“I don’t understand. This is the Citadel of the Horse Lord. Shouldn’t there be horses here?”
“Something is wrong.” Er-Lan grabbed Watcher’s arm, his stubby claws digging into the enchanted iron armor and scratching the reflective surface.
“You mean the horses?” Watcher asked.
The zombie shook his head. “Er-Lan saw something in a vision . . . something that’s gonna happen in the future.”
“What did you see?” Watcher motioned Cutter and Planter to come near.
Er-Lan glanced around at his friends, a look of uncertainty on his scarred face. “It is not well understood. Last night, Er-Lan had a vision of this place. The two stone horses were in it, as was this building, but it was all flooded.”
“Flooded?” Planter asked.
The zombie turned to her and stared into her bright green eyes. “Er-Lan saw a flood of darkness covering this castle, as if midnight had swallowed it. This zombie expected to find everything filled with dark water, yet everything is dry. But Er-Lan’s visions of the future are never wrong.”
“You’re just talking crazy,” Cutter said dismissively. “I don’t see any water around us. We’re still in a dry desert.”
Watcher scowled at the big NPC, then put a reassuring hand on Er-Lan’s shoulder.
The zombie shrugged, confused and uncertain. “The visions never lie.”
“I think I found something over here,” Farmer shouted.
Watcher ran to the tall villager’s side. He’d moved a bale of hay from one of the corrals and found a chest hidden beneath the straw.
“Stand back; it might be a trap.” Watcher pushed him back, then knelt off to the side.
Carefully, he opened the box with an outstretched arm as Farmer moved to investigate another part of the building. Inside the chest, a weapon like Watcher had never seen sparkled with magical energy. He reached in and withdrew the object. It had a wooden handle that was half the length of a sword, with one end wrapped in dark leather, the surface worn from use. The other end had a chain attached to it, with a large spiked cube connected to the links. The entire thing sparkled with magical energy.
“What’s this?” Watcher asked.
“Ahh . . . I know what that is,” Mapper said as he approached. “It’s an ancient weapon called a flail. I’ve seen references to these weapons in many books.” He reached out to touch one of the spikes, but then pulled back his hand cautiously. “I’ve never heard of one being enchanted before. I bet getting hit by this weapon is unpleasant.”
Watcher nodded. “Probably true.”
“Er-Lan saw that weapon in the vision,” the zombie said. “The flail appeared just before the flood . . . it must be coming now.”
Watcher glanced at his friend. Er-Lan was terrified, the green of his face growing pale with fear. He moved to his side and was about to say something to the zombie when a strange sound seemed to encompass the room. Tiny little scratching noises drifted to them from all sides . . . it was strangely familiar.
“Blaster—torches.” Watcher pulled out a handful of torches, and his friend did the same.
They moved quickly through the building, placing torches on the ground, lighting their surroundings. The flaming sticks were able to push back some of the darkness, but even so, they still barely illuminated the walls and high ceiling.
The scratching sound grew louder as it seemed to move closer to the ground.
“What is it?” Planter asked, afraid.
Cutter moved to her side, his diamond sword drawn and ready.
“I’m not sure.” Watcher glanced at the other NPCs . . . they all were terrified. He saw Cutter at Planter’s side and wanted to say something, but the fact was, he was glad the warrior was at her side. Planter’s safety meant everything to him, even if Cutter was responsible for it.
Winger drew an arrow back and fired it at the ceiling. The shaft instantly caught fire, the Flame enchantment on the bow giving the arrow fiery life. The flaming arrow streaked through the air and stuck into the stone ceiling. The flickering light from the shaft cast a yellow glow, revealing . . .
“Spiders!” Watcher quickly put the flail into his inventory and pulled out his own bow. He launched more burning arrows up towards the ceiling; his flickering shafts joining his sister’s and helping to reveal the room fully.
All across the underside of the sloped roof, hundreds of black spiders clung to the surface, scurrying slowly down the walls. There were so many of them, it was as if the ceiling was covered with black fuzz. They flowed down the walls like an endless river of black hatred.
