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Rrraff headed on past the card-playing Uruks. For a moment, he thought about trying to get into the game . . . but what did he have to bet?

After a while, he came to a huge pile of mushrooms. There was a sign: ‘Magic mushrooms! Delicious. Satisfaction guaranteed.

The pile wasn’t quite even. The Uruks had mentioned that someone else had gone by recently. Perhaps one of the other racers had already been here . . . and it looked like that person had taken some mushrooms.

If they were a trap, that person might be knocked out of the race. If they were really magical, that person might have an advantage that would win. Decisions! Decisions!

Meanwhile, SilverHorn thought about his choices: left to Certain Doom, or right to Earthly Paradise. Certain doom had worked out pretty well. He turned to the left and headed on down the passage.

As he walked and munched on mushrooms, he began to feel more and more ‘dreamy.’ The edges of his vision blurred, and he felt a bit of spinning in his head, and . . . he came to another sign. This one said: ‘Too late. You have reached Certain Doom. Get past this next section of passage and you win the race. Look! At the far end of the tunnel . . . light!

SilverHorn had reached Certain Doom, and it looked like the end of the race was just beyond. It didn’t seem so bad, so far. No obvious monsters waiting to eat him. Maybe Certain Doom was a trap . . .

(to be continued)


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