by Hal Malchow
“But won’t we still need weapons?” Darrow asked.
“Everything we need,” replied Asterux, “is located right between your ears.”
And with those words, Asterux began to explain the plan.
• 19 •
Gong Farmer to the Rescue
That night, at the gate of the palace, a yellow wagon appeared. It was pulled by a single mule. No guards attended the gates, which stood open, allowing any goblin to enter and join the celebration. Amidst this chaos, Sesha’s wagon entered unnoticed.
Across the palace yard, the goblin rituals unfolded before Sesha’s eyes. Here and there, a goblin moved in jerky motions, eyes closed, staggering about without purpose or direction. Others lay peering into the heavens, slapping their hands on the ground in a strange and unpredictable rhythm.
Sesha gripped the reins, carefully steering to avoid contact with goblins who staggered randomly into the wagon’s path. She reached the stable, a structure of wood and straw that extended from the castle’s stone walls. Next to the stable stood a large iron door, the entrance to the Kirstinnex prison.
“Whoa, Zauberyungi,” Sesha called to her mule. The wagon pulled to a stop.
Sesha went to the back of the wagon and removed some balls. She walked out to an open space in front of the prison door. There she tossed the balls into the air, first two, then three, and finally four balls. A handful of goblins planted themselves on the ground, still twitching but spellbound by her juggling skills.
Sesha added a fifth ball and as the balls followed one another across her hands, Sesha stepped back and put her hands on her hips while the balls continued their circle as the growing crowd of goblins looked on, aghast at this amazing display.
More goblins staggered to the wagon, one of them wearing an iron helmet. While the balls continued to circle in the air, Sesha removed the goblin’s helmet and walked back to the wagon. She reached into a bag and scooped three handfuls of a lumpy gray powder into the helmet. Then she walked over to the balls, held out her hand, and the five balls fell to her hand balanced perfectly one on top of the other.
The goblins cheered.
Sesha took the helmet and shook it back and forth.
A goblin lay on the ground. Sesha walked over, removed his shoe, and dropped it into the helmet. The goblin staggered to his feet and lurched toward Sesha to retrieve his shoe. Sesha sidestepped him and he fell to the ground. Helmet in hand, Sesha walked to the bewildered goblin, inviting him to reach inside. As he did, a great mass of lizards and frogs leaped from the helmet, frightening the poor goblin but sending his comrades into fits of uncontrollable laughter.
Sesha looked back at the prison door. The peephole was open. She walked over to the door and knocked. The goblins, thinking she might take her show into the dungeon, launched another roar of laughter. The door opened—but only a crack.
“Would you like to join us for the show?” Sesha asked.
“Not possible,” replied the voice from inside. “Guard duty tonight.”
“Well, perhaps I might serve you some apple cider,” suggested Sesha in a creaky voice.
“Not allowed.”
“But look at your friends, all staggering around full of brew. It is not really fair. My apple cider won’t make you dance, but it is tasty enough to reward your terrible duty on this special night.”
“Wait.”
The door closed and for a few moments, Sesha waited. It cracked open.
“We are deserving, that’s for sure. Bring us a taste, but you must leave right away.” Sesha returned and pushed a pot of cider through the door. Then she rode her wagon back out through the gates.
An hour later, Darrow and Asterux walked into the palace grounds. Midnight approached. The mushroom brew had been consumed and the air was filled with the raucous screeching of goblin songs. Some screeched alone, others in pairs or in groups of three or four, not always singing the same song but singing loudly and with barely a melody at all.
The two humans moved swiftly through the chaos to the prison door. Asterux delivered three loud knocks. No reply. Another longer series of knocks. Still no reply. Finally, a voice.
“Go away.”
It was not the firm voice that had replied to Sesha but a slow voice, wavering in its tone.
“But I cannot go away,” Asterux responded. “I am delivering a gift.”
There was silence for a moment. Then a slurred voice: “Th-th-the general lives in the tower. This is the dungeon. No gifts come here.”
