Chapter 18: The Ties that Bind

Dungeonmaster had not thought he would have a chance. He had grown so old, so small, over the centuries. Surely there was nothing left of his power, nothing capable of defeating the Lich Lord that had once been his son.

The first few rounds were failures. He had struggled to use his own magics, his own mastery of illusion and charm, to fight Venger. It was insufficient. It was foolish to cling to it. He had forgotten his own name an age ago. Why cling to old patterns, old powers?

Finally, he had surrendered to the alien force he had opened himself to long ago.

And with that surrender came rejuvenation.

Now father and son fought, force on force, manipulating bolts of magic like the hammer blows of gods. Their power shook the mountainside. Tiamat hissed at them both, thrashing with excitement, her silver chains binding her neck to the rock below.

Venger caught a powerful blast of magic, full on, barely able to repel it with a small shield in time. The force within Dungeonmaster urged him push harder, drive his son further towards death. Venger was evil. He was beyond redemption. If he won, he would allow the Unnamed to take over this world forever. The Prime was evil's mortal enemy. It would never allow that to happen. Dungeonmaster strained against Venger's shields. Venger staggered back a few steps, nearing the edge of the mountaintop.

Venger howled with rage and deflected Dungeonmaster's bolt. He flung a powerful red beam of his own power towards the old man. Now, Dungeomaster himself needed to dodge. He dived to the side. The beam of force slammed into the mountain, sending more small rockfalls into the darkness below. Dungeonmaster crawled to his knees.

At that moment, three figures broke from the passage below and raced into view. One carried a bow with arrows that blazed with silver radiance. His form straight and strong and true, his hair tossed in the winds that whirled around them. One, intense and dark, bore a sword and shield. The ruddy light of Venger's blast shone dully on the red blade that marked his shield's device. One vaulted from the stairs, beauty, power, and grace as one, tumbling towards Venger with a broken spear shaft in her hand.

They had no chance.

But they were magnificent. He could not let them die. Dungeonmaster cast a magical shield to surround and protect them from Venger's power. The field served to trap them at the same time.

Venger leered. "They will not aid you this time, Old Man. You will fall, and then I shall destroy them one by one."

Filled with the confidence of the forces within him, Dungeonmaster smiled grimly. "This fight is our own. You will never harm them."

He followed the words with a fresh spell, a net of magic to wrap around Venger.

Magical swords swept around Venger, slicing the net to pieces. "We shall see."

"Fortunately for me, anything you chose to report about this encounter would maintain the order of this world. You could bring a whole unit of Marines tomorrow and find this place empty." The well-dressed gentlemen inspected the panels being manned by the other technicians, who moved quickly aside to grant him access. "So, you may go and attempt to procure other answers, or you are welcome to stay and I will answer what questions I can. I'm afraid that not all my answers will be easy to accept, however."

"Is this some sort of joke?" Dan asked, incredulous. "What do you mean, marital dispute? What the heck are you talking about?"

Gabriel Bahamut finally settled into a seat at one of the many control panels and typed a string of commands into a keyboard built into the station. The viewscreens shifted, zooming closer to the white and yellow splotches, displaying swirling green-black clouds. A high-pitched hum began to emanate from the rooms central pillar. Then he turned back towards the electrician and gestured, offering seats to all of the other parents. None of them bothered. Bahamut nodded his acceptance.

"Perhaps I can better explain a different way." He paused, took a deep breath, and began. "There is an old story in the mythology of ancient Babylon. It spoke of a goddess, a monster named Tiamat, an entity of chaos incarnate. Only one being was her equal, her mate, giver of the code of Hammurabi and incarnate god of order. But these two did not get along well," He looked over at Steven Montgomery and smiled, "Hardly surprising given their differences.

"In the end, they decided that they could not live in the same Realm and moved apart. Tiamat went to a world over which she would have full dominion, and her mate stayed here. Over a thousand years, their attraction to each other would grow. Finally, he would go to her, and they would mate. She would then lay a vast clutch of eggs, a new generation of lesser beings of power. But, once the eggs were laid, their differences were made plain, for Tiamat was a selfish goddess. She wanted to keep all of her progeny to serve her alone. The two gods fought, as ever, and he retreated again to his world. And there he waits until the day the eggs will hatch and he will try to claim his share of the young to serve and be his own."

Bobby made a choking sound, and there was a clanking sound as the hand holding the tire iron dropped, letting the piece of metal fall against the railing. "Are you saying. . . that YOU are Tiamat's MATE?"

Bahamut raised an eyebrow. "Astute, Barbarian. Though I fear that you have left your elders rather confused." The gentleman turned to his other visitors who were staring at him with expressions of disbelief and confusion. "I apologize. I would normally attempt to provide you with a much more logical explanation, but matters become more complicated when my mate becomes involved."

Amanda was the first to speak, shaking her head. "Mister Bahamut. Confused does not even begin to cover it."

He had reached the entrance to the Dragon's treasure hoard, and there were not many steps left between here and the roof. If she had any hope of reaching him, it had to be now.

Sheila darted after Presto. She grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to turn to face her. His face was ghastly pale and his eyes burned red like the magical fires that dripped from his fingertips. They held no expression at all.

Presto looked down on her. "We need to destroy Venger," he said again. "You can't stop us."

Desperate, Sheila took each side of Presto's head in her hands, forcing him to stay focused on her.
"Who's 'We'? You don't need to destroy anybody. That's not your style, Presto! Hank, Eric, and Diana are fighting against Venger. You have to trust them. You don't need Him."

Another explosion rattled the mountainside around them. The light of it penetrated the top of the staircase above, causing Presto look up and take a step against her.

"Venger deserves destruction. He deserves to die. We have the power to destroy anyone who stands against us. We will destroy him." He held up his hands. The trickle of power slithered between his fingertips.

"Presto. . . ." Sheila pleaded.

He ignored her and took another step towards the mountaintop.

A flash of anger formed amidst the fear. 'Can't he just listen to himself? Presto doesn't talk like this!' She reached out and grabbed her friend's wrist. "ANDREW PRESTON SYDNEY! Listen to me!"

At the sound of the unfamiliar name, Presto stopped, his hands dropping to his sides, the magic flickering out of sight. In a tiny whimper, he answered, "Sheila?"

The deadly nimbus of dark power still surrounded him, but Sheila refused to be intimidated by it. She tugged on his arm, pulling him away from the lights of the ongoing fights above him and, she hoped, out of the range of He who must not be Named.

He stumbled after her, though part of himself still struggled to pull himself free, like an errant child. She dragged him into Tiamat's great treasury, finally releasing him before the mirror that she had seen before.

'Calling him Andrew worked before. . . ' "Andrew," she said softly, as he looked at himself in the mirror. "Don't let it in, Andrew. Don't become like Venger, please. . . .Remember who you are. HE is not you. You would never do those things. Please stop."

Above, the sounds of battle crashed around them, celestial forces at war.

The most frightening thing wasn't the insane voices gibbering madly in his head, their voices resolving towards a single chant.

The most frightening thing was that he didn't know which one of those voices was him.

'There is a name. That is what we are trying to say. A name that shouldn't be spoken. We aren't there yet. . . but it is coming.'

'There is another voice. No, this one is outside. It is not an enemy. We must protect her. Venger is the enemy. A mouth can make the words.' "We need to destroy Venger. You can't stop us."

'The voice. . . she. . . is speaking again.' ". . . not your style, Presto. . . trust them. . . .you don't need Him. . . "

'There was no style. . . there was only power. What purpose is for power but to be a weapon? How could power be trusted to anyone else?'

