by Nancy Osa
The squadron’s shock at seeing their fallen comrade again had to take a backseat to the more pressing crisis. “Where’s Turner?” Rob shouted. “I think we’re in for a fight.”
Turner’s absence would not be appreciated.
“How’d you get those horses?” Frida asked.
“How do you think!” Rob snapped. “We stole ’em.”
CHAPTER 3
JOOLS OPENED A CHEST THAT SAT IN A CORNER OF the hut and supplied everyone with wooden axes. “These were all we had the time and materials to craft,” he said, apologizing.
“Battle stations!” Rob cried. “We’ve got to safeguard the horses.”
Rob, Jools, Kim, Frida, and Stormie spilled back out the door just as a posse of three riders on two horses and a mule clattered up to the corral.
“Shove off! You’re outnumbered.” Rob brandished his axe at the squadron’s pursuers. The other battalion members crowded around him.
The posse’s leader pushed a leather cap back on her forehead and snorted. “Youse outgunned!” she said, patting her modified crossbow and nodding toward her equally armed cohorts. “Let them hosses go. We come by ’em fair and square.” She frowned. “Well, square, anyhow.”
“We saw you rustle those mounts from that farmer!” Kim shouted, accusing the surly woman.
“They was . . . payment!”
“Payment for what? A shipment of ugly?” Jools taunted.
“Why I oughtta—” The woman drew her crossbow.
Thwank! A stone axe sailed from behind and knocked the crossbow out of her hand. The other two riders fumbled for their weapons.
“Drop ’em!” Turner called, stepping from behind a tree. When the mounted men didn’t comply fast enough, Turner grasped the axe he was carrying at either end and knocked one man to the left and the other to the right, out of their saddles and onto the ground. The mule let out a distinctive bray.
Stormie rushed forward and scooped up the crossbows. Rob retrieved the mule by its bridle and motioned to the other horse. “Mount up and light out!” he ordered the two men on the ground.
They scrambled to their feet and onto the remaining animal, whirling to retreat along with their leader. The troopers of Battalion Zero pelted them with dirt clods.
“We’ll be back!” yelled the leather-clad woman. “Nobody gets the better of Precious McGee!”
Frida watched them ride off. “Looks like you made some new friends while we were gone, Captain.”
Rob shrugged.
“Lucky I had time to craft this.” Turner bent down and pulled his stone axe out of the earth, where it had landed blade first. “You mighta warned us,” he groused.
“Yeah, well, things don’t always go according to plan,” said the cowboy-turned-cavalry commander. He certainly looked the part of the wrangler in his leather riding chaps, vest, and Western-style shirt. “I’m going by one rule right now: don’t take from honest villagers.”
“But taking from those who take from the villagers is acceptable,” Jools clarified with only a hint of irony.
Once the horses were secured and everyone had calmed down, they could turn their attention to celebrating the reunion with Stormie. Kim hugged her. Jools saluted. Rob coughed and backed off a pace when she tried to embrace him. “Nice to see you, Artilleryman,” he said.
As they caught up with Stormie on what had happened since the Battle of Zombie Hill, Turner handed out some pickaxes he’d crafted. They all reentered the stone hut and worked at widening the back wall, which was part of a natural cave. The horses would need to come inside once it got dark out, to protect them from any hostile predators . . . including human ones.
Frida had to admit that she enjoyed being with her friends, chatting and plotting and acting with a common purpose once more. They used some of the coal that Colonel M had given them and wood that Turner had felled to craft torches to illuminate the cavern. Kim lit the furnace and cooked some beef to snack on. Jools collected useful cobblestone and ore that they chipped away, and, just like that, the battalion was once more on solid footing. Although Frida had often faced starvation, she was especially relieved to have avoided it now that the gang was all together again. Death and respawning was another pesky threat that came with running in groups. They had been incredibly lucky to meet up with Stormie again. They could have become separated forever.
