1. Jumbodor's Accident

The problem with explorers who discovered continents was that Frambozi and Casbrita were bound to show up shortly after. Olombos discovered central Elwar for Esprante centuries ago. Since then, Casbrita had colonized the shoreline, and the Frambozi all territory behind it. Even the Lowlands made a play, but ended up with just a tiny colony.

This meant a large area existed that they both claimed to own. The Frambozi had started building castles—or forts—there.

And so General Wasserbox, of the Casbrita army, received the mission to stop that.

Officially, he was known as a special messenger, not a soldier. But the king had whispered spy missions in his ear and, if possible, to take any ill-defended fort. Wasserbox completely agreed.

Through the darkness, his platoon—few soldiers, not all armed—crept towards Fort Le Boef.

And they took a different route than agreed upon.

Despite growing murmurs among his soldiers, Wasserbox followed the Ohoi River in the wrong direction. He soon arrived at a small circle of torches, illuminating a meadow with beautifully painted tepees—the pointy huts built by Elwar’s original inhabitants. Olombos had called them Scholians at first, because he thought he’d landed in Schola, but now they called them natives or Elwari.

Natives suddenly appeared in the shadows and surrounded Wasserbox’ soldiers. Their bows were drawn, aimed at Wasserbox.

When the leader of the Elwarians saw the general, he smiled and spread his arms. Wasserbox did the same. It was a gesture; they never truly hugged one another, for they both still considered the other contagious. The bows were lowered.

Wasserbox held a pile of gold coins in his hand. He was a monkey, one of the few animal species who actually had hands, just like his entire platoon.

“Any news about Frambozi?”

“Fort Le Boef is heavily armed and houses one of the highest Frambozi generals. If you go there, you’ll have to play your role as messenger convincingly,” the leader said. The imposing buffalo had white stripes on his face and a crown of feathers.

“We’ve spotted tiny groups of Frambozi soldiers marching through the night. They are with few and barely armed, because they try to do something unseen. You could easily surprise them and win.”

Wasserbox puffed. “They’re trying to reach our territory. Filthy Frambozi.”

“And what exactly were you doing, general?” the buffalo asked bravely.

Wasserbox thought about this. He thought he heard footsteps in the distance, the crackling sound of something heavy crunching twigs and leaves. Then he handed the buffalo some coins and turned to his soldiers.

“Leave your weapons behind. Only me and the vice-general keep our guns.”

“Pardon?” his vice-general said.

“We are nothing more than simple messengers. But if the Frambozi reject our message, we return here and chase the other prey.”

His soldiers studied the buffaloes with suspicion. They probably saw a future in which the natives stole their weapons and left. Filthy Elwari, not to be trusted. But Wasserbox was their leader, and his family had a long history of friendship with the Elwari, so they did as he asked.

They walked further into the darkness. And indeed, not half an hour later a Frambozi patrol intercepted them. A large group of otters with a few marmots. Their clothes were actually made for the cold winter weather in the north of Elwar. Wasserbox still hoped he’d be assigned in the south one day, near the warm tropical islands.

The patrol led them in silence towards Fort Le Boef. The Frambozi were not friendly, but also not hostile. This was simply what you were supposed to do. Enemy non-combatants, such as messengers, were to be treated well. Wasserbox had counted on it and would have done the same to them.

They entered the fort. Its interior was comfortably warm and contained busy otters going about their tasks. The hallway stored large piles of bayonets: musket guns with a sharp bit attached at the front that also allowed stabbing whoever came close. They weren’t allowed to linger there, of course.

The platoon ended in the guest room, which was decorated with tapestries and paintings of all Frambozi kings, and nothing else. Their highest general awaited their message there.

“The King of Casbrita,” Wasserbox said formally, “request that you retreat all Frambozi troops from Elwar. We own the valuable area along the coast, which actually contains cities and most animals. You have the large emptiness behind it. And it is large, we admit, but it gives you nothing. We were here first. So pull back and concede victory to Casbrita, to prevent more bloodshed.”