“The flood is here,” Er-Lan moaned, his claws slowly extending from his stubby fingers.
The monsters streamed down every wall, forming a black barrier of anger and spite around the NPCs. They were surrounded . . . and there was no escape.
The spiders covered the entrance to the building, then began flowing across the dusty stone floor. The villagers backed away, moving from the entrance to the back of the structure.
Strangely, the spiders remained completely quiet, their pointed mandibles held motionless before their slotted mouths; the silence was unnerving. They scuttled across the floor, moving closer to the villagers and pushing them further from the only exit in the building. And then they stopped. The monsters stood motionless, staring at their enemy with glowing red eyes filled with rage. Some swayed back and forth, clearly anxious to attack, but their rage was somehow held in check. Then, a larger spider moved forward, away from the rest, her crimson eyes glaring at Watcher.
“Wizard, your time isss up.” The spider then clicked her mandibles together. This caused the rest of the spiders to follow suit, creating an almost-deafening storm of noise.
“I’m not a wizard, I’m just a villager who—” Watcher tried to explain, but was interrupted.
“Don’t play gamesss with me, wizard. I am Ssshakaar, the ssspider warlord, and I will do anything to protect my people from dessstruction.” She took a step closer. “Krael told me what you are planning. You want to ressstart the Great War. My sssissstersss and I are going to ssstop you.”
“I don’t want to start any war.” Watcher put his bow back into his inventory and held his hands out, showing he was unarmed. “We don’t—want any trouble with you.” Watcher’s voice cracked with fear. “Just give us back the witches and we can all go our own way.”
“We will give you nothing,” the fuzzy monster said. “But inssstead, we will take . . . your livesss.”
“It’s not necessary to solve our differences with violence,” Watcher pleaded.
“The wither king told me you’d want to talk.” The spider warlord took a step closer. “Krael told usss how cowardly you villagersss are. It isss a wonder the wizardsss won the Great War. The ancient NPCsss mussst have done sssomething dissshonorable.”
“This isn’t about the wizards and warlocks.” Watcher took a step closer.
“Watcher . . . what are you doing?” Planter said in a low voice behind him. “Get back here.”
He ignored her complaints and moved closer. I must stop this violence before more people get hurt. “The Great War was hundreds of years ago. It’s ancient history, and doesn’t involve either of us.”
“Perhapsss, but the ssspidersss remember the terrible thingsss done by the villagersss. We do not forget.” The spider’s eyes narrowed, as if preparing for something, then she leapt into the air.
Instantly, Watcher pulled out his shield and sword. With the wooden rectangle held over his head, he braced himself for the spider landing on top of him. But before the monster touched him, Er-Lan dashed across the battlefield and jumped into the air, knocking the spider aside. The two creatures rolled across the ground, the spider trying to reach Er-Lan with her wicked, curved claws while the zombie shoved them away with his own clawed hands.
Pushing the zombie away with her back legs, the spider warlord stood and glared at Watcher, then yelled at the top of her voice.
“Ssspi
dersss . . . ATTACK!” Her screechy voice caused the other monsters to spring into action.
“Archers . . . open fire!” Planter shouted.
A volley of pointed shafts streaked through the air, striking the front ranks of spiders, but the monsters didn’t stop.
“Fire again!” Her voice sounded frantic.
More arrows fell upon the monsters, a few of the creatures disappearing under the onslaught. But still the attackers refused to slow. Some of the villagers were building single block towers to climb and shoot at the advancing mob, but it would not protect them from the spiders; the creatures would just climb the blocks.
Watcher grabbed Er-Lan and dragged him away from the monsters. He pulled out his bow and notched a fire arrow to the string. Drawing back, he aimed at the spider warlord and released. The arrow streaked through the air, tiny red embers falling off its shaft, leaving a glowing trail in the air. But before the projectile could reach its target, another monster moved in front of it. Instantly, the spider burst into flames. The warlord, realizing she was in imminent danger, retreated to the rear, away from Watcher’s bow.
