Into the Spiders' Lair

by Mark Cheverton

“No weapons . . . no violence,” she said.

  “There are monsters down there. If we don’t stop them before they find your daughter, it’ll be over for her.” Watcher stared into the woman’s square face. “If you want us to save your daughter, this is how it’s done.”

  The woman looked at the pointed tip of the arrow, then back to Watcher, finally nodding reluctantly as she stepped out of the way.

  Watcher followed Blaster down the newly hewn steps, Planter drawing her enchanted golden axe and was a step behind. The iridescent glow from the magical enchantments in the axe and the bow lit the stairs with a shimmering light, helping Blaster to see.

  The moans of a zombie added to the clattering of skeleton bones.

  “We need to hurry,” Watcher said.

  Blaster dug as fast as he could. When they were almost to the floor, Watcher jumped off the stairs, landing hard on the stone. Pain burst through his body as he flashed red, taking damage, but he didn’t care; he had to get to Fencer before the monsters did.

  Sprinting through the darkness, Watcher ran toward the girl. She lay on the ground ahead, bathed in the orange light from a nearby pool of lava. The sounds of monsters were getting louder. A zombie moaned off to the right. Watcher stopped and listened. The decaying creature growled again. Drawing back an arrow, he released the barbed shaft toward the grumbling voice. The fire-arrow burst into flame and struck the zombie, lighting it on fire. The flickering glow illuminated another monster nearby. Watcher launched another burning arrow, this one at the creature’s neighbor. As the flames licked their green, decaying bodies, Watcher put away the fire arrows and used just normal ones. He fired again and again, striking the zombies until they disappeared, pained and sad moans on the creatures’ lips.

  “Hey . . . save some for us,” Blaster shouted.

  By now, his two friends had caught up to him. They sprinted toward the prone figure, the three friends in lockstep. Suddenly, the clattering of bones filled the darkness to the left.

  “I’ll take care of them.” Blaster drew two long, curved knives from his inventory, then disappeared, his black armor making him practically invisible in the shadows.

  Watcher ran toward Fencer. She was lying on the ground, unconscious. It seemed that she was fading in and out, as if about to disappear; her HP (Health Points) was dangerously low. Watcher offered her an apple, but the girl seemed barely aware of what was going on.

  “Fencer, are you okay?” Watcher asked.

  She moaned, but didn’t respond.

  “We have to get her out of here.” He glanced at Planter, who had a worried expression on her face. Even when scared, she was beautiful, he thought. “I’m going to . . .”

  An angry growl echoed throughout the chamber.

  “Look out!” Planter charged past him, her enchanted axe streaking through the air.

  She slashed at an attacking zombie, blocking the monster’s razor-sharp claws with the handle of her weapon, then kicked the creature hard in the stomach. With a grunt, the zombie took a step back, but Planter did not relent. She charged, her axe smashing into the fiend with merciless accuracy.

  Two more monsters charged out of the darkness. Watcher stood with his blade drawn right next to Planter. The two friends fought in a synchronized rhythm as if they were performing a choreographed dance. It was almost as if they knew each other’s thoughts: When Planter attacked, Watcher blocked. When Watcher thrust Needle at a monster, Planter was there with her golden axe to guard his back. The attacking creatures were destroyed in minutes, leaving the cavern deserted.

  The sound of bones clattering to the ground came from the shadows off to the right. Blaster emerged from the darkness with a smile on his face, his curved knives reflecting the orange light from the lava pool. “I solved our problem with the skeletons.” He smiled, nonchalant.

  Watcher shook his head, amazed.

  “We need to get Fencer up to the village,” Planter said.

  Watcher put away his sword, bent over and picked the girl up in his arms, then ran for the stairs they used to get into the cavern, the glow from his enchanted iron armor still giving him enough light to see.

  Fencer moaned and opened her eyes for a moment, a confused look on her face.

  “Don’t worry, Fencer, we’re taking you out of here,” Watcher said. “We’ll get you to the village healer, and then you’ll be okay.”

  She moaned again, then drifted back into unconsciousness.

