"Is everybody okay?" Hank Grayson brushed his pale blond hair, which at the moment was covered with soot, out of his eyes.

"I think so," Sheila O'Brien replied, keeping a close eye on her ten-year-old brother, Bobby.

"Are you all right, sir?" Hank helped the stocky man to his feet.

"Yes, stranger," the man replied. He surveyed the group. "Thank you for your courage. If not for you, we surely would have lost our granaries to the fire. You are all very brave."

"Brave or stupid," Eric Montgomery muttered, wiping soot off his face.

"And still smoking," Diana Curry added, tearing the cape off Eric's back and smothering the burning embers.

Presto Sydney, the sixth member of the group, was trying to repair his glasses, which had been damaged during the fire. He held them up, and was relieved to see both lenses were still intact, but he didn't make much progress in fixing the frames, because he could barely see what he was doing.

"Presto..." Eric shot him an impatient look.

Silently, Hank took the glasses from the young magician and straightened the frames for him. Once he had handed him back, he looked up to see that a tall man with the same golden complexion as the people they had saved was standing before them. "Hello," Hank said automatically.

The man nodded curtly. His bearing and the gold-trimmed uniform indicated that he held rank among these people. "I am Todor vol'Garilesh, Captain of the Queen's Royal Guard. Her Majesty has seen the fire and received word of your help in extinguishing it and saving the Kingdom's food supply. Her Majesty requests that you appear before her in court that she may thank you properly on behalf of the kingdom of Khristobel."

"Oh," Hank blinked, not certain what else to say. "If you will come with me," the Captain spun on his heel, leaving the teenagers with nothing to do but follow.

Hank glanced at his friends and shrugged. They all set out after the Captain, following him up the winding path and past the high stone walls that encircled a castle built entirely out of pale rose-coloured marble. Two large doors were opened before them and the entered a palace more opulent, more richly decorated than any place the had been during their entire stay in the Realm. A brilliant, pale metal ornamented every fixture, and vivid tapestries hung on the walls. Hank noted that out of the entire group, Eric was the only one not craning his neck in a vain attempt to see everything at once. "Don't tell me," he said to the Cavalier in a low voice. "Castles are commonplace for you."

Eric shrugged. "This is the nicest one I've been it. MacArran castle is so damp and drafty."

"MacArran Castle?" Hank's blue eyes widened.

"My family's castle in Scotland. My grandfather is the Duke of MacArran."

Hank was about to comment on this startling revelation, but he realized that they were entering the throne room. They were led down a thick indigo carpet, past several richly dressed people who obviously made up the kingdom's court. They were brought to the foot of a small staircase, which led up to a pedestal which held a throne built entirely of the sparkling white metal. A man of the foot of the staircase lifted his chin and then announced in a loud voice. "All kneel in the presence of Her Most Royal Majesty, Queen Sabra yil'Orszebet of Khristobel and Ruler of all the lands therein."

The group obediently kneeled along with everyone else in the room, but none of them could resist the urge to glance up as the Queen emerged from a door at the opposite end of the hall. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, with the golden skin of her people. Skin which set off the thick, black mass of curls that fell to her waist. She wore a long skirt and scant bodice, which although it covered her magnificent curves, set them off rather than hid them. She wore jewels around her neck and waist, in her ears and on her fingers. Her elaborate headdress was made of gold and looked extremely heavy, although it seemed to cause her no trouble. Gracefully, she climbed the steps and seated herself on the platform. "Rise, young heroes," she commanded in a rich, sultry voice. Hank straightened first, and his friends soon followed. "My gratitude, strangers, for your help in saving our food supply. What may this grateful country give you in return?"

Hank blinked, then glanced back at his friends. "Uh...a reward isn't necessary, Your Majesty. We were just trying to help."

"And so you have," the Queen's jet black eyes sparkled as she smiled at them. "And although you request no reward, there shall be a feast given in your honour. I would be pleased if you dined with me, for you look like travellers who are very weary. As an expression of my gratitude, allow me to see you cleaned, well-fed and rested before you leave the grateful kingdom of Khristobel."

Hank heard murmuring amongst his friends and was positive he'd have a mutiny on his hand if he refused. Not that he had any intention of refusing, seeing as he was just as hungry as any of them--their last actual meal had been nearly a day-and-a-half ago.

He was about to accept, but Eric beat him to it. "Your Majesty is as generous and kind as she is beautiful. We accept with thanks." Hank's jaw wasn't the only one that dropped at Eric's formal speech.

The Queen looked suitably impressed. She favoured Eric with a dazzling smile, "You speak the language of court most favourably, traveller. I look forward to conversing with all of you over dinner." She clapped her hands twice and four servants appeared near the teenagers. "Take our guests and let them wash away the dust of their travels and the soot from the fire. Dress them in the finest clothes that my palace has to offer and see to it that their clothes are well cleaned." She rose from her throne. "I will see all of you at dinner."

"Me either," Diana agreed, squeezing the excess lather from her hair. "I wonder if the Queen would mind if we asked to have our supper in here."

Sheila laughed before dunking her head under the water so she could wash it with the jar of liquid a maid was holding out to her. "As far as I'm concerned, this bath is reward enough for saving that granary." The maid poured a generous amount of perfumed soap on her head and Sheila began to work it through her hair. "This is going to spoil me awfully."

"Girl, don't even talk to me about tramping through the Realm right now," Diana ordered as she held her head down so a maid could rinse her hair out. That done, she leaned back against the tub.

"I'm going to enjoy this for as long as I can." Sheila, her hair now rinsed as well, closed her eyes in contentment. "I'm never leaving this tub..." she repeated.

"Perhaps we can persuade the ladies to come down to dinner," said a new female voice. Sheila's eyes snapped open as she and Diana regarded the older woman who just walked into the room. "I have selected several gowns for you to choose from, my ladies," the woman went on. "If it pleases you, I can have them brought in to be viewed while you continue to enjoy your baths."

Sheila and Diana exchanged grins. "On with the show," Diana smiled at the woman.

"I wonder if the guys are enjoying this as much as we are," Sheila said.

"I can do that myself," Hank said to the maid who was attempting to wash his back for him. "Really."

"My first real bath in months and I can't even enjoy it," Eric said under his breath. "I got it, it's okay," he took the sponge from the maid assigned to bathe him.

Bobby didn't say a word, and hadn't since the maids had entered the rooms after they were in their wooden tubs.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hank noted the four maids were now holding towels. "Uh...guys..?"

No one answered him.

Hank sighed. "Guys, we're going to have to get out sooner or later."

"Fine," Eric replied calmly. "You first."

"Where are our friends?" Diana asked as, she too, was seated.

"They will be here shortly, my lady," the young man replied with a bow. Then both servants retreated from the room.

"I can hardly believe this!" Sheila said as she fussed with the skirt of her deep purple dress. Lightly, she touched her hair to assure herself that the red curls were still intact.

"These plates look like they're pure silver," Diana checked her reflection in the plate set before her. She couldn't help admiring the way her bright amber dress flattered her complexion. She adjusted one of her gold earrings, which was so long that it nearly reached her shoulder.

Abruptly, both girls stopped primping when the door opened and their friends were escorted to the table. The boys were as richly dressed as they were; Hank in blue, Eric in black, Presto in forest green and Bobby in burgundy. "You guys look great!" Sheila exclaimed, automatically fixing her brother's high collar once he was seated next to her. Bobby pretended to be absorbed in petting Uni, who had been staying unusually close to her young master's side since they'd entered the castle.

"Thanks, so do you," Hank muttered as he was seated on her other side.

Eric and Presto were placed on either side of Diana. "What's the matter with you?" she asked them. "I thought you'd be in a much better mood after being waited on hand and foot."

"So did I," Presto replied.

"Well, I can't help it," Diana decided that their bad mood wasn't going to ruin her high spirits. "I love it. We had maids to do everything we wanted."

"So did we," Hank replied, his voice barely audible.

Sheila and Diana exchanged glances and when realization hit, they burst into laughter.

"Oh, shut up!" Eric scowled at them.

"Oh, you poor babies!" Diana managed to gasp out. "Have your fragile male sensibilities been offended?"

"Diana..." Presto's voice held a pleading not.

"C'mon, Bobby," Sheila ruffled her brother's hair. "Don't look so mad. We're not laughing at you, we're laughing with you."

"We're not laughing," Bobby waved her hand away.

"Oh. Well then...I guess we are laughing at you," Sheila replied with a fresh burst of giggles.

"I am glad to see you enjoying yourself, my friends." The group turned to see Queen Sabra smiling at them from the doorway. Hastily, Sheila and Diana swallowed their laughter and started to rise to their feet, as the boys had done. "No," the Queen motioned for them to sit back down. "No ceremony. That is one of the reasons this is a private banquet. So you and I need not trifle ourselves with such things as protocol." She seated herself at the head of the table. "Let us enjoy the meal without such worries." She made the slightest motion with her hand, and seven footmen approached the table. They set a bowl of delicious-smelling, thick soup in front of each of everyone, and then retreated. "Enjoy, my friends."

Diana looked down at the table, and when she saw no cutlery, she hesitated, unsure how to proceed. A quick, covert glance across the table told her that Sheila and Hank were having the same problem. There was a slight movement at her right as Eric raised the bowl to his lips and took a small sip.

The Queen was watching him as well, and smiled approvingly. "Does the keeshtok meet with you satisfaction, sir?"

"Very much so, Your Majesty," Eric returned the smile. "It is excellent."

Diana looked at Hank questioningly, but the Ranger merely shrugged almost imperceptibly and picked up his own bowl.

