Chapter the Seventh: Ambitions
#7 of A Stage of Destinies
"The Mumgatu drove us out" the aging fox lamented, "They came in droves and attacked in erratic, and unheard of tactics. Their brutality is simply...unthinkable." Couric listened to his account of the war with the jungle tribes, and wondered at what inspired their aggression of late. Probably something that one of these corrupt merchant kings did to dishonor them. The Mumgatu usually kept to their homes in the thick, dangerous tangle of rainforests beyond the southern high lands.
"So you left" Corwin said, "Before their siege on Mariath? Would that not leave the city at a strategic disadvantage, its rulers fleeing in the face of combat?" He took a drink of his wine mimicking the Guild Master opposite him and waited for an answer.
"I suppose it could be thought that" Chalmer replied while turning the rosy liquid around and around in his snifter, "But I'm no militant. I'm a businessman. If I feel that my life may come to depend upon the defense of swords then I should most strategically withdraw until the peasantry has it under control." He stared absently into the wine in his glass, and sighed. "I know nothing of war, sweet Couric. I know something of travel though. I only hope that there will be a city for me to return to after this most trying of ordeals."
Couric hid his disgust with years of practice shielding it. He hated foxes intensely but sometimes people do things they don't like to get things done. It wouldn't be the first time he dealt with this particular decadario to make an end meet a means. He looked over the man with contempt. He was middle aged, probably closing on forty, and looked like he hadn't done a minute of work in his life. He always bore a look of casual disdain for everything around him, and was prone to sighing as if to signify that whatever the current topic was, it bored him. He wore a thick elaborate garment of red, and purple that was interlaced with elaborate golden design. The fox' ears where lined with small rings of gold, as were his fingers with thicker bands. Bright gems of various kinds emblazoned his knuckles in the soft light of the room. A series of chains made of some silvery precious metal and stones of red and blue hung about his neck as though he hoped that there would be no possibility of a bandit missing his wealth. He sighed again, and Couric began to consider what he might do if it happens again. Rather than let his aggravation show, he took a sip of wine and concentrated on its sweet bitterness.
Chalmer likewise subtly inspected the tiger opposite him. He maintained his carefully crafted façade of disinterest in spite of his near swooning in his presence. The young man (in his appraisal) had accumulated a wealth of scars in his journeys that belied a hard life of combat, and he wondered what had transpired in the twelve years since their most unfortunate parting. The old scar on his face itched and burned as the memory of the Sherftii warrior giving it to him passed dreamily through his mind. He sighed deeply and wondered why the young man had turned on him so suddenly, and viciously. A product of his barbaric north-man breeding he supposed. He wished he could see that heavy mace that rested under the table on the proud warrior's belt. Oh, if only things had turned out differently. Was this love he wondered? Normally he lost interest in his boys after a time, but now all he could think about was the tiger holding him in those powerful, trained arms. With the recent flight at the fear of similar fighters he supposed he was a bit vulnerable to need for protection. Now it seemed that his once love-mate had forgiven whatever unknowable transgression he had committed in his youth that had caused the boy to take a knife to his honored countenance. The pure, unadulterated selfishness that burned in him was utterly lost, and completely beyond his notice.
"So" Couric said in such a way as to break the fox from his reverie, "As I said, we have business to discus." He set his glass down, and leaned over the table. His body rested on his elbow, and he smiled wickedly at his opposite. His manner was completely rude, and drove home a point that delighted him secretly. "If you remember our conversations so long ago, I am a king-son. You may have thought it to be a silly tale of a little boy when you took advantage of my poverty, but I assure you it is true. I am the rightful heir to the throne of Sharaf, and the united peoples of the Sherftii Nation."
The fox looked at him quietly. He seemed to be telling the truth, and he wondered if he was or if this was some mad fancy. If he really was a prince in exile then whatever he wanted to discuss could be a most dangerous, if not interesting intrigue.
"As such" the tiger continued, "I have the right to the throne, but as history has shown, those in power are loathed to relinquish. As such, I need more than my right. I need soldiers to cement my claim. To get soldiers, I need gold. That is where you come in, as you possess gold in abundance. I imagine you have a bank-share here with enough gold to buy this city."
