Into the Spiders' Lair Read online

  Shakaar smiled. She pulled back her vision and watched the army of villagers from high overhead. They were moving quickly through the forest. Ahead was a huge desert, and at the center of that desert was . . .

  Shakaar smiled. “I know where you are going, wizard. You cannot essscape my sssight.” The warlord removed the Eye of Searching just as another clump of moss was fed to her.

  She shoved the brother aside, her mandibles stuffing the rest of the rejuvenating green moss into her mouth. Slowly, her health returned, the echoes of pain caused by the magical relic slowly fading away.

  Glancing at the entrance to the Hatching Chamber, she saw her guards had returned. Shakaar clicked her claw onto the stone floor, calling her attendants. The two creatures quickly scurried to her side.

  “Yesss, Warlord,” they said in tandem.

  “Call all sssissstersss to the Gathering Chamber. I know where the wizard isss heading. We will be waiting there with a little sssurprissse.”

  “Yesss, Warlord.” The two spiders ran off, heading in opposite directions, announcing the commencement of a gathering.

  Shakaar smiled. “I will destroy thisss wizard jussst like the great ssspider warlock Shakahri destroyed countlesss wizardsss in the Great War. We will ssstop thisss wizard, and then my hatchlingsss can flow acrosss the Far Landsss like a dark tide of dessstruction.”

  She ran from the cavern and headed for the Gathering Chamber, her eyes glowing bright red with the anticipation of war.

  Watcher was mounted behind a tall, skinny villager named Farmer, both atop a sandy brown mare. The lanky NPC rode like an expert, moving with the horse as if it were an extension of his own body; clearly, Farmer had spent a lot of time in the saddle.

  The army of villagers rode through the mega taiga forest in silence, each with their eyes cast upward, looking for more spiders. With only thirty horses remaining after some were killed by the spiders in the battle, more NPCs had to run and keep up as best they could. Each horse held two riders, sometimes three, causing the animals to tire quickly. At times, everyone walked, giving the horses apples or handfuls of wheat, but eventually they’d run out of food for the animals and would have to go even slower.

  “That was some battle,” Farmer said.

  Watcher said nothing, just grunting a noncommittal response.

  “If we hadn’t come along when we did,” Farmer continued, “I don’t think you’d be talking with me right now.”

  The image of Saddler’s face right before she died haunted Watcher’s mind. Her dark brown eyes, filled with fear and sadness, seemed to be begging him to help, but he couldn’t save her. Watcher had just laid next to her as the poison from the spider pulsed through his own body, as it had hers.

  “You should have seen the look of surprise on those spiders’ faces when we charged into them. . . . It was great.”

  Watcher could still feel the faintest bit of that poison in his system; his tongue had a slight metallic taste to it and his eyes stung. Watcher suspected the effects of the poison would never completely be out of his body.

  “But I have to say, that was some trick by the spiders; lowering themselves down from the treetops.” Farmer steered the horse around a tall spruce. “Too bad we couldn’t have been up there with a set of shears. It would have been fun to cut their silk threads and watch ’em fall to the ground.”

  Why didn’t I think of that? Watcher thought. I should have shot their webs and let them fall to the ground. Maybe the spider that poisoned Saddler and I would have died.

  But he also knew that he hadn’t been able to see their threads very well, and at that distance, it would have been impossible to shoot through them anyway.

  “You know, Planter had me ride with you because she said you needed to be distracted.” The tall NPC glanced over his shoulder at the boy. “She said you liked to talk.” The lanky villager laughed. “Apparently she doesn’t know you very well.”

  “It’s not your fault, Farmer,” Watcher said. “She’s right . . . she’s always right. And I do appreciate your efforts. It’s just . . . that was a terrible battle, and I know we’re gonna see more like that before we’re able to rescue the witches.”

  “You think this is still about the witches?” Farmer’s voice grew soft, meant only for Watcher’s ears. He slowed the horse to a walk so Watcher could hear him over the hoofbeats. “The spiders in the village said something about destroying the boy-wizard. That’s you, right?”

  “That’s what they think, but I don’t feel like a wizard.” Watcher scanned the forest.