"He deserves destruction. He deserves to die. We have the power to destroy anyone who stands against me. We will destroy him."

"Presto. . . "

'Presto the magician. Presto the wizard. What would he be but power?'

"ANDREW PRESTON SYDNEY! Listen to me!"

'Wait! I know that name. Is it? No. . . it's not The Name. Who is it?'

'I. . . know that name. I. . . That voice. . . is me. . . '.

"Sheila?" he whimpered.

He let her guide him, too frightened to resist, trying desperately to keep that tiny voice independent from the crowd. She released him when he stopped in front of a large mirror.

"Andrew. . . ..please stop. . . ."

He looked in the mirror. A face looked back. At first, the face reflected the image of power, the face he expected. The blazing eyes, burning with the evil strength that filled him. The energy that crackled from his fingertips. The pale skin of a body on the verge of being overwhelmed by its own weakness as a vessel for the forces it contained.

But there were differences. 'Glasses.' He wore glasses. Weapons of evil power do not wear glasses. He was pretty sure of that.

White robes, somehow still unstained after all the bloodshed below. The torchlight glimmered on the silver wards that encircled his sleeves. 'Mastery. Protection. Life. Courage. Peace. Wisdom. Compassion.' Those things had to mean something, didn't they?

And if they did, maybe he wasn't what he thought. Maybe he was not. . .

'A mage who used dark magic. . . '

'Dark magic. . . '

There was the sound of three voices crying out in fear or concern, and then the room shook with another surge of magical power. The magic so strong he could feel the ripples of it running across his skin. 'Venger!' Hank, Eric, and Diana were there, and in danger.

'Dark magic...' more voices were chanting that refrain at him.

'It is too late. You were defeated the moment you cast the spell.'

'Dark magician.'

At least he could use the power to destroy Venger before the evil claimed him completely.

He abandoned the mirror and, ignoring the outside voice's protestations, he swept past her, and up the stairs.

The first wave of power from planes beyond washed across the precious hoard of Tiamat. It lingered for a moment at the edge of her trove, warming it with its primal forces like the first rays of summer sunlight brightening a beach of golden sand. Then it climbed higher in the sky.

Buried deeply within a nest of wealth beyond imagining, hundreds of bright-colored eggs responded to the warmth of that dark radiance. The gold shifted. A cracking sound could be heard.

The dragons were hatching.

Finally, the battle came down to a simple test of strength. Venger was pinned against a rocky outcrop on one side of Tiamat's mountain caldera, a torrent of scarlet energy flooding from his hands. Dungeomaster was pressed down to the ground on the other side of the bowl, white light streaming around him. The two forces met in the middle, sparks shooting in all directions as the center leaned sometimes towards one, sometimes towards the other combatant.

Eric had to admit, the little guy was more than holding his own. Venger had had the upper hand at first. The cavalier thought the old DM was a goner. His skin crawled at the memory of the sick miasma that had surrounded Venger's skeletal form, a horrible presence that could be felt, but not seen. But soon after he, Diana, and Hank had reached the mountaintop, things had changed. Venger weakened slightly, and that miasma around him grew less.

After that, the old man stepped up. Always around him there had been an 'essence of Dungeonmaster', a sense of cosmic power, that Eric could never explain. It was the power that Dungeonmaster had once pushed on to him before going on vacation, along with the red robes that he wore until after they left the city of Darkhaven. The Force. The energy hovered about the old man, like something Eric could almost reach and use if he asked. It was that power, or sense of it, that seemed to grow stronger as Venger weakened. Dungeonmaster had pinned Venger twice before the lich managed to writhe free. A moment ago, they had all panicked when Venger managed to knock Dungeonmaster off his feet, but he had quickly retaliated.

Now they were both locked in place, strength on strength. Eric knew it was only a matter of time before one weakened. Then the battle would be over. Judging from the force building in their old mentor, and the power waning in Venger, the winner would be Dungeonmaster.

Diana smacked the bubble that contained them again, frustrated at her ineffectiveness. Eric laid a hand on her arm. "It's OK," he said, trying to sound confident. "Old DM is going to win this one."

There was a sound behind them on the stairs. Hank, behind him, muttered, "Oh, no. . . Presto. . . " voice thick with despair.

Eric didn't have to turn to realize what Hank saw. That sick feeling he had known in the presence of Venger, the faint echoes of which had followed their camp since they'd reached the plains around the Dragonqueen's mountain, made the hairs on his neck stand on end. Diana moved back to see.

Once, he had looked when he should not have. Dungeonmaster warned him that he must not, but he was the stupid cavalier, and he couldn't help it. There was no pillar of fire now, no face in the clouds, but he knew the presence of evil was there just as he had that moment long ago. Healthy paranoia told him the rest.

He couldn't bear to see his oldest friend like that, so Eric focused on other things. The crystal droplet trickling down his lover's cheek, glinting in the fiery red light. The red-haired thief, hurrying up behind, carrying her bundled cloak in her arms. The way the silver bands around Tiamat's neck simply dissolved away. And the look of horror in Dungeonmaster's eyes as he saw his once-pupil approach.

Venger hissed, forcing his magic all the harder on the old man. "Now you know your failure is eternal, 'Father'. Even if you can defeat me, another rises to take my place."

Eric could see the hopeless grief in the old man's expression. He strained against the spell that held him to make out his words.

"I brought them here. This is my fault," Dungeonmaster said softly, the magic pinning Venger unwavering. "My failure." The sage's mouth tightened, and Eric could hear anger growing in the Dungeonmaster's voice. "My Pupil. No! I will not let you have him. You can not have a single one of them!"

Eric could hear Hank's plea, "Presto, don't. . . " behind him. He kept his eyes on the battling mages, a cold pit of fear growing in his stomach. Dungeonmaster turned slowly away from Venger, stopping when his pale blue eyes locked on Eric's. "I am sorry, Young Ones," he said quietly. "Goodbye."

Dungeonmaster lifted one hand and pointed it, palm up, at Presto. Eric turned, finally forcing himself to look at the magician. A soft glow shone from Dungeonmaster onto Presto, who had been reaching up to blast Venger with some sort of malign sorcery. The spell caught Presto off guard. He was enveloped in a light too blinding to look at, and Eric, Diana, and Hank had to shield their eyes from the glare. When Eric lowered his arm, Presto was standing in the same spot, hands still up, but shining with that white glow. His clothes flickered into the red and gold robes of Dungeonmaster, a form Eric remembered well. Presto looked staggered, and instead of baleful fire, confusion reigned in his friend's hazel eyes.

Eric turned back to Dungeonmaster in time to see him drop his hands. Venger's power washed over the old man in waves, and Eric could see his skin charring and turning black, peeling back layer by layer. Yet Dungeonmaster never moved, just watching Venger sadly until the last. Eric watched in horror as his old teacher's body was cremated before his eyes. Finally nothing remained of him but a fine ash.

Venger did not hesitate, immediately turning the power of his spell away from Dungeonmaster onto Presto and Sheila, who were unprotected at the entrance from the caverns below. "You cannot stop me!" he cried. "I have the power of the skull. I cannot be destroyed."

Presto, his face still blank with shock and confusion, lifted his hand. A silvery shield surrounded himself and Sheila, protecting them from Venger's assault. As soon as the spell had been cast, he grabbed his head and screamed "HELP ME!!"

Then, as if some vital plug had been pulled, he fell to the ground unconscious.

Green, blue, red, white, black. One by one the eggs began to hatch and the small dragons emerged, shedding their covers of coins and gems, resting on the mounds of precious silks and dishes. They soaked in the dark power that streamed down from above, allowing it to unfurl their wings and invigorate them for the flights to come.

