The Sword of Darrow (12 page)

A few hours later, Darrow once again heard hoofbeats, these slower than the last. A band of goblins approached. It was not much of an outfit—two horsemen, a wagon, and several soldiers on foot. But when they reached Darrow, an officer stepped down from the wagon and again asked to see Darrow’s permission to travel.

“I have none,” Darrow responded.

This time the goblin asked no questions about Darrow’s plans.

“Throw him in the cage.”

Two goblins grabbed Darrow while another removed a small cage from the wagon. The cage, barely big enough to hold even Darrow, was made of sticks bound together with twine. At its base were two small wooden wheels. A goblin tied Darrow’s hands. Another opened the door of the cage while a third dumped Darrow inside. They tied the door shut and attached the cage to the back of the wagon.

The soldiers gathered around to look at the prisoner.

“Where are you taking me?” Darrow demanded.

“To a place you’ll never leave,” answered one goblin to the laughter of his comrades.

Inside the cage, Darrow struggled to free his hands, but the rope held tight. His body pressed against the sharp edges of the sticks that stabbed him as the cage jolted over each bump in the road. For the first time, Darrow felt afraid. Where were they headed? Would he be kept as a prisoner? Would they make him a slave? Worse, they might simply dump him in the bogs. If he died, who would ever know?

As the cage bounced along the road, Darrow peered out and saw a dark row of trees that rose from the plain like a black wall. Not a shrub or even tall grasses broke up the thick barrier of trees. It was as if God had drawn a line across the earth and decreed grassland on one side and forest on the other.

As the wagon entered the forest, the sun disappeared. The tree trunks were thick and closely spaced. Above them, branches spread out and overlapped in every direction. The road was no longer a road, only a trail, barely wide enough for the wagon. But what struck Darrow about the forest was the silence.

On that afternoon, almost at sunset, the forest made no sound. The goblins themselves ceased speaking as if their words might awaken some demon or stir evil forces against them.

Darrow pushed his back against the bars to test their strength, but they would not move. He tugged at the rope that tied his hands again, which caused the knots to pull tighter against his skin. In his mind, he searched for a strategy, but the best he could do was to resolve to run when they let him out of the cage.

As the wagon moved deeper into the forest, the goblins lit torches. They moved with soft and careful steps, eyes and ears attuned to anything that might pounce from the shadows around them. Suddenly, Darrow heard a noise, a low whistle, pulsating and sinister.

The goblins drew their swords. Like statues they waited, unwilling to offer a sound that might draw this unknown creature into their midst. The whistle grew louder, its rhythm haunting, and in the flickering torchlights, eyes met eyes looking for reassurance but finding none at all. For the first time, Darrow was thankful for his cage.

“A spirit,” thought the captain, but he did not share his thought for fear that his men would turn and run. Then, as suddenly as it began, the sound was no more. There was no point venturing further. The captain gave orders to camp for the night.

Whatever the noises or the creatures who made them, Darrow knew the forest was his only chance. It mattered little that his hands were bound. All he needed was an open door. Then he could flee with every bit of strength inside of him.

An hour passed before a goblin walked back to Darrow’s cage. He held out a piece of stale biscuit and shoved it into Darrow’s mouth. Darrow pleaded to be let out. The goblin walked away, pretending not to hear.

Night arrived and the forest grew blacker still. The silence of the afternoon gave way to a great cacophony of sounds, alien and strange. Unseen creatures competed with one another with their shrill and peculiar cries. The goblins huddled close together. Conversations were few. Before sleeping, they constructed a circle of small fires, each almost touching the next. When the circle burned brightly, they gathered inside.

“Bat spiders,” thought Darrow. “The fires will keep the bat spiders away.” Nervously, he eyed the openings at the top of his cage.

Sleep came to the goblins and their high-pitched snores blended with the cries of the forest to create a boisterous chorus of the evil.

For Darrow, sleep was not possible. In any position he tried, he was pierced by the sticks that supported him. Tired but awake, nothing but black before his eyes, each moment lingered in a great expanse of time.

“Mareeeokkkie, mareeokkkie, mariokeee!” The hideous shriek jolted Darrow. He heard claws scraping a tree within reach of his cage. Low and far away, a mournful call sounded: “Mockabee, mockabee, mockabee.”

A deep desperation gripped Darrow’s being. He was so terrified that one sound went unnoticed. It was the beating of tiny wings, a faint hum that hung outside his cage. When he noticed it, he feared a giant insect might be preparing to attack. Straining his eyes in the faint light of the goblin fires, he could barely make out its outline. But there was no insect at the door of his cage.

It was a tiny bird.

Darrow waved his hands to scare it. But the bird paid him no mind. It hopped onto a stick on the door of the cage. For a moment it paused, looking left and right. Then, in an explosion of energy, the bird was hard at work, pecking, pulling, twisting, as if some special delicacy lay hidden below.

Perplexed, Darrow strained to watch. What he saw was barely a shadow. But the shadow moved in rapid jerks, straining with all its small weight against some object on the cage. Darrow’s eyes focused hard.

The bird was pulling at the rope.

The rope was strong and thick and the bird was tiny. Fascinated, Darrow watched with increasing wonderment. Peck, pull, twist, pull, peck—bird continued for what seemed to be an hour.

