Did they all miss the water? Watcher’s thoughts turned dark. Are they …
Just then, Planter shot up to the surface, gasping for air. She was shortly followed by Mapper and Blaster. They coughed and sucked in deep breaths, then glanced around.
“It’s okay, we’re in a river.” Watcher swam toward Mapper, who was struggling to stay afloat, his frail body not very buoyant. “Mapper, put an arm around me.”
The old man reached out for Watcher. The pair made for the bank, where Blaster was already climbing out of the water. Just then, Cutter emerged from the water, the zombie general’s enchanted sword still in his hand. He glanced up at the top of the cliff. The moans of zombies floated down to them, the cliff’s edge masked in darkness. Swimming to the river’s edge, the big warrior crawled out of the water then glared at Watcher.
“What do we do now?” Planter asked.
“I don’t know.” Watcher helped Mapper onto solid ground, then sat next to the old man. “Did you see how many zombies the warlord had? How are we supposed to get past all those monsters so we can save our friends?”
“There were hundreds of them, and that’s not even counting the wither,” Blaster said. “Who knows how many of those three-headed monsters he has in his army.”
An uneasy silence lingered on the river bank between the group, and only the trickling of water and the angry moans from zombies high overhead filled the air. The image of Cleric and Winger appeared in Watcher’s mind. His father and sister had looked gaunt and haggard behind those iron bars, as if they were starving. Their clothing had been tattered and dirty, with scratches and bruises on their faces. But worst of all had been the look of terror on their faces as they’d stared down at him in that courtyard. They’d been so close, but he’d failed to save them, just like he’d failed in so many other ways. Watcher felt tears welling up in his eyes, but he refused to set them free. Instead, he choked back his emotions.
“I get the impression that the wither was in charge, and not the zombie,” Mapper said. “But there was certainly something interesting about the zombie warlord … interesting and important.”
“Who cares about the warlord right now?” Cutter stepped onto the river bank. “Watcher, what were you thinking?” Cutter put away the sword, then shook his head. Water droplets flew in all directions. His voice grew louder. “You could have killed us. That was careless and stupid.”
Watcher stood. “Well … I …”
“There’s nothing you say that will justify what you did.”
“But I …” The young boy’s posture slumped.
Cutter interrupted again. “You just made a choice for everyone and then acted on it without saying anything.”
“He did say ‘jump,’” Blaster said with a smile.
The big warrior glared at the dark-haired boy. “Be quiet.” He turned back to Watcher. “You’ve made no effort at all on this quest, Watcher. In that church, you ran away at every chance you had.”
“But …” Fear nibbled at the edge of Watcher’s mind.
“In that courtyard, back there, you were useless. And then you endangered all of us by pushing us off a cliff when you didn’t know what would happen. Were you trying to make us all commit suicide, or were you just running away again, like usual?”
Watcher looked up Cutter. His fear of the big warrior was like a lead blanket weighing on his soul. Anger was growing in Cutter’s eyes and Watcher wasn’t sure what the warrior was going to do. He waited for some of his friends to come to his defense, but they all remained silent.
Maybe they all feel the same. Watcher glanced at Planter, but she only looked away, avoiding his gaze. He then turned toward Blaster, but the boy had already started to take off his armor to dry it out. The only one that would look him in the eyes was Mapper, and the old villager had a smile on his face as if he was keeping some kind of secret.
“Well,” Cutter said, his voice growing louder. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
He was so afraid. Watcher glanced at Planter again; she was still looking at the ground, as was Blaster … he was alone.
“I’m waiting!”
But then something happened within his soul. The fear that was overwhelming his mind seemed to morph into something else … frustration. Watcher had been there many times, pushed up against the wall by the bigger kids, cornered by the bullies, teased by the new trainees in the army … he’d been in this situation many times, alone and waiting for the punishment to begin. But the frustration of the moment he now found himself in was too much.
