by D. W. Vogel
“Don’t get near the fountain,” Treffen advised, and Gawain took a step back.
They stood in the square, looking around at the devastation.
“Who would do this?” Treffen knew the answer even as he spoke.
“The Betrayer. The Forgotten King.”
“But he’s been locked up for hundreds of years.”
Gawain nodded with a creak of armor. “He has. But his forces grow. He spawns soldiers directly from the Dark Reaches. I wouldn’t have imagined they’d come this far from the Downs.”
Treffen sniffed again. “This whole place is toxic.” He patted the pouches of the Deeproot leaf powder on his belt. “I don’t have enough by myself. I’ll need to get more.” What he carried was enough to cleanse the poison in the water supply, but the whole town needed the Deeproot’s healing.
Something crashed behind them, tinkling glass on wood.
Treffen nocked an arrow, and Gawain drew his sword with a sharp ring of steel.
Someone was still here.
Chapter 10: The Search
They crept around the side of the line of burned buildings. The ones on this side of the street were in better shape than those behind them, and they peered through open windows and doors.
Crash.
The second noise allowed them to focus, and with wordless agreement, Treffen crouched low. He duckwalked forward, peeking around the edge of the last building on the street.
Something moved in one of the shops across the way. He couldn’t make out what it was, but it looked enormous.
He backed up and whispered to Gawain. “Something is there. Could be a survivor.”
“Or an invader.” At Gawain’s nod, they moved into the street. Treffen ducked under the front window of the building, which looked to have been an apothecary shop, while Gawain flattened himself against the wall.
Holding his bow and arrow in one hand, Treffen reached behind him. He held up three fingers where Gawain could see them. Lowering them one by one, he counted down.
Together they pounced into the store.
A huge tree-beast popped up from behind the counter. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”
Gawain paused, sword raised, and Treffen’s hands stilled on his taut bowstring. What’s a Treant doing in a burned-out town?
The Treant’s branches trembled, waving above its woody face. Brown leaves scraped against the ceiling, fluttering down around the beast’s roots.
“Who are you, and what is your business here?” Treffen had never heard a commanding voice like that from Gawain.
“I live here,” the Treant said. “They killed everyone.”
Treffen looked at Gawain. He had never heard of a Treant living in a village before. The creatures were born of the forest, literally trees made flesh. Its arms were thick branches, and its feet were a nest of roots. This one looked to be of the oak species and would someday be as tall as the building in which it now cowered. Its mold-ridden wood face was a mask of terror.
Treffen lowered his bow. “Why are you here?”
The Treant’s eyes fell. “I live here. Better than the forest. Humans”—his wooden lips stumbled over the word—” humans were nice to me. Now everyone is gone.” The words had the memorized feel of a scripted speech, as though every traveler through this town must have asked the creature why it lived in a village.
Gawain hadn’t lowered his sword. “What were you looking for just now?”
The Treant shrugged. “Anything. Something. Don’t know. But nothing’s left. Everything’s gone.”
The Treant watched Gawain sheath his sword. Treffen returned the arrow to the quiver on his back.
“Have you eaten?” Treffen asked the tree-creature.
“Not hungry,” it replied.
A noise in the doorway made Treffen spin around, reaching for the arrow he’d just replaced.
“Hold fire, good elf.” A hooded figure in gray robes stood in the open doorway. The man’s shadowed face was soot-stained, and he smelled like a wet dog. “I am the mage of this town, and I bid you a poor welcome.”
“Are there more survivors?” Treffen lowered his bow.
The mage entered the room and crossed to the Treant. “Sadly, we’ve found none. Trent and I were foraging in the forest when the invaders came. By the time we saw the smoke, it was far too late. We’ve been searching the town all night, looking for any survivors, but I’m sad to report that we are all that’s left of Stonebridge. They swept through here like a wildfire.”
“Who was it? Could you tell?” Gawain was still using his Knight Voice.
