The Forgotten King Page 11

  Chapter 29: A Girl with a Gun

  The King paced in his chamber.

  So close.

  He inhaled the dank scent of the room, the musty old foot smell sweet in his nostrils.

  The Bear is almost mine.

  The nearness of his quarry made his palms itch. He always felt it when a Questing Knight drew near, but this time it was becoming nearly unbearable. He rubbed his hairy palms against the rough fabric of his robe.

  So strong. Because the Bear is the last of the Knights?

  “My lord.”

  He looked up from his pacing to see a Billman in the doorway. He had sent all his minions away, preferring to savor his imminent victory in private.

  “You bring good news.” The king’s words were not a question. His soldier dropped to his scaly knees.

  “The Knight will be delivered shortly.”

  A raised eyebrow invited the Billman to continue.

  “We . . . um . . . set up an ambush, and there’s nowhere else to go. It should be . . . very soon.”

  The king rubbed his gnarled hands together. “Very good.” It was a clear dismissal, but the Billman didn’t leave.

  “Um, my lord . . .” The Billman hesitated.

  The king made a mental note. First thing after freedom, get smarter minions.

  “Just say it, duck.”

  The Billman sank lower, looking like he was trying to melt into the stones. “Um . . . my lord . . . it’s Boris.”

  Oh for the love of . . . “What’s the oaf done this time?”

  “He’s . . . um . . . got himself killed.”

  That made the king pause. “How?”

  “They said there’s a girl. With a gun.”

  A gun? Most interesting.

  He smiled and rubbed his hands together. Could I really be this fortunate? The princess that Trent had claimed was here . . . Emerald. One of five daughters of the usurper to his rightful throne. The Forgotten King needed one of pure blood. Most precisely, he needed the blood of one of pure blood. The Consul made it very clear that if one of the daughters could be relieved of all her blood, the reward for the king would be golden indeed. Well, crystalline, to be precise.

  And now there was a girl in the Downs. A girl with a gun.

  Of course, she could be any girl.

  But the itching in the king’s palms intensified. He nibbled on his fingertips, scraping goat-teeth against the skin.

  “You will ensure their safe delivery to my chamber.”

  The Billman nodded, bowed deeper, and ran from the room.

  The Bear approaches. And possibly . . . the Crown.

  Could this be the day? After a millennium in darkness, could this long night finally be nearing its dawn? Will I walk free this very night? But of course, he wouldn’t simply walk. He would march with an army of twisted kodama at his back. Before the sun rose again, he would march for Crystalia Castle. And this time he would claim his rightful throne.

  Chapter 30: Flight

  The army of Billmen waved their swords, quacking their war cry.

  Treffen, Emerald, and Gawain bolted down the opposite hallway, away from the spiked floor. If there are any more of those, Treffen thought, we’re all kabobs.

  They approached another intersection, with the quacking hoard close behind. From each of the side hallways, twisted brambles reached out, blocking the paths. They ran on, straight ahead, into the clear corridor.

  At the next intersection, the brambles sprang up ahead of them, forcing a right turn.

  And at the next one, a left.

  We’re being herded.

  Even as he realized it, Treffen knew there was no way to avoid it. The bramble walls had taken a huge effort to chop through in the round chamber. With the armed soldiers behind them, they’d have no chance to break through. We’re cattle heading for the chute. But there was nothing they could do but run.

  Gawain fell behind, slowed by his armor. His clanking footfalls grew more distant, and they glanced back toward their lagging companion. He carried his sword aloft, ragged breath echoing from inside his helmet.

  “We can’t leave him,” Treffen panted, and Emerald slowed.

  They spun around in time to see Gawain overrun by the swarm of Billmen. His sword swung around in tired arcs, but in seconds he had disappeared under the hoard.

  “No!” Treffen lunged toward the pile of thrashing bodies, but Emerald held him back.

  “You can’t help him. There’s too many. I can’t shoot—I might hit him.” Her rifle hung uselessly at her side. “Come on!”

