“Wish we had more horses,” the first villager said wistfully.
Cleric nodded. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Farmer.” He pointed to the tracks in the snow. “That’s your boy out there . . . right?”
Cleric nodded again.
“What’s that stuff about him being a wizard?” Farmer asked.
“The spiders seem to think he has magical powers,” Winger said. “Oh . . . hi, I’m Winger, and that boy is my brother, Watcher.”
“Ahh . . . he’s also the one that saved Fencer in the caves?”
Both Cleric and Winger nodded, then smiled with pride.
“He must be a brave boy.”
“The bravest,” Winger replied.
“Why do the spiders think he’s a wizard?” Farmer had a confused expression on his face.
“It’s not just the spiders. It’s the zombies and skeletons too.” Winger suddenly grew quiet as her father cast an angry glare at her.
“Perhaps you said too much?” Farmer winked at her. “No worries. I know these villagers are just nervous about anything that might bring violence to their homes. They don’t want to be embroiled in any war.”
“When monsters declare war on all villagers, it makes everyone part of it, whether they like it or not,” Cleric said. “The war just hadn’t reached them yet. Now, it seems it has.”
“That’s for sure,” Farmer replied.
“Enough rest, it’s time to run,” Winger said, then sprinted down the hill, Cleric and Farmer following close behind.
Watcher’s tracks led away from the igloo and across the ice plains biome. Cleric, Winger, and Farmer ran across the ice plains, alternating between running and walking. At times, they traded with some of the mounted villagers, riding double on a horse to rest, although the weary horses received little to no respite. The villagers reached the edge of the frozen landscape with an hour of daylight left, but the tracks they’d been following now disappeared into the swamp.
“We can’t take the horses into the swamp,” Cleric said. “Let’s follow the edge of the swamp for now.”
“Everyone change riders.” Winger dismounted from the brown and white mare. “Anyone who’s tired should be riding for a while.”
Villagers changed positions, then ran or trotted as the group moved around the border of the swamp. Winger kept her eyes toward the distant edge of the biome, hoping to spot a figure moving through the mire, but all she saw were lily pads and vine-covered oak trees.
“I see something,” a villager shouted.
Winger ran over to see where they were pointing. Out in the swamp, a square house constructed atop stilts was visible, light spilling from the doorway.
“Is there anyone moving in it?” Winger sounded a bit frantic, her concern for her brother evident in her strained voice. “Does anyone see anything?”
The villagers grew silent, their sympathetic eyes directed toward the worried older sister.
“I don’t think there’s anything there, Winger.” Cleric put a reassuring hand on her arm. “Everyone . . . keep going.”
“You think we went in the wrong direction?” Winger spoke in a low voice, meant only for her father’s ears.
“I’m not sure.” Cleric put an arm around his daughter. “If we don’t spot them before it gets dark, we may be in trouble.”
“You mean they’ll be in trouble.”
Her father nodded, frowning.
“I think maybe we should—”
“I see some cobblestone out there in the swamp!” someone shouted.
Winger stopped and stared in the direction the NPC pointed. Sure enough, there were cobblestone blocks placed in the water, just barely poking up out of the stagnant waters. “They were probably jumping from block to block so they could move faster.”
“But why would they need to move faster?” a villager asked.
“Maybe they were being chased by something,” another suggested.
This possibility brought an uneasy silence to the group of villagers. No one spoke, but many cast concerned gazes toward Cleric and Winger.
“I can see some spiderwebs in the water as well.” The voice came from the top of an oak tree. One of the villagers had climbed to the top of an oak tree and was searching the landscape for their friends. “The line of cobblestone blocks seems to be heading in the same direction as the spiderwebs.”
“The spiders must somehow be involved with the disappearance of the witches,” Winger said.
She glanced at the villagers behind him. Those from the savannah village were nervous about being outside their walls. Many tried to show a determined expression, but fear lingered behind their eyes.
