Confronting the Dragon

by Mark Cheverton

  Zombiebrine pushed past the monsters and stepped out in the rain. The shadow-crafter scowled as he looked up at the falling drops.

  “Rain,” he moaned. “I can’t stand the rain!”

  And then his face seemed to turn a sickly color of green as anger welled up within the shadow-crafter.

  “I hate you Rainbrin,” Zombiebrine yelled, then started walking to the north.

  “General,” Malacoda said to his wither-skeleton commander.

  The dark skeleton rode his spider up to the ghast’s side and looked up into his red eyes.

  “You will take a portion of my army and retrieve for me this Iron Rose.” He turned and gave Erebus a wry smile, then continued. “We will let our brothers from the Overworld lead this charge with a few of my blazes and zombie-pigmen with them, just to make sure they do not lose their resolve.”

  The King of the Nether cast his gaze across his army as the raindrops bounced harmlessly off his head. All of the endermen were huddled in the tunnel opening. This made Malacoda give off a booming laugh that sounded like thunder.

  “Go my brother! Bring me back the Iron Rose and destroy that annoying User-that-is-not-a-user. NOW GO!”

  The wither-skeleton followed the shadow-crafter, his spider scurrying to catch up. The huge collection of monsters from the Overworld followed the dark spider jockey, their angry, hateful eyes looking out across the land for something to destroy.

  Slowly moving closer to the ground, Malacoda faced his captive, Hunter.

  “You, my dear, are going to stay with me for a while.”

  The ghast flicked one of his tentacles in the direction of one of the shadow-crafters that had just emerged from the tunnel.

  “I have a little gift for you, something that I had made special just for you.”

  “You don’t frighten me, ghast,” Hunter spat.

  “Yes, I’m sure.” He then turned to the shadow-crafter. “Ironbrine, bring it forward.”

  The shadow-crafter walked forward, then pulled a large structure out of his inventory. It was a cage made of iron bars, the top of the cage still open.

  “Drop her in,” Malacoda commanded.

  The ghast that held her floated up into the air over the cage, then released her suddenly. She fell into the cage, flashing red with damage when she landed. Before she could scramble out, Ironbrine sealed the cage with another layer of iron bars, trapping her within the cage. Grabbing the bars, Hunter shook them violently as if she could somehow break them apart.

  Malacoda laughed as he watched her panic grow.

  “Enjoy your new home, NPC,” Malacoda said. “You’ll be in it for quite a while.”

  The King of the Nether glared at his prisoner, then looked back at Erebus, a mischievous, knowing smile on the square, baby-like face.

  Does he suspect me? Erebus thought, then glanced away.

  The rain stopped falling, allowing the endermen to come out of their protective tunnel. This made Malacoda laugh again.

  “Go endermen with your brothers, and do not return unless you are victorious,” Malacoda commanded.

  The dark creatures looked from the ghast to Erebus, uncertain what to do. The blood-red enderman nodded, signaling them to obey. A purple mist of particles enveloped each as they disappeared and teleported to the monster horde.

  “Well?” Malacoda asked Erebus. “Do as your king commands.”

  Erebus scowled at the King of the Nether.

  I’ll do as you say . . . for now, Erebus thought. But soon your time will be over and the King of the Endermen will rule.

  Drawing on his teleportation powers, Erebus disappeared to the sound of Malacoda’s booming laugh.

  CHAPTER 14

  HERDER’S PRISON

  The NPC camp lay quiet, nestled amongst the tall trees of the hilly birch forest biome. They had been following the river at the edge of the desert biome for two days now, marching day and night, and the soldiers were tired. Gameknight had suggested that they needed a good night’s rest for tomorrow they would reach the First Key. Woodbrin had said something about the Bridge to Nowhere, but nobody really understood what he meant.

  “Why would someone build a bridge to nowhere?” Stitcher had asked the light-crafter. “It would be a complete waste of effort and resources.”

  “That is what the bridge is called,” Woodbrin had answered, his words always quick and staccato, his voice like the short, rapid beats of a drum. “It goes somewhere now . . . to the Iron Rose. But it is the name we have given the bridge.”

