“The trap is not here . . . at least that’s what I think,” Gameknight explained.
“Then where is this trap?” Crafter asked from behind Stitcher. He too had his sword out.
“I don’t know, but Hunter told me . . .”
“Hunter . . . you talked with my sister?”
“Yes. I spoke with her in the Land of Dreams. She overheard the monster’s plans. We have to go save her . . . now!”
“Hold on,” Mason said as he put away his sword. “You talked to Hunter in a dream and you want me to take the army to save her?”
“That’s right,” the User-that-is-not-a-user replied.
“And where is she?”
Gameknight was suddenly quiet. He wasn’t sure where she was. Looking about the landscape, he didn’t see anything that suggested where his friend was being kept, but then his eyes fell on five sharp peaks that stuck up out of the foliage in the distance. They were five narrow rocky mountains that bent this way and that as they climbed up into the sky. Closing his eyes, he could remember the look of those mountains in his dream, the distorted and diseased look about them, with the lifeless bald trees sprinkled across their surface. Opening his eyes, Gameknight drew his enchanted diamond sword and pointed toward the peaks.
“She is there,” he said, his voice ringing with confidence, “and I’m going to go get her.”
“Look . . . Gameknight . . . I understand that you feel guilty about Hunter being captured back at Malacoda’s fortress in the Nether,” Mason said. “But going off on a wild adventure, based on nothing more than a dream, will not bring her back. There is nothing more you can do.”
“NO! I’m going to save her . . . alone if necessary, but I will save her.”
“Not alone!” Stitcher snapped, her enchanted bow in her hand.
“You too?” Mason asked, exasperated.
Stitcher nodded.
Reaching into his inventory, Gameknight brought out the Iron Rose. It filled the area with white light as the metallic petals glowed with a purity that seemed to push back the red-stained light from the diseased sun. He then handed the Rose to Mason.
“You take it and follow its pull toward the second key,” Gameknight said. “I’ll save Hunter and return.”
“How will you find us if you do not have the Rose?” Mason asked.
“I will lead . . . lead him back,” said a stammering voice.
Herder stepped forward and stood next to Gameknight, standing tall.
“I can sense my animals from . . . from far away. They will lead . . . will lead us back to you.”
Gameknight looked down at the lanky youth, reached out and patted him on the shoulder. He could hear the snickers and remarks leveled toward Herder. He slouched a bit and looked at the ground as the faceless bullies tortured him with their whispered insults. All he wanted to do was help his friend, and Gameknight respected that. Looking from Herder to Stitcher, the User-that-is-not-a-user squared his shoulders and stared back at Mason.
“We are three and we will save Hunter.”
“Not three but four,” Crafter said as he stepped forward and put an arm on Herder’s shoulder. The skinny boy looked at Crafter and smiled, then looked back up at Gameknight, adulation for his hero in his eyes.
Holding up his hand with four fingers extended, Gameknight smiled at Mason.
“Apparently we are four,” the User-that-is-not-a-user said.
“The Magnificent Four,” Mason teased, then smiled.
But none of us are bald, Gameknight thought as his mind drifted back to an old movie. “We will return shortly with our friend and then we can take on Malacoda and Erebus.”
Mason nodded and motioned to one of the nearby soldiers for horses. Fresh mounts were brought forward, one for each. As they mounted, Mason moved up next to Gameknight and spoke in a low voice, his words meant only for his ears.
“Be sure you keep in mind what the goal is here . . . to save Minecraft.”
“Of course.”
“Getting killed trying to save only one person serves no purpose.”
“I won’t leave anyone behind,” Gameknight snapped. “Our devotion to our friends is what sets us apart from the monsters.”
And the bullies, he thought.
“We will return, I promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Mason said, then gave him a huge, contagious smile that the big NPC was known for.
Gameknight smiled back, then pulled on the reins and headed for the craggy mountains in the distance, his three friends at his side.
