by Hal Malchow
“And why might you need a sword?” Thor asked, mostly to move the conversation.
“It is not for me. It is for a friend.”
“A sword is a sword, young lady. It can bring no good, if you ask my opinion.”
“But the sword I need will be too light for any man. Really, it is a toy, hardly a weapon at all. My friend is barely more than a boy. What harm could it do in his hands?”
“There are swordsmiths aplenty throughout the kingdom who will be happy to make you a sword.”
“No, it must be done by you. It must be forged in the hottest fire. Here, I brought special materials for the sword.” Sesha held out two small sacks of powder.
Thor crossed his arms, his face stern. What did this gypsy girl know about his fire?
“You’d best get going, young lady,” he replied, struggling to remain polite. “Please take this business elsewhere.”
Sesha’s face fell. She reached into her dress and retrieved a sack of coins.
“Please, I can pay you well for this task.”
These words insulted Thor.
“No amount of money will make a sword-maker out of me. My work fills the stomachs of children—not the hands of murderers and thieves.”
Sesha tried to reply, but the old blacksmith was waving her away.
“Out. Get out.”
Sesha retreated from the cabin.
“Out. Out!” Thor was shouting now, pointing toward her wagon.
Still facing Thor, her eyes searching for the slightest softness, she stepped backwards toward the wagon.
Thor stood in his doorway with his arms folded, his expression unchanged.
She reached the driver’s seat. She looked back at Thor with pleading eyes. Thor did not move.
She wanted to cry out to him. She wanted to hug his neck and tell him that she was really the princess. She wanted to say that this sword was more important to her and their kingdom than anything else in the world. But she could not betray her secret.
She grasped the reins and looked at the old mule, but her hands would not move. She braced herself, refusing to cry. All the while, Thor stood silently, staring at her.
Then she had an idea. She reached back into her wagon and pulled from the canopy one of the tiny yellow birds. She climbed down. In slow, timid steps, she approached Thor once again, her body shaking with emotion, her hand outstretched, offering him the tiny bird.
Thor knitted his brow, unsure of the meaning of her approach. Sesha moved closer, each step filled with the fear of failing in the great mission that rested upon her shoulders alone. She stood directly before the old blacksmith. She dropped to one knee.
But before she could lift her hands to offer her gift, Moakie appeared, bouncing excitedly around the corner of the cabin, almost knocking Sesha to the ground.
“Moakie, Moakie, Moakie!” Sesha cried, hugging the dragon’s neck just as in days past. Moakie’s teeth were black and old, but it did not stop her smile. She bounded in circles around Sesha, nuzzling her with her nose. Sesha moved back and forth, stroking the dragon with her hands.
Thor knitted his heavy brow. How did this gypsy girl who sold pots in the villages know Moakie? And when Moakie had calmed down, Sesha dropped to her knee and offered the yellow bird to the old blacksmith.
“I bring you a gift from Princess Babette.”
Thor stammered, “How do you know the princess?”
Sesha could not lie to the man who saved her life. So she simply hung her head in silence.
For a moment, Thor considered her words. What if this girl knew Babette? What if Babette needed help?
“It doesn’t matter. I will not make this sword.” With those words, Thor stepped inside his cabin and shut the door.
The next morning, Thor rose and drew water from his well. After washing his face, he went to the shed to wake Moakie. Moakie was sound asleep and snoring even louder than usual. Thor leaned over and gave his dragon a gentle shake.
On the floor lay a brush, its bristles worn and stained black.
Moakie snorted and shivered and then lifted her head. When she saw Thor, she broke into a smile and in the soft morning light, her smile sparkled in a way Thor had not seen in ten long years. Every tooth was gleaming white.
Next to Moakie lay two bags of magic powder and instructions for mixing the powder and making the sword.
Thor looked out the window and softly spoke.
“Yes, my princess, you will have your sword.”
• 27 •
The Unlikeliest Hero
In a small clearing, Darrow lifted his hand, shading his eyes against the light. It was morning and the sun had just risen above the trees. Gauging its direction, he placed the sun at his back, and marched to the west, the direction out of the forest and onto the plain.
Nearby was a goblin fort. It was a small structure of logs and a few stone buildings. Normally, it held only twenty or so soldiers. But these soldiers were on high alert. Each and every one patrolled the forest, searching for the thieves who attacked the wagon at Frenngravel Creek.
So Darrow avoided the roads and trudged through the underbrush, setting his direction as best he could.
Two weeks had passed since Naark had fallen. Alone in the forest, three warriors could do little to save a kingdom. He needed volunteers.
His target was the small hamlet of Siegenhoffen, which was near the forest’s edge. It was where goat farmers came to trade and buy supplies. Barely fifty people called it home. Most were old. He had chosen the village because it was small and no goblin soldiers were stationed there. After a long discussion with Hugga Hugga and Timwee, Darrow selected it as the place to start.
To convince these men, Darrow would need optimism and belief. But today, as Darrow trudged through the forest, he was almost overcome with gloom.
The vision of Naark falling to the dogs played again and again in Darrow’s mind. What was Naark’s reward for courage? Only the appearance of the scorpion man had saved Darrow from an equal fate.