But then many keened in annoyance as another flow of power streamed down from above, this as bright as the previous was dark. Pure and aching sweetness washed across Tiamat's vast clutch, warming the unhatched brood within.

The Dragonqueen's spawn responded. There was a scrabbling and scraping from within the golden nest, and then the first egg teeth and claws could be seen. Behind them, the treasure's colors reflected, gold and silver, brass and copper and bronze, all scrambling free of their broken shards to soak up the beneficent rays.

A new generation of dragons was born.

Detective Pendleton rubbed the bridge of his nose to keep at bay the headache that was quickly developing. "All right. Assuming you are not insane, which is a pretty big assumption, what you're saying is that you are from a different world. . . "

"Parallel dimension," Ethan Curry interjected.

"Parallel dimension," Pendleton continued. "And the missing kids are trapped in that world. And this. . . " he gestured at the room, "is here to bring them back and so you can bring some number of your 'children' back here also."

The parents were all looking on at him and Bahamut expectantly. Pendleton shook his head. "You have to admit, it's farfetched. Why should we believe you?"

Bahamut quickly moved to yet another one of the chairs that circled this part of the room and neatly sat down in it. "Ah, but that's the beauty of it, my good detective. You don't have to believe me. All you have to do is watch for yourself. See?"

As he finished speaking, Bahamut flipped three switches on the panel in front of him. In the center of the room, the column began to glow brighter and brighter, darkening to reds, midnight blues, and blacks, with faint flashes of other colors within it. He turned a dial, and sounds emerged from the pillar, like voices on a radio being tuned to frequency. Bahamut then activated a final switch and typed a few additional keystrokes onto a waiting keyboard.

The image on the central viewscreen shifted again, this time to reveal an impossibility. A horned and robed skeletal figure hurling light from his hands. A five-headed dragon spreading her wings across half the sky. And, springing into battle as the protective forcefield around them shattered, fantasy warriors with the faces of their own children, older. . . but. . .

Amanda Grayson gave a sob and covered her mouth with her hands. Beyond that, there was perfect silence as they all watched the battle.

Venger expected pleasure at watching the man who called himself his father fall to ashes at his feet. He expected to feel triumph to see these gadflies, these tormenters, who had tortured him so long flee powerless before him. He had been certain that once his victory over Tiamat was complete, he would find the satisfaction that had eluded him since the day the Dragonqueen devastated his homeland and he had given himself over to his new master.

But now that the cusp of that victory was here, he felt nothing. No joy. No peace. Not even anger any more. All his victories, and nothing had changed. He did not even sense contentment from his Master, who had abandoned him.

The Young Ones scattered before his blasts, the bubble that protected them shattering upon Dungeonmaster's death. Only the Magician and the Thief remained protected. Venger turned his attention to destroying the others.

The Ranger whirled and fired a number of arrows at him. The blows would have stung, but he could deflect them with minimal effort. Soon, his quiver was empty and the Ranger was forced to hide amidst the rubble of the previous battle. The Cavalier and the Acrobat were reduced to hurling rocks at him, hoping to distract him long enough to give one or the other the opportunity to close. The effort might have elicited laughter, long ago, but at the end it was too pathetic to merit it.

He raised his hands for the blow that would reduce the boulder behind which the Cavalier cowered to slag, and the Young One with it. "You have defied me these many years," he intoned. "Since the very day you arrived on this world. You have freed my slaves, vanquished my armies, and given hope to the people I chose to conquer. Whole nations would call you heroes. But see, at the end, you are merely pathetic mortals, ants to be crushed out by the touch of true power. And so I will destroy you."

Red light began to form in his hands. Then a huge red claw swung down upon him, tossing the Lich Lord aside and disrupting the spell. A sibilant voice from the central head hissed, "Power, Venger? You know nothing of power. You are, as you have always been, a pawn for those who hold true power." The five heads of the dragon Tiamat turned to peer at their victim, their throats free of the silver collars that had bound them.

"Tiamat's free?" the Acrobat asked, peering out at him from her hiding place. Venger pulled himself up to his knees, recovering from a blow that would have killed him before he chose the path of death.

A hissing head, the blue one, answered the acrobat, "I, be bound not of my choosing?" The head arched back with mocking laughter. The green head growled softly in reply, "I chose this place and this time. I required these energies here for my children." The white and black heads gave a wordless shriek of triumph.

A portion of the mountainside crumbled in response to Tiamat's cry, and Venger could see first one, and then a second, small, dragon-like shadow spin upwards from below to circle in the darkened sky.

Venger knew now that he had been deceived by the Dragonqueen all along, that his rage and fury had been a part of her plan, that she had led him here. He expected humiliation, fury, and defeat. But still there was nothing in the still heart that lay dormant in his chest. Only one thing remained in the barren emptiness. 'If the world is not to be mine, then it will be no one's.'

"Even you cannot kill me, Tiamat. The skull cannot be destroyed by any now living. Char these bones to ash and I will remain. I will return, and I will destroy this world and all your children." He pulled himself to his feet to face the dragon, forgetting the Young Ones who had been the previous focus of his wrath.

Tiamat raised herself into the air on huge, bat-like wings and breathed ice down towards the undead arch-mage. "We shall see."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure, Hank. I tried to stop him, but he said he had to go destroy Venger. I think it's. . . "

"It was Big Ugly. And Dungeonmaster. They're both in him. Can't you feel it? What a mess."

"What can we do, Eric?"

"Pray? Diana, look out! We're going to get flattened if any more rocks come down."

The voices sounded like they were being run through a fan, very far away and hard to hear over the background buzz. On the viewscreen, they could see the figures. . . their children, moving towards the one that had fallen, trying not to be crushed by the violent struggle going on overhead between Venger and Tiamat. The skies in the background were as violent as the struggle, massive red-on-black stormclouds that flashed with lightening. The sky was changing, however, for the winds were breaking the clouds up, and sometimes a pale shaft of moonlight could break through. The shadows of winged forms, the shadows of small dragons, crisscrossed the sky, staying well away from the fray.

Bobby dropped the tire iron completely and clutched the railing, watching every movement on the screen intently.

"Did you try the Club, Sheila?"

"I did. I thought I got it working, but it wasn't enough to break the skull. I'm not Bobby. It never could work as well for any of the rest of us."

Gabriel Bahamut stood up, eyes also fixed on the screen. "OK, Young Ones. Don't let me down."

'Oh, God. . . my head. What happened?'

'You passed out.'

'I passed out.'

'It was getting a bit crowded in here. This is better.'

'It is better. There're still so many voices.'

'True.'

'Which one am I?'

'Good question.'

'And?'

'Andrew Preston Sydney. Lived with Granna and Pops at 5302 Summer Lane. Westdale High. Likes chemistry, math, and magic for all the same reasons. Hates gym class and liverwurst and people who pick on Carlos Metzinger. Then stuff happened. Rollercoaster. Realm. I can go on.'

'I think I remember. Which one are you?'

'Hard to tell in the crowd?'

'Yeah.'

'It's OK.'

'So?'

'I've been here the longest. I was with you when your mom left and I'm the one who convinced you not to do Eric's papers for him. I know why you wear sweaters in August, because I was with you that last Thursday behind the gym. I've been with you ever since. I've always been here.'

'Oh. So who are the rest of them? The chanting. . . they're all together and they sound so evil. It's like what happened with Venger, right?'

'Like Venger. You must have gotten powerful enough to attract the attention of a great evil.'

'What's He doing to me?'

'You already figured that out. He's trying to drown you out. Make you lose yourself in all of the voices. Then he can turn whatever broken mess that comes out of it into whatever he wants.'

