CHAPTER 1
Duel
Disrupted
“By
Great Boris’s waxen whiskers!” Bahar cried, raising his small knife just in
time to deflect the incoming blow. “You
are fast, my king! Faster than any creature my eyes have beheld.”
“You
do realize, Bahar,” said Klaus, “that none of us have ever actually seen
Great Boris. The idea that he had waxen
whiskers is pure assumption.”
“Tell
that to the painters who festooned the walls of King Chisha’s hallowed halls
with portraits of the good mouse.”
“I
wouldn’t say that King Chisha’s artwork is the best place to get an accurate
picture of history.” Klaus laughed and took a few steps back, holding his
paring knife horizontally in case his opponent decided to strike from
above. “With that said, I have to admit
that you are a very talented swordsman.
It doesn’t surprise me that King Chisha entrusted you with your rank.”
“Your
words are most appreciated, my king.”
Klaus
beamed as brightly as the sun, which presently rested at its zenith and shone upon
the green land, uninterrupted by the dark clouds that painted the western sky. A rainbow, each of its colors shimmering
richly, stretched before the clouds, a reminder of the early-morning rain. Klaus had decided to take a rest from his
kingly duties and to get some fresh air in northern Sprinklevale; Trot the
turkey had been so kind as to ferry him and Bahar to the southern outskirts of
Mount Oniz—a quiet place within sight of Mr. Theo’s house—and to then linger
nearby in case he was needed for a ride back home. Klaus’s purpose, when he had left Sweetfort an
hour ago, was to first enjoy some much-needed exercise by sparring with his new
friend and to follow with a visit to Ginger.
He was getting older now, and he spent too many mindless hours sitting
on his throne and providing answers to innumerable dull questions. He had always been a warrior at heart, and it
was during duels like this, against a skilled and worthy foe, when he
came alive and felt alive. It did
not hurt that winter was just days away from ending, and over the past two
weeks the warmth of spring had been creeping across the land, and clusters of
yellow flowers honeycombed the fields.
Everything around him seemed to glow gold and viridescent, nourished by
on-and-off wintry rains.
He
had removed his uncomfortable aluminum plate armor, which he had worn more
often after the Thanksgiving escapade, and had returned to the traditional
blue, green, and brown shoe leather armor that he had worn when he had first
met Ginger. The material was superior
when speed and finesse were needed, and he had grown accustomed to the annoying
creeeeeeak that his vambraces made whenever he raised his sword to block
a blow. He did not want to admit it
aloud, but he believed that if he had worn his heavy armor, Bahar would have
bested him already—not that the vole would do him the dishonor of defeating him. He was far too courteous for that.
Klaus
had grown in his knowledge and appreciation of Bahar the past four months, and
gone were the suspicions and doubts that he had held when the vole had first joined
their community. Molasses had vouched
for Bahar, of course, but everyone—even the kindest and wisest of mice and
cookies—had lapses in discernment from time to time. Within weeks of his assimilation into
Sweetfort, the vole had taken it upon himself to make regular visits—accompanied
by trusted soldiers of Klaus’s royal army—to Cowtown to share the news of “a
better land,” wherein their kind were treated with respect, where honesty was
valued and nobility of character was treasured, and where the king saw himself
as a fellow citizen. Klaus was regularly
stunned by the news that Bahar relayed of King Chisha’s demeanor and practices;
the vole regent had now become quite plump on the boons from Tanas’s garden,
and when he was not barking senseless orders at those under his employ, he was
demanding tribute of one-third of his loyalists’ monthly findings to fill the larders
for his nuclear and extended family. It
also seemed that he blamed the general unhappiness of his kingdom not on his blunders
in leadership, but on the turkeys who had consumed half his followers—as well
as on Klaus himself.
Bahar
lunged and thrust the tip of his blade toward Klaus’s shoulder, but Klaus sidestepped
it and swept his sword toward his opponent’s exposed right waist. He was less than a centimeter from his target
when Bahar swung his sword behind his own head, blade pointed toward the earth;
with his elbow poised toward the sky, he managed to block Klaus’s attack. The force behind Klaus’s strike was so great
that it caused both Bahar and his weapon to reverberate, and Bahar’s own sword
was pressed against his waist. Seeing
his predicament, he parried Klaus’s knife away, performed a side-flip, and
landed on a small rock out of reach.
“Very
nice,” Klaus told him, swishing his sword through the air. “Where did you learn that move?”
