Into the Spiders' Lair

by Mark Cheverton

  A cheer rang out within the halls of the mansion. The NPCs celebrated their victory, but Watcher remained quiet. He saw the piles of items left behind by the fallen; the battle had cost many lives.

  “I hope this was worth the sacrifice,” Cutter said sadly as he scooped up some of the items on the ground.

  Planter put a hand on Watcher’s shoulder, reassuring him after Cutter’s harsh words, but he knew the big NPC was right. Watcher had no idea why this was so important; it was just something the Flail of Regret had projected into his mind, and he could feel the importance . . . but what if he was wrong?

  Reaching into his inventory, he pulled out the doll dropped by the evoker. It was a small figurine made of woven gold cloth, the inside stuffed with something soft, probably wool. It had piercing green eyes that seemed alive somehow; Watcher could almost feel them staring at him. He stuffed the little totem back into his inventory, grateful to be away from its lifelike stare. He didn’t know what it was or what it was for, but if the evoker had the tiny object in its inventory, it must have been important.

  With a sigh, he looked out around the map room, hoping to find whatever it was the flail had sent him here to find.

  I hope something’s here, or I’ve caused all these deaths for nothing. A feeling of dread filled his mind as he walked back into the room and searched.

  “Okay, what are we searching for?” Cutter asked, looking around the room.

  Watcher shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  “You’re not sure?” Cutter stomped across the room and stood right in front of the boy. “We just fought a battle against a warlock and—”

  “Not a warlock, just one of their weapons,” Er-Lan said.

  “Whatever!” The big warrior glared at the zombie, then brought his gaze back to Watcher. “Well? Show us what was so important.”

  Moving about the room, Watcher ran his fingers over the backs of chairs that sat around the large table dominating the room. The villagers spread out, searching the room, looking for hidden doors and chests under carpets, but they found nothing.

  With the monsters destroyed, the NPCs spread out through the entire structure, doing a more complete search of the mansion. They worked all through the night, looking for some undefined hidden treasure, but found nothing. Finally, in frustration, they all congregated back in the map room.

  Mapper peered over the table with Cleric at his side, the gigantic map on its surface showing the Far Lands in spectacular detail. There was a faint shimmer to the map, as if it were enchanted.

  The two old men debated where they were on the map, pointing out known landmarks.

  Mapper moved his face closer to the map, then shouted. “I found it!” He stood up straight and smiled. “The Jeweled Mountain! I found it on this map. We can head straight for it—if that’s still the plan.”

  “It is,” Watcher said before anyone could speak. “We still need to get a golden apple for Fencer. Without it, she’ll likely perish. And we must stop Krael’s plan, whatever that is.”

  “Then let’s get going.” Blaster removed his iron armor and put on his favorite black leather, allowing him to merge with the dark forest hugging the mansion outside. “There’s nothing here.”

  Through the huge windows, the rising sun was painting the horizon with rich colors, brightening the room and bathing the dark wooden walls with a warm crimson hue.

  “No, we can’t leave yet.” Watcher shook his head. “There’s something else here, something the magical enchantment in the Flail wanted me to see.”

  “You talk as if it’s alive,” Planter said.

  “That’s exactly how it felt: as if there were a living presence within that weapon.” Watcher walked along the outer edge of the room, running his fingers across the walls, wiping centuries of dust from the surfaces and leaving behind clear streaks.

  “Why do you think the windows on the wall are not centered?” Winger asked.

  “What?” Watcher was lost in thought.

  “I said, why do you think they put the windows into the wall without centering them?” She pointed to the two huge windows that stared out upon the forest. “They could have moved the window on the right over two spaces . . . then it would have been centered with the other one. But it looks shifted to the side.”

  “Or maybe the wall was shifted,” Blaster said with a mischievous smile.

  “What are you talking about?” Watcher asked.

  But Blaster was already moving toward the bookcase, an iron axe in his hands.

