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    Swamp King
    Swamp King
    Swamp King
    Ebook132 pages1 hour

    Swamp King

    By AJ Cooper

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    About this ebook

    For centuries, the bright, sunny Kalamar Forest and the dark, dismal swamps to its west have lived in relative peace.
    But as Pirosha, King of Kalamar, approaches his nineteenth year, trouble consumes his realm. Vanishings and rebellions are reported. Word of ravenous wolves reaches his ear. And rumors begin to spread that he is not sovereign, that there is another claimant to the throne, that the true king of both the forest and the swamp is about to reveal himself. His name is Milkweed.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRealms of Varda
    Release dateMay 9, 2018
    ISBN9780463222744
    Swamp King
    Author

    AJ Cooper

    Cursed at birth with a wild imagination, AJ Cooper spent his youth dreaming of worlds more exciting than Earth. He is a native Midwesterner and loves writing fantasy, especially epic fantasy set in his own created worlds.He is a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop and the author of numerous fantasy novels and novellas. His short stories have appeared in Morpheus Tales, Fear and Trembling, Residential Aliens and Mindflights, among others.

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      Book preview

      Swamp King - AJ Cooper

      Swamp King: Enchanted Forest, Volume Three

      Copyright © 2018 Andrew James Cooper

      Published by Realms of Varda

      www.vardabooks.com

      All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any print or electronic form without permission.

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Episode 1: Hagwer

      Episode 2: Bad Company

      Episode 3: A Stranger In Town

      Episode 4: A Summons By Candlelight

      Episode 5: The One True King

      About the Author

      Contact the Author

      Swamp King

      Enchanted Forest, Volume Three

      AJ Cooper

      Episode 1: Hagwer

      I.

      The noises began after dark, when the heat of the summer day had faded, when the sun set beneath the hills and the night creatures emerged. It was not a wolf’s howl that disturbed the peace of Bayne’s Dain; those occurred every summer, and with regularity.

      These noises were like screeches or the sound of weeping. They began as soon as dusk set in, and would not relent until daybreak.

      Pirosha, nineteen years old and the king of all Kalamar, was sitting on his throne in the royal fortress one of those mornings when a young woman entered.

      My king! she said, and bowed.

      Rise, Pirosha said.

      I have not slept in three days, she answered. She was wearing a dress of bright blue, and had a garland of flowers in her hair. This was a woman of some means. No doubt she expected to be taken seriously and helped immediately. But Pirosha did not show favoritism.

      My husband left the Dain to find out what that horrid noise is. Tears welled in the woman’s eyes. I have not seen him since. He’s gone missing… disappeared… you must do something, Pirosha, or you are a lousy king.

      Pirosha bit back a cutting response. She was distressed. She had spoken out of turn. She deserved some small amount of compassion.

      I will redouble my efforts, Pirosha said.

      His name is Baldurin, the woman continued. And mine is Elwyn. We live right across from the Understone Inn.

      If I find something, Pirosha told Elwyn, you will be the first to know.

      ~

      The heat of the day waned, and Pirosha walked outside onto the balcony of the Royal Fortress. Below him, the lights of the town glowed, and the sound of music rose up like smoke into the heavens. For a moment, he couldn’t hear the shrieking and wailing over the din of the town; but then it became evident, distinguishing itself against the cacophony. It had not ended, not even a little bit.

      The door opened, and he felt a warm breeze behind him. Inside, the court was listening to ballads and dancing to music, but Pirosha wouldn’t join them; he’d become too consumed with the world outside Bayne’s Dain, too concerned with the shrieking and the wailing.

      Friend, Imowyn said.

      He turned to face the bespectacled young woman.

      There’s been a shipment of ale from Greenacre… three wagons full. She smiled. I thought it would be more to your taste…

      The noises, Pirosha mumbled, and turned back to face the town below and its surroundings. They are bothering me…

      Don’t worry yourself so much, Imowyn said. After all, it’s summer. Things will take care of themselves.

      But they wouldn’t. Pirosha remembered Elwyn and her tale of her husband. The weeping and screeching noises, however faint, weren’t harmless. They were a problem that needed to be solved.

      He turned back to Imowyn. Friend… if you would… uncover the meaning of these noises. Surely, it’s written in one of your books somewhere. You have the greatest library in all Kalamar…

      Imowyn laughed. All right, Pirosha. I will… under one circumstance.

      And what is that?

      Come with me, and enjoy the night. There are minstrels from Honeymead playing, and jugglers from as far as Duskville…

      ~

      That night, through the endless dances and the mugs of foamy ale, through the haunches of roast hog and the lamb shanks turning on spits, Pirosha remained distant, thinking only of those dreadful sounds, those screeches and wailings which echoed through the night. There was something more to them, and no one else could see it. He had to follow them. He had to find their source. There was no other option.

      ~

      A week passed, and the summer deepened. In his dusk rides on his pony Luna, will o’ wisps blazed in the twilight, and ivy dangled lazily off trees. Time seemed to slow, and as the daytime lengthened, lethargy settled in among the residents of the Dain. Everyone except him, it seemed, allowed the heat and long days of summer to affect their minds. A cloud of worry hovered over Pirosha’s head; he could not forget the night noises. Every trouble, every problem of Kalamar’s kingdom rested on his shoulders. After all, he was the leader of all the people.

      He was riding home one of those summer evenings. The sun was setting over the trees.

      The gate to Bayne’s Dain was open until nightfall. It was closing imminently.

      But Pirosha stopped his ride, jerking Luna by the reins. He watched in the heat of the summer evening and waited, until the gate began to grind shut. They would let no one into the Dain at night, not even the king.

      He would remain out here until the morning, exposed to the dangers of the forest. He’d learn the source of those wretched noises. He would rescue Elwyn’s husband, or return his body to her.

      ~

      When the sun sank beneath the treetops, and the stars and moon emerged, the noises began. Away from the sound of horses and music, the screeching and wailing was much clearer. It echoed from far away, from the west.

      Pirosha urged Luna on. The pony set off at a canter. He drew Elvathan just in case something surprised him. The pit in his stomach was growing, the gnawing fear that the voices inevitably produced. As a warrior he had learned to charge straight into danger, not avoid it. It still took effort to tame that fear. He found himself uttering prayers to Peong, lord of earth and stone, as he drew nearer and nearer to the noise. But the prayers did not calm his heart; as he headed west, into certain danger, the beating of his heart turned into a thunderous drumming.

      When darkness had fully settled into the forest, and the sun’s light was gone, only the winking lights of will o’ wisps offered comfort. But will o’ wisps—glowing orbs of blue, green and yellow—were not Pirosha’s friend, nor anyone’s. They were predators seeking prey, as ferocious as any wolf or wild dog. They used the hope of light and warmth to lure passersby into swamps, then devour the bodies.

      I am alone, Pirosha realized, now more than ever.

      In the relative silence of the forest, Pirosha began to make out sounds and words in the midst of the weeping and wailing. It wasn’t a language that he spoke or knew. It wasn’t norgish. It didn’t sound like a human dialect.

      He was getting closer. He was almost to the source.

      He began to think of Elwyn and her husband, and of his responsibilities as king. He began to think about his own life, how the fate of Kalamar rested on his shoulders.

      The enchantress of his clan had blessed his sword. Elvathan, Death to Enemies, had never let him down before. But what if it could not protect him from this ghostly wailing, this unearthly screeching? It was like a song, and though Pirosha could not comprehend the words, and he did not know where it came from, it sounded eerily familiar, as if he’d heard it before, long ago.

      Luna bucked up on her hind legs and whinnied.

      Up ahead, a black furry form appeared, racing

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