The Sword of Darrow (10 page)

When the goblins marched on Sonnencrest, they knew they would have to be prepared for the scorpion man. As Sonnencrest retreated from the forest, a special unit was assigned to cover him with nets. By the time he cut himself free, the battle was lost. No goblin dared take him hostage. So he simply walked away and he began a new life in the Hexenwald Forest.

“What does he do in the forest?” asked Sesha, amazed at this sad story.

Asterux replied, “He steals money and food and delivers them to the villages at night. He is too shy to allow himself to be seen. I am surprised he spoke to you at all.”

“Well, he didn’t have much choice,” said Sesha with a smile. “And I am sure that this shyness of his is not beyond my cure.”

A
s her tenth year with Asterux came to an end, Sesha’s magic had grown. In the time since she had found the low whistle of her bird, she had learned magic tricks of all kinds, often to Asterux’s dismay.

She changed the color of Asterux’s cat!

She created a wind funnel that lifted Asterux’s only flower bush right out of the ground!

And on one enchanted evening, with the full moon hanging over the clearing, she summoned the griesonauts to dance and snort outside Asterux’s window!

These antics tested even Asterux’s patience. But while Sesha found merriment, she proved a hardworking student as well. She mastered difficult magic. She brought dried toads and insects to life. She set bushes aflame.

Asterux grew proud of her accomplishments, but Sesha was never satisfied.

“I want to know the greatest feats a wizard can master,” she told him. “I want to do them all!”

Asterux laughed.

“The greatest skills of the greatest wizards take a lifetime to master. Some are only available for evil. The magic of the good works in different ways.”

“Tell me one I don’t know. Tell me an evil one!”

Asterux thought for a moment.

“Have I told you of the encirclement?”

“No!” Sesha replied, almost shouting in her excitement.

“Well in the encirclement, the wizard loses his form.”

“Her form,” Sesha corrected.

“In the encirclement, the wizard loses
her
form and becomes a mist, a little more than fog but a little less than rain. This mist encircles the victim.”

A bright sparkle danced in Sesha’s eyes.

“In the encirclement, the wizard can know everything her victim is thinking. Even more, the wizard can know everything her victim knows. She can listen to thoughts. She can search memories and even find things that the victim himself may not recall. It is a robbery—a robbery of any information the mind may contain.”

“And the victim will never know?”

“The victim will never know.”

“And why can’t I do the encirclement?”

“The evil magic is not available to you.”

“And why not?” Sesha shot back.

“Because your own magic arises from the goodness of your heart. What is the magic of evil? It is dark spells, grim creatures, and powers that grow the torments of humankind. To know these skills would plunder the goodness of your heart. All you have mastered would vanish in the blink of an eye.”

“Well, okay,” replied Sesha, a little disappointed. “But back to this encirclement. How many evil wizards can do it?”

“The encirclement requires so many years to master that I am not sure there is a wizard alive today who can still do it.”

“And Zindown, the great goblin wizard you once described. Can he do the encirclement?”

“Zindown is indeed a great wizard. But I think the encirclement is even beyond his skills.”

“Not even Zindown!” thought Sesha. Then she was back at work.

One morning Asterux entered the main room of the cabin and was surprised to see Sesha on the floor, a book in her lap.

“So, you are giving reading a try?” he asked.

“I can read!” Sesha replied. “I just can’t see what I read.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know the letters and the sounds. I know the words. But when I look on the page, the letters and the words don’t stay still on the page.”

Asterux thought for a moment. Then he spoke.

“Let me try something. Stand back from the book.”

Sesha did as she was told.

Asterux closed his eyes and mumbled something she could not understand. The book popped off the floor. When it landed, it was bigger and thicker.

“Try this,” Asterux said.

Sesha opened the book. Gone were the curls and flourishes that adorned the letters. Now they were simpler and larger than before. Between the lines, there was more spacing. She read slowly and carefully—

The wonder of the wonderlicks made wonky wonks in the western world.

Sesha looked up with eyes wide.

“Well?” asked the wizard.

“They still move but they don’t bump together.” Sesha lowered her head and returned to the book. “I guess that can get me started.”

“Keep at it,” said Asterux excitedly. “Sometimes, all success needs is a small assist.”

A few days later, Sesha awoke. Outside, the birds welcomed the day with a cacophony of competing songs. The sunlight burst through the window and from the ceiling the koowik seemed to smile.

Sesha bounced from her bed and entered the main room of the cabin. On the floor were three wooden boxes. Asterux sat at the table, his breakfast before him. Through the window she saw an old mule.

“Going somewhere?” she asked in a cheerful voice.

Asterux turned to Sesha. On his face was the same hopeful smile that greeted her when she first arrived at the cabin.

“My dear, our time together is over. You have mastered many things.”

“I’ve even learned to read!” Sesha announced proudly.

“Indeed,” Asterux replied. “But now events larger than ourselves summon us both.”

Sesha blinked. “We are leaving?”

“
You
are leaving.”

“Where will I go?”

