Gawain fell to the floor, paws over his head. He shrieked, a horrible sound that should never have been able to issue from a bear’s throat.
Treffen skittered away, darting over to where Emerald lay still on the floor. The three chimeras near her were also on the floor, writhing and wailing just like Gawain.
“Emerald?” He shook her shoulder, but she didn’t wake.
Pack, pack, where’s my pack? He found it in a corner with his bow and snatched them both up. From inside he pulled a small paper packet. He dashed back to Emerald and tipped her head back, pouring the powder from the packet directly into her nostrils.
With a huge, deep sneeze, she lurched upright.
“What the . . . where’s the . . .” She sneezed again.
“It’s all right,” Treffen said. “The king is dead.”
“What’s a . . . how?” She sneezed and pulled up the tail of her shirt to blow her nose.
“That’s gross, Emerald.”
She glared up at him. “I don’t have a hankie.”
He grinned. “You sound like Gawain when he’s close to a horse. But we need to get out of here. The king is dead, but his minions aren’t.”
A deep, rumbling hum filled the room.
Oh, Goddess, not again.
The noise grew in intensity until Treffen thought he would go insane. He fell to the floor, ramming his hands over his ears, but the hum vibrated right though his body. He screamed into the crushing noise.
And in an instant, it was over.
Ears ringing, Treffen sat up.
Three strange men lay on the floor behind Emerald. One of them wore a loose shred of cloth around his waist, and the other two wore nothing.
“Stronger than fear . . . stronger than blood.” The words croaked out from behind Treffen, and he whirled around.
Gawain sat on the floor. Fully human, fully naked. Treffen jumped between him and Emerald.
“Gawain? Are you . . .”
The naked Knight smiled. “I’m all right. For the first time in maybe ever, I’m all right.”
He looked at the dead goat-man next to him. As they all watched, the goat face flattened, white hair shedding from the skin. The neck wattles shriveled up, and the thick black fingernails faded to a dull yellow. In moments, a wizened old man lay on the floor with a sword sticking out of his chest. His long white beard lay still, and his blank gray eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling.
“After all that, he’s just a man,” Emerald murmured.
Voices behind them tore their attention from the dead man.
“Um, do you have any . . . clothes?”
Everyone looked at each other, and Gawain looked down, apparently realizing for the first time that he wore nothing. He snatched at a corner of the dead king’s robe and pulled it up to cover himself.
Emerald sighed. “You boys. So prudish.” She reached into the king’s robe pocket and pulled out his knife, cutting away wide strips of his voluminous robe and tossing them to the men behind her. Gawain scurried off, reappearing a few minutes later, adjusting his armor.
“There’s my Questing Knight.” Emerald grinned, and Gawain grinned back.
Voices echoed down the doorway, confused murmurs. More men wandered down the stairs in various states of undress.
“Sweet Goddess, doesn’t this place have any closets?” Emerald shook her head. “Look, guys, this is not princess-appropriate behavior, standing around with all you nudies. Go find some clothes and don’t come back until you do.”
They responded to the Princess Voice and shuffled off to find something to wear.
Treffen, Emerald, and Gawain plopped down onto the floor.
“So what just happened here?” Emerald asked.
Treffen smiled. “Trust and loyalty were stronger than blood.”
She groaned. “Right. I got that part. Who killed the old geezer?”
“I did.” Gawain held his helmet in his lap. “And apparently his death broke the spell. For all of us.”
A few men drifted into the room, flapping their lips and making strange noises.
“You’re not ducks anymore.” Emerald sighed. “Stop quacking.” She turned back to Treffen and nodded at the Forgotten King’s body. “I thought it was over for all of us. When my blood hit that stone . . .” She jumped up and searched around the room. “There you are,” she muttered, grabbing the gem from where it had fallen on the floor. She also grabbed her hat and pushed out the dents, cramming it down over her ears.
“But it had to happen,” Treffen said. “The magic had to break. The spell that kept him bound down here also kept him alive. He’s been here for centuries. The binding spell must have made him immortal; remember how his wound just healed when you bit him? The spell had to break for him to die.”
And the Deeproot Tree knew.
