The Sword of Darrow Read online

  Once, he had created a giant stilt crab with long legs that could walk across the land. Its shell would be impervious to attack. It could be ridden by archers, who could rain arrows onto enemy soldiers below them. And, of course, its giant claws could cut an opponent in two with a single snap.

  But the stilt crab bore a temperament unsuitable for military life. Six trainers were snapped in half. Despite Zindown’s pleading, the stilt crabs were put to the axe.

  Another disappointment was the venomous ferret. In Zindown’s mind, a small and speedy mammal like the ferret might be the perfect attack weapon. Armed with fangs and deadly poison, these creatures could be unleashed on an enemy late at night or hurled over the walls of a castle under siege!

  Zindown’s ferrets worked exactly as planned, but there was a flaw he never considered. When mating season arrived, the ferrets attacked one another viciously. Not a single male animal survived and the breed was soon lost.

  Zindown was nothing, however, if not persistent. After many years, he had achieved two successes. They took years to reach adulthood, years to breed, and years to train. It was the work of a lifetime, and now that work would be rewarded. When the goblins marched on Sonnencrest, his creatures would be ready.

  His creations. His magic. His triumph. Now, Zindown could watch his creations dismantle the army of Sonnencrest.

  Beltar continued his report. “Our army will march down the Dalamath Highway. Before crossing the river into Sonnencrest, we will split into three parts to confuse the enemy.”

  “And what of the scorpion man?” asked Bekkendoth. “I hear he fights with the force of twenty men.”

  “Perhaps,” sneered Beltar, “but the others are worth barely half a goblin.”

  Zindown broke into loud laughter. His creatures. Beltar’s genius. This was going to be a beautiful war.

  • 3 •

  The Festival of Sir Fenn

  While the goblins soldiers readied to march, the people of Sonnencrest had no idea what was in store for them. In fact, at that very moment, a great celebration was underway. Thousands had come to the capital city of Blumenbruch to line the streets and cheer the parade that was in honor of the Festival of Sir Fenn.

  A costumed dwarf soared through the air and crossed in front of the dazzling sun, briefly blinding the crowd who watched his tricks. When he landed, both feet squarely on the head of a troll, the children cheered and laughed.

  Leading the way were three gigantic trolls who served as platforms for a team of six acrobatic dwarfs. Tumbling through the air from one troll to another, the dwarves landed on heads, shoulders, and open palms. They were dressed in blue and golden silks, and spun through the air like juggling balls.

  Behind the dwarves came a disordered assembly of boys, small and large, pulling kites shaped like monstrous birds with teeth and soaring wings. Each kite depicted one of the celebrated creatures of the Miskerdrones, the mole people whose wizard king rose from the earth to transform ordinary songbirds into monsters, and visit his vengeance upon the surface-dwellers.

  Next came the scorpion man and a hideous creature he was. He was tall with thick shoulders and arms. Atop those shoulders was a round head covered with a dark shell that was backdrop to two unmoving red eyes. His body was covered with black scales; from his back emerged a tail ending in two sharp points. It wasn’t actually the scorpion man, for the great soldier himself was far too shy to walk in a parade. Still, the costumed figure reminded the crowd of the real scorpion man, who was out there somewhere and who would protect them if war ever came.

  At the end of the avenue stood a great platform, adorned in blue and yellow banners of silk. There the royal family sat. Today was a special day because their six-year-old son, Prince Fenn, would read the tribute to Sir Fenn, his namesake and founder of the kingdom.

  The queen rose on her tiptoes, eyes searching the parade route. Far in the distance was Prince Fenn, dressed as a knight, with a silver breastplate and leg guards. He might have been dashing, but the armor was obviously too heavy for the young prince. Under its weight, poor Prince Fenn stumbled slowly.

  And why was Prince Fenn called to perform before the crowd at such an early age? Well, the answer was a scandalous fact, closely guarded and hidden from all outside the palace walls.

  Princess Babette, eight years old and the third of the royal children, could not read.

  And that was only the beginning!