The Overworld traveler’s good fortune, however, had not been complete. Stormie had been unable to reclaim the inventory she’d dropped back in the extreme hills. The loss of her map would be felt the most keenly.
“Reckon I’ll just start over,” she said when Frida brought up the subject. “Terrain intelligence is always worth money, especially out on the fringes.”
Rob noted that they’d need gems to repay the wheat farmer for his animals and for a steady supply of hay. “What’ve you got left after your trip to the grocery store, Sergeant Major?” he asked Turner.
Their ore stash would only pay for one more food run or some small weaponry trades. They’d hit a small pocket of iron that could be used to craft a few helmets or chest plates but not enough to armor the whole battalion.
“We’ll divide into squadrons for the risky stuff, then,” Rob said. “Turner, you’ll ride with Frida and Stormie, in charge of B Squadron. Kim will head A Squadron, subject to my orders. We’ll trade off, one unit acting as tour guides, and the other working at such jobs as we come by.”
“We’ve got a line on employment,” Frida reported. “Where are we going to find these tourists to act as cover?”
Rob grinned. “That’s your first official duty, B Squadron. As soon as we’re shored up here in camp, we’ll visit Spike City to fulfill both missions. You’re to be commended for your advance work, Vanguard.”
Frida was touched that Rob had recognized her in front of the troops. She knew her skills made her a valuable member of the team. But that also might make it difficult to secure a leave of absence to attend her family gathering.
Instinctively, her hand went to the back of her neck, and she rubbed her tattoo. She wondered how her mother, sisters, and aunts were surviving in the increasingly dangerous Overworld. Perhaps they were staying away from the biome boundaries.
That didn’t make them free, though, and Frida had vowed to battle the griefer army until they were free once more. I could really use some advice from old Xanto, she thought grimly. She decided that, one way or another, she would be at her family’s survivalist rally.
*
The reunited friends lost track of the hour. By the time they had finally enlarged their structure to accommodate the livestock, dusk had fallen. They went outside together, Turner’s squadron armed to protect Kim’s unit, as they led the animals into the shelter. The move proved fortunate.
A mob of zombies tottered out of the trees and spied them. “Uuuuhh . . . ooohhh!” The threatening groans turned to moans of defeat at the hands of Turner and Stormie, who had to whack at the monsters over and over for their wooden swords to do damage. Frida hung back, escaping the worst of the smell as she watched for other hostiles. She darted forward to pick up what the zombies dropped when they were neutralized. Carrots, potatoes, rotten flesh, and some used chainmail armor went into the communal war chest, while she kept the knowledge of her mob-repellant pendant to herself.
After putting their mounts in the fortified cave, Rob, Jools, and Horse Master Kim made a second trip to collect the new horses and mule.
But Frida sighted another green-skinned intruder. “Creeper coming! Run, gang!” she called. Sticks and swords would do them no good against the exploding creature. She calculated the distance between them and the creeper, acting as a decoy as long as she could stay out of range. Then she turned tail and escaped to the cave entrance, just as the mobster blew up on the edge of the corral.
“Well, now we’ve got a bigger horse pen,” she quipped, slipping inside after the others and slamming the wooden door shut.
They used the evening to mine and
make plans. No one had a bed to sleep in, anyway.
“Maybe that farmer has some sheep,” Kim said.
“Suppose we die before getting any wool to make beds,” Jools remarked. “What will our rendezvous position be upon respawn?”
Frida told everyone about her brother’s church in the big village. “Rafe will take us in,” she said. “And a priest is good cover for any . . . undercover activities that might cause our deaths.”
“Good point,” Rob agreed. “If you die and respawn, we’ll meet up at the church in Spike City. Use the Nether if you need to cross boundaries to get there. Colonel M said he’d be on the lookout for us.”
Frida trusted the First War veteran implicitly, which was more than she could say for her brother. But she didn’t mention her misgivings to the rest of the battalion. She would sort Rafe out soon enough. In the meantime, their few remaining gems would be enough to buy his hospitality, if need be.
