The Forgotten King Read online

  Books and Series Featuring D. W. Vogel

  Horizon Arc

  Horizon Alpha: Predators of Eden

  Horizon Alpha: Transport Seventeen

  Horizon Alpha: Homecoming

  Horizon Alpha: High Wire

  A Short Story

  Super Dungeon Series

  The King’s Summons

  by Adam Glendon Sidwell and Zachary James

  The Forgotten King

  by D. W. Vogel

  The Glauerdoom Moor

  by David J. West

  The Dungeons of Arcadia

  by Dan Allen

  The Midnight Queen

  by Christopher Keene

  The Forgotten King

  Cover and interior illustrations © 2019 Soda Pop Miniatures

  Characters contained in the text © 2019 Soda Pop Miniatures

  All text, excluding characters © 2019 D. W. Vogel

  Published by Future House Publishing LLC under license from Soda Pop Miniatures. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from Future House Publishing at [email protected].

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-944452-85-8 (Paperback)

  Super Dungeon created by Chris Birkenhagen, John Cadice, and Deke Stella

  Series story development by Zachary James

  Developmental editing by Emma Hoggan

  Line editing by Britny Enos

  Copy editing by Matea Borget

  Proofreading by Isabelle Tatum and Sydnie Brewster

  Interior design by Ahnasariah Larsen

  To my gamer family.

  Contents

  MAP

  Chapter 1: Trouble in the Woods

  Chapter 2: An Unlikely Ally

  Chapter 3: Fall of the Ram

  Chapter 4: Home in the Glade

  Chapter 5: Deeproot’s Message

  Chapter 6: Ranger’s Mission

  Chapter 7: The Road to Stonebridge

  Chapter 8: News in the Ruins

  Chapter 9: A Dark Welcome

  Chapter 10: The Search

  Chapter 11: A New Friend

  Chapter 12: The Huntress’ Message

  Chapter 13: Hound in the Hole

  Chapter 14: Questing Knight’s Curse

  Chapter 15: Treachery

  Chapter 16: Emerald’s Teddy

  Chapter 17: On the Edge

  Chapter 18: In the Courtyard

  Chapter 19: Spawn of the Dark

  Chapter 20: Betrayal

  Chapter 21: Following the Voice

  Chapter 22: So Very Close

  Chapter 23: Boris

  Chapter 24: The Lucky Find

  Chapter 25: Treasure

  Chapter 26: The Princess Prophecy

  Chapter 27: Nameless in the Dark

  Chapter 28: Escape

  Chapter 29: A Girl with a Gun

  Chapter 30: Flight

  Chapter 31: Before the King

  Chapter 32: The Crystal Bear

  Chapter 33: The Immortal King

  Chapter 34: Bearstruck’s Return

  Chapter 35: Daylight Fades

  Chapter 36: King’s Freedom

  Chapter 37: Stronger than Fear

  Chapter 38: Blessing of the Elves

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  MAP

  Chapter 1: Trouble in the Woods

  Treffen Cedarbough crept along the dry streambed, arrow nocked and ready. A young buck browsed the bushes just over the rocky edge, and the growling of Treffen’s stomach threatened to give him away.

  Slow and steady. Just like Master Birch always says. Breathe and focus.

  A chattering erupted in the trees, and a sudden hailstorm of acorns pelted the deer’s rump and Treffen’s head. The deer darted away into the forest.

  Treffen glared at the squirrels. “You little . . . I’m gonna . . .”

  Unconcerned, the squirrels leapt from branch to branch, high in a stately oak, their little squeaks sounding like shrill laughter.

  Since they had scared away his dinner, they would have to do instead. He raised his bow and loosed an arrow at the fattest one. The nasty creature dodged the arrow, which lodged in the tree’s sturdy trunk.

  Looks like another hungry night.