  Everyone was anxious to get to the first key, but were also a little afraid as well. Woodbrin had warned that there were sentinels guarding the Iron Rose, and they would not give it up easily. There would be danger . . . and this was what worried Gameknight999.

  Shuddering, the User-that-is-not-a-user pushed the thought aside as he walked through their camp. The tall birch trees gave them excellent cover, making the army difficult to spot. Looking about the forest, he marveled at the majestic beauty of this biome. These birch trees were at least ten to twelve blocks high, the speckled white bark reaching all the way up to the dark green leaves. The heights of these trees made him feel safe for some reason, like the giant wooden creatures would somehow protect him if a horde of monsters attacked . . . not likely, yet still he felt comforted to be amongst these majestic giants.

  The forest stretched out as far as the eye could see, with steep hills and narrow valleys in the distance; it was a spectacular landscape and would have been fun to explore . . . that is except for the threat of being attacked by terrible monsters. Nighttime still belonged to the monsters, even in this peaceful land. Looking up, he could see some of the guards standing on the treetops, their watchful eyes looking for threats. It had taken some effort to get them up there. Builders had to place blocks of wood around the trunk of one of the trees, forming a spiral staircase that reached high up into the leafy canopy. Once they reached the treetops, it was easy enough for them to jump from tree to tree, placing watchful eyes all throughout the forest.

  As he walked through the camp, he could hear the snoring of sleeping men and women. Many of the soldiers had been too tired to even take off their armor and now lay on the ground in their iron cocoons, their bodies exhausted.

  Just as Gameknight was about to head toward the river, he heard a rustling sound, like people running through the forest. He could hear leaves being crunched and sticks being broken under heavy-booted feet.

  Is it an attack? he thought. No, it sounds like people running, and zombies and skeletons can’t run. It must be soldiers.

  Gameknight cautiously walked toward the sound, his enchanted diamond sword casting an iridescent blue glow on the white bark of the trees. As he approached, he started to hear someone whimpering . . . no . . . crying. Then there was a banging sound of wood on stone. Moving toward this new sound, Gameknight could hear the wooden tool groan and creak as the wood started to crack . . . and then a shattering sound echoed through the forest as the wooden tool gave up the last morsel of its existence against a rocky obstacle.

  Then the sound of fists pounding on stone thudded through the air. Someone was trying to break a stone block with their hands.

  Maybe someone is in trouble?

  Hurrying his pace, Gameknight moved silently through the forest toward the thumping sound. Then he heard steps off to his left as well as behind. Pressing his back to the speckled white bark of a tree, he crouched and peered into the forest.

  Was this a trap? Are there other creatures out here with me?

  Fear started to flicker through his mind as he peered into the dark forest, his eyes looking for the elusive shapes that his ears told him were out there. A dark shadow flitted around a tree trunk. He could see something in its hand but wasn’t sure what it was . . . a weapon? And then another shape, this one taller than the last, moved through a bush, the slivers of moonlight that pierced the leafy ceiling not bright enough to illuminate the creature.

  What’s goi
ng on? Was that Erebus?

  And then a voice pierced the forest. “Help.”

  It was first soft and feeble, almost afraid to be heard, but then it grew in volume . . . and in sadness.

  “HELP!”

  It was Herder.

  Suddenly, Gameknight hear the scurrying of many feet behind him. Looking back, he saw small furry white things streak through the forest like tiny snowy missiles. They dodged around the trees with incredible speed, each heading straight for Herder. And in an instant Gameknight knew what they were . . . wolves . . . Herder’s wolves. Running forward, Gameknight sprinted toward the sorrowful cries, following the quick animals.

  In twenty paces, he entered a small clearing. A three block high structure of cobblestone sat in the middle of the clearing, a ring of red collared wolves standing around it, teeth bared. Mason, Crafter and three other soldiers stood before the protective canine ring, their weapons drawn. From within the stone structure, Herder’s cries still resonated. When Gameknight entered the clearing, all eyes turned to him.

