by Hal Malchow
A long scar ran up the side of his neck and behind his ear. He was bald on top and the wide scar made a trail of hairless skin connecting the top of his head with his neck below.
“And it’s a monster we’d best dispose of,” said another. “He could have evil powers!”
“Well, if he’s so evil,” replied the scar-faced pirate, “perhaps he should join our band.”
A great laugh erupted from the men.
But one pirate spoke out. “I heard of this scorpion man. Be careful of him. He’s killed thirty men in a single fight, so they say. These chains mightn’t be enough.”
The pirates exchanged glances. One or two took a cautious step backward. Meanwhile, Scodo’s keen mind was thinking fast.
“Where is Telsinore?” he asked.
“What is it to you, scorpion man?” the pirate shot back.
“Our business cannot wait,” Scodo replied. “By morning, the possibility of great treasure will be lost.”
“Your business days are finished, scorpion man. You can have your say at sunrise. Be glad of it. They’ll be your last words.”
But Scodo continued. “Kill me if you will, my friend. But when Telsinore learns of the treasure he has lost, you’ll surely be lying at my side at the bottom of this bay.”
The pirate eyed Scodo suspiciously. “What are you talking about?” the pirate asked.
“I am talking about wagon after wagon of precious treasures. All of the treasures from a thousand homes and castles across Sonnencrest—the stolen loot of ten years of goblin rule. By the morning, that chance will be gone.”
The pirate narrowed his eyes. “I’ll not be tricked by nonsense. Still your tongue or I’ll pull off your scales with a blacksmith’s tongs.”
“Threaten me if you will,” Scodo replied, “but kill me and my fate will surely be your own.”
“You don’t scare me, scorpion man,” the pirate replied. He sat down on the deck, preparing to sleep. For a moment, he stared out to sea. He turned to look at Scodo, grimacing at the sight. Then he rose to his feet, jumped to the dock, and scampered back toward land.
A few minutes later, he returned with Telsinore.
Telsinore was not a happy man. “Who dares disturb me?” he roared. The other pirate held up a torch. When Telsinore saw Scodo, he stepped back, covering his eyes in disgust. He collected himself, looked upon his captive, and spoke with grim impatience.
“Tell me your business.”
“I need swords,” replied Scodo calmly. “I have brought a handsome treasure to pay for it.”
“If your treasure is in that wagon, it is already ours. Why should I give you swords for something I already own?”
“This is true. You can kill the girl and me and the treasure is yours. But if you do, you will miss a treasure a hundred times its size.”
Telsinore raised an eyebrow but leaned closer to hear more.
“There is great rebellion in the land of Sonnencrest, led by a warrior named Darrow. He has driven the goblins from Hexenwald. Every day, a hundred new men arrive to join his army. But to fight the goblins, he needs swords.”
At the mention of the goblins, Telsinore spat on the deck. “So this Darrow might kill a few goblins and I wouldn’t complain. But suppose you tell me why that means treasure for me?”
“If Darrow wins, the goblins will flee. They will be forced to cross the channel to Globenwald. And when they do, they will carry with them gold and silver stolen over the last ten years.
“Think of it! Soldiers on horseback, their saddlebags stuffed with jewels and gold. The tax collectors and officials will carry boxes of coin. And, in one or two wagons, there will be the greatest treasure of all: chests and chests of treasure, collected in the palace, which belong to King Malmut himself.”
“If, if, if!” Telsinore shot back, trying not to appear intrigued. “All of this is based on if. Sonnencrest will never defeat the goblins. They are a race of whimpering puppies!”
“Perhaps you are right,” Scodo said, “although Darrow has already won great battles. But may I ask a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Are you a gambling man?”
“I am indeed.”
“Well, tell me then. What would be your answer if someone offered you a chance at a great treasure? And imagine that this treasure was greater than any you have touched in a lifetime of work.”
Telsinore thought, imagining such great treasure. Excitedly, he began pulling his beard.
