by Nancy Osa
Widespread relief could practically be heard in the ensuing silence.
The shape shifters sniffed at the empty ground a few times and then morphed back into their original skins, as though rewinding a film back to its start.
“I don’t think this land is quite what we’re looking for as far as relocation,” De Vries said matter-of-factly. He collected Velvet’s reins and remounted. Crash followed his lead on Roadrunner.
Frida eyed Rob and sent him a silent message of apology. Jools hauled the normally slow-moving Beckett back into line opposite Stormie, allowing De Vries to ride in between them, while Frida and Kim wordlessly retook their places on either side of Crash. The rearguard shakily realigned themselves.
“Somethin’ you folks weren’t telling us?” Turner asked on behalf of the group.
Judge Tome pressed Norma Jean forward. “I think they just did,” he said.
De Vries turned in his saddle. “You lot aren’t against our kind, are you?”
“Not if you’re with us,” Kim said. She twisted in Nightwind’s saddle to address Rob. “Captain, shape shifters with alternate wolf forms are very rare. They can be quite valuable in certain situations, as you can see.” She turned around and spoke to Jools riding in front of her. “. . . like when a player who should know better antagonizes neutral mobs.”
“So sorry,” Jools muttered. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“We all make mistakes, Quartermaster,” Rob observed.
“Just not potentially deadly ones,” Turner accused. “Any one of us could be without a mount right now.”
“Tut, tut. All’s well that ends well,” said the judge, trying to ease the tension.
Frida said nothing. Actions spoke louder than words, especially in this situation. Jools had only been defending them, on reflex. The shape shifters had proved their allegiance . . . so far.
The new recruits continued to help out as the day wore on, and the battalion made camp at the boundary where the cold taiga met a mountainous plateau. The carpet beneath their feet now was red sand, not snow, and the foliage had dwindled away to dead bush, the altitude and wind twisting the shrubs into dry sculptures. Although colder, the terrain reminded Frida of Bryce Mesa without the tall hoodoo rock formations. Before Jools could hand out shovels and pickaxes, De Vries tapped Crash on the shoulder, and she went to work hollowing out a terrace shelter for the horses. Kim helped them place a fence, a gate, and night torches. The string of saddle and pack animals was bedded down in record time.
Frida and Stormie were trying to choose a shelter site when De Vries again patted his sister and pointed at the sheer cliff wall. In seconds, she had carved out an entrance and begun tunneling deeper into the rock. The survivalist and the adventurer shrugged at each other and went to get dinner and fire materials from the quartermaster.
With dusk coming on, Battalion Zero’s six original members gathered around the campfire, as they had so many times since they had formed an alliance. But times clearly have changed, Frida thought as she watched Judge Tome pull up a rock and plop down on it. He mumbled a few words of thanks to the world generator for providing bread and pork chops before digging in to his plate.
Turner elbowed Frida. “Was me traded for that food in town,” he pointed out.
“Poor Meat,” she teased him. “Using other people’s emeralds to buy yourself dinner. And not even a thank you. . . .”
He elbowed her harder, and she fell over, just as De Vries and Crash approached the campfire. Crash reached her pickaxe arm forward and pulled Frida up with her pinky finger. Frida grinned. Holy end stone! I knew she was strong.
Jools had fetched water from a nearby stream and offered everyone a drink. “I propose a toast,” he said, and they all came to attention. “To our new C Squadron. They’ve proven useful already.”
“To C Squadron!” the veterans chorused.
“Useful is Jools’s highest compliment,” Stormie told the newbies. “And I’m much obliged for any shelter building . . . or wolf killing,” she added.
Turner glanced at the judge. “What good’s he done?”
“It’s not what he’s done.” Jools set his water bucket down. “It’s what he’s about to do.”
Judge Tome’s expression showed that even he didn’t know what he was about to do that would deserve a toast from Jools.
“Let me ask you this, mate,” the quartermaster addressed him. “Have you ever bent the law in order to uphold it?”
He acknowledged that he had.
“Well, Your Lordship, that is what this battalion is about to do.”