  He climbed the tree amid an angry rain of acorns, retrieved his arrow, and examined the stone head for damage. The squirrels squeaked their amusement as he climbed down. That deer would have filled Treffen’s belly for days, and he could have sold the hide to one of the roving traders who traversed the wide dirt roads at the edge of the Fae Wood. With the crowns from that sale, he could have purchased metal arrowheads or fletching feathers. Now he’d have to scrounge for edible tubers in the dirt, and the arrows he’d made for his journey would have to serve another day.

  Treffen’s frustration melted away as he padded on through the forest. Golden sun slanted through the trees, and a soft breeze sang the song of rustling leaves. Every season in the Fae Wood had its charm, but spring was especially magical. The youngest sprouts were just bursting from the soil, waving their little leaves around in the joy of the season. Squishy, mushroom-like Kinoko hopped about in the shade of deep green ferns. Even the most hardened warrior couldn’t help but smile at their tumbling antics. Treffen inhaled the heady scent of loamy soil and growing things. For a Glimmerdusk Ranger, such were the sounds and scents of home.

  But you’re not quite a Ranger yet, are you? The voice in his head held a tinge of Father’s disapproval. It always did.

  Two more weeks. That’s all he had left. Since the Rangers had accepted him into their rigorous training, he’d learned everything an elf needed to know for surviving the Fae Wood. Soon he’d join their official ranks and take his place as a Wood guardian, helping lost travelers, caring for the creatures of the forest, and securing the Glade from the ever-encroaching taint of Lordship Downs.

  The thought sent a shiver down Treffen’s spine. He’d seen the Downs. His training group had all followed Master Birch to the edge of the Wood where towering sycamores and pines gave way to twisted abominations, slimy leaves, and the sickly-sweet scent of decaying flesh.

  “The evil creeps ever outward,” Master Birch had said. “That darkness which dwells in the heart of the Downs is like a climbing ivy, always seeking, always sending out new tendrils to grasp and grow. Only our vigilance keeps the taint at bay.”

  Treffen had proved adept at that. While the slow, methodical creeping of a hunt often ended with a hungry Treffen, when it came to a real fight, he excelled. Arrows would fly from his bow faster than he could even think, sailing true to their targets. It was like the Goddess herself guided his hands when he let his mind go in the heat of attack.

  And yet you just lost a fight with a squirrel.

  Treffen glanced up, checking the sun’s position. His solo circuit of the Fae Wood was almost over. Another two weeks in the forest alone and he’d return to the Glade as a full Glimmerdusk Ranger, the first in his family. Not that anyone in his family had ever aspired to become one.

  Let it go. Eat your dinner. That inner voice sounded more like his mother.

  He pulled some dry tubers from his pack, knelt next to a large, flat rock, and laid the tubers on the makeshift table for preparation. His blade paused over the roots as a sickly stench drifted past his nostrils. Treffen glanced at the sun again, closin
g his eyes for a moment. An elf could never be lost in the Fae Wood. Though the Deeproot Tree that dominated the Glade was miles away, all he had to do was reach into his heart to feel Her presence and its location. The great Tree’s roots stretched through all Crystalia such that his feet could never be so far that he couldn’t feel Her life-giving dominion.

  He was north of the Tree, east of the Downs, and only a day’s walk from Cross Creek, a small human town on the outskirts of the Wood. The taint of evil shouldn’t be discernible here. But the stench wafted by again, carried by a chilly breeze.

  Treffen tucked the tubers into his belt pack, replaced his knife in its sheath, and reached for an arrow.

  Darkness flows from the Downs. It was one of the first lessons young Ranger Trainees learned. The evil of the Dark Realm had plenty of other outlets into the once-peaceful country of Crystalia, but here in the Fae Wood, that death smell always came from one place.

  He sidled forward, feet making no sound on the dry leaves. The shifting scent led him into the glare of the setting sun. As he padded through the dense underbrush, small creatures skittered past and the comforting symphony of birdsong fell away behind him.