  She dragged Treffen away down another hallway, yelling between breaths as they ran. “We have to . . . get out of . . . this place and . . . find help.”

  Treffen knew it would be far too late. Even if an army of elves stood right outside the Downs, they could never get here in time to save Gawain. If elves even had armies, which they didn’t. And if Treffen could ever find here again.

  The Deeproot Tree’s words hammered in his ears. Three will descend. One will not return. He’d known it since this journey began. But he’d thought the one would be him. The Son of Moon will make the sacrifice. It should have been me.

  Twisted brambles sprung out from all directions, cutting off the corridor ahead. They screeched to a halt, backpedaling as the thorny vines reached out toward them.

  Treffen stuck the torch into the blockage, but the vines wouldn’t ignite. He pulled out his machete and brandished it like a sword. Emerald raised her rifle, hesitated, and lowered it with a shake of her head. What good were bullets against vines?

  Behind them, part of the Billman hoard pounded down the hall. Treffen couldn’t see Gawain anywhere.

  “Fire! Fire!”

  He didn’t need to shout it twice. Emerald fired into the approaching army, dropping chimeras one after another. But there were so many. More popped up behind their fallen comrades, bearing down on Treffen and Emerald.

  Got to be something I can use.

  He rummaged in his pack. The dragon poop was gone. Deeproot powder was useless here. His fingers closed around a jar of dried slug mucus, and he whipped the whole thing into the path of the oncoming soldiers. The jar shattered, and the dried powder reacted with the moisture in the air to coat the hallway with dripping slime. Billman after Billman slipped and fell, sliding across the floor, and Emerald picked them off.

  “How many bullets do you have?”

  She had one eye closed, sighting for another shot. Her tongue stuck out the side of her mouth as she concentrated on her aim. “Don’t know. Not enough.”

  It was clear that she was right. No matter how many bullets she had, there were more Billmen. Where are they all coming from? But the wells of evil never seemed to run dry.

  They retreated as far as they could, until they could feel the grasping vines tickling their backs.

  “What do we do now?”

  Treffen looked at his old friend. Her eyes were wide, staring at the approaching platoon. He wished he could say something reassuring. But the Ranger rules were very specific about honesty. The truth is always the easiest story to remember. He was tempted to skirt it now, but Emerald was no fool.

  “I think,” he said, raising his machete, “that now . . . we die.”

  The Billmen were upon them. Treffen hacked with his machete and was rewarded with many angry quacks. The air quickly filled with downy white feathers, and some that weren’t white anymore. But Emerald had spoken truly. There were just too many. They piled onto Treffen and wrenched him away from Emerald. His machete was torn from his grip, and a score of duck-men jumped on top of him, pinning him to the ground. They pulled his arms together and wrapped them with damp rope.

  They’re not killing me. And I know about rope.

  With Master Birch’s training in mind, he ceased his struggling and braced his wrists side by side with his thumbs touching, wincing as the rope was pulled tight.

  “Emeral
d!” he called and was answered with a curse. They’re not killing her, either. A tiny grin quirked the corner of his mouth. They might regret that.

  He was forced to his feet.

  “March!” The Billmen only came up to Treffen’s chest, but they had the numbers. And his machete. And, he noticed, Emerald’s rifle. They marched.

  Down a staircase. Across a large, open room that smelled of metal and rotting vegetation. From corridors on the sides of the room came the squishing sounds of Sprouts on the move, clearly excited by their approach.

  Oh, Goddess. They’re going to feed us to the Sprouts.

  But they passed those hallways, and the Sprouts squelched out sad little sounds, the Sprout equivalent of “Aw, nuts.”

  More twists and turns.

  At the top of a large staircase, they paused. Torches smoked in wall sconces on each side. The stones lining the passage were smooth, with no visible mortar between them. Unlike the rest of the underground labyrinth, the floor was not slimy, and the ceiling did not drip moisture. Deep magic made this place.

  And there was only one deep magic in the Downs.