CHAPTER 21
THE CRAGGY MOUNTAINS
They rode toward the craggy mountains in silence, each rider urging as much speed as was possible from their mount without driving them to complete exhaustion. As they neared the tall peaks, Gameknight realized that the base of these mountains were massive, at least a hundred blocks across.
How can I tell which of the five has Hunter imprisoned at its base, and where around the perimeter will she be?
The task seemed almost impossible.
“Which mountain do we head for first?” Crafter asked.
Gameknight shrugged.
“I don’t know. I’ve only seen her prison from up close. From far away everything looks the same.”
“You know,” Crafter added, “my great-aunt Baker once told me ‘when you’ve lost your way, sometimes you just need to close your eyes and listen . . . to Minecraft and to yourself.’”
“Of course, close your eyes,” Gameknight said as he led his horse to the base of a large oak tree, one of the tall mountainous peaks looming nearby
Dismounting, he quickly laid down on the grass.
“What are you doing?” Stitcher asked.
“I’m going to find Hunter,” Gameknight replied. “All of you should dismount, I’m not sure how long this is going to take.”
Adjusting his sword and armor, trying to get comfortable, he slowly closed his eyes. But the last thing he saw was Herder running off into the woods mumbling something. Sitting up quickly, he looked up at Crafter then back to the boy.
“Herder, where are you going?” Gameknight asked.
“More friends . . . need more friends,” he answered, then turned and disappeared between the leaf-covered branches of the thick trees.
“Is he coming back?” Gameknight asked.
“Of course,” Stitcher replied.
“How do you know that?”
“Because he would never abandon you,” Stitcher explained. “You’re like a father to him. He respects you and looks up to you, and wants nothing but your approval . . . don’t you see it? Everything he does, he does to please you. You are his family now, just like Hunter is mine. Herder and I are much alike; we never give up on family.”
These thoughts spun around in his mind . . . like his father . . . but I’m just a kid. I can’t think of him as my son . . . that’s just wrong . . . OK, maybe a little brother, like my sister, only a boy. Sighing, feeling the weight of more responsibility sitting heavily on his soul, he closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep. Of course, with Herder leaving, and Stitcher and Crafter staring down at him, and the scary mountain looming overhead . . . it was hard to rest. But he closed his eyes and reached out with his mind toward that Land of Dreams . . . and suddenly, he was there.
The silvery mist swirled about him. Drawing his sword he moved carefully through the fog. This was Erebus’s land just as much as it was his, and he had to be careful. Reaching out with his mind, he felt for Hunter, her tenacious courage, her will to live . . . and then there she was.
Gameknight stood at the edge of a strange forest, with trees that lacked any foliage, their branches bare. It gave the trees a tortured, diseased look that made Gameknight not want to touch their smooth lifeless bark. Peering around one of the trunks, he could see Hunter inside an iron cage that was mounted on top of a pillar of stone. A dozen wither-skeletons stood guard around her, maybe more, each with a vile look of hatred on their bony
faces. The massive tunnel opening stood dark and menacing next to her prison, a jagged outcropping jutting out from the mountainside some distance above. Off to the left, Gameknight could see a waterfall spilling out of an opening in the side of the mountain, the water falling at least twenty blocks before it hit the ground, filling a large pool.
Looking around him, he could see more of the leafless, sickly-looking trees around the area. That was how he would find her.
“Wake up . . . wake up . . . wake up.”
Gameknight opened his eyes and smiled.
“You found her?” Stitcher asked.
Gameknight smiled and nodded his head.
The young girl wrapped her arms around the User-that-is-not-a-user’s chest and squeezed, crushing him a little and making him thankful that he had on a full set of diamond armor. Releasing the hug, she looked up into his eyes.
“Which way?”
Looking up at the five peaks, he could see that each had a few trees sprinkled on their faces, but the nearest of the mountains showed only leafless trunks.
“That one,” Gameknight said.
“Then let’s go,” Stitcher replied.
“But what of Herder?” Crafter asked and he brought all the horses forward.
