The Sword of Darrow

by Hal Malchow

  “Tomorrow evening, my brothers and sisters, we will attack after sunset. We will strike the fort and drive the goblins from this forest.”

  With those words, all of the pain and suffering of ten years of cruelty, oppression, and crimes, all the broken hearts of all of the families of all of the land of Sonnencrest came together, no longer as heartache and despair, but as a great and powerful yearning for promise and hope.

  And this time, the sound surely shook the walls of the goblin fort many miles away.

  Sesha waited in her wagon. She had sounded a whistle, a high-pitched whistle that only Scodo could hear. After a time, when Scodo appeared between the trees, running and panting heavily, she clapped her hands and smiled.

  “What news do you bring, my mighty Scodo?”

  Scodo was silent for a moment, catching his breath.

  “The news is all good. Darrow has returned from Siegenhoffen with six volunteers.”

  “Six! Why there are not six good men in that pitiful little sodpile.”

  “There are none now. They are at Quinderfill’s cabin.”

  “And who else is there?”

  “More and more every day. The messages are working. Men from all over the kingdom are heading for the forest.”

  Sesha smiled quietly.

  “You have done your part well, my friend. Now we will learn what my magic may inspire.”

  • 29 •

  To the Fort!

  Darrow awoke an hour before sunrise. He threw back his bedding and looked around the yard, now cluttered with cloaks and blankets and snoring men. The excitement of the previous day had faded into the reality before him. Today, he would lead his army into battle.

  These new recruits knew only his legend. They praised him. They worshiped him. They had left their homes to risk their lives and follow him to war.

  But they had never seen Darrow fight.

  He wrapped his feet in cloth and reached down for his sword. His hand gripped the handle and the weapon practically lifted itself into the air. Darrow looked down at the weapon. It was not his sword.

  The metal of this new weapon glowed bright silver, as though newly forged. The handle fit his hand perfectly. But this new sword was not his. He inspected its markings, but it bore no name. Darrow smiled.

  As he gripped this weapon, a warm glow passed through his body. His hand squeezed more tightly and he felt new strength in his shoulders and arms. He thought about the battle to come and no thought of failure entered his mind. He imagined dueling the goblins, his metal clashing against their own.

  He raised the sword high above his head. It did not feel like a real weapon—it was too light. Surely, it would shatter on contact. But he liked the way this weapon made him feel.

  He walked to the edge of the woods. He swung at a small tree and the sword cut deep into the wood—another stroke and the tree fell. He swung it again and again, each time with more power and confidence.

  The first glow of sunrise appeared in the sky. In this better light, he held the sword across the palms of both hands. On the handle, in the metal, was a tiny marking—a figure. A bird. A tiny bird painted yellow. He had seen that bird before but could not remember where. Something told him that this sword with the bird would bring him luck and this he knew to be absolute truth.

  Darrow placed the sword in his scabbard and began to walk the camp, brimming with optimism, eager for the day’s events. He talked with each of the new arrivals. He asked about their skills, their experience, and from where they had traveled.

  He wanted to know how each man had heard of their battles in the forest. They told him that all Sonnencrest was alive with the stories of Darrow’s army and his courage in battle. And to each of these reports, Darrow responded with a confident smile.

  Not long after waking, Darrow sent Timwee and four others to forage for food. Now they had more than twenty mouths to feed; by midmorning, seven more men had arrived. Two were from Ael, his brother, Mempo, and a friend who had lived in a cabin next to Darrow’s.

  “Mempo,” Darrow shouted, embracing his brother tightly. “How did you know?”

  “Your fame has even reached Ael!” Mempo stepped back and looked up and down at his brother. “Everyone is very proud. Even the crippled man, Felbester, tried to join us. Look, here, we have brought gifts.”

  The friend ran a few feet back to retrieve two large bundles. Nervously, fingers fumbling, he struggled against the knots.

  “These bundles are a great load for so long a journey. Surely, you did not carry them by yourselves?” Darrow asked, nodding toward the other man from Ael.

