Battalion Banished Read online

  “And Judge Tome . . .” she said. “Now there’s a man who holds his cards close.”

  “Hiding something?” Rob asked.

  “Ain’t we all?” Stormie murmured.

  Frida wiped her wet face with a fist. “I’m not too worried about him. I have a feeling we’ll get to know the judge when he’s good and ready.”

  Just then, Ocelot dropped her shoulder and darted off to the side, nearly unseating the vanguard. The mare skittered a few steps before Frida got her under control and back into line.

  “What was that about?” Turner wondered.

  The next moment, an ominous rumble carried across the plains.

  “Thunder!” Stormie said.

  A bright flash ripped across the sky, emphasizing how dark it had become without their notice. Ocelot spun in her tracks an instant before another thunderclap shook the ground. Rob cocked his head, measuring the moments. Then lightning snaked across the sky.

  “Did ya see where that hit?” Turner asked, worried.

  “Never mind that!” Another lightning bolt flashed, and Rob counted the seconds between it and the next roll of thunder. “It’s getting closer!”

  *

  Sensitive Ocelot had predicted the electrical thunderstorm and reacted to their unprotected location. As the sole high points on the prairie, they were sitting ducks for a strike. In his old life, Rob had come across whole herds of cattle that had died on the range from just such a disaster. He knew that the next few minutes could decide their fate. “We’ve got to run for cover!”

  Stormie had studied the map that Rafe had sent them. “There’s a roofed forest to the east . . . this flower forest is closest, though. Dead ahead, Captain.”

  But the flower forest would hold pockets of trees, big and small, that would still have great odds of inviting a strike. What they wanted was cover of uniform height, Rob thought. Now all of the horses were on edge, fighting their riders. Poor Rat tossed his head high, unable to do anything else to convey his panic, loaded down as he was with cart and chests.

  “It’s the roofed forest we want,” Rob announced. “Run!”

  Cavalry protocol was forgotten in the pell-mell race toward the dark, canopied forest. Armor charged ahead, with Ocelot at his shoulder. Frida simply gave the mare her head, while Duff snatched at the bit and took control from his green rider. Rob had the presence of mind to pull his sword and cut Rat’s lead rope off at the halter, freeing him to follow the others, cart bouncing as he ran.

  With thunder blasting and lightning driving wicked stakes of bright light into the ground around them, it seemed to take forever to reach the roofed forest boundary. At last, they galloped through a sheet of rain and beneath the covering arms of oak trees and giant mushrooms that appeared black in the stormy gloom. Armor, Ocelot, and Saber made it, followed closely by Duff. Their riders reined to a stop, listening for the sound of hooves and the rolling cart, willing Rat to follow his herd mates. Saber let loose a desperate whinny, which must have told the packhorse where they’d gone. The next moment, he pushed into the dark confines, his cart still miraculously in tow.

  Wet, shaking, but intact, the horses and riders caught their breaths.

  “Look out for spiders!” Frida warned, waving at cobweb curtains that hung from the trees and fully covered some mushrooms.

  “That was a close one,” Rob said, just as the sound of jittering bones heralded a mob of skeletons that had spawned a few blocks away.

  “Sweet mother of Ender pearl!” Turner swore, drawing his bow with one hand and arrows with the other, since Duff was ignoring the reins anyway. The first wave of skeletons was dispatched singlehandedly.

  “Troops! Dismount to fight on foot. We’ll only get balled up in here.”

  “Ten-four, Captain,” Stormie acknowledged. “You hold them off. We’ll take ’em out!”

  He had collected Rat so he wouldn’t try to run off, but holding the packhorse and Saber both made Rob a prime target, unable to do more than wave his weapon. He watched helplessly as his friends displayed their boldness with sword and bow. When the skeletons grew closer and their aim grew worse, Turner and Stormie shot them with unerring ease. A small band of zombies got Frida’s attention, and her old diamond sword cut two of them to ribbons before it broke.

  “Turner!” she yelled, and he threw her an iron axe.

  She put her family’s signature spiral defense move into play, whirling with the drawn axe that sliced through the wall of zombies like a circular saw.

