The Sword of Darrow (16 page)

I
n the great room of the palace in Blumenbruch, fifty chairs surrounded a long table. King Malmut refused to sit. Beltar and the great wizard Zindown stood straight and still like statues before him.

“The entire army drunk on rincinnar brew! The prison unguarded! Warriors escaped!”

Beltar glanced at the door. Zindown smiled slyly.

“And have we captured them all? We have not!” The goblin king asked and answered his own question, working himself into a tirade.

Beltar leaned forward and spoke to the king.

“Indeed, it was a cleverly conducted escape, Your Majesty. But only three remain at large.”

“It’s been a week!” the king shouted, sweat rolling down his forehead.

“Three prisoners can do nothing. One of them is a cave troll.”

“But one of them is the Minotaur!”

Zindown’s smile grew wider. He leaned forward, his long wrinkled neck lifting his head high above the king.

“Ah, Beltar,” he sighed. “I know it must be stressful to have lost so many prisoners on your watch. Perhaps . . .”

“Stay out of this!” snapped Beltar.

“Yes, these soldiers are your concern alone. I have larger issues on my mind. Perhaps we ought to consider who is behind this trouble.”

“Yes, yes,” the king was practically leaping with each word. “Who?”

“As we know, the prisoners were headed for the forest. I think—”

“I have sent thirty more soldiers to the forest,” Beltar interrupted. “It is all the fort will hold.”

Zindown turned to Beltar, his eyes narrowing in a look so wicked that even Beltar shivered.

“Oh, Beltar, can you not think beyond the pitiful tools of war? Is the truth not plain? There was no break-in at all.

“No one was injured. Not a sword was lifted against a goblin guard. The warden was found five miles away, delirious, in a cow pasture. I suppose, Beltar, you would call that a military strike?”

Beltar glowered at Zindown but held his tongue.

“Send soldiers if you will, but I sense a more powerful hand at work. The king is right to be concerned. Perhaps, Beltar, you should show more respect for his wisdom.”

“These three are nothing!” shouted Beltar.

“Silence!” the king bellowed. Zindown continued.

“Nothing? Perhaps. But these nothings will soon be in the forest beyond the reach of our military might. Perhaps this is no job for a general. Perhaps a visit to Hexenwald is what we need. There we will learn the true nature of the problem we face.”

And with those words, Zindown lifted his black robe and swirled it above his head. A puff of smoke exploded into the air. When it drifted away, Zindown was gone.

S
esha and Scodo sat together inside her wagon. Around them lay scattered a sea of objects in no particular arrangement. Cooking utensils, small sacks, tiny bottles, magic ingredients, large boxes, pots, bedding, and all sorts of things customers in the nearby villages might buy. Scodo himself was wedged between a box of dried spiders and frogs and a bag of griesonaut teeth that poked at his side.

It was Sesha who spoke the first words.

“A young man named Darrow has broken into the Kirstinnex prison. He has freed Hugga Hugga and Timwee. They are coming to the forest. They will need your protection.”

“I know those two warriors. I fought with them before the palace fell.”

“They are not the warriors you know—not after ten years in Kirstinnex. They can’t protect Darrow. You must join them.”

“If he freed them from Kirstinnex, he will hardly need my help. He must wield a mighty sword.”

“He has never used a sword. He has no experience. Your sword is the one he needs.”

“Why is this important?”

“Because he is coming to save Sonnencrest.”

Scodo blinked.

“Above all, you must not allow the goblins to kill Darrow. I need you to go to Darrow and join his band today.”

“No. I cannot. I will not.”

“And why not?”

“What would happen if I joined? Even if this Darrow accepted me, I would only hurt his cause. Who would march with a monster? Who is willing to look at my face day after day? I have lived this before, and I will not do it again.”

Sesha frowned.

“Then, if you won’t join him, trail him. Follow him. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“I don’t understand,” Scodo responded. “If he cannot fight and he has never used a sword, how can he possibly save the kingdom?”

“There are plenty who can lift a sword. It is not swords that need lifting.”

“What are you saying?”

“Words, Scodo. Words are the first weapon. Swords alone are not enough. To defeat the goblins, we must lift hearts and hope and spirit.”

“He had better talk fast, Sesha. Against the goblins, neither my sword nor your magic can protect this boy. You know that.”

“Scodo, my dear Scodo,” Sesha responded. “Perhaps you are right. But trust me. Protect him and you may be surprised.”

“I will do my best,” Scodo answered. “But only because you asked.”

Sesha’s face broke into a smile. “Well, my dear Scodo, perhaps this Darrow will have a magic all his own.”