  “No . . . not the books!” Mapper shouted in horror, but it was too late.

  Blaster tore into the bookcase, carving through the books and shelves in seconds. “Well, well, look what we have here.”

  The boy put away his axe and gave Watcher a smile. “Seems the bookshelves were a false wall. There’s more space behind it, and something else.”

  “What?”

  Blaster smiled, then pulled out a torch and disappeared behind the wooden shelves.

  Watcher followed him, holding a torch as well. Behind the bookcases was a narrow room only three blocks deep. A gigantic painting covered the wall, with meticulous figures drawn here and there.

  “We need to see the whole thing.” Watcher placed his torch on the ground, then pulled out his own axe. “Sorry, Mapper!” he shouted, then glanced at Blaster.

  The dark-haired boy smiled again, then pulled out his axe as well. The two friends went to work on the bookcase, tearing down the structure quickly.

  “Look at this.” Blaster finished taking out a section of the bookcase, revealing a chest hidden underneath. He flipped the lid open, the hinges screeching from centuries of neglect. “My, oh my.” The boy glanced at Watcher and smiled.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Something I think you need.” Blaster reached into the chest and pulled out a set of diamond armor. He tossed the pieces to Watcher. “Put them on. A commander should be properly clothed.”

  Staring at the armor in his hands, Watcher smiled. He removed his enchanted iron armor and donned the diamond plating. Instantly, the crystalline items hugged his skin as if bonding with him. Watcher ran his hand across the surface of the armor and found spots where it was cracked and gouged. This armor was battle-seasoned . . . all the better.

  “Now that’s more like it.” Blaster gave his friend a grin, then finished removing the bookcases.

  When they’d brought the rest of the shelves down, Watcher stepped out of the cloud of dust and torn pages, then placed another torch on the ground. The diamond armor reflected the torchlight, making the Watcher that emerged glow as if ablaze himself.

  “Look! It was my birthday, and Watcher gets a set of diamond armor.” Winger laughed.

  “It could be worse,” Cleric said. “We could still be captives of the zombie warlord, like we were a couple of months ago.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” Winger smiled at her father.

  Many of the villagers stared in awe at Watcher and his new armor, but the young boy ignored their stares. Instead, he scanned the crowd of faces until he found Planter. Her eyes were wide with surprise, a beautiful smile on her square face. It made Watcher’s heart race.

  Pulling his attention away from her, he placed more torches on the ground, then backed away from the wall.

  “This is a fantastic painting,” Cleric said. “Look at the detail. How could someone ever come up with this? The artist had quite an imagination.”

  “This is what we fought for . . . a painting?” Cutter said, his voice sounding irritated.

  “No, it’s not a painting; it’s more.” Watcher stared at the pictures with amazement.

  “What do you mean, son?” his father asked.

  “This is not just a painting, it’s a mural showing the history of the Great War. Look, over here is the start of the war. You can see villagers and monsters battling. But then over here you can see the wither army entering the battle.”

  “It seems like the wi
zards did something to get the withers into a huge cave,” Planter said, pointing.

  “The Cave of Slumber,” Mapper said. “I read about that in an ancient book.”

  “That’s what the wither king was trying to do with the zombie warlord,” Watcher said. “He was trying to awaken the withers in the Cave of Slumber by getting a huge pile of gold together.”

  “But I don’t understand the next part of the painting.” Planter moved to the right side of the mural and pointed to a group of villagers. “These characters, they look like . . .”

  “Us,” Watcher said, amazed.

  He stepped forward and placed his rectangular hand on the tiny image of himself painted on the wall. A purple spark leapt from his hand to the map, a loud snapping sound filling the air.