Chalmer set his glass down, and looked scornfully into the eyes of the tiger. So he wanted no small favor, but the funding to raise an army? That was a bold request that could not possibly be afforded. Surely he knew that it was ridiculous thing to even consider, because after all, he might need to raise an army to conquer his own homeland.
"Don't discount me so quickly" Couric continued, "Because I have things to offer you as well. I don't simply ask for a gift, or loan. Help me to raise this army, and take my throne, and I will give you a place of power high in my council. I will have you know this is the only way that you could achieve such a position."
"And what makes you think that I want such a position?" Chalmer interjected, "I'm an extremely wealthy, and powerful man. I have a hundred holdings in this fief alone and"-
"And nothing" Couric interjected, leaning quickly over the table. "You are a coward who ran from your place of power leaving it to be consumed by enemies. I offer you a place of secure influence, and if you would hear me out, more."
Chalmer recoiled from Couric's quick movement so suddenly that his chair scooted a few inches along the floor, announcing his start with a loud squeak. He shook slightly for a moment, and bit his lip at Couric's appraisal of his situation. Of course, he had left his true power, but he was still phenomenally wealthy and that meant influence wherever he went. But influence with this warrior in a seat of absolute power could be useful...
"Fine then" he said shakily, "I'm listening. Go on." Couric smiled, and sat back in his chair. His mighty body relaxed and he took a deep breath.
"When I have my own kingdom well in way" he said, placing his paws behind his head as a rest, "I will use my army to secure you as king of Mariath. We could be the greatest alliance of warrior kings and merchant nobles the world has ever witnessed. Aside from that, I'll gift you slaves. There is a race of hated foxes that dwell near my people, and I don't care what you do to their infants. Tell me you aren't interested." And I'll tell you you're a liar, he thought.
The old fox milled this over in his mind for a while. It certainly sounded like a good notion. If the others of the Sherftii army were as strong as his bold Couric then they could assuredly drive out the undisciplined Mumgatu, and place him as the heroic savior in the wake of war. It would be a great risk, of course, but any businessman knows that without risk, there is no revenue.
"Very well" he said, "I'll fund your army. I'll see you seated as king whether you deserve it or not." He stood from his chair, and moved slowly towards the tiger. His hand rested gently on Couric's, and he leaned forward to kiss him.
Couric's free paw caught him by the throat, and the tiger resisted closing it and crushing him. He slid the mighty hand down to his shoulder, and shook his head no.
"None of that, fox" he said sternly, "I'm not yours anymore. We are partners in this matter." He swallowed hard, and then leaned closer to the aging lothario. "Keep your playthings in your wagon" he said disgustedly, and drew so close that their noses met, "But if I find you to have touched a child of Sherftii Blood I'll lay on you a punishment that will make you wish you had stayed to welcome the Mumgatu to your gates by flinging feces into their leader's faces! Do you understand our arrangement?"
Chalmer wanted to rescind his part of the agreement, but he couldn't. Couric held him with those vicious and demanding eyes and fear raced through him. He was for once in the gaze of a truly superior creature, and there was nothing he could do to say no. The tiger held him in complete control. He swallowed hard once, and nodded that he understood.
Brodry watched from the window as his mate stepped into a fine carriage with a strange fox and road away down the street. Confusion fell as he wondered at the nature of their meeting. Couric hated foxes, so why then would he be acting so friendly with one? He looked around the room, and found that the older tiger had left his pack, and everything but his mace and the pants he wore. Either he departed in a hurry, or didn't feel any need for his equipment. He crossed the room, and sat down on the bed. A number of scenarios played through his mind at what the nature of this eventuality might entail, and settled with the decision that he could use a drink and a bath. He dressed himself and headed to the water house adjacent to the inn.
Some hours passed, and he found himself half-drunk in a tavern. It had been a long time since he was separated from Couric for such a great length, and he worried incessantly about his return. He looked around for a moment at the other faces of the tavern and mused quietly as to what might be going on in their lives at the time. Finally, his eyes rested on a pair of dogs that were entering through the front door.
A young boy stopped an older hound, and pointed to Brodry with terror in his eyes. The man pushed the boy back, and told him to simply be quiet, and everything should be fine. A wave of guilt, and shame passed through the young tiger, and it was decided that a certain amount of wrong-righting was in order. He rose and walked slowly over to them.
