Night Sword and the Skull of Ratkon - Short Story

It was a brisk night atop the ancient trees of Liamdore, where the heroic mouse known as Night Sword sat perched on his leather saddle, strapped securely to the back of his partner, Pete the owl. A chill gust rustled through the canopy, cutting through Night Sword’s fur and making him shiver despite himself. He pulled his cloak tighter, trying to ignore the wind that seemed to pierce straight through to his bones.

“Any minute now,” Night Sword murmured, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the darkness below.

“I see him,” Pete’s voice rumbled softly in reply, eyes like molten gold glinting as he focused on a small figure teetering out from a dimly lit hole beneath a large rock. Without warning, Pete launched himself off the branch, and the world around Night Sword tilted as they plummeted. Night Sword (or rather, Prince Edward, though few knew his true identity) clutched his stomach, fighting the familiar wave of nausea that came with every flight. Despite countless rides, the sensation of freefall always left him feeling like he’d eaten one too many stale acorns.

Pete pulled up just in time, his wings snapping open with a soft whoosh, and landed silently on a branch much closer to their target. Night Sword's heart still hammered in his chest as he regained his bearings, but he forced himself to focus. Down below, the rat they were watching staggered around in the moonlight, its oily fur gleaming with candlelight from the hole behind it. The rat leaned heavily against the stone, which bore an intricate symbol—a serpent coiled into an “S” shape, with two swords crossed beneath it. The mark of the Serpent’s Fang Syndicate, a notorious gang of thieves, assassins, and smugglers, all under the thumb of the infamous crime lord and supposed sorcerer, Sandeel the Snake.

Sandeel’s reputation was the stuff of legends in Liamdore. Some said he could spit venom that melted stone, others claimed he was small enough to fit into a rabbit hole but as quick as lightning. One thing was certain—he was ruthless and as slippery as a greased eel. And now, his gang had stolen the Stone Skull of Ratkon from the northeastern rat tribe, a sacred artifact believed to be essential for their survival. The legends claimed that without the skull, rat mothers would become infertile, crops would wither, and the very fabric of the forest would unravel.

Prince Edward—no, Night Sword—didn’t care much for legends. He was a mouse of action, not fairy tales, but he wasn’t about to let Sandeel bring chaos to Liamdore on his watch.

“Stay sharp, Pete,” Night Sword whispered, dismounting gracefully. Next to the massive owl, Night Sword looked like a doll-sized hero, but he moved with the confidence of a seasoned warrior. He unhooked a length of rope from Pete’s saddle, eyes never leaving the rat who was now inspecting a cluster of mushrooms with all the focus of a drunk philosopher.

“Peas are farty nasty… one shouldn’t eat them unless stranded… even still…” the rat muttered to himself, eyes glassy and distant. Night Sword rolled his eyes.

“Well, this one’s not winning any awards for sobriety,” he muttered under his breath and silently slid down the rope to the ground.

Night Sword’s small, black boots sank into the mossy earth as he crept past the mumbling rat, keeping to the shadows cast by the moon. He slinked around the side of the rock, where the entrance of the hideout lay, and peered inside. The faint glow of candlelight revealed a grim assembly: another rat, scrappy and scarred; a hulking squirrel with an eyepatch and a rusty metal claw replacing one paw; and three lanky lizards, their tongues flicking in and out like knives testing the air. But it was the figure in the far corner that made Night Sword’s blood run cold—a snake, coiled and massive, scales glistening like wet leaves in the candlelight, with the stolen stone skull resting at the center of its circle.

“Is that… Sandeel?” Night Sword whispered to himself. The snake’s eyes were slits of amber, fixed unblinkingly on the entrance as if it knew they were being watched. Night Sword’s pulse quickened. This was no ordinary serpent; this was a creature who thrived on control, and the way he looked at that entrance—it was almost as if he was expecting company.

Suddenly, a loud, slurred voice broke the tension. The fat rat outside stumbled forward and plopped down right in front of the rock, blocking Night Sword’s view completely. Taking this as his cue, Night Sword turned to leave—but then he froze as he heard the unmistakable sound of scales sliding across stone.

“SHIT!” he hissed under his breath, breaking into a sprint as the snake launched itself from the hole, fangs bared. Night Sword darted toward the rope, heart hammering in his chest, and scrambled up it faster than he’d ever climbed anything in his life. He glanced back just in time to see the snake coil around the fat rat, who didn’t even seem to notice, still babbling nonsense about “farty peas.”

“Well, that was bloody close, wasn’t it?” Pete remarked as Night Sword swung himself back onto the saddle, breathing heavily.

“You seem really concerned, you smelly bird,” Night Sword retorted, still catching his breath.

“I’m bloody majestic, mate. Don’t need to smell good,” Pete shot back with a proud ruffle of his feathers.

“Okay, the skull’s definitely still down there. We have one shot at this—while the snake’s distracted with his supper, we grab the skull and get out,” Night Sword declared.

“Good plan, little mate. Let's get this over with,” Pete replied, and before Night Sword could say another word, they were airborne again, swooping down with the silence only an owl could manage.

They landed right at the entrance, and as the snake struggled to deal with the rat now inexplicably singing sea shanties, Night Sword dashed inside, his sword drawn. “Come and face the night, you skull-stealing cowards!” he bellowed, his voice echoing in the hollow chamber.

The rodents and lizards leaped to their feet, drawing their weapons. But the squirrel, the one with the metal claw, grabbed the skull and bolted for the back exit.

“After him!” Night Sword shouted, but Pete had already taken off, talons glinting in the moonlight.

Night Sword spun to face his opponents. The rat fired a bolt from his crossbow, narrowly missing Night Sword’s ear. The mouse lunged forward, slicing through the neck of the nearest lizard, then parrying the next attack with deft precision. The remaining lizard looked down at his decapitated comrade, fury filling his eyes.

“You killed my brother, you filthy vermin!” the lizard spat, lunging at Night Sword with ferocious speed. The two locked swords, moving so fast they seemed to blur, blocking and countering in a deadly dance. Arrows whizzed past Night Sword’s head as he fought, ducking, spinning, and finally driving his blade into the lizard’s heart with a fierce cry.

“Gotcha!” Night Sword shouted triumphantly—just as pain erupted in his side. He looked down to see an arrow sticking from his body, blood staining his tunic.

“So ends Night Sword,” the lizard whispered, slumping forward, eyes closing forever.

The rat took aim, his crossbow inches from Night Sword’s head, when suddenly—thud! A dead squirrel fell from the sky, landing squarely on the rat. Pete swooped down, laughing as he landed.

“Good shot, mate,” Pete said, then his eyes widened as he saw the wound. “We need to go before Sandeel decides he’s hungry for dessert.”

Together, they took off into the night. Hours later, after getting patched up by Franklyn the Owl, Night Sword confronted Pete about the skull.

“It’s in a safe place, mate,” Pete said smugly.

“Just give it to me already!”

With a grin, Pete opened his beak and spat out the stone skull, still slick with saliva. “There. Safe and sound.”

Night Sword stared in disbelief. “You disgusting bird.”

Suddenly, a light flickered inside Pete’s lair. “SsSsS… I believe that belongs to me,” hissed Sandeel, slithering out of the shadows with his gang.

“Great. Just great,” Night Sword muttered, drawing his sword. “Round two, then?”

“Always,” Pete replied, wings spread wide. And with that, the battle began anew.