"And may I ask your names, my young friends?" the Queen said once she saw everyone was becoming more comfortable in her presence.

"My name is Hank, Your Majesty," Hank said.

"Mine is Sheila, Your Majesty."

"I'm Bobby," Bobby said, forgetting about the Your Majesty entirely.

"I'm....um...Presto, Your Majesty."

"My name is Diana, Your Majesty."

Queen Sabra nodded to each of them as they introduced themselves, then turned to Eric.

"Your Majesty, I am Eric Stephen Montgomery," he said with such formality and calm dignity that it startled all of his friends.

The Queen's eyebrows rose slightly. "You pronounce your name with a great deal of pride, my Lord Montgomery."

"The Montgomerys are a very proud family, Your Majesty."

"Mmm..." The Queen smiled at everyone around the table before turning her attention back to Eric. "One can not help but notice that you do not seem surprised to be addressed as Lord. Are you are Lord, my friend?"

"I'm a manner of speaking, Your Majesty. My grandfather is a Duke, and since my father's death, I am naturally next in line to the title."

All of Dungeon Master's pupils stared at one another in shock. They all knew Eric's father wasn't dead--he'd mentioned the man several times. That's going a bit far, Eric, Hank thought, but didn't say anything out loud. No one did, in fact, which was unusual. Hank decided that Eric's newfound dignity had something to do with the fact that no one was contradicting him.

"Is that what all of you are?" The Queen's eyes skipped from Hank to Eric and back. "Young nobles from another world out adventuring?"

"No, Your Majesty," Hank replied. "Eric is the only one."

"There is no recognized nobility in the country we come from in our birth world," Diana added. "Everyone is equal."

"Then how is it that you are a noble?" The Queen looked at Eric skeptically.

"Other countries do recognize such rank, Queen Sabra," Eric replied, shooting a quelling glance in Diana's direction. He was enjoying having the attention of a Queen--and an extremely beautiful Queen, at that--and had no intention of letting his friends take away any of the limelight he'd acquired. "My families ancestors come from such a country."

"Ah. And the rest of you? Have you such all such ancestors?"

"Not that I know of, Your Majesty," Hank replied, reluctant to get into the subject of his own genealogy.

"Not for me, either," Diana said.

Presto merely shook his head, most of his interest was concentrated on the roast fowl that had been set in front of him as the second course.

"My full name is Robert Niall O'Brien," Bobby announced, ignoring Sheila's whispers to remain quiet. "And the O'Briens are descended from some of the greatest musicians and dancers in our world."

Queen Sabra turned to him in surprise. "Is that a fact, Master O'Brien?" she asked.

"I apologize, Your Majesty," Sheila looked ready to crawl under the table.

"No need, my dear, I assure you. I find your brother's proclamation most interesting." She leaned forward slightly to better address the brash boy. "And what of you, dear boy? Are you following your ancestors path? Do you play or dance?"

"I don't dance," Bobby wrinkled his nose in distaste. "But I play the drums."

The Queen seemed amused, but smiled kindly at him. "Then I'm sure you will enjoy watching the musicians and dancers that are to entertain us later."

Bobby returned the Queen's smile, even though the prospect wasn't something he looked forward to all that much.

"But what of your sister? Does she dance or play?"

"I play a little guitar, Your Majesty," Sheila replied shyly. "And I've had some dancing lessons, but I'm afraid I'm not very good. Diana is the one with that talent."

"I'm sure you dance very prettily, my dear," the Queen reassured Sheila. "But your modesty is a pleasing trait." Then she turned to Diana. "And what have you to say of your friend's praise."

Diana swallowed her mouthful, and then replied.

"Very much, Your Majesty," Eric replied, still half-surprised at feeling so comfortable in her presence.

"Perchance you could turn your attention from it long enough to speak with me?" she smiled.

Eric was caught off guard. "I...certainly, Queen Sabra. With pleasure."

"Come," she rose again. "We can talk in more privacy there," she nodded to a quiet corner of the ballroom.

Eric stood immediately, and on pure instinct, offered her his arm. He could barely suppress a triumphant smile when she took it. He returned Hank's look of inquiry with a smug one of his own.

Once the were settled on the comfortable pillows in the corner, Eric asked. "What is it you wished to talk about, Your Majesty?"

"How is it, Lord Eric. That the offspring of a noble travels with those who are not, and yet they do not defer to him?"

Eric hesitated a moment before answering, partly because he didn't completely understand her wording at first. "Well...I..." he racked his brains for the proper words. "As Diana said, Your Majesty, such things have been abolished in my country."

"How is it that you are a noble, then? Being born there."

"Actually, I wasn't. I was born in the country where my grandfather is a Duke, but my family lives in both countries. I was raised in the States--that is, the country without nobility."

"And yet you can retain your status?"

"I've never heard otherwise."

Queen Sabra smiled warmly. "Then you are, in a sense, descended from a king."

"A king's cousin, from what I've always been told." Eric would have preferred admitting being part of an immediate line, but there was only so far he could go. Besides, she seems impressed enough with that.

"Your modesty does you credit, Lord Eric."

Eric nearly choked on his drink. Modesty was certainly something he'd never been accused of before. He felt compelled to add. "But he was a king centuries ago."

The Queen leaned forward, looking very interested. "Tell me what you know of this king."

Eric was only too happy to oblige. He found a sudden interest in history that would have astonished his teachers.

I doubt she noticed, though, Hank decided with a smile as he pulled on his now-clean dark green leggings to sleep in. She was too busy talking to Eric all evening. He smiled as he climbed into bed, ignoring the matching shirt and his olive-coloured leather tunic. Leaning back, he sank down into several plush pillows, and all thoughts of Eric and the Queen left his mind as he snuggled contentedly under the covers and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

Or tried to.

A wave a nausea immediately threatened to overwhelm him, and he was assaulted with a headache of icepick intensity. When he was able to think clearly again, he realized that he was indeed on a stone floor. What happened? He looked around. A cell. How did I get into a cell? Absently, he scratched at on of the itchy spots--his shoulder. Glancing down, he frowned at the sight of a rather tattered woolen tunic. Okay. I don't think I even want to know how this happened. What in the world is going--Presto?! In the dim light of the cell, he spotted his friend's prone form and he began to crawl towards him, having decided that standing was still out of the question. "Presto?" he gently shook the magician, who was clothed in the same garments.

Presto moaned slightly.

"Presto, it's--" Hank paused for a moment and closed his eyes, waiting for another wave of nausea to pass. "It's Hank."

Finally, the hazel eyes flickered open and Presto looked up at Hank, trying to focus without his glasses.

"Don't try to sit up," Hank cautioned him immediately. "It might even be a good idea not to move."

"Is this what a hangover feels like?" Presto asked in a hoarse voice.

"Only a really, really bad one."

"Were we drinking?"

"I don't think so," Hank replied. Silently, he added, I think we were drugged.

"I didn't know hangovers were supposed to make you so cold. I've heard of chills, but--"

"You're cold because you're in a freezing cold cell, Presto."

"Oh," Presto closed his eyes. A moment later, they snapped open again. "What am I doing here?"

Hank ran his hands through his hair as he looked around their prison again. "I have no idea, and--" he squinted in the dimness, wondering if he didn't see something else in their with them. It was a small lump, not big enough to look very dangerous.

"Hank?" Presto asked, concerned by his friend's silence. With the lack of light or his glasses, the young magician had to rely on only his hearing.

"Just a second," Hank said, moving towards the small lump. As he got closer, he realized it was the youngest member of their group and he went towards Bobby as fast as his hands and knees could take him.

"What? What is it?" Presto demanded.

"It's Bobby," Hank replied, carefully turning the boy over.

"Is he okay?" Presto managed to prop himself up on his elbows, but decided not to go any further until his head stopped spinning.

"Bobby?" Hank leaned over the silent boy. "Bobby."

"Go 'way," Bobby muttered.

Hank smiled with relief. "Can't, pal. Wake up, okay?"

"Hank?" Bobby asked in a voice barely more than a whisper.

"Right here, so's Presto," Hank scrutinized the cell for a sign of anyone else, but could see no one.

"I feel sick," Bobby swallowed hard.

"I know," Hank said sympathetically. "Just don't move for a little while, okay."

"'Kay," Bobby let out a slow breath.

"What happened?" Presto asked. "Was the castle attacked?"

"Ever heard of a Mickey Finn, Presto?" Hank asked with a rueful smile, absently smoothing Bobby's tousled hair.

Presto frowned. "No. What is it?"

"It's when someone slips something into your drink to knock you out."

"But why?" This from Bobby. "We helped them. We saved all their food."

"Yeah," Presto agreed. "What do they have against us?" There were a few seconds of silence. "And what am I wearing?!"

Hank nearly laughed out loud at Presto's indignant tone. "Clothes more suitable to a prisoner, I guess."

"Oh man, I don't like this," Presto sounded more fearful by the minute.

"Me, too," Bobby said, barely understanding what the magician had said.

"Me three," Hank added, helping the boy to sit up. "I think we have to--" he broke off as the cell door opened. A huge hulking figure was framed in the doorway, and instinctively, Hank shifted closer to Bobby.

"On your feet," came the order in a harsh tone.

Great. Hank got unsteadily to his feet, using the wall for balance and helping Bobby as much as he could. "Presto?"

"I'm okay," Presto said, sounding anything but okay.

"Where are we?" Hank demanded with as much bravado as he could muster under the circumstances. He immediately regretted the question as the huge man walked further into the cell, backing the trio against the wall.

That is the ugliest person I've ever seen! Presto thought irrelevantly.

