The Sword of Darrow

by Hal Malchow

  So, today, after another failed attempt, Sesha lay trembling on her bed. In this state, she entered a dream in which she was walking in the forest when her bird, Principeelia, appeared. The bird began to sing and its song had a rhythm that was haunting and slow. And though Sesha was afraid of the forest, the song pulled her along the trail, away from Asterux’s cabin.

  Suddenly, she stepped out of the forest and onto the plains. In the open landscape, she could see many villages and towns and even the city of Blumenbruch all at once, as though the kingdom had shrunk to miniature size. What she saw frightened her terribly.

  Every village, every town, every city was in flames. She tried to run away, but she could not. The song of the bird was too strong.

  She awoke suddenly, stunned by what she had seen. Her eyes rose and she thought she saw Principeelia standing on the windowsill, but she blinked and the windowsill was empty. Then she knew.

  She rose to her feet and extended her arms. She summoned her memories of goodness and wrong. She called forth the goblin swordsman and, deep within, she showered him with forgiveness and love. And then she considered her father and the love she felt launched her power again.

  Inside her, a great force was raging. Barely able to stand upright, her body shook so hard that the chair rattled on the floor and across the ceiling the creatures and planets danced in the air. She looked toward the koowik and from her lips came a whistle, a low whistle with a slow melody that was rapturous and haunting.

  It was the song that had carried her into the forest.

  The koowik vanished from sight.

  The magic words were not words at all. They were music—the song of her precious little bird.

  • 13 •

  The Legend of Scodo

  The forest floor was wet and the recent rain had cleansed the air. The scents of flowers and new leaves were everywhere.

  Sesha was now a young woman. After almost ten years with Asterux, she had come to know the forest and enjoy its splendor. She had no fear of goblins or griesonauts or bat spiders. When danger approached, she simply made herself disappear.

  Today, enjoying the spring, she had wandered far from Asterux’s cabin. The road she walked was the road that the wagons traveled to and from the goblin fort. On both sides, patches of purple flowers carpeted the hillside between the trees. The sound of a songbird caught her ear. She turned and marched upward through the brush to listen.

  She gasped. Before her, in the high grass, was a body. Its shoulders were wide and its limbs thick and heavy. Its body, far bigger than that of a man, was covered with black scales. From its back emerged a tail, longer than its legs, and encased in the dark shell of an insect. At the end of the tail were two sharp points.

  “Are you alright?” Sesha asked, stepping back from the body.

  The body lay silent and still on the ground.

  She leaned over for a closer look. It was wearing a cloak, coarse and splotched with circles of blood. She lifted the cloak away from the body to reveal deep wounds that cut through the scales and into the back. She placed her ear to the body. There was breathing, but it was faint.

  She stood up to tear a cloth from her dress. Then she knew.

  “Scodo,” she cried. It was the scorpion man lying before her.

  Sesha knew little of healing but thought that perhaps her magic might mend his wounds. So she placed her hands on the creature’s back and summoned memories of goodness and found forgiveness and felt the power grow inside her. As her power grew, she felt the body stir beneath her hand. Suddenly, it lifted and rolled onto its back, staring up at Sesha.

  The scales merged together into a smooth flat sheet that covered its face, which was black except for two red eyes that glowed back at her with no movement or expression. Sesha had never spoken to the scorpion man. He was far too shy to address a princess. But now she did not hesitate at all.

  “You are Scodo, the great warrior of the Sonnencrest army. I thought you were dead or in the dungeon! What are you doing here in the forest? How did you escape?”

  “I just walked away,” replied Scodo in a calm voice. “What goblin wanted to take me prisoner? Think of the nightmares I might give the guards!”

  “Do you not remember me?” Sesha asked.

  “Should I?” responded the scorpion man.

  “I am,” she started, and then caught herself. “I am sure you wouldn’t. People forget me,” she stuttered. “Probably because I am so ugly.”

  “Don’t feel so sorry for yourself,” Scodo snapped back. “I’m no beauty either.”

  For the first time, the monster smiled. He sat up, grimacing from the pain.