  Sword points in their backs told them what to do. Treffen wished he were a Hero. A Hero would find a way out of this. A Hero would have some secret weapon, some brutal attack that would flatten the Billmen and secure their release. But I’m just Treffen. Lunar-born Glimmerdusk Ranger. We’re not heroes. Gawain should have been the Hero, but he’d been swallowed by the pile of soldiers.

  The sword points became more insistent.

  Treffen glanced over at Emerald. Her hands were bound in front of her, just like his, and her jaw was set tight, nostrils flaring in barely suppressed rage. If she spoke now, the Princess Voice might scare a score of Billmen to death. But there were a hundred more behind them. She remained silent.

  Together, they descended the long, smooth staircase.

  Chapter 31: Before the King

  A wide, open archway gaped at the bottom of the stairs. Treffen and Emerald passed through it into a large, dimly lit chamber.

  The first thing Treffen noticed was Gawain, bound and kneeling in the middle of the room. Thank the Goddess, he’s alive. Gawain gave no sign of noticing their entry as he struggled against the ropes that held him.

  The room was oddly shaped, with long, tapering hallways branching off in five directions from a large, central space. It’s a star, he realized. They’d entered between two points of a five-pointed star. At the far ends of two of the points, blue light flickered. The other three were dark. Just like the staircase, the floor and walls were smooth as glass.

  “Ah, so glad you could join us. You’re just in time.”

  The voice made Treffen jump. From the shadows of one of the star’s dark points, a figure emerged. It was a chimera unlike no other he’d seen. Mostly goat. Partly . . . turkey? Entirely horrible. The white-haired creature wore a deep blue robe and bore himself regally, the deep voice leaving no doubt. This was the Betrayer himself.

  Other chimeras followed the king out from behind what looked like a raised dais with a throne on top. There was one with round, curling ram horns, and one that snorted like a pig. And . . . there was Trent.

  The Treant stared at the floor, trying to stay behind the others.

  “Do come forward and kneel, won’t you?” The king made it sound like a request. The sword points in Treffen’s back said it was no such thing.

  Treffen and Emerald shuffled forward, and Treffen knelt next to Gawain. “Are you okay, buddy?” he whispered, but the Knight just gritted his teeth and swallowed. His helmet lay dented beside him.

  Emerald stood defiant before the Forgotten King. “I will not kneel to one who betrayed my family.”

  Whispers and muffled quacks from the Billmen broke out around the room.

  “Your family?” the king said. “Ah, yes, King . . . Jasper is it? Which one is he by now?”

  “The Third,” Emerald replied, staring into the king’s odd-shaped goat eyes. “King Jasper the Third, ruler of Crystalia.”

  The Betrayer did not look impressed. “Current ruler, yes,” he agreed. “Perhaps not for very much longer, though, don’t you think?” His placid countenance creased with a tiny frown line between the brows. “Now my dear girl, I must insist that you kneel.”

  Feathered hands forced Emerald down next to Treffen.

  “So much better.” The king stepped forward and began to stroll in a circle around his captives. “I admire your loyalty. It’s something I prize highly in my own retinue.” He indicated the chimeras behind the throne. “Loyal subjects, all, and much overdue for the rewards of that loyalty.”

  Trent shrank back further. Good. You should feel bad. Every day for the rest of your stupid tree life.

  “But today is not their day.” The king turned back to the captives and stared straight at Gawain. “Today is your day. Today is the glorious day when you will finally stop the endless struggle that has worn so hard on you all the days of your life. You’ve been very bad, young Bear.” At the word “Bear,” Gawain twitched. “You’ve made me wait such a long time. But I am a merciful lord, am I not?”

  No one answered, and the king spoke more emphatically. “Am I not?”

  Murmurs of assent from around the room.

  “Better.” When he nodded, the furry wattles bobbled under his chin. “I am, as it happens, a forgiving master. Today you shall witness my mercy as I welcome you home.”