"Questions are not a good idea here, boy," the man said to Hank. "Questions only shorten the life of a slave."

"But...but we were guests of Queen Sabra," Presto protested.

The man snorted in contempt. "As if Queen Sabra would associate with the likes of you!" He looked them all over. "I am your Taskmaster--Boaz. You will refer to all the other overseers as Master."

Hank squeezed Bobby's shoulder to keep the hot-tempered young Barbarian from saying anything and gritted his own teeth against the words that immediately sprang to mind. Don't aggravate them until you find the others and a way out, his common sense told him.

"I will show you to your tasks. Follow me," Boaz said, turning and walking out of the cell.

Hank was puzzled by the seeming lack of concern over an attempted escape until he saw several other men, all at least equal to Boaz's seven feet, waiting outside for them. Once in the brighter light, Hank could see that their skin was violet-coloured. As they stepped out into the hallway, he spotted Sheila and Diana being led down the hall in front of them. Sheila glanced behind and when she saw her brother, she immediately turned to go to him, but was pushed along by one of the guards. Hank glanced down at Bobby and when he saw the boy obviously struggling not to call out to his sister, he put a reassuring hand on the small shoulder. He looked behind for a sign of Eric or Uni, but couldn't see anyone else. As he was propelled forward by a hard shove, and separated from Bobby, Hank felt real fear begin to rise. Dungeon Master, where are you when we really need you?

The sound of a door opening got his attention, and he turned towards the noise. A servant entered the room, carrying a large tray. Eric sat up immediately, and although he had been taught all his life to speak as little as possible to servants, the enticing smells coming from the tray prompted a cheerful: "Good morning" from him.

"Good morning, my lord," the servant replied with a small bow.

Now this was a procedure Eric knew well. He sat up in bed and allowed the servant to arrange the tray over his legs. Eric looked down at his breakfast--he didn't know what it was, but it was making his mouth water.

The servant had picked up a small, round vessel and was pouring a thick, hot liquid into a globe-shaped cup which he set down in front of the Cavalier. Then he stepped back and stood at attention beside the bed. "Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?"

"No, you can go now," Eric replied in a dismissive tone that was second nature.

"Yes, my lord," the servant bowed again and then left the room.

Eric reached for the globe first, whatever was inside smelled remarkably like chocolate. He took a tentative sip and the rich taste flooded his mouth. If this isn't chocolate, it sure is a great substitute, he decided, taking a bigger sip. I'll bet the squirt just loves this stuff, he grinned, knowing Bobby's attraction to chocolate. He dug into the food, sighing again in pure satisfaction. Maybe I can talk Hank into staying for lunch, too. I'll bet Presto would help.

He sucked in his breath when he heard a sharp crack and felt a burning sensation around his right ankle.

"You work here, light-hair," a taskmaster snarled at him.

"Where are they taking him?"

His only reply was to have his leg jerked out from under him.

"Hank!" Presto exclaimed.

"I'm fine," Hank assured him hastily, not wanting the magician to receive the same treatment. "Stay there. I'm fine."

"Get up."

Hank took a few seconds to catch his breath, then got to his feet.

"These rocks," the taskmaster motioned towards the mountain behind them. "Have to be moved. Break them down and put them in the baskets to be transported."

Hank looked at the picks shoved at them, while Presto took his right away. Hank couldn't bring himself to take it, and his hands involuntarily clenched into fists. The whip cracked again and Hank braced himself.

Presto let out a yelp.

Hank glanced at his friend and saw a red welt rising on his arm. Without another instant's hesitation, he took the pick and set to work.

Eric nodded to the man who had help him on with his cloak. The man bowed and left, and Eric turned to the newest servant. "Yes?"

"Her Most Royal Majesty has sent me to summon you to a private audience with her."

Eric raised his eyebrows. The word: really? nearly slipped past his lips, but he managed to bite it back. "I see."

"Will you accompany me, my lord, or do you wish to send a message back to Queen Sabra?"

"No, I'll come with you now." Eric gestured for the man to lead the way.

Eric followed the servant down several hallways and into a large room. If possible, this particular room was even more opulent than the rest of the palace. Eric glanced around momentarily, then his eyes came to rest on Queen Sabra, seated in a deep chair covered with some sort of fur the Cavalier couldn't identify.

"Lord Eric, Your Majesty," the servant announced.

"Come in, my lord," the Queen smiled at Eric. To the servant, she merely said--"Leave us."

The servant bowed and left, closing the tall door behind him.

"Please sit," Sabra gestured to the chair opposite hers.

Eric took the chair, finding it difficult to sit up straight in such a deep seat. After a moment, he gave up and leaned back comfortably.

"I trust that you quarters and morning meal were satisfying, Lord Eric?"

"Very much so, Your Majesty," Eric smiled.

"Good. They, perhaps, befit your station more so than what you have encountered recently."

Eric's smile faltered slightly. "Yes. I...suppose they do."

"Perhaps you would like to know why I summoned you here?" Sabra suggested.

Eric considered giving the properly flattering answer that it didn't matter why she had summoned him and that he was honoured to be in her presence, but curiosity got the better of him. "Yes, I would. Are you granting all of us private audiences?"

The Queen's warm, indulgent countenance vanished. "No, Lord Eric. I am not. I have summoned you in order to inform you that I have granted you one of the greatest favours in my power to give."

Eric raised his eyebrows, not sure how to interpret that. He decided to play it safe. "There is no need to inform me of that, Your Majesty. I am well aware of the kindness you have shown my friends and I. I assure you we are all very grateful." Yeah, that sounded pretty good.

Queen Sabra airily waved his reply away. "That was not a favour. That was merely what any young noble should be granted on his arrival to Khristobel Palace."

Eric frowned slightly. Suddenly, he was well aware of the fact that he hadn't seen his friends since the previous night. And this morning, the Queen's attention wasn't enough to distract him from the fact that she'd barely acknowledged the rest of the group. I thought we were guests because we saved the granaries.

"The favour I have granted you, my Lord Eric, is to rid you of the lesser...horde you have been forced to associate with."

Eric had no idea what to say. Rid me of..? She can't be talking about the others.

"Are you not pleased?"

Eric cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I don't understand. What..? What lesser horde?"

"The ruck that you have been travelling with throughout this world. You are free of them."

"They left without me?" Eric asked, although he knew that was impossible. It was, however, preferable to the alternative.

"Surely you realized they would not relinquish the lucrative position of travelling with a noble," Queen Sabra explained indulgently. "No, it was necessary to take matters into my own hands. They have been put in their proper place, and you are now free to live your life as a noble should. In fact, you are welcome to stay at my palace indefinitely. As a noble from another world, it would be an honour for us."

Eric ignored her flattery. "Their proper place? Where exactly is that?"

"Your concern for the lower classes does you credit, my lord, but surely there is no reason to continue this charade any longer."

"What charade? Look, I want to know where my friends are," Eric said, dropped his affected speech in his growing panic. "What have you done with them?"

"They have been put to work," Queen Sabra replied, her tone cooling noticeably. "Your friends, are they?"

"Yes, they are," Eric said firmly.

"My lord, you have obviously been associating with them for far too long. You forget your duty to your rightful peers."

"My duty? What duty?" Panic had been shelved momentarily in favour of anger.

"The duty every noble has of keeping oneself free of the taint association with the lower classes can cause. You have obviously chosen to ignore it. I suggest you begin living up to your birthright now."

All of their conversations from the previous night came flooding back to Eric. He tried to ease out of this exceedingly complicated situation. "Your Majesty, as a noble, I am free to associate with anyone I please."

"Not as openly as you have been," Sabra countered. "I observed you conceding to the opinions of several of them. And you were actually obeying the light-haired one."

Light-haired? Oh, Hank. "Well, Hank's the leader," he said before he thought. "I mean..."

"The leader? The leader?! You allow a commoner to command you?"

Oh man. "Your Majesty, it's the way we live in our world, all you have to do is tell me where my friends are, and we'll go. Okay? You don't have to do me anymore favours." Please don't do me anymore favours.

"You refuse the honour I grant?" Sabra rose from her seat.

Eric stood also, hoping against hope that there was a way out of this that didn't involve pain. "You are being very kind, I'm sure," he placated. "But I believe we have different ideas about this subject. Where are my friends?"

"You refuse to leave them where they belong?" Sabra said incredulously. "You insist on joining that...that scum again?"

Okay, this is too much. "Yes, I do."

"You are a traitor to your own kind," Sabra hissed at him.

"You are one weird lady, you know that?" Eric scowled, too provoked to worry about his safety. "Now tell me where my friends are."

Sabra clapped her hands and several guards entered the chamber.

Uh-oh."Umm...I meant, please tell my where my friends are, Your Majesty."

"We have a traitor in our midst," Sabra informed the guards.

Before Eric could protest, stars exploded behind his eyes, and he lost all interest in the proceedings.

The girl with honey-blonde curls was employed at the same job as Sheila and despite warnings from the taskmasters that slaves were not allowed to speak to one another she rarely seemed to stop talking.

The other girl, Diana was certain, wasn't going to live much longer. Her main talents seemed to mouthing off at the guards and then dodging the whip. She was being given increasingly difficult and dangerous tasks and Diana was convinced she had a death wish. Although Diana was longing to speak to the guards in the same manner, she held her tongue and did as she was told, determined to stay alive and as healthy as possible so she was ready for their escape as soon as the possibility presented itself.

The crack of a whip made her look up and she saw that the mouthy girl had got herself in trouble yet again. From the taskmaster's gestures, it was obvious that she was being ordered to climb the scaffolding on one of the sheer cliffs that surrounded the mines. Diana shuddered. Even though it had only been two days, she had lost count of how many slaves had fallen to their deaths from those cliffs.

