The Forgotten King

by D. W. Vogel

  It panted, pulling air into its lungs. At least, Treffen assumed it had lungs. Might have gills for all he knew.

  “Tell them,” Trent repeated, and the Billman gurgled out an unintelligible garble of words.

  Treffen crept closer.

  “Again.” The Treant jabbed one of his roots into what must have been a soft spot on the Billman’s underside. Treffen couldn’t even start imagining the anatomy that might be under the cloth.

  “She’s . . . inside . . .” the Billman panted. “Girl . . . green hair. King has her. Going to . . .” He choked and coughed for a moment, eyes wide with terror.

  “He’s going to what?” Gawain’s Knight Voice stilled the Billman’s coughing.

  “He’s going to kill her. Sacrifice to the Dark Consul.”

  Without a second thought, Treffen whipped the machete off his belt. But before he could use the blade, Trent’s branches squeezed, turned, and snapped.

  The Billman lay silent in the leafy grasp.

  Chapter 18: In the Courtyard

  Trent flung the body away.

  “That’s Emerald? A girl with green hair?”

  Treffen nodded. Of course, Princess Emerald wasn’t the only green-haired girl in Crystalia. But she was the only one he knew of who was rumored to be headed for Lordship Downs. The only one who would make a suitable sacrifice from a king to the dark forces that threatened the land. He sighed. And even if by some miracle it wasn’t Emerald, did that really matter? The Forgotten King had a girl, and she was about to be killed. No matter who it was, they had to act.

  Three will enter. One will not return.

  He looked around. The archway they’d been walking down was clearly the original main entrance to the fortress. If it were anything like Crystalia Castle, it should lead into a large courtyard, with stairs up to a grand entrance which would be just bones of stone by now. Treffen had no idea what would be just inside, having never set foot in a castle before, but the Lunar Elves’ fortress where he had grown up had opened onto a large receiving room.

  “We shouldn’t go in the front door,” Gawain said, echoing Treffen’s line of thought.

  A place this size must have had many entrances, but how many would still be accessible after all these years?

  “This thing came from over there.” Trent pointed two branches to indicate the deceased Billman and the direction from which it had arrived.

  “Then that’s where we’ll go.” Treffen kept his bow ready, arrow nocked. Gawain followed, and Trent brought up the rear.

  In places, the outer walls were mostly intact, towering over the twisted forest surrounding the Downs. They headed for one of those walls now, creeping around the overgrown landscape. Thick vines grew up the sides of the walls, their tiny holdfasts digging into the ancient mortar. In time, they would pull down even a great edifice like this one, nature returning what was once hers to the ground. But “nature” here was a relative term. There was nothing natural about the land around the Downs. Treffen’s palms itched to spread the glittering dust in his pouch, pouring the Deeproot’s power over the evil of this land. It would take more than he carried to cleanse this place. More than a hundred elves could carry. And no healing could begin while the Betrayer festered in his prison under these very walls.

  Treffen took a deep breath. Even here he could feel the Deeproot Tree. Her roots twined through every land of Crystalia, and even in this most evil of locations, She was present. She wound through the tunnels under the ruins, just waiting for the Betrayer’s noxious poison to be removed so She could burst into life. She pulsed beneath Treffen’s feet, and he pulled strength from Her sweet, pure power.

  A small doorway hung open in the wall. Not big enough to be a true postern gate, this must have been a service entrance where the castle’s workforce would come and go out of sight of the grand walkway in the front.

  Treffen eyed Trent. “Will you fit through there?” Please say no. He batted away the stray thought. Doesn’t matter. One way or another, we’re going in, and we’re not coming out without Emerald.

  Trent nodded, looking like a violent windstorm.

  “Oh, hey,” Treffen said. “You did great back there, by the way. I would have just shot that thing with an arrow and we wouldn’t have learned a thing, but you got the information out of it. Very bravely done, friend.”

  The tree-creature beamed. Treffen half-expected a hundred butterflies to burst from his branches, he looked so happy.

  “All right then,” Treffen continued, mostly to himself. “Here we go.”

  He took a step toward the door, but Gawain held him back.