  “Herder, it’s Gameknight. I’m here and it’s alright.”

  The cries for help stopped, but now the growls of the wolves filled the air.

  “How do we get to him?” Crafter asked. “The wolves won’t let us get close.”

  Mason took a step forward and was greeted by vicious growls.

  Just then they could hear more footsteps behind them; more soldiers coming to help . . . or just watch. Gameknight could hear some of them snickering as they entered the clearing.

  Suddenly, Stitcher was by his side.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Gameknight answered. “We can’t get close enough to dig him out.”

  “Let me try.”

  Stitcher put away her bow and slowly walked forward. Instantly she was greeted by angry growling that forced her back.

  “Kill the dogs,” someone yelled from behind.

  “Yeah . . . kill them, that will teach Pig-boy to be messing around out here.”

  Gameknight ignored them and sheathed his sword. He then held out his hand, the one that had been licked by the wolf in the Land of Dreams and slowly walked forward. As with the others, he was greeted by angry growls.

  “Gameknight . . . get back,” Crafter said. “This is too dangerous. Those wolves could kill you.”

  Gameknight ignored his friend and continued moving forward. He could hear bows being pulled from inventories, their wooden frames creaking as arrows were notched and the strings pulled back. Holding his left hand in the air in hopes of stopping anyone from firing, he continued to move forward, his right hand still outstretched.

  Moving a few steps closer, Gameknight looked into the red eyes of the closest wolf. It was not the pack leader, but still a big animal. If it attacked, he wouldn’t have time to draw his weapon . . . he’d be helpless. Staring straight into the eyes of the wolf, he stepped even closer.

  “It’s OK, nobody is going to hurt you,” Gameknight said in a calm voice.

  The wolf growled.

  “I’m a friend.”

  Another angry snarl, its ears pulled back low.

  Reaching forward, Gameknight moved his hand toward the wolf. The animal snapped its teeth together then growled as the tasty hand grew near. But then the wolf sniffed the air. Its nose, being incredibly sensitive, smelled the air around Gameknight’s hand, then moved forward and smelled the back of his hand. It stood still, frozen with indecision for what seemed to Gameknight like an eternity, and then the ears came back up as the wolf licked the User-that-is-not-a-user’s hand, its eyes fading from red to their normal canine yellow. The other wolves, seeing this, all came to Gameknight and sniffed his hand, then licked it affectionately. Turning his head, Gameknight could see warriors lowering bows and sheathing swords.

  “Quickly, get Herder out of there,” Gameknight commanded as he patted the large pack leader on the head.

  Three warriors quickly moved forward with iron picks. In seconds, the clobblestone was removed and an embarrassed Herder was free.

  “What is going on here?” Mason asked, a stern look on his blocky face. He then lowered his voice. “We’re trying to hide from the monsters of this land. We can’t have people yelling out for help. Why did you trap yourself in there?”

  “Well . . . ahh . . . I didn’t . . . I didn’t . . . ahh . . .”

  “Herder, did someone else do this to you?” Crafter asked.

  The gangly boy nodded, ashamed.

  “Who did this . . . who did this?” Mason demanded.

  Crafter stepped up to Mason and put a calming hand on his shoulder, then turned to Herder.

  “Can you tell us what happened?”

  Herder looked at all the warriors in the clearing, then glanced at Gameknight999. There were still tearstains on his cheeks, his eyes red and blotchy. Stepping forward, Gameknight put a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder and just nodded his head. Herder looked up at his idol and took a slow, calming breath, and then spoke.

  “OK, OK . . . well, you see, some of the warriors said that I could . . . I could be one of them . . . you know . . . a warrior. But I had to pass . . . pass the test. They said I could only have . . . only have a wooden sword. I gave up all my tools and took . . . and took the sword, but then they put the blocks . . . the blocks around me.” Herder explained, his gaze focused on a nearby cow that was grazing on some of the grass in the clearing.

  “Who did this?” Mason barked.

  “My fault . . . it was my fault,” said the boy. “My dad was . . . was right. My fault.”