"We don't want any trouble" the man said, "We are only here to speak to someone about a sale." Brodry dipped his ears submissively, and bowed slightly to signify a polite greeting.
"No trouble, I promise" he said, and the boy hugged tightly to the older man's back. "I have come to apologize" he continued, "On behalf of my self and my partner. Your son approached us on the road and informed us that he was going to become a warrior. Something about not wanting a boring life of shilling beans, and as we had the look of white-shields he wondered if we could teach him to fight. We were only trying to scare him into avoiding mercenaries, and staying to the life of a farmer. We meant no real harm, though I suppose we were a bit too convincing. Then that Beduin showed up, and things became far more complicated." He looked to the man for acknowledgement.
"I'm very sorry, and I'll leave you to your business." The dog watched him warily, and nodded once. He and his son moved on to speak to the proprietor, only giving him a single nervous glance over their shoulders. Brodry felt a little absolved and returned to his ale which had long since been snagged by some other patron. Finding no desire to purchase another, he headed back to the inn.
As he sat on the bed wondering where his beloved had gotten off to the door opened quite suddenly causing him to stand and reach for his weapon. His body relaxed as he recognized the grinning visage of Couric standing excitedly in the portal. Brodry cast him a curious eye and wondered what was making him smile so stupidly.
"We have our war, my love" the older tiger said brightly, "I hope you are ready to become a courtier, and general."
Adrian found himself feeling quite miserable for the weeks that he remained under medical watch. The edge of his hardships had been taken off by his son whom he had taken the liberty of getting to know, but that further complicated his aggravation at being bed ridden. Slowly but surely the fox' wounds healed, and he was able to start moving around again. The priests of the temple were delighted to see the rising spirit of the young fox boy as his sire ceased to be a stranger with a title, and became a proper father to him. He even started to teach his boy the rudiments of the sword.
Time passed pleasantly for the two. Derek's mother was still gone, and nothing would bring her back, but at least now he had someone to share his hurt with. His father had informed him that it was alright to cry for his mother's mourning, for she had surely passed from the land of living by now, and he should enjoy weeping while he was still young enough for it to be acceptable. The kit came out of his emotional funk through Adrian's concerned care, and became a little boy again. This of course meant that the priests had more on their hands since he was once more energetic, and rambunctious, but all the same they were pleased to see him acting like a child.
A small amount of rejoicing resounded through the Beduin warrior when the doctors in attendance of him declared him a clean bill of health, and dubbed him safe to travel. His wanderlust had been driving him insane for more than a week, and the tiny room seemed to get smaller everyday. He was prepared to leave the next day considering that which he had in his room was his every worldly possession. He had taught his son to aid him in donning his armor, and mournfully inspected the holes left by his estranged wife's poniard when a cry came up from below. The city was under attack.
Adrian grabbed his pack and his son and flew down the stairs. Outside, the streets had transformed. People were fleeing in panic and terror, stricken to the core with mortal horror. The hordes of the Mumgatu had finally descended on the city, and their meager defenses were only partially holding them back. The fox held his son tightly against the wall of the church to avoid either of them getting trampled. He looked down at the boy, and smiled. He was obviously terrified, but was keeping his head about him. That's proud Beduin breeding in him, he thought. He reached to the back of his belt and drew out a long dagger. He smiled as he placed the weapon in the boy's hands.
"Don't try to get into a fight," he said, "only use that if there is no other way. I mean that. They haven't made it in yet, but it is likely that they will. I know the Mumgatu, and they are second only to the Beduin in prowess!"
Derek was terrified. It was all he could do not to join those older folks in screaming and running away. Everyone was so afraid, and the smell of their fear excited him to the point of panic. His father dipped down quickly, took his tiny muzzle gently into his hands and turned his face to look at him. Adrian's face was hard, but that look of caring and love persisted in his eyes.
"Hold your self steady" he said firmly. "You're my son, and that means you are Beduin Born. Don't you ever forget that! Don't you ever fear anything but maybe the gods, because we are Beduin, and have nothing to fear from any mortal man." He hugged his son tightly against the tattered chain mail that hung tied to his chest and shoulders. "If we die, there's family waiting for us in Urcain. It won't be so bad, ok?"
