if you realize this, Hank," Sheila went on, "but you are the reason we've gotten this far. You've been strong, and brave, and determined. You've taught us to believe in ourselves and you always seem to be able to make everything turn out all right. When we make it out of this Realm and finally go home, it will all be because of you. I hope you know that."

"Wow," Hank breathed. He managed a modest smile. "Thank you, Sheila, that's very . . ."

"I hope you also know that I understand the responsibilities you have as leader," Sheila interrupted. "I know that part of the reason you are such a good leader is that you are loyal to those responsibilities no matter what. I want you to know that I would never do anything to make you feel as though you've abandoned those responsibilities. Never. You work so hard for all of us and I can't stand the thought that you might feel as though you've failed somehow."

Hank was puzzled. "Sheila, I . . ." His words stopped as the Thief placed her hand on his face.

"But," Sheila concluded, "you show us every day how much you care about us. And I also can't stand the idea of losing you again – or ever – without showing you how much I care about you."

Sheila paused for a moment, biting her lip as though thinking carefully. Then she stood on her toes, raising herself up to Hank's level. She cupped his face in her hands and brushed his lips gently with hers. What was little more than a whisper of pressure sent a tingling flood through the Ranger's entire body. He began to raise unconscious hands to the small of her back.

Sheila did not permit herself to linger there for very long. In less time than it took for Hank's heart to skip a beat, the Thief had lowered her feet to the ground again. The Ranger swallowed hard, speechless. When Isolde kissed him, for as beautiful as she was, he had truthfully felt nothing. Now, with Sheila, all he wanted was to sweep her into his arms and never let her go.

If Sheila hadn't spoken again, he may have done just that.

"I don't want you to feel torn," she said, her eyes averted for the moment. "I don't want you to imagine that you need to play favorites or anything. I just wanted you to know. Because tomorrow's too uncertain – especially in this place." She met his eyes again and smiled brightly at him before turning to walk after Bobby and the others.

"Sheila," Hank said, causing her to stop and face him. He inhaled deeply. "This whole thing . . . us being here in this world . . . it started with a date at the park, remember?"

Sheila nodded.

"When it's finally over, what would you say to finishing it?"

Sheila smiled again. "I'd say lead on, Ranger. I'll be here. Always."

Hank made a few quick paces to stand beside Sheila and looped his arm toward her. As he looked at her, he wondered how long it would be before he could tell the beautiful Thief how she had stolen his heart.

With a dancing smile in her eyes, Sheila took his arm and they picked up their pace so they might catch up with the others.

To be concluded . . .