The Sword of Darrow

by Hal Malchow

  Footsteps. Footsteps pounding rapidly and moving her way. Again, she ran. A goblin voice shouted. She looked back to see a soldier in pursuit. Ducking into an alley, Babette covered herself with trash and listened as the soldier passed barely an arm’s reach away. She feared that her heart might beat too loudly. But the soldier only muttered a curse and walked away.

  Shunning the streets, Babette ran deeper into the alley, searching for an open door or lighted home. The alley branched in different directions. She did not choose. She just ran. She ran and ran until the alley came to an end.

  A dog barked nearby. She froze. Then her courage was lost. She collapsed onto the cobblestones, sobbing loudly, helplessly, and without restraint.

  It no longer mattered that her sobbing might be heard. She was beyond caution, reason, or any ordered state of mind. She placed her small head in her tiny hands and wept. Minutes passed. A door opened.

  An older man with a cane peered out and whispered harshly, “Who are you? Quiet yourself! Do you want to bring the goblins upon us all?”

  Babette looked up and tried to speak. At first, she only stuttered. But with great effort, she finally mustered these words.

  “I am Princess Babette.”

  The man’s eyes grew large. “Princess! Your Majesty.” Then the man paused. “You cannot stay here. If they find you . . .” He paused again and hung his head. “If they find you here, they will kill us all.”

  These words jolted Babette from her sobbing. Terrible thoughts tumbled into her brain. Leg irons. A dark dungeon. A guillotine. Perhaps the good fortune of a swift sword. She lifted her head, quite unable to speak, and stared at the old man with desperate eyes.

  She was covered with mud, her face bruised, and her eyes desperate and pleading. There she sat, eight years old, helpless against all the forces that conspired against her. For a moment, the old man glanced downward. Then he lifted his eyes to face Babette and spoke in a voice strong and stern.

  “Leave. Run away. You must run far, far away! There is no time to be lost!”

  The door slammed shut. Babette sat motionless, considering the old man’s words. She climbed to her feet, but her feet did not move.

  A minute later, the door opened again. Babette turned to look at the man with hopeful eyes. But the old man did not invite her inside. Instead, he handed her a small cloth bag containing a piece of bread, some dried meat, and a flask of water.

  “Go,” he said, almost shouting. She nodded slightly but remained still.

  “For heaven’s sake, run. Run until you can run no more and then keep running anyway. Do you understand? Run until there is no city. Then hide in the woods. Travel only at night. But run, run, run, as far from Blumenbruch as you can.”

  Babette looked at the man, blinking. The door shut. She ran.

  She awoke the next morning in a cornfield. The sun was high in the sky. The stalks towered above her. Carefully, she crawled to the end of the row to look out and see where she was.

  The field stopped at the edge of a road. The road was empty and the landscape was wooded, without a building in sight. She wondered how far from Blumenbruch she had run.

  From the cornfield, she watched the road, trembling as groups of goblin soldiers passed. She knew the cornfield was not safe. But she had no idea where to go.

  Carefully, she peered from behind the stalks. She saw a wagon, driven by a small man. His face was wrinkled and what was left of his hair stood in short gray tufts pointing straight out from his head. He had broad shoulders and big hands. As the wagon approached, Babette could sense a kindness about him.

  “That man would never hurt me,” she thought. “He might even help.” But try as she might, she could not find the courage to move.

  The wagon was pulled by two horses. In the back, a dirty white cloth covered a large load. “A hay wagon,” Babette thought. As the wagon passed, Babette looked up at the man. She tried to cry out, but the words did not come. The wagon passed her hiding place, and she knew it was almost too late.

  Where her courage came from she did not know, but she dashed to the road and ran. Against the dusty road, her little feet made no noise. She reached the rear of the wagon and lifted the cloth. As softly as she could, she jumped up and climbed underneath.

  But under the cloth, there was no hay at all! There was a warm, breathing body, enormous in size and covered with scales. It snorted and jostled against her presence. “What is it, Moakie?” the driver asked, but the animal returned to sleep.