“I have packed things you will need. Outside is a mule. His name is Zauberyungi.”

“Magic Boy!” Sesha cried, recalling the name’s meaning from an old tale.

“You can ride him out of the forest to a town where you can buy a wagon and supplies. You will sell supplies from your wagon. But that will not be your main work.”

“And what will be my work?”

“I think you already know.” Asterux straightened up in his chair, looking directly at Sesha.

For a long time, Sesha sat in her chair. Asterux’s words felt too large. Her magic felt suddenly small. But her ten years with Asterux had given her strength.

“Well, Asterux, how do I start?”

Asterux leaned across the table, a sly smile filled his face.

“Sesha, my dear, for starters, you are going to transport a hero through this forest.”

T
en years of goblin rule had transformed the once happy kingdom of Sonnencrest. Homes were looted. Farmlands were burned. People disappeared, never to be seen again.

There were no laws, no courts. Justice was limited to what one goblin might decide. Mere suspicion could bring terrible punishment. Fear ruled the kingdom.

But fear was not the only hardship. Looting robbed farmers of money to buy seed. Fields lay bare. Shops closed their doors. Across the kingdom, dinner tables were empty.

After ten years, the people of Sonnencrest barely bothered to complain, for the goblins had robbed them of more than earthly possessions. The goblins had taken their hope.

But in deepest darkness, even a tiny light glows like a mighty star. And in the most unlikely of places, a small light emerged.

At a far corner of the kingdom, a three-day walk below the forest where the goblins faced the archers in the trees, stood two mountains. They stood face-to-face, two sheer cliffs rising to the sky, staring at one another—almost touching but always apart. At the bottom of this slender gap ran a small stream. Beside the stream stood eight miserable cabins.

The homes were constructed of stone and held together with mud and clay. In the winter, the wind seeped between the cracks, stealing heat from the fire. In the summer, when the rains came, water trickled through their roofs. No grass or bushes or flowering trees surrounded these homes because nothing could grow in the shade of the mountains. Inside these shadows lived twenty-seven inhabitants, half of them trolls, whose homes were the grim reward for their service to the goblin crown.

This village was called Ael, although few in Sonnencrest knew its name. In this village lived a boy called Darrow. He was short, frail, and weighed so little he had to steady himself against a strong breeze. His plain brown hair was straight but tangled and never met a comb. Looking upon him, he was remarkable in only one way. When he walked, his head bobbed up and down in an odd rhythm because his left leg was two inches shorter than his right.

The boy attended a school, if you could call it that. The teacher, Empherny Groompus, was the oldest man in the village. At eighty-three years of age, he could hardly read and write himself. But old Groompus owned the only three books in Ael and for that reason alone he was given the job. Few students took interest in these books, but young Darrow had learned them by heart. So, each day in class, rather than speaking himself, Groompus would turn to the boy and say, “Darrow, can you tell us a story?”

From that moment, Darrow unleashed his beautiful voice and recited great stories of gallant knights, foolish kings, vanity, greed, and valor. His stories were embellished far beyond the content of the books themselves and his voice danced with passion, drama, and wonder.

While Groompus remained awake, Darrow was the star pupil. But soon Groompus would waver. His eyelids would droop. His head would sag. Finally, his chin would hit the desk and the first snore would rattle the walls and strands of drool would drip from his lips.

That was when Darrow’s true ordeal would begin.

For with Groompus lost to slumber, the troll children rose from their chairs and began their cruel games. They would seize Darrow, tie his feet together, and hang him from the elderberry tree outside the schoolroom. Then they subjected Darrow to all kinds of schoolyard torture. They howled as they tickled Darrow with the tail of a live raccoon. They tried to stretch his shorter leg to see if they could make it equal to the other. Once, they even formed a triangle, tying poor Darrow in a ball and throwing him back and forth in an evil game. During all of these ordeals, Darrow made it a matter of pride never to cry out or show his pain.

Darrow’s father urged him to leave school to work in the mines. His younger brother had already quit. But Darrow announced that he did not give in to bullies. “Better to fight and lose,” Darrow replied, “than to live in fear.”

But when Darrow reached his sixteenth birthday, school was over and his work in the mines began.

Deep in the mineshafts, his short leg struggled to gain traction on the slippery floor. His small frame staggered under the weight of a basket of ore. His clumsiness earned him beatings, and the beatings made him even weaker. Finally, Darrow was dismissed.

One day, as Darrow sat at home reading old Groompus’ books yet again, his father shouted from outside.

“Hoofbeats!”

Darrow scrambled to his feet and ran from the house. At the edge of the village, he ducked behind a boulder and watched the road, for riders rarely meant anything good.

A horse appeared, then four more. Atop these horses were green-skinned soldiers. One by one, they dismounted and entered homes. There was no gold or silver in Ael, of course. Any valuables that survived the first raid had long ago been sold off to buy food or clothing. One goblin emerged with a hammer, cursing his meager prize.

But from another house a goblin pulled a goat, and clutching that goat was the old man, Groompus.