I refuse to be the victim, he thought, frustration boiling over and becoming anger. I refuse to be bullied just because I’m smaller and weaker. I refuse to accept the insults and the humiliation.
Just then, he remembered something his father told him long ago: “Courage is an elusive creature. It hides behind fear and despair, and sometimes prefers the shadows of self-doubt. But when the things most important to you are at risk, your courage can become the brightest of beacons that will light the darkness and turn night into day.”
Moans from the zombies high overhead floated to them again, but this time a little quieter, and a little less scary. Watcher glanced at Planter as she too looked up at the source of the terrifying sound. An expression of fear covered her beautiful square face.
I refuse to let them hurt her. Watcher turned and faced Cutter. I’m not gonna let Cutter do this to me. I won’t fold up and say nothing. I refuse to give in.
Courage blossomed within him, flowing throughout his body, making him feel as if he were a giant. He was tired of being stepped on, pushed aside, bullied … he was tired of it all, and it was time that stopped … now.
He glared up at big warrior, then stood a little taller. He put his hands on his hips and squared his shoulder.
“Let me tell you something, Cutter.” Watcher kept his voice low and controlled. “While you were fighting the zombie warlord, surrounded by hundreds of zombies, I was shooting them with my bow. When you dropped your sword, I stopped Tu-Kar from killing you.”
“Now you listen here—”
“No, you listen, Cutter,” he snapped, then grew calm again, lowering his voice to barely a whisper. “You think that just because someone doesn’t charge straight ahead, they’re a coward. Well … you’re a fool.”
Planter and Blaster both gasped, but Watcher didn’t back down. In fact, he took a step forward.
“In that church, I destroyed dozens of monsters with what you call my little toy. I can hit a bat from twenty blocks away with my bow. I can cut the petals off a flower. What I shoot at, I hit. And when the zombie warlord was up close … I was the one who pushed him back.”
Cutter’s body tensed while Watcher’s slowly relaxed. He took another step closer, now almost toe-to-toe with the warrior.
“Cutter, I pushed everyone off the edge of the cliff because I knew there was a river down here.” He paused so they could all hear the trickling of the river. “Didn’t you listen to the warlord?” Watcher pointed to his ears. “He told you it was here.”
“I heard it,” Mapper said.
“Yes, he did say something …” Planter said, remembering.
“I don’t care about what that pathetic Tu-Kar said. All I care about is—”
“All you care about is fighting, Cutter.” He shook his head slightly. “You don’t think and you don’t plan.” Watcher turned and faced away, leaving his back exposed to the warrior. “You could do these things if you only started trying, but every time there’s an opportunity to think, you just barrel forward with your blade swinging.”
“That’s what a good warrior does … he fights battles!”
“No, Cutter. You’re wrong.” Watcher’s voice grew strong and confident. He turned and stared defiantly up into the big NPC’s eyes, chest out and head held high. “A good warrior doesn’t fight battles; a good warrior wins battles. And sometimes, a battle isn’t won with the arms … it’s won with the head.”
“But I …”
“The zombie warlord told us about the river. I heard … I thought … then I acted.”
Cutter stared down at Watcher, an expression of uncertainty on his square face.
“And I noticed something else … and I thought … and now, I’m gonna act.”
“What are you talking about?” Cutter asked.
Watcher pointed at Mapper. “You know what to do, don’t you, Mapper?”
The old man nodded his head. “Tu-Kar controls his zombie army with that chain mail he wears. It’s an ancient relic called the Mantle of Command, and it controls the minds of the zombies. If we take that armor, then we can get rid of the zombies.”
“But that’s not all,” Watcher added. “After we destroy Tu-Kar, then we’re gonna destroy the wither king, Kaza. He’s the real enemy here; the zombie warlord is just an obstacle in the way.”
“You want the five of us to destroy the zombie warlord, then attack the king of the withers?” Cutter shook his head. “How do you suppose we’re gonna do that? We don’t have enough swords to do that job.”