  “What happened?” Sesha asked, gesturing at Scodo’s wounds.

  “I have been stealing from the goblins for years. I leave their food for the poor villagers nearby. This time, they set an ambush. They probably think they are rid of me.” He stared at Sesha for a moment. “But what about you? What young girl walks alone in this forest? Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Not one bit.” Sesha extended her hand. “My name is Sesha.”

  For hours, Scodo and Sesha talked about the forest and Sesha asked many questions about life in Sonnencrest on the plains. Scodo shared tales of the hardship and hunger and his attacks against goblin wagons and patrols.

  “You are a hero indeed,” said Sesha as the sun started to set. “You must come with me and get the rest you need to heal.”

  But Scodo refused.

  “Then, can we talk again?” Sesha asked.

  “Come to the road where the wagons travel and whistle. Don’t worry, I can protect you from the goblins.”

  “You think I need your protection?” Sesha scoffed.

  But before the last word left her mouth, Scodo was gone.

  That night, back at the cabin, Sesha told Asterux about her meeting in the forest. “Do you know of this scorpion man?” she asked.

  “Indeed I do,” replied Asterux.

  “Do you know his story? My father only mentioned him in hushed tones, and I do not know much about him.”

  Asterux nodded slowly, and he told Sesha the monster’s sad tale. Twenty-seven years earlier, a traveling peddler named Girodan entered a small goblin village. Girodan sold cloth and spices and tools, along with goods made by merchants in other towns. Girodan unloaded his wagon and began to organize a cooking demonstration. A young goblin maiden named Sahali was asked to assist.

  The maiden was enchanted by the fast-talking human with his strange utensils, exotic spices, and elegant showmanship. A goblin maiden, even the most beautiful, holds few attractions for the human eye. But Girodan, for all his showmanship, was a lonely man and weary of his life on the road. He looked upon his new helper and he saw beauty in the girl.

  The next day, Sahali appeared early, eager to volunteer once more. And when it was time for Girodan to leave the village, she begged him to stay and sell for another day or two. He did. They fell in love.

  Knowing that marriage between a goblin and a human was strictly forbidden, they left quietly together under the cover of darkness. To evade the scorn their love would surely bring, they fled deep into the forest. There they lived alone, shunning contact with goblins and humans alike.

  Meanwhile, shamed and heartbroken, Sahali’s parents went to the elder of their village, to plead for his help. They begged him to find and return their daughter. But the elder had other designs.

  Enraged at the thought of this strange and disgusting union, he sent a messenger to the wizard Zindown. The villagers had no idea where the couple was, but finding them in the forest was no challenge for a wizard.

  Zindown appeared at their forest home and his timing was tragic. He arrived one week before their first child was to be born. Seeing that Sahali was with child, Zindown issued a hideous curse.

  “You will pay for your deeds and you will pay well. You will not have a goblin child. You will not have a human child,” he roared. “No goblin blood will run in his veins.”

>   Sahali and Girodan looked on in horror.

  “He will be a monster with the armor of an insect on the body of a man. All who see him will step back in horror. And in the eyes of all who witness his horrid appearance, he will feel the sting of this curse, every day of his life.”

  Sadly, upon his birth, the wizard’s terrible curse came true. Worried for their son, Girodan and Sahali moved even deeper into the woods. They named their son Serkano, which in the goblin language means “precious gift.”

  Whatever his appearance, Girodan and Sahali raised their son with great love and affection. When the boy asked his mother why he looked so different and if, in fact, he was ugly, his mother replied that he was the most handsome child of all. It was his parents, she explained, who had been made ugly by a spell. Not knowing anyone else, the young boy accepted this story.

  The boy’s appearance was cursed, but in other ways Serkano was blessed.

  When he was only twelve, he was attacked by a bear. He fought back, breaking the bear’s legs. But Serkano refused to kill the creature. Instead, he set its broken joints and brought food to help it heal. When the bear died, he was stricken with grief.

  Once, he helped his father build a new wall for their cabin. With only two or three strokes of an axe, he could fell a good-sized tree. But he soon grew bored with his axe and began pulling trees directly from the ground. Later, the family built a large house of stones because young Serkano could lift rocks from the hillsides and carry them to the site of their new home.