  At that moment, the mural sparkled with an iridescent lavender glow, then slowly changed, revealing a new image. Krael, the King of the Withers, wearing his Crown of Skulls, was shown amongst spiders and witches. The wither moved across the painting as if it were animated, vials of some kind of potion floating next to him as the black, three-headed creature entered the Cave of Slumber and splashed the potions across the imprisoned monsters. The withers then poured out of the cave and covered the map with their dark bodies until the entire mural was as black as midnight, the dark eyes of the wither king still staring out at them from the center. Watcher backed away from the painting as if afraid the wither might reach out for him.

  Why do we fail? Farmer’s voice said in his mind.

  Watcher thought about the riddle. He knew it was important, somehow, but the answer still eluded him.

  “I think we found what we came for,” Cleric said.

  “You think?” Cutter added, uncertain.

  Their voices brought Watcher out of his deep thoughts and back to the moment.

  “This is the wither’s plan.” Watcher turned and faced the other villagers. “The king of the withers is using the witches to brew potions that will awaken the other monsters in the wither army. If they are successful, they’ll blanket the Far Lands with death and destruction.”

  “That doesn’t sound very pleasant,” Blaster said. “And remember the poisonous spiders. The witches are probably also being forced to make poison for the giant spiders, making them even deadlier.”

  Saddler, Watcher thought, closing his eyes. The image of the old woman’s face in that moment when the spider’s poison took the last of her HP still haunted him. Help my daughter . . . you must help her, the image spoke again to him in his mind. I will. I promise, Saddler, I’ll help your daughter.

  He couldn’t bear the thought of more villagers suffering the same fate as Saddler, but what choice did they have? Watcher had to stand against the storm, or they’d all be swept away. If they didn’t stop these monsters now, then everything would be lost.

  He opened his eyes. “This is why we’re here, to stop the spiders and the withers.”

  “You want to take on an entire army of withers?” Cutter asked.

  “If not us, then who?” Watcher replied, looking the big warrior in the eye.

  “But if the witches have given their poison to the new spider hatchlings, there might be hundreds of poisonous monsters waiting for us,” Cleric said. “We don’t have enough forces to defeat them.”

  “If not us, then who?” Watcher said again, turning to face his father.

  “And if that wither king is there with the spiders, then we’ll have enemies on the ground and in the air,” Blaster said. “How are we gonna defend against that?”

  “If not us, then who?” Watcher cast his gaze across the faces of the villagers.

  “Me,” an uncertain voice said from the doorway.

  Everyone turned to find Er-Lan standing there, a sword in his green hand. He pulled out an iron chest plate and lowered it over his head, then banged on the armor with the hilt of the sword.

  Crash!

  “Er-Lan will do this, that’s who,” the zombie growled. “The Great War cannot happen again. The horrors of that conflict are well-known to the zombies. Er-Lan will not allow those atrocities to be relived. The withers and spiders must be stopped. As always, Er-Lan stands with Watcher.”

  He banged his sword against the metallic skin again, the sound echoing off the walls of the forest mansion.

  Crash! . . . Crash!

  “I stand with Watcher,” Planter said as she pounded the hilt of her axe against her chainmail, the armor jingling like a set of wind chimes.

  Crash!

  “And I,” his sister said, pounding her bow against her chest.

  Crash!

  “And I . . .”

  CRASH!

  “I stand with Watcher . . .”

  CRASH!

  “I’m there with you . . .”

  CRASH! . . . CRASH! . . . CRASH!

  The shouts of support filled the chamber as villager after villager slammed their weapons to their chests. With each voice and each crash of weapon against armor, Watcher’s fears of failing receded into the recesses of his mind. A purple glow seemed to spread around him. Looking down, Watcher realized he’d pulled the Flail of Regret from his inventory without realizing it.

  Was this what you wanted me to see . . . this mural of the past, and the future? The weapon was silent, but somehow, Watcher could sense that the presence that lived within the weapon was smiling.

  He brought his eyes to Planter, then smiled. “Let’s go bust up some spiders.”