Derek nodded. It was strange to him, but the acceptance of death made him feel somehow better. He looked fiercely into his father's eyes, and nodded.
"I won't fear anything" he said in a much smaller voice than he had hoped. Regardless, his father smiled warmly at him, and stood back up. Much of the crowd had parted, and he was scanning the streets with a look of heightened vigilance.
"Stay close to me" he said, and took hold of his son's hand, "the north side of the city will be chaos, so the best bet we have is to try to slip out through the south before they break the lines. Don't let your self fall more than two paces from my body, and mind yourself carefully. This is no stroll through a bad neighborhood. Those rabbits will kill you without thinking twice."
Derek ran faster than he ever had before in his life, pulled along by his father's incredibly strong hand. The boy became more and more impressed with his father's strength and prowess as he healed and it became apparent that he had been a powerful warrior. People of the various races of the city raced by them, and some almost knocked him down, but his father shielded him with his own body, and the weaker citizens fell like grass to either side of him. Suddenly, he stopped, and pulled the kit against a wall, panting heavily in a small outcropping that served to shield him from fleeing peasants. There were screams a ways down the street, and Adrian's mind raced for what to do. The Mumgatu were already in the city! He had never expected them to break the Benuith lines so quickly!
Derek's eyes widened dramatically as the screams reached his ears, and a familiar smell wafted to his nostrils. Blood! Panic started to rise again and he gripped tightly to his father's strong form as the man's eyes darted calmly around them looking for any sign of danger. Derek felt himself lifting quickly off of the ground as his father's arm wrapped around him and heaved his tiny frame effortlessly to his chest, and his ears caught the sound of steel sliding quickly from scabbard.
Adrian bolted down an alley and made his way fiercely for the west side of the city. Hopefully the invaders were localized in the southern part, and he'd be able to escape them. Bizarre feelings welled and blossomed in his heart as he ran with all the fervor of one panicked to madness. He had never felt fear in battle before, at least not since he was a man, but now there was a slow creeping dread pulling at the back of his mind, and distracting him. He couldn't understand it. He didn't fear to die. He knew he was better than his opponents, and if they should fell him his father and mother were waiting beyond the sea of the dead. Why then should anything worry his stalwart heart?
A tiny meep of a sound from his chest alerted him to the presence of his child in his arms. Clovis' mighty hands, he thought to himself as dawning realization blossomed in his mind, my son. He realized why there was such fear. It wasn't for himself at all, but for his son. He had lost too much by Clovis' blood, and there was no chance he would allow the Mumgatu to take this last love from him. Understanding coursed through his mind, and hardened into a singularity of purpose that focused him into the warrior mentality he had so long trained to maintain. He would walk out of this city with his son, or not at all. There would be no middle ground, no compromise, no mercy, and above all no quarter. Any who would raise steel against this child would die in that instant, and let all the gods have pity for that fool's soul.
Derek clung to his father's chest, and gripped his tiny knife as tightly as his small paws could afford. He hung tenuously on the verge of complete panic, and collapse. He hazarded a look into his sire's face, and recoiled slightly from what he saw there. All of the kindness he had known was gone now, and replaced by a fierce hardness that frightened the child. He relaxed a bit despite the burning in his father's furious eyes as a subconscious understanding settled on him. That look, the tenseness in his muscle, and even his scent betrayed one singular purpose: he had to protect the kit in his arms. Derek calmed considerably. He had seen that in his mother, but the determination was much different. She had found in the child the motivation to make everything better if she could. She sought to make his life easier and more comfortable, and on occasion to protect him from things that might hurt him, but she had never faced something like this. He had seen her turn from his loving matron into a ferocious vixen protecting her cub, but nothing in that woman's countenance could ever prepare him for the sheer viciousness, and blood lust that accompanied a man's love. Adrian didn't seem motivated to simply protect, or make things better for him, but also to punish those who would dare threaten his first and only son. For a moment
Derek relaxed, and all of the fear left him. The Beduin holding him seemed a force of nature, or at the least some unstoppable myrmidon bent on ensuring no harm could ever befall his helpless ward. The kit felt invincible. He hazarded a look over his shoulder, and the fear returned. The street they had bolted onto contained a number of strong, war-painted rabbits with their strange foreign weapons.