“We’ll go see him tomorrow,” Frida said, offering to introduce Rob to the cleric to negotiate their first job. Meanwhile, she and Stormie would sign up their first tourists. Turner would be nearby, in case there was any trouble.
“So, who should we be looking for, Captain?” Stormie asked.
“Anyone who’s not trouble,” Rob said. “We want folks who can pay, number one, and skilled travelers, number two. Find people who can do what we don’t have time for—mining, building, crafting. . . .”
“Plenty of them in that city,” Turner noted.
“Try and be selective,” Jools said. “Avoid the low types.” He eyed Turner. “We’ve got one of those already.”
“Enough, you two,” Rob said. “That’s why I’m putting Frida on the job. She’ll vet any applicants for soundness. It’d be nice to sign up a librarian or someone with legitimate credentials, to make us appear law abiding.”
Stormie nodded. “Someone reputable, then.”
“However foreign that might be to us,” Jools murmured, and ducked as Turner threw a potato at him.
*
They set out for the city the next day, all except Kim, who stayed behind to keep tabs on the new horses and mule. “Bring me back a present!” she called.
Once in town, Frida left Rob and Jools to speak with Rafe about work, and Turner to make trades, while she and Stormie advertised their travel service. They set up a station at the village well, which would get all kinds of foot traffic, and began calling out to passersby.
“Seasoned guides, reasonable rates!” barked Stormie.
“Fast horses, expert escorts,” cried Frida.
A few people expressed curiosity in riding with their group, but they weren’t the type the captain had in mind. “I think you’d be happier with another guide,” Frida said to a woman who had nothing to trade and, again, to a little boy who appeared to be running away from home.
At last, a couple of players made the grade—a teenage brother-and-sister pair who were exploring the Overworld, searching for a place to settle down and start a new life. The girl was a miner and the boy, a builder. They might have spawned somewhere near Jools’s starting point, as they had a similar translucent skin and light hair coloring. Their practical safari-style clothing and comfortable slip-on shoes were appropriate for long-term travel.
“Names?” Frida demanded.
“I’m De Vries,” replied the young man in a lilting voice, “and this is my sister, Crash.” He offered three emeralds as a down payment. Crash threw in a diamond pickaxe.
“Any objections to riding with an armed battalion? Our first loyalty is to our cause of defending the Overworld; your wishes come second.”
Not only did the two not object, they seemed quite interested in Battalion Zero’s campaign against Lady Craven and her griefers. They passed Frida’s white-hot scrutiny and went off to buy supplies.
She and Stormie kept at it and got a few more serious inquiries from prospects that Frida ultimately deemed incompatible with their mission.
Then an older gentleman walking by responded to Stormie’s pitch. His hair was white with gray around the edges, and his skin was a rich brown. He wore a tailored cloak and carried a briefcase. “I’m looking to make a circuit with a reliable outfit,” he said.
“Can you pay up front?” Frida asked, scanning his face for any hint of falseness.
“Of course.”
“Destination?”
“Unknown. That is, I haven’t decided yet.”
“What have you got to trade?” Stormie pressed.
He handed her two emeralds and fished in his briefcase. “I don’t know if you can use them or not, but I do have these.” He handed her a book and a ring. “I won’t be needing them anymore.”
“Principles of Law,” she read. “And a United Biomes of the Overworld ring. You a judge?”
“Was,” he acknowledged. “I’m pursuing a new career.”
“Anybody pursuing you?”
“Not that I know of.” He smiled.
A shadow fell on him from behind. “Is this fella bothering you?” Turner asked gruffly.
Frida rose. “Not at all. In fact, he appears to be the soul of reason.”
“Thank you, young lady,” the judge said. “Now, when do we depart?”
“In some kind of hurry?” Turner probed.
The man studied Turner’s weathered face and the colorful tattoos on the rest of his exposed skin. “Tempus fugit, son.”
“Well, I don’t know what that means, but the sun’s going down already. Time sure flies when you’re having fun.”