The goblin army was at least five thousand strong. They were three. In Siegenhoffen, he would be lucky to find two volunteers. And who might those volunteers be? Who would follow him, hardly even a grown man, small, lame, and too weak to lift his own sword?
A day later, Darrow stepped out of the forest and into the plain. His clothes were torn and ragged. Across his arms and legs were cuts and scratches where the briars had torn at his skin. But these injuries were barely visible beneath the dust and dirt that covered his skin.
In the distance, he could see Siegenhoffen. It was a collection of small huts that seemed to have dropped onto the plain in no pattern or form. Barely rising above the town was the steeple of the church, too big for the village but built when the goats were plentiful and the price was high.
For many months, he had imagined this moment when he would pour forth his vision of a free kingdom. But now, facing this tiny village, he stood doubtful and exhausted.
He thought back to the day that the goblin beat old man Groompus. Some of the anger that began his journey returned and from this anger he found resolve. He lifted his head and walked into the village.
The afternoon sun beat down on the dusty street. The villagers mostly remained in their houses, small one-room structures with walls of stacked sod and roofs of straw. Many appeared empty. There was the stone church and a couple of wooden buildings. Seeing a man carrying a box, Darrow spoke.
“Good sir, I have traveled far to this village. I would like to speak with your elder.”
The man, old but with large arms and strong, thick legs, might have been the elder himself, but he did not answer right away. He took a step back, placed his box on the ground, and eyed Darrow from head to toe.
“And who might you be?” he finally asked.
“I am Darrow of Ael. I have urgent business.”
The old man’s eyes widened. Nervously, he looked around the street.
“And from where have you traveled?”
“From Hexenwald.”
The old man gave a nod and held up his hand as if to say wait. He walked briskly down the street, leaning into windows and doors along the way. People entered the street, watching Darrow from afar.
The onlookers gathered and moved closer toward Darrow, taking their measure of this ragged, filthy boy. Darrow wondered if visitors were so rare.
The old man returned, this time not walking but running. Behind him, a gray-haired man, tall and stooped over, struggled to keep pace. The two of them stood before Darrow. The crowd hovered close.
The tall, gray man was the first to speak.
“Who are you and what is your business?”
Darrow looked around and realized that the entire village was standing in the street.
“I am Darrow of Ael.” He paused for a moment not sure where to start. Then he said it.
“I have come to enlist the citizens of Siegenhoffen in a great crusade to free Sonnencrest.”
A murmur spread through the crowd.
The elder lifted a piece of paper. “Are you the one who attacked the goblins at Frenngravel Creek? Are you the so-called hero who defeated the goblins in the forest?”
Darrow was dumbfounded. The crowd now pressed tight. Every ear awaited his response. For once, words escaped him. All he could summon was a single word.
“Yes.”
“Will you please walk to the door of that house and back?”
Puzzled, Darrow did as he was asked, bobbing with his usual gait along the way. The two men whispered to one another, nodding and noting that indeed he walked with a limp.
“Then this is you?” He handed Darrow the paper. His hands shaking, Darrow struggled to read the paper. The crowd pushed at him from all sides. What he read he could barely believe.
Our Battle for Freedom Has Begun
To the Citizens of Sonnencrest: From the tiny village of Ael, a hero named Darrow has emerged. Although he is lame and walks with a limp, he is a mighty warrior who has already defeated the goblins three times. First, he broke into the Kirstinnex dungeon to free Sonnencrest’s bravest warriors. Four of them ambushed a goblin supply wagon and escaped with a supply of weapons. When the goblins followed them into the Hexenwald Forest, they defeated an entire army of men and dogs alike. The battle is known as the Battle of Naark’s Hill, named for the courageous cave troll who gave his life that day. Now, brave men from every corner of Sonnencrest are pouring into the Hexenwald Forest to join Darrow’s army and help bring an end to goblin rule. There is new hope in our land. Please make copies of this message and carry them to every neighboring village.
“We received this two days ago,” the elder stated. He raised his hands, trying to calm the onlookers. Turning again to Darrow, he said, “Speak to us. Can this really be true?”
Darrow paused, wondering if perhaps he might correct some of the details, but this was no time for small points. He lifted his head and spoke.
“It is true. We have engaged the goblins in a battle to free Sonnencrest. I am here to tell the citizens of Siegenhoffen that we can and will succeed.”
There was some applause but mostly murmurs.
“My fellow citizens of Sonnencrest,” he began. The crowd fell silent.
“Ten long years of tyranny have left our people broken and in despair. The goblins have robbed our homes, our businesses, and our churches. But they have taken something far more precious still.
“During these years, they have taken from our people the hope that we can change our future. They have stolen the courage we need to stand against the oppressors and drive them from our land.
“Today, in the forest, brave warriors are preparing for battle. In the forest lies a goblin fort housing no more than twenty soldiers. With volunteers, we can take this fort and drive the goblins from the forest.
“With a victory in the forest, we can march onto the plains and assemble a great army. That army will face the goblins in battle and force them from our land.