  Watcher could tell Fencer was badly injured, her health almost gone.

  “I hope we weren’t too late to help you, Fencer,” he whispered to the girl, then sprinted up the stairs and back to the village.

  Shakaar, the spider warlord, paced back and forth in the Gathering Chamber. The claws at the end of each leg clicked a syncopated rhythm on the stone floor as she strode from one end of the cavern to the other.

  “He sssaid he would be here.” Shakaar glanced around the chamber, her eight red eyes burning with anger.

  Lava spilled down one wall, casting an orange glow on the surroundings. Other pools of lava sat on the ground, adding more light to the Gathering Chamber. Smoke and ash drifted through the air, creating a gray haze that might have choked a villager, but was a welcome aroma to a spider. Shakaar stared at the entrance, wishing her anger gave the spider some kind of magical power to somehow force the wither to appear. She clicked her sharp mandibles together in annoyance.

  Suddenly, a chill seemed to spread through the room. The short black hairs that covered her dark body all stood up straight as she tensed, ready for battle.

  “You seem impatient, Shakaar,” a deep voice said.

  “Maybe she wasn’t going to wait for us,” a scratchy voice said. “I told you she couldn’t be trusted.”

  “Calm down, Left,” a soft, lyrical voice added. “She wasn’t going anywhere, were you, Shakaar?”

  The spider turned and found herself staring up at Krael, the self-proclaimed King of the Withers. The dark creature had three heads atop its broad shoulders. The center head wore a golden crown with tiny black skulls embedded along its rim. It was the Crown of Skulls, a powerful enchanted relic from the Great War between the NPC wizards and monster warlocks. The crown sparkled with magical energy, the glow pulsing like a heartbeat as if it were alive.

  Shakaar knew there were rumors that two more crowns existed, both of them like this one. Stories passed down from the spider elders suggested that the three crowns, if worn by a single monster, would give unstoppable powers to that creature. But many spiders thought they were just tales to scare the hatchlings into doing their chores.

  “You are late,” Shakaar said. She wanted to make sure the wither understood who was in charge in the spiders’ lair.

  “My apologies,” Center’s voice boomed, filling the chamber. “We were retrieving an ancient and powerful tool for the spider warlord.”

  “A tool?”

  All three heads nodded. “There is a wizard in the Far Lands, and he plots the destruction of all spiders.” The center head paused, letting that information sink in. “This wizard destroyed the zombie warlord as well as the skeleton warlord. And now, this wizard has focused his attention upon the spider warlord.”

  “How do I know you ssspeak the truth?” the spider warlord said.

  The left head glared down at Shakaar, but the spider warlord ignored his gaze. She kept her eight red eyes focused on the center skull, the one wearing the Crown of Skulls. That was the one clearly in charge of the other two.

  “Withersss have a way of usssing othersss to the benefit of the withersss and to the detriment of othersss.” She clicked her mandibles together, then tapped one of her claws on the ground. This was a signal to the other spiders in the chamber to approach.

  The right head glanced around, watching the other monsters approach, then glanced at the other wither skulls. Center nodded but kept his gaze fixed upon the spider warlord.

  “I see you doubt our word,” Center said. “That can be
understood. I will show you we speak the truth.” The wither flicked his body forward, causing an object to come out of his inventory and land on the ground before the spider. “This is an ancient artifact from the Great War. It was made by one of the monster warlocks and is a powerful tool.”

  The spider reached out with a claw and picked up the item. It was a glass lens attached to a long black strap. The eyepiece gave off a soft, iridescent glow.

  “It is called the Eye of Searching, and it is now yours.” Krael leaned forward. “Put it on.”

  Shakaar wasn’t sure if it was a request or a command, but she knew any magical relic from the Great War could be a powerful weapon for the spiders. Reaching up with two legs, she positioned the lens over one of her eyes, then wrapped the straps around her fuzzy head, tying them at the back.

  Instantly, the relic stabbed at her HP, drawing power from her health as she flashed red and moaned.