  Terrified, Babette prepared to exit, but the sound of new hoofbeats told her to stay. The animal breathed loudly; its skin was covered with hard scales that pushed against her side, scratching her skin, and almost shoving her out the back. Her fingernails gripped the old wooden planks. The great animal turned and there was more room. She lay there shaking, sure that she had made a terrible mistake. But the creature’s breathing had a strangely soothing effect. Her eyes closed, and she was soon asleep.

  • 7 •

  A Desperate Plea

  The wagon pulled to a stop. The driver climbed down and pulled back the canvas, shocked to see the young girl lying in his wagon.

  “Who are you?”

  Babette blinked against the sunlight. The man was a dwarf. He stared at her, impatient for an answer.

  “Me?” Babette paused, searching her mind desperately for an answer. “Just a poor orphan girl.”

  “You don’t look like any orphan I ever met,” the dwarf exclaimed. “Why, where’d you get that fine nightgown and those golden rings?”

  Babette began to answer, but at that moment the great cloth lifted and the head of a dragon appeared. Babette jumped back.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said the dwarf. “That’s just Moakie. She’s made some mischief a time or two, but she’s a gentle soul.” The dwarf led the dragon to a wooden shed.

  For the first time, Babette took in her new surroundings. To her left stood a small cabin built with wooden planks that did not quite fit together, leaving gaps in the walls. At the shed, where the dwarf had disappeared with the dragon, was an open space on one side. Beneath an extended roof, the wall was hung with hammers, metal tongs, and an accordion-like blower with two handles. Here and there, pots lay scattered on the ground, shiny and new.

  From where Babette stood, between the cabin and the shed, she could see rolling hills and great valleys far below. Far into the distance, she thought she saw Blumenbruch. But here on the mountain, there were no houses in sight, only trees casting their shadows across the dwarf’s piece of open land. Only a faint trace of road connected the cabin to the world below.

  The dwarf returned. “Come, you must be terribly hungry.”

  With those words of invitation, Babette scurried behind the dwarf into the cabin.

  Babette’s mouth fell. Dirty clothes, broken furniture, and unwashed dishes littered the cabin. A washboard lay in the corner, connected by cobwebs to the floor. An unpleasant odor filled Babette’s nose.

  “I’m dreadful sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expectin’ visitors,” said the dwarf. He grabbed a piece of bread and handed it to her.

  “Oh no,” stammered Babette. “It is really very nice.”

  The dwarf threw her a cautious look. “Do you have a name?”

  Babette stammered, “They call me Clarissa.”

  “Well, Clarissa, I’m Thor. Smithing’s my trade. My specialty is pots, though you must have known that already. Thor’s pots, the finest in all of Sonnencrest. Have you heard of them?”

  “Indeed, I have,” she replied, this time truthfully. “We use them at home.”

  “At the orphanage? Hmmm. I don’t recall selling to any orphanages.”

  “They are very beautiful,” replied Babette, eager to change the subject.

  “I thank you,” said Thor with a nod of his head, “but I can’t take the credit to myself. What makes me pots so good is me dragon.”

  “Moakie?” Babette replied, remembering the dragon’s name.

/>   “That’s right. If you want a great pot, you need strong metal. You want strong metal, you’ll be needin’ a hot fire. That’s where Moakie comes in. She’s the hottest fire in Sonnencrest. But don’t tell nobody. I don’t want them other blacksmiths catchin’ dragons and makin’ better pots. Anyway, that’s why me pots are the best!”

  Thor beamed.

  “But wait,” Thor continued, remembering his first thought. “No orphanage can afford my pots . . .” He paused to add, “. . . Although I have given them away on occasion.”

  “So tell me, which orphanage were you staying at? And I know a thing or two about metal. So just where did you get those beautiful gold rings all fitted to your wee little hands?”

  Babette thought hard. “My father was rich,” she said. “When my parents died, they left the orphanage lots of money. It was far away on the border.” She paused for a moment and then blurted out the rest. “The goblins burned the orphanage. They carried away the other children. I escaped by biting off the hand of one of the soldiers.”

