Uncommon Valor (Harold Drybank)

[Substitute Author]

"Valor is stability, not of legs and arms, but of courage and the soul."

~ Michel de Montaigne
The cries of the startled and the shouts of the enraged filled the air with a raucous din. The sounds of collision rang through the encampment as beast encountered beast and wood met steel or skull. Occasionally, the sharp clash of steel on steel echoed off the stone walls.

Harold?s eyes burned from the ash and smoke that seemed to be everywhere, but he didn?t care. He just wanted to see what was going on.

He wasn?t sure who had done it, or even if it had been intentional or a random accident, but somehow a torch had found its way into the large brush pile that the conspirators had just previously been hiding behind. The fire was now crackling madly as it consumed the dry wood and leapt hungrily for the tables, chairs, and other consumables in the dining hall.

His paws still chained in front of him to a small bit of oar, he plunged forward. There had to be a point at which the dense smoke would clear and he could see once again.

Apparently, the vole was lucky today. A few strides further and he broke from the veil of the smoke, through the doorway of the dining hall, and into full sunlight.
Pandemonium greeted him. What he had previously only heard, he could now see in all its brutal glory. Slaves and crew beasts clashed in an oddly even match of arms and urgency. The true advantage of the slaves was that badger. Yet as Harold blinked the smoke from his eyes and turned quickly to take in the battle, the hulking form of their salvation was nowhere to be seen.
He did however see what he was looking for. Just ahead of him, running across the sandy courtyard he was standing in, was a small group of slaves. They were running for the far corner of the courtyard and the presumed safety afforded by the door it contained; the door that lead down to the old cellars and tunnel system.

Escape ? they were headed for freedom. Gritting his teeth, Harold pushed his foot paws into the sand and took off after them.

Then he heard it. The scream was high, long, and had a pleading quality to it that Harold couldn?t ignore. His momentum causing him to slide several paw lengths before coming to a stop, Harold turned and looked behind him.
The rabbit that had been chained to the oar right behind him was lying face down in the sand not ten paces from the doorway Harold had just left. His ears were flopping from side to side as he alternately glanced over his shoulders at the crew beasts chasing him through the doorway and looked pleadingly at the young vole for help.

Harold hesitated for just a moment. Then, with a glance over his shoulder at the fleeing slaves, he clenched his paws and started running toward the beleaguered rabbit.
In but a moment, Harold was at the rabbit?s side, reaching down, and grabbing his paw. A mighty heave brought the rabbit to his elongated foot paws. Harold didn?t take time to try and figure out if the poor creature was injured or not. He simply threw the rabbit?s arm across his own shoulders, put one of his arms across the rabbit?s back, and started running.
Between the smoke he had inhaled, the soft sand making it hard to run, and the rabbit leaning heavily down on him, Harold was breathing heavily. The pair?s progress across the courtyard was slow and becoming painful. Worse, with every lilting, hurried stride, Harold could hear the pursuit gaining on them. He didn?t bother to look back to see how many there were. It didn?t matter. This wasn?t a fight, this was a foot race.

For just a moment, Harold looked up and toward his destination, the door in the far corner of the courtyard. The group of slaves headed by that young shrew were just disappearing into its dark safety. Harold and his rabbit companion were about halfway there.

Then, without a hint of warning, the rabbit tripped and fell. The sudden jolt almost threw Harold to the ground. It was only by wrenching himself free of the rabbit?s flailing arms that the vole was able to stay shakily on his own foot paws.

Harold reached for the rabbit?s paw once again, but it was pointless. It had been a foot race, and they had lost.

The rat who had been pursuing them reached them before Harold could even start to pull his friend to his foot paws once again.

Dropping the rabbit?s paw, Harold turned and faced the oncoming crew beast.

?Halt, vermin!? He cried as he fumbled to get a grip on the bit of oar chained to his wrists, ?Stand and face me!?

WUMPF!

The rat?s upraised club swung down and directly into Harold stomach. With a gasp and a woosh, all the air in the poor vole?s lungs rushed from his mouth and the force of the blow spun him around and planted him face first in the sand.

Harold sat there for a second simply staring at the sand at the end of his nose. He clenched his jaw. There was sand in his mouth now, but let it stay there. He didn?t care. What he cared about was the single set of paws slowly circling around from behind to stand in front of him.

No! This was all wrong! They were so close! Evil could not, would not prevail!
Would not; that was what matter. Gritting his teeth, Harold forced himself up onto his knees and forepaws. The chains hanging from his wrists clinked softly as they drug the fragment of oar along with them.

With his nose still facing the ground, Harold spat the sand from his mouth and smiled.
?Today vermin,? He began softly, ?Today, you shall learn to fear those who fight for the right.?
His voice grew in volume and fullness as he continued.

?Today, at least one wrong shall be made right. Today at least one deed of justice shall be done. Today one doer of evil shall taste that which they have sown. That beast??
Harold paused, willing with everything he had that it would be a dramatic one.
??is you.?
The rat standing over him threw back his head and laughed.

?Is that so, little slave?? He asked between bursts of laughter, ?Because it looks to me as if ?

THUNK!

With a loud sighing sound, the rat fell unceremoniously to the sand in a heap. The chunk oar connecting with his jaw with the force of Harold?s swift rise to his foot paws behind it had knocked him clean out.

For a moment, Harold simply stood there staring down at the unconscious rat in shock. Then, with a triumphant, squeaky scream, he threw his paws into the air and jumped in ecstasy.

?I have done it! I Harold, Lord of the Oars, have slain the pestilence!?

The exuberant little vole, oblivious to all the surrounding chaos, danced around his fallen foe.
?Oh yes, it has been done. They say that good does not always win, but that is not so. They say that evil will triumph, but that is not so. They say ?
THUNK!

The knife?s hilt struck Harold mid-sentence, right between the ears. His victory speech ended abruptly and he sank to sand in a heap next to his defeated foe.
The ferret looked down at the vole and shook her head.

?Not the brightest one now, is he??