by Nancy Osa
He seems like a nice enough guy, Rob thought. But he could be a griefer. Or some kind of mercenary on the take, like Turner. Rob held back all the questions he wanted to pose to the pale rider, who was now mounted on Beckett, a cream-colored stallion that was still several shades darker than the young man in the saddle. Rob turned his attention to the horse, which carefully moved forward at a slow march. He might not be the swiftest, but an animal that took care of its feet stayed healthy when other, more careless horses might damage their legs, sometimes fatally.
Still, Rob couldn’t help breaking the silence. “I’d trust Beckett in a battle, Jools. He’s sound, all right.”
“He is that,” Jools said proudly. Even the tight-lipped stranger gave way to flattery when it came to his pet.
“I’ma get me one of those,” Turner announced, having the decency not to steal Beckett for himself. Not yet, anyway.
“You’ll have to learn to ride,” Frida reminded him.
Turner pointed at Jools. “He can do it. How hard can it be?”
Rob smiled to himself. It always looked like the horse was doing all the work.
As the sun sank and the sky darkened, the group settled into tense silence. Finally Jools halted Beckett, dismounted, and motioned for the others to gather around. “We’ll find sentries not far from here,” he informed them. “You might want to suit up.”
Rob’s gut tightened, and he put on the protective chest armor that Turner had given him.
“We can rendezvous at my camp,” Jools offered. “It’s just the other side of a dry wash.”
Frida and Turner looked fierce in their chest plates and helmets. They pulled out their bows, and Rob did the same.
Frida squinted at Jools. “Where’s your weaponry?” she asked, suspicion in her voice. A griefer wouldn’t need to fend off Dr. Dirt’s sentries.
Jools raised a flask. “Potion of invisibility!” He poured some down Beckett’s gullet, and the horse gradually faded from view. Jools stepped into the invisible stirrup and heaved himself upward. “Sorry I haven’t got enough for everyone.” He downed the rest of the juice and whirled in the invisible saddle. “See you on the other side!” he called, and with a cluck and a whinny, the pair was gone.
Turner nudged Frida with a tattooed elbow. “D’you think he’s on the level?”
She thought a moment. “I’d give him fifty-fifty,” she said, and Rob silently agreed. Clearly, she was a good judge of character.
They set off again in the direction of the boundary. Rob couldn’t help but feel as though he were approaching a cliff. He wished he had a potion or two in his inventory . . . but this time, he’d have to rely on his wits.
Suddenly, he heard a thoop! An arrow landed inches from his foot. Seeing it stuck in the ground like a party toothpick, it seemed so harmless.
The next one, which glanced off his chest armor, however, seemed much less innocent.
“Ambush!” he yelled.
The sound of rattling bones filled the air. In the murky light, Rob could see a half-dozen skeletons approach, their bows drawn and then refilled with arrows as fast as they could let them fly.
The three armored friends avoided hits as they returned fire, Frida and Turner knocking out two attackers apiece while Rob struggled to get the hang of archery. When the remaining two mobsters bore down on him, they loosed twice as many arrows as it seemed possible to shoot, but their aim was no good. From the corner of his eye, Rob saw that Frida and Turner were reloading. These two monsters were his, and his alone!
The enemies’ closeness was in his favor. He sighted and drew back his bowstring. Thwang! His single arrow impaled the first skeleton, went on through, and took out the second.
His eyes widened. “Did you see that?” he called to his friends.
But his victory was soon forgotten.
With a rumba of rattling bones, a second wave of skeletons came charging from fifteen blocks away. Behind them came a gravelly shout: “Turn back or surrender! This boundary belongs to Dr. Dirt!”
Rob quaked, wishing he were mounted and could gallop away, out of range. But Frida grimaced and yelled back, “Boundaries belong to no man! Identify yourself!”
“I am Lady Craven, second-in-command, Griefers Imperial Army!” The reply sounded as though the syllables had been spit from a cement mixer.
Frida set an arrow and moved her bow in the direction of the voice as Turner and Rob prepared to meet the onslaught.