“It’s normal to be afraid,” Cleric said in a kindly voice. “What you do with your fear is the real question. Do you panic and let the fear control you, or do you use the fear to keep you on your toes and safe? Fear can be a good thing if you respect its warnings. Right now, we’re safe, so everyone can relax. But when we aren’t safe, I’ll be the first to let you know.”
Some of the NPCs relaxed at his assurances.
“We’re going to continue along the banks of the swamp, following the trail left by my son, but we need to move fast so we can catch our friends and warn them about the spiders.” He drew an enchanted iron sword and held it high over his head. “Come on, everyone! We have a spider horde to catch.”
He kicked his horse into a gallop, then reached down and pulled his daughter into the saddle behind him.
“Those are seven words I never thought I’d hear you say in a single sentence.” Winger tried to smile, to push back on her fears, but her face couldn’t do it. Instead, as the NPC army sped around trees and shrubs along the edge of the putrid swamp, she thought about her brother and their friends, hoping they were safe.
Shakaar clicked her claw on the stone floor. The spider warlord was about to explode with impatience.
“Why haven’t the sssissstersss returned with more witchesss?” Her eyes glowed dangerously bright.
“We have ssspidersss out looking for them, warlord,” one of her generals, a spider named Sharum, said cautiously. “They will be found sssoon.”
Shakaar clicked her mandibles together in agitation.
Sharum took a step back. “I will persssonally go out and watch for them. The sssissstersss and their new captivesss will be found.”
“Very well . . . go.”
The spider general bowed her head, then scurried from the Hatching Chamber and into the twisting passages leading to the surface.
Shakaar turned from the cavern opening and stared at her domain. The floor and walls were covered with sticky cubes of spiderweb, red-spotted eggs cradled within their silky embrace. The smaller, dark-blue cave spiders—the brothers—scuttled about, moving from egg to egg, adding clumps of green moss here and there, the nutritious fibers ready to be consumed by the newborn hatchlings.
“Warlord, this hatchling is ready.” One of the brothers waved a leg in the air, his claw colored a dark, dark green.
Shakaar knew the dark green was from the poison pulsing through the brother’s veins. Cave spiders were notoriously poisonous; their venom made up for the diminutive size. And that poison was something the spider warlord wanted for her sisters.
Sprinting across the chamber floor, Shakaar wove her way around delicate eggs until she reached the one gently rocking in its silken cradle. A tapping sound was audible from inside the egg; the hatchling was trying to break through its calcified cocoon and enter the world.
A narrow crack formed along the surface of the spotted shell; it was jagged and crooked, like a bolt of lightning. Just then, a tiny, dark-green claw pushed through the narrow gap, causing the crack to widen. The nearby brother reached out with his own poisonous claws to help the hatchling break through the shell.
Shakaar hissed and struck the cave spider, causing him to flash red with damage. The brother looked up at his warlord, an expression of confused terror filling his eight r
ed eyes.
“The hatchlingsss mussst get out of their ssshell on their own.” Shakaar glared down at the male. “If they are not ssstrong enough to emerge fully on their own, then they are no ussse to our ssspider nessst. Ssspidersss too weak to fight or contribute to the collective mussst be driven from the nessst or dessstroyed. You know the rulesss.”
“I am sssorry, warlord. Forgive me.” The cave spider lowered his head and bowed.
“You are forgiven thisss time, brother.” Shakaar put the tip of her claw on the creature’s head and let it dig into his dark-blue scalp. “But next time, the punissshment will be sssevere.”
“Yesss, Shakaar.” The brother backed away from the cracking egg.
The spider warlord turned her attention to the struggling hatchling. The young spider had split open its shell and was pushing itself through the jagged crack. The gooey green gel coating the surface of the egg made the young spider’s escape more difficult, but Shakaar didn’t care; it would only make the spider stronger. She knew the sticky coating was one of the witch potions being tested on this young sister, and if it worked, the balance of power would be forever shifted toward the spiders.
Finally, a huge section of the shell fell away, revealing a small spider, her fuzzy black hair matted to her dark skin. The newly hatched sister stared up at the warlord, tiny red eyes glowing bright with an expression of crazed violence. Shakaar smiled.
