Confronting the Dragon

by Mark Cheverton

  “Gameknight, there is something else,” she said.

  He stopped pacing and turned to face her across the clearing.

  “I’ve seen the size of the monster army . . . it’s massive . . . probably five hundred creatures, if not more,” Hunter said, her voice filled with dread. “And they are collecting more monsters every day. The mobs of this land are flocking to Malacoda and Erebus, causing his ranks to swell bigger and bigger.” She paused for a moment, her eyes suddenly looking sad. “I’m not sure you have enough warriors to stop them.”

  Gameknight nodded. He’d thought the very same thing since they’d left Malacoda’s fortress in the Nether.

  “I know you had the users help you on the Crafter’s server,” Hunter said. “But you don’t have them here. I don’t think users can even come here. You’re all alone here.”

  “All alone,” he said to himself, trying to find the pieces of the puzzle that lay before him. Just as the faintest of ideas started to emerge he heard a cackling sound that instantly turned his blood to ice.

  “So, look what we have here, it’s my old friend, Gameknight999,” Erebus said in a high screechy voice as he stepped out of the mist and into the clearing, a collection of creepers behind him. “You come to me to surrender . . . isn’t that nice.”

  Gameknight glanced at Hunter. She had crouched behind the trunk of a tree, her brown eyes filled with fear. She tried to say something to him, but he couldn’t hear her. Then he realized that she was just mouthing the word, not saying it. After a couple of tries he understood what she was saying.

  RUN.

  And then she disappeared, the wolves dispersing into the mist, their soft paws moving soundlessly through the forest.

  Turning toward his enemy, Gameknight pulled out his bow and notched an arrow.

  “You think you can hurt me with that, fool,” Erebus mocked. “You shoot and I teleport right next to you and crush you. Besides, I haven’t come to kill you, User-that-is-not-a-user. I’ve only come to torture you a bit. It brings me joy to know that I can find you here in the Land of Dreams whenever I’m bored.”

  “I’m not afraid of you, enderman,” Gameknight said, trying to fill his voice with as much confidence as he could muster.

  Erebus just smiled.

  “I see right through you, Gameknight999. I know what you fear and therefore I know your weaknesses. It is just a question of time until I find you and destroy you in person, now put down that bow and come take your punishment.”

  Gameknight drew the arrow back farther and aimed, pointing the arrow right at Erebus’ head. He could feel the fear pounding through him with every heartbeat, but knew that he had to try to stand up to this demon . . . maybe it was possible.

  “Your arrow cannot harm me, fool.”

  “Who says I’m aiming at you?” Gameknight said with a smile.

  He released the arrow. It sliced through the air, whizzed past the dark red enderman and struck a creeper. Instantly the black and green spotted creature started to glow as the ignition process started.

  “No . . . I command you . . . do not explode,” Erebus screamed, his voice getting higher and higher.

  Another arrow streaked past the King of the Endermen and sank into the creeper’s side, then another and another. Gameknight’s bow hummed as he drove arrows into multiple creepers, starting the ignition process. The mottled green creatures started to hiss and glow as if lit by a bright white light from within as their bodies swelled.

  “I COMMAND YOU . . .” Erebus screeched again, then teleported away just as the first creeper exploded.

  The blast of the first explosion was followed quickly by three more. They sounded like cannon fire as the sound of the blasts echoed across the Land of Dreams, lighting the surroundings as if it were day. Once the smoke cleared, Erebus reappeared where he had been standing, his eyes burning bright red with rage.

  “You have meddled in my plans for the last time,” he screeched.

  And then the King of the Endermen disappeared in a cloud of purple particles and reappeared right next to Gameknight.

  Not knowing what to do, he just shouted, “Wake up! . . . Wake up! . . . Wake up!”

  And as the silvery mist started to dissolve into darkness, Gameknight could hear Erebus’s voice screeching a loud frustrated scream.

  “I’M COMING FOR YOU USER-THAT-IS-NOT-A-USER. I’M COMING FOR YOU . . .”