“Second? Ha! Dr. Dirt does not dare to show his face on these lines?”
“He has bigger fish to fry, minnow,” Lady Craven replied. “And he has me to swallow the rest of you!”
Rob’s eyes left the approaching skeletons for a moment to watch Frida. She was intent, sweeping her bow, seeming to track the sound of Lady Craven. When Frida fixed her target, she yelled, “Die!” and released the bowstring.
Rob held his breath.
Turner hesitated.
Even the attacking skeletons paused to see whether Frida’s arrow would hit its distant target.
There was no sound.
Then a diabolical laugh filled the air. “Your puny sticks and stones cannot harm me. My wings are like a shield of iron. I cannot die!”
The skeletons resumed their attack, rushing now at the three defenders, both sides bent on claiming ground. Rob filled and refilled his bow, picking off monsters one by one, but still there were more.
Then there was a boom, and a sound like a gong rang out, masking the bone rattling and bone breaking, and ringing in Rob’s ears. An explosion lit the sky. Rob and the others froze. Would the next blast come their way? Instead, a raspy shriek sailed across the darkened field, followed by the sudden retreat of the remaining skeletons.
When, at last, quiet fell, Frida, Turner, and Rob dared to move again. Rob patted his body to make sure all his parts were still there. Frida and Turner leapfrogged ahead, picking up the bones and arrows that the dying skeletons had dropped.
“What the heck was that?” Rob asked.
“It was me. A friendly,” a human voice responded. “Don’t shoot!”
*
Out of the shadows strolled a buff female with skin the color of stormy skies, backlit by the glow from trees that burned in the aftermath of the blast. She was more curves than angles and barely covered by black, short shorts and a crop top. Her long, black, curly hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Rob’s heart jumped. If a girl could be his hero, she was it. More substantial than Frida, possibly stronger than Turner, and definitely more tan than Jools, this young woman appeared to hold the world in her hands. She had just run off an entire platoon of skeletons and their griefer commander, after all.
“You saved our ham bones, stranger,” Turner admitted.
“H-how can we thank you?” Rob stuttered.
Frida scowled. “Not so fast. Who are you? How do we know you’re not one of them?” she demanded, backing off as the woman advanced.
“I’m Stormie—the original one, not that imposter who says she’s been to the world boundary but has really only gone as far as the extreme hills.”
The hair stood up against Rob’s neck. “Extreme hills? You’ve been there?”
“Which time?” Stormie asked.
Turner grunted. “I’ve heard of you. Folks in the cold taiga said you tamed a wolf without a bone. How’d you do that?”
She clucked at him. “Now, now,” she said, patting Turner’s desert biome tattoo on his biceps. “Let’s not be greedy. A gal’s got to have her secrets.”
“I’ve heard of you, too,” Frida said, then grinned. “Most of it I didn’t really believe.”
Stormie gave her arm a squeeze. “That, I do believe. How’s this for a dose of reality?” She drew an object from her satchel and tossed it at Frida, who caught it in one hand.
Frida opened her fingers and examined the thing, and a knowing smile spread across her green face. “Girlfriend!” she exclaimed.
Turner muscled up to her. “Let me see
.” He gaped. “Yowza!”
It had been a long . . . interesting day, and Rob was tired, and just a little bit annoyed. “Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?” he snapped.
His tone broke through Frida’s reverie. “Sorry,” she apologized, dangling a golden chain before his eyes. It was a pendant sporting a gem-encrusted charm made of two golden Ds fused together. “It’s Dr. Dirt’s signature,” she explained, handing it back to the woman.
“All his lackeys wear them,” Stormie explained. “So, why are y’all fighting one of Dirt’s squadrons?”
“We’re just crossing into the plains on some business,” Frida told her. “I’ve been tangling with smaller skeleton sentries at every biome crossing for a while now, but this mob was nasty. You?”
“Same deal.” Stormie sat down on the ground cross-legged. “I’m beat. Believe me, I’ve crossed a lot of boundaries in the last string of days.”
