The Hero's Heart (Harold Drybank)

[Substitute Author]

"Not the glittering weapon fights the fight, but the hero's heart."

~Ancient Proverb


The floor stones of great hall were beautiful this time of day. Just as the sun was beginning to sink over the western wall, its golden rays shone through the stained glass and painted the floor stones brilliant blues, deep reds, and soft greens. The occasional black line of the dividers only added to the fantastical atmosphere created by the setting sun.
Yet all of this was lost on poor Harold. He was staring at the floor, but he wasn?t seeing any of the beauty. No, he was simply staring at the floor to avoid looking at the disappointed face of the elderly squirrel standing over him.
?Harold,? Father Abbot sighed for what had to be the twentieth time that afternoon, ?I am so disappointed. You know better than this. We?ve had this conversation so many times.?

Harold?s feet shuffled on the colorful stones. He didn?t respond. He just sat there with his head hanging. The Abbot continued.

?You?re not a dibbun anymore Harold. You?re well into your twentieth season. Why, when I was your age I was already training under Father Alex, preparing to be Abbot myself! Most of my friends were married. All of us were pulling our weight.?

?And your friends too,? He continued as he began to pace in front of the low bench the poor vole was seated on. ?Porto?s taken over the cellars, Jiennie?s working under Sister Mercy in the infirmary, why, even Droogum?s doing his share under Foremole.?

Harold just kept looking at the floor stones. Father Kavril had said it. They?d had this conversation before. Somehow Harold couldn?t see it ending any differently this time.

Father Kavril stopped pacing. With a long, heavy sigh, he sat down next to the vole. Harold didn?t look up. He just let him sit.

?Harold,? The elderly squirrel started again, softer and slower this time, ?These fantasies of yours have to stop. You?re not Martin, Matthias, or even Rufe Brush. You?re you; Harold Drybank.?

Harold swallowed hard as the Father Abbot continued.

?Your ambition is admirable my son, but these fantasies?they?re going to get you in trouble; and I don?t want to see that happen.?

Slowly, firmly, and with an odd comfort, Father Kavril put his arm around the young vole?s shoulders and drew him closer. Relaxing in the loving gesture, Harold closed his eyes and let his head sink to lean against the squirrel?s shoulder.
?And somehow the shoulder felt very thin and very hard. As soon as he touched it, every individual part of his body ached. What didn?t hurt throbbed. What wasn?t throbbing, he couldn?t feel.

Confused and not understanding, Harold wrenched himself upright.

WHACK!

A pitch-less tone rang through Harold?s head as he sank back against the thin, hard object he?d just been leaning on.

The vole grimaced as the present came flooding back over the past and he recalled where and why he was. With a tight sigh, he opened his eyes.

The sight that greeted him definitely wasn?t great hall, but it was about what he?d expected.
He was in the courtyard, along the western wall. The entire area was full of the smell of fire and ash, but the smoke had dissipated completely. Crew beasts scurried to and fro, busy or pretending to be with various tasks.
....and Harold was in a cage.
Thinking of the now lessening pounding of his head, Harold looked up. Yes, a cage; a very short cage at that. The vole rubbed at his sore head and shifted his legs out from under him. He must have been thrown into the cage rather haphazardly when he was unconscious. His legs were just starting to tingle with feeling again.

?Psst!?
Harold snapped his head around at the noise. There, not two arm lengths from his own cage, was a second, similar one. This one contained a long, gangly beast. The rabbit Harold had tried so hard to save.

A look of relief flooded over the rabbit?s face as Harold looked at him.

?Thank the heavens! You?re awake and alright. I was indeed quite worried about you my heroic friend. Welcome back to the realms of light.?

Harold sighed and leaned his head against the back of his cage.

?Thank you, but I think I preferred the realms of wherever else I was.?
The rabbit shifted in his cage, pressing his long ears against the wooden bars.
?I know it may look like you failed and, well, you rather did, but I want to thank you for trying to rescue me. It was very brave of you and it means a lot to me. It really does.?

The rabbit forced a small smile through his bars.

?Even though we are now caged and slave to the whims of our captors, you sir, are a hero, and you have my thanks.?