  Babette blushed bright red. She knew she had taken her story too far. Thor looked back, dumbfounded.

  A thousand desperate thoughts raced through her head, but they all seemed wrong. So not knowing what to say, once again, Babette collapsed in tears.

  Thor quickly apologized for doubting her story. “Those goblins are terrible,” he said. “I would have bitten one, too.”

  Babette collected herself and, eager to change the subject, blurted out, “And where do you usually sell your pots?”

  “All across Sonnencrest!” Thor pronounced. “I travel to the market at the foot of the mountains and they come far and wide just to buy.”

  “They even use my pots in the palace,” he added in a solemn tone.

  With those words, Babette’s lips began to quiver, but Thor, sensing her sadness, reached over and put his hand on her arm.

  “I’m a sad one, too, at least about what happened to the king. I heard what them goblins done. I would’ve fought ’em meself but there’s no news up here in the mountains. I hardly knew there was a war ’til the whole thing was over.”

  Thor paused. “He was a great one, that Henry. The greatest I knew.”

  “I know,” said Babette with a shaky voice. “But why were you and Moakie near Blumenbruch?”

  “Ah, that’s a long story, my dear. I’ll tell that one later. Now back to that orphanage. Which one did you say you lived at?”

  Babette searched for an answer and was overcome with shame. The goblins might find her. They might kill this nice old man and his dragon. But she did not know where to hide. Every answer, every action seemed it might lead to doom. There was nowhere else to turn.

  “I was never in an orphanage,” she whispered.

  Thor looked down with a disapproving frown.

  “But before I tell you who I am, you must know that my secret could bring death to us all.” She paused once more. “Even Moakie.”

  She looked up at Thor, her little eyes hopeful and moist. “Will you promise to help? You are my last hope.”

  Thor just blinked. Then, he reached out and put his hand on Babette’s shoulder to calm her shaking body. “How can you speak so, my child? What is it you’re afraid of?”

  Babette lifted her face and spoke.

  “I am not Clarissa. I am Princess Babette,” she answered slowly. “I escaped the palace. The goblins are looking for me. They could arrive any minute!”

  Thor’s eyes opened wide. He paused to compose his words, but he knew what he had to do. For once, he spoke clearly and firmly.

  “For years, I have been a loyal servant to the king and the royal family. It will be my life’s greatest honor to help the daughter of Henry X. I stand at your service, my princess. I stand at your service no matter what danger may come.”

  Babette looked back at Thor with grateful eyes that almost melted him in his chair. Before he could speak another word, she had leaped into his lap with both arms hugging tightly at his neck.

  • 8 •

  Thor and Moakie

  Weeks later, Babette had become comfortable in her new home. Lying next to the dragon in her makeshift bed, Babette no longer trembled at Moakie’s great snores. But tonight she hardly slept. Thinking she might find rest in the cabin, she rose and tiptoed through the darkness to where Thor slept.

  The door creaked as she peered inside. To her delight, Thor sat in his chair, bent over, peering through his glasses at the handle of a pot. He looked up.

  “What can I do for you, my dear?”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Well, do you need another blanket or more straw in your sack?”

  “How did you find Moakie?” Babette asked.

  “Well, that is quite a story, young miss. I doubt you have time to hear it all.”

  But before he could say more, Babette was in his lap, arms folded and waiting. And so, Thor told his strange story.

  “Well, almost twenty years ago, a dragon lived just across the border in a mountain not far from this very cabin. The dragon was a fearsome beast. Her trips into the countryside terrorized the villages.

  “The king sent soldiers . . .”

  “Grandfather?” Babette asked.

  “No, no, just across the border in Berglegenfeld. Anyway, these soldiers never came back. And you can imagine, the king was desperate for help.”

  “So what did he do?”

  “He did what any king would do. He offered the royal treasure and the hand of his daughter to any knight who could slay the dreaded beast.

