The Sword of Darrow (29 page)

As he touched the weapon, a strange calm entered his mind. His hand closed on the handle. Still shaking, but less than before, he lifted it from the wagon. As he did, the trembling stopped completely.

He looked at this strange weapon. It was light, so light it almost floated in the air. On its handle was a tiny yellow bird. Warily, he turned to face Telsinore.

The sight of the king holding a sword set the pirates laughing again.

“Careful, Telsinore, a mighty swordsman awaits,” shouted one and the laughter that followed sent two rolling on the ground.

“So, you are going to make a fight of this?” Telsinore bellowed in a mocking voice. “I bet you trained under the finest swordsmen in all of Globenwald.” More laughs.

“Have you nothing to say? A last request perhaps?”

The king stood silent and still.

“Well, we might as well begin, if you afford me no fun.” And with those words, Telsinore swung his sword lightly in front of the king.

The king lifted his blade and brought Telsinore’s weapon to a halt.

“A skillful defense, if I have ever seen one!” shouted Telsinore. Again, the pirate swung his sword, playfully, almost in jest. Again, the king parried the blow.

Telsinore swung once more, this time a little harder. The king responded, stilling his blow.

Now Malmut’s eyes focused. His expression hardened. The shaking was gone. His knees bent and his body crouched; he waited for the next stroke.

But the next strike was hard and true as Telsinore brought his sword downward in a mighty stroke at the king’s side. The king moved to his right and blocked.

Telsinore looked down at the king. The king looked back. And for the first time, the king smiled.

Telsinore moved boldly against the king. One after another, his strokes were hard and true. Each time, the king’s sword was quicker in response.

A bright red color filled the pirate’s face. He gripped his sword with both hands and swung diagonally, across the king’s shoulder, with all his might. And when his blade struck the sword of the king, it shattered, scattering fragments through the air.

The king faced Telsinore, his smiled broadening. For the first time, he moved forward and attacked. Telsinore dodged and one of the pirates threw him a new blade.

Now Telsinore defended. As the astonished pirates looked on, the king, his sword flashing left and right, up and down, backed Telsinore around in a circle and drew blood from his left arm.

As the king advanced, Telsinore hastened his retreat, circling the edges of the torchlit ground. Moving like a man possessed, the king pressed Telsinore, hastening his retreat. From the debris of a wagon, Telsinore kicked a board directly into the king’s path. When the monarch stumbled on the board, a pirate shoved him from behind.

Now Telsinore leered over the king. He thought for a moment of the war he had launched ten years ago. Telsinore smiled. This monarch had delivered him more riches than he had ever dreamed of. He admired the king’s fight. So he spoke.

“My dear King Malmut, you have fought bravely and well. And mercy pays few rewards for a bandit of the sea. But there is something you must know.

“I killed Rildon. It was my trick that launched this war. Now, you have lost Sonnencrest and perhaps your kingdom as well.

“You stole my emeralds. Now I have done you much worse. So I will spare your life. Drop your sword and run. No one will follow.”

The king’s face reddened and he rose slowly from the ground. He hurled a fist full of sand directly into Telsinore’s eyes. A split second later, the Sword of Darrow had brought Telsinore to the ground.

The king reeled to face the pirates. Stunned and disbelieving, they stood motionless, absorbing the sudden turn of events. Into the darkness, the king disappeared.

Malmut raced madly into the blackness of the night. On the uneven ground, he tripped and fell but each time scrambled desperately to his feet. He was surrounded by trees that blocked the moonlight and his head struck a branch. He fell backwards against a rock. When he rose, a sharp pain shot up to his shoulder and a terrible aching seized his wrist.

He saw the moon and he followed it to the water’s edge. Not stopping to consider strategy or direction, he turned and ran down to the shore. He thought he saw the outline of a small boat. When he reached it, it was tied to a tree and barely large enough to hold two men.

His wrist ached terribly, but he lifted the sword and cut the rope. Into the boat he dove. Seeing the sword on the ground, he leaned over the bow to retrieve it. He cried out as he slipped, his broken wrist striking against the rail. Angrily, he hurled the sword into the grass.

His right hand could not grip the oar. So he nestled the oar in his elbow and began to pull. His strokes were feeble. At first, the boat merely rocked in place. But desperation made him stronger. The boat began to move. Across the channel lay Globenwald, an unseeable blackness two miles away.

The boat entered the channel. The tide was moving out to sea, tugging at the boat. He pulled harder against the oars. Faster, the boat moved. He heaved great breaths and his wheezing sounded across the silent sea. His arm ached. Sweat poured down his back and into the boat.

But in this ordeal, the king was lifted. For the first time ever, his fate would be decided by the strength of his own will.

Forward the boat surged. In the distance, he could make out the far shore. His boat moved midway through the channel, still nudged by the tide but pulled far more strongly by the king. He looked again and he knew. Globenwald was in reach.

The king marveled at the man he had become. Those who doubted him would see. He had slain the feared Telsinore. He had braved the sea. Everyone would know of his heroic deeds.