“Billmen,” replied the mage. “Bramble Knights. Nether Elves.” He glanced at Treffen.
The Ranger hung his head in shame that any of his kind had joined the cause of evil.
“From the Downs?” Gawain asked.
“Most likely.”
The Treant, Trent, had fallen silent, seemingly transfixed by Gawain’s shining silver armor.
Another noise made them all startle. Movement outside.
Treffen was through the door in a flash, arrow nocked. A pale flash zipped between two buildings.
Gawain was beside Treffen in a second, and the mage came close behind. The three crept around the shop where the flash had disappeared.
Treffen was first around the corner. Crouched over a pile of clothing, a pale form whipped around to face him.
The Nether Elf hissed. An elf’s beauty twisted by evil, it was all knobby elbows and sharp features.
Minion of evil. Treffen raised his bow. Can’t let it return to whoever sent it here.
It charged toward Treffen, raising a wicked dagger with dark ichor dripping from the blade. An arrow loosed from the Ranger’s bow stopped it cold. It fell thrashing to the ground, arrow protruding from its neck.
Gawain stepped forward and plunged his sword into the creature’s chest, stilling its jerky movement. They turned to hear the mage muttering behind him, but when the man saw that the enemy was dead, he lowered his hands and stopped his chant.
The Treant peeked from behind the wall. “Is it dead?”
Poor thing is traumatized, Treffen thought. “It’s dead.”
Trent sidled forward, peering through his branches. “You sure?”
Gawain pulled his sword from the dead elf’s chest and wiped it on the creature’s tattered leather armor. He kicked the poisoned dagger from its claws and buried the blade into the ground with a swift stroke. “We’re sure.”
The mage shook his head and looked at Trent. “You should leave this place.” He turned to Gawain and Treffen. “Perhaps these brave warriors would see you safe to another village.”
Gawain shook his head. “We must report back to the Glade about this incursion. And King Jasper must also be informed.”
The mage nodded. “Of course. And when you go, you might also mention that we know where his daughter went.”
“Princess Amethyst?” Gawain raised his visor.
“No, Princess Emerald,” the mage replied. “We received a message from the king the day before the attack that he was looking for her. And we know where she’s gone.”
“Emerald? You’ve seen Emerald?” Treffen looked up from the dead elf on the ground. “Where did she go?”
The mage clucked his tongue. “We tried to stop her. She passed through our village just a week ago. Said she was following a lead on her missing sister. She said she was going to Lordship Downs.”
Chapter 11: A New Friend
Treffen’s blood chilled at the words. “Lordship Downs? Why would she ever go in that place?”
The mage shrugged. “She believed her sister had gone there. Maybe to try and kill the King-in-Shadow?”
Treffen had never heard him called that, but it certainly fit. The Betrayer’s prison was in the deepest bowel of the ruined fortress. He shuddered at the thought of his old friend Emerald in that evil place. “I have to find her.”
&nb
sp; “No, Ranger, you don’t.” The mage shook his head, cowled in its hood. “You must inform the Glade. They will send help, while I inform King Jasper.”
The sun had nearly set, and deep shadows crawled across the purple sky. Treffen sighed. “The elves will do nothing. Emerald is like one of our own, and she was trained as a Ranger. We know the risks, and we travel alone. The elven forces would not be roused even for her. It’s not our way.”
“The Downs are certain death for one entering alone,” the mage said. “I’m sorry to hear that she won’t be returning.”
A cool wind blew through the open doorways around them. It did nothing to chill the rising heat in Treffen’s blood.
“I’m not going to let her die in there alone. I’m going to find her.” He glanced around the dead village. “There’s nothing here that can’t wait. The elves will come and cleanse the land here, and humans will settle and rebuild. But Emerald has been gone . . . what, a week? Two?” He looked to the mage for confirmation. “If that’s really where she went, she’s already there.”
The mage turned to Gawain. “Good Questing Knight, will you also hie to the maiden’s rescue? If you wish to accompany your friend, I will travel to Crystalia Castle alone to inform King Jasper of the loss of our little town and the imminent rescue of his daughter.”