“He’ll have to catch up,” Gameknight answered as he leapt up onto his horse. “I’m sure he’ll be able to find us. I have faith in him. Now come on, let’s get going. We need to reach Hunter before nightfall.”
The three friends headed toward the mountain. As they rode, Gameknight looked into the woods, hoping to see Herder running toward them, but he saw nothing. Occasionally he heard the howls of wolves . . . lots of them, but no Herder.
Sighing, he rode on, hoping this was the right thing to do.
CHAPTER 22
THE ATTACK OF THE WOLVES
Gameknight led the way, guiding his horse along the edge of the forest, the mountain now looming over them like a mighty claw reaching up into the sky. They could see the base of the mountain but its perimeter was vast, and without Gameknight’s vision in the Land of Dreams they would have needed to search the entire area for days.
Moving as quietly as possible, the User-that-is-not-a-user looked for the telltale sign that they were getting closer.
And then he saw it.
It was a lifeless, sickly looking tree with all of its branches bare. Moving up close to it, Gameknight could see small piles of ashes on the ground, as if the leaves had been somehow burned away. Crafter, looking down at the ashes, then put his hand reverently on the tree and felt its knobby trunk. As he caressed the bark, Gameknight could see a tear trickle down his young cheek, his old wise eyes filled with anger.
“What kind of creature could do this to an innocent tree?” Crafter growled.
“You mean this isn’t natural?” Gameknight asked.
“No,” the young boy snapped. “This was done intentionally, out of malice and hatred.” He looked away from the tree and glared at Gameknight999. “We have to find this creature and destroy him before he can do any more harm to Minecraft.”
“How about we save Minecraft first,” Gameknight replied, “then we can find your tree killer.”
“He didn’t kill the trees,” Crafter spat. “He wounded them. He tore away their ability to grow and left them to suffer a painful useless life. Nothing will grow on this spot, even if we cut this tree down. This creature has wounded Minecraft itself and must be caught.”
“Like the User-that-is-not-a-user said,” Stitcher interrupted, “let’s save Minecraft first, and to do that we need to find my sister.”
Gameknight dismounted and tied his reins to the bare tree branch. He then motioned the others to do the same.
“We go on foot from here,” he whispered. “Stealth is more important right now than speed, and the sound of the horses may give us away.”
The other two nodded and dismounted, tying the horses to the bare tree branch. Drawing his sword, Gameknight moved cautiously forward, making sure to avoid any of the fallen branches or dry leaves on the ground. As he walked, he thought of the Land of Dreams and what it looked like around Hunter’s cage. He could remember the lifeless trees all around, but he also remembered something else . . . a waterfall high up on the mountainside.
Gameknight stopped for a moment and closed his eyes and listened.
“What’s wrong?” Crafter asked, his eyes darting about looking for threats.
Gameknight raised his hand to silence his friend and tilted his blocky head slightly to the side. Reaching out with all his senses, he listened to the grinding, strained music of Minecraft. He could hear the clucks of some chickens nearby . . . then the moos of a cow . . . then the howling of some wolves . . . then . . .
He found it, the sound of falling water.
Opening his eyes, he pointed off to the left. “It’s that way,” he whispered.
Gameknight crouched and moved slowly ahead. Stitcher and Crafter both noticed the letters floating above Gameknight’s head dim significantly when he crouched and followed directly behind them, their weapons held at the ready. As they wended their way through the forest, the sound of the waterfall became louder, but so did the clattering sound of sticks being rattled together.
Skeletons . . .
Gameknight turned and looked at Crafter, nodding at the sound.
“You hear them?” he whispered.
“Yes, I do.”
“Sounds like a lot of them,” the User-that-is-not-a-user said.
“We need a plan,” Crafter suggested.
“Let’s get closer first and have a peek, then we’ll make a plan.”