They relayed the battalion mission and their rules, then agreed to meet Judge Tome, as he said his name was, and the other tourists at the well after sunup the next day. Then the troopers of B Squadron made their way to the chapel to see how their counterparts had fared.
“All set!” Rob said, slapping his thighs. “Rafe, here, has hooked us up with a guy named Bluedog who acts as a moneylender around these parts.”
“Collection job?” Turner asked.
“Nope.”
“Too bad. I’m good at persuading deadbeats to pay their bills.” He flexed both biceps, causing his ink drawings of the mesa and desert biomes to ripple.
The purple-robed cleric stepped in to explain. “It’s the supply train job I was telling you about. All you have to do to get your cut is ride along behind it as it comes down the mountain, yonder.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Stormie said.
“Yeah, but what’ll be behind us?” Frida asked.
Rafe looked away. “Well, now. That’s what you get paid to find out, isn’t it?”
The troops were pumped about the prospects of work and income from the tourist business. “Playing travel guide’ll give me a chance to work on my map,” Stormie said as they headed back down the main packed-ice street on horseback.
“Playing bodyguard’ll give me a chance to work on my wallet,” Turner countered.
“Our wallet,” Rob reminded him. “We share the inventory.”
“Well, I hope there’s something left over for the sergeant at arms,” Turner grumbled. “Poor guy’s gotta do all the hard work—bodyguarding, weapons crafting, and playing squadron babysitter. . . .”
Stormie and Frida glared at him. “We’re the ones that got you paying jobs,” Frida said.
“Yeah, Meat,” Stormie goaded him. “Tough girls with pretty faces’ll get more notice than just another killer-for-hire any day.” She smiled sweetly. “In fact, I think you should buy us some flowers for setting you up with paid work.”
Frida nodded at the town’s farm stand, where colorful bouquets were for sale. “And while you’re at it, buy a bunch for Kim. We promised to bring her a present.”
CHAPTER 4
YEARS EARLIER
YOUNG FRIDA CREPT THROUGH THE JUNGLE, ALL senses on alert. Someone was following her, and learning whether he, she, or it was friend or foe could spell the difference between life and death. She turned left at a fork in the path, went a ways, and set a
trip wire made of spider string. Then she doubled back through the underbrush, taking the path to the right this time. She tied a sapling to her waist and let it drag on the ground behind her, erasing her footprints as she moved on. If she didn’t shake her shadower, she could kiss her freedom ceremony good-bye.
Everything she had done in her life had prepared her for this moment. Learning to track, forage, and camouflage herself . . . spending nights alone, with no shelter and few weapons . . . mastering trap setting and trickery to foil enemies. . . . Every skill had the same purpose—to allow her to survive on her own.
When she’d gone far enough to hide her whereabouts, she fell back again to the fork in the path and listened. Eyeing the ground, she saw two sets of footprints. Whoever was out there had followed her false tracks. Now she could become the hunter instead of the prey.
She crept ever so softly forward. A few moments passed, and she anticipated the sound of a body falling over her trip wire. Instead, she heard a click and froze. She’d stepped on a disguised pressure plate. Game over.
“You died!” came a female voice through the trees, echoed by several more.
The orchestrators ventured into the open and surrounded Frida, one of them reaching down to deactivate the plate, which could have powered any number of deadly devices to achieve her end.
Everything went foggy. Now Frida heard giggles and felt slender hands lifting her limp body off the harmless platform. What’s this? I failed miserably, and no one is calling me on it?
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, but the other girls and women ignored her anguish.
“Congratulations, daughter,” Frida’s mother said, patting her shoulder. Gisel shared the smooth, olive-green skin and shiny, dark hair of her offspring. They looked like a mirror image when they kissed. “You have earned your freedom, little one.”
“I . . . did?” Frida had been so intent on the exercise that she now found it hard to relax her taut muscles. As the sweat dried and her vision cleared, she tried to understand what her mother was saying. “But . . . you caught me. How could I have passed the test?”