Confronting the Dragon

by Mark Cheverton

  “I can’t sleep,” he replied, “so I thought I might check the perimeter.”

  “You are a wise leader,” Mason said, “always being cautious.”

  Leader . . . right, what a joke, Gameknight thought to himself.

  The army looked up to Gameknight999, the User-that-is-not-a-user, but he was not their general. That was Mason. He had a sense of command about him that made anyone listening to him want to do what he said. His concern for his soldiers was only matched by his concern for the safety of Minecraft. Mason was the real commander of this NPC army, and Gameknight knew it. Whether he liked it or not, the User-that-is-not-a-user felt like he was just a symbol, a figurehead that was supposed to somehow save the day and make everything better again. The problem was . . . he didn’t know what to do or what to say.

  “There has been no activity,” Mason said as he turned and looked about their surroundings. “No monsters sighted anywhere.”

  “Doesn’t that seem a bit strange?” Gameknight asked.

  “Maybe Malacoda and Erebus are collecting those that they find and are taking them with them, making their army even bigger.”

  Gameknight grunted and nodded.

  “That makes sense,” Gameknight replied.

  Of course it made sense, he thought bitterly. Everything that Mason says makes sense!

  “What are you doing up at this hour, Mason?”

  “A good leader stands with his men and does what he asks his men to do,” the big NPC replied, his green eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “If I did any less, then I’d just be an arrogant, spoiled general for whom the soldiers would not fight. They have to know that I will do anything they are asked to do.”

  “But what are you watching for?” Gameknight asked as he moved next to the big NPC. “Malacoda and his monsters are far away from here. They won’t attack.”

  “Attack your enemy where he is unprepared and appear where you are not expected,” Mason answered as if reciting something that he’d memorized.

  That sounded familiar to Gameknight for some reason . . . curious.

  “That’s what I would do,” the big NPC said, “so that’s what I prepare for.” He paused to scan the line of trees then continued. “Come, walk with me.”

  Gameknight walked next to him, trying to stand as tall as the big NPC, something that was difficult to do even if you were the same height as him. No matter how tall he was, Gameknight always felt small next to Mason.

  As they walked, the pale crimson moon slowly dipped below the tree line, the eastern horizon starting to glow a deep red; it would be dawn soon. The camp was starting to awaken. Tired forms stood in the dim light of dawn, putting armor back on and picking up weapons. When they saw Gameknight the soldiers instantly cheered and snapped to attention, fist to chest.

  “User-that-is-not-a-user will defeat the monsters,” someone shouted.

  “Gameknight999, the bravest Minecraft warrior ever,” said another.

  More statements of praise came from the soldiers as they walked around the camp. This had been happening ever since they had come to this server . . . to the Source. For some reason, the warriors in their army had come to the conclusion that Gameknight999 was some kind of great hero, brave and courageous, and without fear. They all thought he would save them, defeat the monsters of Minecraft, and make everything all better.

  What a joke, he thought. They don’t realize that I would run away right now if I had someplace to run to.

  Gameknight knew he wasn’t as brave as everyone thought he was. He hated being afraid, but Minecraft had slowly worn down his courage and chipped away at his resolve. He cringed whenever they came across a lone monster or maybe a scouting party, and the thought of battling these creatures turned his blood to ice. He had learned much about facing his fears on the last server, but it was still difficult, still something that he wrestled with.

  Mason was another matter. He was the first to go to battle. If someone yelled out for help, Mason was the first to be there. If monsters were spotted, then he was the first one to stand before them. In every case, Mason did not shy away from confrontation. In fact, he charged toward any threats to protect the warriors in the army as if they were his own children . . . curious.

  Suddenly, an alarm sounded. Someone was banging on an iron chest plate with the flat side of a sword, screaming out loud.

  “Spider jockey . . . spider jockey!” cried the voice.

  Mason sprinted off toward the voice, Gameknight trailing hesitantly four steps behind. They ran to a sentry on the edge of the camp, his chest plate in his hand still ringing with the blows.