Something inside Harold leapt. A hero? Yes, he was a bit of a hero, wasn?t he. It was funny though, he thought, that this time he hadn?t tried to be.
True, he was always trying to be a hero. He even felt he succeeded quite often. Yet this time, in going back for the rabbit, he hadn?t been trying to be anything. He was just doing what he knew he had to do. It wasn?t a question of heroics, it was just what he did.

Harold fell silent for a moment. This was strange. He hadn?t tried. He hadn?t stretched. He?d just done what he felt he had to. It was ironic that this was the time that someone else heralded him as a hero. Ironic and yet satisfying in a way Harold had never imagined.

His thoughts were interrupted abruptly by the rabbit in the cage next to him.

?Look sharp my young friend, here comes that vile creature that captured us again.?
Harold looked up in time to see the wiry ferret striding towards them with a confidence that sent even the other vermin scurrying as she approached. Harold straightened against the back of the cage. So this was the vile creature who had captured him, who had struck him down in the very moment of his triumph.
He glanced at the rabbit in the cage next to him.

This was the creature who had spoiled his rescue.

He realized suddenly, as the creature kept striding nearer, just who this was. If he was the hero, which of course he was, then this ferret was the anti-hero; the villain.
He supposed that thought should strike fear in most beasts. Villains were supposed to do that. Yet this realization somehow filled him with a resolve forged beyond fear. He simply sat there and watched her come.

On reaching the two cages, the ferret ignored the one on her right and approached Harold?s. Her face twisted in a sneer as she slowly circled it, watching the vole the whole time. Harold simply sat there. He didn?t watch her, he didn?t follow her movements. He just sat there looking forward at the courtyard.
The ferret reached out a paw as she started her second round of the simple cage. Her claws clacked roughly against the wooden bars as her speed increased ever so slightly.
?So,? She began in a voice dripping false sincerity, ?Our ?valiant hero? has awoken. I must say, you?re stronger than I would have thought. You were only out for a matter of hours.?

The ferret suddenly stopped, stooped, and pressed her face against the outside of the cage; her face so close to Harold that he felt her whiskers brush against his ear.
?Far too strong for an oar slave.?

Whether in reaction to the words or the whiskers, Harold shuddered involuntarily. The ferret laughed in his ear.

?Oh-hoho! Not pulling your weight on your oar? Must have been a very nice placement indeed to be chained with that great hulking lump of a badger. Though,? She softened thoughtfully, ?I?m not sure why he didn?t break your spine for your sluggishness. I would have done so without thought, given the circumstances.?
She shrugged absently and stood. Finishing her second rotation around the vole?s cage, she stopped and stared down at him.

?Though strength isn?t altogether a bad thing. You could be quite useful. If you can be taught??
He trailed off at that last and Harold looked up to see why. He saw her head turning, searching for something. Apparently finding it, she suddenly barked an order.
?You there! The fat one!?
She paused a moment and sighed.
?Not all three of you, the fattest! I should have been more specific. Yes you! Bring that here!?
A slightly portly sea rat jogged warily up to the ferret and pulled a cutlass from his belt. Obviously nervous and moving quickly, he handed it over to the ferret and retreated back the way he had come.

Harold?s eyebrows rose. A weapon. A real, solid, sharp weapon. He?d never used one before. He wanted to though, now more than ever. If only he could get his hands around that cold steel. He?d?.he?d?

He wasn?t sure just what he?d do, but he knew it would be directed at that ferret standing over him. The one holding the cutlass.

The ferret?s smirk grew into a sly smile that showed her sharp teeth.

?Oh, our young hero wants this weapon, does he?.?

She looked down at it impassively for a moment and then shrugged.

?Alright, it?s yours.?
With a single, sudden movement she brought the sharp blade down through the cage?s simple locking mechanism and sent it hurtling to the ground in front of the cage.
Harold?s jaw dropped a few inches as he watched the door to his cage slowly sag and then drop off altogether. As it fell, his gaze shifted beyond it to the cutlass lying on the rocky ground just beyond.

There was absolutely nothing but a few arm lengths of air between him and it.

Suspicious of this odd yet tempting offer, he glanced up at the ferret. She was simply standing a few strides behind the cutlass, arms akimbo, waiting for him to do something.

