This story originally appeared on gohavok.com on September 28, 2022
“It is dangerous to travel alone,” the old man said. He shuffled to a wooden wardrobe in the corner of the study. “You must take this.”
Hart took a deep breath and grinned. Finally, a weapon worthy of my call as the Crimson Champion! He put a hand on his new red belt, purchased specifically to carry whatever weapon he was destined to receive. I hope it’s a sword. The best heroes have swords.
The old man fumbled around in the wardrobe. “Ah, here it is.” He turned and extended his hand. On his palm sat a small brown rodent, quietly chewing a bit of seed held in its paws.
Hart frowned. “You’re giving me a mouse?”
The old man held up an index finger. “A Turkish hamster. His name is Hux.”
Hart scoffed. He hoped the man was kidding. “Shouldn’t I get a sword or an ax, maybe?”
“Nay, ’twas not what the prophecies of yore foretold!” He waved the hamster in Hart’s face.
“You said it was prophesied that I’d become the Crimson Champion,” said Hart. “I’m to believe the Crimson Champion carries a hamster into battle?”
“Were you not listening?” The elder pointed to a scroll lying on his desk and recited:
“A Champion clothed in Crimson, he
Shall Cavern of the Dagger seek.
Should foes and trials hinder thee,
Defend thyself with query meek.”
Hart scratched his head. “I still don’t understand.”
“That’s the joy of the riddle!” The man’s eye twinkled. “You must unlock this creature’s power.”
Hart gingerly took the hamster and placed it in a pouch on his belt. “I guess I’ll be purchasing a sword on my way out, then.”
Hand resting on the pommel of his new sword, Hart grumbled as he trudged down the forest trail. The weapon had cost him the last of his money, and, to make matters worse, it was just like what everybody else had. The Crimson Champion shouldn’t carry an ordinary blade, he thought. A legendary warrior requires a legendary weapon.
“Whatcha got there?” said a raspy, toadish voice.
Hart’s thoughts evaporated. Before him a short man, bald and goblin-like, leaned against a tree.
Hart straightened and puffed out his chest, ready to brandish his sword. “What do you mean?”
“Looks like you got some new steel,” said the stranger.
“Brand spankin’ new.” Another man, tall and built like a stone block, stepped from behind a thicket. “Must’a cost you a bit of coin.”
Hart sneered and drew his blade. With two hands he wielded the sword in a low stance. “Begone, ruffians! You provoke the Crimson Champion at your peril.”
The goblin-man turned to his cohort. “You hear that, Bison? We’re talking with the Crimson Champion!”
“All’s I need then,” said Bison, “is to take his little red belt and his sword, and I can be the Crimson Champion too! Right, Ferret?”
“That’s right,” said Ferret, grinning.
Hart gripped his sword tighter. “I’m warning you! Stay back!”
Bison plodded forward and made a swipe for the sword with his massive hand. Hart wheeled back and swung. The blade bounced off Bison’s wrist with a violent twang. Hart gaped, perplexed, and found a large notch in the new blade. The big man snatched the sword and shoved him to the ground.
“Mind you”— Ferret grinned—“he has bones of iron and skin like dragon’s hide.” He nodded to Bison. “I think this kid’s ready for naptime.”
“No!” cried Hart, struggling to his feet. He fumbled the hamster from his pouch. “Go, beast! Make these men regret they were ever born!”
The hamster stared blankly at the two assailants, its whiskers twitching, and the last thing Hart remembered was Bison’s fist flying at his face.
“He is a cute little beastie,” said a deep, dull voice.
A raspy voice chimed in. “I didn’t know people kept mice as pets.”
Hart opened his eyes. His face throbbed, and his head ached. He tried to move, but he found himself bound to a tree. A few yards away, the ruffians sat beside a campfire. Ferret was sharpening Hart’s notched sword while Bison admired the hamster in his hands.
“Those are mine,” mumbled Hart. “The rodent and the blade.”
Ferret furrowed his brow and studied the sword. “I don’t see your name written anywhere.”
“The mouse doesn’t like you,” said Bison. “He likes me. I fed him a seed.”
Gods above, this is ridiculous. Hart groaned and shook his head. But I know what I must do. He looked at the bandits and snarled. “That hamster could kill you both with just a word.”
“Prove it,” said Bison. “The mouse probably doesn’t even have a name.”
Hart hesitated. What had the old man said its name was? “Hamster,” he stammered, “subdue my captors and release me!”
The hamster continued to gnaw on its seed.
Ferret laughed. “He’s bluffing. Ignore him.”
“With the money from his ransom,” said Bison, “I’ll buy more seeds for my mouse!”
Hart sighed and looked at the hamster. The creature munched contentedly. Hart slumped against his bonds and hung his head.
Suddenly, it occurred to him. The prophecy. He looked to the hamster. “Please!”
The hamster dropped its seed.
“You lost your food,” said Bison. “Here, I’ll—”
In a flash, Bison was hurled over the campsite and into a tree, splitting the trunk in two. He tried to stand, but staggered and collapsed, unconscious.
“What on earth!” Ferret scrambled to his feet. The hamster leaped up, seized Ferret by his shirt, and flung him into the sky. His scream faded as he vanished in the depths of the forest.
The hamster trotted over to Hart and chewed through his bonds.
“I seriously underestimated you, hamster.” Hart cupped the creature in his hands and smiled. “Hux. You are called Hux, aren’t you?”
With a satisfied squeak, the hamster climbed up his arm and sat happily on his shoulder.
Hart and Hux were soon back on the trail. They left the sword behind.
Ethan Swick 
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