  A silent forest is a dangerous forest. Another Ranger saying. His skin prickled as the sun dipped below the horizon, the usual pink of twilight given over to a moody, bruised, purple sky. The scent on the breeze became more rancid, and a small noise ahead stopped Treffen in his tracks. He crouched low, listening.

  This shouldn’t be. The evil taint of Lordship Downs shouldn’t be anywhere near this part of the Wood. But the farther he crept, the more he felt it, reaching right through the soil and into his bones.

  Gnarled roots snagged his boots as he scooted forward. His heart thudded in his ears, and he held his breath, listening in the silence. Somewhere just to the north. A squishing noise like rotted wood followed by a strangled scream.

  Treffen peered around a blackened tree stump.

  A human man and woman were struggling to free themselves from brown, twisted vines that were wrapping around them from all directions.

  There was only one evil this could possibly be, and the name chilled Treffen’s blood.

  King Sprout. Of all the forest creatures that could be tainted by evil, the once-gentle Sprouts became the most dangerous when touched by the Dark Realm.

  He drew the machete from his belt and stepped out from behind the tree.

  The Sprout wasn’t fully grown yet, but still in the middle of the transformation between the mobile, hopping, knee-high plant and the towering man-eater it would become. The whole change took only minutes, and judging by the thickness of the vines, this one was well on its way. They had to get clear before the final transformation.

  Treffen slashed at the vines, peeling them off the woman’s skin. Oozing boils covered her flesh, and she fell to her knees as he chopped away the plant’s tentacles. As soon as she was free, he shoved her away.

  “Get away from here!”

  The woman scrambled to her feet and stumbled back the way Treffen had come, to the safety of the living forest.

  The man was being dragged back toward the center of the Sprout’s grasping arms. Chop and peel. The man’s skin looked worse than the woman’s, and he was growing weaker, barely struggling against the vines. Poisoned. Some fungus must have blown toxic spores onto the couple, leaving them easy prey for the Sprout.

  Not today. Treffen ripped the last of the vines from the man’s torso and pushed him out of the Sprout’s reach. The man fell, barely able to crawl.

  There was no way Treffen could carry both of the humans, and the woman couldn’t have gotten far. He reached down toward the man, intending to drag him away, but the Sprout wrapped a brown tentacle around his leg and yanked hard, spilling Treffen onto the ground. He chopped at the vines, but more slithered around him. No time. He wrenched his machete arm free and hacked at the grasping tendrils, sliding ever closer to the plant’s center.

  A King Sprout’s final transformation was the growth of a huge, toothed pod, a gaping mouth that devoured anything its vines could drag close enough. The plant could take out a whole regiment of Rangers, which weren’t here to help him anyway.

  If that mouth was already sprouted, Junior Ranger Treffen Cedarbough was about to become dinner.

  Chapter 2: An Unlikely Ally

  The vines clambered up his legs. He hacked and slashed at the tentacles with his machete, spilling acid ichor from their cut, writhing edges. Somewhere in the middle of the tangled vines was the horrible thing’s soft core, and he had only moments to find and destroy it before the hideous mouth pod emerged. He chopped at the grasping tendrils that dragged him toward certain death.

  Slowly the tide changed. I’m winning. He cut and cut, leaving flopping brown tentacles in his wake. Almost there.

  Too late, he realized his error. The vines surrounded him on all sides, forming a thick wall that isolated him in the center from which they radiated. A green, pulpy sac pulsated on the ground, and the vines shoved him toward it.

  The sac split open, and the Sprout’s gaping mouth emerged, splitting out of the sac. As large as Treffen, it opened like a deranged, fanged clamshell, smelling of rotted vegetation. It rose up on a stalk to tower over him. No machete would cleave the hard green shell, and no arrow would pierce it.

  Treffen fumbled at his belt, feeling for the right pouch. His eyes were locked onto the dripping mouth that opened toward him. Here it is! Please, please, please let this work.

