The Forgotten King Read online

  And what kind of curse was the Huntress talking about? Sooner or later he was going to have it out of Gawain, no matter how much the Knight didn’t want to talk about it. But the meeting with the Huntress had clearly distressed him, so Treffen let it slide. For now.

  Leaving the destroyed village behind them, they turned southwest and headed for the dark scar that was Lordship Downs. Treffen figured they could make it in two days of hard travel, mostly through the Wood. Assuming the Treant could keep up.

  The huge creature strode along next to Treffen, with Gawain close at his heels. If he’d wanted to, Treffen could have left them both behind. And he did want to. He hadn’t wanted the Knight as a traveling companion in the first place, and the few times he’d tried to engage the man in conversation, it had fallen flat. At the time, he’d been slightly miffed at that. But Trent wouldn’t shut up. Like an ill-mannered toddler, he was full of questions. Where was the Lunar fortress? What were Treffen’s parents like? What was it like to train as a Ranger? How big was the Deeproot Tree?

  Treffen longed for the days when he only had to consider the surly Knight at his back. When he looked to Gawain for help, he just lowered the visor on his helmet.

  “Where’s his horse?”

  Treffen sighed at the question. “He’s a confirmed pedestrian.” He thought about that for a moment. What kind of vow is that, anyway? Makes no sense. There has to be more going on there. He dropped back to walk next to the Knight.

  “Vow of pedestrianism, huh?”

  Gawain grunted in response.

  “Sure didn’t seem like you wanted anything to do with that Huntress, though. All that sniffling and tears.”

  Another grunt.

  Treffen sighed, his suspicion confirmed by Gawain’s refusal to meet his eyes. “There’s no shame in it, you know. It’s not a weakness.”

  Gawain didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, a small voice came from inside the helmet. “It’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s not ridiculous. It’s just . . . annoying, I guess. Inconvenient.”

  The Knight had nothing more to say. Treffen trudged back up to Trent and said, “He’s allergic.”

  “What?” The huge tree-beast swiveled his face to Treffen.

  “Allergic. To horses. A Knight that’s allergic to horses.”

  Treffen had to explain what allergies were, and Trent still didn’t seem to get it. The elf sighed, wishing Emerald was there. She’d have shared stifled snorts of laughter with him, and later they’d howl about it, once they were well out of Gawain’s earshot.

  They moved on through the Wood. Comforting sounds of birds in the trees and small creatures in the underbrush reassured Treffen that danger was still far away. He knew the way of the Wood, and they followed game paths through the dense underbrush.

  They stopped at the next trading village and replenished their food supply. Treffen could maybe provide them all with enough nourishment out here in the Wood, but who knew what they would find if they truly did have to enter the Downs? He still hoped they might find Emerald along the way, but no one in the little village had heard from her lately.

  “Wonder why she didn’t stop here on her way from Stonebridge?” Treffen mused as they resumed their journey.

  “Maybe went another way,” Trent said. He hadn’t come into the village with them, preferring to hang in the tree line just outside the town limits.

  “This is the most direct route, though. She’d know that.”

  An hour outside the town, Treffen paused, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He motioned the others to halt, and they stood still, listening.

  Too quiet.

  He didn’t smell the taint of the Dark Realm here. This was something else.

  “Wait here,” he whispered, and Trent and Gawain hunched down in the bushes.

  Treffen crept forward, sniffing at the air like a deer. Nothing. So why is it so quiet? And why did he feel the icy prickles all down his back?

  Just ahead, between two large trees, a wide hole gaped in the ground. Freshly dug, it had the scent of humans about, and another smell he didn’t recognize. He crouched low and moved in, one small step at a time, until he could peer over the edge.

  It wasn’t terribly deep, not much deeper than Treffen’s height. On the bottom, pine boughs scattered about and an uneaten haunch of meat showed the trap’s camouflage and bait. The entire hole was lined with thin iron rails, and at the bottom lay a huge white Mist Hound, motionless.

  Chapter 13: Hound in the Hole

  Treffen motioned his party forward, and together they looked into the iron-lined trap.