  She nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Shakkar stepped into the huge cavern that served as her personal chamber under the Jeweled Mountain. This was the ancient home of the spider warlock Shakahri the Deadly, and the spider warlord could somehow feel the great spider’s presence in this hallowed hall. Late at night, when the lair was quiet, she’d close her eyes and imagine what it had been like when the powerful spider warlock had walked these ancient passages.

  A spider suddenly ran into her chamber, the creature’s mandibles clicking together nervously and a concerned expression on her dark face.

  “What isss it?” Shakaar snapped.

  “We received word from the ssspidersss in the roofed foressst.” The creature lowered her eight eyes to the stone floor and waited for her spider warlord to approach.

  Shakaar moved silently across the ancient cavern, then reached out and lifted the monster’s chin so they were looking eye to eye.

  “Ssspeak.”

  The spider took a breath, then reported her news. “The villagersss went into the ancient woodland mansssion in the middle of the foressst. There was great fighting. The zombiesss and ssskeletonsss that had been ssstationed there fought valiantly, but were defeated.”

  “If they fought valiantly, then they would have won.” Shakaar was angry.

  The smaller sister took a step back, afraid of being punished for bringing the spider warlord bad news.

  “Be calm, sssissster.” The warlord put a reassuring claw on her head and stroked her short, stubbly hair. “Tell me the ressst.”

  “There were also ancient warlock weaponsss in the mansssion. The villagersss defeated them.”

  “They defeated them?” The spider nodded. “The boy-wizard must have usssed sssome kind of powerful enchantment on them.” Shakaar paced back and forth across the chamber floor, lost in thought. “Thisss wizard isss becoming a problem and mussst be dessstroyed. Follow me.”

  Shakaar moved out of her chamber and through the maze of tunnels that wove their way through the huge mountain. At some places, piles of gravel and sand spilled into the passage where the occasional cave-in had caused the spiders to divert the passage by digging around the obstruction. The smaller spider glanced at the gravel, then eyed the ceiling of the passage with suspicion.

  “Do not fear, sssissster, the tunnel isss sssafe,” Shakaar said.

  “The cave-insss make me nervousss.” The sister clicked her mandibles together nervously as they scurried past the obstruction. “Why would the great ssspider warlock build her la
ir here, under thisss mountain of gravel and sssand?”

  “I’m sssure Ssshakahri had her reasssonsss,” Shakaar said. “When they cassst the enchantment to change the mountain to ore, I believe sssomething happened, causssing the magic to only change a portion of the mountain, leaving much of it in itsss original form . . . sssand and gravel.”

  “If our great warlock’sss enchantment had worked, and thisss mountain wasss made of ore, it would have made for an excellent ssstronghold.”

  “I agree, sssissster.” Shakaar nodded. “But we cannot know what happened back in the Great War that causssed thisss failure.”

  They continued through the passages in silence. When the two monsters reached the hatchery, Shakaar glanced into the chamber. The smaller cave spiders moved quickly, checking each egg with care. She stopped at the entrance for just a moment.

  “Grow ssstrong, my little hatchlingsss.” Shakaar clicked her mandibles together once, as if adding an exclamation point to her comment. “You will be needed in the war that approachesss, and the new poissson the witchesss are brewing will make you unbeatable.”

  “Warlord, I do not mean to bother, but I have a quessstion,” the smaller spider said.

  “Ssspeak.”

  “Why do only half the witchesss make potionsss for usss? The othersss are making sssome other kind of potion.”

  “That isss true.” The spider warlord nodded. “The other witchesss make potionsss for the wither king . . . it isss related to the wither army that sssleepsss in the Cave of Ssslumber.”

  “Krael wantsss the potionsss to awaken the other withersss?”

  Shakaar nodded again. “I believe that isss true.”

  “But doesss the wither even know where the Cave of Ssslumber isss located?”

  The spider warlord shrugged. “I don’t know and don’t care. If the witchesss deliver our poissson, then they can do whatever they want for the withersss—it isss of no concern to me.”