'Oh. The other voices are growing. The Prime. They say they have the answers. They want me to. . . '

'Be the Dungeonmaster?'

'Be the Dungeonmaster. Dungeonmaster put his power in ME?'

'Looks like.'

'That's crazy.'

'What isn't?'

'True.'

'Besides, it gives you another choice.'

'I have a choice?'

'That's as true on Earth as it is on the realm. You always have a choice.'

'Always?'

'Always. You just might not have figured out what choices you have yet.'

'And some choices are real hard.'

'True.'

'So what are my choices?'

'You try.'

'I could use the power of HIM to kill Venger.'

'Yes.'

'I could use Dungeonmaster's power against him. Might get a tie.'

'Yes.'

'Or I could not.'

'Yes.'

'I don't want to be Venger. Or Dungeonmaster. Can't I just be me?'

'I'm rather fond of me, myself'

'What about the voices?'

'We'll tackle them together. They've got each other to fight, now. Should keep them distracted.'

'What about Venger?'

'You'll think of something.'

'Why do I have to think of it? Why don't you?'

'One thing at a time.'

"Wait, I think he's coming too." Hank's voice sounded as solid and reassuring as ever, the voice that had kept them going through a hundred adventures, long ago. All except the last one.

Presto's eyes slowly fluttered open, and Sheila felt a knot of relief in her throat as she saw that his eyes weren't blazing with red fire, but his normal hazel. "Presto. . . .I mean, Andrew. . . ?" she asked nervously. "Is it you?"

The magician gave a small nod, then swallowed. He closed his eyes again and Sheila could see, in the flashes of fire and magical light bursting from the skies above them, tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks.

Eric stood over them, looking down at Presto with a very thoughtful expression on his face. He held his shield over his head, and when the aerial combat broke free a small rain of pebbles, he used it to deflect the pebbles away. "You look like you were run over by a couple of freight trains, buddy. Are you gonna let it go?"

Sheila brushed the young mage's hair back from his forehead with a gentle touch. She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Hank, his fierce blue eyes scanning the battle above to see if it threatened the small group.

"Venger?" Presto murmured, though his voice was so soft that none could hear it over the sounds of the battle overhead.

Diana crouched by Eric. "Don't worry about him, Presto. We'll figure something out, together. Trust us."

Hank looked down, and offered, "And trust yourself. You don't need Him. Remember, that's what Madeline said. 'You have everything you need.' "

More tears trickled down Presto's cheeks, pooling at the edge of his glasses before continuing down. "I'll. . .try."

He closed his eyes and balled his fists. Sheila closed her eyes too, silently praying that the Evil One's claim on her friend would be broken. She could feel Hank's hand tightening on her shoulder and hear Eric's quiet encouragement.

A flash of heat caused her to open her eyes again and quickly pull back, but when she opened her eyes there was only a lingering glimmer in the air. Under her hand, Presto twisted to his side and curled into a fetal position. There was silence above as Venger and Tiamat separated and were both glaring down on the group.

"What happened?" she asked softly.

Hank shook his head. "I don't know. But we better move.''

Eric was looking up at the sky. "I'd say they ditched the middlemen and decided to take this fight to a bigger playground."

A ruby ball of magical force slammed into the ground by Diana and she leapt aside. "I don't think Venger is too happy about it."

Hank pulled Presto up on his arm and pulled him behind the cover of some fallen rubble. Sheila quickly scooped up her prizes, and ran after them. She sank down behind the boulders. Eric joined them, shield still held up to ward off whatever came.

"What do we do?" she asked, remembering Venger's words. "Even if Tiamat kills him, he'll still control the undead and keep attacking the Realm. He'll keep coming back."

Diana came darting in to join them, sliding down behind the rock and looking exhausted. "If only Bobby were here. He'd be able to shatter that thing."

"That's it!" Sheila startled as she felt a hand grip her arm. She looked down to see Presto pulling himself into a sitting position. Her eyes narrowed in confusion as Presto continued, seeming to hold both sides of a conversation with himself. "Can I do it?...I think so. . . there's enough power left. You sure? It can't hurt to try. So we going to try it? Yes. Yes." As he said yes, his eyes refocused and he turned to look straight at her. "Do you believe me?"

She hesitated. He sounded more than a little crazy, the way he was talking to himself, and it had not been ten minutes since she feared his mind had been taken over by an evil demonic thing forever. But, on the other hand, he was her friend. He didn't seem at all confused when he looked at her. And losing faith in their friendship had almost cost her everything, almost cost her her own soul. It had caused all of them great pain. She remembered her words to Presto from the day before. They were family now. If Bobby had asked her, she would have said yes. Because he was Bobby. Did Presto deserve less?

She stared back down at Presto with steady green eyes. "Yes."

Presto nodded. He hauled himself up to his feet. Hank helped him up, though the ranger seemed uncertain. "I hope you know what you're doing."

Diana looked dubious, but Eric gave her a reassuring, if somewhat queasy, smirk. "He's OK. They're gone."

Presto swayed alarmingly, but raised his hands and closed his eyes and began to speak in the tones that they remembered so well from the days when he made his entreaties to his temperamental weapon.

"Bonds of spirit, flesh, and bone
Make a gate to lead us home."

He slowly drew his hands apart, and between his fingers a cats cradle of light grew wider and wider, growing until it had created a brilliant circle before them. Presto's fingers twitched as he wove the circle larger. He was shaking with the effort of the spell but did not stop until the circle was just big enough for a person to pass through. Satisfied, he turned to Sheila and said, "Get Bobby."

Hank lowered him to the ground as his knees buckled.

"Neary, activate the substation Heisenberg stabilizer. Laughlin, Petrosky, the Epsilon protocol, gentlemen." As the central column of the chamber brightened to a white light and its hum shook the cavern walls, Gabriel made no effort to hide his satisfaction. "Come to Papa. . . "

Faith. Bobby was dead. Presto was crazy. Hank a stranger with mysterious powers unlike any she'd seen before. Diana had grown so hard, like every piece of softness had been burned out of her body. And Eric, ERIC, was telling her that things were going to be okay, based on nothing but his own intuition. There was no reason for her to believe. But she had to. Everything sensible in her, all her training, warned her that she should be wary. But her heart told her that these strangers were still her friends, still her family. Together, with trust, they had survived the Realm's many dangers. She had to trust them now, as they had trusted the changes in her.

Sheila reached her hand out and, with a deep breath, thrust it into the circle Presto had made. The circle, the portal, swept across her with great coldness as her fingertips passed through. It was not harming her, however, and she stepped towards the gateway. All she could see within were the brilliant waves of blinding white light.

She screamed and sprang back in sudden fear as she felt a larger, powerful man's hand close tightly around her own. The hand that held hers would not allow her to pull free. Around her, the portal suddenly grew in size, three times as tall and twice as wide. She tried to pry off the offending grip. Sheila was able to pull back, though she did not so much free herself as pull whomever had been holding her forward. As she drew away from the portal's light, she could see the hand holding her. Her eyes traced up the arm, then she looked up at the face that broke free of the portal.

Sheila fell back onto her bottom as the hand released her. The blood drained from her face.

Bobby smiled, the light of the portal framing his sturdy build. "Hiya Sis! Did ya miss me?"

Once upon a time, there had been a young prince, heir to a powerful throne. He was the darling of the court and the pride of his father, the king, whose great-horned helm he was one day destined to inherit. The fawning courtiers and servants hung on his every word and his mother adored him.