  The friend, now standing straight with his head held high, responded, “They were heavy indeed, but we could not disappoint our village.”

  When the bundles were opened, goods of all sorts spilled out onto the ground. They included bread loaves, some baked with real wheat and blueberries, a delicacy Darrow had never seen in Ael. There were blankets and warm socks, a few shirts made from wool, even a leather belt ornately engraved with the words Darrow of Ael.

  In these bundles were valuables beyond any means of the poor and feeble families of Ael. Darrow made a short speech praising his village. And, after a heartfelt thanks, he asked about his father. The men told him that Darrow’s dad praised his son’s wisdom every single day.

  Away in the forest, Timwee, Kilgo, and three other volunteers were scouring the forest for wild boar.

  “Here’s how it works,” Timwee explained.

  “One of us goes ahead looking for the boar. Step lightly and be as quiet as possible. You will hear them before you see them. They dig for roots and they make loud grunts. The idea is to walk around them and chase them back to the rest of us.

  “So, who has the best ears?”

  No one answered.

  “You,” said Timwee, pointing at Kilgo the locksmith. “That way. Step lightly and make no noise. Chase the boar back towards us.”

  Kilgo glanced ahead nervously, but after some hesitation, he moved cautiously across the underbrush of the forest. He turned back to Timwee.

  “How do I chase it back?”

  “Make a lot of noise. Call it some names! When we hear you yelling, we will charge and kill the boar.”

  So off Kilgo went, stepping lightly across the grass, vines, and bushes that filled the forest floor. After each three or four steps, Kilgo would stop and listen.

  After about twenty minutes, Kilgo heard a sound. He froze, tuning his ears to the noise. It was not exactly a grunt. More like a slobbering noise. Slowly, carefully, Kilgo stepped ahead.

  Now the noise was louder. It was a strange snorting sound. “Could this be the boar?” wondered Kilgo, a city dweller who had barely seen a pig.

  Now he circled the sound. The snorting was loud and it was a good thing, Kilgo thought, because there was no way this boar would hear Kilgo above his own noise. Through the brush, he saw the beast for the first time. Its snout was as long as two bread loaves and it walked low to the ground with short legs and webbed feet. There was no curly tail. Instead, its tail was as long as the rest of its body, thick, furry, and tapering to a point at the end.

  “These forest pigs are quite different,” thought Kilgo. He leaped toward the animal, shouting the most terrible insult he could conceive.

  “Out, out, you putrid, dwarf-legged excuse for a pig! The entire swine family retches at your disgusting appearance!”

  The animal looked back with an air of disgust, but the sight of this man hurling himself forward, arms and legs flailing and making a terrible racket, told him this was not the place to be. Away it ran.

  Its feet were fast and it flowed low like a snake across the forest floor. Kilgo followed, insults and all.

  Kilgo saw the bushes move and Timwee’s head rise up. A look of terror flashed across this face.

  “A griesonaut! Run for your lives!”

  Timwee and the three men scampered through the forest. Kilgo, still behind the griesonaut, ran the opposite wa
y. Hoping to keep the creature at a distance, he continued screaming as he ran.

  Unfortunately, his cries alerted a goblin patrol. Ten minutes later, they picked up Kilgo and took him to the fort.

  Inside Quinderfill’s cabin sat a small group of men. On the previous day, Hugga Hugga had visited the goblin fort. Now he reported his plan. As he signed words with his hands, Darrow interpreted to the group.

  “We are small in number and the men are untrained. But we have swords for most. There are only twenty goblins at the fort. Here is what we propose.

  “We will assemble our men to the west, hidden among the trees. To the other side, we will send Kaylin and Timwee.

  “The wall surrounding the fort is made of timbers and these timbers are old. They will burn without trouble. Timwee and Kaylin will set fire to the wall. When I see the smoke, I will put my axe to a great pine that overlooks the east wall. When the tree falls, it will open a hole in the wall and spread the fire. At the moment the timber hits, our soldiers will rush to the opening. Hopefully, in all this confusion, we can force them from the fort. The best soldiers are on the plains and not at the fort.”