  As Serkano approached adulthood, he yearned to leave his forest home and see the world. Unaware of how others would view his appearance, he ignored his parents’ pleas and followed the long forest path to the nearest village.

  As he stepped into the street, he stopped short and gazed all about him. He had never seen so many houses. “There must be a hundred people living in this city! Maybe more,” he thought. He trembled in anticipation.

  He would speak with these goblins, make friends, share adventures. He turned to one of the goblins walking the streets. He waved and called out.

  “Hello, my friend.”

  A terrible scream filled the air.

  “Come back,” he pleaded. But the street emptied before him.

  A minute later, a stone struck his head and then another. But he did not run, just stood there shielding his face with his arms.

  “They will see that I mean no harm,” he thought.

  But a crowd formed facing him, shouting. In their hands, they held clubs and stones. Dogs barked and growled, circling the mob, eager to make noise but not to attack.

  Serkano turned and ran. The mob followed, always at a safe distance. Fearing to bring the mob to his parents’ home, he ran deep into the forest where no one could follow. When he was sure he had lost his pursuers, he returned to his home.

  The paths of the forest were covered with the footprints that only Serkano could make. Following those footprints, the mob had found his home. The house he had helped build was a pile of broken stones and ashes. His parents were dead. His strange but happy life was over.

  For the first time, a new emotion entered his heart. Hatred stirred inside him.

  He left the forest. Wearing a long cloak to hide his tail and a hood with holes for his eyes, he wandered the countryside. In this outfit, his frame towering above ordinary men, he drew notice and suspicion. But at least no one ran. At least no crowd formed to chase him from their town.

  In his disguise, he crossed the river into Sonnencrest. There, in a small village, a man asked him if he could fight. Serkano thought for a moment and said he could. The man directed him to Blumenbruch, where the Sonnencrest army was seeking recruits. But at the palace gate, he was asked to lift his hood. He was never even allowed inside.

  Deeply discouraged, Serkano left Blumenbruch, walking down the road that led to the forest. Late that night, he came upon a terrible crime. A band of thieves had attacked a wagon carrying a woman and six children. When Serkano arrived, they were beating her with clubs.

  Wielding a small log, the scorpion man made short work of these thieves, but one of them escaped carrying a three-year-old boy. Serkano hushed the woman and her other children. His hearing was keen and he alone could hear the faint sound of footsteps far away. Even at night, Serkano was a skilled tracker. Following the sounds, stepping silently and efficiently through the forest trails, Serkano overtook the criminal, who dropped the boy and ran.

  Serkano lifted the child into his arms and retraced his journey. As he and the boy passed through a clearing, the light of the moon shone across Serkano’s face. The boy screamed. Serkano spoke in a voice that was calm and reassuring.

  “My son,” he said, “fear not the face of a man, for it is his heart you must know. My name is Serkano and I have been afraid, just like you.”

  The softness of his voice and the kindness of his words calmed the boy, who soon hugged Serkano tightly around the neck.

  When Serkano returned to the wagon, he saw the boy’s father, who had ridden ahead before the attack. Seeing this monster carrying his son, he lifted his sword, but the boy cried out and the father held back. Serkano placed the boy on the ground and disappeared into the woods.

  “Who was that creature?” the father asked in amazement.

  “Scodo,” the small boy replied.

  Word of this “Scodo,” half monster, half hero, spread rapidly throughout Sonnencrest. Hearing this story, Hugga Hugga recalled the visit of the scorpion monster. He went to his commander and asked permission to find the creature and bring him back.

  Soon, Scodo, as he was now known, was a soldier of Sonnencrest and his deeds became legend. When a gang of twenty bandits entered the kingdom, Scodo slew half of them with his sword. The survivors climbed into a wagon to escape. But when Scodo grabbed the wheels from behind, the three horses could not move the wagon forward. He tipped the wagon to its side, dumping the thieves and their loot across the ground.

  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.”

  • 14 •

  Out of the Forest

  As 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 th
e 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.