“Ah, but you are wrong,” Asterux replied cheerfully. “This gift is for you, the dungeon guards. And if I leave this gift at your doorstep, it will surely run away.”
Asterux thought he heard laughter inside.
“Well, it is up to you. But someone is going to be very disappointed.”
With that statement, the door opened. A goblin, older but with broad shoulders and strong arms, looked at Asterux suspiciously.
“Who?”
“Sadfar, the captain who commands the fort in Hexenwald. It is his gift to you.”
“Well, I do know Sadfar. So where is this gift?”
“Right here,” Asterux replied, pointing at Darrow, whose hands were bound. “What is it that every warden needs?”
“A locksmith.”
“No.”
“A blacksmith.”
“No.”
The goblin giggled. The game was fun.
“A housemaid!” Inside, the two other goblins laughed uproariously.
“No, my good fellows. I bring you something better still.”
The goblins stared at Asterux with rapt attention.
“I am happy to present to you a gong farmer!”
“A gong farmer!” The warden leaped from his chair. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”
There was good reason for the warden’s delight. In the castle, there was no harder job to fill than the gong farmer.
“He is a little addle-brained, but I think he will do,” Asterux added. “Won’t you, fellow?”
At that, Darrow mumbled a few grunts and snorts, proving he had no language and few coherent thoughts.
“Well, yes, indeed,” said the warden. “I can see he is fit for the task.”
A gong farmer, of course, grows no crops at all. In most of the palaces of the world, the nobles who lived in the highest towers would empty their chamber pots through a hole in the wall. The contents fell to a cesspool below. The gong farmer’s job was to empty the cesspool and remove the contents from the castle grounds.
But for the gong farmer of the warden, the job was still worse. The dungeon was located deep in the ground. And to accept the wretched waste of the prisoners, a deep pit had been dug that reached far below. To remove this waste, the gong farmer had to lower and raise a bucket. When his wheelbarrow was full, he carried his harvest across the open ground to an opening in the castle wall where it was dumped into the moat.
Not only was the job unpleasant, it was unhealthy as well. Few gong farmers lived longer than a few months on the job.
Asterux and Darrow were ushered inside and offered a seat. The two other guards sat slumped and wild-eyed in their chairs.
“Perhaps you would like some cider. There is a bit left,” one of the guards giggled.
“I think not,” replied Asterux. “I really must be on my way. But I must say the odor is terrible. I am sure Darrow here would be happy to begin work right away.”
“Here, here,” shouted the other guard.
“Well, lead the boy to his post!”
The guard grumbled and gave the warden an angry look, but knew he had cast his own lot. So he untied Darrow’s hands and led him out the door.
“And how is Captain Sadfar?” the warden asked thinking kindly of the old goblin at the fort.
“Why, he is the same as ever, grumbling about his poor post. But you know, I think he likes it actually. No marching. No drilling. No generals to order him around.”
“Ah yes, that is
Sadfar indeed.”
Asterux rose.
“Although I would enjoy more conversation, I must be on my way. I still have hours of travel ahead. A funeral in the morning. A nephew dead of the shakes.”
The warden eyed Asterux suspiciously. The shakes were caused by evil spirits and passed to relatives and others.
“Well, yes, you should be on your way,” exclaimed the warden, now ushering Asterux to the door.
Asterux opened the door and looked out to the wall facing the dungeon. On the wall, he could make out the short, fat outline of a girl. The girl bowed. Asterux nodded. Then she was gone.
With that, Asterux turned to the warden and announced, “My good sir, your stable is on fire!”
And indeed, as he spoke these words, smoke was rising from the stable and the cries of horses began to fill the air. The warden ran down the steps, followed by the remaining guard.
Asterux ran to the well and drew a bucket, which he handed to the warden. The warden hurled the water at the fire. Asterux handed him another bucket, and the fire grew hotter. The warden wiped the sweat from his brow and removed his coat. Asterux handed him a third bucket. As the warden turned once again to douse the fire, Asterux lifted the warden’s coat and withdrew the keys. When the warden turned for another bucket, Asterux was gone.
