The Forgotten King

by D. W. Vogel

  A Billman cleared his throat in the open doorway.

  “Enter.”

  The duck-faced chimera approached and took a knee next to Trent. “My lord, there is fighting in the Downs. The Knight and the elf have taken out the first of our soldiers.”

  The king sighed. “He must be very strong to resist me even now. What a noble servant he will be.” He turned to Boris. “How many soldiers are ready to enter the fight?”

  “Sixty, my lord.”

  “Why so few?”

  Boris shrugged. “We’re ranging farther from the Downs. Haven’t caught up with the demand yet.”

  “I see.” The king stroked the long wattles of hairy flesh that dangled from his chin. “Perhaps you could just toddle on upstairs, then, and make sure my prize arrives alive?”

  The Bearstruck bowed to his king and crossed toward the doorway, knocking Trent with his shoulder as he passed. The Treant nearly toppled over before catching himself on the slick floor.

  Soon. The hairs on the back of the goat’s neck stood up. So very soon. He pulled a knife from the folds of his robe and tossed it to Trent. The blade stuck in one of the beast’s branches, and he pulled it out with a drip of sap. “Go make yourself useful, Trent. Sharpen my blade. I’ll be needing it very soon.”

  Chapter 23: Boris

  They fought like tornadoes, Gawain’s sword whirling and arrows flying from Treffen’s bow.

  Billmen fell by the handful, but more arrived to take their place. It was like trying to hold back a river with a stick. Billmen flowed from the shimmering rift around the statues.

  Treffen’s mind went fuzzy with battle fever. Arrow after arrow twanged from his bow.

  “Almost out,” he called to Gawain, reaching over his shoulder for the quiver.

  Five arrows left.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  “Uh, Gawain?”

  The Knight brought his sword down, liberating the last Billman’s soul from his body. Treffen rattled his almost-empty quiver, and Gawain sheathed his sword with a grunt. Arrows were sticking out of chinks in the dead chimeras’ armor, and he set to work pulling them out.

  “Maybe your sword will work better on those brambles,” Treffen suggested. “I can grab the arrows faster anyway.”

  Gawain attacked the wall of thorny vines with the same fervor with which he’d hacked into the Billmen.

  A soft giggle filled the room.

  Nope. Not going to hear that again. With his last arrow, Treffen brought down the infernal Wisp. She fell with a squeak and giggled no more.

  “Barsted thing,” Treffen muttered. “Using Emerald’s voice . . .”

  His mind turned that over as he pulled the first of his arrows from their unfortunate victims. The Wisp had called to them in Emerald’s voice. Wisps were perfect mimics. They could imitate any voice they heard, human or otherwise. But they weren’t mind readers. For this one to have spoken like Emerald, she would have had to hear Emerald.

  “I’m almost through here,” Gawain said, and Treffen quickened his pace.

  “Let’s get out of here before another wave of those . . .”

  Behind him, the hum increased.

  “Or maybe not.”

  Thirty more Billmen and another three bird-mounted Frog Knights burst through the shimmering rift. Treffen grabbed an arrow and began to fire. Gawain’s sword swung true, but Treffen couldn’t help but notice that the Knight’s blade was moving slower with each stroke. And you’re slower, too. The battle was wearing on both of them. All his mother’s fears for him were realized in this dark, evil place. You should never have left home.

  Gawain stood with his back to the bramble wall, and Treffen faced the pile of statues from the other side of the room. Over the hum of the rift and the clang of sword on armor, a new sound reached Treffen’s ears. The brambles which blocked the door through which they had entered suddenly shrank back with a wet slurp.

  Treffen spun around just as a huge hairy form lumbered through the doorway. The tentacles re-formed behind the thing, trapping them all together in the tall, round room.

  Oh, sweet Goddess, no. It was a Bearstruck Berserker, and the sword it carried—while the same size as Gawain’s—looked like a child’s toy in its huge paw. The smell of dank fur made Treffen’s eyes water.