  A tiny girl with bright, curly hair of a color somewhere between red and yellow, Babette cared nothing for the ceremonies of palace life. Her antics were legendary. Bed slippers in the throne room! A pet rat in the cathedral! A frog beneath her brother’s crown!

  At each such episode, the king would howl her name and demand her presence. But the queen would squeezes his arm and whisper, “Be patient, my dear. Even her younger brother comes before her. She will never wear the crown!” No one was happier about this fact than the little princess herself.

  Prince Fenn lumbered up the steps to the stage, stopping now and then to lift one of his heavily armored legs with both hands. When he finally stood center stage, a servant handed him his papers. He raised his eyes to the crowd.

  Now, Babette was ready with her surprise. She would show the kingdom that she could read. She knew the letters and she knew words, but when she looked at the page, the letters moved and came together until they didn’t make sense. But for today’s parade she had secretly lettered a sign—a sign to salute her brother, Prince Fenn. Standing in her chair, she called out to her brother and held a large sign, almost bigger than herself, lettered in her own hand.

  Prince Fenn!

  May his words make us sore!

  She smiled, waiting for the crowd to cheer, but instead a murmur arose and then muffled laughter. Prince Fenn, who could both read and spell, looked back at his older sister with sad eyes. The king turned to Babette, face red, but the queen tugged at his cloak and he knew not to speak.

  Babette looked about, first surprised, then confused, and finally slumped quietly into her chair.

  From the reviewing stand, King Henry X rose to introduce his son. His voice boomed across the avenue.

  “Today, we celebrate Sir Fenn and his lessons which have served our kingdom for more than two hundred years.

  “We celebrate that love and kindness are nobler than violence of any form. And while we respect the bravery of soldiers who defend this kingdom, we know that there is no greater act of courage than the willingness to forgive the wrongdoings of others.”

  As King Henry spoke, the sounds of hoof beats echoed through the street. In the distance, a rider approached. The rider leaned low in his saddle. He wore a strange garment with stripes of red and green muted by dirt from the road. His face was drawn with deep lines and narrow eyes.

  The rider hardly slowed before the crowd and spectators scrambled to avoid the horse’s hooves. When he could no longer penetrate the crowd, he leaped from his mount and fought his way through the crowd.

  “I carry a message! A message for King Henry!”

  The king gave the messenger a stern glance and began to resume his address.

  But the rider would not be denied. All eyes followed his course. At the entrance to the reviewing stand, a soldier tried to block his way, but the rider pushed him aside, rushed up the steps, and before he could be stopped, he dropped to his knee before the king. Bowing deeply, he raised his hands, which held a scroll.

  “Later,” blurted the king. The messenger lifted his face and looked bravely and directly into the king’s eyes, which was a serious breach of protocol.

  But upon seeing the face of the messenger, the king trembled. Slowly, he reached for the scroll and tore open the seal. His eyes darted across the writing before him. His face fell.

  There would be no further celebration. Tightly gripping the message, the king turned, hurried from the reviewing stand, and entered the royal carriage. As the crowd watched in silence, the king disappeared behind the palace walls.


  That night, while the palace buzzed with whispers of war, the king and his generals met to plan their defense. But alone in her bedroom, Babette knew nothing of the tragedies to come. All she could think was that she was glad that she was not queen. “If I had been queen,” she thought, “I could not have read the message at all.”

  • 4 •

  Into the Forest

  Far from the castle, a few miles from Sonnencrest, the landscape was painted with the colors of spring. On the ground lay a carpet of flowers in yellow, pink, and blue, still moist with the morning dew.

  But nature seldom sings to the deeds of men. Into this bright landscape arose a dark sound, the sound of a thousand footsteps striking the ground in unison, warning of dark deeds to come.

  Beltar’s army had arrived.

  The army halted on the bank of the Nikanobi River. Across the water lay the edge of the kingdom of Sonnencrest. Crowding the far shore were the towering trees of the Pfimincil Forest, and at the other side of the forest lay an open highway leading directly to Blumenbruch and the palace gates.