  “What’s he talking about?” one of the warriors said.

  “I think he’s touched in the head,” said another.

  Gameknight could hear Stitcher growl like one of the wolves as she spun around and glared at the warriors.

  Someone laughed.

  “We do not have time for this,” said a grainy voice from behind Gameknight.

  Looking over his shoulder, he found Woodbrin standing right behind him, his brown eyes impatiently surveying the situation.

  “It was my fault. I should have . . . should have just stayed with the . . . the animals, my dad was right,” Herder stammered as he stepped forward to put his arm around the largest of the wolves, the pack leader. Kneeling, he patted the big animal warmly on the side then stood and turned to face Gameknight999. “That is my place, with the . . . with the animals. It’s my fault that I’m . . . that I’m different.”

  “NO!” Stitcher snapped. “We are all different. That’s what makes a community so special. Each of us has a different gift to offer that helps us all. Mine is this bow. Mason’s is his leadership. Your gift is . . . ahh . . .”

  “What she’s saying,” Crafter interrupted, “is that we’re all special and we’re all different. That’s the way it is supposed to be.” He raised his voice so that all in the clearing could hear. “And those that pulled this terrible prank, you must understand that you hurt the community by these actions. If we all help and accept one another, then we can all do great things together. But if you continue these actions, you will, in the end, isolate yourselves and not be trusted by anyone.”

  Someone laughed.

  Gameknight turned toward the sound and found Wood Cutter staring at Herder, a mischievous smile on his square face. Instinctively, he took a step away from the bully, experience with the bullies in his own school making him want to just disappear. But then Stitcher was at his side, her bow in her hand. He could feel the anger boiling within her as she glared at Wood Cutter with a vengeance. Her anger, and strength, made Gameknight feel like a coward.

  I’m afraid of these bullies and they aren’t even doing anything to me, Gameknight thought. And look at Stitcher. She isn’t afraid of anyone or anything . . . just like Hunter.

  He wished he had just the tiniest morsel of her courage. But then, just for an instant, everything made sense.

  “Herder, you need to just be you and stop trying t
o be someone else,” Gameknight said softly as he turned to face the boy. “Don’t change for these idiots . . . they are too short-sighted to appreciate you for who you are.” He then stepped forward and put a hand on the young boy’s shoulder. “Believe in yourself and accept that you are the best Herder that anyone can be. Do not diminish yourself for anyone!”

  Herder nodded.

  “We can solve this problem later,” Mason boomed, his angry green eyes surveying everyone in the clearing. “Right now, we’re breaking camp and heading for the Bridge to Nowhere. Everyone gather your things . . . we march.”

  And on his words, the soldiers snapped into action. All of the mocking laughter and name-calling was pushed aside as the warriors started to do their jobs.

  Gameknight reached out and tussled Herder’s hair, then leaned close to the boy.

  “Go tend to your animals, Herder. Nobody can take care of them as well as you can.”

  Wiping the tears from his cheeks, he looked up at his idol and gave him a weak smile.

  “Really?”

  The User-that-is-not-a-user nodded and patted the lanky boy on the shoulder.

  “Go on, I’ll be along soon to check on you,” Gameknight said, then turned and found Stitcher standing right in front of him.

  “You need to stop them from doing this to him,” she said with an accusatory tone.

  “What can I do?” Gameknight asked.

  “You can speak up! You can make sure that he doesn’t suffer alone. You can give him hope, like you do for the warriors in battle.” She scowled as she tried to bring her anger into check. “Just be there for him, that’s all I ask.”

  And then she spun around and headed to the camp to gather her things.

  Gameknight999 sighed as he watched her leave, then headed for his own horse. He knew that she was right, but seeing Herder being picked on by the bullies brought back so many of his own painful memories from school. He wanted to be brave and he wanted to help Herder, but just thinking about bullying in real life made him want to hide and be invisible. He wasn’t sure how to stand up against them. He sighed, then climbed up on his horse. Once everyone was ready, they moved out of the woods and back to the river that snaked its way along the edge of the desert biome.