  “Me first.”

  Treffen wasn’t used to having a human armored tank in his hunting parties. He stepped back, allowing Gawain to stride through the doorway. In a moment, the Knight Voice called out, “All clear,” and the two followed him in.

  This courtyard was large, maybe half as wide as the Deeproot Tree at Her base. There were no loose stones in it to indicate it had ever been roofed, and the remnants of narrow stone paths wound through the space. At the far corner, a doorway yawned with darkness behind it.

  Two strange tree stumps squatted in the middle of the courtyard. It was full twilight, and the wall’s shadow obscured the details, for which Treffen was grateful. Even in the dim light, he could see that the stumps had been adorned with human skulls, ringing the bottoms of the stumps and sticking up in a totem pole from the top like an obscene spine with a larger skull on top. The air around the stumps shimmered in the shadows.

  “What are those hideous things?” he wondered aloud.

  “I don’t like them,” Trent said. “We should keep moving.”

  They passed between them, and Treffen’s skin prickled. The shimmering air was cold and smelled like a carcass left for days in a swamp.

  “This feels . . . wrong,” he muttered.

  Gawain didn’t answer. It must all feel like this for him, Treffen thought. Every single step. He’s the bravest of us all, coming into this horrible place.

  The Knight had almost made it to the dark, open doorway when movement behind them made all three spin around.

  Something was happening in the shimmering air around the hollow stumps.

  With a sound like ripping fabric, the air opened, and the darkness exhaled its rotting stench. Three small Sprouts hopped out of that darkness, their slimy brown leaves waving in the fetid wind. A Mook followed, another plant-creature that should have been friendly and fun-loving but had been twisted into something out of a nightmare.

  Gawain charged, sword swinging. Treffen’s first shot took out the Mook, which shriveled around his arrow like a deflated balloon. He didn’t get off a second shot as Gawain made short work of the three Sprouts.

  “Where did they come from?” But the answer became clear.

  The darkness around the hollow stumps belched more enemies. Five Sprouts. Ten. A hundred. Some of them were in mid-transformation, hauling themselves across the courtyard on white, wormy roots, moments from revealing the huge pod-mouth full of teeth that was the King Sprout’s trademark.

  Treffen’s arrows flew faster than thought. When he concentrated on a shot, he was as likely to miss as to get dinner. But when he let his mind go into the heat of battle, he couldn’t miss. Every arrow found a target.

  It wasn’t enough. Enemies poured out of the darkness, swarming around Gawain and Treffen.

  Oh, barst it. Here we go.

  A feral roar shook the ground, and Trent waded into the battle. His enormous tree arms swept the evil plants aside, splattering them against the courtyard walls. One of the Sprouts completed its transformation, and the enormous mouth lunged toward Trent. Treffen put an arrow into the thick stalk that was the thing’s neck, slowing it down for a vital second. Trent grabbed the open mouth and pulled, ripping the pod in half in a shower of dark ichor.

  Gawain was a whirlwind of bladed death. He inflicted massive damage on the plants,
but more poured from the darkness as fast as he could chop them down.

  Behind Treffen, another shadow moved.

  From the dark doorway, a shape detached. Huge and slow, it swung a gleaming axe.

  A Grobbit. And not just a Grobbit . . . a Grobbit Executioner.

  Treffen’s mind spun around the words. The Betrayer had enjoyed a good execution when this castle stood proud, and the hooded figures that swung those axes had persisted in the king’s exile. Now one approached them, freed from his prison and looking for a head to liberate from its body.

  It spied Treffen and raised its axe to charge.

  Chapter 19: Spawn of the Dark

  Treffen backed away, realizing his mistake too late. Ranger rule, never get backed into a corner. Now he had nowhere to run.

  With a feral roar, Gawain jumped between the Executioner and Treffen. But his armor wouldn’t turn a blade the size of the one carried by the huge chimera, so Treffen peppered the creature with arrows as it bore down on his friend.

  Up close, it was all the more horrible. It had the adorable face and long soft ears of a bunny, but contorted with just enough human to haunt Treffen’s nightmares forever. Behind them Trent continued to mow down the evil plants that were still being spewed out of the rift into darkness.

