Midnight Riders

by Pete Clark

  Morgan nodded a short salute as he headed out the door. “Let’s go see the dragon.”

  As they headed outside, they found a small army of birdmen waiting. Apparently, the first had noticed trouble and went to get his friends. Morgan raised his rifle.

  “No need for that,” said the lead birdman. “We do not wish to fight. We wish to compete.”

  “Compete?” Marion asked.

  “Yes. There is a game that we have been playing since we appeared in this world. It is fun and we wish to share it. We have produced a soft oblong object which we call a ball and it is the key to our game.”

  “What is this game called,” asked Morgan.

  “We call it ... football.”

  ****

  They reached a crossroads in the maze. This was the first directional choice and it presented a clear dilemma.

  “Do we split into groups of two and each follow a path? That would get us through a lot quicker,” suggested Boone.

  “It is safer and more logical to try one at a time and eliminate options as a group. We are not so pressed for time that we cannot move carefully,” said Guyasuta.

  “What if I just run down one and let you know what I find and then we can choose?” At least Grant was trying.

  Prescott pulled out a piece of chalk from his pocket. He drew on the wall of the passage they had come down; it was an arrow pointing back the way they came. He added the words “way out” and “fissure” beneath the arrow.

  “I think we should stick together. If we split, then the path will split once more, and soon all six of us will be wandering lost by ourselves. Not ideal.”

  “Fine, we’ll stick together,” said Marchand. “Which way should we go first?”

  “We should consider what we know of the maze to determine the best possible route. Through careful logical analysis, we can come to the conclusion that is most likely to garner results,” said Guyasuta.

  “We don’t know shit about the maze,” said Dawes.

  “Let’s go to the right.” So, it was agreed that they would head right.

  That passage was much like the others: dark. Marchand and Dawes lit torches this time and proceeded down the narrow walkway. Dawes had his rifle out. He had learned from his time in the house near Carpenters’ Hall that it was wise to have something that was not you leading the way. He heard a hissing noise. “Hissing. What did the witch say about hissing?”

  “Nothing. Boone shot her in the face first,” Grant said.

  “Are we never going to move past that?” Boone pleaded.

  “Great. I hear hissing and I don’t know what to do.”

  “Prepare for pain, I guess.”

  As Dawes turned to look at Grant’s mocking smile, the hissing increased and a wall of spraying liquid shot from the walls. Dawes jumped back and avoided the spray but his rifle was doused; in seconds, it melted down to nothing. Dawes tossed what was left of it back toward the sprays. They spouted again and finished off his rifle.

  “Looks like acid,” Boone said.

  “Wow. You must be a chemist,” Dawes said.

  “We are not going to get through this without losing a lot of weight. I guess we should turn around and try a different passage,” said Guyasuta.

  “I don’t think so,” said Prescott. He took Dawes’ torch out of his hand and tossed it in a high arc far down the hallway.

  “Why does my stuff always get thrown away?” Dawes looked at his torch as it landed. It gave off a strong glow. Prescott had managed to get the torch past the acid sprays. It had landed near a T intersection and, along the wall, there was what appeared to be a metal square, which sat at floor level.

  “I think this is the way,” said Prescott. “This is too elaborate to be a distraction trap. See? It’s designed so that the right person can get past the trap. I bet, if we can manipulate that plate down there, it will shut off the sprays temporarily.”

  “You’re pretty good Prescott,” said Boone. “You’re no Francis Marion, but not bad.”

  “You mean the Swamp Fox?”

  “I thought he was the only one who called himself that.”

  “There has to be something nearby to trigger that plate. These traps are designed to stop interlopers, but also to let the owner pass. Therefore the key would be nearby, but not obvious.” Prescott felt along the walls.

  “Let’s try the other two passages,” said Marchand.

  “Damn French; you’re always trying to give up,” Dawes snickered.

  “No, you imbecile. The key to pass this area could be down one of those paths.”