A
fter resting for several days in the shed, the small band of warriors were on the move again. The path through the forest slowed them down, so Darrow led them across open fields, far from the relative shelter of the trees. He led the way alongside Hugga Hugga; behind them, Naark carried Timwee on his back.

Suddenly, the air filled with the sound of hoofbeats. Across the pasture rode two goblins, swiftly bearing down on the four. There was no hiding now. As the goblins closed in, Darrow could see their long curved swords gleaming in the sun. A screeching howl filled the air. Hearing the war cry, Darrow ran for the trees with Hugga Hugga close behind.

Naark looked to Darrow for orders, but Darrow was already on the run. The troll paused, looking left and right, considering his next move. Then he did something that surprised even the goblins. He gently placed Timwee on the ground, and turning to face the riders, he waited.

Looking back, Darrow saw Naark standing still, and wondered if the troll had given up. Perhaps he was sacrificing himself to allow Darrow to run free. But what of Timwee? Heartsick, Darrow counted two brothers as lost.

The first rider was closing fast. He lifted his sword and screeched once more. Darrow stopped, staring as the horses, seemingly in slow motion, closed upon Naark. The rider rose high in his saddle and leaned toward his target. Calmly, Naark drew back his arm.

As the horse arrived, the nine-foot troll launched his fist directly into the horse’s muzzle. So staggering was the blow that it almost stopped the animal cold. The horse screamed in pain, and the rider was flung into the air, crashing into the ground thirty feet beyond. He lay very still.

The second rider, seeing the fate of his comrade, tried to rein in his panicked horse, but he lost control and flew out of his saddle, landing at Naark’s feet.

Naark could have made short work of the two goblins. Instead, he grabbed them both, one in each hand, and lifted them from the earth. While they shook with fear, the troll carried the two soldiers across the field and into the trees where he tied them together with vines. He returned to the field, lifted Timwee on his back, and followed his comrades into the trees.

A day later, Darrow and his three companions entered Hexenwald Forest. Their destination was a cabin that once belonged to a friend of Asterux’s, an old hermit named Quinderfill. Quinderfill spent his life making medicines from a rare mushroom. Once a year, he would travel to the plains to sell his wares to many eager customers. One day, celebrating his good fortune in a tavern, he wandered into the street and lifted his hands as if to address the passersby. But when he opened his mouth, no sound came forth and he fell to the ground, dead.

The old hermit’s demise launched a great commotion, as many believed that Quinderfill had amassed a small fortune. Upon his death, brave men and foolish adventurers entered the forest to find Quinderfill’s cabin and return with his treasure.

Most became meals for bat spiders and griesonauts. Those who survived returned empty-handed, for the cabin was never found. But Darrow held a map, drawn by Asterux, with elaborate directions. The problem was that Darrow could barely understand a word.

“What is a Mestular tree?” Darrow asked. Hugga Hugga and Timwee had never entered Hexenwald. Darrow did not know. Soon they were lost. Remembering his first trip through the forest, Darrow abandoned the road. Without a path, thorns tore at their legs. Timwee and Hugga Hugga trudged with steps that were painfully slow.

The next day, they reached a brook. Hugga Hugga and Timwee collapsed and, after drinking, lay motionless on the ground. Naark curled up beside a tree. Darrow let them rest, but he knew they could not sleep long. The forest was too dangerous for them to remain exposed.

He tried to rouse Hugga Hugga and Timwee, but they would not move. Timwee’s shoulder ached. Hugga Hugga was too tired to move. So Darrow turned to them and spoke: “Tell me about the day the archers fell like rain in the forest.”

Timwee and Hugga Hugga looked up, stunned by the question.

“Tell me,” Darrow repeated.

“It was . . . awful,” Timwee whispered. “They all died.”

Hugga Hugga looked away.

“And the ambush outside the forest? And the march to Kirstinnex? How many died?”

Hugga Hugga looked up, his face pained.

“How many?”

“Almost all we knew,” Timwee replied, his voice still no more than a whisper.

“And who still lives? Who stands free of the dungeon? We are all that is left of the army of Sonnencrest,” Darrow said.

“Every sacrifice. Every death. Every dream is bequeathed to us, to our small and pitiful band.

“I know that your strength is spent—that you can barely lift your broken bodies from the ground. But if we lie here, we will die.

“In our hands, in our hearts, and on our backs rests the one hope of a desperate and long-suffering kingdom. Rise up. Stand. Walk!”

Standing in the shadows, not far from the creek, was Scodo. As Darrow’s words rang in his ears, he saw Timwee, Hugga Hugga, and Naark lift themselves from the ground.

“Indeed,” thought Scodo, “perhaps there is a magic in this young boy’s words.”