  Then Stormie noticed a creeper moving toward them. In the half-light, she could make out an unusual halo of blue particles cloaking the short-fused mobster. “Battalion! Duck!”

  The creeper had been electrified by a bolt of lightning and wandered into the forest for cover. When it neared Stormie, it started to hiss, blue sparks flying as its body enlarged. The growth sent the creeper into an overhanging cobweb, where it struggled with the resident spider for a moment. This gave the adventurer a few critical seconds to retreat and dive to the ground before the charged creature detonated.

  BOOM! The blast pattern showered the players with mushroom chunks and ripped open the tree canopy.

  Sunlight broke through the hole in the forest roof. A straggler skeleton looked up and squinted. Then it burst into flame, burned, and sizzled away to nothing. The storm had passed, and sunshine smiled sweetly as though the downpour and skirmish had never happened.

  “I don’t like rain,” Turner grumbled, patting himself down to make sure all his parts were still in place.

  “Second that,” Stormie said, bending down to pick up bits of zombie flesh, carrots, bones, and the spider’s head. She came back to where she’d ground-tied Armor and fed him three carrots. “Good boy,” she said sincerely, and then, trying to keep things light, asked, “Now, y’all: Where were we when we were so rudely interrupted?”

  “We were about to shake down a farmer for pumpkins,” Rob answered, putting a foot in Saber’s stirrup and preparing to exit the forest. “That’ll be a piece of cake after all this. Battalion Zero: Let’s ride!”

  *

  The horses and riders retraced their steps to the plains border. Even Turner was awed into silence at the sight of lightning-induced craters in the grassy terrain and the shattered pieces of one of the supply chests that Rat had been hauling. Their destination in the flower forest could not have been more welcome, or reached too soon.

  The grass gradually receded, making life easier for Armor’s and Duff’s riders and revealing a carpet of colorful posies. Here, the oak trees climbed up and down earthen terraces, and hedges divided the landscape like a maze. Saber wiggled beneath his saddle, begging Rob for his head. The horse loved to jump, but Rat’s cart and harness dictated that they find alternate routes around the obstacles. At last, they reached a flatter clearing and an inviting, blue lake.

  Stormie spotted a broad swath of orderly crop rows. “Farm, ho, squadron!”

  Upon closer inspection, the visitors saw that the farm was built on two levels, for double the growth potential. The lake had been tapped with a long ditch to irrigate the plots. Movement in a patch of vines suggested someone was working there, so the group rode in that direction.

  “Hello on the ground!” Stormie called, so as not to startle the farmer.

  An ancient-looking woman peeked out of the leaves and straightened up, stretching a kink from her back. “Welcome,” she greeted them, waving a hoe. She wore a wide, orange hat and green coveralls. A string of pumpkin seeds hung from her neck.

  Rob tossed Rat’s lead rope to Turner and urged Saber forward. “We—we’re here about the, you know . . . payment,” he said awkwardly, producing Bluedog’s card. He observed the successful garden operation and sighed softly. At least she could afford the extortionist’s fee.

  The old farmer gave a wide grin, showing teeth as large as the seeds in her necklace. “Well, isn’t that nice?” she said in earnest, dusting off her hands. Then she noticed their soaked skins. “But
you’re all as wet as hens from that rain. Come on up to the house, and we’ll settle accounts.”

  The troopers eyeballed one another. Frida gave Rob a wordless okay, and he reined Saber behind the woman, whose swift pace belied her age.

  “Now that the storm is over, isn’t it a lovely day?” she said over her shoulder, leading them toward a whitewashed farmhouse made of dirt blocks. “The tulips are blooming, and the allium are just coming on, you’ll notice.” She pointed to some flowers that resembled exploding dandelions.

  At the house, she waved them toward a small mountain of pumpkins that had been set aside. “I know you’re probably in a hurry, and I didn’t want you to have to wait for me to pick these. Do you want me to load them in your cart?”

  “No, no!” Rob said. “Don’t bother. Turner?”

  “Oh, sure, let me do the grunt work.” He climbed down from Duff and started heaving pumpkins into the chest.