Gawain nodded. “I am a Knight of Crystalia. I will brave the Downs for our princess.”
A breeze blew the sickly, burning stench across Treffen’s nostrils, and his spine prickled a Ranger’s warning. The sooner we’re away from here, the better.
Trent spoke up from behind the mage. “Can I come too? I know the Downs. I could lead you.”
“How do you know the Downs?” Gawain’s voice was sharp.
The Treant lowered his eyes. “I had . . . a bad time. A dark time. I did things. Bad things. But these people here . . .” He looked around the decimated village. “They were nice to me. Now they’re all dead. Nobody left here. So I could go with you.”
Oh, sweet Goddess. Bad enough that I’ve got the armored pedestrian. Now I get the depressed oak tree? Rangers worked alone. They traveled alone and fought alone. How had he ended up in such a strange, annoying party?
The mage answered for them. “Wonderful! It’s settled, then. I will head for Crystalia Castle, and you three will make for the Downs.”
Trent looked so hopeful that Treffen couldn’t possibly disappoint him. “Very well. But we’re not staying here tonight. The stench of this place is turning my stomach.”
The Treant shrugged. “I don’t smell anything.”
On their way through the village square, Treffen paused at the poisoned fountain. He pulled one of the pouches from his belt and dumped the glittering powder into the turbid water, which immediately began to clear. Treffen inhaled the sweet scent, wishing he had enough to cleanse the whole village. “At least whoever comes to resettle this town won’t die from drinking the water.”
* * *
They camped just outside the village in what had been a newly-planted cornfield. The carefully-plowed rows had been torn and defiled, and Treffen sprinkled another of his pouches of Deeproot powder over the tainted earth. If he had been alone, he would have moved farther into the woods before making camp, but neither of his companions were as quiet as he would like. The Nether Elf scout might not be the only one of the Forgotten King’s forces remaining in the area. This open field where they could see danger approaching was much safer.
“I’ll take first watch.” Gawain removed his helmet and set it on the ground beside him.
Treffen lay down, instinctively seeking contact with the soil. But the ground here was not healthy, and he found no comfort from the distant pulse of the Deeproot Tree that called to him even this far from Her Glade.
Clouds rolled past, hiding the stars, and Treffen’s eyes lost focus, staring up at the dark sky. Am I insane? Am I really heading for Lordship Downs? Only the bravest elves ventured near, and some didn’t return. But that’s what Rangers do. We fight the darkness. And if that mage was right, Emerald could already be inside. His stomach turned at the thought.
After a short while, the Treant shifted over to him. “The Questing Knight, what’s his name?”
“Gawain,” Treffen answered. “Gawain . . . Ursinus, I think.”
“And yours?”
“I’m Treffen Cedarbough, Glimmerdusk Ranger.”
“Oh.”
The Treant obviously wanted him to ask, so even though he already knew the answer, he did. “And yours?”
“It’s Trent. Just Trent. Treants don’t have last names.” He seemed sad about that, but Treffen didn’t press.
“How long since you left your home grove?”
Trent shrugged. “Don’t remember, really. A few years. They didn’t like me there.”
“I know what that’s like. I’m a Lunar Elf by birth. My family lives in a cold stone fortress. Mother is a chemist, and Father writes symphonies. Each of them was hoping I’d follow in their footsteps, but I’m not meant for that life. Surrounded by stone.” He breathed in the night air. “Outside, under the stars. My mother was terrified for me when I left the Lunar fortress, heading into the ‘filthy forest’ as she put it, but this is where an elf belongs.”
“Right.” The Treant went silent for a few moments, obviously searching for words. “But how did you do it? Feel at home again?”
“I found a new family,” Treffen said. “The Deeproot Elves took me in like I was born to them. They recognized me as their own. Kind of like Emerald. She’s like me. Born under stone, but only come to life in the trees.”