“We aren’t gonna use swords … we’re gonna use our minds and think.” Watcher placed a hand on the big warrior’s sword arm. “But Cutter, we’ll need your help. All those villagers back there are now probably heading toward the Capitol, and they need your help as well.” He looked up into the villager’s eyes. “Are you with us? Are you gonna think first and act second? Or are you just gonna keep swinging your sword, fighting battles instead of winning them?
Cutter looked down at Watcher, glanced at the other companions, then nodded. “What’s your plan?”
Watcher smiled. “Blaster, how many sets of leather armor do you have?”
“A lot, plus some iron armor as well.”
Watcher smiled again. “It’s time we stopped just fighting and started crafting. Here’s what I have in mind.”
And the young archer explained his plan, the others smiling and nodding their heads. And for the first time, a feeling spread across the company of adventurers that they hadn’t felt for a long time … hope.
Er-Lan glanced to the east as the sun slowly crept up from behind the distant horizon. The little zombie was still stunned by everything that had transpired.
The villagers are gone. The thought ripped through Er-Lan’s mind like a tornado. Was this Er-Lan’s fault?
He’d brought them to the fortress in hopes of finding the family members of Watcher, Planter, and Blaster, and helping them to escape. He hadn’t expected them to be captured, and he certainly hadn’t wanted them to end their lives by jumping off the cliff.
“It’s all wrong … all wrong.”
Er-Lan had stared down at his new friends, in shock, as they fell and were engulfed by the darkness. There was no doubt in Er-Lan’s mind about their fate.
“They had been Er-Lan’s friends,” the zombie growled to himself. “For the first time, Er-Lan actually had friends, and now they are …” He didn’t want to finish the thought.
The little zombie struggled to his feet. He was sitting in a dark corner of the courtyard, the rope from Cutter still wrapped around his arms. In the confusion of the battle and the aftermath from the incident at the cliff, the zombie warlord had forgotten about Er-Lan.
Grief washed over the zombie—terrible, debilitating grief. Er-Lan had never felt so empty and alone. His friends had filled a place in his soul, and now that they’d been torn from him, he burned with loneliness. He’d never been this sad in his life, probably because he’d never been accepted by others before those villagers. Guilt mixed in with the grief, creating a maelstrom of emotions that tore through the zombie’s soul.
“Er-Lan cannot endure these emotions.” He squared his shoulders, then stepped out into the light, heading straight for the zombie warlord.
As he crossed the courtyard, the yellow face of the sun crept up from behind the distant horizon. It cast ruby red light upon the landscape, creating deep oranges where there should have been greens. The stars overhead faded from sight as the blue sky of day pushed them aside.
From the side of the cobblestone structure, Er-Lan watched as Kaza slowly rose in the air, his three-headed black body looking like a dark hole in the fabric of Minecraft. Likely, the King of the Withers was heading back to the Capitol, getting ready for this new crop of slaves. Er-Lan pitied those villagers; their fate was to toil in the mines until they fell from exhaustion and their HP faded to nothing.
“No fate can be worse than Er-Lan’s.” The zombie lowered his gaze and shuffled across the grassy yard. His voice grew soft, barely a whisper. “They were my friends … my friends …”
“There is the exile.” A nearby zombie grabbed him by the edge of his shirt and held on as if he were stopping the little monster from escaping.
But escape was not his plan, instead, it was atonement. The zombie pushed Er-Lan through a crowd of monsters, growls and wails of anger levied at the little creature.
“Tu-Kar, here is the exiled zombie.” The monster’s voice was loud and scratchy.
He shoved Er-Lan through the crowd, pushing him to the ground at Tu-Kar’s feet. The zombies in the courtyard growled and moaned, all of them hungry to see punishment delivered.
“Er-Lan was told returning would be punished by death. Does Er-Lan remember?” Tu-Kar’s milky white eye was painted with orange light from the rising sun.
“Yes, Warlord, Er-Lan remembers.” He lowered his head, but felt no fear. There wasn’t room for that emotion in his heart; it was already full with sorrow and guilt.