  “Good point. Let’s go take a look.” Boone led them back to the intersection. “Be careful. You know, because of traps.” He looked at Dawes and smiled. “Maybe Minotaurs.”

  Just a few yards down the left path, Grant found a pile of heavy stones. Each one had a smooth flat bottom and had to weigh twenty pounds. “I found a pile of stones. Maybe these are useful.”

  “How many are there?” Dawes appeared beside him.

  “I think three.”

  Dawes got a good look at the pile. “It’s more like thirty.” The others arrived and glanced at the pile. “Maybe they’re meant to be slid.” He grabbed one of the rocks. The smooth bottom did seem custom-made to be slid. He gave it a hard shove down toward the mysterious darkness of the left passage. It skimmed smoothly and quickly along the floor. It maintained its speed and disappeared into the darkness. A few seconds later, there was a flash of light and a small explosion. They looked at one another. “So glad we didn’t go that way. Everybody grab a rock.”

  As they returned to the acid passage, Guyasuta commented, “This has to be the right way. It’s too perfect. The maze constructor would know just to pop over and grab a rock. There were no traps where the rocks were stored; they would just slide the rock down and hit the plate. Too easy.”

  It turned out to be not so easy. Guyasuta slid his rock too slow and the acid melted it before it reached the end of the hall. Grant’s rock was thrown with tremendous speed and hardly melted at all, but it struck the wrong half of the wall and rattled away uselessly. Dawes’ rock was medium speed. It made it through and hit the plate, but was so small by the time it hit it that nothing happened. Finally, Marchand slung his rock quick and accurate. It zipped past the sprays, hit the plate, and then there was loud clang and the sound of pipes turning off.

  “Vive la France,” said Marchand.

  “Great work,” said Boone. “Now you go first.”

  Marchand drew his sword and waved it in the air where the sprays were. Nothing happened. “I think it worked. I hope there are drains or else our feet will melt.” He sprinted across the hall toward the T intersection. He made it safely and turned. “Yes, there are drains; my feet remain whole.”

  The rest of the group walked down the hall. At around the three quarter mark, another loud clang sounded. The trap was resetting. “Run,” yelled Boone, but he already knew that none of them would make it. In a second, the sprays would come on and melt their flesh and bone. It would be a horrible death. He gritted his teeth waiting for the end. Nothing happened; he opened his eyes.

  Grinning back at them was Marchand. “What? I kicked the plate again. It did not take a genius.”

  Without bothering to thank Marchand for saving their lives, they moved to the T intersection and had to make another choice.

  “I say left this time. I like to shake it up,” said Dawes.

  Boone once more took the lead. Remembering Dawes’ move of losing his rifle but keeping his arm, he too held his rifle ahead of him like a prodding walking stick. This passage was extremely long; it was a solid twenty minutes of walking in silence before anyone spoke.

  “This better be the right way,” said Grant. “I am not about to backtrack all this way. I hate the dark.” This was followed by another period of fifteen minutes of walking in silence.

  It was then that Boone stopped and whisper shouted. “Nobody move.” He cocked his head amid the bl
ack silence. “Do you hear that?” Marchand was about to respond, but Boone shushed him. “It sounds like grinding. Oh shit - grinding. What did she say about grinding?”

  “I remember,” said Guyasuta. “She said back up, back up.”

  They stood still as the grinding noise began to grow louder and louder. Boone peered deep into the darkness and his eyes grew wide. “Back up! Back up!” He shouted and ran back the way they came.

  Despite Grant’s previous statement, when he saw the corridor sized machine rolling toward them, its dozen arms swinging huge blades in various directions, he opted to run back down the passageway. The machine was actually just a simple wagon on low wheels. The passageway was slanted but only very little. It was difficult in the dark to detect the slant. The machine slid down the path at a slow but steadily increasing rate. It had a number of wooden arms, connected by a complex set of ropes that caused them to pivot and swing wildly, but powerfully, in all directions. At the end of each arm was a giant double-edged blade. The concept was simple but maniacally creative.

