by Hal Malchow
Two days ago, cows grazed on the pasture where they stood. On either side of this pasture, the land rose upward to form hills just tall enough to look down on the pasture but rare in this long, flat landscape. This was the site Darrow had selected. Here, on this ground, the fate of the kingdom would rise or fall.
The stone was round and flat, barely bigger than a walnut. In the soldier’s hand, it journeyed down the edge of a long blade, curved and half the length of a tall man. Again and again, the stone stroked the metal until the morning sun danced at its edge. When the blade could not be made sharper, the soldier rose and dropped the sharpening stone into his pocket. As he did, across the goblin camp, five hundred more did the same.
A scout, at rigid attention, stood before the goblin commander Decidus.
“Twenty minutes from where I stand. More than seven hundred, as best I could count.”
The commander nodded. He was no general, but he had been handed the mission to round up Darrow and his thirty men. Now an actual army waited across an open field.
“Seven hundred of nothing,” he scoffed. Decidus knew war and he knew what lay ahead. Before the goblin swords, sticks and pitchforks would stand no chance. He smiled and wondered who would carry so many bodies away. There was a second reason for Decidus’ smile. This larger force would make him a hero. Fortune had touched his career. His victory would be celebrated throughout the kingdom.
In the distance, Darrow could see the dark blur that was the goblins’ advance. The sun in their faces, shrouded in dust, they glowed like an image from a strange dream. Darrow’s men, seeing their enemy for the first time, let out a great cheer.
Darrow scanned the field and inspected his line. His soldiers were adorned in rags. Above their heads, they hoisted their wooden spears. Here and there, a few torches sent fingers of smoke into the air. Behind them stood about a hundred townsfolk, recruited the day before and now guarding an odd assortment of boxes and barrels.
Darrow wondered how many swords they held. Perhaps two hundred? It was no use counting.
“Form the lines,” Darrow ordered, and across the field all scrambled into the unruly formation they had practiced again and again the day before.
Soon the goblins halted their march. In their line, there was no disorder. Each soldier stood motionless with a forward gaze, standing erect, expressionless, and proud. Each was armored with breastplate and helmet. All held shields, and in almost every right hand, held in exactly the same position, pointing upward and parallel to the body, stood a gleaming sword, almost thirty inches in length, with a curved blade honed to a razor’s edge.
Scattered among the troops were five cave trolls. Towering over the goblins, holding large hammers, the cave trolls grunted and snorted at their foe.
Darrow’s men were quieter now. In recent days, they had sung brave songs, but now they looked ahead, awed by the gleaming metal that painted their opponent’s line.
What was the power of a wooden club against an armored soldier wielding a fine sword? What damage might a wooden spear inflict against a breastplate of iron? Darrow’s weapons were courage, passion, and belief. So as his troops girded for battle, he climbed to the top of a fence post, balanced gingerly on his short leg, and began to speak.
“The power of the sword is great indeed. Men and women will die today on this field. But no cold metal blade will extinguish the fire that burns in our hearts.
“What weapon has more power than the passion of the heart? Our hands today shall write a new history for our kingdom. And through centuries to come, all shall remember this day on Kelsner’s Plain when we drove the goblins from the plains of Sonnencrest and marched to our capital to restore freedom to our land.”
A great cry arose. Once again, Darrow’s words made his men proud and sure. For what they felt in their hearts was suddenly larger than what they saw with their eyes.
Across the field, the goblin formation stood unmoving and ready. Darrow lifted his sword to signal the advance.
His sword high in the air, a scream arose from the far end of the line.
“Tornado!”
Goblins and men alike looked to see a dark funnel weaving its way toward the field. On both sides, the soldiers retreated and shielded their eyes as bits of grass and dirt flew about in the air. Soon, the noise raged like a swarm of a million locusts. Into the field between the two armies, the dark funnel came. As the soldiers looked upward, it reached so high that the top was beyond their view. For a moment, the funnel seethed in place as if anchored to the land. Then, ever so slowly, it moved to the center of where Darrow’s army had once stood. It hovered for what seemed an eternity and then, strangely, its winds began to slow. No longer supported by the wind, a great object dropped and crashed into the earth. The sound of clashing metal rang across the plain.