  He drew his bow and fired, backing away from the beast. Four Billmen lunged between them, weapons drawn, and the Bear knocked them away with a swipe of claws. It leapt straight for Treffen.

  Why can’t they ever go after the guy in the armor?

  His arrows didn’t slow the monster for a second. It backhanded Treffen, who spun across the floor, knocking Billmen aside like some gruesome bowling game. His bow flew from his grasp, and he slid head first into the far wall with a thump. Treffen’s vision went blurry.

  Dimly aware that Gawain was again cut off from him by a wall of enemy soldiers, Treffen’s addled mind drifted.

  So cold on this floor. Hard. Sticky. The sounds of battle reached his ears, but his fuzzy brain couldn’t make sense of them. Clang, clang, clang. Vibrations rattled through his back. A shadow loomed up over him. Smelly. Wet fur.

  His mind cleared in the instant the Bearstruck cleaved downward with his sword. Treffen rolled out of the way, feeling the wind of the blade’s passing. It embedded itself into the stone, and the Bear roared in fury.

  Get up. Run.

  But he couldn’t heed his mother’s urging. Nothing worked. Legs, arms . . . so cold. But warmth was creeping over him. A tiny voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to fight it, but it felt so nice. Warm. Snuggly. Like a nice fur blanket. Fur!

  He twisted to the side as the Bear lunged at him again.

  More enemies poured out of the rift, crowding between where Gawain fought and where Treffen lay.

  The Bear reared up over Treffen’s prone form.

  “This is the end of the Wood elf,” it growled.

  The Bear’s shadow loomed over Treffen, teeth and claws bared for the killing blow.

  A sharp crack echoed in the little room.

  The Bear lurched forward, arms wide.

  The last thing Treffen heard before its huge body landed on him was a high, female voice.

  “Ranger’s rule number twenty-three, Treffen: never lose your weapon!”

  Chapter 24: The Lucky Find

  Treffen sucked in a huge breath as the body of the Bearstruck was heaved off him.

  “See? Told you he’d be fine. Elves are tough.”

  The voice was so familiar, but he’d fallen for that before.

  “Shut up, Wisp,” he gurgled.

  He forced his eyes open and found himself nose to nose with a face he had known for years. Green eyes blinked at him, and green hair flowed down over his cheeks.

  “Emerald?” He sat up much too fast, and the round room spun.

  “Easy, Ranger. You just took a big nap with a solid bearskin rug.”

  No sounds of fighting reached his ears, but the hum persisted. They were still in the round room, and more enemies would be spawning any second.

  “Emerald,” he said again, and she reached out a hand to help him up.

  “The one and only,” she confirmed. “And a good thing, too.” She gestured toward the dead Bear, which had a large hole in its back. Emerald patted her trusty rifle. “Wasn’t sure it could bring down something that big. Good thing we found out it could.” She looked just like the last time he’d seen her months ago in the Wood, except this time she didn’t have the litter of tree rats she was hand-raising poking out of her coat pockets. She wore her trusty brown top hat with safety goggles attached. She never pulled the goggles down, much to her father’s dismay.

  The hum increased.

  Not again.

  Treffen had no bow. No arrows. He could see from the Knight’s movements as he chopped into the brambles holding them prisoner that he was near exhaustion as well. He
had a million questions for Emerald, but they would have to wait.

  “Incoming!” Emerald stood in front of Treffen and raised her rifle.

  Gawain charged into the oncoming hoard.

  “We can’t keep doing this.” Treffen pulled out his machete, the only weapon left. “We have to find a way to close that rift.”

  He thought about the Executioner’s axe they had left in the courtyard, but even if they had it, they couldn’t chop through the stone statues.

  “That’s what’s holding it open.” Emerald aimed and fired, pausing to reload with quick, practiced movements. “Those stupid statues. We need to blow those things right back to the Dark Realm.”

  Treffen’s hands flew to his pack, miraculously still attached to his back. “If only I had some firefern . . .”