A sister was born, fair as he was dark, coquettish and bold. Though little changed for him, he had a competitor for his parents' affections and his will was oft thwarted. One day, he had asked that his favorite steed be saddled and waiting for him, but when he arrived at the stables, the horse was not ready. It was a simple rage, one of many, a single tantrum, but when he opened his eyes, twelve horses, three stableboys, the master hunter and four groomsmen, and six palace guards, all lay around him, dead. Their bodies were pierced through as if with blades, and their hot blood pooled on the cobblestones of the courtyard at his feet.

One small mistake, and everything changed. He was swept away from his father's palace, taken by the court magician to a small cottage in the middle of nowhere, denied access to servants or luxuries, even his beloved horses. There, the palace court mage counseled him in lesson after infuriating lesson about the intricacies of magic, always threaded through with dire warnings of dangerous consequences, but the training was slow. His teacher had no straight answers, only endless hints and questions. Still, the prince studied on, hoping for the day when he could finish his apprenticeship and return to his place in his father's court.

Then came the arrival of the messenger, from whom he learned that Tiamat had attacked his kingdom, slaying his father when he led their army out to meet her. That day, he learned of his sister's ascension, how she, less gifted, less dangerous, but, most importantly, still present in the kingdom, had been made his father's heir. Furious, he ignored his teacher's warnings and went forth to combat the Dragonqueen Tiamat, determined to bring down the one who had killed his father and reclaim his right to the throne.

But Tiamat was stronger than he. The storm of their confrontation roiled the celestial heavens, and drew to him greater forces, dark forces, that offered him the knowledge and power to subvert Tiamat, drive her back to the Dragon's Graveyard, and to eventually destroy her. He hesitated. His teacher pleaded with him, begging him to put aside the tainted power. But in his appeal, his teacher claimed that his birthright was empty, that his claim was false. That he truly was nothing, unworthy of his throne. The court mage claimed that he, the prince, was his own bastard son. The appeal drove the prince away, turning him to the dark power. With that power, he pushed back Tiamat from the ashes of his shattered kingdom.

The prince, now called Venger, raised armies to claim the whole realm as his own. His grieving teacher alone stood to stop him, calling on his own otherworldly forces to thwart his pupil. The two locked in a combat that lasted a thousand years, while Tiamat, ever the prince's mortal enemy, laughed.

But now his old opponent was no more. After a temporary weakness, Venger felt a wave of renewal as the power of his celestial ally washed into him once more. He redoubled his efforts, bony wings sweeping him nimbly across the sky with sails of eldritch magic. Tiamat countered him at every turn, fire and ice and lightening, but Venger was swift, and the weapons beat uselessly against the mountainside. It seemed that here, at the end, Tiamat's strength might be weakening. Deep wounds sliced her flanks, and her blood dripped freely upon the stony summit below. Venger raised his hands in the air, a sphere of red energy growing between them. In one strike he would drag her from the sky once and for all.

All around him, the forms of dragons circled like vultures waiting to feed. But they were small. He could deal with them once he sent their mother crashing to the ground.

But then, below, a bright white light glimmered. Some sort of spell, no doubt, from the Young Ones. He would deal with them in a moment.

He heard the sound of Tiamat's hissing voice. "He was supposed to have chosen the Cavalier," she grumbled. "It was the safer path, and Dungeonmaster was always a coward."

He backed away swiftly, unwilling to commit the spell until he was certain he understood what Tiamat had planned. Venger looked back down at the small figures of the mortals below, seeking the Cavalier. As he watched, he saw first one, a blond-headed figure, step from the white light below, followed quickly by a platinum-haired man with whom he had no familiarity. The man's voice resonated across the mountaintop with an echo of power as he answered Tiamat's complaint. "Mortals are more chaotic than you assume, my dear."

Bile rose in Venger's long-dead throat. Here, at the end, at his moment of triumph, and he was being ignored? "You shall fall!" he roared. The lost heir let free the blast of magefire he had been building. The blow impacted Tiamat's shoulder heavily, sending her spiraling towards the ground below, bone and sinew ripped free under its might. He swept down to follow her, preparing a killing strike.

Only as he approached the ground did he see who the other figure to step from the gate was. 'The Barbarian lives!' Only then did he realize that the Barbarian had taken up his Club once more. 'He has the Club!' He could not even stop to redirect his blows before the Club was lifted high above the crystal skull. 'I will die!'

The mountain of the Dragonqueen rang like a bell under the power of the Barbarian's blow. The skull shattered into a million glittering pieces, each sparkling white in the light of the portal that had brought him. As Venger's broken body crashed to the ground, his soul spun outwards into night. And there, beyond the darkness, the boy prince thought he could hear his teacher's voice, calling to him.

'Come home, my son.'

After Bob O'Brien had stepped into the column of pulsing white light and they saw him on the viewscreens beyond it, there was no stopping the parents of the missing children from following him.

Detective Pendleton had tried to block the O'Brien boy from entering. But once he had figured out what was happening on the viewscreen, he simply said, "Looks like they need me." He stepped into the column as if it had never been glass and metal but a few moments before. Gabriel Bahamut was quick to step after him, his hair brightening to brilliant silver in the light of the gateway just a moment before he disappeared into the light.

Margaret and Dan O'Brien, as much unwilling to lose their son as out of a need to find their daughter, followed behind only a few moments later, their faces flushed with fervent hope. Ethan and Eileen followed them. The astronomy professor's eyes sparkled with excitement at the prospect of traveling through the gateway. He peered intently at each element of the mechanism before passing through, muttering about strange force and paired particles.

Steven Montgomery looked down at Amanda Grayson and his lip twitched upward into a small smile. "Are you ready?"

The petite blonde slipped her hand into his. "I am now."

Together, the two took a deep breath and stepped through the portal, leaving Detective Pendleton alone in the center of the open cavern. The techs studiously ignored him, monitoring their equipment or stealing glances at the screen. Pendleton shook his head and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trenchcoat, where he could feel the reassuring weight of his gun underneath. 'In for a penny.'

With three swift steps, he strode up to the towering portal and passed through.

...

It was a shock just to be outside again, let alone to be outside under such an alien sky. The clouds overhead rolled back from the mountaintop, as if a heavy storm had blown through. They left exposed patches of foreign stars and rays of not one, but three distant moons. Hovering between himself and those distant heavens, winged forms circled by the hundreds, great flocks of dragons spinning below the stars. The brown-black rocks of the volcano had been broken and cracked, damage from the battles he had recently been witness too.

Perched on the highest remaining point loomed the mighty form of a dragon, for he could find no better word for her. Five heads twisted and peered upwards at her children, green and black, white and blue, and the central head of red attached to a huge red body and sweeping wings. The center of her attention, however, was upon the figure of the gentleman who stood calmly before her, Gabriel Bahamut. He was still clad in his dapper gray suit, but his hair had shifted to a brilliant metallic platinum. The greatest change in the man, however, could not be described, for he radiated an aura of raw power and light that could only be felt, not seen. The five-headed dragon seemed unamused by Bahamut's presence, but was listening to him. They both ignored the humans who lingered near the portal.

Turning away from the dragon, Pendleton walked towards the others. Despite the strangeness of their surroundings, he could not help but feel a lump in his throat as he watched them.

A lovely, red-haired young woman was almost buried under the tight embrace of Bob, Dan, and Margaret, crying and laughing together and all talking so quickly over one another that he couldn't make out anything specific that they said. Pendleton did see her pull away for a moment to point to the blond, Hank. It was the tears he would remember, the tears of joy in her pale green eyes as she drank in the sight of her brother again.

