Young Writers Society

Author's Notes: 2,179 words.  Very meh.  I'm not even sure if the world has advanced enough technology for an organ, but that depends on how old organs are.  Besides, some parts of the world are more technologically advanced than others, and word spreads.  Also, in retrospect, snakes are not actually deaf.  Should I change this, or chalk it up to Cath being a jerk/idiot (as usual)?  Another also, Cath is basically saying "FAKE NEWS!" over and over again, which disturbs me.  A lot.

The tent had been crammed, and the Mad King did not make it any better.

He had taken a seat, having pushed aside Kasimir in the process. The latter was standing uncomfortably to the side, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. His companions, equally displeased, had risen when Catharnach had sat down, and were now squeezed between a procession of formally-dressed generals. Catharnach was now staring gleefully at the map he had set down on the table and spread out, it revealing the image of the exterior and interior of a city with hexagonal walls. The western part of the map was partly covered by strange, dark structures, themselves also hexagons, while the east was bare plains. He pointed to a collection of dots arranged in neat squares just south of the city, color-coded with those of the various nations, and the head of each procession marked by a flag.

“It will be a glorious charge,” Catharnarch said with pride and an expression of childish glee as his fingers jumped between spots on the parchment. Alsather (in his head, trying to avoid the image of Catharnach playing an organ badly) peered over from his seat with an expression that was a mix of curiosity and contempt. “I-” said Catharnach as he stared among the various people in the room, before his eyes locked upon Kasimir and he scowled. “Where is your son?”

Kasimir shrugged ever so gracefully. “I have none,” he said graciously, his beaming smile betraying the truth.

“The other one!” barked Catharnach, as Kasimir shook his head in annoyance and shifted to the bear advisor. Large as he was, the generals around him had to push themselves away, and he looked extremely unhappy standing on his own two feet. “Where is he?” demanded the Mad King as he turned slightly to face the advisor. He had that smile of a man who was five seconds away from shouting curses.

“Not ‘ere,” replied the advisor in a deep growl. “The King o’ the Bears needs ta’ lead ‘is country, and he can’t lead here.”

“Ah,” said Catharnach as he tilted his head and kept on smiling. “I forgot you’re only the former king, Valeri. So charming that your poor health led you to abandon your legacy in favor of your son, the sniveling brat.”

The bear advisor gave an intensely murderous look as Leathan, sitting beside Catharnach, whispered in Catharnach’s ear, “don’t follow it further, or they’ll ask about your son, and we don’t need his weakness here.”

“Yes,” piped up Alsather, “where is the child? Riding off in the countryside? Keeping good company with his hor-”

“You are normally deaf!”shouted Catharnach, standing up pointing at Alsather with a twitching finger. He quietened and sat back down. “And, unlike mine, your son is of no threat here or anywhere else, because you don’t have one, “king.” Regardless, I will continue without interruption. My generals, thanks to your simpering incompetence, will command over half of the army. I will have them at the back and direct cover fire for your troops.”

A blonde-haired lady stepped in, looking momentarily graceful and petite until the onlookers saw her flex the impressive, if small, muscles on her tanned arms. She smiled with charm, winking at Valeri as she walked over to him. Wearing a white dress that glittered in the sun passing through the few holes in the tent, hair drawn up in a ponytail, she looked incredibly bemused as a red-faced Catharnach rose from his seat and shouted at her, “I am tired of your poor sense of time! How dare you interrupt me at such a pivotal time! Leave, or I will make you.” He gestured threateningly with strangling motions.

She arched her neck, moved her face close enough that her long nose touched Catharnach’s, and laughed. It was a deep, rolling one, and thoroughly befuddled him. In part, he looked trapped between immense anger and disbelief.

Valeri, from behind, grinned maliciously, shoulders hunched as he smirked at Catharnach and the lady. “When she raised ‘er kids, they called ‘er “unbreakable.” A “castle,” if ya’d like. I tried to kill ‘er, believe me, but she said somethin’ about royalty bein’ her pride, and she killed the few that said otherwise.”

“Said as graceful as ever,” she responded, when she finished laughing and wiping her eyes. Walking right past Catharnach - who sat down, eyes twitching and befuddled - and Leathan, whom she patted gently on the head when he frowned at her with teeth bared, she clasped the bear advisor’s shoulder with her hand. He grunted in pain as she dug her hand into his fur. “I had wondered if Kasimir would summon you to deal with the diplomacy, you lovable, infestatious tick. You’re forgetting the Mad King does such a wonderful job offending people.” Staring him up and down, she concluded, still beaming. “Especially a man who can be barely bothered to wear clothes. A life eating pastries was not forgiving to you, was it?”

“Confident, are you?” said Alsather in a tone that conveyed how impressed he was. Catharnach glared at him as Alsather leaned back in his seat, his smug smile now more appropriate.

She nodded and took the empty seat next to Catharnach. “As much as I need to be,” she concluded, pointing to the Mad King’s map. He tried to brush her hand away, but she remained adamant. “I could fight his bravest archers by myself and come out victorious.”

“Brave?” remarked Kasimir’s advisor, eyebrow raised, as he lifted his robes over his head, revealing a white undershirt and black pants underneath, before handing those said robes to Valeri, who now seemed incredibly self-conscious about his appearance. “If what I’d heard was true, your generals would be full of derring-do, King of Eimhin. Why is only one of your generals deployed at the front lines?”