Slowly, stretching and testing each limb as he did so, he crawled from the cage. Slower still, looking the whole time at the ferret standing over him, he reached for the cutlass. As his paw wrapped around its cold, smooth hilt, she simply stood there expressionless.

Still moving slowly and deliberately Harold stood to his foot paws. The cutlass came up with him, hanging from one trembling paw. Harold suddenly realized that his whole body was quivering; he just wasn?t sure if it was from fear or excitement. Perhaps it was both. He wasn?t sure he cared.

He didn?t even look to see if there were other vermin watching or not. Every bit of his attention was focused on the enemy before him; his villain.
With both hands now on the hilt of the cutlass, Harold raised it slowly and pointed it at his opponent and spoke to her for the first time.

?You have made a mistake, vermin.?

The ferret laughed.
?No, I don?t think so my ?valiant? friend.?

?Oh yes you have,? He countered, growing braver with every word, ?And this mistake??
He paused as he lofted the sword of her head with both paws still on the hilt.
??Will be a fatal one.?
With this proclamation, the young vole erupted in a squeaky roar and charged for the ferret with everything he had.

Though admittedly, everything he had wasn?t all that much.

The ferret, her arms still crossed, simply stepped to the side and let him spill headfirst into the dust behind her.

Harold grimaced. All the aches were still there and now worse. It didn?t really matter though. What was one more bit of pain. As Harold righted himself and rose again to his foot paws, the ferret shook her head in disapproval.
?No, no, no! You have it all wrong. You?re not trying cut down a tree. Use shorter, more directed strokes. Strike from the side or something.?

He wasn?t sure, but Harold thought he heard some chuckling from behind him. He didn?t bother to look. He just charged again.

This time he swung the cutlass like an axe, right at the ferret?s mid section.
This time the ferret simply leapt back and let the vole over swing and spin himself into the dust at her feet.

The ferret sighed down at him.

?Still too much I?m afraid. You?ll have to do much better than that if you want to survive for more than, oh?.maybe thirty seconds.?

Harold spat into the dust. This was not how this was supposed to work. He had a weapon, he had a cause, and he even had a villain. Yet he was still on the ground making a fool of himself. This was all wrong.

Then he remembered. He?d been here before. Well, sort of. It had been over there, but it was in this scenario. Only this time, he had a weapon and this time he wasn?t about to give his opponent a warning.

Without a word of preamble, as much as he longed for it, Harold rose to his feet and swung the sword upwards toward his foe.

CLANG!

Harold grimaced as his paws vibrated with the weapon in them as it struck the knife that had appeared in the ferret?s paw. He dropped the cutlass and grunted at the pain shooting up his arms. Before he could even look for his weapon, he felt the ferret?s knee land heavily in his gut. With a squeaky groan, he sank to the ground again without even enough energy to writhe.
The ferret kicked him again as he lay there. He didn?t even groan. This was way beyond groaning now. He just lay there as she laughed down at him.
With the same confidence she had approached with, the ferret calmly kicked the cutlass away from the vole and walked off, calling for a couple crew beasts to throw him back in his cage. Harold felt himself being drug back towards the confining cage as they complied.

He landed heavily against the back bars and just lay there aching while he listened to them reattach the door. When he finally heard them shuffling off, he opened his eyes.
He thought he?d been sore when he woke up. No, that wasn?t sore. This was sore.
?Psst!?
Harold didn?t move, he just shifted his eyes toward the rabbit in the cage beside him.
?What now??
?I,? The rabbit began, ?I think you did very well out there.?

Harold groaned.
?I got spanked like a dibbun out there. That?s not what I consider doing well.?
?No,? The rabbit corrected, ?You tried. Even though presented with impossible odds, you tried. That is indeed doing very well. I still think you a hero.?
Harold actually smiled. The rabbit was right. He had done everything he could. That was all Father Abbot had ever asked of him, wasn?t it? Well, now he?d done it when it mattered. Something deep inside of him wished the old squirrel was there now to be proud of him.

?Oh, and by the by, my name?s Peter. What?s yours??

The vole pondered a moment, trying to decide which title to give. Suddenly, he turned and looked the rabbit full in the face.

?Harold.? He stated flatly. ?My name?s Harold.?