Scodo continued. “Perhaps your chance was small—maybe only one chance in ten. But what if the price for this chance was small as well? What if, to have a chance at this treasure, all you would have to pay would be two hundred swords? Would you not pay the swords?”
For the first time, a smile crossed Telsinore’s face. “I understand your logic, scorpion man. But why should I believe your tale? How do I know this Darrow even exists at all?”
“Perhaps he doesn’t,” replied Scodo. “But what if the chances are only one in twenty that he exists and can drive the goblins away? If it never happens, what have you lost? Two hundred swords? But what if he does exist? What if the lady and I crossed the desert and boarded your ship for a reason? What if Darrow succeeds? If my words are true, you have the treasures of a whole nation waiting to be robbed.”
Scodo could see the glimmer in Telsinore’s eye.
“You speak with sly logic, scorpion man.”
“I speak with your logic, Telsinore.”
Telsinore laughed out loud. This monster was amusing.
“Two hundred swords are too many. I will give you one hundred and fifty,” the old pirate bellowed with gusto.
“I need two hundred,” Scodo shot back.
“Then we keep the girl,” Telsinore replied.
“One hundred and fifty and I take the girl.”
Telsinore paused for a moment. In his mind, he recalled those dreadful goblins stealing his emeralds on the river. And the very thought made him tremble. He pictured the chaos of fleeing goblins. He imagined wagons loaded with treasure arriving at the channel. Then he pictured his own sword stained with blood and an enormous pile of riches stacked at his side.
These were pleasures too rich to resist.
He looked down at Scodo.
“Scorpion man, you have yourself a deal!”
He turned to the pirate holding the torch. “Untie the prisoners,” he ordered.
Scodo and Babette led Telsinore back to the wagon. Telsinore inspected the chest, but his mind was on the channel.
“This Darrow,” he asked. “When will he face the goblins?”
“In barely more than a day, we believe,” said Scodo.
“You’ll never make it,” the pirate replied.
“We have to make it,” said Babette, still angry and refusing even to look at Telsinore.
Telsinore shrugged and turned to his men. “Get the swords, a hundred fifty of them,” he ordered. The men scurried back to the shed next to the dock. Telsinore paused, thinking of the goblins.
“Make it two hundred,” he shouted, “and hurry. These people have no time to waste!”
In four short trips, the wagon was full of weapons. While they loaded, Telsinore paced back and forth. When the wagon was ready, Babette gripped Zauberyungi’s bridle, prepared to begin the journey back. But Telsinore told her to wait.
He turned to his men.
“Bring the axe.”
A minute later, two pirates returned, carrying an enormous battle-axe. The shaft of this axe was as long as the wagon itself. The two-sided blade was as tall as three hands and twice as wide. Across the blade were beautiful engravings of dragons and knights in battle. The metal shaft was decorated with a flowering vine that wrapped round and round from the handle to the blade.
“This should bring you luck and a few more dead goblins,” Telsinore beamed. “Go! Go! Darrow is waiting!”
Back in the desert, neither Babette nor Scodo rode the wagon. To lighten the load, th
ey walked, Babette at Zauberyungi’s side, rubbing his shoulders and whispering encouraging words. When the road rose, Scodo stood at the back of the wagon, pushing it forward.
Soon after the sun broke over the horizon behind them, Zauberyungi stopped and would walk no more. Babette and Scodo had not slept in more than a day. They lay down to rest.
When they awoke, the sun was high in the sky. By Scodo’s reckoning, they had slept almost three hours—two more than they intended. Desperately, they rose and pushed forward again with new urgency.
The return trip moved more quickly. Where water had eroded the road, Scodo now knew how to flatten the sand so the wagon could travel more easily across it. Using their old wheel tracks, the wagon passed more easily through the gullies and back into the road. No wizard threw obstacles before them. By sunset, they had reached the rise in the plain where the spiders had swarmed. Many miles remained, but their progress gave them hope.
Night had fallen, but still Scodo and Babette pushed on.
By Scodo’s calculations, the goblins would arrive at Kelsner’s Plain in the morning. They were seven or eight hours away. With luck, they would just make it.