The general, a lynx, extended his paw and quickly received paper and ink. Holding the writing feather in his mouth, he wrote, in unmistakable terms, that Casbrita were to shut up and Frambozi would take all their territory soon. And if Casbrita really cared about who was here first, they’d give back all their colonies to the natives.

Wasserbox received food and warm clothes. Then he was sent back to his king with this message.

Despite the good treatment, as soon as they left the fort Wasserbox hissed: “The time of friendly messages is over. We attack.”

Of course they first returned to the natives. They had barely moved in the meantime. When all their weapons were accounted for, the platoon breathed a sigh of relief.

Then they followed the Ohoi river in the general direction of that other Frambozi squad moving through the night. They lit no lantern and posted no guards, which made it hard to find them. The sun was about to rise when one of his soldiers froze because he almost accidentally stumbled over the legs of an enemy soldier.

In a flash, all his soldiers pulled their weapons and pointed them at the Frambozi squad. But shooting down sleeping soldiers like this? Slaughtering them mercilessly? Wasserbox would not accept that.

“Hey!” he yelled. With dazzling speed, the Frambozi woke up and assumed defensive positions. “You’re outnumbered. We’ve already won. Surrender, hand over your weapons, you are now captives.”

He knew the Frambozi refused to learn the Casbrita language, on purpose. But the general commands were similar enough to be understood.

“You don’t win until you win,” their general said. His uniform was dragged down by scores of medallions, a name tag that said Jumbodor, and a symbol that also marked him as a special messenger.

“You know you can’t escape this,” Wasserbox said calmly. Because of the encirclement, half their soldiers hadn’t even been able to grab their weapon. The other half looked sleepy. “If you shoot, we shoot. You dead, we barely a scratch.”

“And if we don’t shoot, we lose anyway.”

Tensions ramped up. Both sides knew the best outcome, for all, would be not to shoot. But the best outcome for your group was if you shot and the others didn’t. If you were the first to shoot, maybe you could even win before the other could respond.

Paws, fingers, and tails curled around the triggers of musket guns. Despite the snow, sweat dripped from all Casbrita faces. The generals stared at each other.

Someone shot.

Wasserbox didn’t know who. Several others shot in response. The fight lasted only seconds, barely long enough to fire twice. And when the dust cleared, most of the Frambozi were dead, just as a handful of his own soldiers.

Crucially, Jumbodor had fallen. A letter fell out of his inside pocket. Wasserbox came close and saw it was a message for Casbrita that contained the same request: that the enemy pulled back to prevent more bloodshed.

His eyes slid over Jumbodor’s dead body. He must have been a highly placed general.

“We must leave! Now!” he yelled.

Whatever was left of his platoon ran after him, along the Ohoi River. Some ran into the water, afraid Frambozi could appear behind any tree now and shoot them.

Run. Run until they were back in Casbrita territory. And then? This would—

By afternoon they were shot at from all directions. Multiple Frambozi troops had caught their trail and hunted them like predators.

Wasserbox led his men to the nearest castle: Fort Necessity. A fitting name. They could already see the tall gray towers. A group of heavily armed apes already opened the gates.

When they saw just how many Frambozi hunted Wasserbox, however, they closed them again.

“Hey! Open the gates! I—”

A bullet grazed his fingers. The shock and the pain made him hesitate, even though he wasn’t wounded. A deep sigh escaped.

He raised his hands, a mile away from Fort Necessity. His soldiers did the same. Soon, otters, marmots and lynxes flooded from the forest and surrounded them for arrest.

Wasserbox was chained and given a form. One written in the Frambozi language, not his own. A translator appeared and told him it was a standard document for the losing side in a battle. One that declared you surrendered and all your soldiers became captives of the enemy. Wasserbox himself was allowed to return, or so the Frambozi honor demanded.

Still reeling from his failure, he signed it.

What he didn’t know, dear reader, was that the document also stated he took full responsibility of the brutal murder on high general Jumbodor. That the Casbrita had executed this murder on purpose because they found the Frambozi lesser beings. And that this was a war crime, especially after their good treatment of Wasserbox at Fort Le Boef.

Within a day, a gigantic world-wide war broke out between Casbrita and Frambozi.