All that remained was a great cloud of dust. More than a thousand soldiers, human and goblin alike, stood wide-eyed and speechless, not sure by what miracle the storm had disappeared.
A low breeze swept across the field, slowly clearing the dust from the rubble. What Darrow saw, he could not believe: a pile of metal resting on a shattered wooden frame. Two hundred swords, the bounty Babette and Scodo had transported across the desert, lay there for the taking. Standing upright and high over the pile like a flag of victory was the great battle-axe.
Darrow’s men scrambled to the pile, picking through the weapons and raising them high in the air. Timwee mounted the pile and pulled at the battle-axe. It was too heavy to lift, so, walking backwards, his back straining against its weight, he dragged it across the ground to where Hugga Hugga stood. Then Hugga Hugga lifted the axe, quickly and easily, as if it were a toy made for a child.
When all had armed themselves, they reformed their lines and stood ready once again. Darrow lifted his own sword and the line began its advance. Shields locked in a ribbon of silver, the goblins awaited.
There was no headlong charge. Across the line, soldiers beat swords against wood in a primitive rhythm that guided their steps. When they had traveled a third of the distance, Darrow ordered a halt.
Decidus, the goblin commander, looked across the field, surprised by the order of their march but puzzled by their decision to stop. Eager to be done with this riff-raff, he spoke.
“If they will not charge our line, we will charge theirs.”
So the goblin line began its advance. Boom, pattattattat. Boom, pattattat. The goblin drums sounded and feet followed. One step forward, a pause, and another step. With each step, the wall of metal shields moved forward. Darrow’s men likewise resumed their advance. Like a pair of centipedes in a sidestepping dance, the two armies edged closer and closer together.
The goblins stopped. Decidus cried out an order and a great volley of arrows rose into the sky. When those arrows landed, soldiers of Sonnencrest fell all across the grass.
Another volley of arrows struck. More soldiers crumpled to the earth. Now the goblins moved forward again with gleaming metal and frightful swords. The two lines were a long stone’s throw apart.
At the front of Darrow’s line, a voice moaned.
“We are going to die.”
To their sides lay fallen comrades begging to be carried away. Ahead stood a wall of shields that neither sword nor wooden spear might break. And when the first voice cried out, others followed, and the men began to run from the field.
Soon, Darrow’s entire front line was fleeing the battle. Decidus turned to order pursuit. But from the corner of his eye, he noticed something strange. As Darrow’s men departed, they revealed a wall of wooden shields and these shields stood unmoving before them. The shields spanned the length of the line, sheltering another row of soldiers armed mostly with pitchforks and spears.
This wall did not waver. Instead, it stepped forward toward the goblin line.
Decidus looked left and right. The soldiers ran with their weapons, disappearing over the hills on either side. Some goblins gave chase, but most looked back for orders. Per
haps it was a trick. But when Decidus looked ahead, the wooden wall stepped forward once more. For a moment, Decidus was silent. Then he shouted his command.
“Forward.” And with these words, the goblin line stepped ahead with new resolve.
Now the sun was far above the plain and its rays reflected against the goblin shields with a blinding light. Behind their wooden barrier, Darrow’s men steeled for the assault. The goblins stepped forward and this time Darrow’s line stepped back. In the meantime, Darrow counted, “Seven, eight, nine . . .”
A great thud sounded in the air as the wall of steel met its wooden foe. Again, Darrow’s line retreated, first one step, then another. Swords flailed at the wood while pitchforks jabbed at the advancing foe. But there was something strange about this wooden barrier, for these were not shields at all but one wooden wall carried by the entire line.
Again, the goblins struck and metal buried itself deep into the wood. Chips flew into the air and pitchforks fell, severed at the handles.
Behind Darrow’s line, some soldiers ran. But the wall, hammered together across a grand expanse, did not break. Darrow counted, “Thirty-eight, thirty-nine . . .”