Trent smiled at that, his wooden face crinkling at the edges.
“It’s a universal truth.” They both looked up at Gawain’s words. His voice sounded different in the moonlight. “Loyalty and trust are what make a family. They’re stronger than blood, and stronger than fear.” The Knight lapsed back into his customary silence, and neither Treffen nor Trent had anything to follow up his statement.
Stronger than fear. They would have to be. Treffen’s eyes closed, with the Deeproot’s warning echoing in his ears.
The Silver Bear holds the key. The Twisted Tree will show the way. The Grafted Gem will hold the door. The Son of Moon will make the sacrifice.
They were all here now, all except Emerald. Maybe she was already there.
Three will descend. One will not emerge.
The Son of Moon will make the sacrifice.
Chapter 12: The Huntress’ Message
Just before dawn they heard hoofbeats. The party jolted awake and reached for their weapons, scanning down the dirt road. In the pale, pre-dawn light, a single figure galloped into view. A woman on horseback.
No. A Thundervale Huntress.
Having the head and torso of a woman with the body and legs of a horse, she was dressed in full armor, but without a helmet, long hair streaming out behind her from under a pair of curled horns. She pulled up short when she noticed the party.
“Well met, Huntress,” Treffen said. Trent stood behind him, and Gawain had retreated to the far edge of their little campsite.
“Well met, Ranger.” She towered over Treffen, nearly eye to eye with the Treant. “One of my people saw smoke. What news of Stonebridge?”
Treffen told her what they had found. “And this Treant,” he indicated Trent, “saw the whole thing.”
The Huntress appraised Trent. “What were you doing in Stonebridge?”
“I lived there,” he answered.
She raised an eyebrow. “I do not recall a Treant on my last visit.”
He lowered his eyes. “I lived with the mage.”
“Merovin? A fine sorcerer. He never mentioned you.”
Trent shrugged. “He saved my life. They burned the town . . .” He didn’t need to elaborate. Moving, talking trees burned just like the stationary, silent variety.
Treffen spoke up. “The mage has left for Crystalia Castle to
inform King Jasper about the attack. And we are heading to Lordship Downs, where we fear Princess Emerald is lost.”
“Emerald?” The Huntress pawed the ground with a forefoot. “She was in our vale not two weeks ago. What makes you think she’s gone to the Downs?”
“She told them on her way through Stonebridge.” Treffen gestured at Trent. “The Treant and the mage couldn’t stop her. She believes her sister is being held captive there.” He frowned. “Now, perhaps they both are. Could the Betrayer want them for ransom? Does he think King Jasper will release him from his prison if his daughters are used as bargain?” He wouldn’t. Would he?
The Huntress gestured toward Gawain. “You take a Questing Knight into the Downs? Do you not fear the curse?”
“Curse?” Treffen glanced back to the Knight, who was skulking at the tree line.
“Do you know the origin of the Bramble Knights who laid waste to the village?” Her eyes drifted over to the ruins of Stonebridge.
Treffen shook his head, and the Huntress frowned. “You should ask him. All Questing Knights know the danger, and it increases with every step they take toward the Downs. Have you never wondered why they didn’t band together, storm the ruins, and end the Forgotten King’s scourge? He risks his soul to be accompanying you into that wretched place.” She reared up suddenly, and Treffen jumped back in surprise. “I return to my people with the news. May the Goddess smile upon you. If Emerald does walk those accursed halls, I pray you bring her back safely.”
She wheeled on her hind legs and galloped away.
When Gawain rejoined them, his eyes were red and wet with tears.
“Hey, are you all right?” Treffen asked.
The Knight wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and jammed his visor down without a word.
* * *
They walked all morning. Thoughts of Emerald ran through Treffen’s mind with every step. She’s fine, he told himself. She’s smart. She’d never go into the Downs alone. But he knew it was a lie. If Emerald really thought her sister was a captive, a thousand Nether Elves wouldn’t keep her away. She’ll wade right in if we don’t find her first.
