Mynede Fan-Fic

By SolaceMoon

Chapter 3

Kugel was still running. He could not see where he was going, for he was blinded by tears. The whole thing was so unreal, so impossible. His shoulder hurt terribly and he felt sick, but he willed himself to go on.

Head down. Breath in, breath out. Don’t think about it. That was all Kugel could do. It did not keep him from crying, though. Smack! Kugel ran into something, hard. The object grabbed him—he was caught! Elbowing and biting his assailant, Kugel struggled to be free.

“Lemme go! Lemme go! Don’t hurt me!” Kugel began to cry. He was, after all, barely older than a dibbun and under the circumstances it was the only thing he could think to do. Kugel sobbed bitter tears as he thought of how his whole world was falling apart.

“Stop that sniffling!” The voice of his captor was deep and gruff.

Kugel was thrown to ground. He looked up to see a very muscular weasel standing over him, a weasel we know as Jessup. Jessup frowned down at the squirrel.

“Don’t move.”

Kugel wouldn’t have dreamed of it. He shook his head violently. His lip began to tremble and unbidden tears rolled down his face. Jessup continued to look down at his prisoner. His face showed the puzzlement he felt.

Jessup had seen countless goodbeasts die. He had killed many of them himself; it was nothing new to him. He had never enjoyed it, but he had never let that stop him either. Still, everyone he had killed had held a weapon in his or her paws. They had been fighting back. He had never actually outright slaughtered anyone, although he had given orders along those lines. He had decided to lead the patrol during the raid, his job being to kill or capture any escapees. But now that it came to it, he just couldn’t. Something about this place, something about this raid, something about how Mynede had been feeling…he felt it all.

Jessup knelt down and grabbed Kugel’s arm.

“I…I don’t know why I’m doing this,” he admitted. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Jessup shook his head. He could not let the squirrel go free. Mynede strongly forbade it. But if he took the squirrel to her, she would kill it. He decided to take a precaution. “Promise me one thing and I will let you go free.”

Kugel nodded.

“Promise me that you will never harm Milady, the leader of those who have attacked here this day. Never in all the seasons of your life.”

Kugel nodded again. Jessup released his hold on the squirrel and walked away. Kugel rose slowly. He climbed a tree for fear that the big fellow would change his mind. Kugel swung through the treetops until he guessed he was far enough away from danger. Then he stopped. Hiding himself in a sizeable tree, he waited for Bulstead to come with his mother.

* ~ *

“We’re under attack! Get up! Get out! Vermin are here!” Bulstead’s shouts thundered through the forest. He screamed the warning as he ran to meet the vermin who threatened his home. The enraged otter swung a loaded sling as he ran pell-mell around the area, scanning for both vermin and goodbeasts. A couple of ferrets appeared at his right. One of them fell to his sling stone. The other shakily stood his ground, holding a small spear at the ready. Bulstead charged him at full speed. He parried the spear with his formidable war club, breaking it in two. Bulstead dispatched the ferret with a single blow and continued to run.

Vermin had congregated at the very center of the small settlement. Bulstead threw caution to the winds and made an outright charge at them. His sling brought another beast down with flawless accuracy. Vermin rushed him with swords and spears, but Bulstead took them down with his club. He threw himself into a mob of vermin. A stone caught him in the side and he felt a blade rake his jaw, but he was caught in the rage of battle. Swinging his club at a frightening pace, he yelled challenges at his foes.

“Want some more o’ that? Or that? Come on, yew worthless, mangy villains! Show Bulstead what yore made of and he’ll show you the way to Hellgates!” The fearsome otter dealt death to his attackers quickly. There was no doubt that he was an experienced warrior.

Leading an attack on the outskirts of the settlement, Mynede heard the nearby commotion. Trusting that her warriors would be able to deal with whoever they ran into, she decided to see what all the shouting was all about. As she neared her destination, she slowed, approaching with caution. Stopping by an already-pillaged hut, she surveyed the commotion before her. Many vermin were falling to the experienced otter. The grim scene pulled a sigh from her lips.

“The otter will kill them all…” she muttered to herself. “They do not have the skill to face him.” Then she smiled a cold smile.

“Eat this, vermin!” A tall female squirrel came hurtling from the treetops in an attempt to flatten Mynede. Mynede jumped to one side and the squirrel hit the ground on all fours. The weasel knew a quick kill when she saw one. Before the squirrel could even register what had happened Mynede stabbed her in the back.

Bulstead thought he had heard the voice of Kugel’s mother. Remembering his promise, he fought his way through the few remaining vermin just in time to see the pretty squirrel fall dead. It was as if an arrow had pierced his heart. He had promised Kugel that he would keep her safe. He had been planning on sending her after the lad so that if no one else did, at least those two would survive.

Grandpa Vole, as like as not, lay dead in his hut, for he was unable to move very fast or very far. The same was probably true of the old hedgehogs. He could hear some of his other warrior friends battling in the distance. His allies were outnumbered and despite the skill of many of his friends, the youth of these vermin gave them an edge. Bulstead felt that this would be the last stand for the small settlement.

But the poor squirrel lad no longer had a mother. Bulstead hoped somebody would pull through for Kugel’s sake. Bulstead knew he must not let himself go down. He must not give up; there was something worth fighting for at stake. No matter what his feelings told him, he would defy his supposed destiny and survive for Kugel.