After just a moment of excited hugs and kisses, Pendleton could see the Currys' statuesque beauty of a daughter talking animatedly with her parents. She looked little like her missing persons photo. Tattoos scrolled down her arms and legs, a fierce war paint on her excited face. As he drew near, he could hear her ask about her brother, Michael, and begin telling them about a pilot that she had met. He raised an eyebrow at that. Ethan was listening intently, as if trying to absorb every word so he could play it back later in the quiet of his observatory. Eileen seemed content just to hold Diana's hand tightly, as if trying to reinforce the fact that she was truly real and not some dream-figment that would disappear upon awakening.

The two older boys, though boys no longer, seemed momentarily confused at their respective parents' first approach, but Amanda let go of Steven's hand and swept her blond-haired son up into her arms. Hank hugged her awkwardly, as if she were made of china or fine glass, uncertain of how to react.

He pulled back from her, pushing her gently away so he could look her up and down, trying to evaluate her changes in all this time. "Mom," he asked quietly, "I'm fine, Mom. I'm really fine. But. . . are you. . . okay? I mean. . . " he looked around searching for someone to give a second opinion on his mother's condition, as if unwilling to trust her.

Amanda gripped his arms tightly and looked steadily into his crystal blue eyes, her expression calm and unwavering at the end. "You're alive, Hank. I'm perfect."

Hank studied her carefully for a moment longer. "Then you're better, Mom?"

Amanda glanced over her shoulder at the looming figure of the great dragon behind them all. "I don't know what will happen now, but I'm sorry for. . . how I was. . . since Chris died. You deserved better. If there was any way that I could make amends, I would. But I am fine now. Your dad would be so proud."

Hank gave a relieved smile and allowed himself be pulled into her embrace once more.

Near them, Steven Montgomery squared off with the handsome, dark-haired man who was his son. Both shifted uncomfortably, in so many ways mirror images of each other, each bearing themselves with a stiff formalness that Pendleton had grown accustomed to in the older Montgomery. He knew that each was desperate to reach the other.

"Dad. . . "

"Eric. . . you're alive."

"You're here. You came."

Steven Montgomery blinked for a moment then offered his hand to his son. "Son, I suppose I've never been very good at showing it, but I would travel to the end of the world for you." He looked pointedly up at the strange sky and the triple moons that shone within it. "And beyond."

Eric swallowed and gripped his father's hand. But the older man, uncharacteristically, pulled his son close and wrapped an arm around his shoulders in a firm embrace. The younger man, startled, resisted the pull at first, but then let himself relax and hugged his father back. His voice was hoarse as he said simply, "I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, Son."

Detective Pendleton moved past them to find the one other figure that was alone on the mountaintop. A young man with russet hair, wearing a plain white robe, sat with his back to a large boulder. His head rested in his arms, and he seemed weak and exhausted. Pendleton had interviewed victims of serious assault in the hospital who looked better. He sat down next to the young man, near enough to be shoulder to shoulder. The shining portal hovered in the air before them both.

"Andrew?" Pendleton asked, though he knew the answer.

Andrew nodded.

"Good. My name is John Pendleton. I'm a detective with the state police department."

Andrew did not answer.

He took a moment to compose his words. Despite his attempted veneer of professional detachment, his own emotions in check only with difficulty. The kid needed his empathy now, though, not his detachment. "Andrew, I was sent by your grandmother and grandfather to find you. We've been looking for you and your friends every day for the last eight years. They would have given anything to be here now."

Andrew lifted his head and Pendleton could see that his eyes were swollen and puffy. "They're dead, aren't they?" he asked quietly, his voice cracking with exhaustion.

Pendleton sighed. He'd hoped to postpone this conversation until a later time. Preferably much later. Perhaps with a professional therapist. But that was not to be. "I'm sorry for your loss. They never stopped believing in you, Andrew. They knew you weren't dead. They just weren't able to hang on that long."

Andrew nodded wearily, resigned. "I knew that might happen."

Pendleton said nothing. A small distance away, he saw Steven's son, Eric, lead Diana Curry away from her parents briefly to introduce her, specifically, to his father. The way they held hands, it was clear there was something between them.

"They want to get married," Andrew informed him, though the young man's eyes were beginning to drift closed. "In the spring. Diana likes blue lilies and that's when they're in bloom. I think Hank wants to marry Sheila too, but they aren't ready yet. Why were you at the other side of the gate?"

Pendleton had been thinking about it for some time. "I think we're here because Bahamut wanted us here. He was waiting for something. . . I think for that portal...to be opened. He has a lab on earth that can see this place, but I don't think he can reach it on his own. At least not the way he wants."

Almost as if in answer to his statement, there was a roar that echoed across the mountaintop, startling all the abductees and their parents into silence. Pendleton twisted himself up high enough to look over the boulder. He saw the shape of Gabriel Bahamut distort and transform, shimmering in silver light to grow larger and larger until it took the form of a great, platinum dragon. It was easily the five-headed dragon's match in size and power. The platinum dragon made a strange, crooning-purr that set the air vibrating. At the sound, a single flying shadow from high above, one of the small dragons that were circling overhead suddenly swooped towards him.

Pendleton ducked and turned in time to watch the golden form pass. It circled over the families of the five, peering at them all out of tiny jewel-bright eyes. He had the distinct feeling he was being sized up by the tiny creature. It dove through the brilliant light of the portal and disappeared.

"Uh oh," he grumbled as he settled back behind the boulder again. 'Earth gets invaded by alien dragons from alternate dimension. News at eleven.' He fingered the gun at his waist, but it seemed terribly inadequate against the dragons in their glory. He looked at the young man beside him.

Andrew shook his head. "It'll close soon. I can't. . . I've got nothing left."

The detective gave his shoulder a reassuring grip. "We need to get you all back now and get out of this place."

A second dragon, this light green in color, hissed at the gathered families and darted through the portal after the gold dragon.

Andrew lifted his glasses to rub his eyes and nose on his sleeve. His glasses settled back on his nose, the flickering of the portal reflected in their lenses. Finally he mumbled, "I can't go through the portal, you know. I opened it. But I can't go through."

Pendleton straightened, causing a bright copper dragon to dart around him before it careened through the portal. "Why?"

Andrew struggled to find the right words to answer. "The. . . no, it's the. . . um. . . " He looked up at the detective again and caught sight of the badge that was clipped on the officer's belt. "It's the riddle. What's the one thing that can't go through the hole of a doughnut?"

Pendleton shook his head, giving up without attempting an answer.

"The doughnut," Andrew answered simply.

'Expect anything. It's all a part of the plan.'

The physics, Joe Petrosky, Scanner, never needed to know. And Gabriel had convinced him that he could be trusted, with his life if necessary.

Scanner had seen some pretty strange things before, and read about more.

But nothing had prepared him for this.

As he watched, slack jawed, the portal in the center of the room, a shimmering golden form burst through the light and into the vast central cavern. A being of legend had appeared in the lab. Long wings held aloft a slender body shimmering with bright gold. The being lowered itself to the ground to stand on its own feet, then wrapped its wings around itself. It smiled him with a face so piercingly sweet he could never have described it, a face as innocent as small child. The moment it touched the ground, it continued its transformation, growing taller and straighter. Its wings were absorbed into its body, and its glow faded until he saw simply the image of a man, standing and watching him with peaceful blue eyes.

A second figure shot from the portal. This one was covered in fine green scale, leathery wings outspread. It leered at him with sharpened teeth. Its arms moved restlessly, as if eager to find some mischief to do. Scanner was not a religious man, but he knew a demon when he saw one. This creature also alighted on the floor, and as it touched the ground, it slowly shifted into the figure of a second man, straight and handsome, but with a glint of madness in his eye. Scanner backed quickly away from the edges of the pit and pressed himself against the instrument panel he was supposed to run.

