They moved quietly through the spruce forest, Watcher following the small scratches and dents left behind in the ground by the spiders’ sharp claws. The villagers walked, some leading horses by their reins, allowing the animals and the battle-weary combatants a brief respite.

“So, you’re telling me the spiders attacked the village, all because they were looking for me?” Watcher still couldn’t believe it. “I was hoping all this boy-wizard stuff was over. I don’t want to be a wizard; I just want to be me.”

“We know.” Cutter’s voice wasn’t very convincing . . . In fact, it sounded a little sarcastic.

Watcher glanced at Cutter, annoyed, casting him a questioning gaze. The big NPC flashed him an insincere grin, then turned to Planter, who was now walking at the warrior’s side. Glancing at the two of them out of the corner of his eye, Watcher noticed how close they were to each other, their steps synchronized. He felt something stir in the dark parts of his soul. With an unanswered glare, Watcher turned his attention back to the ground and continued following the monsters’ trail. Why did he say it like that? And why are they walking so close together, whispering?

The big NPC muttered something just out of Watcher’s earshot, causing Planter to laugh. The sight of Planter’s smile brought joy to his heart, but when she glanced at Cutter, the joy in Watcher seemed to turn sour. She had a look of adoration and respect on her beautiful square face, as if Cutter was the greatest person in the world.

Anger and jealousy swirled around within him like a poisonous serpent, its fangs ready to strike at his soul. Everything about Cutter made him mad for reasons he didn’t quite understand: his bulging muscles, his confidence, his fancy armor, his incredible diamond sword . . . he hated it all.

His father put a hand on Watcher’s shoulder. “Did you hear what I said?” Cleric asked, voice soft and calming.

“Ahh . . . no, sorry.”

“I said, one of the spiders that came to the village had poisonous claws.” Cleric stopped walking and turned to face his son.

“You’re saying the spider had poison, just like the one that got me and killed . . .” He didn’t want to finish the sentence.

Cleric nodded gravely.

Watcher lowered his voice. “Did you see the poisoned spider’s face?”

His father shook his head.

“The monster didn’t care if would be hurt by my sword, it just wanted to attack.” Watcher lowered his voice to but a whisper, making sure no one else could hear. “It looked crazed, as if its mind was completely consumed with violence and hatred. I got the impression the spider had no choice; it was compelled to attack and keep attacking, all because of the insanity that had consumed the creature’s mind. These monsters are something new and dangerous to every living thing in the Far Lands. How could a creature become so twisted and evil?”

“I don’t know, son.” Cleric put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But it’s no way to live . . . always being consumed by hate with an unquenchable thirst for violence. You have to pity a creature like that.”

“Yeah,” Watcher agreed.

“The poisoned spider is why we pursued you. We think the spiders are capturing the witches, maybe to make poison for those monsters . . .”

“Or maybe something else,” Mapper suggested, then shrugged.

“If the spiders are collecting the witches, then they’ll have them imprisoned somewhere, right?” Watcher didn’t expect an answer; he was just talking out loud. “If we can find where they’re holding them, then we can. . . . Hey, where’d the trail go?”

He dropped to his hands and knees and ran his fingers across the spotted podzol, frantically searching the ground as if he’d lost something valuable.

“What’s wrong?” Cleric knelt at Watcher’s side.

“The trail . . . it’s gone.” He moved his hands across the ground again, feeling for the telltale signs of the spiders’ passage, but found nothing. He glanced up at his father. “I can’t see where they went. It’s as if they disappeared.”

“What are you saying?” Cutter asked. “The spiders just flew away?”

“I don’t know what happened,” Watcher snapped. “Their trail is just gone. They must have done something we didn’t expect.”

“This is great.” Cutter’s tone was sarcastic again, at least to Watcher.

“Why don’t you come over here and find their trail?” Watcher’s face was red with anger. The fangs of that serpent within him stabbed at his soul.

“No, I’m sure you’ll find it.” Cutter waved a hand, dismissing the offer.

Is he mocking me?

“We need that trail,” Planter said.

“I know that!” Watcher shouted, then cringed. He didn’t mean to shout, but he was so frustrated with Cutter, not to mention scared they might never find the spiders or their lair.

At that moment, the image of Saddler’s face just before she died appeared in the back of his mind. I know you can do it. Save my daughter, please . . . Her last words echoed through his brain.

He glanced at Planter. “Sorry I yelled at you. It’s just that I promised Saddler I’d . . .”

“You promised her you’d save her daughter?” Planter’s green eyes were filled with compassion.

Watcher nodded. “I can’t fail her. Back there in the forest, when I thought there was no hope, I thought I’d failed you as well. That was a terrible feeling I never want to experience again.”

“You need to realize that failure is part of life.” Planter put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You can only do your best.”

“But what if my best isn’t good enough?” He glanced at Cutter, expecting more sarcasm, but found the big warrior silently listening, face hard to read.