  The door of the cabin burst open. Timwee was breathing heavily. He reported that Kilgo was lost.

  “We cannot delay to look for one man,” Darrow replied, though it pained him to lose a soldier before the battle had even started. “We will lose many more before this struggle is over.”

  Timwee nodded as Darrow continued.

  “There is one more thing to consider,” Darrow added. “If any goblin soldier escapes, word will reach the goblins in three days. They will send an army. We need time to prepare. If no goblin escapes, we might have a week.”

  “Let’s place five men at the gate to block an escape,” Timwee suggested.

  “Five at the gate is five less to attack,” Kaylin reminded.

  “We can’t afford escape. Five at the gate.” With those words, Darrow ended the meeting and the men began preparations for the march.

  At the fort, the goblins dragged poor Kilgo inside. Inside his shirt, they found the paper announcing Darrow’s great victories in the forest.

  One goblin stood on a chair and read the words aloud.

  “From the tiny village of Ael, a hero named Darrow has emerged. He is a mighty warrior . . .”

  Howls of laughter exploded all around. These goblins had seen Darrow fight. “And has already defeated the goblins three times.”

  “In his dreams!” shouted one goblin to the laughter and applause of the others. And when the goblins had finished reading the paper, they shoved Kilgo into his cell.

  In a fort, deep in the forest, entertainments of any kind are treasured, so the goblins gathered round Kilgo’s cell. They mocked him with jokes about Darrow. They asked why the scorpion man did not come to save Kilgo as well. And to great laughter, they asked Kilgo when the day would come that Darrow would actually kill his first goblin.

  Meanwhile, Kilgo was in a state of unrest. He had heard there were twenty soldiers at the fort. Instead, there were almost fifty packed tightly inside the walls. He knew Darrow would be attacking soon. Outnumbered and untrained, there was no way they could succeed. Somehow, some way, he must send a signal to delay the attack.

  He eyes searched the cell. Its walls were wooden logs and the roof was made of straw. Perhaps that was a way out—through the roof. Still, the goblins crowded at his cell. He pretended to fall asleep. But even a sleeping prisoner proved great fun for the goblins, who shouted taunts and poked him with sticks.

  While Kilgo agonized in jail, Darrow and his men were on the march. Shortly before sundown, they arrived at the fort. Behind trees and bushes, they took their places looking down on the wall.

  In the dim light remaining, Darrow could see the entrance to the fort. There were comings and goings at the gate, but Darrow wasn’t worried. Night would arrive soon and the fort would grow quiet.

  Kaylin and Timwee stepped through the forest to position themselves on the other side of the fort. When the moon rose above the tree line, they would move to the wall and set it aflame.

  On the ground, Darrow’s men fidgeted and turned with restless movements. Few had held a sword and only a handful had tasted battle. As Darrow waited, he heard a rumble in the sky. He looked upward, noticing the clouds that had gathered. In an instant, rain burst forth, drenching the fort.

  Darrow cursed to himself. There would be no fire tonight.

  Inside the jail, Kilgo searched for a strategy to distract his captors. A goblin appeared with brown scales pasted across his face. “See,” one cried, “we have a scorpion man of our own! And we have the magic to make one hundred more!”

  But Kilgo hardly noticed the laughter that followed. “Magic!” thought Kilgo. His mind went to work. Within seconds, he had a plan.

  Slowly and with great drama, Kilgo stood up and turned to face the goblins. His face somber, impervious to their taunts, he gave a great bow. The goblins looked at one another, unsure what to think.

  Kilgo held up one open hand so that the goblins could see his empty palm. Then he held up both open hands together. He lifted his right hand into the air a little above his head and paused for effect. Then he reached into his ear and pulled out a small coin. The goblins laughed. Kilgo gave another deep bow.