  “Far from here and there and yonder, these knights poured in, all wantin’ that reward. One after another, they trotted by with their shining armor and glittering swords. And ever’ one called on that dragon to step out and fight.”

  “Did they kill it?”

  “Well, no. Not a one of ’em. That dragon would simply go to the mouth of the cave and blow. That was it. Just . . . blow. One puff and all that remained was a pile of stinking ashes and some blackened armor.”

  Babette’s eyes grew wide. “Is the dragon still alive?”

  “You are gettin’ ahead of me story. Anywho, at first, the dragon loved these battles, if you could call them that. But those knights just would not stop.

  “No matter how many she killed, more kept coming, each one certain that he was braver and stronger than the rest.

  “Well, after a while the dragon got tired of these knights. They were no challenge at all. She hated the awful smell of burning knights that drifted into her cave. So, as new knights appeared, she ignored them. Soon, the knights were leaving discouraged but alive. The dragon simply refused to fight.”

  “Did she still eat the people?” Babette asked.

  “You bet. But that knight business had just gotten old. Then, one day a new knight arrived.

  “His name was Welbourne and he made quite an impression. His armor and lance were forged with shining silver. His sword was laced with gold. And he was so handsome that the princess ran straight to the church to pray that he would succeed!

  “When he first approached the cave, he did something different. He took off his armor and dressed like a common peasant.

  “Instead of going to the mouth of the cave, he hid in the bushes and watched. He watched when the dragon entered and watched when she left. He did this for months.

  “Back in the town, even the princess had forgotten this knight. But every day, he dipped his quill in his bottle of ink and wrote down when that reptile came and went. When he figured he finally understood the dragon, he made his move.”

  Babette’s eyes grew big.

  “One day, the dragon returned from an especially long trip. When she disappeared into the cave, the knight gathered brush and broken limbs from the mountainside and piled them high outside the entrance to the cave. He added fallen logs, and when the pile was large enough, he stepped back to take a look. He threw a handful of sand into the air. The sand blew in his face, so he waited.
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br />   “He stood there for most of the night. An hour before sunrise, he felt a breeze blowing in the direction of the cave. Welbourne stepped out of hiding and stood ready, just like all the knights before him. Then he screamed, ‘Come out, you cowardly cave lizard!’”

  Babette burst out laughing.

  “Not a sound came from the cave.

  “‘Don’t hide from me, you pathetic imitation of a slow-witted crocodile!’

  “Again, nothing but silence.

  “For almost an hour, that Welbourne screamed one insult after another and, of course, the dragon heard him clearly. But she kept thinking of that awful smell of burning knights. She tried to go back to sleep, hoping that stupid knight would go away. Finally, that dragon got up and waddled toward the mouth of the cave.

  “‘I know the truth of your cowardly soul,’ yelled Welbourne. ‘You are no dragon at all. Those knights were killed by bears and lions while you trembled at the bottom of a puddle in your cave. Come out or I will send in a hungry poodle to rip out your cowardly heart!’

  “Well, the dragon knew a thing or two of chivalry from fighting so many knights. That insult was really too much. Waddling toward the opening, she took in a deep breath of the night air. And when she blew, the fire exploded through the mouth of the cave.

  “The flames struck the brush and a giant bonfire erupted. A strong wind blew the smoke and hot air into her face. Coughing, she turned, waddling to the back of her cave. The wind blew harder. Deeper and deeper, smoke poured into the cave. The poor dragon could hardly breathe. She fell to the ground and there she found more air. But the wind kept blowing and the smoke kept coming.

  “Finally, the dragon lay dead, done in by her own fire.”

  “I think that knight cheated,” proclaimed Babette with a frown.

  “That may be,” Thor responded. “But it did not stop him. When the fire was all burned out, Welbourne swept away every single ash and buried it in the nearby sand. At the entrance, he scrubbed the stone to remove all evidence of fire. Then he walked to the creek to bathe and shave, for after so many months in the bush, he hardly looked like a knight at all.