But as he reveled in these thoughts, the sky crackled above him. Lightning flashed across the heavens.

The king looked upward, fearing a storm. He pulled on his oars with new purpose, all but forgetting his pain. Again, the sky thundered, and this time the lightning struck the water and the sea exploded in a flash of silver. Wide-eyed, the king’s strokes took on a frantic pace.

Measuring the coming storm, the king again looked into the heavens. A deep shudder rolled through his fame.

There, amidst the clouds, he saw the outlines of a face. It was a face he knew. The wizard Zindown stared down from above.

A new bolt of lightning flashed, followed by a brief explosion of fire. The king and his boat were gone. All that remained was a puff of smoke that floated slowly into the horizon.

Back on the highway, Telsinore lay bleeding and bandaged in a makeshift bed. The sword had taken its toll, but this pirate had more lives than a family of cats. Even magic could not do the deed.

A young pirate held a drinking cup to his lips. The old captain gulped his water greedily as the younger looked on.

After a long pause, the young pirate spoke.

“That king, he could have walked away. Why would he risk his life and refuse your offer?”

For a long time Telsinore looked into the sky and fingered his crooked beard. Then he spoke.

“Ah, there are passions that cause men to act in foolish ways. And indeed the king’s vengeance has struck me a blow. But such men, blind to their own interests, are easy prey to the coldhearted scoundrel. So be glad of it, my friend,” said Telsinore wistfully. “For nothing rewards the evildoer more than the hand of revenge.”

D
eep in the forests of Globenwald, not far from the palace of the king, stood a small castle. It was hidden amidst the trees, far from the road, with only a small path leading the way to its door. No moat guarded this castle. Instead, a necklace of thorns, black and the height of small trees, circled its walls.

Its entrance, a door bearing the image of a bat spider, stood high behind twenty stone steps. On the bottom step sat a figure, no more than a shadow on this starless night.

With the morning, a figure came striding up the path. He was tall with a flowing black robe and a long black walking stick, beautifully carved. He walked proudly, his steps large and forceful. When he arrived, he looked down at the visitor seated before him.

“Why, Scodo, what a surprise!”

“You must be used to them by now.”

The scorpion man rose to his feet and stood directly before the wizard. Zindown laughed out loud.

“Ah, Scodo, I suppose you did not read the surrender. All goblins receive safe passage home.”

“I read it,” Scodo shot back. “There is not a word about wizards.”

Zindown spun into the air, howling in laughter.

“But a wizard needs no protection, even from the wrath of the great scorpion man!”

With those words, Zindown hurled a great ball of fire at Scodo’s feet and the ground burst into flames. But Scodo, shoeless, his skin exposed, walked directly into the fire and emerged from the other side, glaring up at Zindown, his body smoking, his scales blackened, his expression unchanged.

Zindown laughed again. He vanished from the sky and appeared on the ground. He reached down and picked up a rock. As he hurled the rock at Scodo with all his terrible might, the rock became ten rocks. Scodo lifted his sword to protect himself but the rocks struck on his face and body with loud thuds.

Still, Scodo stood unmoving, scales broken and hanging loosely from his frame. Blood trickled down his legs. He looked back at Zindown and spoke, “Really, Zindown, is that the best you can do?”

Zindown knew Scodo possessed no magic, for in the desert he had visited Scodo’s mind. He knew he could slay Scodo at that very moment. But first, he wanted to take some measure of the pleasure Darrow’s victory had taken away. In a flash, he appeared in front of Scodo.

“There, there, Scodo. Why don’t you just put an end to me right now?”

Scodo thrust his sword forward, but his motion had barely begun when Zindown was gone. He reappeared ten feet away, a little to the left. Suddenly, Scodo’s body was engulfed in flames. Scodo cringed with pain but spoke not a word.

“Quicker, Scodo.” He howled with laughter. “You must be quicker.”

Scodo picked up a rock at his feet and hurled it at Zindown.

With the rock in midair, Zindown disappeared. In what seemed the same instant, he reappeared, this time further to Scodo’s left, almost within reach of his sword. But when Scodo jabbed, Zindown was not there but in a new place far to the right. Laughing, he vanished again, reappearing, not quite in front of Scodo but about eight feet back and still a little to his right. He reached down and flung a handful of sand with the force of a tornado.

Scodo trembled. The sand delivered a terrible sting and blood poured from his wounds. But he still didn’t speak, because all this time Scodo’s mind was at work.

He remembered the long ride across the desert and how Babette had talked of wizards and the tricks they performed. He remembered Babette saying that wizards do not disappear at all but move from place to place with blinding speed. Scodo realized that he could never strike the wizard where he stood because the wizard was too fast. But if he could aim his throw to where the wizard would appear next, then perhaps his sword might reach its mark.

Scodo took two steps forward and spoke, looking deep into Zindown’s eyes.

“Oh mighty Zindown, I am only a creature and not even a man. But my hands are quick. Surely, you will give me yet another chance to strike you dead.”