  “It’s no bother at all,” said the old woman, hustling up to help him.

  They filled the box that had survived Rat’s race with the lightning, and the farmer asked, “Don’t you want some more?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am,” Rob said. “We’ve just the one chest. That’ll be plenty.”

  She wiped her palms on her coveralls. “Well, that’s fine and dandy. I am so grateful for the protection from those horrible griefer people. Do you think it’s safe to be out in the open?” She glanced at the horizon.

  “We haven’t seen any of Lady Craven’s gang out this way,” Frida reassured her. “But we do have to get back to camp before dark.”

  “Thank you so much for the harvest. We’ll see that Bluedog gets it,” Rob said politely.

  The woman clucked. “Can’t you stop and rest a spell? I’ve just baked some pie.”

  “Why, thank you kindly,” Turner blurted out. “Don’t mind if we do.”

  Frida cut him a look, and Rob’s smile strained as he went along with the private. It wouldn’t do to squabble in front of the farmer.

  So they tied their horses and went inside the farm kitchen for plates of pumpkin pie, with Turner accepting a second helping. Then they bade the gracious woman good-bye, remounted, and turned back toward the savanna.

  “Sheesh,” Rob said as they trotted across the plains. “I feel awful taking crops from that nice old lady.”

  “Especially for the likes of Bluedog,” Stormie added.

  “Who knows what he’s doing with all the loot he collects,” Frida said bitterly. He probably wasn’t distributing it to the poor villagers in Spike City or Kim’s friends back on the sunflower plains, who could all use some extra food.

  “Be still my bleeding heart,” Turner taunted his sympathetic friends. “Weren’t you all fished in. That there farmer looks to be doing just fine. In fact, I swiped a couple extra pies from the windowsill for good measure.”

  Rob stared at him. Did the man have no shame?

  “. . . to—er, share with the others, when we get back,” Turner lied.

  This sent Frida over the edge. “You are the most selfish person on the planet!” Survival was one thing, greed was another. She galloped back to Rat’s cart, pulled a torch from her inventory, and crafted a jack-o’-lantern. Then she rode forward and jammed it on Turner’s head. “There! Now at least Endermen can stand the sight of you.”

  CHAPTER 9

  BACK AT THEIR SAVANNA CAMP, DE VRIES HAD outdone himself. The pumpkin brigade arrived to find a red carpet stretched between the horse corral and the front door of the cliff dwelling, where torches burned merrily.

  “A fella could get used to this,” Turner said, turning Duff out with the mule and the rest of the horses and stepping regally onto the carpet.

  Stormie nudged Frida. “Just what he needs—an ego boost.”

  The survivalist frowned. “Captain! Isn’t this a little . . . obvious for a hideout?” She took up an edge of the rug and began rolling it up.

  “Maybe De Vries just can’t help himself,” Rob said.

  “Well, you rein him in!” She handed him the carpet cylinder and marched past him into the house. Then she stepped back outside, blew out the torches, and went back in.

  Doesn’t he get it? Frida couldn’t believe how careless the commander was—and now Stormie and Turner were becoming just as soft and lazy. Deadly forces were against them; Frida had seen that firsthand. Catering to these tourists was going to get them all killed.

  Rowdy voices came from one end of the structure. Everyone was gathering in the common area, so Frida turned in the other direction and walked down the hall. This place had twice as many rooms as the plateau house, and they were twice as large, with multicolored tile on the floors. The bedrooms each had a nametag on the door, so Frida let herself into her chamber. This time, De Vries had crafted a bed, and Crash had chopped an extra square out of the wall for a brick fireplace. It held a bucket of lava that cast a red-orange glow across the room. There was an easy chair and a cabinet for personal inventory items. None of these wasteful furnishings were as bad as the glass panes set into the exterior wall.

  Only an idiot puts windows in a secure shelter! Frida grumbled. Perhaps her first impression of the brother-and-sister building team had been too generous.

  Am I losing my touch? Running with the battalion had made her rely on the judgment of others—a dangerous luxury. Frida felt her gut tighten, and a longing for her jungle life swept over her. Had she given up too much for this insane quest? If only she could consult Xanto and her mother, Gisel. They would know what to do. Hungry and tired, Frida tossed her leather cap on the bed and headed for the kitchen to find something to eat.