  Emerald snorted, still looking royal even kneeling with hands tied before her. “If this is home, I think I’ll pass. If you really were merciful, you’d kill us now instead of boring us to death with a stupid speech.”

  The king quirked a fluffy eyebrow at Emerald. “My dear girl, I wasn’t talking to you.”

  Any hope of survival evaporated from Treffen. If he doesn’t want Emerald, he’s sure not going to spare me.

  “As I was saying,” the king continued, “this is a most joyous day for you. And for me as well, I think.” He nodded to the chimeras. “Centuries ago I sought to unite the kingdom under my banner and free it from the tyrannical rule of King Felspar. Through deceit and treachery, I was robbed of my rightful throne and imprisoned in this cursed chamber.”

  That’s not what I was taught.

  “Nearly all of my faithful followers remained by my side.” He indicated the Billmen. “My noble soldiers were blessed with downy feathers, indicating their pure hearts.” An appreciative quacking filled the room. “My bravest Knights were changed into powerful forms that revealed their true souls.” The chimeras growled, grunted, and barked approval. “But four houses strayed from my blessings. The Knights of the Boar and the Falcon were the first to return to my service. The Ram was a recent addition.”

  The chimera with the curled horns pawed a hoof against the ground.

  “And now the final house kneels before me to request my blessing.” The Betrayer laid a hand on Gawain’s shoulder, and the Knight jumped as if shocked by lightning. “The Bear has returned to me, and my procession of Bramble Knights will be complete once more.” The king frowned. “I thought your father might be the one. I tried, but his blood was not the key.” He squeezed Gawain’s shoulder. “I tried all of it. But it seems that only a true Knight who wears the armor can break the spell.”

  Poor Gawain. Poor Gawain’s father.

  Sweat poured off the Knight’s brow.

  How is he even upright? This close to the source of his family’s curse, he must be in agony, fighting the darkness.

  “Do you want to know how they bound me here?”

  Emerald sighed. “Do we have a choice?”

  The king’s face betrayed a moment’s annoyance, quickly replaced by his bland, noble bearing. “You do not.”

  He motioned for his chimeras to come forward. “Bring our new friends. Let’s take a stroll around the chamber one last time.”

  Chapter 32: The Crystal Bear

  Treffen, Emerald, and Gawain w
ere hauled to their feet. A chimera on each side held their arms, and the ones holding Gawain were almost carrying him.

  They followed the king down one of the dark points of the star. At the corner where the hallway tapered, the smooth stone was broken by a thick curl of tree root that poked through the wall and out the floor. Even in this horrid place, the Deeproot Tree’s tendrils could not be walled out. The king brushed past the root on his way down the narrowing hallway.

  “The House of Falcon, first to return.”

  At the end of the chamber where it closed to a point, a waist-high stone pedestal sat. In front of it on the ground was piled a rusty suit of armor. Treffen squinted in the dim light and saw the breastplate and gauntlets were adorned with the head of a bird of prey. A tarnished sword lay across the armor. On top of the pedestal was an unrecognizable, cracked chunk of dark crystal.

  “The Falcon was first to learn how magnanimous a lord he served. Sadly, that brave Knight was lost many years ago in the battle that brought me the Boar.”

  A snuffling grunt came from the pig-faced creature that held Emerald’s arm.

  The king turned away from the pedestal. Captives and chimeras blocked his way out of the narrow hallway, and he frowned. There was a moment’s frantic shifting, chimeras dragging Gawain and Treffen out of the way so the king could proceed back into the central chamber. He sailed past them like a ship coming into harbor.

  “Next and much later came the Ram, and since then my heart has pined for my one remaining lost son.” Gawain twitched at the word. “For you are all my children, aren’t you?” Hoots and quacks of assent.

  They paraded into another of the points. This was one of the two that were lit by an ethereal blue glow. When they stopped near the point, the king stood aside so the captives could see the pedestal at the end.

  There was no armor in front of it, and on top sat a shining crystal the size of a man’s head, carved into the shape of a running bear. The blue glow flickered like a flame from within the crystal sculpture.