“I know, as you do, that the goblins are a formidable foe. Their soldiers number two thousand or more. But our greatest enemy is not the goblins at all. Our greatest enemy is the fear and despair that occupies our hearts.
“To lead this quest, I left the village of Ael, far to the west and so tiny that, to us, Siegenhoffen would appear a great city. But from small beginnings, great deeds can grow. Today, in the tiny hamlet of Siegenhoffen, a great journey begins. It is a journey of the heart. It begins with the belief that submission to an evil master is no life at all and that death in the battle for freedom is the highest honor any one of us could possibly obtain.
“And it begins with the belief that we can find our courage, the belief that we can face our foe, and the belief that we can assemble an army and march from the forest to slay our oppressors and restore freedom, honor, and dignity to our kingdom.”
As Darrow spoke, the crowd forgot his dirty rags. As they listened to his words, he seemed no longer small but a figure of size and power. Instead of remembering that he was lame, they imagined a great march, the march against the goblin army that this man somehow knew he could defeat. When he was finished, there were few doubters. A great cheer erupted from the crowd.
Only a handful of young men lived in the hamlet of Siegenhoffen, but when Darrow returned to the forest, six of them followed him.
• 28 •
Volunteers for Sonnencrest
Six volunteers,” thought Darrow. His band had tripled in size. But when Darrow arrived at Quinderfill’s cabin, he encountered another surprise. While searching for food in the woods, Timwee had come across four volunteers who had entered the forest to join Darrow’s army. A fifth had actually wandered to the site of the cabin. One of the men had traveled from the town of Stiffledorf, nearly three days’ journey away.
“All Sonnencrest hails Darrow,” he said solemnly, looking straight at Darrow.
Darrow looked around. His band was now fourteen strong.
Among the new recruits was a soldier for hire, Kaylin, who had worked in the armies of three different kings. A tall man who told many tales and knew many jokes, he delighted the campfire that evening with stories of hunting for kriezzels, exotic weasels that could imitate a human voice and confuse their pursuers in the woods. He was a talented swordsman, and Darrow assigned him to teach the men the skills of the blade.
Another of the new recruits was a dwarf named Cedrick, who had made his living writing songs, at least until goblin rule began. Under the goblins, singing and dancing hardly befitted the public mood. So Cedrick took work cleaning chimneys, which gave him a terrible cough and nearly destroyed his fine voice. That afternoon, he played his mandolin and sang with the remnants of his old tenor, much to the delight of the men. Because Cedrick had traveled the kingdom in the days of old, performing in villages of every kind, he knew the land and the people, and Darrow drew on his knowledge.
There was Aisling, a girl of only sixteen who arrived with a sling and a bag of stones. Her father was an archer who lost his life when the giant Cyclops rampaged through the Pfimincil Forest. She was an only child, whose mother begged her to stay at home. But she had had a dream in which her father told her that she must go to the forest, find Darrow, and fight for the kingdom.
Then there was Kilgo, a locksmith who traveled from the city of Kelsner’s Plain. Kilgo was an amateur magician who entertained the fellowship with a grand show.
Timwee had slain two wild boars. And when the meat was cooked and everyone had eaten all they could, Darrow spoke.
“Gather round, my friends, and welcome to our band. Look around you. Our army is but a handful of men, most without experience in battle. But the smaller our band, the larger each of you stands in achieving the mission before us. You are the first whisper of a cry we will raise across our kingdom. You are the first flame in a great fire that will drive the goblins from our land.
“Tomorrow more volunteers will arrive. And one day, when we watch the goblins flee befor
e us, all will remember the first warriors gathered here tonight.”
That night, with men sprawled around the cabin, Darrow lay inside, considering the events of the day. The admiration of these new recruits had lifted his spirits. But he feared he was unworthy. He had spoken great words and was hailed as the greatest warrior in all Sonnencrest. The revolt he had imagined in his dreams was finally beginning. But what would these people think of him when they saw him perform in battle? Just how many more battles, he wondered, might he survive?
When the sun was up, Darrow sent Timwee and Hugga Hugga back to the woods to search for volunteers who might be lost. They returned at noon with another seven men.
After a day of training and drilling, Darrow called his soldiers together. Eagerly, all gathered round the fire. With the weapons they had recovered from the battle at Naark’s Hill, Darrow had a good sword for every soldier and he passed a weapon to each.
“Raise your swords,” he cried in a voice loud and clear.
Twenty-one swords lifted, each reflecting the flames, sending dancing lights against the walls of the forest.
“Repeat my words: To this small but mighty band.”
And twenty-one voices cried out his words.
“I pledge my allegiance, my honor, and my life.”
And with each line, their voices roared back, each time louder still.
To this small but mighty band
I pledge my allegiance, my honor, and my life
For a cause more noble and precious
Than the soul of creature or man
To sever the chains of fear that enslave our people
To ignite in my countrymen the flames of hope
To inspire the courage of others
To bring a new sunrise of peace, honor, and virtue to our nation
For these things, no price is too large, no sacrifice too great
A fellowship of believers we shall be
And through our deeds will our people be free.
With these last words, the swords did not fall but remained high, quivering at the vast array of stars in this clear summer night. Into this heavy silence, Darrow spoke again.