  They were almost to the end of the mega taiga biome and could now see the desert extending before them from between dark tree trunks.

  “I wish I had magical powers, so I could blast away all these monsters and keep us safe, but that isn’t happening. If I am a wizard, then I’m the most pathetic one in existence,” Watcher said sadly.

  Then he grew silent, reliving the battle in his mind. As they rode, the sun crept up from its hiding spot behind the eastern horizon, announcing its appearance with bright shades of reds and oranges. White clouds floated across the crimson sky, fleeing the sun and heading to the west; it was beautiful, and Farmer commented on it, but Watcher was lost in his own personal nightmare and couldn’t appreciate the spectacle.

  Soon, they passed from the forest into a pale, empty desert. The landscape was sand as far as the eye could see . . . no scrub brush, no cactus, nothing. It was as if the surface of Minecraft had been scrubbed clean of all living things; it made Watcher nervous.

  The oppressive heat of the biome slammed into the villagers like a hammer. Sweat instantly beaded up on their flat foreheads, the cubes of salty moisture trickling into their unibrows. The company stayed mostly silent, with only a handful of hushed conversations here and there. Everyone felt the unusual emptiness of this desert and it made them uneasy.

  The army moved across rolling dunes, the ground constantly undulating as it were an ocean frozen in time. Some of the NPCs had difficulty riding in the soft sand, but Farmer was never phased. He still moved as if he was in perfect harmony with the horse, like a seasoned cavalryman.

  “How do you know how to ride so well?” Watcher asked. “I don’t imagine in that savannah village, with a huge wall around community, there’s much need for a cavalry. Where did you get your riding experience?”

  “Well . . . it’s a long story,” Farmer said, his voice tentative as if the subject made him a little uncomfortable.

  Watcher said nothing, just waited. The silence grew between the two villagers until Farmer spoke again.

  “You see, I’m not originally from the savannah village; I was from one further south. We were on the great plains, with flat stretches of grass extending as far as the eye could see. Horses spawned all around, so each villager had a horse of their own, as long as they cared for it and kept it fed. Mine was a black stallion I named Midnight. She was the fastest horse on the plains.”

  “Was?” Watcher felt him tense up in the saddle.

  “She was taken.” Farmer grew quiet for a moment. “They attacked at dusk to take our horses. . . maybe a hundred skeletons. The filthy monsters had some kind of magical weapon that could turn our horses into skeleton horses. You see, skeletons won’t ride a regular horse, something about touching their flesh; they’ll only sit on bones . . . it’s strange. . . . Anyway, they attacked and took what horses they could. We fought back, but there were only a couple dozen of us and a lot of them. When the battle became too fierce, we had no choice and fled, leaving the herd for the skeletons.” He grew silent and his body tensed as if he were reliving the experience in his mind. “The skeletons came back again and again until—”

  “Slow down . . . something’s ahead!” Blaster was shouting from the back of a white mare, two other scouts riding at his side. The army slowed from a gallop to a canter, then finally stopped.

  “Blaster, what is it?” Watcher dismounted and ran to the boy’s horse. “What did you see?”
r />   “I saw what looked like a green sea. I guess that’s what the map meant; the Sea of Spines.” He removed his pale-yellow cap and smiled at Watcher, though his black curls were covered with sweat and matted to his head. “But you aren’t gonna like this sea.”

  “Not gonna like it? Why?” Watcher was confused.

  Blaster led him to the top of a sand dune and pointed. Watcher climbed to the crest of the hill and stared down at the desert. A huge, unnaturally flat section of sand stretched out as if someone had stomped the parched landscape into a featureless, smooth plain, the edges ringed with sand dunes. The plain was hundreds of blocks across; it seemed completely out of place, as if it had been manufactured, somehow.

  At the center of the plain was a bright green field of . . . something. It seemed to glitter in the morning light, as if wrapped in some kind of magical enchantment. The green field surrounded a gigantic hole at the center of the flattened desert that was easily visible from their vantage point. Watcher could just barely make out stairs leading down into the darkness of the basin, torches mounted to the sides of the pit, illuminating the steps.

  And then he realized what the glittering green field really was: cacti.