“From
my mentor, Sir Meloran,” answered Bahar, out of breath. “It is a good move, usually—but then again,
most foes have not the strength of Klaus the Giantslayer. Not even Sir Meloran could have stood claw-to-claw
with my liege.”
“‘Could
have’? Is your mentor no longer with us?”
Bahar
displayed a helpless paw. “He was a respectable
year and a half of age when he died. He
was not slain in battle, nor did sickness take him. We mice and voles are not known for long
lifespans, King Klaus, and Sir Meloran died younger than some and older than
others.”
He
was younger when he died than I am now, thought Klaus with some anxiety. “I am sorry to hear of your loss, my
friend. It sounds like you were very
fond of him.”
“Indeed. I knew neither my sire nor dam, but Sir Meloran—he
took me in as his own, and he trained me in both swordplay and espionage. I excelled in both, well beyond my peers, and
King Chisha rewarded my skill by allowing me to spy on many of King Shol’s doings. I would not have been so esteemed apart from
the aid of Sir Meloran.”
“Then
I owe him a great debt, because I now have this esteemed warrior fighting by my
side.” Klaus buried the end of his paring knife in the dirt. “Our backgrounds are very different. I was raised by my father but hardly knew my
mother, and my father was far too busy raising my nine siblings to teach me swordplay. Instead, I strengthened myself by collecting
nuts and fruit for my family, and I was often beset by predators much larger
than myself, whom I fought with my own two paws. It was not until I was a few months old that I
picked up my first sword; it was a child’s pocketknife, heavy and awkward, and
I learned to wield it by fending off enemies of the vale—voles from Cowtown who
spied on our land, much like your former self, or mice who swore allegiance to
no king other than their own violent tendencies.”
“What
then happened to your father and your siblings, if you do not mind me asking?”
Klaus
frowned. “My father passed shortly after
I was conscripted as a servant of King Shol, and my siblings went every which
way. Seven of them I have not seen since
I left home, but two of them—a brother and a sister—found their way to
Sweetfort, where they live now in peace.
But they have families and goals of their own, and because we had
already been apart many months before I came into the kingship, we became
estranged. It’s natural, I suppose.”
Bahar
swept his upper body into a quick but deep bow.
“I did not intend to upset my king; I apologize for stepping out of
line.”
Klaus
laughed. “At ease, my friend! Sometimes
I think you’re still scarred from your time in service to King Chisha, although
you’ve already been with us almost three whole months. Relax! Breathe in the cool, sweet air and
forget your worries. I command it.”
Bahar
did as he was bidden, inhaling and taking a mighty whiff of the air. Klaus was surprised to see the vole almost
choke, and he immediately concluded that perhaps his new friend was allergic to
relaxation. Bahar shook his head, as if
attempting to shake away an unpleasant scent or thought.
“That
sweet smell is mingled with rosemary,” he said, putting a paw over his nose. “I never could stand the herb, no
offense to the honorable Ginger, Molasses, and the others.”
Klaus
sniffed the air after him. “You’re
right.” He scanned the shade beneath the great pine trees of Mount Oniz,
expecting to see Ginger come dashing out with many an overjoyed greeting. At first he saw nothing, but he attributed
that more to his poor eyesight than to the absence of an approaching cookie;
then, as his blurry vision cleared, he observed that something was drawing
near. It was a small thing, smaller than
Ginger, and far more colorful. A green
brimmed hat, strapped to fit with a black belt and buckle, rested on the individual’s
head. Framing a perfectly round face was
a grand, healthy orange beard. A
cookie! It was a cookie shaped like a man, with black dots of frosting for
eyes, slanted orange streaks for eyebrows, a red gummy candy for a smile, an
unfrosted peach face, the aforementioned hat and beard, and a green suit with a
black belt. His boots had also been
frosted brown, and each had its own gold buckle. In his right hand—composed of two fingers, a
large and a small—he clutched a three-leaf clover.
“Hello,
stranger!” Klaus greeted him, trying to sound as unsurprised as possible. This is a cookie I have neither seen nor
met before. Did Mr. Theo bake a fresh
batch of cookies for St. Patrick’s Day?
“Afternoon,
mice of the vale,” answered the cookie with a tip of his hat. “I saw you sparring from the mountain and
thought I’d introduce myself. The name’s
Pat, a Cookie of Theo.”
Klaus
bowed his head. “It’s a pleasure to make
your acquaintance. I’m Klaus, king of
Sweetfort, and this here is Bahar, a well-respected vole from our town.”