  “Is it dead?” Trent asked.

  “I don’t know,” Treffen answered. The Mist Hound was still as death, lying in a heap at the bottom, its skin touching the iron bars. No top prevented its escape because the touch of iron on a creature of Faerie was deadly poison. If the Hound wasn’t dead already, it soon would be. The fine white fur would be burned away where the iron touched it, but most of the hide was pristine and would fetch a tremendous price on the black market. Its head would soon adorn some rich man’s wall. No doubt the man would claim to have killed the creature in pitched battle, not just purchased it from cowardly trophy hunters who baited an irresistible trap.

  Treffen hopped down into the hole.

  “Are you insane?” Gawain leaned over the edge. “That thing will rip you to shreds if it’s alive.”

  Treffen gestured for silence. From a few feet away, he nudged the Mist Hound’s paw. Fool. If it’s not dead, you’re toast. No way you’re getting out of this hole fast enough to avoid it. But the Hound didn’t move. Too late. I’m too late.

  He knelt next to it, laying his hand over the huge furry chest. A faint thump reached his hand, and he jumped to his feet.

  “Help me, both of you. Trent, get in here.”

  The panicked Treant looked to Gawain for help but got only a shrug in response. “Better do it.”

  The tree-beast lowered himself into the hole, as far from the Hound as possible. Treffen slid a hand under the creature’s head. “We’re going to get you out of here. Don’t kill us, okay?” he whispered. The Hound’s eyes were rolled back in its head, and it gave no sign of hearing.

  “Get over here.” Treffen commanded Trent to approach. “Listen. Once this Hound is away from the iron, it’s going to recover pretty quickly. We need to get it up and out of here, then get us out of here, too. It’s going to be very angry.”

  “What’s ‘pretty quickly’?”

  “Um . . . fast. Okay, let’s go. On three . . . two . . . one!” Together they lifted the Hound’s lifeless body. Trent eased it up to the edge of the hole, and Gawain pulled from above. In a moment they had the Hound out onto solid earth.

  “Now you get up,” Treffen said, and Trent leapt from the hole. He didn’t offer Treffen a hand up, and the elf heard both the Treant and the Knight clanking away toward the woods. “Well, thanks, guys,” he muttered.

  He jumped up, grabbing the edge of the hole, which crumbled under his grasp. One of the iron bars fell from the edge and whacked Treffen on the head. “Barst!” he cursed. He tried again and managed to grab onto a tree root, hauling himself up out of the hole.

  A low growl rumbled from behind him.

  Don’t run, don’t run, don’t run.

  Slowly, inch by inch, he turned around.

  The Mist Hound stood on wobbly legs, head lowered and eyes glowing red. The huge female was nearly as tall as Treffen and would be taller on her hind legs.

  Treffen took a step back.

  “It’s all right, friend,” he murmured. “You’re safe now. Run back to the mountains. What were you doing this far west anyway?” He kept a quiet stream of monologue, as much for himself as for the Hound. Step by step he retreated while the Hound growled and stared.

  In a moment, he realized the Hound wasn’t looking at him. She was looking behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to
see Trent and Gawain motioning to him from the bushes. The Knight had his sword drawn.

  “Put that away,” Treffen hissed. “Faerie Creature.” He pointed at the Hound. “It’s the steel.”

  Gawain did not comply but backed away from the beast. Finally, Treffen reached them, and the Hound blinked.

  “We’re going to go now,” Treffen said to the Hound. “We’re going that way.” He pointed west. “And you’re going that way.” He pointed east. “Good luck, girl. Glad you’re okay.”

  The Hound blinked again and sat down, still glaring at the trio with red eyes. She raised her head and howled, a terrifying, mournful cry that shook the ground. Birds erupted in flight from the trees.

  “We need to go now.” Treffen ushered them farther into the trees. As soon as they were a few more feet away, Trent and Gawain bolted into the forest. Treffen paused a moment, watching the Hound. She crossed back to the other side of the clearing, off the game trail that led to the trap. She crawled under some thick bushes and shuffled forward until only her snout and eyes were peeking out from under the dense foliage.