“Sssomething to be happy about?” a spider asked.
Shakaar turned and found Shatil next to her. This sister was one of her commanders and a stout fighter. “Yesss, another sssissster has hatched.” She pointed at the hatchling. “Look at her eyesss. The poissson not only ssspread to her clawsss, but hasss alssso infected our newborn sssissster’sss brain. I have made her into a killing machine with the witchesss’ potionsss.” Shakaar smiled, unconcerned about the damage done to the young creature’s mind.
Shatil glanced down and nodded. “Why are you ssso concerned about having more sssisssters? We already have ssso many.”
“We will need many troopsss if we are to take over the Far Lands.” Shakaar’s eyes glowed a bright red. “The wither king tellsss usss the villagersss move againssst usss already. We will need many sssissstersss on the battlefield when the Great War returnsss again.” She turned back to the newborn spider. “Thisss time, the ssspidersss will be the victors. Thisss time, it will be the villagersss who sssuffer.”
The tiny hatchling extended her legs out of the shell and climbed out, then glared angrily at her warlord. Shakaar could see the young spider’s claws were a dark green instead of black, like her own. Good, the poison from the witches seemed to work, she thought.
“The wither king let the zombiesss and ssskeletonsss help with preparationsss for the war, but they were ssstupid and incompetent. The boy-wizard defeated them.” At the thought of the young wizard, Shakaar clicked her mandibles together. “But with thisss relic given to me by Krael, King of the Withersss, I can sssee where my enemy hidesss.”
She pulled out the single, glowing lens of the Eye of Searching. With her clawed arms, she put the strap around her head and positioned the lens over one eye. It instantly glowed purple, then stabbed at her, the relic devouring part of the spider’s HP to power its hungry enchantments. She groaned as she flashed red, taking damage.
Closing her eyes, she thought about her enemy, the boy-wizard, as Krael had taught her. Instantly, an image formed in her head of the small boy, his reddish-brown hair bouncing about as he jumped from block to block, moving through a swamp. He had a small handful of companions with him, but nowhere near enough to defeat her sisters.
“I sssee you,” she whispered to herself, then raised her voice. “Our enemy isss with a sssmall band of NPCsss. We will let them draw nearer, then catch the foolsss in a trap.” Shakaar smiled. “Sssend the sssissstersss to the foressst of giant treesss. We will catch them there and dessstroy the boy-wizard for Krael. Thisss will prove our worth to him. When he unleashesss hisss army upon the Far Landsss, we will be hisss ally inssstead of hisss victim.”
She flashed red again as the ancient relic drank more of her HP, then removed the Eye of Searching, put it back into her inventory, and turned to the young hatchling. The tiny spider had crawled out the shell and across the blocks of cobwebs and was now munching on the green moss supplied by the brothers. She reached out to stroke the young spider’s soft, velvety head. The newborn hissed at Shakaar and swiped at her with her claw, missing, then went back to her meal.
“Eat well, my sssissster. Your ssstrength and lethal clawsss will be very important sssoon.” The spider warlord smiled, then turned from Shatil and moved through the Hatching Chamber, checking the eggs. A few others were covered with the experimental dark-green slime, just as the last one had been; more tests of the enslaved witches’ potions.
“Sssoon, you will all have the brotherssss’ venom, but the sssisssterssss’ ssstrength and my wrath. Then my army will be unssstopable!”
The other spiders in the chamber turned toward their warlord, clicking their mandibles together as their anticipation for battle and their thirst for violence grew.
They left the smelly swamp just after sunset. That was a good thing, because Watcher was running out of cobblestone, and none of them looked forward to slogging through the stagnant waters again. Before them stood a forest of massive spruce trees, some of them soaring twenty-five blocks into the air, if not higher. The ground was a mixture of grass and the brown-speckled podzol blocks. Short, green ferns spread their fronds, trying to catch the odd errant rays of sunlight that penetrated the leafy canopy overhead. In the shady spots, where neither grass nor fern could survive, brown mushrooms flourished, their curved domes unique in the blocky landscape.