  They started at a trot, but had now broken into a run as the machine began gaining momentum. If it caught up to them, there would be no way to get around it. Their lungs and legs requested they stop; however, the approach of certain death convinced them to spur themselves onward. The passage took over half an hour to walk down, but that was a very slow cautious walk as they looked for traps. At a full run, they did it in under ten.

  “There is the intersection,” cried the speedy Dawes who was in the lead. Prescott was less than a step behind him.

  “It is just rolling forward; duck into the original passage,” Prescott shouted.

  Dawes wheeled around the corner and started sprinting up the turn. Prescott grabbed him by the back of his pack and pulled him to the ground. “What the hell?” Dawes yapped as he hit the ground.

  “Are you looking for an acid shower?” Prescott was right. In his attempt to escape the machine, he had nearly run directly into the acid sprays.

  The other men joined them in the passage and, a few seconds later, the vicious machine rolled past, blades whipping about carving the air. It had no driver.

  “You see that,” said Boone.

  “What? The giant rolling knife monster? Yup, we saw it.” Dawes picked himself up off the ground.

  “No. There was no driver or anything.” Boone received only blank faces. “Someone must have triggered it. Somebody heard us coming up that long ass corridor and launched that thing to chop us up.”

  “So we’re close then?” Marchand asked.

  “It would seem so. That also means that we picked the correct path again.”

  “Fine, let’s take a minute to catch our breath, just in case there are more of those, and then it’s back into the corridor.”

  “Mazes suck,” Grant said as he marched sadly back into the lengthy corridor.

  They moved a bit quicker this time and, in less than half an hour, they reached the end of the path. It opened out into a large chamber that was similar to the one at the initial entrance. The walls reached high up into a meticulously carved stone ceiling. The room was a perfect square. There was enough light to view the ceiling well, but the rest of the room was still in shadow.

  “Hello,” called Guyasuta. “Is the last Roanoker here?”

  “Her name is Hannah,” said Prescott.

  At the sound of the name, a girl appeared. She walked right out of the shadows and stood in front of them. She had a number of sharp dangerous weapons hanging off of her and she held a long pole with a curved blade set atop it. She was thin, muscular, and wild looking. Prescott felt a weird rush in his body. Do I think she’s hot, he wondered.

  “Why are you here?” She pointed her pole arm menacingly in their direction.

  “We need your blood,” Dawes said.

  “Try and take it.” She prepared to spring.

  “Not the best choice of words. Hold on; let me explain,” said Boone.

  “You will explain or you will die.” Her eyes had a look that let them all know that she could hold up the threat.

  “It’s about the rippers. Or the monsters or whatever. You see, you are the last in a line of people who were used to create a powerful spell and-”

  Hannah cut Boone off. “I know what you speak of. I have known that this day would come since my birth. The legend has been passed down. I know my role and I know the sacrifice I must make.”

  “Deus ex machina,” said Dawes.

  “Seriously,” said Grant. “That is getting old.”

  “You know we could have saved a hell of a lot of time if we had just found her in the first place,” Boone sulked.

  “So you’ll help?” Prescott asked.

  “It is my destiny to help. To battle the vertex and sacrifice my life,” Hannah said.

  “Sacrifice your life?” Boone said. “No - we just need to mix your blood with the vertex, and then we can kill it. You don’t have to die.”

  “It is my destiny. The legend says I will die saving the world.”

  “Eh,” Dawes flipped his hand in dismissal. “Prophecies are wrong a lot. You’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t think so.” She pointed to the entrance.

  At the door were a number of armed beasts that looked like huge bulls in armor carrying axes. Leading the pack of monsters was a familiar looking vampire.

  “de Lavoir,” said Prescott, drawing his sword.

  “Minotaurs,” whined Dawes.

  “Kill everyone,” said de Lavoir.

  ****

  After finishing a rousing and bruising game of football with the birdmen, Arnold, Marion, and Morgan went to the dragon’s cave. Marion remembered where the cave was, but finding their way back to the dragon’s actual lair proved to be a bit more difficult.

