Chapter 11

Small Stones

It seemed strange to the Ranger that they had returned, that they were finally here.

The tavern they were in had already closed, as it was late in the evening, but the owner had let them stay up to finish their dinner. They had walked for three days straight, with next to no rest; the moons had been bright, and Hank had forced them to keep going, sometimes until after midnight.

Now, they were here, back in the small town they had visited only a few weeks ago. Before, they had seen the Seer in her pretty little cottage near the centre and sought her advice; and it was a devastating blow to find her home boarded up.

The Seer had gone.

The despair was almost a physical thing. Hank's heart had dropped in a terrible, but familiar, way; the look on Sheila's face was almost as bad. The implicit accusation was there, that if they had gone sooner, or moved faster, they would have been in time to find her and ask for her help.

They had struggled to an Inn, and begged for room and food in exchange for some work. The Innkeeper had taken pity on them, or maybe he had recognised them from last time, Hank wasn't sure. But the man had provided them with some basic food and a room to share. It didn't seem like there was much work to do. The tavern, like the rest of the town was unnaturally quiet.

When asked, the Innkeeper had told them about the Seer; that she had left a few days after they had. Though he didn't know where, it was likely she had gone into the hills. It was rumoured she had a small castle there, steeped in strong magic, and she went there for "inspiration". Hank wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, and he knew they would have to follow. But for now, it was a relief that they were safe and well fed, for once.

Tonight, the others were very quiet, exhaustion taking its toll. Bobby was virtually asleep in his stew, and Sheila wasn't much better. Only Presto looked alert enough to have a conversation.

Looking at the Magician now, over the remains of dinner, the Ranger suppressed a little shudder. There was something in his eyes that Hank didn't understand. It made him feel uneasy. In the days since his reappearance, there was a curious emptiness about Presto. It didn't help that he had been unable to explain exactly what had happened while he was missing. Hank knew there was something he didn't want to tell them.

And he'd had nightmares.

There hadn't been a night without them. Sometimes, he just tossed and turned in his sleep, as if struggling against some unseen force. But sometimes he would wake gasping for breath, paler than the moons' light with his hair matted to his forehead. After those nights, he would refuse to go back to sleep.

Then there was the way he went deathly quiet whenever Eric was mentioned.

Eric… In spite of their fears, Hank couldn't quite make himself believe their Cavalier was dead.

Sheila certainly didn't, she had a confidence that seemed to spill over to the others as well. She and Eric had a strange sort of friendship; after the Citadel of Shadow, Hank had been worried that Sheila was starting to like the Cavalier a little too much. Though Eric had flirted shameless at Diana (who'd ignored him) it had always been obvious that Eric adored Sheila, maybe mistaking Sheila's innate kindness for genuine affection.

Looking back, Hank felt foolish for being jealous of the Cavalier. He'd seen the little looks Eric gave her when he thought no one was watching. It was the reason why Eric had hated Hank so much, and why he'd gainsayed his orders as often as possible. But as Hank and Sheila grew closer, Eric had seemed to accept that he'd been beaten, the arguments grew less frequent and bitter; but he still carried a torch for her, and she still showed him the same level of affection. She cared about him, and she wasn't going to give up hope.

Watching Sheila now, her eyes half-closed and her head resting against her hand, Hank smiled, not wanting to look away. Their first time together wasn't exactly perfect, but it hadn't been a total disaster. They hadn't talked about it, but she seemed to be ok again. She still smiled at him in the same, loving way. She still walked next to him during the day, her shoulder pressed against his arm. Lost in warm thoughts, Hank continued to watch her.

But slowly, the Ranger became aware that Presto was staring him. The Magician had red-tinged eyes and looked exhausted, but still he had a hard, fixed glare on his face. A sudden though came to Hank, he's too scared to go to sleep.

Presto had always bee there to help him through the difficult times, he'd helped him after the Cloud Bears, he'd believed in him, that he was a good enough leader to get them all home. But after all that they had shared, still Hank couldn't find a way of helping the Magician now, when he really needed it.

They looked at each other, but Hank found he couldn't hold Presto's gaze for more than a few seconds. For once, he couldn't think of anything to say.

'Are we going to follow her, Hank?' Sheila asked.

The sound of her voice made the Ranger jump. The Thief was looking at him hopefully.