From the front of the wagon, Zauberyungi unleashed a long moan and began to stagger. Babette rushed to his side, feeding him grass dusted with strange potions. At first, her magic lifted his spirits, but it gradually lost effect. Hovering at his side, Babette whispered, nudged, stroked, and urged him on. But as they approached a stream, they had to stop once more. Zauberyungi could not take another step.
“Give him an hour,” Babette said, and soon all three were again asleep.
When the time had passed, Scodo was awake, shaking Babette and beseeching Zauberyungi to rise again. But Zauberyungi would not budge. Babette knelt at the old mule’s side and whispered gently into his ear. But even Babette’s sweetest words could not move the mule.
Now, Babette was pleading with Zauberyungi, who looked back with aching eyes. Frantically, Babette pulled grass from the stream’s bank, offering it to the mule. Zauberyungi lifted his head to take the grass but fell back once more.
Babette knelt again beside the mule, pleading. Zauberyungi lifted his head, trying to roll to his feet, but his body sagged to the earth.
Scodo and Babette looked at one another, wondering if their journey had come to an end.
“We need your magic!” Scodo cried to Babette. “Find it. Bring Zauberyungi to his feet.”
Babette looked back at Scodo without expression. “I have no magic for Zauberyungi,” she said.
Scodo was on his feet, stomping angrily in the sand.
“Where is Asterux? If he is such a great wizard, why is he not here to help? The force of evil can visit us three times. But not once does the great and mighty Asterux bother to help! Call him!”
“It is not necessary to call him,” Babette replied. “He will know.”
“He can’t know. If he knew, he would be here!”
“Don’t be angry. There are things you don’t understand.”
“What things?”
“A wizard for the good possesses great powers. It is important never to use those powers as long as any person can find it within himself to succeed. The power of good must always make room for what lies in each of us.”
Scodo sat in the sand, his face in his hands, shaking his head in disbelief. They were at the end. Zauberyungi lay motionless on the ground.
For ten, maybe twenty minutes, Scodo and Babette did not speak. Babette looked, unmoving, at the sky. Scodo stared at the ground below.
Scodo rose to his feet. Without hesitation or delay, he walked over to the old mule. For a moment, he looked down at Zauberyungi, wondering if perhaps he was dead. Then he leaned down and placed his arms around Zauberyungi’s belly. With all of the might that remained in his body, he lifted. And ever so slowly, the mule was raised from the ground.
Stunned, Zauberyungi tottered for a moment and staggered backward, but he found his footing. Scodo put on his harness. Two deep breaths later, Zauberyungi stepped firmly ahead. The wagon was under way again.
Across the desert, the sun was casting the first shadows of the day. In a few hours, Darrow would face the goblins at Kelsner’s Plain. Miraculously, Zauberyungi had pulled all night. Scodo and Babette, almost too exhausted to walk, had helped by pushing the wagon from behind. Now they were two hours away.
Scodo guessed that the goblins arrived last night. They knew that Darrow was marching from the forest and that Kelsner’s Plain was the place that the two armies would most likely meet. With luck, their wagon would reach Darrow’s army just in time.
Onward, onward, Babette urged the old mule. As they walked, her words to Zauberyungi were constant, gentle, but urgent. Zauberyungi could sense in Babette’s voice that their goal was near, the ordeal was ending, and that reaching this end, whatever it might be, was more important to Babette than anything in the world.
“My beautiful Zauberyungi,” she whispered. “You are the hero. The hero of us all!” Forward Zauberyungi surged.
The wagon passed out of the long valley and through a canyon that opened into the plains. Kelsner’s Plain was barely an hour away.
“Onward, Zauberyungi, onward!” Babette whispered, nuzzling his neck as they walked. “Onward, you beautiful boy.”
But just as the wagon entered the great grassy plains of Sonnencrest, the wheel lifted over a rock, crashing into a rut. It twisted to one side and the weight of the swords shifted hard. For a moment, the wheel leaned at a deep angle away from the road. A snapping sound split the air.