More and more figures flooded through the portal, both angelic and demonic, though the angelic presences did seem more plentiful. Each settled on the floor and took the appearance of a human, until the chamber was filled with their numbers, all waiting around the glowing white pillar that was the portal.

He'd only been working for Dymocorp for about a month. Scanner wondered if that was too soon to ask for a raise. He deserved one.

The transformation of Bahamut and the dragons flying through the portal had startled the abductees and their families. The knot of people drew closer to the towering gate and closer to each other. Andrew slowly pulled himself up to his feet, leaning against the boulder as the others drew nearer.

"Will you be all right?" Pendleton asked, giving him a supporting hand.

Andrew didn't answer. He turned away from the detective to give sickly smiles to the Currys, shrugging in response to Ethan's circumspect questions about the nature of the portal. He accepted a hug from Amanda and a handshake from Steven. He was fussed over by Margaret O'Brien, and given a sympathetic pat on the shoulder from Dan. By the end of the gauntlet, he looked ready to collapse again. But Bobby came over and stood by him, supporting him so that Pendleton could turn his attention back to the portal.

More dragons passed rapidly through the gate. Pendleton estimated forty or fifty of them had traveled through so far. The great red dragon hissed her displeasure. The platinum dragon threw back his head and laughed, a musical resonance like distant thunder. "Enough. I understand."

His form shifted back down, growing smaller and smaller until he again stood, in shape and size a mortal man. But the now-silent humans who watched him knew he was anything but. He smiled as he approached the group of them near the portal.

"Excellent job, my boy," he said to Andrew as he passed, patting the young man on the shoulder. "I fear you have quite disappointed my partner. She does so love to watch her dramas of good and evil. But for myself, I'm very pleased."

Andrew seemed too taken aback, or possibly too exhausted, to respond.

Bahamut reached the gateway and turned to the group of them. "I regret to inform you that I don't believe this gate will stay open much longer. That brings us to a moment of decision. Who shall be returning?"

Pendleton frowned, about to mention what Andrew had told him earlier. But the russet-haired young man just shook his head at him and stepped away from the portal without answering. The detective instead watched the others who had traveled in this world.

Eric spoke next, turning to his father. "Dad. . . I can't tell you how much it means to me to have you come here. But I have men down there who need me. I need to make sure the Blades make it out of here safely. I'm their captain now. They're my responsibility."

Steven Montgomery gave his son a considered review. Finally, he nodded. "There have been times. . . too many times. . . when I've left you behind to look after the people who I led. If this is truly what you believe you have to do, then I can accept it."

Diana reached out and slipped her hand into Eric's. "Mom, Dad. . . I love you both. And I love Michael. But I love Eric. And there are a lot of people here who need me. There are creatures here, things that come after kids, destroy whole villages. I've been trained to fight them. I'm really good at it; I feel like it's what I was born to do. Do you understand?"

Eileen quickly rubbed her eyes. "Oh, baby. We always knew that you were meant for something special. This isn't quite what we were thinking of. . . "

Ethan wrapped an arm around his wife, offering her what comfort he could. "Di, we just want you to be happy."

Hank seemed torn. "Mom. . . if I stayed, would you be all right?"

Amanda decided on honesty. "Hank, you'll always be my little boy. I'll always miss you. But, yes. I'll be all right. Just knowing you're alive and you're safe is enough."

Hank looked relieved. "I'm glad, Mom. Because. . . there's something about this place. We've been here so long, I feel like I'm more a part of this world than home any more."

Pendleton saw a tear slide down Amanda's cheek as she hugged her son tightly. "It's okay, Hank. I'll be okay."

Sheila spoke last. "Bobby. . . when I, when we, thought you were dead. . . we decided to stay. I couldn't bear the thought of losing anyone else in Dungeonmaster's endless quests to get home. But this has become our home now too. I'm so glad that you went home to Mom and Dad. But. . . I want to stay."

Bobby hesitated. "You don't think I should come back, do you? I mean. . . if things are bad here. If you need me."

Sheila shook her head. "Look after Mom and Dad. Go to school. Be happy." She glanced over at Hank, and gave a small smile. "I think I will."

There was a lot more hugs and tears and goodbyes, but Pendleton's eyes were on Andrew, who sagged with relief against the rock. "So, will you be all right? Is there anything you need?" he asked again.

Andrew gave a melancholy smile. "I am, now. I'm glad they're not staying just because of me. I'm fine. . . we'll be fine."

Pendleton nodded and squeezed the young man's arm. "Then this is goodbye. Be well."

The parents of the other abductees were also making their goodbyes, stepping one by one through the portal. Pendleton nodded to Bahamut as he passed through the shimmering gateway and disappeared.

Hank had never imagined that it would happen like this. Back in the early days, long ago, he dreamed of sunlight brightening the waters of the lake in that distant, almost forgotten, amusement park. Stepping out into the sun from the shadows of the ride. Returning home to find his mom passed out drunk on the couch again and school starting the next day.

In darker moments, he thought about walking down the empty street to his apartment after time had passed. Reporting his return to the police. The inevitable questions about where he'd been and what had happened. He'd had a story all figured out, deciding that it would be easier just to claim he'd been a runaway than dealing with the questions about his sanity.

And then, after Bobby was gone, he'd resigned himself to the fact that he would never see his mother again. It was a private grief, buried with the memories of Sheila's little brother that he had confided to no one. Donovan seemed to understand.

But she had been here. She came for him, after all this time. He'd gotten to say goodbye to her, see she was all right, explain to her why he had to stay. It was more than he'd hoped for, and he was grateful. From the expressions of the others, except maybe Presto, they felt the same. They all drew nearer to each other, seeking the support of long companionship as they watched the their parents leave.

The detective, Hank never was told his name, was the last to go. Around him, the portal quickly grew smaller and smaller. It hung in the air, only the size of a dinner plate. The Platinum Dragon, in a human form, stood before it, smiling at them.

"Thank you all," the silver-haired man spoke to them. "Every thousand years, give or take, a new generation of dragons is born to the Realm, and so brings about a new age. The last was an age of gods and catspaws, powerful beings who fought an endless battle for yet more powerful beings who fought for more powerful beings, with the Realm as a battlefield." He glanced up. Many of the dragonspawn still circled overhead, though far fewer than before.

"I think this age will be more like the age of Merlin, when mortals strove for good and evil of their own accord. It was a time of legends, of the heroes who lay in the Hall of Bones And the forgers of the weapons of power. This is your world now. I'm glad you are here to take care of it." He glanced up at Tiamat, who snarled at him in a peeved way. "My beloved wife does not necessarily take proper care of the toys in her playground."

"Though Venger is gone, this world is a difficult one. I cannot return your old weapons to you; without causing further. . . disagreements with my beloved. But, as new heroes, out of my deepest gratitude and to aid you with that task. . . " Bahamut bowed respectfully towards Sheila, an archaic formality. "I thank you, Princess." He stretched out his hand. The worn, black cloak she had draped over her arm brightened to a rich, royal blue. Despite its fine hue and fabric, it seemed to blend perfectly with the shadows cast by the rising eastern sun. As her fingers brushed it, Sheila gave a small sigh.

Bahamut turned and bowed towards Hank. "Druid." With a gesture, the length of the ash-wood bow in Hank's hand darkened to black, the light of dozens of tiny stars sparkling in its surface. He pulled the string experimentally, and the starlight pooled around his fingertips, ready to invest any arrow.