In the next instant he was falling. The kit let out a sound of concern and pain as he roughly struck the ground, and a feeling of betrayal washed over him. He had the luxury to nurse this hurt for less than a second before his ears lost all of the confusion that raged in the city around. An ear splitting howl drown out everything for him, and his mind exploded in terror that the rabbits had brought some demon with him. He turned his eyes to the enemies and those youthful orbs widened with shock and awe. It was no demon, but a Beduin war cry as his father raced screaming towards the enemies.
The sun was hanging lazily in the west some hours from punching out and returning home for the evening. Its radiant glory cascaded over the city, cast shadows pleasantly throughout the streets, and reflected off of anything that was adamant enough to echo the grandeur of the heavenly spheres. Derek's body warmed and lightened to weightlessness as instinct pumped gallons of adrenaline throughout his small frame, and flight crossed his mind. He probably would have run if not for the all consuming vision of power that hung midair before him. His father was like a tiny star descending on the evening of the threat that loomed before them. Light cascaded from his freshly polished mail, and oiled sword. His face was contorted into a vicious snarl, wide-eyed and bestial. His eyes were so bright with rage and battle lust that Derek wondered if they might not simply burst into flame and consume his enemies before he even reached them. The sound of absolute fury that seemed to permeate his war-shout slowly faded as the pounding blood that pumped in the boy's ears drowned it away.
Adrian's mind danced over the battle in front of him. He had traveled to the southern jungles some years ago, and was somewhat familiar with the Mumgatu's fighting. There was no question in his purpose, or hesitation, but had he been in a more rational state he would dread facing over their curious spears. The Mumgatu built spears much differently than the peoples of the north. Rather than being built for hunting, or attacking against a mount they had designed them for close quarter combat. Instead of being long with a small bladed point, the Mumgatu spear was short with a foot and a half long flare of a blade. The tip was a small point that slowly widened as it went towards the handle and then rounded off to that it would get smaller by the wood. The end result was a sort of large, pointed pinecone look that entered the body easily, but still cut with little effort and displaced large amounts of tissue however it went. A blow from a trained Mumgatu warrior would be crippling at the least, and would follow with death from the second strike.
Derek watched his father cover the scant few feet between themselves and their enemies with a speed he didn't know possible from a man. The rabbits, with their strange spears, and exotic paints that made them out to look like the monsters that inhabited their distant homelands balked for a split of an instant and then returned his ferocity by lunging at his body. Derek stared wide-eyed as the Beduin warrior leapt, and twisted his length into an angle to avoid the forward spearmen's strikes. He landed about a pace behind them, and Stripe Splitter flashed brightly as he whirled around and struck. The kit stared amazedly as the rabbit's heads left their bodies almost in unison and his father's eyes locked on his for a fraction of an instant. Time seemed to freeze and the kit was sure he'd never forget this moment.
His father stood looking at him with his sword arm fully extended and his knees slightly bent. On either side of him a surprised head was falling to the street beneath two shocked bodies that erupt with twin fountains of blood on either side of him like some grim firework show for the festival of Ashermor. The instant seemed to stretch into eternity until time seemingly resumed itself and the glory was lost to his father whirling to face the remaining warriors. His paternal champion darted and whipped frantically to avoid the blows of the remaining spearman, and Derek lost track of the confusion. Occasionally one of the rabbits would fall over gripping a part of his body as it poured blood from some fresh wound. Slowly their numbers diminished, but more were coming to replace them. Derek found himself staring into the eyes of a rabbit warrior's fallen head that rested a few feet from him. The last dumb stare of the pitiful creature transfixed him with its dead gaze, and try though he might he couldn't take his eyes off of them.
Adrian panted heavily as exertion burned smelting furnaces in his chest. Enough of his enemies had fallen to give the remaining a moment of pause, and they surrounded him with their mighty weapons while hoping someone else might attack and distract the fox. A slight hint of relief passed through Adrian as he realized that no man here would slay him as a casualty of conquest. The look in their eyes betrayed a respect for him as a warrior, and that strangely comforted him. At the very least songs would be composed around their campfires to tell their children of the demon fox that stood their march in the streets of Benuith.