A wheel fell from the wagon and struck the rock. The weight of the wagon followed.
Scodo lifted while Babette inspected the damage. The wheel was shattered, utterly beyond repair. Zauberyungi whinnied loudly. Wild-eyed in frustration and disbelief, Scodo lifted a rock and hurled it far into the distance. Babette fell to her knees, muttering words Scodo could not hear.
Then Babette rose. “Unhitch Zauberyungi,” she stated quietly. She looked back down the canyon and to the desert from which they had come and spoke not a word for a long time.
Out of his harness, Zauberyungi collapsed on the ground. His chest rose and fell with each breath but otherwise he lay without movement. “I don’t know if he will live,” said Scodo with deep emotion.
Babette looked at her beloved mule. Angry, she turned back toward the desert, staring into the sky.
“Curse you, Zindown. Curse your evil soul.”
As these words passed across the plain, black clouds once again gathered in the sky. Scodo looked at Babette with alarm.
Three bolts of lightning crisscrossed high above and thunder shook the ground. The clouds began to swirl until, off in the distance, a black tornado appeared. Spiraling, towering, high into the sky, the funnel began to move straight at the wagon.
“Run, Babette, run!” Scodo screamed, his legs clawing at the sand as he scrambled desperately to get away. “Run!”
But Babette did not run. Her face was unmoving, her feet planted firmly on the ground. With her hands curled into fists, she braced her body against the wind. From her mouth came her strange whistle. Above the roar of the storm, her whistle sounded clear in Scodo’s ears. But the tornado did not stop. Its movements were slow and jagged, but its direction did not waiver. When it arrived at the wagon, Babette refused to move, still whistling, hurling her magic against a power far mightier than her own.
When it struck, it threw Babette into the air. She landed far away, her body crumpled on the ground. The wagon lifted into the air and, with the tornado, disappeared from sight.
As Babette lay unconscious on the sand and grass, a voice called softly.
“Awaken, Babette.”
Babette tried to look up, but her head was heavy and her eyes would not focus.
“Awaken, my princess, your work is done.”
This time, her eyes opened slightly. The sun glared from above, and at first, she could make out nothing at all. A shape appea
red: a short, round man. She squinted again to focus and lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Now she could see.
It was Asterux.
The terrible events of the last three days raced through her mind. She was broken in spirit. Her head would barely lift above the ground. Summoning her strength, she spoke.
“Asterux, Asterux, I have failed you, I have failed Darrow. I have failed our kingdom.”
“My dear, you have failed no one. You have made me prouder than you will ever know. As I speak, Darrow is fighting the goblins. It is time to return to the forest and wait.”
Blinking, confused but too tired to argue or understand, she climbed to her feet. “Where is Scodo?” she asked.
“He has gone to join Darrow in battle. Come. It is time to go.”
No other words passed Babette’s lips. She rose and began to follow Asterux to the forest. But after a few steps, she stopped and turned to stare at Zauberyungi’s lifeless body laying on the plan. She lifted her arms and tightened her hands into fists. A low whistle drifted into the horizon.
When Asterux turned to look, Zauberyungi’s body was gone.
• 38 •
Against the Goblin Wall
By the time the sun peeked above the horizon, not a single soldier was still asleep. Seven hundred and fifty men stood ready on the plain, pacing to and fro, inspecting their weapons, and wondering when their first battle might begin.
They called themselves soldiers, but almost none had looked across at the enemy and summoned the courage to charge headlong into the possibility of death. The cruelty of battle was beyond their imagination. That their weapons were useless they could not know. But from their innocence came power. Blind to the ordeal that lay before them, they were still able to believe.
There were some who held swords, but most held the weapons of the primitive tribes that roamed the plains many centuries ago. Sticks as tall as a man sharpened to a point without metal or even stone tips. Others held clubs carved from the branches of trees. And many held pitchforks, the weapon most available on the plains, as if the goblins were little more than hay that might be piled in a great stack and set ablaze.