The zombie warlord moved a step closer. “Does this zombie have anything for Tu-Kar?”
Er-Lan shook his head.
“The puny monster should be destroyed,” one of the monsters shouted from the crowd.
Tu-Kar glanced up from Er-Lan and sought out the malcontent.
“There is no diamond sword in this zombie’s hands,” the monster continued. “Er-Lan was a captive and a failure to the zombie race. Destruction is a just reward.”
“Destruction is indeed a just reward.” Tu-Kar grabbed Er-Lan by the arm and lifted him to his feet. He then pushed through the crowd, pulling on the rope still tied around him.
“That zombie even smells like a villager,” a monster called out. “There is no stench to Er-Lan. That zombie is trying to be like the NPCs. He should receive the same fate.” The discontent monster stared straight at Tu-Kar, a look of determination on his scarred face. “Er-Lan returned from exile without the diamond sword. That is a violation of Tu-Kar’s law. Death is the only reward.”
Suddenly, Tu-Kar reached into his inventory and pulled out something blue, the object shining bright as it reflected the morning light. He struck down the boisterous zombie, hitting him once, then again and again. The monster’s armor fell to the ground, the surprised zombie unable to react. Tu-Kar then struck him again and again until the creature disappeared, a look of surprise and fear on his green face.
Extending his arm up high, Tu-Kar held aloft the diamond sword dropped by Cutter. The zombies gasped in surprise and awe at the magnificent blade.
“Behold, the diamond sword that was demanded by Tu-Kar was delivered by Er-Lan.” The zombie warlord walked in a circle around Er-Lan so all could see the weapon. “The foolish villager dropped it in battle, and now it belongs to your warlord.”
He turned and faced Er-Lan.
“Now, what do we do with Er-Lan?”
Tu-Kar raised the blade higher, then brought it down in a powerful stroke. Er-Lan closed his eyes, welcoming the end to this terrible grief. The blade whistled past his ear, then sliced through the ropes that wrapped around his body. The monster horde held their breath for just an instant, then cheered as the ropes fell away, freeing Er-Lan from his bonds.
“This zombie did the impossible and brought the diamond sword of the villager to Tu-Kar!”
The zombie warlord held the glacial-blue weapon high in the air. The mob growled and moaned excitedly.
“Er-Lan didn’t do anything,” the little monster said, hanging his head low.
“This is a great warrior, and all zombies can learn from Er-Lan’s example,” Tu-Kar said. “Do the unexpected and victory will be at hand.”
Er-Lan’s voice grew softer. “I did nothing … I am nothing … I am alone, again.”
The zombie warlord patted him on the back again, then sheathed his newly acquired diamond blade. “Come, brothers and sisters, it is time to march the prisoners to the zombie hideout. And after that, they’ll go to the Capitol, where they will find the end of their days.”
The zombies cheered and followed their warlord, leaving Er-Lan standing there, still mourning the loss of his only friends.
After crafting everything they needed, the companions moved through the forest quietly, their inventories bulging with wooden stick-figures.
“You sure this is gonna work?” Cutter looked uncertain.
“We have to do something that’ll even the odds a bit, Cutter.” Reaching into his inventory, Watcher readjusted one of the items so it wouldn’t poke him in the stomach. “I’m betting this will get most of the zombies out of the warlord’s hideout, leaving him alone and vulnerable. Once that happens, you get to do your sword thing.”
Cutter smiled.
“Mapper, tell us more about the armor the warlord is wearing,” Planter pressed.
“Well, the Mantle of Command was made ages ago, when the NPC wizards and the monster warlocks were feuding. Scholars, myself included, agree the Mantle was likely a very important magical tool during the war. The wearer could direct a huge host of monsters and make them follow any command. Some books suggest that the Mantle of Command almost tipped the war in favor of the warlocks, but something happened—exactly what is not clear—that brought the advantage back to the wizards.”
Zombies Attack! Page 15