  “What is it?” Mason asked.

  “I saw a spider-jockey over there,” the sentry said, pointing out onto the rolling, grass covered hills.

  Spider-jockeys were skeletons riding on the backs of gigantic spiders. They were fast, could cover a lot of ground in a day if the skeleton wore a helmet, and could climb; they were fearsome opponents. Malacoda had probably sent out these monsters to find them and report back their position. Gameknight knew that they could not let this spider jockey report to its masters . . . that would be a disaster. But uncertainty gnawed at his confidence.

  What should I do? Gameknight thought to himself. Should I ride out and fight it . . . I’ve fought one before back when Minecraft was just a game. But now . . . I’m still not sure what will happen if I die. There are no more servers I could move up to; this is the highest in the pyramid of server planes . . . the Source. Will I respawn, or die for real this time?

  Uncertainty and fear flooded through his mind, drowning his ability to think. He looked down at the ground . . . afraid.

  I don’t want to fight a spider-jockey . . . not now. What do I do . . . what do I do?

  Mason turned and looked at Gameknight, waiting for some command or sense of leadership, but he had learned to not wait very long. Looking up from the ground, Gameknight looked up into Mason’s bright green eyes, his own filled with uncertainty and fear. But before Gameknight could speak, thankfully, Mason gave out the orders.

  “You four, get on your horses and get that spider-jockey,” Mason commanded to a group of warriors, his voice booming with confidence. “Make sure he doesn’t report our position.”

  “Yes, sir,” snapped the NPCs.

  “Archers,” Gameknight mumbled.

  “What?” Mason asked.

  “Archers . . . you’ll want archers so that you don’t have to get up close,” the User-that-is-not-a-user said, his voice sounding uncertain.

  Most skeletons carry a bow and arrow.

  “Yes, of course,” Mason boomed. “Take some archers with you as well. Surround them with the archers and only charge if you can’t get them with arrows. No sense in taking any unnecessary risks. Now go!”

  The soldiers ran through the camp, gathering weapons and armor. Within seconds, a squad of soldiers, some men, some women, were galloping out of the camp in the direction of the sighted monster.

  “They’ll get it,” Mason said confidently.

  Turning, he put his arm around another soldier and whispered something into the boxy ear. The soldier then took off in a hurry, gathering with him twenty other warriors, some of them putting away their swords and drawing a shovel from their inventory. Gameknight watched them run off away from the camp to a large hill that was nearby. On the top of the hill, they started placing blocks of dirt, one on top of the other, sculpting shapes that resembled people and horses. One of them placed a block of netherrack that had been brought from the Nether after the battle with Malacoda on the last server. Touching it with flint and steel, it instantly burst into flames, making the artificial figures on the hilltop easier to spot, especially at night.

  “What are they doing over there?” Gameknight asked.

  “They are setting up a little diversion,” Mason answered.

  He moved to stand next to Gameknight and admired the soldier’s work. He could see shapes standing around a campfire, horse-like shapes s
tanding near the tree line, soldier-like shapes amidst the trees, prone shapes on the ground.

  “All warfare is based upon deception,” Mason said as if reciting some lesson from memory.

  Gameknight was about to say something when he suddenly realized that his statement sounded familiar . . . very familiar, somehow.

  I’ve heard that before, Gameknight thought. I know it! But how could that be? We’re in Minecraft, not in the physical world.

  Gameknight searched his memory, trying to identify where he’d heard that statement, but he couldn’t figure it out, the pieces of that puzzle tumbling about in his mind, unclear and veiled with confusion.

  “We must appear to be where we are not, so as to confuse the enemy,” Mason added.

  “That’s a good idea,” said a young voice standing right next to Gameknight.