At least Presto's here, he reflected. I think I'd go nuts if I was completely alone. The magician was having a harder time of it than he was, Hank knew. The physical labour was draining, but after so much time spent in the Realm, Presto had was able to handle it. Not having his glasses and being nearly blind, however, was a fear he never could overcome. Hank helped him as often as possible without incurring the wrath of their taskmasters. Presto didn't worry him as much as the others. Presto was right beside him, and Hank could bolster his spirits or check on his well-being to reassure himself whenever necessary. Sheila and Diana worried him more, even though he caught glimpses of them now and then and they both seemed to be alright. Bobby worried him, because they hadn't seen the young Barbarian since the first day. Eric worried him, because there hadn't been the slightest sign of the Cavalier since waking up in the cell.

"Hank?" Presto's voice pulled him out of his reverie.

"Yeah?"

"Is someone coming in?"

Hank glanced at the door. Sure enough, sounds from the other side indicated it was being unlocked. "It's probably the food."

"Oh, is that what they call it?" Presto somehow managed to inject a little humour into the situation.

Hank chuckled--not because he felt like it, but to let Presto know he appreciated the effort.

The door opened, but instead of food, and ten-year-old boy was thrust into the cell.

"Bobby!" Hank exclaimed, rising to his feet. He caught the boy by the shoulders.

Bobby blinked at him dazedly. "Hank..?"

He looks dead on his feet, Hank thought, then winced at his own phrasing. "Yeah, Bobby, it's me." He led the Barbarian to the corner where he and Presto had taken refuge.

"Hey, Bobby, where've you been?" the relief in Presto's voice was obvious.

"Underground. They use the children to work in the mines. 'Cos we're smaller," Bobby whispered, practically falling to the ground between the two older boys. "Sheila..?"

"She's okay, Bobby. I saw her just a little while ago. She and Diana are okay."

Bobby nodded and then swallowed hard. He brought his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, leaning his head down on his knees.

The utter hopelessness in the posture scared Hank more than anything else could. Where was the brash Barbarian that was gung-ho for any fight? That was certain they could get out of nearly anything they got into? "Bobby?"

"It's dark down there," Bobby's voice was muffled. "I kept tripping over other...if you die down there, they just leave you...you have to step over the dead ones..."

Presto's breath hissed between his teeth. "Jeez, Bobby..."

Hank wanted to scream and pound is fists against the wall. It was so terribly unfair! Bobby was the youngest and the least able to deal with these horrors, and he had been forced into the worst labour of all. "Bobby..." Hank put his hands on his shoulder.

Bobby's voice was hollow. "And one of these times, it'll be me they step over."

Before he could consider this any further, he was hit from the side with a wave of water. It was hard enough to hurt, and was cold enough to jolt him into full wakefulness. He shook his head in an attempt to shake the water off and scraped his cheek against a rough surface. I don't want to know. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, and for a few minutes, all he could see was wood. Frowning, he looked up. His wrists were fastened painfully to the sturdy post, his arms stretched far over his head. When he tried to move away, he found that his feet barely brushed the floor and that any movement made fiery pain sizzle through his shoulders and arms.

"The traitor is awake."

The morning's events came flooding back at the sound of Queen Sabra's voice. Oh, man. What is she going to do to me? What did she do to the others?

The Queen moved into his line of vision, as beautiful as ever, except for the snarl that twisted her lips. "You are beneath those you consort with. You have turned your back on your peers."

Not this again! Eric was in pain, and in no mood for this. His petulant nature, never far from the surface, showed itself. "Gimme a break! This is getting so old!"

"You deserve a far worse than the rabble you associate with. They have only received their due. You deserve punishment."

Eric's next sarcastic remark died in his throat. He realized that he was not wearing his armour from the waist up, and that provoking her further would not be a wise move at this point. "Okay, look, all you have to do is let us go and forget you ever saw us. I mean, we saved--"

"You may begin," Sabra said, speaking not to Eric, but someone behind him.

"Come on! We risked our lives for a bunch of your lousy grain! You--" Eric broke off at the sharp noise that sounded behind him. Years of working with horses and his time in the Realm allowed him to identify the source immediately.

Oh God.

They weren't quite fast enough.

"You!" Hank stood while Presto scrambled to put the few remaining rocks in the wagon.

One of the taskmasters, not Boaz, but someone just as big and ugly, approached them. "Light-hair, why have you left your task?"

Hank sighed inwardly with relief. So he was in trouble, not Presto.

"It's my fault--" Presto began, but Hank waved for him to be quiet.

"I hear from the others that you are always leaving your task, light-hair. I think you need something that occupies you better."

Hank didn't reply, just regarded the taskmaster evenly.

The taskmaster pointed to the cliffs. "Up there, you worry about your task and falling to your death. Let's go."

Hank didn't move. He couldn't afford to be separated from Presto as well.

"I said, let's go," the guard repeated with a snarl, raising his whip.

"Hank, go!" Presto whispered behind him.

"I'll stay," Hank informed the guard. "You don't have to worry about me leaving my task again." Inwardly, he was glad his voice didn't tremble when he spoke.

"Oh, you'll stay?" The taskmaster looked amused. There was a crack, and the whip snaked tightly around Hank's neck. "You'll do as you're told."

Hank gripped the taut length of the whip with both hands, but as the taskmaster pulled, he either had to follow or have his air cut off.

"I'll be okay, Hank," Presto assured him.

Only then did Hank move, allowing the taskmaster to lead him away with the whip.

"What do you want?" another voice snarled at them. Hank turned towards the sound of the voice and saw a slim young woman advancing towards them, her pickaxe raised.

"Stand where you are!" the taskmaster ordered.

The girl remained where she was, swinging the pickaxe casually but menacingly as she regarded them with dark eyes.

"Put it down."

Curling her lip, the girl flung the tool down so hard that the pick cut several inches into the rock.

Finally, the taskmaster loosened the whip from around Hank's throat and shoved him forward. As he did so, he let the whip loose towards the girl. She dodged it easily, but lost her footing in the process, just barely managing to hang on with a precarious grip.

Acting on pure instinct, Hank rushed forward, grabbing both of her wrists. He hauled her back onto the cliff top. "Are you alright?" he asked as he helped her to her feet.

"I'm fine," she replied, brushing his hands away. It was only when she shook her dark red hair out of her face that Hank realized she wasn't any older than he was.

"Are you sure?"

The girl rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I'm well enough to do this." She hooked her foot behind Hank's ankle and pulled both his legs out from under him. "Any other stupid questions, Kid Galahad?"

"Nope, I'm convinced," Hank managed through clenched teeth. A whip cracked over their heads.

Quickly, the girl grabbed Hank's arm and hauled him up. "Let's go."

"I'm Hank, by the way."

"What do you think this is?" she scowled at him. "A garden party? Get to work before Dodrek decides to better acquaint you with his whip." She grabbed her pickaxe and began digging where she was.

Hank picked up a shovel and started digging, wondering if there was any particular purpose to this task. "Look," he said, "If we're going to be working together, I think it'd be better if I knew your name."

"Why? Either of us could be dead tomorrow. Besides, you ought to save your breath for working instead of chatting. If we don't look properly miserable, Dodrek will find a way to make sure we are."

"You seem to know a lot about this place," Hank said, hoping he'd found a source of information about the mines. "How long have you been here?"

"Maybe you didn't realize it, but for the past five minutes, I've been trying to tell you to shut up," the girl snapped.

Hank was silent, and they both fell into the rhythm of the work.

Diana scowled and she stirred the bubbling cauldron with renewed vigour. Her heart had nearly stopped when she spotted Hank's blond head on the cliffs. Then she saw the girl knock him over--she was positive that's what had happened. She'd already decided not to mention it to Sheila, knowing that would only cause more unnecessary worry for her already worried friend. She knew Sheila didn't have a view of the cliffs from the small cave where her work was done and decided it was best she didn't know at all. Hank was alright, after all.

She'd also seen them both being taken back down the cliffs for their individual rest breaks. The mouthy girl was led past the high wooden tower Diana was standing on, but didn't see the Acrobat glaring at her. Although she couldn't see what was going on, Diana did hear a voice she'd grown to recognize coming from the metal working area.

"That was stupid, you know." That was the blonde chatterbox, Diana was certain.

"He wouldn't shut up."The mouthy girl replied.

That's all that was said before the guards reminded them about the no talking rule with yet another crack of their whips.

Diana shook her head and went back to her task.

Where is my boy?

Soon I can shift myself again. Bad shift before. The evil woman found me.

Why can I not connect with my boy like the others of my kind?

Why can I not shift to where he is?

Tired. Hungry.

What has happened to my boy and my friends?

What happened in Queen Sabra's dungeon went way beyond that. Although he'd let out a startled scream the first time the whip sliced into the skin on his back, he was unable to make a sound after that. His silence only served to infuriate the Queen and her henchman further. The whipping became more brutal as punishment for what was perceived as defiance. Eric would have screamed or begged for mercy or done whatever was necessary to stop the torture, but his vocal chords seemed to be frozen. In a desperate attempt to ignore the agony, he counted the swish-CRACK! of the whip until he finally passed out.

He'd awakened to find himself face down on a dank dirt floor, completely disoriented and with no idea how much time had passed. As he regained full consciousness, the pain hit him full force it was impossible to concentrate on his surrounding, the time, or anything except the agony of his mutilated back.

Think about something else! he told himself. Think about anything else, or you're going to go nuts! The others, he suddenly realized in horror. What did she do to everyone else? He recalled the Queen saying that because he was noble his offense was considered worse than anything his friends had done. Did that mean their punishment wasn't as bad as his? God, I hope it wasn't.