He put those thoughts out of his head, renewing his resolve to live this through. No matter how many spears he had to face he wouldn't leave his son to suffer this world fatherless as he had. Gulps of breath slowly rejuvenated his spent energy, and the burning wounds he had taken quieted under the strength of his resolve. No running, he thought to himself, I'll win this. I'll win!
The rabbit behind him yelped in surprise as he spun and charged him with one swift motion. He felt another cut open across his arm, and another blade glance off of his armor as he rushed his shoulder into the warrior, and carried him with his momentum. The spearman slammed hard against the cool immutability of a stone wall, and Adrian appraised his eyes as they rolled back into his head following the sickening crunch of his impact. The fox dropped the warrior's body to the street as it seized and convulsed frantically from the crack in the back of its skull, and he turned with barely enough time to turn aside another spear. The warrior leapt nimbly back in order to dodge a counter stab that Adrian hoped would fell him, and renewed his assault. Fury burned in the fox at the persistence of these creatures, and his hand darted forward almost unthinkingly.
The war-painted rabbit yelped in surprise as the fox (now seemingly possessed) slapped his spear aside and snatched his throat with his free hand. Pain erupted through him as his blond-headed enemy twisted his body into the path of a comrade's spear with incredible strength. The hand released and he pitched forward catching a quick glimpse of a saber flashing a bright arc and spilling one of his friend's innards. He rolled over onto his side, and reached for his lost weapon, but his strength was draining quickly away. The fox was paces away by now anyway, offensively stabbing at the remaining warriors, and snarling challenges for them to approach him. Fear and respect welled in him as his comrades refused to back down from the monster that wore a man's face. There was no other explanation. That was no fox, but some mad goblin that they were unlucky enough to find walking the streets of some foreign town. Resolve brought his head back to him, and he forced himself to his feet with selfless purpose. Songs would be sung about him this night.
Adrian's concern had been replaced by a maddened blood lust that consumed his better senses and pushed him harder forward. He aggressively struck at his foes, and surprisingly heard himself laughing cruelly at their wounds. Only a handful remained standing, but a score lay bleeding on the cobblestone, dead, crippled or dying. He wasn't even aware of his injuries anymore, and now felt only a constant heat all over his excited frame. A wave of crazed amusement passed through him as a felled warrior stood and rushed him weaponless, and screaming. His sword flipped quickly to the weapon-hand of his closest adversary leaving it deeply gashed and then turned to face his renewed attacker. A slight confusion ran through him as to the carelessness of the rabbit's charge.
Death was no concern now. At the last second, the Mumgatu warrior leapt on the dread fox with no attempt to save himself from the cruel steel that reached forward from his skilled hand. The blade plunged into his abdomen, and his mind erupted with pain and horror as he felt it slide through him and out his back. He struggled against shock and carried forward determined not to let his resolve, or purpose fail. You've killed enough, fox, he thought to himself, now it is time for you to return to hell.
Adrian's eyes widened in surprise as it dawned on him what tactic he faced. This was no caring assault but rather suicide for the benefit of brethren. His hand barely had time to move as the large warrior's body crashed down on his own, and took him from his feet. He moved immediately to free himself from constraint, but the fight did not leave the rabbit. He was crazed, and his sacrifice was not yet fulfilled. Adrian released his sword and grappled with the warrior, and his mind filled with concern. He barely managed to get his hand in the way of the rabbit's mouth as it reached to rend his throat. Hot blood rushed out over the fox' abdomen as they wrestled and admiration burned in the Beduin's mind for this warrior's tenacity, and resolve. A lesser man would have long bled out, or fallen to stupor from shock. Fire raced through his side as he realized that the other spearmen were taking the opportunity to fell him. The rabbit he had most recently sliced stepped nimbly over him, and held his weapon aloft in his remaining good hand. A shriek of triumph erupted from the warrior as he prepared to deliver the fox a wound from which there would be no surviving.