  Turning, he found Crafter standing next to him, his bright smile lighting the child-like face with hope. Gameknight had met Crafter on the first server when he’d first been pulled into Minecraft by his father’s invention, the digitizer. On that server, Crafter had been an old man, grey haired and bent with age. After saving that server from Erebus, the King of the Endermen and his army of monsters, Crafter had respawned into the next server as a young boy. It was always shocking, and a bit unnerving, to see those wise old eyes on the young face, the years of experience glowing bright behind those majestic blues. But after the battles on the last server, the battles in the Nether, Gameknight had finally come to accept that this was the form of his friend now; a wise old crafter encapsulated within the body of this young boy. He was probably the best friend he had in his life . . . well except for his friend in the physical world, Shawny.

  I wish Shawny was here to help us now.

  “Help!” someone yelled.

  Without thinking, Mason was on the run, his sword drawn, ready. Gameknight drew his own as well and scrambled after the big NPC with Crafter at his side, a group of warriors following on their heels. Gameknight could hear the grinding ring of swords being drawn from scabbards as the warriors behind him readied themselves for battle. Fear and uncertainty started to coil around Gameknight’s courage like a mighty serpent, its scaly body filled with every possible what-if he could imagine. As he hesitantly followed Mason, he could feel that great serpent of fear slowly clench down on his courage, squeezing it to nothing. But since he knew he had no choice, he gripped his diamond sword tightly and ran on toward this new danger.

  CHAPTER 3

  BULLIES

  “Help,” the voice yelled again.

  They were getting closer.

  Gameknight could tell that it was coming from over the next gentle rise. He sprinted forward, careful to not overtake Mason but still running fast enough to not look too scared. When they reached the crest of the hill, they found Stitcher standing on the rise, her bow in her hand, arrow notched. The gentle wind blowing across the hilltop pulled at the young girl’s brilliant red hair, creating arcs of crimson that circled around her neck and face. Turning her head, she smiled at Gameknight as she pointed to the tree line, slowly lowering her bow.

  “Next to the trees,” the young girl said as she relaxed and put away her weapon.

  Down at the bottom of the hill, they saw a young, lanky NPC standing at the foot of a tall birch tree. The white bark of the tree glowed a soft crimson as the warm red light of dawn bathed the landscape. Scanning the area, Gameknight looked for any monsters that could be attacking, but only saw a lone wolf sitting nearby, a red collar hanging around its neck; it had been tamed. Mason, also seeing that there were no threats, charged down the hill to the gangly youth as he sheathed his sword.

  “What is going on here?” Mason asked, his booming voice resonating through the birch forest.

  “Well . . . ahhh . . . they said it was a . . . a game,” the boy stammered.

  “What’s your name son?” Crafter asked, now standing at Gameknight’s side.

  “My name is Herder . . . is Herder,” the boy said, then his eyes found Gameknight999. “The User-that-is-not-a-user, you are my hero . . . hero. I can’t wait to see . . . to see you destroy the monsters and save . . . save Minecraft. I want to be just like . . . just like you.”

  Stepping forward the boy placed his hand lightly on Gameknight’s arm, his face lit with reverence. Embarrassed, the User-that-is-not-a-user took a step back and looked at the ground.

  What a joke . . . I’m just a scared kid, he thought to himself. I’m not a hero.

  “Herder tends to the animals,” Stitcher added as she put away her bow and came to stand next to Crafter. “He watches them at night and keeps them all together. Some of the warriors have been picking on him because he’s smaller and younger and . . . different.”

  “My tools,” Herder said, his voice sounding embarrassed . . . no, humiliated. “They’re in the . . . the tree.”

  Everyone looked up. They could see a group of tools bobbing up and down on the treetop, moving as if floating on invisible ocean swells. At the base of the tree, Gameknight could see a square patch were the grass had been killed. Clearly the bullies had built a column of dirt to gain access to the treetop, then deposited the tools and came back down, removing most of the evidence of their prank.