A wolf howled in the distance, followed by the moo of a cow.
“The spiders’ trail is gone.” Cutter sounded agitated. “When they were putting down their blocks of web, they were easy to follow. But they don’t need to use their webs anymore. How are we going to follow them now?”
“Well, we can assume they’re continuing in the same direction.” Mapper pulled out his map, but the faint silvery light of the moon made it difficult to read. “Though they might head somewhere else and give us the slip.”
“We can still track them,” Watcher said.
“How?” Cutter demanded.
“Just look.” Watcher knelt and ran his hand across the brown and tan spotted ground. He felt the tiny tufts of soil that had been torn up from the sharp claws of the spiders. “Their claws leave tiny little holes in the ground. All you have to do is look.”
“I see it. They’re headed that way.” Planter pointed with her glowing axe, then smiled.
Watcher grinned back; her smile was like fireworks. He loved it when Planter was happy; it just made his heart burst with joy.
“Well, we can’t just stand around here, grinning like idiots. Let’s get moving.” Cutter stomped past Watcher, heading in the direction Planter indicated. “Nice job reading their trail, Planter.”
She glanced around, unsure how to respond. “Thanks . . . I guess.”
Watcher scowled. “Cutter, why is it you always discount what I do as accidental, but with others, you think they’re being clever or smart? I was the only person that saw the tracks of the spiders, yet you just complimented Planter . . . what’s that about?”
“What’s the big deal?” Cutter turned and faced him. “You want compliments all of a sudden?”
“I don’t want compliments. . . . I just want a little recognition now and then.”
“Okay then.” Cutter glanced at Planter and rolled his eyes. “Good job finding the spiders’ trail, Watcher.” The big NPC turned away, then spoke in a low voice. “I think this wizard-thing is going to your head.”
Watcher growled softly, frustrated with Cutter. But then a thought drifted through his head. Is this about him wanting recognition, he thought, or is it jealousy over Planter?
He saw the way C
utter gazed at Planter, and how she looked back at him. He wanted her glances only for himself, but some of them seemed to be in Cutter’s direction as well.
Or maybe this is about my own insecurities. Sometimes, I wish I was as confident as Cutter or Blaster. But instead, I always have this self-doubt, like I don’t know who I am.
He sighed, frustrated with himself, then noticed everyone was staring at him.
“Well?” Blaster pointed to the spiders’ trail. “Lead on, master tracker.”
They moved through the forest, following the faint telltale signs of the spiders’ passage. Watcher kept his enchanted bow out, a magical fire arrow notched to the string, and Planter did the same. Another howl floated to them on the gentle east-to-west breeze; the wolves in this area were restless. Fortunately, the animal sounded far away, so it didn’t pose much of a threat.
They scanned the dark forest, watching for signs of an attack, but so far, the spiders appeared uninterested in their pursuers; haste seemed to be their priority.
“Saddler, I was surprised when your village took us in,” Mapper said suddenly. “Are they always so welcoming?”
The woman nodded. “Many people have sought refuge in our village over the years. Everyone is accepted as long as they can contribute.”
“That’s commendable.” Mapper nodded.
“In fact, my husband was one of those visitors.” Saddler smiled as some memory flitted through her mind. “He was almost dead when he found our village. I personally nursed him back to health, then fell in love with him. He was the light of my life, my best friend, my confidant . . . my soul mate.”
“You said was,” Blaster said. “What happened?”
“Well . . .” she grew quiet for a moment, taking a strained breath, then spoke in a low voice. “Cobbler had strong arms, so he worked in the mines, digging for iron and coal. He loved fining a rich vein of ore that would provide for others in the village. Well, one day, he said he found a huge deposit of iron ore. Many of the diggers went down into the mines with him, to get all that ore. While they were digging, a zombie appeared in the passage. The monster attacked and . . .” She grew silent for a moment, likely reliving the terrible memory. “The other diggers told me later how ashamed they were of my Cobbler.”
Into the Spiders' Lair Page 7