A howl shook the room, and all three jumped to their feet. The Mist Hound bounded down the stairs, skidded to a halt next to Treffen, and shook herself all over. She hacked for a moment, spitting out a large chunk of bark, and then flopped onto the floor, panting and looking very pleased with herself.
“She followed us all this way,” Treffen said, shaking his head. “Good girl.” He reached out to pat her, and she jerked away with a grumble. “Okay, then. No petting. That’s fine.” She resumed panting, grinning a doggy-grin.
Treffen’s gaze fell onto the chunk of bark the Hound hacked up. Oh, my buddy. You could have been free.
“So why are we still sitting in this nasty mold-hole?” Emerald ran a hand through her hair, a nest of green frizz. “I need fresh air.”
Treffen motioned to the dead king. “What do we do with him?”
Gawain’s Knight Voice left no room to argue. “We leave him here to rot forever.”
As they wound their way up the staircase and through the corridors, following the Mist Hound, more men fell in behind them. Young and old, mostly human, but with a few elves and even some dwarves, they became a shambling parade of confused former-chimeras. Some were having trouble relearning to walk on two legs. Some still wore the tattered remnants of the Forgotten King’s livery, while others who had eschewed clothing in their animal forms were wrapped in bits of drapery and old tablecloths.
They emerged into the sunlight of a bright, clear morning.
Emerald paused, and the groups of former soldiers milled around the courtyard.
“I need to return to Crystalia Castle and tell my father what happened here.”
Gawain nodded. “On my honor as a Knight, I must accompany you, my lady.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “You must? Really? Spare me the chivalry. I’ll get there in half the time without the tin man clanking along behind me.” Her kind expression took the sting out of the words.
“But my lady . . .”
“No buts.” She looked around at the half-dressed men. “Well, lots of butts, actually. These guys are really lost now, aren’t they? Some of them, their families have probably been dead for hundreds of years. What are they going to do?”
Gawain shook his head. “They need help. A leader to help them regroup into proper soldiers.”
“Right.” Emerald’s smile disappeared. “We may need them sooner rather than later. I don’t know what the Betrayer was talking about down there, but the Dark Consul isn’t going to be happy about losing his right-hand man. That goat wasn’t the only evil in Crystalia.” She nodded and turned to Gawain. “You must stay, Sir Knight. Help these men to remember what it means to serve the rightful king.” Seeing Gawain’s impending protest, she added, “I command it.”
“As you wish, my lady. But where shall we go?”
Emerald thought for a moment. “There’s an empty barracks just north of the Castle. It’s old, hasn’t been used in my lifetime. It will need a good cleaning, but it should be big enough for all these men. Take them there.”
The Knight nodded, and his blue eyes turned to Treffen. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“Sir Gawain,” Treffen said. “It’s been an honor adventuring with you.”
“And with you, Ranger.” Gawain obviously wanted to say more but was distracted by one of the half-naked soldiers stumbling into him, obviously unused to walking on two legs. Gawain locked eyes with Treffen for a long moment. “Loyalty and trust,” he whispered, turning to the crowd with a smile. “All right, men. Let’s get moving.”
The men filed out of the courtyard behind Sir Gawain.
Emerald and Treffen remained behind with the Mist Hound.
“And you,” Emerald said to the elf, “will accompany me to the Castle. My father will want to hear your part of this story.”
“Oh no,” Treffen said. “No way. No castles.”
The Mist Hound whined assent.
“There’s no choice here, elf.” Emerald turned her face to the sun. “If you don’t come, I’ll tell everybody how I found you huddled in the basement crying and how I had to wipe your snotty nose and everything.”
Treffen shrugged. “Fine by me.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “Oh, fine,” she sighed. “Look, I need you, Treffen. There’s more at stake here than just this.” She indicated the crumbling walls around them. “I didn’t find any trace of Amethyst in there. You know I don’t like being in that Castle any more than you do, and my father is going to hit the roof when he hears I went into the Downs at all. Please come with me.”
She turned on a hopeful smile, and Treffen wilted. “Of course I’ll go.” He glanced down at the Hound. “What about you, girl? Want to go see the Castle?”
The Mist Hound snorted and showed her teeth in a huge yawn.
“Guess that’s a no.” Treffen laughed. “You’re the smartest one here.”
A wagging tail agreed.