This isn't working... Eric groaned and pressed his cheek harder against the cold stone floor. He supposed he should be grateful that the guards who had tossed him into the cell had thrown him down on his stomach. He doubted he would have been able to turn over if he had landed on his mangled back. So things could be worse, Eric thought with dark humour.

What was that witch thinking? Ungrateful...if it hadn't been for up, her nobles would end up starving. There must be something else to this. She must be working for Venger. This can't just be because Grandfather is an Earl and everyone else doesn't have that kind of background. Who would do something like this just because of that? Eric sighed, then gritted his teeth against the pain the slight movement brought.

Well, I've got to move sometime. Eric finally decided, and braced both hands against the floor. He'd barely begun to lift himself before every nerve in his body shrieked with the torture. Gratefully, Eric allowed blackness to overtake him and passed out again.

Hank was laying in wait for either Presto or Bobby. While he was glad to see Presto when the magician was shoved into their cell, he had been hoping to see Bobby, too. It appeared that the children got fewer rest periods that adults, something that made Hank angrier than anything else. "There's a way out!" he told Presto excitedly as soon as the door was shut behind them.

"Are you okay?" Presto asked, ignoring his news.

Hank blinked. "Sure. But listen--"

"Man, I think I got an ulcer seeing you on top of those cliffs. Did that girl try to push you off? I thought I saw--"

"Nah," Hank shrugged. "I had room." Not much, but room. "But listen, the one good thing about being up there is that I've seen a passage that I'm sure leads out of the mines. I see the guards coming and going through there."

Presto sat down. "So how do we get to them? They must be guarded."

"Well...yeah," Hank was at loathe to admit that he hadn't thought that far yet. He was grasping at the one slim hope he had found.

"How are we all going to get there? We haven't been able to get near Sheila or Diana, and Bobby--well, we aren't even sure where he is."

Hank sighed. It wasn't like Presto to be so pessimistic. This place is getting to him. It was getting to all of them. He wasn't sure how long they'd been in the mines, although originally he had been trying to keep track of the time, he soon gave that up. There was no daylight to go by, and he was convinced that their rest periods weren't based on any specific timing.

"What about all the other slaves? Will we be able to help them?"

Hank blinked in surprise. That was a little more like Presto, but now he had to disappoint his friend. "No. I wasn't planning on trying. I just want to get us out."

"What?" Presto's voice held a note of astonishment.

"Us. All of us, I mean."

"I know that's what you meant, but...I mean, aren't we even going to try..? We always try to..."

"I know," Hank said through gritted teeth. It hadn't been an easy decision to reach, but it was the only one he'd been able to come to. "But we can't--there's no way. I'll count us lucky if we all get out alive."

Presto swallowed hard. "You don't think we will."

"Of course we will," Hank tried to sound confident, but failed miserably. "We have to," he added in a low voice.

Apparently one of the advantages to having poor sight was excellent hearing, because Presto caught the last part. "Right. We have to," he said firmly. "So we will. Right?"

"Right," Hank managed a smile.

"But how do we let the others know? And Eric--we haven't even seen Eric. Or Uni."

"If we get out of--when we get out of the mines, and find our weapons, we can find Eric and Uni."

"Queen Sabra seemed to think he was special," Presto couldn't help pointing out. "Maybe he's okay."

Hank frowned, "He'd be wondering where we are."

"Yeah..." Presto agreed slowly.

Too slowly, as far as Hank was concerned. "What? Do you think that just because Queen Sabra makes a fuss over him, he'll forget we exist?"

Presto shrugged, torn between angering Hank and saying what he felt. "He did before, didn't he? With Queen Zinn?"

"He helped us get the medicine Bobby needed," Hank countered.

Presto nodded to concede that fact.

"He hasn't seen us since the feast. He's bound to be wondering where we are."

"But why isn't he here?" Presto demanded.

Hank shrugged.

Presto muttered something under his breath.

"What?" Hank asked sharply.

"Nothing," Presto said with a sigh. "I'm just tired, I guess."

"I can't believe Eric wouldn't worry about us," Hank had to say.

"No. You're right." Presto was silent for several minutes. "So then what happened to him?"

Hank couldn't come up with a reply.

"What? Where?" Sheila asked frantically. "Is he okay? Did he look hurt? Do you know where--"

"Easy, Sheila," Diana put a comforting arm around her friend's shoulders. "I couldn't talk to him. I just saw him from the vats. It looked like they were taking him from the cells--the ones where Hank and Presto are."

"He's been in the cell the whole time?" Sheila looked relieved.

Diana was tempted to let her think that, but the situation demanded honesty. "I think he was on a rest break, like the rest of us take. Hopefully, they put him in the same cell as Hank and Presto."

Sheila nodded and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. "Could you see much? How did he look?"

"Tired and dirty, like us," Diana said, sinking down beside her. "He didn't look hurt though."

"Could you tell where they were taking him?"

"To the other end of the cavern--whatever is there."

Sheila nodded again. "Was he fighting with the guards? I'm so scared that his temper is going to...well, that the guards will..."

"It looked like he was keeping his head," Diana reassured her. "He's smart enough to know that."

Sheila took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

"He's okay, Sheila. That's all you have to know right now."

"Right," the redhead's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Right," she repeated more loudly. She stretched out an arm an picked up the jug of water that was their ration for the day. "How are your hands?"

"Not too bad," Diana lied, trying to cover the blisters and burns that came from her labour and the splattering molten metal. "Save the water to drink."

Sheila ignored the advice, drenching a clean corner of her woolen skirt with water. "Let me see."

Diana relented and held out both hands for her friend to clean as best she could. Without Bobby around, Sheila needed someone to look after, and Diana was grateful to be elected.

He was staring directly into the clear, glassy eyes of a little girl. In the dark, he skin seemed to be of a deep blue, but Bobby barely acknowledged that observation. What he couldn't shake from his mind was the fact that she was even smaller than he was. That she was probably younger that he was.

And that she was very, very dead.

Blood was oozing from where the jagged rocks on the tunnel floor had scraped open his palms and knees, but Bobby barely noticed. He could only stare--transfixed at the little girl's corpse.

"Who's holding up the line?!" A voice growled from behind him. "When I find out who--"

The taskmaster's threats brought Bobby back to his situation with a start. After tentatively touching the little girl's hand--in sorrow or empathy--he got painfully to his feet and re-shouldered his burden of rocks.

Don't cry. Don't be a baby.

Where am I now? Is my boy here?

No. Not my boy.

Not my boy, but him.

Well enough.

Forcing his eyes open again, he looked around the cell as much as he could without moving his head. He could see the door, but it looked about a million miles away and was no doubt locked. She's just going to leave me here. She's going to leave me here to rot in this cell.

Rage grew inside of him. How dare she?! he thought in an involuntary imitation the aristocratic indignation his grandfather so often displayed. Just who does she think she is? I'm going to get out of here. I wasn't brought up to die in the dirt like an animal.

Common sense told him to take things more slowly when he tried to move again. Cautiously, he shifted his shoulders. The way the skin on his back seemed to pull indicated that most of his wounds had dried over. 'Course I'm probably going to rip them open again when I try to sit up.

He levered his arms under him, but had barely begun to straighten them when lights began exploding behind his eyes again. He lowered himself back down and tried to hold onto his sanity and ignore the pain.

I'm going to die in the dirt like an animal. Alone. Oh god. The others will never know what happened to me. I'll never know what happened to them.

Eric squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back tears.

This can't be happening. This can't be real. Please...

Eric froze when he heard a small sound behind him. Although he considered turning his head to see what it was, he decided he really didn't care anymore.

The was a clattering on the floor that was vaguely familiar, but Eric didn't bother trying to place it.

When a soft muzzle touched his cheek, Eric ignored that, too. Great. Now I'm hallucinating.

An inquisitive bleat, however, made his eyes fly open.

"Uni?" his voice was so hoarse that the name was barely discernable.

The tiny unicorn folded her legs gracefully underneath her and leaned against Eric's side, giving and receiving comfort in equal measure.

"How did you get here? Teleport?"

"Byeah," Uni's bleat was quieter then usual.

"Gonna have to work on that, Uni," Eric said sadly. "You definitely came to the wrong place."

Uni made no sound in reply, she merely pressed her silken nose to the hollow of Eric's throat, obviously intent on remaining there for some time.

Eric sighed, inexplicably grateful to have the annoying little animal beside him.

Finally.

The instant the man's back was turned, however, the girl made a rude gesture in his direction. Sheila raised her eyebrows, wondering if that particular gesture crossed over into other dimensions and meant the same thing it did back home.

"Jerk," the girl flipped a honey-blonde curl out of her eyes and turned back to pounding the metal with her tiny hammer. "Isn't he?" she asked the other workers at the table.

No one answered her.

Everyone else kept their eyes on their work, but Sheila lifted her head slightly to meet the girl's eyes.

"Well, he is. Jeez, can't people talk and work at the same time?" the girl obviously took Sheila's acknowledgement of her presence as an invitation to talk some more. "Just because he's probably to stupid to walk and chew gum and the same time..."

Walk and chew gum at the same time?! Sheila's eyes widened at the phrase.

The girl didn't notice though, she was muttering on and on about the taskmaster's obvious lack of intelligence.

"...not like this is the most difficult job in the world. Flattening metal with a hammer. They don't even have the brains to design rollers to do the job..."

Sheila had to stifle a smile. The girl didn't seem depressed or beaten down, like the other slaves. Did complaining really keep her spirits up? She was tempted to try it when she and Diana met in the cell, to see if it worked.