Once again, the wooden wall stepped backwards and, when it did, the pitchforks withdrew. From behind, townspeople rolled barrels to the line and those barrels emptied themselves, painting a great line of cooking oil, lamp oil, and even pig fat across the ground. Again, the goblins surged. But this time, the wall retreated three steps. Torches dropped and a row of fire erupted between the lines. The shield-bearing goblins tried to step back, but pressed by the comrades from behind, they fell into the fire and the air was filled with chilling screams. Shields fell. Soldiers erupted in flames. But others took up the shields. The metal wall reformed and, when the flames had fallen, the goblins stepped forward again.
“Eighty-seven, eight-eight, eighty-nine . . . ,” Darrow continued.
Another row of townspeople hurried to the line, carrying boxes filled with bottles, bowls, pitchers, and glassworks of all kinds, collected from a thousand homes throughout Kelsner’s Plain. These boxes were emptied behind the wall. Again, Darrow’s line stepped back and, as they did, the wall dropped to the ground with a great crashing sound. Shards of shattered glass flew into the air and across the ground. Again, the line stepped back. Again, the wall struck the ground. A sea of broken glass lay across the goblins’ path.
Decidus could not see the trap Darrow had laid. He saw only backtracking and he gave the order.
“Advance!”
The goblins pressed forward, pushing the shield-bearers onto the glass-covered ground. A great cry filled the air, shields fell, and Darrow’s pitchforks found their mark. This time, fewer goblins stepped forward. The wall was broken.
“One-hundred forty-eight, one-hundred forty-nine . . .” But before Darrow could say the final number, from over the hills came a great charge and three hundred soldiers returned, most armed with swords, to strike the goblins from behind.
At the sight of this charge, Darrow issued his order. The wooden wall fell forward across the glass and Darrow’s band poured into the goblin line.
Standing unprotected by shields, the goblins met Darrow’s charge with courage and iron. But their breastplates provided no protection from behind. As Darrow’s men returned from the hills, even the wooden spears proved a deadly weapon.
Darrow stepped into the fray.
Now it was his sword that reflected the sunlight. Now it was his weapon that spread fear. Dancing through the air, blocking, cutting, stabbing, Darrow’s blade put on a wondrous display. Where Darrow stepped, the goblins fell back, shrinking from his terrible skills.
Meanwhile, the cave trolls and their hammers were taking a terrible toll. But standing on a pile of shields, sling in hand, Aisling felled one troll with her stone. A band of dwarfs from Pfesthammer took two more by swarming their feet, stabbing them with daggers until the giants stumbled and fell. The remaining trolls, fearful and confused, simply ran away.
Decidus ordered his soldiers to form a circle, but in the roar of the battle, his words went unheard. Here and there, groups of goblins gathered shields and locked together against the Sonnencrest advance. But from Darrow’s line stepped the Minotaur wielding his enormous axe. Rearing back, he unleashed his weapon in a mighty stroke that shattered shields and sent veteran warriors scrambling in retreat.
Decidus ordered his soldiers to retreat to the north where the fewest enemy troops stood. Swords flailing, they broke the Sonnencrest line. But once beyond the battle, these goblins did not turn to fight. They ran from the field. Soon, chaos reigned as each goblin battled not for kingdom or comrades but for his own escape. With victory beyond his grasp, Decidus made a decision of his own.
He ran.
Suddenly, there were no more goblins on the field. Swords were dropped, armor discarded, shields thrown at the advancing foe—all sacrificed to make a desperate dash for life.
The battle was a rout. And for the rest of the day, Darrow’s men, crazed and triumphant, chased fleeing goblins across the long stretches of the plain.
• 39 •
Scodo Arrives
While most of Darrow’s band chased goblins, a few hundred remained, celebrating in the pasture.
“To Blumenbruch!” one soldier cried.
“To Blumenbruch!” the others responded.
New men arrived from every direction. Some, disappointed about missing the battle, had joined soldiers pursuing the remnants of the goblin force. News of this victory would travel fast. Within a few days, Darrow would have fifteen hundred, possibly two thousand men. And with the swords taken today, many would be armed.