“Please, this is Belameen, she is all I have,” old Groompus pleaded. And it was true that unlike the other goats, which were kept tethered in hidden places far from the village, Belameen lived inside the old teacher’s home.

As Darrow watched from behind the rocks, the goblin secured a rope around Belameen’s neck, Groompus still clutching her with both arms. The soldier lifted a whip and struck the old man again and again. Groompus cried out in pain but would not let go.

A second goblin lifted a stick and struck Groompus squarely on the head. The old man collapsed on the goat, one arm still holding on. The goblin struck a second time and a third.

Darrow could bear no more.

Emerging from behind the rocks, Darrow grabbed Groompus’ walking stick and swung with all his power, knocking the goblin to the ground. But the other drew a sword and slashed—Darrow barely sidestepped the blow. Two more goblins arrived. Darrow was clubbed unconscious. When the goblins were sure Darrow was dead, a soldier stuffed the hammer in his shirt and away they rode, leading Belameen by a rope.

From their own hiding places, Darrow’s father and brother hurried to the scene. Surprised to find him still breathing, they carried him into the house. An old woman set his broken bones.

As Darrow lay unconscious, he developed a fever that, to all around him, foretold a tragic end. But on the morning of the fourth day, his fever broke and his recovery began. As he lay healing in his bed, he seethed and considered the future with a new and different view.

Soon he could climb to his feet. With crutches, he could move about the house. Then he needed only a walking stick. And when he could walk at least as well as he walked before, he went to his father to share his plans.

Darrow stood, arms folded waiting to speak. Looking up, his father said, with some satisfaction, “I hope you have learned a lesson.”

“I have,” Darrow announced. “The lesson is that I would rather stand, fight, and die than live under goblin rule.”

“You are lucky not to be dead already,” his father answered.

“I will fight them again.” Darrow spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Darrow, what have you been reading?” his father asked, sure that his son was carried away with some new and glorious tale.

“Nothing, Father. I have just been thinking. All across Sonnencrest, the goblins are terrorizing our people. Someone has to act. And if no one else will do it, then that someone will be me.”

The father was certain his son had lost his mind.

“Look at yourself. You know nothing of fighting. You are small and lame. The goblins will snuff you like a candle whenever they choose.”

“They have crushed me already,” Darrow replied, “but I still stand. I can find others. I can’t be the only one willing to fight. But someone has to take the first step.”

Now his father was on his feet. He shouted that Darrow had lost his mind. He warned him to say nothing to his brother, Mempo, who was hiding outside, listening to every word. But even in the face of his father’s tirade, Darrow stood calm and firm. In the end, exhausted by the ordeal, deeply pained by the fate that awaited his son, the father decided to share his deepest secret in hopes that Darrow would grant him one request.

“My son, as you know, your mother died when your brother was born. She was not from Ael. I have never told you this story.

“She and her younger brother were the children of a noble family in a kingdom not far away, but what had been a happy childhood disappeared when they were kidnapped for a horrible task.”

“What did she have to do?” Darrow asked.

“There is a rare spider that lives in narrow crevices in some caves. Evil wizards prize the venom of the spider, for it is an essential ingredient in many of their potions. Children were kidnapped for their small hands and forced to reach into the crevices of the caves where these spiders lived. Your mother and uncle were among the children taken to the caves. When their hands became too large for this task, their captors disposed of them. One day, deep within the cave, your mother and her brother met a hermit who had rescued them. The hermit had led a terrible life, performing many cruel deeds. In his downfall, he found repentance and learned a strange magic that she said arose from forgiving others.

“Your mother used her new powers to tell her father that they were alive and guide him to their hiding place. Her father sailed to Globenwald. He brought soldiers and engaged in a great battle with the wizard. In this battle, your mother used her powers to help her father, but at a crucial moment, her hatred of the wizard returned and her powers failed. Her father was killed. Your mother, now almost seventeen, fled with her brother, the goblin soldiers close on their trail.

“Once the goblins saw them, the goblins fired arrows that struck your mother in several places. Wounded, she knew that she could no longer elude the goblins, so she pretended to be dead so her brother might escape. Before he left, she gave him a gift. I asked about this gift, but she never told me what it was.

“I found her, a stranger, still alive at the side of the trail not far from Ael. I carried her to my home and after a long time she recovered. I never expected her to stay in Ael. After Mempo was born, as she lay on her deathbed, she made one request. She told me that one day you would leave Ael. When you did, I must send you to see her brother.

“So before you go charging the goblins with swords and spears, do me one last favor. Find this uncle of yours. He is a wise man. Seek his advice. Ask for his help.”

Darrow marveled at this story. He had no idea how to begin his quest. Maybe this uncle could indeed be helpful. So he turned to his father and spoke.

“Of course I will go see him. But where does he live?”

“He lives in a forest somewhere on the other side of the plains.”

“And what is this forest?”

“Hexenwald.”

“And what is my uncle called?”

“His name is Asterux.”