Her smile faded when she thought of the cells. Was Bobby really in the same cell as Hank and Presto? Diana had only seen him once, and Sheila couldn't shake the feeling that her friend hadn't told her the whole story. Her friends tended to overlook the fact that for all his impetuous bravery, her brother was still only ten years old and that even though he wielded his heavy club with ease, he wasn't physically as strong as they were.

Hank and Presto will look after him, she told himself firmly.

If they're in the same cell.

"Cell sweet cell," the magician muttered.

Hank didn't answer.

"Hank?"

"Bobby?" Hank exclaimed, starting for the still form lying in a corner of the cell.

"Bobby?" Presto followed Hank's blurry form.

Hank knelt beside the boy, thinking he was asleep. A chill shot through him when he saw that although Bobby's eyes were open, he hadn't moved or even seemed to notice them. "Bobby?" he whispered.

If you die down there, they just leave you...

That meant he wasn't dead. If he was dead, they wouldn't have brought him back to the cell. "Bobby," he said sternly. "Bobby, answer me."

"Can't do it anymore, Hank," Bobby whispered, still not looking at Hank.

"Sure you can, Bobby." The words came out of Hank's mouth purely on reflex. "It's just for a little while longer. I've found a way out."

Slowly, Bobby's eyes tracked towards Hank's face.

Encouraged, Hank went on. "I saw it when I was working up on the cliffs."

"Where is it?" Bobby croaked.

"By the last dungeon. Near the metal-working places. You really can't see it from ground level, because the dungeon is so big, but from up high I noticed it. If we just climb the hills next to that last dungeon, we could..." Hank's voice trailed off as Bobby closed his eyes. "Bobby?"

"I know the place you're talking about," Bobby said dully. "It's right near the mine entrance. They'll never let us through there."

"I wasn't planning on asking permission," Hank replied in a tight voice.

"Too many guards," Bobby muttered. His eyes opened and he looked Hank directly in the eye. "We aren't ever getting out of here."

Hank lowered his own eyes, he couldn't meet that too-adult gaze without losing what little optimism he had left. "We're getting out of here," he replied as firmly as he could. "We are." He snuck another glance at the boy and saw....Is that pity? "We are, Bobby," he said, although his voice wasn't as strong as he would like.

"But not if we give up," Presto added.

Hank glanced at him gratefully. The magician had been so quiet that Hank had almost forgotten he was there. "He's right, Bobby."

"Hank..."

"You're tired," Presto said quickly. "And hungry. They keep you on longer shifts than us, Bobby, and we're tired. Once you've rested, you won't feel this way."

"And you need something to eat, Bobby," Hank continued. "You can have my share when they bring the food."

"And mine, too," Presto volunteered.

Hank shifted his position so that he was sitting alongside the young barbarian and smoothed the dirty blond hair as best he could. "You need to sleep. Everything seems impossible when you're this tired. We will get out, Bobby. All of us." Hank kept up his soothing litany until the boy's breathing finally evened out and his own voice became hoarse. After that there was nothing else to do but sit with Presto in troubled silence.

"You want me to get up?" Eric asked in disbelief. In reply, the pressure increased. Eric watched in amazement as the slender horn on Uni's forehead glowed slightly and then faded. "Teleport? Can you teleport again?"

There was a small bleat of affirmation, but Uni obviously wasn't going to go anywhere while he was still sprawled on the floor.

"Gimme a minute, Uni," Eric sighed. "And stand back, you don't want me falling on you."

Uni let out a snort of impatience and moved to his side, trying unsuccessfully to get him up that way.

"Okay, okay," Eric said, annoyed. "Jeez. Pushy unicorn."

Uni pranced slightly at the familiar tone and resumed her encouragement.

Eric managed to get his arms straightened beneath him without his vision clouding, and with a deep breath, his shoved himself upwards onto his knees. Immediately, dizziness assaulted him and he began falling forward. He would have hit the floor again if Uni hadn't placed her body beneath his torso. There was a small grunt from the animal as Eric's arm and chest hit her back, but he was able to hold onto the ground he had gained. Using Uni's shoulders and withers as props, he maintained his balance until the room stopped spinning. Finally, he released the unicorn and rested his hands on his thighs, gritting his teeth against the pain and trying to get his breathing under control. He was surprised to find that his injuries weren't making things any harder than this. Parts of his back seemed almost numb--something else to be grateful for.

Uni took several steps back and regarded Eric, her head cocked to one side like a dog. With another small bleat, she circled him and nudged her head between his arm and side.

"Now?" Eric asked, involuntarily crooking his arm around her neck. "Jeez, how am I going to--" He took a deep breath. "Okay. Anything to get out of here. Any idea where we're going?"

Uni regarded him with big innocent eyes.

"I didn't think so."

Bobby came awake with a gasp and grabbed onto Hank's arms.

"It's okay, Bobby," Hank assured him.

Bobby's eyes were haunted as he looked at the older boy in mute misery.

"It's okay. I'm here." Hank struggled to keep his voice calm even though fury was coursing through him. Fury directed towards Queen Sabra for enslaving them; towards whatever force brought them to this hellish Realm; towards Dungeon Master for abandoning them; towards Venger because...because he was Venger. "You were dreaming, Bobby." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Hank realized how futile they were. For all he knew, the nightmare was the lesser of two evils. "But now that you're awake, maybe you should eat some--"

The sound of the heavy door opening cut off Hank's words. The large frame of one of the taskmasters was silhouetted in the doorway. "Little gold-hair. Back to work."

"He hasn't eaten yet," Hank protested.

The guard stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds, then walked further into the cell and gave Hank a cuff that sent him sprawling. "Wasn't talking to you. You," he pointed towards Bobby. "On your feet."

Bobby stood up, moving more like an octogenarian than a ten-year-old.

"Bobby, stay where you are," Hank ordered.

"You can't get out of here if you're dead, Hank," Bobby said solemnly.

Hank stayed where he was, affected as much by Bobby's tone as his words. It was only after he'd been alone in the cell for quite some time that he realized Bobby had said you instead of we.

He didn't get any sleep after that.

Uni saw any loss of Eric's vertical stance as a bad sign and expressed her displeasure with a series of high-pitched whinnies and bleats. She pushed her nose under the Cavalier's face, trying to urge him back up.

"Will you just hold on a minute?!" Eric snapped, taking out all his pain and fear on the only creature available.

"Byeah," Uni stopped her ministrations and stepped back slightly.

Eric took several deep breaths and slowly straightened up again, he wondered why his back didn't seem to be bothering him as much. He remembered his gym teacher referring to people "hitting the wall," finding a point beyond pain. Maybe that's where I am. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. Nope. I'm just hallucinating. I must be.

The room Uni had teleported to was obviously a private one. Although it was richly decorated, it came nowhere near the more public rooms that Eric had seen in the palace. As he glanced around the room, nausea swept over him again, although this time it had nothing to do with his injuries or teleporting and everything to do with the objects decorating the walls.

More specifically, the heads decorating the walls.

This is one psycho queen! Eric thought, swallowing hard. What is this? Her trophy room? He immediately looked away from the dismembered heads and glanced around the rest of the room. Various treasures and weapons were displayed on any flat surface, and Eric began to suspect that they all belonged to the unfortunates that adorned the walls. His stomach bottomed out as a horrible thought struck him and he forced himself to look up at the heads again, praying that he wouldn't recognize any of them.

Uni nuzzled his palm, and Eric realized he was clutching her mane in a death grip. Only when he saw that none of the heads were familiar did he release the small animal, involuntarily smoothing the silken mane back into order. "Great teleporting, Uni," he shuddered.

As he looked down at her, a flash of bright orange metal caught his eye. Turning slightly, he stared in astonishment at the familiar weapon and the barest flicker of hope sprang to life inside of him.

"Great teleporting, Uni!" Eric exclaimed more loudly, chucking the animal under the chin. Completely forgetting his injuries, he tried to spring to his feet and immediately lost his balance. He clutched at the wall as he waited for the room to align itself again. He opened his eyes cautiously and found himself confronted with the agonized death-mask of some poor soul that had inspired the Queen's rage. What did you do, buddy? He mentally asked the head. Save a puppy?

Psychotic witch! He pushed himself away from the wall and started towards his shield, trying to ignore the fact that fresh blood was weeping from his back again. He found that all of their weapons had been kept together, along with their clothes. Guess she hasn't had the chance to place them yet, he decided.

As he slipped him arm into the straps of his shield, the flame of hope burned a little brighter. Sparing only a moment to revel in the reassurance it gave him, he quickly began gathering up the rest of the weapons. He paused a moment when he saw a sword and a whip. Those don't belong to any of us. He was just debating whether he should take them when the door burst open.

Eric spun around. Three guards were entering the room, carrying spoils and a few more heads. They couldn't see him at the moment, because their burdens were blocking him from their line of vision, but as soon as they put everything down, he'd have to be ready to fight.

Eric grabbed Hank's bow on pure instinct, even though he knew it wouldn't help him. He had taken archery classes at one point, but still didn't have any aptitude with the weapon. With his injuries--probably even without them--he didn't stand a chance against the burly men. He edged closer to the wall just as the first guard put his burden down...

Even the short time the two girls had together was bracing. They told one another everything they had seen and heard in the mines on their separate shifts as quickly as possible, often over-running the other's words, but always understanding everything. That out of the way, the remaining time was spent trying to think of a way out and reassuring each other that everyone was okay so far. The latter was getting more and more difficult with each passing day.