“We appreciate the boost,” Turner said, joining her on the ground. “What did you do to Lady Craven?”
“She was wearing those ridiculous iron wings, thinking she was invincible and all that. I rang her chimes with a TNT cannon.”
“Nice tune,” Turner said.
Frida resumed gathering the items dropped by the skeletons, stacking them in her inventory. Rob just stood there, staring at Stormie in awe.
“Who’s this sweet pea?” she asked Turner, who grunted again.
Frida joined them and introductions were made. But after a short rest they all got to their feet again.
“We’d better head for the rendezvous point,” Frida said. “A friend of ours is waiting there at shelter. You’re welcome to come along.”
“Solid. Normally I’d have somewhere to be, but tonight I could use a break.”
They moved off in the direction of the army’s retreat, their way lit by the still-burning brush in the distance.
“Do you think they’re gone for good?” Rob asked.
“Good is relative,” Stormie replied. “Any reprieve is good, but Dirt’s got uglies stationed from here to kingdom come.”
“We’re afraid they’re sweeping across the entire Overworld,” Frida added.
“Wouldn’t doubt it,” Stormie said. “I’ve run into them at every single boundary I’ve crossed in recent memory.”
“What do you think they’re up to?” Frida asked.
“No good. At this point, it would take a whole army to bring them down, I’m afraid.”
Rob doubted that this Amazon was ever afraid. But what she’d said had given him an idea. “That’s the type of army I’d like to lead someday,” he said aloud.
Turner laughed, and Frida cut him a look.
“That’s a selfless ambition, Rob,” Stormie said. “Maybe you’d make a good commander.”
This embarrassed the cowboy, who had never commanded anything but a herd of cattle. “Well, I . . .”
As the others discussed the impossibility of such a task, Rob couldn’t help thinking that if anyone could stand up to the evil griefers, it was this group: Frida was stealthy, resourceful, and discerning. Turner was strong, brave, and a real jerk—something that worked well on the offensive, for sure. And Stormie . . . well she was the type of soldier a commander could only dream about.
But such an independent bunch would never listen to a peace-loving range rider like him. Would they?
*
The four picked their way through the smoldering battlefield and arrived at the dry wash without further incident. From there, they could see Jools’s campfire and hear Beckett nicker a greeting. They crossed the shallow gully and called out to Jools, so he wouldn’t be alarmed and start pelting them with splash potions.
Jools also had heard stories about their new ally.
“Left your undies as a banner at the world boundary, did you? Or was that the other Stormie?”
“That was me!” she snapped. “Blast that girl, trying to ride my coattails . . . er, underwear tails. . . .” She smiled sweetly at Jools. “What’s your claim to fame, bro?”
Stormie’s charisma broke through his wall of ice. “I’m a detail consultant,” he told her. “Some people get the big picture. I cut it into little pieces and analyze it. Worth a fortune to the right employer.”
“Yeah, well, ya can’t kill a mess of zombies with a detail,” Turner grumbled. “Where were you when Lady Craven’s skelemob tore into us?”
Jools sat back, unperturbed. “Right here. Thinking my brains out. That’s kept my head attached to my neck all this time.”
“Jools used a potion of invisibility to move him and his horse to safe camp,” Rob explained to Stormie. “That was pretty smart.”
“Yeah, well, smart won’t—”
Jools raised his hands. “I know, I know, Turner. Smart won’t kill an army of whatever.” He reached over toward the fire and drew out some chicken legs, which he passed around the group. “Killing monsters is not my thing,” Jools continued. “Figuring out how to kill them is.”
Stormie raised an eyebrow. “A strategist. We don’t have one of those. Could be valuable in a war.”
Jools grinned. “It’s nice to be appreciated.”
CHAPTER 5
HAVING FULL ARSENALS OF ARROWS WAS AS soothing to the band of travelers as glasses of warm milk. With the distant trees burning like torches and the broad plains open around them, the group felt safe from other mob attacks and slept well that night.