Mynede stood still, tossing her lone dagger from paw to paw. The same cold smile played on her lips. Her eyes met the otter’s. Rage burned in his gaze—she had seen such rage before. The other vermin backed off. Their chief had singled out an opponent and they were not to interfere. For a few moments the two stood in silence. Time seemed to stop as thoughts cascaded through Bulstead’s mind. The world faded, and then…

“Kuuuugelll!” Bulstead rushed at Mynede with his club raised to strike. The weasel shot into the air and delivered a double kick to the otter’s face. Bulstead’s club struck her legs and she fell sideways. Twisting in mid-air she slashed at her opponent with her dagger. Blood seeped from Bulstead’s leg, but he took no heed. Slashing, swinging, biting, clawing, and kicking one another they rolled over and over in a whirlwind of blood and fur. Mynede was an exceptional escape artist and whenever Bulstead thought he had her, his club swung through thin air. Long they fought, blind to all that happened around them. More vermin arrived on the scene, vermin that had conquered other warriors, and still they struggled.

Mynede ripped at Bulstead’s limbs with her dagger, bringing more scars to his already scarred body. She could feel him weakening. Every time he lifted his club all Bulstead could feel was pain. Each breath became more difficult to draw. Everything was going dark. Blood was everywhere—his own blood. Dropping his club, he reached for the weasel. She tried to squirm out of his reach, but to no avail; the otter was determined in his last attempt to kill her. His paws closed around her neck and he tried to strangle her but his strength was leaving him. He was vaguely aware of repeated blows to his head. He fell.

“Kugel… I failed you mate… Good luck to ye…” The words softly escaped from his lips and he died.

Chapter 4

"You are quite a specimen aren't you? The very size of you is enough to impress. You should have been born a badger, not an otter; not that it really matters now…" Mynede examined the bloodstained dagger in her paws and smiled wickedly. She continued in the subtle, almost seductive way that she spoke. "It would be terrifying to fight you, wouldn't it? That is, if one was the type to go in for intimidation... It was fortunate I'm not, eh? Fortunate for me, anyways." The weasel looked over at the immobile corpse of Bulstead. She ran her paws over his body searching for anything of value to her, and continued her speech to the dead.

“I have conquered. I have done what could not be done in the times past. True, it is not a great victory, but it is a victory nonetheless. Every victory is worth something. Every one brings me closer to—" Her voice faded. She seemed not to know quite what it brought her closer to. This did not trouble her, however. After a moment of pondering her words in silence, she rose to her full height, the very picture of the barbarian conqueror. “Yes, I have shown my worth. Yesterday peaceful clans could not stop me, today experienced warriors have no power; tomorrow I shall be unstoppable!” As she made this last statement, she surveyed all around her with the pride and dignity born of a queen.

"Milady!" Mynede was pulled from her fantasies by Jessup’s call. She nodded to him and he bowed in salute to his mistress. "We've taken all we can manage. I've ordered our band to pull out. That is, if it's all right." He looked up hesitantly.

"You ordered them to move out? Whatever for?"

"I just thought... Well, since we did what we came to do... Is there a problem?"

"What if there are more of them?" The female weasel raised a paw in indication of the bodies scattered around the woodland clearing. "What if somebody comes back from someplace and finds this mess, Jessup?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Milady." Jessup lowered his head.

"I'll tell you. They might cry. They might kill themselves. But chances are they'll look for help. When they find it, they will come after us. What do you suppose will happen to us then, Jessup?"

"I... don't know, Milady."

"You know perfectly well, you useless idiot. Don't be so timid. You'll die that way."

Jessup was at a complete loss as to what to say. He looked up at his insulter. She seemed to tower over him, even though he was more than a head taller than she was. "I wish you wouldn't speak that way to me, Mynede... I thought we were, you know..."

"Oh, my poor Jessup." Mynede's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Did I hurt your feelings?" Jessup nodded stupidly. Mynede responded by kicking him sharply. "Well, get over it!" Her voice was no longer soft. "You’re a warrior—start acting like one! Now go and cancel the order to move out. Send out some sentries and set up camp. I want to stay here a little longer." Jessup nodded and departed from her.

Blast that Jessup, ruining her moment of complete triumph! Mynede tried to look at her surroundings as she had a moment before, but she could not regain that feeling of victory. The raid was over. The excitement of the moment was gone. Mynede’s eyes became dull with boredom. She was just about to follow Jessup to camp when something caught her eye, a small shack in the distance. Frowning with renewed interest, she made her way to it and entered.

The shack had been ransacked like everything else. Multitudes of bookshelves had been pushed over and broken. The floor was strewn with ancient recordings of ages long past. Several disembodied pages lay about the small dwelling, crumpled and torn objects that had only a day ago been part of some magnificent writing.

“Nobody’s been in here for years…” She said of her dusty surroundings. It was true. If the recent raiding party was not counted, the shack had been untouched for years. Dust covered everything and cobwebs were present in every nook and corner.

Mynede stepped lightly over a toppled desk and broken chair. “This is it, this is his dwelling,” she said, looking around her. Memories rushed into Mynede’s mind, making her head throb and feel heavy. She sat down and picked a book up from the floor. Gazing at it, she tried to control the multitude of emotions present inside her. Slowly her thoughts began to put themselves in order, her memories transported her to a time long gone. And so she sat, staring off into the past.

To Be Continued…