Inside the prison, Asterux turned the stolen key and pushed the door open. The hallways were dark. Feeling with his hands, he followed a wall until he came to two doors. He pushed at the first door. It moved and he walked into the room.
He was startled by a frantic scuffling noise. Rats. He called out, “Hugga Hugga,” but there was no reply. He withdrew and found the other door.
He fumbled with the keys, trying one of them in the keyhole. No luck. Another. Now there was shouting inside.
On the fourth attempt, the key turned and the door opened. The midnight visit brought panic to the floor. Prisoners pushed back to the walls, afraid that beatings might ensue. In the firm clear voice of a human, Asterux called out, “I am here to find Hugarious and Timwee, warriors of Sonnencrest. Where are they?”
A moment of silence followed. No human had ever walked freely into this prison. A voice called out, “I am Timwee. Over here.”
Asterux worked his way across the room, stepping on and tripping over prisoners along the way. When he reached the voice, he fumbled with his keys to unlock Timwee’s irons. But before he could open the lock, another prisoner shouted, “Over here, I am Timwee.”
Asterux found the key and unlocked the first prisoner, who began stepping across the room toward the door, not bothering to look back. Now, a chorus of voices shouted, all claiming to be Timwee. Asterux began unlocking one prisoner after another, but apparently none of them were Timwee. One and all, they fled.
Asterux stopped. In a loud voice that could be barely heard above the pleading prisoners, he shouted, “Where is Timwee? Only Timwee has the key that can free us all.”
Again, a chorus of voices offered the information. He turned to the nearest and yelled, “Where? Tell me where!”
“The door. The door at the back of the room. It opens to a hall. At the end of the hall is another room. That’s where they keep Timwee.”
Asterux unlocked the prisoner and stepped across the room. The prisoners grabbed at his legs and pleaded to be freed. But there was no time. He reached the back door and found the room.
This time, he said nothing of rescues. Using his best goblin voice, he shouted, “I have come for Timwee. Where are you?”
From the corner of the room, a whisper of a voice responded, “I am here. Bring this life to an end.”
Asterux moved across the room, stepping more skillfully in the dark. He reached the sound and without a word unlocked the dwarf’s irons.
Timwee looked up at the wizard, blinking in disbelief. What was a human doing in the dungeon?
“Where is Hugarious?” Asterux asked.
“You mean Hugga Hugga? I’ll show you.” The dwarf eased his body upward, balanced himself on feeble legs, and led Asterux to another room.
Soon both prisoners stood before Asterux, blinking in awe.
“Make not a sound. The kingdom has come to your rescue. Follow me.”
With that, he hurled the keys to a prisoner who unlocked himself and passed them to another. One by one, the prisoners rose and headed up the stairs.
Asterux led his warriors away from the stairs. They entered the latrine. The two prisoners blinked, confused. Asterux turned and pointed to a hole, the width of a medium tree.
“Go through the hole.” The prisoners looked back; Timwee gulped.
“There is a bucket on the other side. Grab it. It will lift you to the palace yard.”
Without a second’s delay, the dwarf had leaped into the hole and slid down the stinking passageway, and then a splash sounded below. Hugga Hugga tried to follow, but his horns stretched wider than the hole.
Hugga Hugga turned to Asterux with a frightened stare. Meanwhile, they heard screams as prisoners streamed into the yard.
A cry rang out from the top of the dungeon stairs. The goblins had arrived.
The old wizard’s eyes scanned the chamber. The walls were stone and the mortar was crumbling in between. He drew a knife and thrust it in a crack. He tugged on the stone and it began to move.
Hugga Hugga grabbed at the stone and pulled it free. He motioned with his hands, for a Minotaur cannot speak, pointing at the stone and his horns.
“On your back,” shouted Asterux, understanding instantly.
The dull thud of batons striking bodies rang in the air—thuds followed by cries of pain.