  Using some brown spotted blocks of netherrack, Gameknight constructed a set of stairs that led to the top of the tree. He’d been carrying these blocks since their last battle in the Nether. Images of that terrible conflict burst into his mind as he placed the netherrack on the ground. The NPC army had gone into the Nether to rescue Crafter from the clutches of Malacoda, the King of the Nether, and had hoped to stop his army of monsters. They’d failed. Being able to rescue Crafter—which they had done—was reason to celebrate, but Hunter, Gameknight’s friend and Stitcher’s sister, had been captured. He could still remember the look on her face as she slowly sank into the portal that led to this server, Malacoda’s long, slithering tentacles wrapped around her lithe body. The terrible sadness in her eyes had told him to shoot his bow and kill her; death would have been preferable to being a prisoner. But Gameknight lacked the courage to take the shot . . . so he let his friend be taken by the monstrous King of the Nether, and that cowardly act haunted his every waking moment.

  Even though they’d won the battle, the monsters had still been able to escape through the portal Malacoda had constructed. Gameknight and Stitcher had followed the army, not willing to give up on saving Hunter. Fortunately, the NPC army had agreed to follow them as well. And now they were in this strange land, looking for Malacoda and Erebus, the two kings, in hopes of stopping their assault on the Source.

  Gameknight looked down at the netherrack block in his hand and could remember all the screaming in their last great battle . . . all the pain . . . all the terror. Families had been shattered and lives had been lost . . . and . . . Hunter . . . the memories made Gameknight shudder. Pulling his attention from the terrible memory, he placed the last block, completing the set of stairs. He then motioned to Herder to collect his belongings.

  The young NPC sprinted up the stairs to the treetop and collected his belongings, then ran back down, a smile beaming up at Gameknight999.

  “Thank . . . thank you User-that-is-not-a-user,” Herder said, smiling.

  Gameknight grunted, then pulled out his pickaxe and started to dig up the blocks he’d just placed.

  “What happened here, Herder?” Crafter asked.

  “Well, the others . . . others said they wanted to play a . . . a game with me,” Hunter explained. “They said that it would make . . . make me one of them . . . them. I’d be like . . . like them, a warrior.” The skinny boy turned to face Gameknight. “I can fight the monsters. I can use . . . can use my . . .”

  “Son, you’re too young to fight,” Mason snapped. “Anyway, your job is to watch the herd. That’s what you have to do. You aren’t going to fight, you’re too small.”

  “But . . .”

  “No discussion!” Mason commanded.

 
Crafter put a calming hand on Mason’s shoulder, then turned back to Herder.

  “Herder, continue your story.”

  “Well . . . the warriors told me to drop all my . . . all my inventory. The test had to be done with no tools . . . tools. So I dropped . . . dropped everything and closed my eyes . . . my eyes and waited. I was so excited to finally be accepted . . . be accepted by them. I thought I would finally . . . finally have friends and be one of . . . them. But soon . . . I heard laughing.” Herder’s voice became softer, as if reliving the humiliation. “When I opened my . . . my eyes, the soldiers were gone. All my . . . all my tools were up in the . . . in the tree. I could see the warriors standing . . . standing on the top of that hill laughing . . . laughing at me.”

  Herder turned and faced Gameknight. For the first time, he noticed the boy’s eyes; one was a pale green, the other a cold steel blue. They stood out against his tangled mop of dark black hair and seemed to bore straight into Gameknight’s soul. It was as if Herder could somehow see into Gameknight and knew that the User-that-is-not-a-user had experienced this same thing many times as well: had his books put on top of the basketball hoop, his lunch on top of the lockers, his shoes on top of the door . . . Gameknight had experienced this same thing many times with the bullies of his school, and now it was being played out here, in Minecraft.

  It made Gameknight999 angry . . . and sad.

  Why can’t the bullies just leave me . . . leave us alone? What kind of sick person takes joy at another’s suffering?

  And then Gameknight knew the answer to this question here in Minecraft. Erebus, he took joy in Gameknight’s suffering and was probably taking joy in Hunter’s suffering . . . if she was still alive. Erebus was Gameknight’s bully here just like the warriors were Herder’s.

  By now, a group of soldiers had collected on the hilltop, many of them chuckling and pointing down at Herder. Gameknight could hear their comments as their words carried across through the cold morning air.

  “Why does he talk that way,” one of the soldiers whispered not very softly.