  Gawain feinted with his blade. The Executioner was powerful but slow. Even in armor, Gawain was able to dodge the blows, but he couldn’t get in close enough to land a cut of his own. The Grobbit’s long reach combined with the length of the axe handle made great sweeping arcs through the air.

  While Gawain lunged with his sword, Treffen shot around him, avoiding his companion. But the arrows did nothing. Several were sticking out of the thing’s armor, and one was lodged in its cute bunny face, but it didn’t seem to notice. Treffen slung his bow over his shoulder and pulled out his trusty machete.

  Dodging clouds of poison spores released by the kodama that evaded Trent’s death grasp, he zipped around behind the Grobbit.

  Gawain’s eyes met Treffen’s, and the Knight invited the Grobbit’s blow. He stood still, panting dramatically, sword drooping in his grasp. The Grobbit couldn’t help but fall for the act. It reared the huge axe over its shoulder and swept it around at Gawain-neck height.

  At the last second, Gawain ducked, doubtless feeling the wind of the axe over his head.

  Treffen pounced. He jabbed his machete into the small crease where the thigh armor met the calf armor in the back. His blade penetrated straight into the back of the Grobbit’s knee, and it howled in pain and rage. Treffen danced out of reach, his machete still stuck in the monster’s leg.

  The Grobbit was barely slowed, but it was enough for Gawain. With a mighty throw, he hurled his sword straight and true. Treffen couldn’t watch as the blade found the adorable bunny face.

  The great axe fell to the sticky ground, and the Grobbit tumbled backward, thumping down with a final flop of its fuzzy ears.

  Gawain ran to retrieve his blade but paused at a rumble from Trent.

  “The axe! Get the axe!”

  Trent was covered in Sprouts and Mooks. His brown bark was alive with crawling plant life, all belching poison in the Treant’s face. Guess plant poison doesn’t affect plant-monsters. Treffen amended the thought. Plant-creatures. There were certainly monsters here, but Trent was a tree with a mission.

  Gawain didn’t seem to understand, but in a flash, Treffen did.

  “Chop down the stumps! They’re the rift! The creatures are spawning right through them.”

  With a roar, Gawain picked up the huge axe and ran for the first hollow stump. He chopped off the raised spine, sending the top skull flying. The air around the stump shimmered, but the dark portal remained open. Like some kind of deranged lumberjack, Gawain rained blows on the target.

  Half of the dark rift winked out, revealing the far wall of the courtyard behind it decorated with squished plants. The Knight heaved his axe into the second stump, and in three blows, it was over. With a hiss, the portal closed.

  Treffen helped Trent dispatch most of the remaining plants, but a few escaped out the open door into the forest.

  Quiet blanketed the courtyard. The loudest sound was Treffen’s heartbeat pounding in his ears.

  Gawain spoke first. “A valiant battle.”

  Trent was picking bits of plant matter out of his bark, and his face split into that alarming, woody grin. “We did good, didn’t we?”

  “We sure did.” Treffen looked around at the courtyard. “You were amazing. Both of you.”

  Gawain wiped his blade and sheathed it, clearly not surprised that he had turned in such a stellar performance. But Trent looked like a kid on festival day.

  “They just kept coming and coming, but I got ‘em, didn’t I? And you . . .” He pointed a branch at Treffen. “You . . . saved my life.” His eyes opened wide at the realization. “The King Sprout was going to chomp me. You shot it. You saved me.”

  “Nowhere near as many times as you saved me, big guy.” Treffen pulled his machete out of the unfortunate Grobbit’s leg and wiped it on the thing’s fur. “Sure glad you’re with us.”

  Gawain interrupted the lovefest. “We can’t rest. They surely know we’re coming. We need to get inside, find Emerald, and get out of here. There can’t be that many tunnels under this place.”

  There can’t? The whole footprint of this huge fortress could be a warren of underground passages. And there might be deeper levels under the first one. How are we ever going to find her?