  Beltar paced along the bank, eyeing the landscape for the telltale signs of ambush or deceit. To protect his army, Beltar divided his men into three divisions. Each made separate crossings. Inside the forest, the soldiers of Sonnencrest would be waiting. To the Sonnencrest army, the forest was a perfect place to lay a trap. But Beltar had crafted a trap of his own.

  One of his divisions would not march through the forest at all. Instead, they would set a trap. These soldiers would board rafts and float down the river to where the forest ended. There they would disembark and march to the road connecting the forest with the capital city of Blumenbruch. Then they would block Sonnencrest’s escape, mopping up the remains of the inferior Sonnencrest army.

  Beltar’s advisors argued that it was a mistake to devote a third of his men to this ambush. These soldiers would be needed in the forest to break the Sonnencrest lines. But Beltar had no regard for his opponent. Sonnencrest might lie in ambush, but they would have to fight. And no army of peaceful farmers could match up to the warriors of Globenwald.

  As the last of the goblins stepped into the forest, the pirate Telsinore stepped out from behind a tree. Dressed in black from head to toe, he looked warily to his left and right. Seeing no soldiers, he hurried to the water’s edge. From his shirt, he withdrew a telescope and peered down river and then up. Satisfied that no goblins remained, he waved his hand. From the forest emerged his band of men, oddly attired with long hair, earrings, and strange hats. Behind them, they pulled three rowboats. With hardly a whisper of sound, they were in the water, rowing feverishly upstream.

  Telsinore looked back into the forest. His scheme was working. The goblins had gone to war, avenging the murder of Rildon. With the goblins at war, the emerald mines would be left unguarded. And the emerald mines of Globenwald were the richest in the known world.

  He imagined the gems, filling his boats. He imagined Three Fingers Frick, felled by an assassin’s hand. His ocean would be free of rivals. He, Telsinore, would be the king of the seas. He dug his paddle deep into the water and let forth a great laugh that sent birds fleeing into the forest.

  Beneath a canopy of kamilko trees stood Beltar, telescope in hand, surveying the landscape ahead. What he saw made him curse.

  Off in the distance, his soldiers were chasing one of Zindown’s creatures.

  The skriabeasts were fast, ferocious, giant wolf-like monsters with long muscular legs, and they could be ridden like horses. They not only attacked enemy soldiers but ate them as well, a fact that gave Zindown special pride.

  But although the skriabeasts were able to move with astonishing speed, they were proving nearly impossible to control. In the forest, their keen noses found temptation everywhere. Sensing prey, predators, or some mysterious scent, these skriabeasts would bolt from the path, their exasperated riders screaming orders that the hideous animals completely ignored.

  Worse than that was the noise the beasts made. In designing the animal, Zindown had managed to contort its vocal cords so that they neither howled like wolves nor barked like dogs. Instead, when they opened their jaws, they let forth screams, sharp and high-pitched. At first, it sounded something like skreeeeeee, which gave the creatures their name. But a second or two into the scream, their vocal cords began to waver and the tone changed to an ear-splitting, hideous screech.

  Beltar had hoped his army might travel ten miles a day. But his progress had been tormented by delays. Three days into the march, the army had barely traveled six miles.

  Slowness was not Beltar’s only setback. The forest provided perfect cover for an ambush. To avoid alerting the enemy, he had ordered his troops to remain silent. But the terrible cry of the skriabeasts signaled their presence for miles ahead and the low moans of the caged Cyclops unnerved his troops.

  Beltar had wondered whether to bring the Cyclops at all. It was a violent and temperamental giant. Taken in battle from a far-away island kingdom, the Cyclops had been used to hammer tunnels in mountains and expand the caves where goblins preferred to live. Ten feet tall and stoutly built, it possessed uncommon strength. With its hundred-pound hammer, it could demolish solid rock—or a strong stone wall, like the palace wall at Blumenbruch.