One of the goblins rose from his slumber and trudged to a nearby tree. Before returning to his blanket, he took a stick and stirred one of the fires. A few flames burst forth. In this flash of light, Darrow looked closely at the bird. It was yellow and barely the size of a chicken egg. The rope against which it struggled was almost gone.

Darrow could not believe his eyes. He listened closely as the goblin stepped back to his bedding. When he was sure that no one was awake, he turned and leaned against the door. The rope snapped quietly. The little yellow bird rose into the air, where it fluttered for a moment and then darted away.

Slowly, not wanting to make a sound, Darrow pushed open the door of the cage with his feet. A small creaking noise made Darrow freeze. He eased his feet to the ground, leaned forward, and emerged from his cell. For a moment he paused, looking for a path. Seeing nothing, he ran straight into the blackness of the forest.

Not ten feet from the cage, he collided squarely with a tree. The encounter made a loud noise, and Darrow fell backwards, landing on his still-tied hands. But in an instant he was back on his feet, hurtling blindly ahead. Thorn bushes tore at his legs and feet. A branch struck his forehead, sending blood running down his face. His foot hit a rock and he hurtled forward, landing on the forest floor. But each time he fell, he lifted himself and raced forward again.

When he had traveled what seemed a full hour, he stopped to listen. Nothing. He resumed his escape, this time more slowly, moving sideways so that his shoulder, and not his head, would strike against the trees. When he had traveled more distance still, he stopped and groped with his hands until he found a sharp rock. He rubbed the rock against the rope that bound his hands. His hands were free.

With his fingers reaching in front of him, he could feel his way through the forest and he made better time. Now and then, he tripped or struck a tree or branch, but his steps gained purpose and he moved steadily ahead. He fell again. He lay still for a moment to catch his breath, and before he could stumble back to his feet, he was sound asleep.

When he awoke, birds announced the morning and a dull gray light filtered through the treetops. There was no trail. He had not the slightest idea of where he was or where he should go. What he wanted most was water. He scanned the expanse of the forest and started again with no particular strategy or design. Stepping through brush and around trees and rocks, he made slow progress. After a while, he heard a trickling noise and followed the sound to a small brook. He drank frantically and ate the only food he could find—bitter onions that he pulled from the ground.

Guessing that the brook might lead to a path, he began walking against the water’s flow. Eventually, he came to a primitive bridge that crossed the brook, linking two sides of a path. Darrow chose a direction at random and trudged forward down the road. He was tired and hungry and after a while, he stepped to the side of the path and slept again.

When he awoke, two goblins stood above him, swords drawn. Once again, his hands were tied, this time in front. The soldiers marched him before them, jabbing him from behind, laughing at their pathetic captive.

“Slave boy, thank us for saving your life!”

“Anyone asleep in this forest is too stupid to be a slave.”

“We’ll send him to gather mushrooms in the bogs. That takes no brain.”

“The job of a lifetime! A week at best!”

“Two days! This one is too lame to escape.”

As the insults flowed, Darrow held his head high. He would not show fear before these soldiers. He would not lose hope.

But suddenly one of the soldiers cried out.

“He’s gone!”

Darrow turned to look at his captors.

Stunned, their eyes searched the path and the forest around them. But something was wrong. He was standing directly before them.

One of the goblins ran by him down the trail.

The other cried out, “I’ll check the forest,” and left the path, poking amongst the bushes with his sword.

Darrow watched in wonderment until he looked down at his feet.

They were gone.

His feet. His legs. He could see nothing of his entire body.

“I must be dead,” he thought. But dead or alive, he wanted to be as far from these goblins as possible. So down the path he ran. And after running for what seemed a long time, he stopped and sat on the trail, simply too exhausted to continue. He reached down to touch his leg. It was there. Frantically, his hands patted his body all around finding everything in its proper place, though he could see none of it at all.

He decided that perhaps he was not dead at all. He looked down and saw his body shimmer back into visibility.

In the distance, he heard a bell and the braying of a mule. He scrambled into the forest and ducked behind a bush. A wagon came into sight, painted with yellow birds and driven by a fat young woman with black hair and a large crooked nose. She turned to look in his direction. For the briefest moment, he thought she smiled.

Then the wagon was gone.

Darrow walked back onto the road, confused and frightened. He wondered if what he saw was true at all. Perhaps he had lost his mind. He walked ahead, not even bothering to untie the rope that still bound his hands. He had no idea where to go, but he knew he could not walk the road. So he turned into the forest and began stepping aimlessly through the thicket.

Within minutes, he stepped into a small clearing and looked at the rope on his hands. Before he could untie himself, he heard a cry. At first, the cry was faint, but it grew in volume. He froze where he stood.

Skreeeeeeeeeuhlskreeeuhlskreeuhlskreeuhlskreeuhlskreeuhlskreeuhl!
Across the clearing, three animals appeared, wolf-like creatures with long legs and terrifying red eyes. Darrow knew something of wolves from the mountains. His only chance was to show no fear.

The beasts charged toward him, snarling and screaming. Darrow turned and faced the beasts, his eyes soft and his face calm. He stood without defense, his hands bound, a strand of rope hanging to the ground. Though he trembled within, the wolves saw only a smile as if he were greeting loved ones returning home.