  Arrows were stuck all over the ground, impaling the kodama Treffen had shot. He pulled them out, inspected them, and replaced those that passed muster into his quiver. “We can’t just go in without a plan. We have no idea where we’re going. Getting lost in the tunnels won’t help anyone.”

  Gawain removed his helmet and wiped sweat from his forehead. “The tree said he knows where to go.”

  “Trent said he’d get us in, and he did.” Treffen turned to the Treant. “Do you know your way inside this place? How could you know that?”

  The Treant’s eyes grew wide, and he chewed his lip.

  Treffen sighed. “You don’t know where to go inside?”

  No answer from Trent.

  Gawain swore under his breath. “So why did we come here, then? Are we just going to leave?”

  Trent swallowed hard and opened his mouth to speak. He closed it, shook his head, and opened it again. “I smell something,” he said, sniffing the air.

  “I smell a lot of stuff,” Treffen grumbled.

  “Human.”

  There wouldn’t be any real humans here. All the Betrayer’s forces were either chimeras, which would never smell like their human parts, twisted kodama which would smell like this courtyard, and Nether Elves which would smell like . . . elves.

  “Is it her?” Treffen dared to hope. Trent hadn’t shown any particular keenness of smell in the past, but maybe he just hadn’t said anything. Or maybe he did, and I missed it amid his never-ending torrent of questions.

  The Treant shrugged. “A human came this way. I can follow.”

  “Good,” Gawain said. “Trent can lead us through. I’m going to check out what’s through the door. You two wait here. If it’s safe, I’ll come back for you.”

  Treffen eyed the doorway. “What if it isn’t safe?”

  “Then I won’t come back at all.”

  The Knight disappeared into the darkness. Treffen stood next to Trent in the doorway, fidgeting in the aftermath of the battle. He kept glancing back at the small doorway through which they’d entered the courtyard.

  “Treffen?” The name sounded funny on Trent’s woody tongue.

  “Yeah, buddy?”

  “What are you looking at?”

  He looked at the giant tree. “Nothing. Just a weird feeling. Like someone is watching us. I’m sure it’s nothing.” But Master Birch’s lessons rattled in his brain. When your head and your gut disagree, always tru
st the gut.

  They stood in silence for a moment, until Trent spoke again.

  “Treffen?”

  A patient sigh. “Yes?”

  The Treant didn’t answer for a moment, and Treffen looked up at him. He was biting his lip and clearly thinking hard. “We’re friends. You said we’re friends.”

  “Sure we are,” Treffen said. “We saved each other’s lives. That’s what friends do, if they can.”

  “Treffen, I . . .” Trent lapsed into uncharacteristic silence.

  Orange light glowed in the dark hallway, and Gawain turned the corner, lit torch in hand. Trent shied away from the flame.

  “Found light. Let’s go.”

  He stared at Trent, who opened his mouth and looked at Treffen again. He seemed on the verge of saying something when Gawain spoke instead.

  “Come on, tree. Lead us to the human.”

  Trent sighed, sidled around the torch, and led them into the Downs.

  Chapter 20: Betrayal

  They crept through the corridor until they reached the top of a stone staircase. Sound echoed through the hallways. Little scurrying noises and wet squishes arose from below them, and a steady drip, drip, drip of water into a pool sounded close. The place smelled of mold and blood.

  “We got to go down,” Trent said. “Princess is in the dungeon.”

  Gawain rounded on Trent. “How do you know that?”

  “The bad Knight said it.” Trent backed away from Gawain and his torch. “The one I killed.”

  Firelight lit Gawain’s face as he advanced on the Treant. “I didn’t hear him say that. How do we know it’s true?”

  Leaves fluttered from Trent’s shuddering branches. He backed right into the wall and cowered from the torch.

  The Knight waved the fire at the woody giant. “You could be—”

  “Easy, Gawain,” Treffen soothed. He’s slipping. Calm him down before he loses it completely. “You don’t have to go any farther. This place isn’t good for you.”

  The visor on his helmet creaked as Gawain raised it. His eyes were hard. “I am a Questing Knight. A princess is in danger. Are you calling me a coward?” His gauntleted hand gripped the hilt of his sword.