  Gameknight woke up screaming. Stitcher sat up next to him and placed her hands on his chest.

  “It’s alright . . . it’s alright, Gameknight,” she said. “You’re with friends.”

  Herder then ran to his side, one of his wolves on his heels.

  “Gameknight is . . . is OK,” he stammered as the wolf came up to him and smelled his right hand, right on the spot the other wolf in the Land of Dreams had licked. The wolf seemed to recognize the smell and licked the same spot, then rubbed his head against Gameknight, calming the User-that-is-not-a-user.

  Crafter and Mason came running, weapons drawn, unasked questions on their faces.

  “What is it?” Mason asked. “Are we under attack?”

  “Gameknight are you OK?” Crafter asked.

  Looking around, Gameknight recognized where he was and relaxed. He then reached out and pulled Stitcher close. Ignoring questions from Mason and Crafter, Gameknight999 knelt next to Stitcher and whispered in her ear.

  “She’s alive.”

  CHAPTER 10

  SURPRISE ATTACK

  Stitcher sat next to Gameknight999 on the green grass and wept. The smile on her face became brighter and brighter each time she asked him to say it again.

  “She’s alive.”

  Stitcher smiled.

  “Say it again,” she asked.

  “She’s alive.”

  More tears of joy rolled down her blocky cheeks. Gameknight tried to contain his own happiness, but Stitcher’s smile was contagious.

  “What’s going on here?” Mason asked, a scowl on his face.

  “Ahhh . . . nothing,” Stitcher replied, giggling with joy.

  “Gameknight?” Crafter asked.

  “I’ll explain later,” he answered. “Right now, we’ll let Stitcher enjoy this moment to herself.”

  Just then, the light-crafter Woodbrin walked up. He looked down at Gameknight with an intense look, his brown eyes and brown skin glowing in the morning light, but his unibrow furled and creased with worry.

  “We must move,” he said in his short staccato voice.

  “What is it?” Crafter asked, his blue eyes focused on Woodbrin.

  “They are on the move,” Woodbrin said.

  Just then two other light-crafters, Grassbrin and Dirtbrin, stepped forward.

  “Grassbrin can feel it, isn’t that right?” Woodbrin said.

  They all looked at the heavyset Grassbrin, waiting for some response. His green eyes looked strained, his forehead creased as if he were in great pain. Gameknight could see small cubes of sweat beading on his forehead, some of them dripping off his blocky chin and landing on the ground.

  “Yesss, I can feel themmm,” Grassbrin said in his long melodic voice.

  Gameknight liked Grassbrin’s voice. Everything he said sounded almost like a song, the words all drawn out and connected together. But today, the song was sad and full of suffering.

  “Theyyy hurt the grassss and they’re movingggg fasssst.”

  Gameknight looked anxiously at Crafter, then scanned the area for Mason.

  “We need to do something,” Crafter said.

  “Mason . . . where’s Mason?” Gameknight asked.

  “We don’t need Mason,” Stitcher said confidently. “We need the User-that-is-not-a-user . . . we need you.”

  Gameknight stood up and glanced nervously around. He could feel the weight of responsibility sitting heavily on him. Monsters were coming and they needed a plan. Indecision flooded through him as thoughts of the oncoming horde filled his mind. Looking frantically about, he scanned the are
a for Mason. And then there he was, the broad NPC pushing his way through the troops, a grim look on his face. His thin beard looked dark in the ruby-stained light of morning, his green eyes glowing with intensity.

  “What is going on?” Mason snapped.

  “The monsters are on the move,” Woodbrin blurted.

  “Where are they now?” Mason asked.

  “Close, verrrrrrry close,” Grassbrin sang.

  The big NPC glanced at Gameknight, clearly wanting him to take command, but the User-that-is-not-a-user just glanced at the ground.

  I can’t do this, he thought as he looked about the camp. I can’t solve this puzzle and be responsible for all these lives . . . I’m not a hero. I’m just a kid.