  “The Sea of Spines.” Watcher nodded. “That’s a lot of cacti out there surrounding the gigantic hole. I bet the Citadel of the Horse Lords is in that gigantic pit.”

  “You’re probably right,” Mapper said, appearing suddenly behind them. He pulled out his map and checked their location. “Sure enough, that’s the place.”

  “I’m just glad it was cactus and not what I thought it would be,” Blaster said.

  “And what was that?” Mapper asked, curious.

  “You know, spines . . . like bones . . . like a wither’s spine.” Blaster sighed. “I don’t think I’d want to be near a sea of withers.” He glanced at Watcher. “There are paths leading into the cactus field, but it’s like a maze. Likely it’s impenetrable.”

  “What do we do?” a soft voice asked from behind. Watcher could feel their panting breath on the back of his neck; he knew it was Planter.

  Watcher had been growing tense, the wall of cactus looked like an impassable obstacle. But with Planter nearby, a sense of calm spread through him, as if everything was somehow going to be alright.

  Turning, Watcher gave her a smile. “We go down there and figure it out.”

  She nodded, then led the way down the slope, the rest of the army following close behind, all of them on foot, leading the horses by the reins.

  As they approached, something about this place had Watcher worried. It was as if there was a distant memory in the back of his mind, struggling to surface, but it was trapped somewhere in the dark recesses of his brain. Something about that submerged memory tugged at his courage, wanting him to be wary . . . but of what?

  They walked to the edge of the cactus field and stopped. Sharp spines stuck out from the rectangular bodies of the cacti, waiting to catch the unwary if they stumbled or fell. A soft purple glow enveloped the base of the thorny plants, revealing some kind of enchantment at work, but Watcher had no idea what it did.

  The morning sun shone down upon the desert, causing the temperature to climb slowly upward. Each cactus stood out in stark contrast to the surrounding desert. Nothing else had any color in the parched landscape, and the green of the plants was almost shocking to their eyes.

  “The Horse Lords protected their Citadel well,” Er-Lan said.

  “That they certainly did,” Cleric replied, patting the zombie on the back.

  “Er-Lan’s mother never spoke of the Sea of Spines.” The zombie sounded apologetic.

  “It’s not your fault, Er-Lan,” Cleric said. “A goal without obstacles is not a worthy goal.”

  The zombie nodded.

  “You see the spider silk?” Blaster pointed with one of his curved knives.

  Watcher turned to where his friend was pointing. Clumps of white string lay on the ground throughout the Sea of Spines, some dangling from sharp thorns.

  “You think the spiders tried to get through the maze?” Planter asked.

  Watcher shook his head. “No, if a spider had died, then there would be balls of XP nearby as well.”

  “That’s weird.” Planter moved to his side and stared at the string.

  Watcher smiled as she brushed against his shoulder.

  “How could it get there if it wasn’t from a spider being destroyed by cactus spines?” Planter sounded confused.

  “I don’t know.” Watcher, too, was perplexed.

  “Who cares about a bunch of string?” Cutter barged forward and pushed his way between Watcher and Planter. “We need to get in there and get our horses.” He stared down at Watcher. “How are we gonna do it?”

  Watcher scowled. Cutter’s voice seemed to have an accusatory tone to it. And he pushed right between me and Planter, too. Maybe Cutter knows how I feel about her, and he’s trying to get in the way. It’s as if he’s calling out my failings as a leader to embarrass me in front of Planter.

  Anger stirred deep in his soul, the serpent of jealousy within him growing restless. Watcher wanted to yell at him, tell him to stay out of their relationship, but the fact of it was . . . there wasn’t a relationship. He hadn’t said anything to Planter, not yet, and he knew why: he was afraid to confess his emotions to her. Cutter, the famous warrior, was probably afraid of nothing, including a short, blond-haired girl, but Watcher was terrified of her. I’m pathetic.

  Watcher glanced up at the warrior’s steely-gray eyes. They were filled with such confidence and strength, but not the smallest bit of anger or resentment. Maybe Cutter isn’t so bad after all. But then the big NPC glanced at Planter and gave her a warm, lingering smile. Instantly, anger bubbled up from that serpent again, rekindling Watcher’s jealousy and resentment. He had to know I’d see that, Watcher thought. Did he do it on purpose?