  So Beltar loaded the Cyclops and his hammer into a cage. To calm the Cyclops, Beltar ordered three cave trolls to march at its side. Their presence seemed to ease his torments and his moaning became less frequent, but when he did moan, the cave trolls joined in, delighted to be part of the song. Together, they signaled Beltar’s advance far into the forest. Beltar cursed the Cyclops. He cursed Zindown. As he scanned the forest floor, he cursed the cowardly enemy that had yet to appear. He called to an aide.

  “Unleash the ravens,” he ordered and the soldier ran to the cages where the ravens were kept. The ravens were scavengers. They would find the Sonnencrest army and settle in the trees above. Their awful caws would betray the enemy long before the goblin soldiers were actually in sight.

  While the Cyclops moaned in the forest, the Nikanobi River rang with a happier noise. It was a song of the sea. And from three meandering rowboats rose a raucous, drunken chorus of joy.

  The life of a simple sailor

  Has no appeal to me

  That’s why I’m a pirate

  As evil as can be

  My life is well rewarded

  By a swig from me keg of rum

  And the treasure I’ve a stolen

  Is a mighty, mighty sum

  Oh, spare me all your pity

  For the hardships of the sea

  The life of a heartless pirate

  Needs no sympathy

  The riches I have squandered

  I could not count them all

  Many places I have wandered

  Some places I have crawled

  No matter where I travel

  I’m ready to do blows

  And when I meet my maker

  I’ll punch ’im in the nose!

  Oh, spare me all your pity

  For the hardships of the sea

  Life for a heartless pirate

  Needs no sympathy

  Cradled in the river’s current, the three boats rocked back and forth as the occupants swayed with the song. Inside the boats were boxes of jewels and their weight pushed the boats deep into the water. In the first boat, balancing himself on the bow, stood Telsinore, dancing a careful jig to the song of his crew.

  Not far downstream, goblin soldiers were loading rafts, preparing for their journey around the forest. When the pirate song reached their ears, they stopped their work and peered upstream. The singing grew louder and when three rowboats wobbled around a bend and into plain view, there were snickers and outright laughter until one goblin officer barked orders and two hundred soldiers mounted the rafts.

  Perhaps those pirates might have mounted a charge had they noticed the goblins at all. Clapping in time to Telsinore’s jig, shouting bawdy insults, they drifted
forward, oblivious to the enemy ahead. And when one pirate sighted the goblins through a blurry eye, he stuttered, “G-g-g-goberlings!” which sent a new roar of laughter across the water.

  But Telsinore, in an attempt to see the goblins himself, lifted one leg from his dance and swung round to face the river ahead. This maneuver was too bold for his condition, and he found himself wavering on one foot, his arms spread to each side, clawing for balance. He saw the goblins and his eyes grew large. But before words could leave his lips, he was swallowed by the current below.

  Now the pirates saw their foe. Directly ahead stood a blockade of rafts, manned with goblins, weapons drawn.

  Were the pirates frightened? Not one bit.

  In one boat, the pirates rose at once, raising sabers high in the air with a blood-curdling cry. But no sooner had the charge been sounded than the rowboat tipped over on its side, dumping the crew, its treasure, and an empty rum keg into the river.

  In the second boat, one of the pirates stood at the bow, preparing to strike at the goblins. But instead of reaching the goblins, the boat stuck a sandbar, launching their leader face first into the mud. Alarmed, the crew staggered into the water, tripping, falling, and stumbling into one another.

  And the third boat? Oars pounded the water, but in random directions. The craft began to spin. Some pirates did not bother paddling, instead stuffing their shirts with emeralds. Faster and faster, the boat spun until it collided with goblin rafts. One pirate leaped into the water, but his stolen treasure carried him to the bottom. The rest were lifted by the goblins, one by one, drunk and dizzy, into their rafts.

  Meanwhile, Telsinore was in terrible distress. Though he was a man of the sea, Telsinore was not a very strong swimmer. Driven to the bottom by the current, he bounced randomly across the riverbed, his arms and legs flailing against the water.