  The situation felt like all those days back in school when he could see the bullies coming, their abusive glares focused on him. Knowing that the bully was coming his way made it seem worse, the anticipation making the whole thing seem more terrible.

  ‘Anticipation of a thing can be worse than the thing itself.’ It was something his father had told him long ago, and those words echoed in his mind as if they had just been spoken. But he was feeling that familiar feeling again, the anticipation of something terrible about to happen, but this time the monsters felt like the bullies . . . or maybe it was his own fear of failure that was the bully? All he knew was that he couldn’t be responsible for his friends getting hurt. He wasn’t strong enough to shoulder that responsibility. So instead of trying to solve this puzzle, trying to come up with some kind of brilliant defense that would save lives, he just disappeared within himself and stared at the wall of fear that had materialized around his courage, every monster he’d ever seen being just another brick in the wall. Lowering his head in shame, he stared down at his feet.

  Stitcher sighed and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, then looked up at Mason. The big NPC nodded then started barking out commands.

  “Scouts, get out there and tell me where these monsters are at. I want two circles of scouts around the army. As soon as you see the monsters, fire an arrow toward the camp.” As the scouts got to their horses and rode out, Mason turned to face the rest of the army. “I want the elderly and the wounded at the center of the camp. Put a ring of swordsmen around them, then a ring of archers on the outside. When we know where the monsters are, we’ll redistribute and ready our defenses.”

  “I can . . . can help,” said a young voice.

  It was Herder.

  Gameknight looked up and was about to say something when Mason replied.

  “We need warriors right now, not kids,” Mason snapped. “You need to take care of your animals and that’s all. Now go and do your job.”

  The big NPC pointed toward the herd that was clustered near a copse of trees, a ring of white furry wolves running about the perimeter keeping the animals together.

  “But I can . . . I can . . .”

  “No! Go tend to your animals.”

  Herder looked crushed. Gameknight could tell that he desperately wanted to help . . . wanted to be accepted, but instead he was relegated again to the animals. Lowering his head, the young boy slumped back to the herd, his eyes downcast. Gameknight could hear chiding comments from some of the warriors and grew angry.

  “Yeah Pig-boy, go back to your little animals and let the real men get to work . . .”

  “We wouldn’t want your stinking animals missing their daddy . . .”

  “You smell so much like a pig that a creeper probably wouldn’t even know you were an NPC . . .”

  The comments bit into Gameknight’s courage . . . he could hear the bullies coming down the hallway . . . he could feel the trashcan being lowered over his head . . . he could feel the walls of the locker digging into his skin as he was shoved in . . .

  His anger started to boil over, but for some reason he stayed quiet. Looking across the camp, he could see Herder reaching his animals, the wolves always eager to see his return. Kneeling, the young boy lowered his head. It looked to Gameknight as if he were talking to the furry animals, but as he was about to point it out to Crafter, the wolves suddenly raced away in all directions, their furry bodies like little bolts of white lightning. They streaked way from the camp on noiseless paws, performing some task for Herder. It didn’t make any sense.

  Just then a small hand settled itself on his arm. Looking down, he saw Stitcher’s deep brown eyes looking up at him.

  “Come on, the people need to see you,” she said, pulling on his arm.

  She drew him toward his horse, then jumped up into the saddle. Looking down at Gameknight, she gave him an agitated look that said get into the saddle or else. Sighing, he jumped up onto the horse’s back and grabbed the reins. Crafter suddenly rode up next to him with his sword drawn, a look of grim determination on his face.

  “Are you ready for this again?” Crafter said.

  Gameknight just shrugged.

  He glanced around, looking for some place to hide, but they were within a forest biome, with a desert biome visible in the distance. He could see tall pine trees standing off to the left, and something about them nibbled at the back of his mind as if they were one of the pieces of the puzzle. But how could a bunch of trees be a solution to the monster army that was approaching?

  Well, at least they will offer some cover, he thought to himself.

  Turning his horse, he headed across the grass-covered landscape, the clusters of trees jutting up here and there.

  “Where are you going?” Stitcher asked.