Crafter nodded and continued forward. The three companions stepped cautiously through the woods, moving from tree to tree to keep from being seen. The iridescent glow from Gameknight’s sword and Stitcher’s bow cast a subtle blue glow around them. He wondered if the glow would give them away. Sheathing his sword, he motioned for Stitcher to also put away her enchanted bow. With the magical weapons hidden in their inventory, the trio blended into the trees, the rosy light from the sun filtering between what remained of the leafy canopy and casting confusing patches of light on their bodies.
As they neared the clattering sounds of the skeletons, Gameknight noticed that more of the trees had that sickly, bare appearance—small piles of gray ashes everywhere. Crafter touched the bark of each tree reverently as he passed, muttering something under his breath as the angry scowl on his face grew more intense.
Pausing for a moment, Gameknight999 put his back against a leafless tree and listened, Stitcher and Crafter doing the same. They could hear the skeletons clearly now, their guttural, clattering speech hard to understand. It sounded as if they were over the next hill. Crouching again, Gameknight moved cautiously up the incline, motioning his companions to stay where they were. Hiding behind a large, leafless oak, he glanced around the trunk. Beyond the hilltop, he could see the large opening in the side of the mountain, the rocky outcropping high above. In the distance, he could see the tall waterfall, its watery column falling along a shear face until it splashed down into a large pool. This was the place.
Moving to the next tree, he was able to get a better view of the area. A clearing stretched out in front of the dark tunnel entrance, with a group of wither-skeletons milling about. Off to the side of the entrance, Gameknight could see Hunter trapped in an iron cage, the enclosure standing atop three blocks of cobblestone, but then Gameknight’s heart sank. He could see the wither-skeletons clearly now. There must have been at least twenty wither-skeletons down there, each of them armed with an iron sword and one with an enchanted bow.
How can we fight twenty of these monsters with only three of us?
He needed to get her cage open and a bow in her hands. That would give them four attackers to fight the skeletons, and knowing Hunter, she probably counted as two warriors. And then he remembered a saying that was on the wall in Mr. Planck’s classroom, one of Sun Tzu’s quotes from The Art of War: “In the m
idst of chaos, there is also opportunity.” That’s what they required, chaos . . . a diversion. They needed something to pull the skeletons away so that someone could release Hunter and get a bow in her hands.
Walking quietly back down to the hill, he moved to Crafter’s side, then motioned for Stitcher to come near.
“I saw Hunter . . . she’s there.”
Stitcher’s face brightened with excitement and hope.
“But there are at least twenty wither-skeletons guarding her.”
The glow in her eyes faded a bit.
“What we need is a diversion,” Gameknight continued, “to draw the skeletons off so that we can open the cage she’s trapped in. But the problem is that we’ll have to . . .”
Suddenly, the forest erupted with the sound of wolves, the howling animals sounding angry . . . and hungry. Gameknight could tell that they were still far away, but getting closer and moving fast.
“Wolves?” Stitcher asked. “What do we do?”
An angry pack of wolves was a terrible thing to fight. They attacked from all sides, their gnashing jaws tearing at their enemy with merciless efficiency. And right now, it sounded as if the pack were heading directly for them.
“Quickly, behind me,” Gameknight said as he drew his diamond sword. “Get back to back.”
Stitcher and Crafter moved behind the User-that-is-not-a-user and drew their weapons, getting ready for battle.
And then they heard it, the sound of feet running through the forest, twigs breaking, dried leaves crackling. Like an approaching storm, the sounds of running paws grew more intense as they neared. The howls became louder but were now accompanied by the sound of angry growls . . . these animals were mad, really mad.
Small cubes of sweat formed on Gameknight’s brow as he gripped his sword and turned to face the oncoming threat. He could remember trying to fight a pack of wolves once, back when Minecraft had just been a game. It had not ended well. And now he had to face off against a pack again. Turning, he glanced at Crafter and Stitcher and smiled, hoping to raise their spirits a little. They both had terrified looks on their faces, both knowing the likely outcome when fighting off against an entire pack of wolves.
Confronting the Dragon Page 16