Frida saw where Jools was leading. “Stealing from the rich, giving to the poor,” she said. “Not exactly a heinous griefer crime. But not strictly legal, either.”
“Some leverage might be obtained from the hand of law,” Jools continued. “We do still have your UBO ring. If we need to throw some legal weight around, would you play that role?”
All eyes went to the federation judge.
The man spread his hands. “I’d like to assist, but as you know, Overworld law has been severely undermined by Lady Craven’s rebels. It’s my reason for . . . retiring.”
Now Rob stepped in. “We respect your privacy, sir. But your air of authority might tip the scales in our favor, at some point.”
Stormie spoke up. “Seeing as how our fortunes are all linked right now, playing judge could save your skin, too.”
This sank in, and Judge Tome relented. “Well, for the good of the company . . .”
*
Night fell, and the players blocked themselves inside the cliff dwelling that Crash and De Vries had built. When the sun rose, A Squadron left the others there to craft weapons while they went to meet up with Bluedog a short ride away.
Frida walked Ocelot along behind Stormie and Armor. Heading toward the back side of the extreme hills—not far from the site of their recent crushing defeat—they were glad to have Turner along with most of their arsenal. Frida suspected that Jools, Rob, and Kim were equally happy to have remained in camp.
They picked their way up the mountain terrace and reined over to the coordinates that Rafe had provided. Someone was already there.
Frida recognized the black and purple frame of a Nether portal but not the face of the man guarding it. His skin was blue-and-white striped, and his eyes were set too closely together, causing them to appear crossed. It was hard to know what he was looking at.
Turner legged Duff over to the man and relayed the password that Rafe had provided: Alpha 6.
“Vanilla 9,” came the reply that identified the man as Bluedog. “We have a deal.” He gave Turner a handful of diamonds as a down payment.
“When do we see the rest?” Turner demanded.
Bluedog put a paw on the side of the Nether portal. “When the supply train loot is poured through this. If you don’t bring it back safely, you don’t get paid.”
Turner pulled out a piece of paper with a mark on it. “And if we don’t get paid, we’ll get a warrant for your arrest so fast it’ll make your compass spin.”
Bluedog scrutinized the stamp made by Judge Tome’s ring. He didn’t appear too upset. “Making legal threats is not the best insurance, friend.” He stepped back and raised a wool sheet to reveal a cage filled with a thick mob of chittering arthropods. They flitted angrily into the bars, eager to escape and attack.
Frida shuddered at the sight of a broken monster egg lying amid the tiny mobsters in the cage. I hate silverfish, she thought. No wonder Xanto never leaves the jungle. The battalion hadn’t been plagued by any of the bug-like monsters during their attack on the zombies’ stronghold, but she knew the extreme hills were rife with the creatures. Perhaps this Bluedog had rounded them all up. She shuddered again. Once loosed, they might never stop spawning.
Turner paid them no mind. “Just tell us where to meet the train.”
Bluedog gave the coordinates. “Ride alongside those rails, and you can’t miss it. Fellow name of Mad
Jack will be driving. And don’t get any ideas. All the loot is locked in a chest via enchantment. Driver carries no cash.”
Stormie recorded their current position and the rendezvous point on her map, and they set off into the steep terrain that was broken only by a few brown trees. The band was very near the place where Stormie had lost her life in the fateful battle.
Frida cut her a look. “Stay frosty. Don’t let the location get to you.”
“Thanks, Frida.”
Armor, Ocelot, and Duff climbed so steadily that, before long, they moved into the clouds that shrouded the landscape. “This puts the extreme in hills,” Turner commented. “How’d they ever lay this track?”
Thick cloud cover reduced the sunlight to dangerous levels. Sure enough, before the squadron had even reached their meeting place, the familiar groan of shade-loving zombies floated their way. “Uuuuhh-uh-uh! Ooohhh-oh-oh! ”
“Those echoes make it sound like twice as many zombies as there really are,” Frida complained.
“Better use double the weapons, then,” Turner advised, tossing her an extra sword. “These things are old and liable to break.”