Adrian waited for the blow, and prayed that Clovis give his dead body the time to deliver his son from harm when he caught a bright flash of red from the corner of his eye. The rabbit's battle anthem changed into a scream of shock, and pain as he turned quickly to defend himself from the tiny fox that clung to his back. Adrian's eyes widened as he realized what was there. His son was pinned to the rabbit's back, and clinging with two tiny fists to the dagger he had given him. Pride welled in his heart, and a thousand thanks flowed freely from his soul to whatever god gave him the fortune of breeding such a fine child. He turned his eyes back to the dying warrior who pinned him, and he changed his grip on the man's muzzle. With renewed strength, he twisted the rabbit's head hard to the left, and smiled at the satisfying crunch as his neck snapped. Another spear came at his side, and he pushed the now dead weight into the weapon's killing path.
Derek felt a bright exclamation of pain as the warrior he clung to found him with a powerful paw and dug his claws into his side. A tiny scream of shock escaped him, and the rabbit hurled his petite frame against the closest wall. Fireworks erupted in his head and the world disappeared in a bright flash as his skull struck the stone, and he collapsed in a heap at the base of the partition. He struggled to maintain consciousness as the world came back into view and fear took him as he realized that the Mumgatu he stabbed was standing over him holding his own dagger aloft to kill him. His mind raced with terror, and in an instant he felt the warm brace of his mother wrapping around him, and saw her face. His eyes narrowed, and his fear left him. So this rabbit would reunite him with his mother? So be it. He would fear no man, just like his father told him.
A shout of rage resounded behind Derek's attack, and a bright arc of adamant steel flashed into Derek's view. The rabbit's eyes widened as his arm fell severed at the elbow, and his jaw dropped as a second sweep of the blade bisected him and showered the young fox before him with blood and bowel. Derek felt the impact of the warrior's body collapsing on him, and then felt it fly away as his father gripped him and pulled him to a sitting position. He looked dreamily into the warrior eyes of his sire, and found that they held true, mortal fear. His heart warmed as he realized what frightened him.
"I'm ok daddy" he said weakly, and rubbed the knot that was forming on the back of his head, "I'm ok, don't worry."
Adrian relaxed immediately, but continued to inspect his boy for injury. He sighed with relief when he realized that nothing was amiss aside from a wound to his head. He prayed there was no bleeding in his skull, but smiled as if nothing was wrong for his child's sake. Suddenly, the world flashed brightly around him as throbbing shock exploded in his head. Derek's eyes widened as he saw the quick movement of a large rock strike his father's skull, and his mouth parted while the warrior's eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed.
Adrian fought blindly for consciousness, and begged Clovis for the strength to fight on. Just one more moment of battle to save my boy, he begged, just one more instant of sweet life! The world went black, and he was barely aware of his collapse onto the cobblestone.
"Daddy!" Derek shrieked as he gripped his father's shoulders and shook him. "Daddy get up! Get up!" There was no response. His father lay motionless, except for a light fluttering of his eyes, and shallow breath. Derek's heart hardened with hatred, and loss. He held back tears in case his father's spirit would lose its way because of him, and he picked up his dagger and pried it from the dead finger's of the fallen rabbit. He stood over his father's body, and prepared to die fighting those horrible rabbits that walked confidently towards him.
In the front of them was a woman, tall and proud. She wore only the barest of coverings that concealed her more private of areas, but bore finely spread war paint over most of the rest of her body. Her fur parted in places over carefully crafted scarifications, and her top fur hung in finely decorated braids behind her. Her ears were tied together with red rope, and ringed with silver and gold jewelry along their entire length. She carried a spear in one hand, and a sling in the other. Behind her were two men who did not stand out from the other warriors particularly. For a brief instant, Derek was distracted by how unearthly beautiful she seemed in that moment.
One of the warriors chuckled at his display of defiance, and hoisted his spear. The woman placed her hand on its haft, and smiled at him.
"Why strike him from afar like a hunter-lizard?" she said, "Why not take your weapon to his challenge?" The warrior looked at her confusedly.
"He's only a child" he said, "why waste my time?" The man stared at her defiantly.
"Oh he is?" she responded, and swept the area with her spear, "And how do you know that he isn't responsible for all of this? You remember them saying that there was a goblin in the form of a blond fox in this street, perhaps this is the goblin they spoke of?"