  Kilgo removed his shirt, rolled it into a small ball, and put it in the pocket of his pants. Once again, he held open his hands for all eyes to inspect. Once again, he lifted his hands to the sky. Then he reached into his mouth and pulled from it the sleeve of his shirt, then the body of the shirt and, finally, the other sleeve. This time, the goblins laughed and gave Kilgo even louder applause.

  Kilgo bowed again deeply, and when he was again erect, in perfect pantomime, he held up three fingers as if to say three minutes. He took a chair and moved it to the center of the cell. He gave the goblins a knowing smile. In anticipation, they responded with small applause. He threw the sleeve of his shirt over the rafter that crossed the roof of the cell. Standing on his tiptoes, he tied one sleeve of his shirt to the rafter and the other round his neck. Tugging tightly on the knot, he turned to face the goblins. With his feet, he teasingly wiggled the chair.

  The goblins were awed. Was this man truly going to jump from the chair without hanging himself? Kilgo held up two fingers and turned his back. Frantically, his hands out of view, he removed flint, metal, and tinder from his pocket and began firmly striking flint against metal. Sparks flew, but nothing caught. More strikes, more sparks, and finally a spark took and an orange circle appeared in the tinder. Carefully, Kilgo exhaled against the orange. It grew. A flame appeared. He lifted the flame to his shirt and the shirt caught fire. The goblins stepped back in awe. Kilgo ripped the shirt from his neck and hurled it upward against the straw above. Before any goblin understood what was happening, the roof burst into flames.

  The moon was already above the tree line. It was past time to move. But Darrow could not give the order. He wondered if this whole plan was a terrible mistake.

  He eyed the dozen or so men looking at him from either side. He signaled Hugga Hugga to take his position by the tree. He lifted himself from the ground and gripped his weapon.

  Then he saw it. From within the fort, a billow of smoke arose. The smoke was soon followed by a flame. Through cracks in between the timbers, he saw a flurry of bodies moving in every direction without order at all.

  He signaled Hugga Hugga, who buried his axe in a towering tree. The crack of metal against wood sounded again and again. With a pop, a tremble, and a soft whistle, the tree fell through the air toward the fort. When it struck, it crashed through the wall and across the roof of the jail. The flames rose into the tree.

  The twenty of Darrow’s men gave a mighty cry. At the opening, a few goblins met their advance. But soon another thirty joined their defense.

  The goblin swords struck hard and men began to fall. Outnumbered and outskilled, some ran after seeing their brothers fall. And seeing their comrades
in flight, others did the same. But just when the battle seemed lost, one volunteer turned back to look.

  At the hole in the wall, Darrow stood alone. His bright sword glistened in the flames, flashing here, thrusting there, in a dazzling display of swordsmanship. One after another, the goblins fell. For each one fallen, another stepped to the fore, and the new ones fell as well. Silhouetted in the flames, Darrow appeared a supernatural force, unafraid, untiring, and unstoppable.

  Hugga Hugga and Timwee looked up in awe. What had transformed their once-feeble leader? A cry rang out.

  “Look to the wall, to the wall. The mighty Darrow is holding fast!”

  Heads turned. Feet stilled. “All hail Darrow!” one recruit cried. “To his side,” cried another. A surge of emotion swept the men, who grabbed fleeing comrades and rushed back to attack.

  Soon, the entire force stood at Darrow’s side, fighting with newfound courage and confidence they lacked before. The goblins fell back. Darrow’s men poured inside.

  The gate burst open and goblins poured out into the forest. No soldiers blocked their path. In the excitement of the battle, these untrained recruits had rushed to the line of battle, leaving the gate unguarded.

  Desperately, Darrow gave chase with a small band of soldiers. But the darkness shielded the goblins from sight. They listened for sounds, but the noise of the forest covered the goblins’ escape.

  Meanwhile, the light from the fire guided volunteers through the forest. When the battle began, Darrow had just twenty men. Seven were lost. But by the end, another forty men and three women had joined his troops. Too excited to sleep, his army celebrated until daybreak. Cedrick, the bard, composed a song to celebrate their great victory.

  Deep in the darkest forest,

  He found the goblin lair

  When smoke commenced the battle