"Warrior," Bahamut made the same gesture of respect towards Diana. Diana's hand wrapped around the blackened length of her broken spear, but at his word, the splintered top sealed into a cap with a single, steel ring on top, a second ring encircling the first The shaft of the spear, though still blackened and brown, crackled up and down with vivid blue sparks of electricity. The rings jingled as she shifted her weight.

Bahamut smiled as he said "Paladin." The shield on Eric's arm glowed golden, and the red blade device upon its front seemed to flicker as if crafted from flame itself. Eric couldn't repress a grin of pleasure as he felt the difference.

Bahamut turned last of all to Presto. "Wizard, I'm sorry I don't have any enchantment worthy to offer you. You don't really want the hat back, do you?"

Presto shook his head quickly, holding up his hands and backing away. "Um. . . no thanks. I'm good. I have everything I need."

"You do indeed." He bent down to pick up the Barbarian's Club.

Finally, the Platinum Dragon turned to Tiamat and inclined his head in a gesture of respect. "In another thousand years, Tiamat. You'll have forgiven me by then. You always do."

Acid, lightening, flame, ice, and poisonous gas all converged upon the spot where Bahamut had been standing before the portal. Fortunately, there was sufficient time for the Young Ones to scatter before her weapons could cause any of them harm. When Hank looked up from behind the boulder they had dived behind, the Platinum Dragon and the portal were both gone.

Tiamat said nothing to them, but spread her wings wide and took flight, trailed by the hoard of her young. They disappeared into a darkness opening to a sky full of stars, tinged with pink in the east as the first of the suns began to rise. A new day had dawned.

The monitors were blank when they had returned through the portal, and the dragons were gone. The group found themselves standing instead in the midst of a large number of people, men and women of every race and feature, all standing and gazing at the portal unashamed of their nakedness. Bahamut stepped out of the column of light just as its own glow had reduced to a mere flicker. As he emerged, the central column of the room went dark completely.

It was Margaret O'Brien who broke the silence. "Are you a. . . Who are you, really?"

Bahamut's eyes twinkled. " 'Are you a god?' you mean? I enjoyed that movie. . . very humorous. Though, despite Winston Zeddemore's best advice, I fear I must answer no. I am merely serving to ensure that the celestial ranks are properly manned. You have helped attract my children to this world. Thank you."

Bobby smirked. "I thought you kept Order. Is this orderly?"

"You may have noticed; there is a lot of chaos in the world. I need all the help I can get.'

The moonlight lit the fine sheers with a pale glow as it shone through the window of the beautiful suite. Outside, John Pendleton could hear the gentle heave and sigh of the ocean as it pounded endlessly on the sand. He lay under the silken sheets, hands tucked behind his head and looking at the blades of the ceiling fan overhead spinning silently around, making dancing shadows across the ceiling.

Steven Montgomery had been as good as his word. The oceanfront resort was lovely, and Melanie was ecstatic about the long-overdue vacation. She even had forgiven him for disappearing from town for a few days and being unwilling to tell her where he'd been or what he had seen.

Of course, they couldn't go right away. There were other cases to close. The unexpected phone call from the FBI saying they were sealing the Park Kids case had its own round of questions. The chief was not be satisfied until he was sure that every 'i' was dotted and 't' was crossed before he bowed to political pressure and did the same.

Closing the case, of course, would never end Pendleton's own questions about it. Who was Bahamut, really? Who were the strange people who Neary, Laughlin, and Petrosky had lead away at the Wyoming base, and what were they doing now? He had gotten calls from Eileen and Margaret both to let him know that their kids (for they would always be kids to them) were fine, all was well, that weddings were scheduled and babies were predicted. How had they known?

But lying there, in the moonlight, he mostly thought of the kids themselves. Leaving their families behind. Out, conquering the world. And maybe making it a better place. 'It must be hard to let go. But I suppose that is what you have to do when you have kids. In the end.'

Pendleton's wife emerged from the bathroom, looking radiant with her flowing nightgown and beautiful dark hair. She smiled and slid into the bed next to him, pulling the blankets over them both. She laid her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her.

"Well?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. He could hear the smile in her voice. 'It is hard to be a hard-boiled detective when you have such a lovely creature on your arm.' After a moment of silence that he simply savored, she said, "If it's a girl, I'd like to name her after my mother. But I don't know what to call him if it's a boy. What do you think?"

He pulled her closer. "What about Andrew?"

It was a perfect night. Only the smallest and darkest of the moons hung in the sky, and it was a slender crescent. Alcibides the astronomer lead his young son up the spiraling stone steps to reach the great observatory that marked the highest point of the ancient castle of Helix. Below him, the castle's wide courtyard and crumbling walls lingered in darkness. Beyond them, the mighty city the castle warded stretched out, wrapped in a heavy veil of sleep.

Garius rubbed his sleepy eyes and trailed after his father until they reached the top. Above them, the stars stretched out gloriously across the heavens, glittering ice-bright in the cool early-autumn air.

The astronomer crouched near his boy. "This is a perfect night for stargazing, Garius. See there? You can make out the form of the Archer. There are the three stars that form his belt. The red star there marks his shoulder, and that arc of stars on the left, his bow. Can you see it?"

Garius nodded, easily picking out the brilliant constellation. "Why is it called the Archer?"

Alcibides smiled indulgently. "Many constellations have names that come from legends from the dawn of the age. A time of great heroes and terrifying dragons, long, long ago. The Archer, by legend, was the first druid of this age. They say it was he who planted the sanctuary groves, which still stand to this day. They say you can find unicorns there, and no evil can pass into those places."

His boy grinned. He liked stories about unicorns, and was convinced he would find a baby unicorn of his own one day, to be a playmate. The astronomer laughed each time Garius retold his childish fantasy.

"That constellation is the Shield. Five stars, two above, two below, and one forming its lowest point." The astronomer pointed out another constellation, this one closer to the horizon.

"Does it have a story?" the child asked eagerly.

"Of course. The Shield, they say, was carried by a paladin, a general of a mighty army that unified the warring states into a single commonwealth of nations, leading to a hundred years of peace. Our modern knighthood's customs are said to model themselves on the ancient ways of that noble order."

Garius's eyes sparkled as he gestured to a misty white veil that streamed across the northeastern sky. "Is that a constellation?" he asked.

Alcibides shook his head. "Not exactly. That is the Cloak of Night. It is many small stars, too fine to see with the naked eye, but which are visible to my telescope. However, the legend says that it was once worn by a beautiful princess from the East. She used it to convince the rulers of nations to reveal the secrets of their hearts. And in so doing she opened the doors to diplomacy between the nations and prevented many wars. Back then, dragons were a terrible danger to the land, and her ability to end the petty battles saved many lives."

"Are there still dragons out there, Papa?"

"A few, perhaps. They are very rare now. They were a menace in ancient times, as were many other horrible creatures that loved to devour little boys like you for breakfast." The astronomer pointed to a line of stars that pointed south to north across the heavens. "That is the Rod of Power, as they call it. It is symbol of the Celestial Knights, carried by their greatest leader long, long ago. The Celestial Knights were winged and mounted warriors that lived to protect the people, including little boys like you, from the monsters of the day."

Garius shivered with excitement at the idea of great flying knights fighting monsters and saving people. "Neat!"

The astronomer smiled. He traced the path along the Rod to a single star glowing in the northern sky. "And the Rod points to the North Star, the star of Magic. It is dedicated to the founder of the mage's circle; the man who began this very university at Helix. He was a wizard of great power. Storytellers say that, at the end of his life, he used magic to take himself right up into the heavens so he could light the way for all travelers searching for the way home."

The boy looked at the glimmering white light of the distant North Star for a moment, and asked his father, "Can I ever be a hero, Papa?"

His father patted his young son on the shoulder. "You will be."