  “It’s up,” said Morgan.

  “Wouldn’t a dragon be down?” Arnold asked.

  “I tell you, we can go either way. But down is easier because then we don’t have to jump off a giant cliff to get to him,” Marion argued.

  “So we will go down then?”

  “I’m pretty sure we have to go up,” Morgan said.

  “This conversation is asinine,” Marion said. “Oops, heads up. Zombie.” Marion speared the wandering monster in the head. But it was strange, because zombies did not usually find their way into caves.

  They could hear more shuffling through the various walls of the cave. It was difficult in the darkness and the echoing stone to pinpoint where it was coming from. Eventually they managed to stumble downward and into the large domed opening that housed Oliver the dragon.

  At this time, the dragon did not appear to be at home. In his place was a horde of zombies. There had to be over 100 of the awkward flesh rotty bastards.

  “Shhh,” said Arnold. “We need to sneak out of here.”

  “We still need the treasure,” said Marion.

  “I don’t think we can get past that many of them.” Morgan loaded his weapons despite this comment.

  “If you shoot one, they will all start eating the shit out of us,” said Marion.

  “I know; I’m not an idiot. But it’s nice to be ready. Hmmm.”

  “Hmmm what?” Arnold asked, clearly getting a bit nervous due to Morgan’s excitement.

  “What if we go back up to that ledge we were on before and just throw a torch at them?”

  “Yeah, because one torch into a giant cavern containing a lake, 100 zombies, and tons of open space is going to set everything on fire? That is ridiculous,” said Marion.

  “Is it now?” Morgan lit a torch. This was stupid as it quickly got the attention of the many zombies who were close to them. “Never tell me what cannot be done.” Morgan then lobbed the torch at the horde of zombies. The handle thumped one in the chest and fell harmlessly to the ground.

  “I hate you,” muttered Marion.

  “We are all going to die,” said Arnold.

  “Stop being so negative,” Morgan yelled as he lit another
torch. This one hit the nearest zombie in the leg. It looked down, mildly annoyed.

  “That sure fixed them.”

  Suddenly, a funnel of flame ignited the entire cavern. Morgan shrank back as the scorching heat slashed at him. They fell back and collapsed into the tunnel as the zombies all burned. Morgan sat up and Marion could see that his eyebrows were singed and emitting small plumes of smoke.

  “I guess the dragon’s back,” said Arnold.

  A moment later, Oliver’s giant head appeared in the cave entrance. For a second, they were all convinced that they were about to become barbecue, but then the dragon smiled. “You’re back.”

  A few moments later, the three of them were on smooth rocks sitting in a small semicircle around the dragon. Oliver had used his enormous tail to sweep all of the crispified zombies into the lake. Marion made a mental note not to drink from any water sources in the area.

  “So, my small talking snacks, it is nice to see you. And you have a new friend.” The dragon nodded at Arnold who tipped him a salute. “I seem to notice an increase in monsters. It is getting rather annoying.”

  “Do you know how so many zombies got into your cave?” Morgan wondered.

  “Someone has been directing them here. As if they are using it as a holding pen. There have been at least four occasions when I have returned to find a large number of various creatures in my cave. Clearly, someone has been storing them here.”

  “As if they are building a troop base for their army?” Arnold thought aloud.

  “Yes, but it is not effective, as I keep killing them all. But it can be a pain to clean up. I hope they figure out that all of their little monsters are being killed and stop putting them here.”

  “It does seem odd that they keep putting them here even when the others are killed,” Marion pondered. “I bet it’s because they have a large number of caves and things that they are using. They are probably stockpiling an army around here and so have not put much effort into checking up on the ones they have.”

  “Could be, as there are many caves in the area,” yawned the dragon.

  “It also stands to reason that, with the basically unlimited amount of rippers being created by the war, whoever is in charge would not really care if some died; they just want to have a huge amount in one spot in order to quickly mass them for attack,” said Arnold.