  He didn’t like Cutter like this; he missed his friend. Watcher glanced at Planter. She gazed up at Cutter, then cast him a look before moving off to help one of the elderly. Planter was always doing that, helping others. It made him smile.

  “Well . . . you got any bright ideas?” Cutter asked again.

  Watcher glared at him. “Well . . . we could build over the cactus.”

  “Nope,” Blaster said. “Tried it already. You put a block on top of a cactus and the spines start tearing into the material right away. Anything you put on top of the Sea of Spines only lasts for a minute or so . . . not enough time to get everyone across.”

  “Hmmm . . .” Watcher paced back and forth, lost in thought, then stopped. He could feel Cutter watching, probably glaring at him . . . or was that his imagination? “If we can’t go over, we’ll go under.” He pulled a shovel out of his inventory. “We’ll tunnel.”

  He moved a few blocks from the edge of the Sea of Spines, then dug into the sand. After creating a set of stairs descending down three blocks, Watcher carved a horizontal tunnel through the sand. A few blocks fell as he dug, the sand unable to hold its position without support. But when he reached the edge of the Sea, he found the sand enveloped in a purple glow. His shovel banged harmlessly against the pale cubes of sand as if they were blocks of obsidian. He put away his shovel and pulled out the pickaxe that had belonged to Saddler’s husband. He swung it with all his strength, but the iron tip just bounced off the blocks as if they were impenetrable.

  With a sigh, Watcher climbed back up the stairs and shook his head. “They’re enchanted. We can’t dig under them.”

  Watcher paced back and forth, staring at the prickly obstacles. He reached out and touched one of the spines. “Ouch!” He pulled his hand back and put the injured finger into his mouth.

  “That was smart,” Cutter said with a chuckle.

  Planter and some others giggled. Watcher scowled at the big warrior, but remained silent, staring at the field of cacti, trying to ignore their laughter.

  “So, we can’t go over them, and can’t go under them,” Cutter said.


  Watcher nodded.

  “Then I say we go through them.” Cutter pulled out a razor-sharp iron axe and started to swing at the nearest cactus.

  Slowly, jagged cracks formed on the green cube, stretching outward until the fissures had wrapped their dark fingers all the way around the cube. The top of the cactus disappeared with a pop. Cutter turned and cast Watcher a satisfied grin, but before he could turn back around, the prickly cube regenerated completely, reappearing in a cloud of sparkling purple light.

  “You three,” Watcher pointed to three villagers. “Use your axes on the same cactus, but focus on the bottom part.”

  The three NPCs pulled out iron axes and went to work on one of the cacti, digging their sharp tools into the prickly body. Cracks formed around the bottom of the cactus until it shattered, the top half disappearing with the bottom. This time, it took longer for the plant to reappear.

  Pacing back and forth, Watcher thought about the problem. He could feel the solution lurking in the back of his mind, an elusive idea hidden in shadows of uncertainty and doubt. Off to the side, Cutter and Planter talked. It looked, on the surface, as if they were discussing possible ways to get through the cactus . . . but was that what they were really talking about?

  The occasional smile spread across Planter’s lips, along with a satisfied grin on the warrior’s face.

  What are they talking about? Jealously bloomed within Watcher, making it difficult to think. He glanced at the impassable cactus and knew he had to find a way past that obstacle, but his mind was completely distracted. Just then, the image of Saddler came to his mind, her sad eyes imploring him to help her daughter. “I know you can do it. Save my daughter, please . . .” The voice echoed in his mind, pushing back on the jealous monster growing in strength within him.

  Slowly, Watcher was able to focus on what was important: getting past the cactus. It felt as if Saddler were watching him as he focused on the obstacle. Crazy thoughts sailed through Watcher’s skull as he considered all the possibilities, with Saddler, in his mind, nodding at some and shaking her head at others. Each idea presented itself to him, but was instantly assaulted by the many ways in which it would fail. Eventually all the ideas seemed to crash together in an explosion of frustration.