“Then you make the best decision you can, and I’ll be there for you.” She moved a little closer, then whispered. “I’ll always be there for you.”

She gave him a strange look he didn’t quite understand, as if she were suggesting—

“So how are we gonna find the spiders now?” Blaster’s voice startled Watcher, making him jump and causing Planter to step back and look away.

“I can only think of one way.” Cutter stepped past Planter, then stood directly in front of Watcher and stared down at the boy. “The zombie warlord’s armor . . . you need to put it on.”

“But last time, it almost killed him,” Planter objected.

“He can handle it, I know it. Besides, it’s the only way.” The towering NPC glanced down at Watcher. “You must do it.”

“No . . . it’s too dangerous.” Planter pushed Cutter aside, then glared at Watcher. “You can’t.”

He sighed. “Cutter’s right, I must.” Watcher gave her a smile. “This is the only way.” Removing his magical iron armor, he set it on the ground, then pulled out the enchanted chainmail he’d taken from the zombie warlord. “Mapper, you have more of those healing potions?”

The old man nodded. “Yep, I’m ready.”

“Okay, here goes.” Watcher slowly lowered the enchanted armor over his head, then settled it onto his shoulders.

Instantly, the armor reached out for his HP. Daggers of pain stabbed at him from all over as his health gave energy to the enchanted chainmail. Closing his eyes, Watcher focused his thoughts on the spiders. A group of black, fuzzy creatures appeared in his mind. They were running across the tops of the tall spruce trees. He smiled. There were far fewer there than had been when they originally attacked; Cleric’s cavalry had inflicted considerable damage.

Moving his thoughts across the landscape, he focused on the monsters’ final destination. A cave materialized in his mind, showing chamber after chamber crawling with spiders. A huge cavern then came into focus in his mind. It was filled with thousands of dark eggs, each covered with bright red spots. Blocks of spiderweb surrounded them, likely to hold the eggs in place and provide some protection. They were all about the same size, which meant they’d likely hatch at the same time.

“Can you see where it is?” Planter asked. She placed a hand on his and squeezed his stubby fingers. The sensation filled him with strength.

I’m not gonna let her down. The pain was intense, like fire spreading across his body and burning away at his flesh, as well as his courage, but with Mapper continually pouring healing potions over him, Watcher could stay alive, even if it was agonizing.

He pulled back his vision, moving away from the spider caves until his mind was floating somewhere outside. Before him was a huge mountain, but not like any other he’d seen before.

The armor tore into his health again . . . agony on top of agony.

The mountain was made of ore: iron, coal, lapis, emerald, gold, redstone, and diamond. A strange purple glow surrounded the cubes like a protective shield; the mountain was enchanted, likely to keep the ore from being taken.

The speckled blocks gave the peak a spotted look, as if it had some kind of multicolored disease. At the foot of the mountain was a gigantic opening leading into the dangerous caves underground.

The pain exploded in his mind again—it was getting worse. He could feel liquid running down his back, but the healing potions couldn’t seem to keep up with the health cost the Mantle of Command demanded. Slowly, his HP was decreasing and decreasing; Watcher was losing the battle.

The image grew blurry. Watcher knew he had to get the enchanted armor off before it was too late. He reached up and tried to lift the sparkling chainmail off his shoulders, but it felt as if it weighed a million pounds.

The armor stabbed at him again, and he fell to his knees, crying out in pain. Focusing on the image, Watcher tried to figure out the location of the mountain, but all he could see around the spotted peak was a sea of stone . . . and then relief finally came as the armor was removed.

Watcher lay on the ground panting, his nerves still screaming at him. Another healing potion smashed against his chest, but this time, the rejuvenating liquid was able to extinguish the flames surging through his body; slowly, his HP returned.

“You came close that time,” Cleric said. “I don’t think using that armor again is a good idea.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Watcher took a flask of red liquid from Mapper and drained the contents. The potion flowed through his body, accelerating the healing process and making it feel as if he was among the living again.

“What did you see?” Planter asked as she took the empty bottle from his hands.

“I saw a mountain of gold.”

“A mountain of gold?” Blaster asked.

“Well . . . not just gold, but every ore in Minecraft.”

“A mountain of jewels . . .” Mapper was lost in thought.

“We need to find that mountain.” Planter stared at Watcher, an expression of determination on her beautiful face. “That’s where all the witches will be held. To save Fencer, we need to rescue them. We must do this . . . for Saddler.”

“But how do we stay ahead of the spiders?” Cleric asked.

“What do you mean?” Mapper sounded confused.

“Somehow, the spiders knew Watcher had been in the savannah village.” He looked at his son. “The spider warlord wants to kill the boy-wizard.”

Watcher nodded, then sighed. “I don’t know how the warlord is doing it, but that spider can see where I am.”

“It’s probably because you’re a wizard,” someone suggested.

“I’m not a wizard!” Watcher snapped.

Cleric put a calming hand on the boy’s shoulder, then spoke in a soothing voice. “What do you mean, son?”