'We'll follow her,' Hank replied with a small nod. 'I don't know how long it will take. We'll leave at dawn.' That was only in a few hours time.

It was obvious they were all exhausted and disheartened, as that small exchange was the only time they had talked for the whole evening. Sheila nodded in understanding, then carefully helped Bobby to his feet.

Presto made no move to follow, just looked after them with an empty stare. Hank shuddered.

'Presto…?'

The Magician turned back to face him, the mask of indifference back on his face. Hank looked at him with a terrible, lost feeling inside, then he said:

'If you want to talk to me, Presto…'

For a moment, Hank thought the Magician would reply; what looked like tears were welling up in his eyes. But instead, Presto glanced away.

'Thanks, Hank,' he whispered. 'Just need to get some, some… sleep.'

Helplessly, the Ranger watched as his friend stood up, and stumbled off to bed.

Sleeping.

He knows he's sleeping and he could wake up any time he wanted to. It's only a dream…

Though it is dark, this is still a familiar place for Presto. He can see it clearly, as if he is really there, back in the main hall of Venger's Castle. Back where it all began.

Venger stands in front of him, taller than before; more evil than before. Every time Presto sees him, he notices the changes. The skin gets whiter, and the eyes darker, with an implacable hunger in them that Presto is afraid of.

Venger is standing very close, and looks down at him. Inside him, somewhere he couldn't identify with any certainty, the Creature squirms. Sickness builds in the back of Presto's throat as it grates against his ribs and stomach.

Please let me wake up soon…

The force of Venger's stare makes him finally go down on one knee before his Master. It is what the Arch-Mage was waiting for.

'Magician,' he says. 'What do you have to tell me?'

Presto tries not to speak, though he knows that his reticence will only make the Arch-Mage angrier.

'You will tell me.'

He feels the air being crushed out of his body as Venger watches. The thing inside writhes with more force; it hurts, but Presto can't cry out.

Please let me wake up soon…

Though he doesn't want to, he mumbles out the name of the village. Venger stares at him, the brutal anger in his eyes burning brighter.

The Arch-Mage knows, without being told more, who they are looking for.

'No!' snarls Venger. 'No! You shall not go to her!'

It is a Command; one that the Creature inside him has heard and understood, and it will force him to obey.

'But, I can't stop…'

'NO!'

The clawed hand swoops down toward him. Terrified, Presto covers his face, the blood pounding through his head.

Please let me wake up soon…

But The Arch-Mage does not strike him. It takes Presto a few moments to realise he is unharmed, and looks up. Venger has stepped back, and turned away.

'You will not disturb the Seer in her Fortress,' repeats Venger, in a calmer, more rational voice.

'But Dungeonmaster told Hank to find her. I can't stop him.'

'You will find a way. Remember our agreement…'

Memories suddenly echo around the vaulted room; 'I will vow, before my Master, that I will see no harm come to those you see before you.'

This was the price of their freedom, and their safety. He had no choice.

'Yes,' he mumbles.

Presto lets his eyes close for a few moments.

When he opens them again, he is in a different place, though still within Venger's castle. He is standing beside the Arch-Mage on a high balcony, looking down to the courtyard below. It is full of Orcs, lizardmen and bullywugs, and other foul creatures that Presto doesn't recognise. As he looks further, he sees that the valley beyond is full of the movement and activity of a camp, with more creatures that are too far away to make out.

He stands looking out over the multitudes for a long while, the cold, empty feeling of despair growing all the time. Presto has never seen so many Dark creatures in one place before, and the feeling of evil rolls out of the camp in thick waves. It is a huge force, one that would most likely crush anything that tried to stand in its way. Not even Dungeonmaster could stand up against an army like that one. This was obviously something that Venger wanted him to see.

'This is my Army,' says Venger quietly.

There is another long silence, as Presto struggles to find something to say.

'All… of it…?'

Venger doesn't reply. He doesn't need to.

Please let me wake up soon…

'What's it for?'

He knows it's a stupid question. It's for destruction, plain and simple.

Venger looks down at him, his eyebrow curved upwards in that sarcastic, annoying way that reminds Presto of the Cavalier.

'I must be ready for War.'

Venger continues to stare at him, and the Magician starts to shake. He is shaking all the way through to his heart and soul. He wants to scream.

Please let me wake up soon… Please let me wake up soon…please…please… please…