  “That is natural,” Center explained. “The magical weapons and tools from the ancient warlocks use the health of the wearer to provide power to the enchantment. But the Eye of Searching will let you see anyone you can think of.” He paused, letting the spider process the information.

  A blue cave spider cautiously approached, a clump of green moss held between his mandibles. Carefully, he passed the moss to his warlord. Shakaar held the moss for a moment, then stuffed it into her mouth, rejuvenating her health.

  “Now, think of a wizard . . . a young wizard with blue eyes and reddish-brown hair.” Center’s voice was deep, like the rumbling of distant thunder. “Focus on that thought, and then look through the Eye.”

  Shakaar gasped. An image formed in her mind of a young boy wearing enchanted armor and wielding a magical sword. He was in an underground chamber, fighting a group of zombies alongside a girl wielding an enchanted axe, her long blond hair swaying from side to side with each stroke. The boy fought like a seasoned warrior, the enchanted blade streaking through the air at incredible speed.

  “I sssee him.”

  “He is our enemy.” The lyrical voice of Right was soothing, almost like a song. “We will help the spider warlord destroy him.”

  “Destroy him . . . yes,” the scratchy voice of Left added.

  Right cast Left an angry glare.

  Pain blasted through Shakaar’s body again as the Eye of Searching recharged its power. She stuffed more green moss in her mouth, then removed the relic from her head and put it into her inventory. “What isss it you need from me in exchange for your help? All monssstersss know withersss do nothing out of kindnesss; you alwaysss want sssomething.”

  Left growled, ready to reply out of anger, but Center intervened first. “We know you’ve been capturing some of the NPCs and bringing them here as captive slaves. We only wish to use some of them for our own purposes.”

  “I need every one that we’ve captured,” Shakaar replied.

  “Then capture more,” Left said, his voice filled with anger, as always.

  “My impatient skull is correct.” Center’s voice was deep and calm, silencing Left. “You need only capture more NPCs to meet your needs, and we can both profit by mutually helping each other.” Krael floated higher into the air, as if getting ready to leave, though it was still speaking. “If this wizard can roam about, unchallenged, he will attack you with a huge army of villagers. They will enslave your hatchlings, putting them to work in mines, digging for diamonds. Your spiders will be made to suffer, working to death just to satisfy the wizard’s greed. They will have nothing but a life of misery and despair.”

  “That I cannot allow,” Shakaar said, her rage building.

  “Do you wish our help against this wizard?” Krael asked. “Or do you want to suffer the same fate as the zombie and skeleton warlords?”

  Shakaar was furious as she considered the monster’s words. The rumors about the demise of the skeleton and zombie warlords had moved through the Far Lands as fast as lightning. Perhaps the wither was right; she needed help. Things were going well in the Hatching Chamber. The initial experiments with the witches’ potions looked promising, but they needed more time to perfect everything. If the wizard attacked the spiders’ lair now, before they were ready, it could ruin everything. She had no choice.

  Shakaar nodded. “Very well, Krael, we will work together in thisss endeavor.”

  “Excellent. We will show you where to find this wizard.”

  Shakaar clicked her claw on the stone ground again, this time in a different rhythm. A group of spiders came into the Gathering Chamber and stopped near the entrance, waiting for instructions.

  “Show my sssissstersss where to find thisss wizard, and they will dessstroy him, jussst like during the Great War.” The spider warlord turned toward the group of spiders. “Sssissstersss, follow Krael’s directions. Go out and find the boy-wizard and dessstroy him. If he isss not there, then punisssh the NPCsss who aid him. We will turn the livesss of thossse around him to misssery.”

  Right and Left turned to Center and nodded, then all three wither skulls smiled evilly. With malice in his three sets of eyes, the king of the withers floated to the entrance of the chamber, ready to show the monsters where to find his enemy.

  Watcher paced back and forth outside the baker’s house with fists clenched, impatiently waiting for news of Fencer’s condition. “What’s taking so long?”

  “Your dad and Mapper are in there with Baker.” Planter’s voice was soft and calming. “Just be patient.”

  She put a hand on his arm, stopping his repetitive march.