Zindown laughed so loudly that the trees shook and the door of the castle rattled against the stone. Suddenly he stood before Scodo—directly in front, within reach of his sword. Again, Scodo lunged with his weapon, and in a flash Zindown appeared back and a little to his left, exactly as before. A large rock struck Scodo in the face, almost knocking him to the ground.

Scodo staggered in place, afraid he might fall. He lifted his head, looked at Zindown, and recalled Babette’s explanation of how wizards disappear by moving rapidly in a pattern from place to place. He concentrated, determined to work out the pattern so that he could catch Zindown unawares.

He hurled another rock, eager to see where Zindown might appear. His memory told him that Zindown would next appear a little more to the left, a few feet further back. That was exactly where Zindown appeared, howling in laughter, mocking his pathetic foe.

Trembling, Scodo struggled to collect his strength. Now, he knew the pattern. Now he knew where Zindown would next appear.

“Please, oh mighty Zindown, please give me one more chance.” Zindown laughed yet again.

As he did, Scodo lifted his sword as if to stab at Zindown’s image but instead he pivoted and threw his sword with such wondrous force that the leaves on the trees rustled in awe.

The sword arrived just as Zindown appeared. It struck him straight in the heart. The wizard crumpled dead on the ground.

Scodo stood and stared at his vanquished foe.

Scodo had never understood the deep hatred he felt for the old wizard. He never learned that it was Zindown’s spell that made him a monster at birth. But he did know, better than Babette or Darrow or any other, that the kingdom of Sonnencrest would never be safe as long as Zindown was alive.

Dark clouds formed in the sky. Lightning rattled across the horizon. With Zindown’s death, his spells were broken. All at once, a thousand acts of terrible magic were undone.

As Scodo stood motionless beneath the trees, the scales fell from his skin. His tail snapped from his body and dropped to the ground, withering away until it disappeared into dust. The claws dropped from his toes and his feet took on a new shape. His head, that terrible insect head, dropped its shell and reshaped itself with new features, all covered with smooth skin and dark black hair. When the changes were finished, he bore not the slightest resemblance to the monster who had stood in his place only moments before.

But Scodo did not cry out in joy. His mind was in a place far away. Quietly, he looked at Zindown’s corpse and he began to think. He thought of his parents and his friend Hugga Hugga and, of course, of Babette, who cared for him so much. And he felt the power of goodness grow inside of him.

He thought of the tormentors, the mockers, the taunters, and all who turned from him in horror. He found understanding for their actions and he gave them forgiveness and love. Once again, deep inside, his power grew.

He thought of the mob that hunted him in the forest and killed his parents. He felt compassion for their fears and love for their souls. And now a raging, burning, exhilarating power filled his body and flowed almost violently out of his fingers and his toes.

Now, he looked down at his greatest enemy and most evil foe. He gazed upon Zindown with sad eyes. He wondered of how it must have felt to carry the heavy burden of so many evil deeds. He ached with pity for the old wizard. He hoped in the afterlife or in some life to come that Zindown might rescue his soul and perform good and wonderful deeds. Looking down at the corpse, he did the one thing he was never before able to do. He gave the wizard his compassion, his forgiveness, and his love.

Now his body trembled with awesome power and that power demanded its release.

He recalled Babette’s instructions and knew he needed words to express the magic that burned within. He searched for the most beautiful memories of life and his mind went straight to his mother who, throughout his whole childhood, never once looked at him with anything but adoring eyes. And he remembered the day he asked her if he was indeed a monster.

“No, my love, you are the most beautiful child of all. It is we your parents who have been cursed because we do not look like you. You carry the beauty of the
vianu
in your soul.” That word,
vianu
, meant peace. It meant beauty. It meant love.

When Scodo heard this word leaving his mother’s lips, he knew he had the only language he would ever need.

For a short moment, he looked back at his life—at the fighting, at the killing—and he felt the burden of his deeds lift from his soul. He took his sword in his still-powerful hands and walked to the steps of Zindown’s castle where he placed it on the stone.

With all his concentration, he lifted the power from his body, and he felt great elation, as if his very spirit had rocketed far into the heavens above. For a few minutes, he reveled in these feelings and marveled at these forces that raged so beautifully inside him. Then he turned to face the sword.

He tightened his fists and extended them in front of his body. He was exploding inside. The force was so great that he feared it might tear him apart. He pulled his fists tighter, and with all of the enormous concentration of his mind, he stared directly at the sword.

“Vianu.”

A great flash of light exploded over the rock. The sword, a large, heavy weapon as tall as a small man, broke into thousands of tiny pieces, which rained down on the castle and its grounds. When the light was gone, all that remained on the rock was a small smattering of metallic dust. Across the ground, the remnants of his weapon sparkled like diamonds in the sun.

Scodo’s life was freed of weapons, but that was only the beginning. Released from the hatred he had carried through his life, he smiled, a great and gentle smile that covered his new face. It was a handsome face, as handsome as the face of any man in all of Sonnencrest.