Rob woke first. He rose from his wool bedroll, feeling almost normal. As sunshine perforated the pink clouds, he could hear the soft munch of a horse grazing nearby. It was just like old times. Present company excluded, of course.
Frida lay on her back near the cold campfire, snoring lightly. Jools slumped not far from her under a lean-to made of sunflowers. Turner was curled in the fetal position, clutching his helmet like a teddy bear. And Stormie . . .
. . . was awake. She caught Rob staring at her and winked.
“What’s the plan today, Captain?” she asked, rising.
Rob’s skin darkened several shades of red. “We’re off to round up some horses and trade with the villagers. I’m not sure which comes first.”
“Just take charge.” She waved at the others sleeping. “They’ll fall in line.”
“If I have my way, it’s broncs first, townsfolk second.”
“Horses it is, then!”
“You’re coming with us?”
She nodded.
Rob couldn’t believe his luck. He had no doubt that Stormie would be a good hand in a roundup. Competent seemed to be her last name.
The others began to stir. Casting a glance at Stormie, Rob began barking out orders. “Frida. Check the campfire for usable coals. Jools, make sure Beckett isn’t hungry. He’s going to be our scout. And Turner, quit hugging that helmet and pack up. It’s time to go!”
“Who died and left him boss?” muttered the mercenary, sitting up and jamming his helmet back on his head as the others set to work.
“Guys,” Rob said, “when it comes to horses, I’m your man.”
Turner yawned and lay back down. “I’m thinking maybe we hit the village first for some R and R.”
Rob nudged him with a toe. “This isn’t some wild goose chase. Getting horses could save your skin.”
“I do all right on my own.”
“That’s funny. Yesterday you were all for the plan when you knew the mobs were coming out.” Rob gathered up his bedroll. “From what I saw during the battle, a mounted group working together could have really kicked some grass.”
“You mean, a cavalry?” asked Stormie.
“Yep. Advancing. Retreating. Riding in formation. Your weapons will be lots more effective from horseback.” Jools, Frida, and Turner were all paying attention now. “I’ve done a lot of reading on the subject. Even practiced some of the moves. It’s kind of a hobby of mine.”
“Like, battle reenactments?” Turner said, even more interested.
“Yeah. I never th
ought I’d actually be in a battle, though.”
“I second the motion,” Jools said. “I’m not much for putting myself in harm’s way, but I could be your man at the war table,” he offered.
“Think you boys could teach me to ride?” Frida asked. “I’ve always wanted to try.”
“Sure thing,” Rob replied. “Ever been on a horse, you two?” he asked Stormie and Turner. They shook their heads.
“That don’t matter,” Turner assured him. “I can fight off of anything.”
“Same here,” Stormie said.
Rob envied their confidence. “Well, let’s not put the cart before the horse. We’ve got to get mounted first.”
*
Jools and Beckett led the foot soldiers across the plains toward where the strategist had sighted the wild herd. “The other horses are less likely to run off if they see Beckett up front,” Rob explained to the group.
To pass the time, Stormie entertained everyone with stories of her adventures. It seemed as though she’d visited every corner of the world, and—if she were telling the truth—met every villain and lived to tell the tale.
“I don’t get it,” Turner said, perplexed. “How do ya make a living off of gallivanting around playing pick-up-sticks all the time?”
Frida elbowed him. “It’s not always about the money, Meat. Some people have a thirst for life.”
“And a thirst for cash,” Stormie confessed. “I track what I see. Mineral deposits. Good farmland. Terrain best avoided.”
“Anyone paying attention sees that stuff,” Turner argued. “Who’d trade good emeralds for a bubble of common knowledge?”
Stormie pulled a flat parchment out of her inventory. “It’s called a map, Meat. And it’s worth a lot of scratch.”
Jools brought Beckett to a halt, and they all crowded around her to see the map she’d crafted.
Frida wrinkled her green brow. “Now that looks useful. See this X, Turner? That means You are here.”
He scowled. “I know how maps work.” He flicked the page with his thumb and forefinger. “And you don’t get to call me Meat,” he said, glaring at Stormie.