  “Firefern?” Emerald brought down one of the giant birds in an explosion of feathers. “I’ve got tons of firefern.”

  He whipped out the sealed bottle and held it up. “I’ve got dragon poop!”

  She stared at him. “Where did you get it?” She paused to blow away a Billman. “Here, cover me.”

  Treffen handed Emerald the bottle of liquid poop, reloaded her rifle, and brought it to his shoulder. He’d never fired one before, but he’d seen Emerald do it a hundred times. How hard could it be? Gawain was cutting a slow swath through the enemy soldiers. Treffen pulled the trigger.

  The rifle’s kick punched him right off his feet.

  “Knight, give me your helmet!”

  Gawain slew the last of the wave of Billmen and backed into Emerald, who shoved him off her foot with a scowl.

  He spun around to face her, the haze of battle still hot in his eyes. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Emerald and I need your helmet.” She shook the vial of dragon poop, and Gawain flinched back. He shook his head.

  “Goddess, really? Are we going to play this game now?” Emerald muttered. She straightened up and pulled out her Princess Voice.

  “In the name of my father, King Jasper the Third, I command you remove your helmet.”

  Gawain was powerless against the Princess Voice. He pulled off his helmet and handed it to her. His eyes were still wild with battle, and his skin held a sickly pallor.

  He looks awful, Treffen thought. I probably look a whole lot better.

  “Let’s cut us a way out of here,” Emerald said, pulling a pouch out of her own pack and handing it and the helmet to Treffen. “You’ll have to do the honors. We’re not going to have long once this is mixed.”

  “How long?” Gawain asked.

  “About five seconds.”

  With renewed energy, Gawain chopped at the vines. Emerald took Treffen’s machete and ducked underneath him, hacking with a frenzy of blows. They cut their way through until a small opening appeared into a dark hallway beyond.

  “Ready!” Treffen yelled.

  He poured the dragon poop into Gawain’s helmet and tipped the contents of her pouch into his hand. “Just a pinch . . .” He glanced back toward the doorway. “Go, go, go! I’m right behind you!” A few flakes of ground red leaf fluttered into the helmet. Treffen could hear the sizzle as it dropped into the goo.

  Behind him, Gawain was crawling through the hole in the brambles. Emerald shoved into him, popping them both through.

  “Five, four . . .”

  Treffen hurled the helmet at the base of the stone statues.

  “Three, two . . .”

  He lunged through the hole in the brambles right behind Emerald, and they all flattened themselves against the floor, covering their heads.

  BOOM.

  The floor rattled in the blast, and bits of plaster rained down. The brambles showered all over them as the dragon poop mixed with the firefern, blowing the statue pile into a million tiny shards.

  Chapter 25: Treasure

  The force of the blast pounded them all into the floor. For a horrifying moment, Treffen was sure the ceiling of the tunnel was about to cave in, but when the reverberations stopped ringing down the corridor, the place was intact, if dusty. The fiery remains of the statues in the room next door lit the hallway with dancing shadows.

  Gawain was the first to speak. “I take it back. Dragon poop was an amazingly lucky find.”

  Treffen snorted dust out of his nose. The sound made Emerald giggle, which made Treffen snort harder, and soon the two of them were lost in hysterical laughter on the cold stone floor.

  Gawain scowled down at them. “We need to get out of here. Pull yourselves together.”

  They stood up and dusted themselves off, picking shards of bramble and other unmentionable bits out of their hair. Gawain located the charred, dented remains of his helmet and crammed it onto his head.

  “Emerald, what are you even doing here?” Treffen pulled a fragment of orange feather out of his ear. Poor dumb birds. Couldn’t help it when they had evil riders.

  “Well, I’m . . .” She fell silent, cocking her head to one side. “Do you hear that?”

  They all stood still and listened. Somewhere in the distance came the sound of marching feet. A lot of marching feet.

  “That’s either one big army,” he whispered, “or one huge monster.”