“Oh!
Klaus! Bahar! Your names are known to me.” The cookie grinned. “I was baked into this world just three days
ago, and the very same day, I met Ginger, Molasses, Agapa, and the other fair
cookies of the mountain. They told me all
about you both. You’ve all had a few interesting
adventures, haven’t you?”
“Maybe
a few too many,” Klaus said, snickering.
“But you said you’ve met Ginger.
I assume she has everything packed and ready to go for the St. Patrick’s
Day dinner at my house tonight?”
“Of
course she does. You know how Ginger is
about the holidays.” He rolled his black eyes.
“It’s very nice of you to invite us lowly cookies into your home.”
I
sure hope there’s enough room for everyone, Klaus thought worriedly. After the Thanksgiving fiasco and their
failure to host the gathering at their house, they had decided to wait some
time before inviting others to another event.
He and Ingrid had spent a quiet night together on a solitary tree south
of Sprinkleton on Valentine’s Day, far away from all parties, watching the moon
move through the sky and the stars flicker brightly. Ginger had thrown an uncharacteristically
conservative party up on one of Mount Oniz’s watchtowers that night, and
although she had extended an unofficial invitation to him, he had gotten the
sense that she hoped only cookies would partake. Something told him that she was still ashamed
of what had happened on Valentine’s Day the previous year; but maybe there was also
a part of her that hoped a new cookie would show up and, undistracted by a
surplus of partygoers, seek her out.
Nothing of the sort had happened, tragically—or at least she had not told
him that anything of the sort had happened, and Ginger told him everything.
Bahar
smiled at the leprechaun cookie. “So
what brings you out here, Pat?”
The
crisp outer edges of their guest curled inward, as if he were reluctant to
share what was on his mind. “Um—well,
it’s rather embarrassing, really.”
“What
do you mean? Is it anything we can help with?”
“In
all honesty….” The cookie was practically blushing. “…that’s why I came
to you. When I saw you sparring, I was
amazed by your skill. Both of you. And I thought to myself, ‘I’m sure these two
brave mice could assist me with my little problem.’ You see, when Mr. Theo
baked me, I was meant to be part of a kit, not alone. Along with me he baked a cookie cauldron, one
that can sit upright on a surface, and he filled it with chocolate coins. These coins are covered with gold wrappers,
see, and we leprechauns can’t resist gawking at anything gold for long. That cauldron and my coins—my lucky
charms—they’re a part of me as much as your tails or your fur are a part of
you.
“Well,
a few hours ago, I was right here at the edge of the mountain, gazing out at
Sprinkleton and enjoying the sunshine, my cauldron of gold by my side. Out of nowhere comes this behemoth of a mouse—or,
well, a vole, I suppose, as he looks more like Bahar here than you, King Klaus—and
he pries my cauldron out of my hands and starts to run away with it. I yell and go after him, but I’m too short
and portly, and I can’t match his speed; there’s also the matter of this sword
that he carries on his back, which he would surely use to break me to pieces. He headed west, and I have stuck around here
since then, weighing what to do. I was
thinking of asking my fellow cookies for help, but I’m new around here, and I’m
not sure how much ‘pull’ I really have.
Then you two show up, and I’m thinking that maybe the answer to my
problem stands right in front of me.”
Bahar
looked intently at the leprechaun cookie.
“Just a solitary vole? He traveled with no companion of any kind?”
“Just
one measly little vole.” The cookie lay a hand against his frosting beard. “Or one measly big vole, to be more
accurate. So what do you think. Can you help me?”
Klaus
hummed with thought. “Our noses are
efficient, but they’re not perfect. How
do you expect us to find your pot of gold?”
“Don’t
you know the lore?” The cookie let out a condescending titter, as if he
expected everyone to know…whatever lore he was speaking about,
exactly. Then he began to sing, in a
loud voice and very much out of tune:
“At
the end of the bow in the sky
A
hill of gold and its pot do lie.
The
lucky charms of wealth and fortune,
The
pride and joy of the leprechaun.”
“No,
I can’t say I’ve ever heard that one in my life,” replied Klaus.
“It
is the same for me,” said Bahar. “We
voles are not known for our songs. Also,
we hate them.”
“But
we’ll help you,” Klaus added quickly, again noticing the rainbow that stretched
before the clouds to the west. This
should be an interesting diversion, to say the least. “Lead the way, Pat!”
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