Diana breezed past the guard and walked up to the vats as though she were out for a stroll and that's where she intended to go all along. She found ignoring the taskmasters infuriated them, but that they wouldn't punish her for it as long as she followed their orders. All they did was make rude remarks that Diana let go in one ear and out the other. So she never acknowledged their presence, acting as though everything she did was her own idea. It wasn't up to her usual standard of defiance, but it was a lot safer that the mouthy girl's route.

And at least it was something.

Uni snorted several times, obviously expressing doubt.

"Yeah, you're right," Eric managed a smile. "But that's twice I would have been a goner without you. I don't know, what does it mean when a baby unicorn thinks faster than I do?"

Uni made a noise sounding remarkably close to laughter and pressed her nose to Eric's cheek.

Eric kept petting her, using the few minutes of respite to catch his breath and muster all the strength he could. It was a strange feeling to still be alive, because when the guards had walked into the room, he had been certain that his head would be the next one on the wall. He had to abandon the weapons and stumble towards a table that made a poor hiding place but was the only thing available. He had felt something light and soft settle over his mutilated back, but hadn't realized what it was until Uni had tugged the hood over his head. Sheila's cloak, rendering him invisible. Uni had crawled underneath him so she could be hidden as well, and they had slowly crept through the door undetected.

So, for the moment they were safe. He hadn't managed to get all the weapons as he had hoped, but he had his shield and was still clutching Hank's bow. Thanks to Uni, he also had Sheila's cloak.

"Well, I'm not going to go crawling this castle looking for the others," he whispered to Uni. At her questioning look, he went on, "I'm walking, it's just going to take me a few minutes to get up."

Uni nuzzled him again for encouragement.

Aided by that and pure adrenalin, Eric managed to stand, using the wall for balance. He picked Uni up with his shield arm and wrapped the cloak around both of them, holding the bow tightly in his free hand. He saw the guards coming out of the "trophy room" and heard them talking about slaves and mines. Seeing no other option at the moment, Eric decided to follow them as they strode down the winding corridors.

It was slow going, but Eric managed to keep the guards in sight as the kept going down several flights of stairs. When they reached some tunnels, Eric decided they must be right in the middle of the mountain that the palace was built on, and wondered whether he could get Bobby in here with his club and bring the whole thing crashing down. The psycho would never know what hit her.

He was enjoying the idea so much that he didn't realize where they actually were until the overpowering smell of the mines flooded his senses. He gagged on the powerful sulphuric odour, and had to crouch near a rock pile in order to rest. Uni struggled in his grip and he put her down, "Be careful, you aren't invisible if I'm not holding you," he warned, looking around at the mines.

To say the least, they were overwhelming. Thousands of wretched looking slaves were working and being ordered around or punished by giant violent-skinned guards. Oh great, how am I supposed to find the others here? If they even are here.

Uni had her nose it the air and her ears were pricked forward. After standing completely still for several minutes, she walked back to Eric, nudging him again.

"What? Are you a bloodhound all of a sudden?" he asked sarcastically.

Uni lowered her head, pointing her horn towards one of the dungeons.

"Are you sure?"

"Byeah."

Eric picked her up again and activated the cloak. I wonder what Queen Witch would say if she knew I was taking my orders from a unicorn now.

This whole thing is wrong, Presto corrected as he lifted his pick again. But that's the worst thing. It's so unfair! He took out his frustrations on the boulder in front of him, and his efforts much more successful with this added vigour. Rotten queen. And where is Lord Eric, anyway?

"I snuck in when they were taking Diana out," Eric said, releasing Uni.

The small unicorn immediately rushed to Sheila's side for a cuddle--which she got.

"Where have you..? My cloak--how..? When..?" Sheila's run of questions trailed off when she saw how Eric was slumped against the wall, a pained expression on his face. "Are you okay?"

"No," Eric sighed. "What about you?"

"As well as can be expected, I guess. Wh--Hank's bow? And your shield?"

"I couldn't get the rest."

"How did you find them?"

"Uni teleported me to them. Is everyone else here?"

"Yeah, but--"

"Everyone okay?"

"As far as we can tell. I only get to talk to Diana." Sheila moved closer to him. "Eric, what happened to you? You look awful."

"So do you," Eric retorted.

Sheila rolled her eyes at his tone. "Have you been here in the mines? Diana never saw you."

"No, I wasn't here. The Queen cooked up something special for me."

Sheila knew that was not a good thing. "What, Eric?"

"Just a--ah, nevermind?"

"Where's the rest of your armour?" Sheila asked, unfastening her cloak and taking it from him.

Eric hissed and the material slid across his back. "Easy..."

"What happened to you, Eric?" Sheila demanded.

"Whipping," Eric replied in a low voice.

"What?!" Sheila gasped. "Where? Your back?" She caught his shoulder when he tried to keep his back out of her sight.

"It's probably pretty gross, Sheila. I don't think you want to look at it."

"I know I don't, but I'm going to anyway." She took his other shoulder and turned around. She couldn't see the full extent of the damage in the dim light, but what she could see was horrifying. "Oh, Eric..." she breathed.

Tears burned Eric's eyes at the sympathy in her soft voice. When they were facing one another again, Eric saw Sheila had tears in her eyes as well. "I told you it was gross."

"But you did it," Sheila said quietly. "You managed to get here. And now we just might have a chance of getting out."

Eric shook his head. "I can't make it back to our weapons."

"I can," Sheila replied, straightening. She put her cloak back on his shoulders. "Get ready to cover up in case the door opens. You don't want the guard to see you here."

Eric seconded that with all his heart. "How are you going to it?"

Sheila was quiet for a few minutes, then nodded firmly. "Okay, listen..."

Most of the guards weren't paying much attention to her, so she stepped away from her cauldron to get a better view of the situation. Sure enough, the biggest concentration of guards was centred around the metal-working table, and Sheila's unmistakably red hair was nowhere to be seen. Of course, she might still be in the cell, Diana told herself. But I hope not.

Sheila, if it's you...oh man, just run, girl, run.

Despite her fervent prayer on her friend's behalf, Diana knew that Sheila wouldn't leave without attempting to rescue the rest of them, although Diana couldn't imagine anyway she could pull it off. Okay, Sheila, so try it once. But if you're going to get caught, just go. Please just go. No use all of us being here forever.

Her taskmaster barked an order at her and Diana reluctantly returned to her stirring.

A disgusted sigh was his only answer, and Hank continued with his pointless digging. A few minutes later, some fairly colourful cursing from the girl made him look up, at first in amusement, then in worry when he saw a guard stepping off the scaffold. "What?" the girl demanded in a belligerent tone.

"Go on with you work," the guard ordered, folding his massive arms across his chest.

"Why are you staying here?" she went on. "Go on back down and do whatever you morons do while the rest of us work."

"Get on with your work, girl!" His tone was far more threatening.

The girl finally deigned to speak to Hank, "You realize he's a guard only because he's too stupid to do this kind of work," she said coldly, gesturing the mindless task they were engaged in.

The guard heard--he was intended to--and the whip lashed out in their direction.

The girl side-stepped easily and shot a withering look in his direction. "Nice aim."

The whip came again, this time streaking across the girl's shin. She sucked in her breath and her glare turned murderous. When she opened her mouth to say something else, Hank elbowed her sharply in the ribs. She turned to look at him, more surprised and angry than hurt.

"Talk about stupid," Hank hissed at her. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?! You'll be lucky if he doesn't take your pick and to use that on you!"

Several expression flitted across her face, and after shooting another look at the guard, she smiled and bent back to her task.

She debated taking them along. Carrying their weapons and Uni back to the mines was going to be awkward enough, but the extra weapons would certainly come in handy. A small bleat from the unicorn drew her attention. Uni had found an open trunk, and Sheila immediately recognized the clothing inside. She knelt beside the trunk, kissing Uni on the nose as she did so. "Good girl," she murmured, drawing out Eric's remaining armour, as well as Presto's green robes. A quick survey of the trunk indicated that all their clothes were there, and she was relieved to see Eric's cloak. She couldn't use hers to carry everything, and she never would have managed otherwise. As a bonus, she could bring the extra weapons that had been left with theirs.

Briefly she considered changing into her rose-coloured tunic, but decided it was an unnecessary waste of time. Quickly, she bundled everything into Eric's cape and gathered Uni back into her arms. She ran back to the mines as quickly as her burdens would allow.

Hank should have known it was to good to last.

She started muttering about the taskmaster's shortcomings, and in a short space of time, those mutters had become louder and louder. At first, the taskmaster ignored her, but soon her insults became to blatant and rude to ignore. A warning shot from the whip cracked in their direction, but that only brought more disparaging comments about his aim. A few more attacks made her dodge, but she didn't stop. Instead, began insulting his manhood. Enraged, the taskmaster came towards them, intending to do even more damage with his whip at close range.

Although Hank thought that his co-worker acting suicidal, he wasn't about to stand back and watch her be killed. When the taskmaster raised his arm to strike again, Hank was close enough to block him with his shovel. Enraged, the man turned on him, but his expression of anger turned to one of shock when the girl's pickaxe was suddenly imbedded in his stomach.

Hank looked at her in horror, but she wasn't paying any attention. She withdrew her pick, grimacing in disgust at the thick greenish-black liquid that spouted from the gaping wound. Hank's stomach rebelled at the sight. With another thrust from the pick, she shoved the guard off the cliffs, then ran for the scaffold. "Are you coming, or what?" she demanded.

Shocked though he was by her actions, there was nothing wrong with Hank's instincts. He was instantly beside her on the scaffold, intending to take every advantage of this unexpected chance for escape.

"Shush, Bobby," came a soft voice that made him still immediately.