  Treffen nodded and trotted over to rejoin his friends.

  “What was that about?” Gawain asked. “That thing could have killed us all.”

  “It’s a she. And she’s not interested in us.” Treffen smiled. “She’s waiting. Faerie Creatures have lots of patience.”

  “What’s she waiting for?”

  He gave a satisfied snort. “She’s waiting to see who comes to check that trap.”

  Chapter 14: Questing Knight’s Curse

  Lordship Downs grew closer with every step. The air felt heavier on Treffen’s skin, the breeze slightly sour. Trent was in a chatty mood, and Treffen once again found himself next to the Treant with Gawain just out of earshot behind.

  “How did you know that Hound wouldn’t eat you?” Trent asked.

  “I didn’t.” Treffen shrugged. “But I wasn’t going to leave her there to die. Trophy hunters.” He spat the words.

  “You’re a hunter.” Trent gestured a leafy branch toward the bow over Treffen’s shoulder.

  “I hunt for food. If I kill, it’s to eat. Elves never kill more than they need, and we never take more than the land can give us. Some of us don’t eat meat at all, just plants, but not all the plants appreciate that, either.”

  A distant rumble of thunder made Trent look worriedly up at the sky.

  Treffen turned his face into the breeze. “Nothing to worry about. That’s far to the south, and not heading our way.”

  Trent whistled, a sound like wind through leaves, which is exactly what it was. “You sure know a lot about stuff.”

  “I had a good teacher.”

  The Treant’s branches drooped. “I never had a teacher. Too stupid to learn anything anyway.”

  Sweet Goddess, are we doing this now? Treffen sighed. “You’re not stupid, Trent. Don’t say that. You’ve been a big help to us so far.”

  “I have?” The wooden face looked so hopeful that Treffen couldn’t regret the lie.

  “You sure have. We’re sure glad to have you along.”

  “You are?”

  Treffen glanced behind him, but Gawain was no help. “Oh, yeah. We really are. Glad to have you as a friend.”

  He looked at the Treant, who was mouthing the word over and over.

  Friend. Friend. Friend.

  * * *

  Late that afternoon they crossed a large clearing.

  Trent looked worriedly around as they left the trees behind. “Don’t like this place much. Too open. Anything could see us.”

  Gawain shook his head. “This isn’t the place for an ambush. The Betrayer’s forces don’t like fighting in the open. That’s a fair fight, and they want no part of it. Skulking in the underbrush, creeping down tunnels. That’s their style. We’re in no more danger here than anywhere.” It was a long speech for the reticent Knight.

  A whiff of sulfur caught Treffen’s attention. He glanced around the field, searching for the source. “You guys go on ahead. I’ll be right there.”

  He followed his nose, heading slightly north of the direct path across the plain. Where is it? I know it’s here. It’s got to be here. Just hope it hasn’t soaked in all the way.

  Finally, he stopped in front of a large, pale yellow splat on a rock. The goo had settled into a hollow in the stone. How lucky! Treffen pulled an empty flask from his pack and grabbed up a handful of tall grass. He quickly wove the grass into a small paddle shape and pushed as much of the yellow slop into the flask as he could, sealing it tight with a cork. He wrapped the flask in a scrap of cloth and set it gently into his pack. When he reached Gawain and Trent, he couldn’t keep his excitement down.

  “Guys, guess what I found?” He patted the pack.

  “Something great?” Trent’s leaves bounced with excitement.

  “Something rare. Valuable.”

  “What is it?”

  Treffen was enjoying the Treant’s excitement almost as much as his own. “It’s . . .” He paused for effect. “Dragon poop!”

  Silence. Not the effect he’d hoped for.

  “It’s real dragon poop, guys,” he explained. “Only the most powerful explosive anywhere.”

  Trent leapt away from Treffen and his explosive pack.

  “Oh, it doesn’t work by itself,” Treffen amended. “Totally safe by itself. Mostly safe. Pretty . . . it’s basically safe.” He grinned. “But mix it with the leaf of a firefern and . . . BOOM!”