  Watcher glanced at her deep green eyes and started to smile, but then a sound came from inside the wooden building. Watcher turned his gaze to the door, slowly clenching and unclenching his hands. He heard Planter sigh but didn’t understand why.

  “Patience is not a skill Watcher has mastered yet.” Blaster gave his friend a grin.

  “This village doesn’t really have a healer,” Er-Lan explained. The zombie stood with his friends, concerned for the young girl. “There are few injuries because they never leave their community. Some healing potions exist, but apparently, they are old and weak. Er-Lan is not sure how well they will work on Fencer.”

  “They aren’t making healing potions . . . that’s insane.” Watcher felt himself growing frustrated. “They should always have new potions ready, just in case.”

  Some of the village inhabitants glared at Watcher, staring disapprovingly at his enchanted armor; it was something made for war, and all the NPCs in the village disapproved of violence.

  Planter moved closer to Watcher and lowered her voice. “These people haven’t experienced what we have, Watcher. They’re pacifists, and don’t believe in violence.”

  “A zombie doesn’t care if you believe in violence or not,” Watcher said. “Their claws are just as sharp, regardless of what you believe.”

  “Not all zombies use claws for violence,” Er-Lan said in a low, moaning voice.

  “I know, Er-Lan, sorry.” Watcher looked away from the door and glanced at his zombie friend. “It was a metaphor.”

  “Er-Lan understands.” The zombie moved to the door of Baker’s house and peeked through the window, the voices of those inside audible to the zombie’s sensitive ears. He stepped away from the door and stood next to Watcher. “Fencer fights for her life. Food has not helped, nor have the old healing potions.” He glanced at Saddler, the zombie’s eyes filled with compassion. “Mapper and Cleric have done everything possible.” Shuffling to Saddler, he put his green hand on her shoulder to console the mother. “Fencer needs a Notch apple to save her life. Nothing less will do.”

  “A Notch apple,” Saddler moaned, her posture slumping in defeat as she thought of her daughter. “We don’t have any here in the village. In fact, I don’t think we’ve ever had one.”

  “I know where to get one,” Watcher said. He turned and faced Saddler. “A witch can make one for us.”

  “Witches are uncooperative,” Er-Lan said, his green, scarred face creas
ed with worry. “How will Watcher gain their assistance?”

  “I’m gonna ask really nice, and then if that doesn’t work, I’m gonna ask not very nice.” Watcher’s voice rang with confidence.

  “I can help with that.” Cutter’s voice boomed through the village. “I’m good at being not very nice.” The big villager pushed through the crowd of NPCs clustering around the baker’s home. They glared at his armor, the ornate decorations on the shining metal as offensive to them as the magical enchantments that protected the metallic plates. “We’ll just go find us a witch and explain the situation.” He drew his diamond sword. Many of the villagers gasped in surprise, some of them muttering insults under their breath. “I’m thinking this will help with the explanation.”

  The big NPC held the weapon in front of him for all to see, his accusatory glare moving from villager to villager. “Sometimes, being non-violent doesn’t work. Sometimes, the fight comes to you, and it’ll be necessary to make a choice.” He moved between Planter and Watcher. “We are making a choice to help this girl, even though we’re just visitors here, and nothing is going to stop us.”

  “That’s right, and—” Watcher didn’t even have a chance to finish.

  “You accepted us after we defeated the skeleton warlord,” Cutter continued. “And we appreciate that. So, a few of us are going to find a witch and bring back a Notch apple for that girl, whatever her name is.”

  “Fencer,” Watcher muttered under his breath.

  “Yeah . . . Fencer.” Cutter sheathed his sword. “We’re going out there to help Fencer.”

  Planter stared up at Cutter as if he were the bravest person in the world.

  He didn’t even go down there in the cave to save her, Watcher thought. I did that, not him.

  He glanced at the ornate ribbons of metal on Cutter’s armor, shaped into curves and spirals, making the chest plate appear as if it were meant for a king. Running his hand over his own armor, Watcher looked down and the mundane metal. All it had was a few rivets to hold the plates together; it was as unremarkable as he was.