Bobby's knees nearly gave way, but he didn't make a sound he was pulled backwards away from the mines and towards a jumble of rocks.

"Okay," she released him.

Bobby turned immediately, and although he couldn't she her, he managed to throw his arms around her neck and bury his face in her shoulder. "Sheila...Sheila...Sheila..." was all he could manage.

"Ssshhh...it's alright, Bobby," Sheila soothed, longing to stay and comfort him. "I have to find the others."

Bobby nodded and loosened his grip slightly. Sheila still hadn't removed her cowl, but he felt her press something into his hand. After a moment he recognized the rough wood of his club. "How..?"

"I'll explain later," she promised. "Do you think you can create a few more distractions while I get to the others?"

Slowly, a smile spread across Bobby's face. "They'll never know what hit 'em, sis."

She smoothed his hair. "I saw a way out not far from here. Stay as close to it as you can."

"I know where in is. Hank and Presto were talking about it." Enthusiasm was beginning to light his eyes again.

"I'll get the others. Get yourself out as soon as you can, Bobby. We'll meet you."

"I should--"

"Uni's out there already. Look after her,"Sheila knew that was the only way to keep him from jumping into the fray.

"Okay," he promised. He felt a soft kiss on his forehead, then heard the faintest rustle of cloth and knew Sheila was gone. He didn't feel alone, however, he felt more alive than he had felt in some time, and decided to make that known to his taskmasters.

Diana scowled at her taskmaster, wishing he would leave his post as some of the others had. Some time after the scuffle in the metal-working area, she heard shouts that someone had fallen off the cliffs. Her heart had stopped and didn't start pumping again until she realized that it was a taskmaster, and not Hank that had toppled to his death. She kept her ears open and managed to discern that the two slaves who had been atop the cliffs were gone.

Diana hoped that the taskmasters would be forced to neglect their regular duties because of this, but instead another army of the violet-skinned behemoths had entered the mind to do the searching. That's two of us, Diana told herself, finally feeling some hope. Maybe there's a--what was that?

She spun around and stared at her taskmaster, but he hadn't moved. Glancing around briefly she went back to her stirring. She felt a light touch on her arm and jumped. What in the world..?

"Diana."

It was a faint whisper, not meant for anyone's ears but her own. Diana stared intently at her cauldron, although she took one hand off the paddle.

That hand was gripped in slim fingers, and a slender piece of wood was placed in it. "I think this will work better, don't you?"

Diana gripped her javelin, and one corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile.

"The way out is by the mines. I already sent Bobby. Get there as fast as you can."

Diana gave a small nod.

"Good luck."

With that, Diana felt Sheila brush past her. Dropping her paddle into the molten metal, she turned to face her taskmaster. "Hey, ugly. It's show time!"

Presto exchanged puzzled looks with the other slaves at the increase in shouting around them. It sounded like someone was giving the taskmasters more trouble than expected. Silently, Presto applauded whoever it was and hoped they weren't killed for their defiance. Something was definitely up, because the number of guards around them had doubled. The magician concentrated on his task, not giving any of them a reason to unfurl a whip in his direction.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up with a sense of foreboding, he frowned when he saw nothing. The pressure increased slightly, and suddenly his hat was in front of him, hidden from the view of the guards by his body and apparently floating in mid-air.

"Bobby said you know about the way out by the tunnels," a familiar voice whispered in his ear.

Presto felt a rush of joy go through him and he gripped his hat as though it would disappear as oddly as it had appeared.

He felt his shoulder being squeezed gently. "Throw up a smoke-screen and get there as fast as you can." Then the sensation was gone.

Presto's pick fell to the ground unheeded and he set about following the instructions as fast as he could.

Hank stopped running as a loud explosion echoed through the mines. Looking around, he realized it originated from the tunnels where Bobby was working. Oh my god...no... His throat closed over and his mind kicked into overdrive, and all he could think to do was get to Bobby as fast as he could.

He'd barely started in that direction before he collided with someone. He blinked in amazement as Sheila materialized before him. Complete chaos had erupted around them, and for the moment they were hidden from the midst of it. Just to be safe, though, he took her arm and pulled her towards a wall of rock. "How did you get out?" he asked.

"Eric," she replied. "He managed to--"

"Hey! Those are ours!" The girl who had taken the pickaxe to the guard was staring at the two remaining weapons sticking out of Sheila's bundle.

"Really? How did you--" Before Sheila could finish, the girl had grasped both the sword and the whip.

"Thanks," she called over her shoulder, disappearing into the fray and doing severe damage as she went.

Neither Hank nor Sheila spared her another glance. "I guess this is our chance," Hank said. "We've got to find the others."

"Already found them," the words tumbled from her. "I told them to go to the escape you saw. We have to get Eric. He's got your bow. He got me out."

"Where is he?"

"Hiding," Sheila bit her lip. "He's hurt really bad."

"How bad?"

"Really bad."

Hank paled. "Then let's get him and get out of here."

Sheila took his hand and began leading him to Eric's hiding place, praying that they weren't significant enough for the guards to pay attention to.

The angry shouting finally penetrated Eric's pain-dazed thoughts and he cautiously looked out from his hiding place. He smiled when he saw the near riot in the mines, then frowned when he realized the guards were quickly herding the majority of the slaves back to the cells. Only a handful of them were resisting. It wouldn't be long before order was restored, and as the order increased, their chances of escape were diminishing. Eric swallowed hard and tried to convince himself that his friends would definitely be among those who were still free.

Sheila will be, anyway. No one can see her. Maybe she'll get another shot if this one doesn't work. Eric shifted anxiously and moaned at the pain the movement brought. He rested his head briefly against a boulder and closed his eyes.

Moments later, his eyes flew open again as he heard footsteps coming unerringly towards his hiding place. Oh no. Please let it be Sheila. Please, please, please.

He opened his eyes again, and although he didn't see Sheila at first, the sight that met him was just as welcome.

"I hear you have something that belongs to me," Hank smiled.

Eric forced a smile in return and handed Hank his bow.

"Thanks, pal. Now what do you say we blow this joint? I think the cops are onto us."

Eric could hear regret in Hank's voice and knew what it meant. As much as the Ranger would like to retaliate, even their magical weapons wouldn't assure victory against such overwhelming odds. "Ready when you are," he managed.

Hank grasped Eric's arm to help him to his feet, and got his first look at the Cavalier's injuries.

Eric glanced up to see why Hank had suddenly gone rigid and saw the revulsion in his eyes.

"Bastards," Hank hissed through clenched teeth.

"No argument there," Eric replied. He managed to get his feet beneath him, supported by both Hank and Sheila. Warily, the trio crept towards freedom.

"Oh my god, they found the hole!" Hank gasped.

Eric tried to focus on what he was saying, but it was all he could do to get his feet to move. Whatever adrenalin that had gotten him down to the mines had fled, leaving him with all the strength of overcooked spaghetti.

"What do we do?" Sheila asked. "Eric's in no shape for a fight."

"They haven't blocked it yet. Come on," Hank was half-carrying, half-dragging Eric in his attempt to reach their only escape. Nearly a dozen guards were working on pushing boulders in front of the opening, and when they were a few feet away, Hank turned to Sheila. "You'll have to hold him by yourself. I need my bow."

Sheila slung the bundle of clothes over her back and used both hands to support barely-conscious youth. "I've got him."

Hank let loose a barrage of arrows, aimed at the boulders as well as the guards. The boulders that had been placed crumbled and the guards fell back under the onslaught, bellowing for assistance. "Go! GO!" Hank yelled, letting Sheila get in front of him while he covered them from behind.

All Hank could see was a mass of violet soldiers and taskmasters advancing on them, and although he fired as fast as he could, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold them all off. Suddenly, someone grabbed his arm and yanked him off his feet, and all he could hear was a thunderous roar as the ground trembled beneath him.

When the noise and dust had finally settled, Hank risked a look around. Diana was beside him, and Presto was crouched near Eric and Sheila. Bobby was carefully making his way down the side of the mountain, from where he had created the rock slide. Uni met him at the bottom, leaning against him affectionately. Bobby stood still for several minutes, looked just as he always did when he was triumphant, then his face crumbled and he raced for his sister at top speed.

Sheila turned from Eric just in time to catch her brother in a warm embrace. "It's okay," she whispered, rubbing his back. "It's okay, we're out now."

Over her shoulder, Bobby saw Eric's mutilated back and let out a choking sound.

Hank helped Diana to her feet and together they walked towards the rest of their friends. Diana knelt at Eric's side. "Eric?"

"We m-make...it out..?" Eric muttered.

"Yeah, Eric, we're out," Diana assured him.

"Rotten queen," Eric groaned.

Thought she still kept one arm securely around Bobby, Sheila managed to reach into the bundle to hand Presto his glasses. He slipped them on immediately, then wished he hadn't. Eric's back was far easier to endure with poor vision.

Hank wanted nothing more than to collapse on the spot and suspected his friends felt the same, but he knew they couldn't take that risk. "We've got to keep going," he said. "We've got to get as far from here as we can, just in case they start looking for us."

Diana's eyes widened. "We can't move Eric."

"We have to. Queen Sabra might be searching right now."

"Then move Eric," Eric urged.

Presto picked up the bundle Sheila had been carrying, while Hank and Diana helped Eric to his feet. Bobby kept one arm around Sheila while the other was around Uni's neck--he was gripping his club so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Hank glanced over his shoulder at them, and when Sheila nodded, he and Diana urged Eric forward. Presto, Sheila and Bobby fell in behind them. Hank sighed, Funny. I thought freedom would feel better than this.

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