  “Do you . . .” Trent eyed the pack. “Do you have any firefern in there?”

  “Are you crazy? You can’t transport them together.” Treffen shook his head. So many things this Treant didn’t know. “Besides, it grows way south of here in the Mistmourn. But still, it’s an amazing find. And so fresh.”

  Trent and Gawain both kept watchful eyes to the sky until they were safely back under the trees again.

  * * *

  That night Treffen waited until Trent was asleep, his snores sounding like a lumberjack was hacking away at the prone tree-beast. He scooted over to where Gawain had once again insisted on taking first watch.

  “So you’re going to have to tell me, and I’m not leaving or shutting up until you do.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “The Huntress mentioned a curse. She said you were more vulnerable the closer you got to the Downs. Gawain, we’re not just going to the Downs. If we don’t find Emerald outside, we’re going into the Downs.” And one will not return, whispered the Deeproot Tree in his mind.

  Gawain’s helmet sat next to him on the ground, along with the gauntlets emblazoned with the silver bear motif. They had built no fire, not wanting to alert anything to their presence so close to the Downs. “I feel it every day,” he whispered.

  “What do you feel? Gawain, you have to tell me if you’re a danger here.”

  He shook his head. “I’m no danger to anyone but myself.” He turned to look Treffen full in the face. The elf could see the pain behind the steely gaze. “Do you know what the Bramble Knights are?”

  “They’re the Forgotten King’s soldiers. His most trusted men, turned into horrible chimera half-beasts for cleaving to his evil.”

  Gawain nodded. “And Questing Knights?”

  “They are the resistance. The ones who turned away from the darkness and chose the light.”

  “That we are.” He turned away from Treffen. “I am descended from the brave Knights who resisted that evil. The strongest and bravest Knights. When faced with the darkness, they never questioned what they should do. My grandfather was a Questing Knight. My father before me. And now . . . me.”

  An owl hooted in the quiet that followed.

  “And the curse?” Treffen prompted.

  “It’s his call.” Gawain pressed his fingers into his temples. “He wants us. He needs us. We once served him, swore our oaths to him. How the first Knights were able to resist, I’ll ne
ver understand. They say that in every generation it gets more dilute, farther away. Some families don’t seem to feel it at all anymore. But I do. My father did.”

  Trent rolled over and snuffled in his sleep.

  “You fear you’ll turn to the Forgotten King?”

  The haunted look in Gawain’s eyes reached straight into Treffen’s heart. “I have fought it every day of my life. My father couldn’t stand it. He left when I was just a child. Took off his armor . . .”—Gawain glanced at the gauntlets on the ground—”and left. He thought if he got far enough away, he’d be free of it. He used to send letters from the far corners of Crystalia. As far as he could get. That’s why I thought it was odd that he’d summon me to Stonebridge, so close to the Downs.”

  “It was your father?” Why would his father summon him to a town that was about to be attacked? Treffen frowned. Coincidence?

  The Knight nodded. “The letter had his seal.”

  “Well, did it work?” Treffen asked. “Did staying far away help your father’s curse? Is he free?”

  Gawain shrugged. “He took off the armor. What he feels no longer matters.”

  “The armor you now wear.”

  A nod.

  Treffen sighed. “You should go back. Trent will lead me through the Downs.” The Twisted Tree will show the way.

  “I have to go. I know it as sure as I know anything.”

  The Silver Bear holds the key.

  “We’ll be fine. Emerald is probably still outside. We’ll find her tomorrow and get as far from the Downs as we can.” Three will enter. One will not return.

  “I’m going.” The set of Gawain’s jaw told Treffen that the conversation was over.

  He scooted away and lay back to get some sleep before Gawain woke him for his watch.

  I’m going into Lordship Downs with an armed lunatic and a tree that’s afraid of his own shadow. What could possibly go wrong?

  The Deeproot Tree whispered in his mind.

  The Son of Moon will make the sacrifice.

  “Shut up, Tree,” Treffen murmured, staring up at the cloudy sky.