  De Vries had designed a great room to accommodate cooking, crafting, and dining. Mutton roasted in the furnace, and something green bubbled on Jools’s brewing stand. Kim was showing Crash how to craft a protective collar for her wolf form, and Stormie had sat down at the long table with a wool canvas and some dyes to paint a landscape scene. Judge Tome snuggled in a corner chair, reading with outstretched arms.

  “What’s for dinner?” Rob asked as he and Turner came in and sat on either side of Stormie at the dining table.

  “Don’t you have a nose?” Frida asked sourly, slumping down next to the captain. He ignored her, intrigued by Stormie’s painting. The two discussed her inspiration for the artwork more intimately than Frida cared to witness.

  Jools soon left his potions, and the rest of the team members put their pastimes aside and assembled to share slabs of mutton and roasted vegetables. Turner grudgingly brought out the pumpkin pies from his inventory for dessert.

  “How did the job go?” Kim asked. So, Rob and Stormie related their encounter with the poor, old farmer.

  “Enough of this sob story!” Turner complained. “It’s business, pure and simple. Can’t we talk about something more . . . interesting?”

  “I know,” said Jools. “Stormie, let’s hear about the time you mined your way through the Nether and came out the other side. I heard you didn’t even need a portal.”

  Crash turned to Stormie with admiration in her eyes.

  “Wow! How’d you do that?” De Vries asked.

  “Well, I just grabbed a diamond pickaxe in either hand and went to work,” Stormie said. “Straight down, no turning back.”

  Rob’s jaw went slack. “But how did you fight off mobs?”

  Stormie chuckled. “I crafted a mirror out of some glass and gold that I had smelted down and stuck it on my helmet to get a rear view. When I saw a ghast or a magma cube coming my way, I let a pickaxe fly backwards. Never even stopped digging till I came out on the other side of the Overworld.”

  Frida made a rude sound with her mouth. “That’s bogus! Nobody can mine through bedrock, let alone two layers.”

  “I’d been working out,” Stormie insisted.

  Rob’s mouth hung open so long that a stream of drool pooled on his plate.

  Frida jabbed him hard with an elbow. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Captain.” />
  “I like a fit woman,” Turner said, obviously buying the tall tale. “When it comes to muscle, brains, or luck, I’ll take muscle anytime.”

  “What is that, like Rock-Paper-Scissors?” Jools quipped.

  Turner grunted. “Way I play, rock beats scissors and paper, if I hit you hard enough with it.”

  “Guess that’s why they call you Meat,” Frida said, pushing back from the table and walking out.

  *

  Group life began to wear on Frida through the next day as she rode out behind Stormie and Armor. She could swear the adventurer was taunting her by the way she sat in the saddle—shoulders back in a cocky stance, chest puffed out in front of her.

  Turner pushed up from behind, letting Duff get close enough to Ocelot’s rump to provoke a warning kick. Can’t he ever lay off? Frida thought, her appreciation for horses’ claim to personal space increasing. She wished she wore iron-rimmed shoes to use on the mercenary when she needed to send a forceful message.

  “Hold up, guys,” Rob called from behind. He had slowed down as they closed in on the plains coordinates they sought, allowing Saber to dawdle and little Rat to snatch at grass along the way.

  “This route seems awfully familiar,” he said when they’d caught up. He scanned the terrain ahead, where a darker patch of wavy vegetation indicated a wheat farm. “I think . . . no, I’m sure it’s the farmer’s place that I passed by with the others. When we saw Precious and her gang run off with his horses, we chased ’em and herded ’em over to our shelter.”

  “That worked out,” Turner said without remorse.

  “I’ve been meaning to repay the man with a few emeralds, but I didn’t think we’d be meeting like this.”

  “Ain’t your fault, Captain,” Stormie soothed him.

  Turner raised his voice. “Will you stop with all the conscience stuff? Don’t never feel sorry fer doing business,” he lectured them.

  “You okayed the job,” Frida reminded Rob. “Let’s do it.”