Asterux raised the stone high and brought it crashing down on the Minotaur’s horns. Hugga Hugga bellowed in response. Again, Asterux struck. In six strokes of the stone, Asterux had broken the horns on each side. Hugga Hugga leaped back into the hole. Still he was stuck. A guard entered the room and raised his club to strike Asterux. Asterux moved to the side. The club struck Hugga Hugga on the head. The blow was all he needed.
The Minotaur slid bellowing down the chute.
In the yard, under the shadow of the tower, Darrow stared into the black pit below. The stench was strong and Darrow was sure he would faint. As quietly as possible, he lowered a large bucket, attached to a rope. The rope was attached to a crank, which could be turned to lift the bucket back up. Darrow listened carefully. When the bucket struck the surface, he stopped.
Darrow looked down and fell to his knees. Grasping the rope, he swung the bucket gingerly, as close as possible to where he believed the hole might be. Cinders rose in the air from the stable fire, lighting the yard. Now, he could see the hole. He clutched the rope with both hands, keeping enough tension so that neither warrior would fall into the terrible ooze below.
The sky burned brighter still and cinders darted about like lunatic stars. Carefully, ever so carefully, he positioned the bucket and set the rope tight. He peered down into the hole and waited.
Suddenly, a black ball shot out of the wall and into the muck. Timwee missed the bucket but managed to grab its side. Darrow reached for the crank and began to pull. Soon, Timwee was standing on the ground.
“How do you like the smell of freedom?” Darrow asked.
Timwee stuttered, “Just fine to me.”
“Where is Hugga Hugga?”
“I don’t know. He was right behind me.”
Darrow peered into the pit. The sky was bright with embers. One of the embers fell into the pit. Suddenly, flames rose from the liquid below.
It had been several minutes since Timwee had been lifted from the muck. Darrow looked nervously across the yard.
“We should go.”
”No, wait. He will find a way.”
The rope tightened in his hands. The old Minotaur had caught the bucket. He was heavier than Timwee and almost pulled Darrow into the pit. The bucket fell into the muck. The ripple stirred the flames. Then the bucket itself was on fire. The Minotaur bellowed a low moa
ning cry.
Together, Darrow and Timwee pulled at the crank. Slowly, too slowly, they lifted the bucket upward. Darrow looked down and there were flames on the rope. Another moan arose from the pit. The stubs of his broken horns burning with flame, Hugga Hugga reached toward the wall of the pit. There was a loud snap and the bucket fell into the depths below. The Minotaur hung by one hand that gripped the wall.
Darrow and the dwarf grabbed both arms and lifted him out, then rolled him across the ground to put out the fire. As the Minotaur grimaced in pain, Darrow led him across the yard. They arrived at the small door that was the gong farmer’s exit.
Darrow looked back at the palace. The ground was littered with garments and cups where the goblins had celebrated only hours before. A reflection caught his eye. He ran from the exit and retrieved a small sword.
When he returned, they ran to the opening in the wall where the gong farmer dumps his cargo. Through the opening, across the moat, and the three lone soldiers of Sonnencrest disappeared into the night.
• 20 •
The Band of First Believers
Darrow looked at the sky, noticing the streaks of orange appearing in the east, then indicated a nearby wood. It wasn’t safe for the warriors to be on the road during the day, and they needed to find a place to rest.
Neither Hugga Hugga nor Timwee had walked more than the length of a room in ten long years. But in the previous evening, they had traveled miles from the dungeon, through fields and woodlands, in an attempt to avoid the roads where goblin patrols traveled.
Hugga Hugga wobbled ahead, his legs thin and stiff. His ribs showed through his chest and his back sagged under the weight of his enormous head, now adorned with a crown of stubs and splinters that had once been his horns.
But it was the dwarf, Timwee, who had suffered most. In the night, he had fallen and broken a shoulder. Each step sent a sharp throbbing pain through his chest and down his arm.
The party came to a small brook, and Timwee collapsed in the streambed, frantically scooping water into his mouth with one hand. For a long time, Hugga Hugga just sat on the bank, too tired even to relieve his thirst.