Then they heard a hacking sound and a man’s shout. “I’ll tear off yer limbs, put ’em back, and rip ’em off again!” he threatened.
They topped a rise and emerged from the wrap of clouds to see a grizzled, bearded fellow perched on a mine cart chest using two swords lashed end to end to push zombies away from the track. Sunshine broke through the wispy haze, and the green, rotting monsters burned up and disappeared.
Frida jumped down from Ocelot and gathered the vegetables and flesh that they dropped, offering them to the minecart driver.
“Keep ’em.” He waved her off. “I only eat fresh meat.”
“Right on,” said Stormie. “An anti-vegetarian. You must be Mad Jack.”
“’Tis I,” said the old codger. “Forgive me if I do not extend a hand, but I dasn’t get out of this cart. Whole thing’s computerized. If she stops, I won’t know how to get moving again.” The cart inched along on the first piece of flat ground the squadron had hit thus far. Here, the unfiltered sun had reduced the scattered spruce trees to dead sticks.
The three troopers spread out behind the cart, one on either side and Ocelot’s rider picking her way between the cart tracks. Then the rails followed the terrain, which fell away steeply where they had just made their ascent.
Down is even harder than up, Frida realized. She had a clear view of the back of Mad Jack’s neck, a sweaty region populated by wiry gray hair. It was going to be a long ride back.
“Whereabouts you from, pardners?” the cart driver asked.
“Here and there,” Stormie said. “We’re short of cash on our way south.”
Turner had instructed the two women to ask no questions and tell only lies. “Mercenaries’ code,” he’d said.
“Headin’ south . . . sounds like my ownself as a young ’un. These days, though, a reg’lar paycheck is more appealing than boundary surveyin’.”
“I get where you’re coming from,” Turner replied conversationally. “But I have a problem showing up at the office, if you know what I mean.”
“That I do. That I do.”
Frida sorted through this information for answers to the questions she couldn’t ask. A regular paycheck meant that he came through this way like clockwork. That meant that whatever he was transporting—and Rafe had let on that it was gemstones and other valuables—was generated on a regular basis. Could it be the loot that Legs and his crew shook down the villagers for in Lady Craven’s name? If so, was Legs behind this shipment to the Nether? Or had someone else sidetracked the cartful of goodies? And which gang was Bluedog working for?
“Looks like a peaceful trip,” Stormie remarked.
“Gen’rally. Least ways, until all hell breaks loose.”
Instinctively, Frida checked over her shoulder. But nothing was following them that she could detect. Her thoughts floated back to that tactical error made during her clan’s freedom test. “Sergeant!” she called. “Best keep an eye for pressure plates.”
“Mm-hmm,” Stormie said. “Could trigger an explosion or an avalanche.”
“Wish to avoid suchlike. That’s what Bluedog pays you fer,” murmured Mad Jack.
“Ain’t been paid yet,” Turner pointed out.
“All in good time.”
They rode on in silence awhile, the computer now applying a brake instead of a boost on the steep incline. Ocelot spooked when some loose gravel beneath her feet gave way, and Frida got a scare as she tipped forward precipitously. But the mare quickly regained her footing and proceeded more carefully downward.
At last they came toward the colorful Nether portal frame, which was easy to spot from the bare hillside. Frida realized she’d been holding her breath, and she relaxed as the air whooshed out.
There was Bluedog waiting for them. The silverfish lying in the cage next to him roused when they saw the players approaching and buzzed angrily against the bars once more. Frida couldn’t wait to leave them behind.
The horses and riders stopped and paused while Mad Jack transferred the precious chest to their employer. Bluedog produced a key and opened it. He pawed through the contents and tossed Turner an assortment of gems, which he caught one at a time and stashed in his saddlebag.
“Nice riding with you!” Stormie tipped her head at the minecart driver.
“Same here,” he said and boosted the cart back up the hill on its powered rails.
Meanwhile, Bluedog emptied the chest into the Nether portal, where its contents disappeared in a sprinkling of purple particles.
“We can do business again,” he said. “Be here in seven days.”