The warrior huffed, and stomped towards the boy. "Don't worry" he said in a heavy accent, "I'll reunite you with your father in hell soon enough!" He stepped forward and howled at the kit as he raised his spear. Derek panicked and lunged at him with his dagger. He felt it strike the bone of the man's pelvis, and his mind shut off. On pure instinct he braced his feet and pushed as hard as he could. The point of the poniard slid along the bone, and slipped over it hilt deep into his bowels. The warrior screamed with shock, and horror, and swung at the fox, who responded by grinding the point down with all of his might. The spear connected with him, but his press had saved him the blade. Derek spun across the ground as the rabbit collapsed with a dagger lodged in his bladder.
The young fox felt blood trickling down his muzzle, and tried to get up but he had no strength left. He forced his head to turn to look at the remaining two, and defiantly glared at them, daring them to end his life. The woman smiled at him warmly, and that put him off a bit. She waked over to the fallen man, and inspected his wound. He was panting, and groaning from the suffering.
"H-help" he said weakly as she approached, "Medicine!" She shook her head sadly no, and his eyes glazed over with despair.
"I'm sorry, look at the wound" she said with a dour tone, "There's no medicine to fix that, and you know it. You should have remembered the fable of the Serpent God." She smiled sadly at him, and he weakly back at her. "Remember what he said?" she queried as she brushed hair out of his face lovingly. "Even a viper freshly hatched can kill a man with its bite. Never take your eyes off of the iron-tooth that quivers in the hand of a baby." Tears formed at the corners of his eyes and he nodded.
"Close your eyes, my sweet" she said somberly, "I'll be gentle." His lips quivered as he complied, and she quickly swiped his throat with her blade. The rabbitess held his hand until his body stopped moving, and then slowly rose from him, pulling his necklace free as she stood. She turned and walked over to Adrian, and checked him over. Satisfied, she slid his weapon into its sheath, and walked over to Derek.
The kit had managed to turn himself over on his back, and glared at her hatefully. He hissed as she approached, and she seemed amused at his bravery.
"All the gods must favor you, child" she said as she knelt beside him, "for you just felled one of the mightiest warriors of our tribe." Derek grimaced at her, and spit a tiny bit of blood into her face. She smiled delightedly and looked around at the others who had gathered.
"I'm ready" he squeaked in his tiny child's voice, "Kill me as you did my father." Her smile broadened, and she clamped a surprisingly strong hand on his shoulder.
"Boy, I've killed no Beduinson" she said amusedly, "Your father yet lives, though you'll not envy him come the sunset! He'll have a head like an angry badger from that stone!" Laughter rose for the warriors that assembled nearby, and she took Derek's hand, and clamped his dagger that was now wrapped with dead rabbit's necklace into it. She smiled down at him.
"Rejoice, boy" she said brightly, "You've become a warrior today, and a man. I've only known one warrior of our people who became an adult as young as you, and she became a queen. I've not killed your father, but I have wounded him. I would like to offer you the hospitality of our camp. We have food, and medicine that can help him, and I've a feeling your presence would make him a might easier to deal with. Adrian Beduinson's temper is well known to me." Derek was surprised at how warm her smile was.
"Why?" he said, forcing himself to his knees. "Why are you helping us?" The rabbit woman collected him in his arms, and lifted him off the ground. Her touch was strangely soothing, and reminded him of his mother's.
"Because your father is not unknown to me and because I owe him a debt" she said as she carried him towards another street. She looked over at a few warriors as she passed, and gestured towards the bodies behind. "Collect the fox' trophies, and bring him to camp. See to it that the shaman tends his wounds with utmost care." They bark a word of compliance, and trotted off towards the massacre.
She carried him a ways out until the two of them stood before a massive collection of warriors who were seemingly waiting for her return. She put her hands under his arms, and held him aloft to them.
"This is Derek son of Adrian Beduinson!" she shouted in a powerful, and surprisingly deep voice, "Know that today, he is a man having killed a warrior, and taken a trophy of his body!" Murmurs flowed throughout the assembled men and women in attendance there, and all seemed quite amazed at her assertion.
"As such, I declare him a son of the Mumgatu in honor! I name him Notrum, the Adder-hatchling!" The crowd responded by a quick chant of his new name, and fell quiet. She looked around with an intense glare of authority and severity.
"Let no man or woman challenge, or belittle this!" she said firmly, "So speaks Budakha Mountain-toppler! Queen of Mumgatu!"