  Gameknight said nothing, he just focused on riding the horse, squeezing every bit of speed from the animal.

  “Gameknight, we don’t know where the monsters are,” Stitcher complained. “You can’t just take off, you might be riding away from the battle!”

  Gameknight said nothing—he just rode. They were now at least forty blocks from the rest of the army and still riding, but then a howl echoed through the air. Gameknight brought his horse to a halt and listened, ignoring Stitcher’s complaints. It was a sorrowful howl that was filled with strength and pride, but then it was suddenly silenced, a painful yelp punctuating the end.

  That was one of Herder’s wolves, he thought. Why was it howling?

  Then suddenly an arrow fell down from the sky and landed in front of them.

  “ARROW . . . OVER HERE,” Stitcher yelled.

  Gameknight could hear commotion behind him as the army started to move, shifting forces in their direction. Looking down at the arrow, Gameknight sighed. He could hear Mason bellowing out orders, archers here, swordsmen there.

  “Hurry, move to your positions,” the big NPC yelled. “Speed is the essence of war.”

  Why did that sound so familiar . . . something from school, from Mr. Planck’s class . . . how can that be?

  Shaking his head, Gameknight knew that he couldn’t focus on these familiar sayings of Mason’s. Right now, he needed to figure out how to not get killed and protect Stitcher at the same time.

  Then something in what Mason said resonated within his mind. Turning his head, he glanced back at the army. They were set up in a standard formation, archers at the front, swordsmen behind, cavalry ready for a charge . . . textbook tactics. But Gameknight could somehow feel that it was all wrong, the pieces of the puzzle spinning around in his head.

  His eyes darted to the light-crafters, specifically Grassbrin and the tall Treebrin that had appeared sometime during the night.

  “Gameknight, we need to move . . . now,” Stitcher yelled. “I can hear them coming.”

  Gameknight looked at the treeline to his left and then remembered when he had first met Hunter. He and Crafter were facing off against a bunch of zombies, and they’d used a narrow alleyway to keep from getting surrounded. He wished they had an alleyway here now.

  “Gameknight, we have to . . .”

  Stitcher’s voice was lost amidst the puzzle pieces that were starting to click into place.

  Moans began to filter through the air as the rattling of bones
echoed across the landscape. They were coming . . . fast.

  “GAMEKNIGHT!” Stitcher yelled. This time she caught his attention.

  “What?” he answered as if coming out of a dream.

  “You might want to move this horse before we get trampled by a monster horde.”

  Looking up, he saw the monster army approaching. Zombies, spiders, skeletons, and endermen were approaching; the monsters of the Overworld. Scanning the ranks, he saw no sign of his nemesis, Erebus, but he was sure that the King of the Endermen was out there, somewhere.

  Wheeling his horse around, he rode back to his own ranks to the sound of warriors cheering.

  And then the last pieces of the plan came together in his head like a clap of thunder that almost made him laugh out loud. Leaping off his horse, he sprinted toward Mason, then motioned for the light-crafters to come closer.

  “I know what to do,” Gameknight said, “but we don’t have much time.”

  “We can all help,” said a gravelly voice from behind him.

  Turning, he found Woodbrin standing directly behind him, his deep brown eyes looking up at the User-that-is-not-a-user. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the dark outlines of monsters approaching . . . lots of them.

  “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

  And Gameknight explained his risky plan. And as he said it out loud he started to shake with fear, realizing how this strategy was fraught with peril. They’d be walking the razor’s edge, and any misstep would doom many to destruction . . . or worse.

  CHAPTER 11

  BATTLE

  The spiders charged forward first. Their hairy black bodies swayed back and forth as they scuttled across the grassy plain. Moving in and out of the shadows cast by the tree line nearby, they were at times difficult to see. The archers aimed their pointed shafts and fired, but the big monsters were able to jump left to right and dodge the incoming projectiles. The spiders were stronger and more agile on this server, as if they’d been upgraded.

  “They’re too fast to hit,” one of the archers yelled, frustration in his voice.