Catharnach pushed himself forward and draped himself over the map as Alsather, curious, tried to peer in. “It is, as I’ve said, for proper protection! When the soldiers on the walls have died or been repulsed by your arrows, my generals will command the cavalry to lead the charge into the city itself. What would be the point of keeping them at the front if they cannot feasibly attack the gates without heavy interference?”

Kasimir’s advisor cleared his throat. “In that case, why even have non-archers or non-cavalry in the first place? You would have done well to mention that the archers would’ve provided cover fire for an assault on the city, but your neglecting to call attention to them suggests to me a lack of caring for their significance. As evidenced by making them easier targets at the front, instead of harder ones at the back.”

The Mad King slammed his fists on the table and glared at the advisor. Nobody made to move or comment as he said, through gritted teeth, “I control half of the army, you know."

Alsather crossed his arms and grew dourer. “We control the other half.”

“But I hold half of the army in my own hands,” barked Catharnach in response. Alsather remained silent as Cerin quivered in nervousness. She stuck out her tongue at The Mad King as he looked back at the map, but a quick glance from Alsather made her seemingly shrink in size, cowering beneath the firm grip of the lady holding her in place.

“Now, if I can continue without interruptions,” continued the Mad King, looking about suspiciously before he regained his initial enthusiasm, it quickly degenerating into a sly and mean-spirited grin, “While the positions of most of my generals have already been explained, and their functions are all simple, I have yet to point out and commend Belisarius for his daring to join the front in this thrilling operation. He was the first among my commanders to volunteer to fight alongside my allies here - something that even I, as a general, would not have considered.”

One of the well-dressed generals in a prestigious suit of armor broke his stone-faced and silent expression to glare at Catharnach. “I did not volunteer for your operation, my king; you demanded that I do so. And you were quite happy to forget that I’m a defensive general by trade.”

“But,” Catharnach replied with a smug smile, gesturing that Belisarius walk through the tent to a position where they would be face to face. “You will be defending, my good general. You will be protecting your allies in a brave stand, weathering magic and arrows and whatever else they have to throw, and will surely be among the first to enter the city. Do you want to cement your pride in your country and its leader?”

Belisarius, a black-haired man with greased hair that formed a bun, as well as a long mustache that sloped down to reach near a large-sized goatee, scoffed as he shuffled past Valeri and awkwardly walked to the other side of the table. “My king, I must apologize, but I hear that you want me dead; that’s the word that has been spreading among the camp.”

As Belisarius stood beside Alsather, Catharnach looked legitimately infuriated. The expressions of his generals never changed, but they almost emanated an aura of nervousness as Catharnach shot his gaze back to them, and then to Belisarius. “Who would spread such malicious rumors and falsehoods among my army!?” Cath shouted, indignant. “You have my word that I have no such intentions to eliminate you or your men.”

Belisarius scoffed. Alsather moved his body to the side as Belisarius gently placed a fist on the table and stared his commander down. “That’s because the rumors tell me that the King of Eimhin doesn’t want to kill me himself, but would like someone to do it for him.”

The staring contest intensified as the Mad King quivered in rage. “Do you,” Catharnach said, pointing up to a few inches away from Belisarius’s flat nose, “question the word of your leader, your king, your master, on the whims of a few lies?”

“It would be perfect,” explained Belisarius in his unbending way. “I’m the only commander not stupid enough to run into any battlefield I see simply because I was promised a bit more money, whether by the hand of my lord or those of his treasury.”

Catharnach bent forward and flicked his general on the nose. It was shocking enough that even Leathan’s eyes widened, leading him to grab and pull back the Mad King. “You have come to me to not only question the intentions of my plan, in a public audience of people who are looking upon me as the key to success for this operation, but spit on the reputation of your fellow generals? You should imply that I am actually manipulating all of them, and that this entire plan is a sham to have you killed?”

Alsather raised a hand. “With the way you’ve organized troops, I’d say you’re trying to have us all killed.”

An air of finality descended upon the entire meeting. Scattering his own papers and maps, Catharnach stood up straight and declared, “I have had enough of this parade of torments, lies, and depravity. Were it not for the essential nature of our mission, I would have walked out of here without a second word. As it stands, I am tempted. This meeting is, for the moment, adjourned. My son may arrive here within the next day or two, and perhaps he can help you realize the thoroughness of my strategy and how essential I am in it. If you wish to win, you must concede to my will.”

“What of the strategists?” called Kasimir’s advisor as Catharnach strode off in an exaggeratedly prideful fashion, preceded by Leathan and several generals. “This meeting has hardly yet begun, and we have not seen your plans before now. What are we to do?”

Catharnach wheeled around to face the advisor, a thin-lipped scowl on his face. “You may remain and do whatever it is you want. As long as the core of my plan remains intact, I will provide necessary support. I must go to Sagittarius to see if he has anything to inform me with, and my own distaste in this meeting keeps me from staying further. I hate you all.”

As he and his generals exited, Belisarius squeezing between everyone else to join the back of the procession with a grim expression, Alsather whispered, “the feeling is mutual.” He, too, stood up, grabbing Cerin roughly by the arm as the lady with the cataract eyes sat down and began to pour over assembled papers. Cerin struggled weakly, dragging her feet along the ground as Alsather stomped slowly out of the tent, joined by the surprisingly fast Valeri. Much of Alsather’s entourage left with him as Kasimir’s advisor picked up and rearranged the documents scattered on the ground, humming a light tune to himself before he sparked a lengthy conversation with those still in the room.

Understandably, nobody was happy.