A wagon arrived from Pfesthammer.
“How many?” Darrow asked.
“Thirty-five swords,” said the driver. “But we promise more tomorrow.” In Kelsner’s Plain, the blacksmiths were hard at work.
Another wagon arrived, this one from Blumenbruch. To avoid the goblins, it had traveled north to the edge of the mountains then down a small road to reach the scene of battle. Darrow could not believe its cargo—two hundred swords. For the first time in his campaign, Darrow had more swords than men.
From Kelsner’s Plain, more wagons appeared, and women and girls climbed down, offering breads and sausages for the troops. People on foot poured down the road, laughing, cheering, and joining the celebration. Some brought wine, which the men drank greedily.
Darrow sat on a rock, smiling, taking in the scene. For the first time, almost since the day he had marched from Ael, he felt no urgent business, no pressing concern. Mempo stopped to ask when they would march on Blumenbruch. Darrow just shrugged.
Over the small hill, a band of soldiers appeared, waving helmets and breastplates captured on the field. Others ran forward to hear their report and cheer their exploits. From a corner of the crowd, a fiddle and flute burst forth with lively music, and some of the townspeople began to dance.
A scream brought the music to a halt.
At one edge of the crowd, people staggered backwards. Soldiers reached for their swords. Those not at the edge covered their eyes. Stepping slowly across the ground, barely covered by the tattered rags that were once his cloak, was the scorpion man.
Swords lifted in every direction, but Scodo did not react at all. Slowly, purposefully, he moved forward into the pasture, his hideous face scanning the scene. He seemed to be searching for some specific person.
One soldier stepped into his path, his sword drawn and ready to strike. The scorpion man stopped, eyeing the soldier with complete calm. For an instant, the soldier stepped back, confused. Then the soldier moved toward the monster, his weapon raised high.
Before the sword could strike, a voice broke across the landscape. It was Darrow’s voice, and it spoke one clear and determined word.
“Halt!”
The soldier froze, a little relieved but concerned that Scodo might still attack. Scodo froze as well, not sure for whom the order was intended.
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All eyes turned to Darrow, who walked purposefully across the field, the crowd parting before him. They looked on in wonderment as Darrow approached the monster, a great smile opening on his face.
When he reached Scodo, Darrow stopped. For a few seconds, he just looked at Scodo, not with fear or horror but with a long and admiring gaze. He stepped forward, opened his arms, and seized the monster in a great embrace. The onlookers gasped.
For long moments, Darrow held Scodo tight. When he finally stepped back, he looked again at the scorpion man with a welcoming smile. It was Scodo who first spoke.
“I have come to join the battle to free Sonnencrest,” and he paused uncertainly, his head hanging. “If you will have me.”
There was no hesitation in Darrow’s reply.
“I have carried your fighting spirit in my heart for many days. It will be our greatest honor to have you march at our side.”
Then Darrow turned to speak to a bewildered crowd.
“Today, a great and mighty warrior has appeared among us. He has battled for our cause from the earliest day. Deep in the forest at the top of Naark’s Hill, we faced death at the hands of the goblin army. Only the appearance of this great soldier turned the battle. Single-handedly, he rescued not just our tiny band but the fate of our kingdom as well.
“Before the fall of Blumenbruch, he was Sonnencrest’s greatest warrior. And today he is our greatest warrior still. In the history of Sonnencrest, the name Scodo shall rank among our greatest heroes. All hail my friend, all hail my brother, all hail Scodo, the greatest fighter among us.”
For the briefest moment, the crowd remained silent, but when Hugga Hugga and Timwee took up the cry, the crowd roared forth to hail the mighty Scodo. Soldiers and people drew close, patting Scodo on the back, praising his courage, and offering congratulations all around.
Darrow looked at the brave and mighty Scodo and wondered how Scodo, who had known little but horror, disgust, and repugnance, would feel as he was embraced and celebrated that day by his fellow soldiers there on the field.