Many of the warriors put away their bows and drew their swords and shields, the loot found under the igloo now finally being put to good use. They charged at the attacking horde, their battle cries mixing with the clicking of spiders. The two forces crashed together like gargantuan waves, claws meeting swords in a mighty maelstrom of violence.
Both villagers and spiders screamed in pain as weapons found flesh, but with so many spiders attacking, every time one fell, two took its place. The villagers slowly backed away, each NPC fighting for their life. Mapper and Cleric stood on a tall platform built from cubes of dirt, pointing out breaks in the lines, but it was Watcher who was really guiding the conflict. He ran across the battlefield, hitting spiders with Needle as he streaked past.
“Blaster, Cutter . . . the left flank!”
The two villagers gathered soldiers and stopped the spiders from sneaking around the edge of their formation to attack them from behind. But it weakened the front, causing the villagers to fall back even more. Countless NPCs fell under the barrage of razor-sharp claws, but Watcher didn’t have time to think about those poor souls; he had to figure out some solution that would allow them to survive.
The spiders, sensing victory, pushed harder, driving the villagers back to the wall covered with dispensers. It wasn’t clear what would happen when they were activated. . . . Would they shoot out arrows, or fireballs . . . or something worse? As they were slowly forced back, getting closer to the pressure plates, Watcher feared they would soon find out.
A spider leapt high into the air and landed right in front of him. With his wooden shield held before him, Watcher blocked a savage attack at his head, forcing him backward. The heel of his foot brushed against the pressure plate on the ground, activating the dispenser. Watcher ducked, expecting a deadly arrow to come out of the dispenser, but instead, a horse appeared suddenly with a saddle on its back. The spider, shocked by the appearance of the large animal, took a step back, then lunged and, with an outstretched claw, pulled the shield from Watcher’s hand.
Spinning away, Watcher leapt into the horse’s saddle, then turned the animal around and charged at the monster, swinging Needle with all his strength. The spider stepped aside, stabbing at his hand with her curved claw, and knocked Needle from his grip. Reaching into his inventory, the boy pulled out the flail and swung it at the creature. Instantly, the enchanted weapon began to tear at his health, using his HP to charge its enchantment. But when the spiked cube hit the spider, the monster flew across the room, flashing red and disappearing in an instant. Watcher reeled in the saddle, weakened from using the incredible weapon, then urged his horse forward.
“Mapper, I need healing potions!” He guided the animal into the battle lines, swinging the flail at the spiders. With the terrifying beasts so closely packed together, the weapon struck multiple creatures, knocking their health down severely, causing the wounded spiders to scurry away.
More monsters approached, but Watcher was already swinging his new weapon. The spiked cube smashed into a large group of spiders, the chain somehow extending out to reach the creatures. It tore through their HP like a razor-sharp blade through paper. But wielding such a powerful tool was taking its toll. The weapon stabbed at his health again and again, causing pain to explode throughout his body. His vision blurred for an instant as waves of agony crashed down upon him. Then, suddenly, a splash potion shattered against his back, recharging his HP. But the healing liquid did not protect him from what came next.
An incredible wave of sorrow flowed through Watcher’s mind. He thought of Saddler, and the terrible look on her face when she disappeared.
I failed to keep her safe. She died having faith that I’d help her daughter, but in the end, I couldn’t even help her, he thought. An overwhelming sense of failure filled his mind along with the image of the terrified expression in Saddler’s eyes.
“Watcher . . . watch out!” Planter’s voice shook him from the memory.
The spiders were attacking again, all of them charging toward Watcher. Swinging the flail over his head, he drove the spiked ball into the creatures, crushing their HP. Kicking the horse forward, he charged at the monsters, striking more of them with the enchanted weapon. Splash potions fell upon him as Blaster ran behind, throwing the bottles of healing with all his strength.