  Without looking, he heaved the entire contents of the pouch into the thing’s open maw. It snapped back and shut, looking as shocked as a plant-monster without a face could look.

  Treffen dared a whisper. “That’s a gift from my mother, you cursed thing.”

  The plant shuddered, trying to hack up the toxic crystals Treffen had tossed into its mouth. Its vines thrashed and bucked, and Treffen flattened himself on the ground, covering his head with his arms. All around him, the air was alive with angry plant flesh, jerking and convulsing.

  In a minute, it was over. The Sprout gave one last quiver and flopped limp onto the earth.

  Treffen peeked out from under his arms. Nothing in the clearing moved.

  “Thanks, Mom,” he murmured, gripping his machete and rising to his knees. The plant was clearly dead, but Treffen was taking no chances. He hacked the huge mouth pod off its stem and chopped all the vines from their squishy base. By the time he finished, his hands were blistered from gripping the blade’s handle so tightly.

  “Too close,” he muttered as he wiped the blade on his pant leg. “What was this thing doing so close to the Glade? And why are these people even here?”

  Several human villages surrounded the Fae Wood, but no human ever ventured this close to the Glade. The presence of the Deeproot Tree was too much for them to handle. Only the elves, who were the Tree’s own people, born from Her very branches at the dawn of the world, could thrive so near to its pulsing, vibrant power.

  Treffen needed to cleanse the dead plant’s evil taint, but that would have to wait. Those people need help.

  He found them just outside the clearing, huddled together under a tree. They jumped when he approached but lacked the strength to run.

  “It’s all right,” Treffen soothed. “I’m a Junior Ranger. I’m here to help you.”

  The man tried to speak, but the poison in his system had swollen his tongue, and all that came out was a garbled drool.

  “We’re from Cross Creek.” The woman’s voice was raw and bubbly. “We were trying to get to the elves.”

  Treffen pulled a flask from his pack and eased it between the man’s lips. The man couldn’t swallow, but the elixir inside would stop the swelling while he could still breathe. After dribbling the liquid into the man’s mouth, Treffen rubbed a few drops on the man’s face. The oozing boils crusted and dried. He handed the flask to the woman, and she dabbed a few drops on her own skin.

  “Why
were you coming to the Glade? Humans never travel this close to the Tree.”

  The woman’s eyes dropped. “We were out foraging for wild mushrooms yesterday.” She glanced at the man, whose eyes were drooping in relief as the healing elixir worked its magic. “When we returned to our village, it was under attack. Everything was on fire. We need help, and the elves are closer than any other human village.”

  Treffen didn’t say that if their village was attacked the day before, it was already far too late for any help the elves, or anyone else, might give. She must have known it, too.

  “We have Druids with healing power at the Glade,” Treffen began, but stopped when a noise in the bushes made him leap to his feet. He knocked an arrow and pulled back the bowstring, aiming toward the noise.

  “Don’t fire, Ranger!” a male voice called from the bushes.

  Treffen lowered his bow as an armored figure stomped into view. A helmet obscured the man’s face, and heavy plate armor covered his body.

  “Who are you, stranger?” Treffen asked, fingers still tight around his bowstring.

  The armored figure raised the visor on his helmet. “I am Sir Gawain Ursinus, Questing Knight in the service of light.” He said it like Treffen should know the name, but it meant nothing to the elf.

  Treffen looked around. “Where’s your horse?”

  The Knight scowled. “I do not ride.”

  “Why not?”

  Sir Gawain rolled his eyes. “It’s . . . a vow.” He turned toward the man and woman, still huddled on the ground. “These unfortunates need care. We must find them shelter and healing.”

  Treffen sighed. The people needed to get to the Glade. But his solo circuit of the Wood was supposed to last two more weeks. Every Junior Ranger had to prove himself by completing the journey alone. What would they do if he came back early and without completing his circuit? Would he have to start all over? Would he be allowed to start all over? His throat tightened. Would he be eliminated from Ranger training entirely?