“I’ll talk to my boss,” Turner said.
He, Frida, and Stormie turned back toward camp, not saying much until they were out of Bluedog’s earshot.
“That was easy,” Stormie said, as though there were something wrong with easy.
Turner shot her a look. “That’s the way I like it.”
Frida made no comment. In her experience, nothing easy paid well. And nothing that paid well was ever as simple as it looked.
CHAPTER 6
A SQUADRON FOUND THE REMAINDER OF Battalion Zero enjoying domestic bliss back at camp on the plateau. To Frida’s amazement, they rode up to see Kim exercising two of the new horses in a professional-looking arena decorated with potted shrubbery. A wooden riser provided seating for spectators, and a variety of jump obstacles in the ring promised something to see.
Frida, Stormie, and Turner tied their mounts to the rail and joined the others in the viewing stands. Kim had treated them to her trick riding before, but this performance was even more impressive. Velvet led Roadrunner around the pen, trotting a circle around Kim, who stood in the middle. The horse master’s glossy black hair was covered by a pink cap that matched her skin, and one golden earring dangled beneath it. She held a long stick—one without a carrot at the end as bait. When she raised the stick at an angle, the horses moved into a faster canter and then leaped over the three jump rails, each one set higher than the last.
Then Kim walked toward the animals, and they stepped away from her, changing direction. Folks in the stands clapped. As the horses completed a circuit, Kim blocked their path and then backed off, causing them to head to the center of the circle. “And, ho!” she called. Velvet halted and effectively stopped Roadrunner in his tracks.
Kim moved in front of them and raised her arms and the stick as though asking an orchestra for a fanfare. The horses reared in tandem and hovered a moment, until Kim dropped her arms. They settled back to earth, standing with eyes and ears on their leader. She reached out with her stick and tapped the ground. Velvet stretched out a foreleg and dipped her head and neck down in a bow. Roadrunner followed suit.
The stands erupted in applause, and Kim curtsied.
Frida felt a jab in her side. It was Crash, who sat next to her on the bottom plank. She tilt
ed her head at Kim, who was climbing over the arena railing.
Frida understood. “Kim says she learned her magic with horses just by watching them.”
Crash appeared to admire this. She knows the value of observation, Frida thought. And hard work. Frida chuckled, noticing the semicircular moat Crash had dug in the dirt with her pickaxe as she watched the show.
“You’re a good rider, by the way,” Frida complimented the miner. “I think Roadrunner was the right choice for you. He’s fast and strong.”
Crash smiled for the first time that Frida had seen. Then she got up and went to pet her horse, which stood waiting for more attention at the arena fence.
“What’s all this?” Frida asked Kim when she approached.
“De Vries said he had a vision when he saw me working Nightwind on his lead line. He’s an awesome builder. How’d the job go?”
“Over and out. A little bit richer.” Frida grinned. “What’s our next move?”
“The horses need grass. And we’ve got to pay the farmer for those mounts we appropriated. And locate some chickens! Shorter answer: we’re heading south. There’s a mountain savanna between our original camp and the plains. We’re going to explore it while the horses fatten up.”
“And we fatten up,” Frida added. “Should be able to find all the food groups there.”
“Food—what?” Jools said, walking past with his water bucket. “I’m literally craving a shepherd’s pie.”
“Baa-a-a!” Kim mimicked a sheep, and Jools pantomimed drawing his sword and slaughtering her.
“She died for a good cause,” he said rubbing his belly and walking off.
Stormie caught Frida’s attention. “Girl, you have got to see this!” She walked up and steered the vanguard toward the rock shelter, which Crash had started the night before.
The entrance had been fortified with cobblestone and an iron gate designed to echo the arched doorway.
“Wipe your feet!” Stormie said, pointing out the carpet square that served as a welcome mat.
Inside, the vestibule reminded Frida of Colonel M’s imposing foyer—without the back wall grate that confined wither skeletons. In its place was a massive waterfall fountain that drained into a pool below. The only thing missing was some goldfish. Frida followed Stormie through a hallway that led deeper into the rock and split off into side rooms.