Watcher swung the flail with everything he had. The spiked ball tore through the spider ranks as if they were not even there, the weapon destroying scores of the monsters in a single pass. But at the same time, emotions of grief and remorse surged through his soul. He relived every failure he’d ever caused in his life, the memories pounding him relentlessly, as if they were happening again . . . and again . . . and again. It was almost too much to bear. Watcher thought about dropping the terrible weapon, just to be rid of it forever, but he knew he had to endure this torment for the sake of his friends.
Finally, the spider warlord ordered a retreat. The spiders turned and sped from the building, leaving the battlefield covered with glowing balls of XP, spider silk, and countless piles of items from fallen villagers. The assault was over . . . at least for now.
“When we meet again, you’ll feel the full force of my army, not jussst thisss sssmall group here,” Shakaar shouted from the entrance. “Sssoon, when we help the wither king complete his plan, you will be begging for mercy at my feet. We will meet again, wizard. This isss not over.”
Then the spider warlord turned and fled.
“Watcher, come quick,” Planter shouted.
Watcher pulled on the reins and galloped toward his friend. She was kneeling on the ground, next to someone grievously wounded, her golden blond hair spilling over her shoulders. Jumping out of the saddle, he ran to Planter’s side just as the prone body flashed red.
Farmer was lying there on the ground, his chainmail armor ripped to shreds. Pale green spirals floated about the villager’s head, his skin pale as a skeleton’s bones.
“One of the spiders with green claws got him.” Planter’s voice was soft and sad.
“Does anyone have some milk!?” Watcher shouted.
“I do,” someone replied, their footsteps growing louder as they approached. A bucket of milk was offered to Planter. She took the pail and moved it to Farmer’s lips.
“I don’t think it will help.” Farmer’s voice was weak and difficult to hear.
“I don’t care,” she said. “Drink!”
Planter poured the milk into his mouth, but Farmer was right; the milk had no effect. It must have been some new poison milk had no effect on.
“You can’t die, Farmer; you didn’t see what I found.” Watcher stood and quickly grabbed the reins of the horse and pulled it close. “Look.”
Farmer’s eyes moved to the horse, and a satisfied smile spread across his face. He flashed red again.
“Can you see her, Trainer?” the villager said in a weak, crack
ing voice. “You were right. The horses are still here.” Farmer paused as if listening to a voice in his mind. “I know, she is a beauty. I’m looking forward to riding with you again. I think I’ll be there soon.” He listened again, then nodded and laughed.
“You aren’t going anywhere, Farmer. You have to get better so you can teach all these villagers how to ride,” Watcher said.
Farmer shook his head, then coughed, flashing red. “I think my time is over in the Far Lands.” He moved his gaze from the horse to Watcher. “You can do this, Watcher, just have faith in yourself and don’t let the setbacks get to you.” He motioned for Watcher to move closer as his voice grew weaker. “This battle cannot be viewed as a defeat.”
“But lots of villagers lost their lives here,” Watcher said. “How can I not see this as a defeat?”
“My father taught me something a long time ago . . .” his voice grew weaker, forcing Watcher to move his head in still closer. “Defeats are a chance to learn, not a reason to give up.”
“But I don’t know if I can do this.” Moisture started to build up in Watcher’s eyes, but he refused to let the tears loose.
Farmer motioned for Watcher to move closer, then he reached up and pulled him down, placing the dying villager’s lips right next to the boy’s ear. “Why do we fail?”
“What?” Watcher was confused.
“Why do we fail?” Farmer sounded frantic, as if this was some universal truth that would help Watcher in his quest.
Watcher stayed silent, still perplexed, his worry for his new friends making it difficult to think.
The dying villager let go of Watcher’s head and gazed into his blue eyes. “So we can—” and then he disappeared, the last of his HP giving in to the poison.
“Farmer . . . no . . .” His sister put a hand on Watcher’s shoulder, then wrapped her arms around her brother.
“You can’t go . . . you need to explore the Citadel. This was your dream . . . you can’t be dead,” Watcher whispered.
Into the Spiders' Lair Page 13