  Without a word, they all agreed not to wait to find out. They bolted down the hall into the darkness.

  “Ouch, that’s my foot!” Emerald grumbled to Gawain.

  “Sorry, Princess.”

  They moved on.

  “Drattit, can’t you walk in a straight line?”

  “Sorry, Princess.”

  Treffen realized the humans didn’t share his elven gift for night vision. The faint luminosity of the slimy molds on the walls was enough to light his way. Clearly not for the two humans stumbling along behind him. Black torches were spaced in sconces every so often down the hallway, and Treffen grabbed one. “Got any more firefern?”

  Emerald pulled a few leaves out of her pack and rubbed them into the long-dried cloth on the torch’s top. She lit it from a flint striker, which she tucked back into a pocket. “On the plus side, we can see now.” The firefern went into her pack on the opposite side from the flint. “On the minus side, we’re now a very brightly lit target for whoever is looking for us.”

  “Do you know your way out of here?” Gawain asked.

  She snorted. “If I did, would I still be down here?”

  “Well, why are you . . .” Treffen didn’t finish the sentence. The feet marched closer. “Time to move.”

  They darted down the hallway.

  Emerald stopped at a closed door. “They’ll expect us to run. We need to hide. Wait for whoever—or whatever—that is to pass us by.”

  Treffen eyed the door. “We have no idea what’s behind that door.”

  She shrugged. “We have no idea what’s coming down the hall behind us, either. Personally, I vote for the door.”

  Gawain broke the tie by shoving the door open, sword raised. Nothing rushed out of the darkness at them, and they skittered inside, pushing the heavy oak door closed behind them.

  “Stuff your cloak under the door so the light doesn’t get through,” Treffen said, and Emerald complied. Once satisfied that they were as secure as possible so deep in enemy territory, they turned around to see what was in the room.

  Treasure.

  Tons of it.

  Chests overflowing with gold coins and glittering jewels. Gilded paintings that must be worth a fortune piled up along the walls. Priceless marble statues obviously carved by the skilled hands of Lunar Elves.

  “Sweet Goddess,” Emerald whispered. “Will you look at this?”

  She reached for a string of pearls in one of the chests, but Treffen snatched her hand away. “Don’t touch the chests.”

  “Why not?”

  “Trust me,” he said. “It’s not worth the risk.”

  None of the chests in the room appeared to respond to his words. Maybe these are just . . . treasure chests. He s
till wouldn’t chance it. No way was he going to be the one to tell King Jasper that he let Princess Emerald get her hand bitten off by a not-chest in Lordship Downs.

  Gawain had removed his helmet and was pressing his ear to the door. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Good,” Emerald said. “We’ll wait here until they think we’ve gone and find our way out of this hole.” She pulled a hand through her green curls. “The moisture down here is making me one big frizz ball.”

  “My lady.” Gawain dropped to a knee in front of Emerald. “I am Gawain, last of the Ursinus line, at the service of my king and his royal family.”

  Treffen sighed. At least he waited until we weren’t overrun with monsters.

  Emerald eyed the Knight for a moment, then turned to Treffen. “Who brought the tin man?”

  Treffen said, “I’d be long since dead if not for Sir Gawain. He’s a noble Knight.” . . . and kind of a jerk, actually. Especially lately. “But what are you doing down here? We came here looking for you.”

  “You came here looking for me? I came here looking for you.” Emerald’s eyes darted back to the open chest of jewels.

  Treffen caught her looking and raised an eyebrow.

  “What, I can’t like sparkly things just because I’m usually covered in mud and swinging from a tree branch? I’m still a girl.”

  “What do you mean, you came looking for us?” Gawain’s voice was sharp.

  “I wasn’t looking for you personally,” Emerald said, widening her eyes at the Knight. “At least, I didn’t know it was you.” She took a closer look at his armor. “But yeah, I guess it was you. Thanks, Tree.”

  Treffen startled. “The Deeproot Tree sent you here?”