Watcher glanced at Planter and Blaster, then gazed at Cutter and shuddered. They’d come close to being overrun by the spiders, and if it hadn’t been for Cleric and the other villagers, they’d all be dead.

“The spiders were clearly waiting for us,” Watcher said. “They set up a trap, and when the time was right, they lowered themselves down from the treetops and surrounded us. It was a perfect strategy, and should have been successful, except for—”

“Except for us.” Winger’s voice was filled with pride.

“Exactly.” Watcher nodded. “If we’re gonna find the spider lair, and sneak in there without ending up in another trap, we have to move faster than the spiders expect us to.”

“You’re saying we need more horses.” Cleric started pacing back and forth, lost in thought. “But we don’t have enough for everyone. We can only move as fast as the slowest person.”

“Maybe we can put three NPCs on each horse,” Blaster suggested.

“We could leave some people behind,” someone else said.

“Maybe if we . . .” More ideas were being shouted out by the NPCs. Arguments broke out as people debated what to do.

“The villagers need the Horse Lord.” Er-Lan’s voice was weak at first, but then it grew louder. “The villagers need the Horse Lord!”

No one was listening.

“THE VILLAGERS NEED THE HORSE LORD!” Er-Lan yelled, his voice like the thunderous roar of an ender dragon.

Everyone heard him now, and the villagers grew silent, many of them turning wary eyes toward the green creature.

“Er-Lan, what did you say?” Cleric asked.

“Since the Great War, zombie parents tell their children about the Horse Lord.” Er-Lan turned toward Watcher. “There was a time, before the War, when zombies were friends with some wizards. The Horse Lord made zombie horses and gave them to many in the zombie nation. My mother used to love telling the tale.”

“But this Horse Lord is obviously gone now.” Cutter’s comment sounded like an accusation.

“Cutter is correct, the Horse Lord was killed in the Great War.” The villagers moaned in frustration. “But the Citadel of the Horse Lord is rumored to still exist.”

“What did you say?” Mapper turned to Er-Lan. “What did you call it?”

“The Citadel of the Horse Lord. That is where they made the first zombie horses before the Great War. It was—”

“I’ve heard that name before.” Mapper pulled out a book from his inventory.

“What’s that?” Cleric asked.

“I’ve been copying things from old books stored in the many libraries around the Far Lands, especially the Library of Alexandria.” The old man pulled a stack of books from his inventory and dropped them on the ground. He knelt and looked through the tomes until he found the one he wanted. Opening the pages, he quickly flipped through it, searching for something specific. “I wrote down a section about the Citadel, but never really understood what it meant. I thought it was a—a misspelling.” He laughed, then stopped turning the pages and stared into the book. “Here . . . it says, ‘The Citadel is the mane place, the Citadel is the mane place.’ The book repeated that phrase over and over. I thought the word mane was misspelled, but now I understand what they were saying.”

“Mapper, what are you talking about?” Watcher asked, confused.

The old man moved next to a large white horse and reached up to the creature’s neck. “The hair along the animal’s neck . . . that’s called a mane.” He paused for a moment, waiting for the others to get it, then sighed. “The Citadel is where you find animals with a mane . . . that’s horses!”

“Great, but that doesn’t help us,” Cutter said. “We still don’t know where this Citadel is located.”

“Oh, haha, but we do.” Mapper put away the book and pulled out a map. He unfolded the parchment and placed it on the ground. “We’re here, in this mega taiga biome. You see this symbol here.” He pointed a red dot at the center of a huge “U”. “That’s the Citadel. And now that I see it, the shape around it looks like a hoof print . . . I should have seen it long ago. I thought it was—”

“What’s the green surrounding the Citadel?” Watcher pointed at the map.

Mapper held the map close to his eyes. “It says ‘The Sea of Spines.’ I don’t know what that means, but it seems as if we must go through it to get to the Citadel of the Horse Lord.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Blaster said. “The word spine reminds me of the spine of a wither. I hope it’s not a sea of withers.”

“That would be bad,” Planter said.

“Regardless, that’s where we need to go.” Watcher patted Mapper on the back. “Without more horses, we’ll never be able to sneak up on the spider warlord, and I won’t turn back. I made a promise to Saddler, and I’m gonna keep my word.”

Cleric looked at his son with a prideful expression on his face, then put an arm around him and gave him a hug. “Okay then. We’re going to the Sea of Spines.” He glanced at the map, then turned to Watcher. “You’re our leader . . . so lead.”

Watcher glanced at the map, then pulled out a compass to get his bearings. With Needle in his right hand, he took off running in the direction of the Citadel while others mounted their horses and rode double, following him.

Glancing at the forest around him, Watcher still felt as if the spider warlord were somehow still watching. “I have a bad feeling about all this.” His voice was but a whisper. “But we have no choice.”

Pushing aside feelings of doubt and fear, he shifted to a sprint while Saddler’s last words echoed in his mind.