Young Writers Society

Author's Notes: 1,474 words.  I, uh, have a thing for dramatic dialogue, sorry. <.<

Jonah struggled. This impressed it.

Of course, he had no tact or skill. He had clearly never bothered to listen to his lessons, read his books, or study the art of warfare. It knew as much, because it was him, if only for the moment. Though they shared the same brain, one of the two was clearly using it more. For now, Jonah was confined there, constantly playing the game, desperately using the same frail strategies and watching his pieces be picked off, one by one. Their sparring wasn’t fair; it had thousands of years of experience and the knowledge provided by hundreds of brilliant minds. He had nothing save his ego and his spirit. Both were strong, but they were still those of a child’s. It was ancient, and had the wisdom and power that came with it.

Still, that its control was not complete infuriated it. It was regaining its powers; energy no longer seeped from its body, so that it did not blacken the ground where it stepped, or burn holes through its clothes. However, it had to continue with this stupid, outmatched game. It didn’t have the absolute power to totally oust Jonah from the mind it wanted. Erasing other men was simplicity itself, but supplanting a new body and mind required much more tact, energy, and time. The most it could do was play its game and become strong enough to eliminate an entire personality without killing itself.

It was nighttime when it arrived at the camp. It had originally relied on a stolen horse, but the horse had proved too easily tired and too frightened, so it had called upon the last reserves of its own energy to create a dark pillar on which to propel itself. The guards, awoken by the noises of cutting grass and wind that came with the pillar, had seen its approach from a distance and now cowered in fear. It suspected they were unsure of how to react to the seemingly-limp body of a teenager standing atop something unseen by mortals in this land for…it forgot how long. It could not remember much of the first few millennia after it was given its hated name. It was so weak back then, as it was now.

“You will take me to see this “Alliance” and its leaders,” boomed a voice that couldn’t help but be light, considering that it possessed the vocal chords of a young teenager. Upon seeing the guards shivering, huddling together while they raised their spears towards it: “Or, if this is too hard, one of you may inform them that the Prince of Exedor is here to offer a helping hand.”

They were each eager to volunteer for this task, but the youngest and sprightliest of them finally sped off into the camps. It barely watched the retreating figure, contemplating instead the most convenient way to dispel Jonah’s latest offensive. While it stared absentmindedly at the guards, who remained too frightened to even move away, its image of Eremia cast the real Jonah far into the air. Of course, their little battlefield was still a construct of the mind, but there was no doubt he felt the pain of falling into the ground. It was so tempted to laugh; that child didn’t have to accept to play the game, but he always chose so. Of course, he would never be able to win back his body if he didn’t. Those were the rules.

It was some time before anyone returned from the masses of tents. A small gathering of figures sprinted towards the assembled guards, who were all too happy to step aside as their well-armored replacements arrived. It could hear them as they approached - it smiled viciously.

“You blasted idiot? You would let a child frighten you?”

“My King, he calls himself the Prince of Exedor, and I’ve never seen powers like his!”

“How could you even presume that my son’s target would evade him, decide otherwise, and walk right into our jaws?”

“Ask him yourself!”

Soldiers now began to awaken and push themselves up from their beds to watch the gathering. It could easily identify the sweating, panting man known as The Mad King. With his awkward gait, the robes that he still struggled to shove on, and his blood-splattered outfit, his identity wasn’t hard to guess. The men on either side of him – one with black, bowl-cut hair and a pleased smile, and another that looked to be the King’s son – were the first to halt upon the sight of it. The King, looking first at them before turning to face it, stopped shortly afterwards, as did his entourage.

“Good afternoon,” it said, bowing as it expanded its pillar and rose above them. “I presume you to be the leader of the Alliance?”

The Mad King gulped and gaped.

“I am here for a simple proposition,” it continued, stepping around its pillar. “I would like to help you burn Wyandanch to the ground. I believe you will be happy with this. My identity could be an unfounded rumor, but your urge to come regardless shows your desperation.”

Catharnach scowled and shut his mouth. “I have had trouble, yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “And you do resemble what the spies have told me is the prince. What are your motives?”

“None,” it said automatically. “Only a sister, father, and mother to kick off the road to my glory. Surely, you must have experience murdering family members, as I have little doubt a Mad King could rise to power so peacefully.” It laughed internally; Jonah had already done the work for it. It was such an easy fantasy to pluck from the putrid child’s head, even if ultimately untrue. After all, Jonah had dreamed of stabbing himself through his hand after the night he fled the castle and hurt his sister.

“I am not the Mad—” began Catharnach.

Its pillar shot out and positioned it so that its feet were inches from Catharnach’s head. “Of course not,” it said quietly as the King shrieked, his attendants raising their spears as Ailean lifted his bow and Leathan tried to stand in front of Catharnach, his smile replaced by a ferocious scowl. “You have not truly been a king in madness. It is merely a name conceived by idiots and used for my amusement. I can show you how a mad king acts, if you so wish.”

The Mad King opened and closed his mouth. Ailean lowered his bow briefly, face paling as “Jonah” nudged his father’s head with a shoe. Catharnach, to the surprise of everyone, lowered his gaze. “What are you to scare my father? Are you truly the Prince of Exedor?” Ailean asked at last, voice trembling.

It allowed Leathan to shove its shoe away. “The child asks the right questions,” it said, nodding. “You have done well, Catharnach. As for what I am, you may only think of me as the Prince of Exedor. Otherwise, I am that I am. My nature is not important. I did not wait thirteen years, slowly driving a wedge between a boy and a girl and separate the former from empathy, to be thrust here and made to explain myself. I came to negotiate.”

“Or what?” said Leathan, thrusting his chin up at it. “There’s too many of us. All your fancy powers won’t stop us from shooting you in the heart.”

Cackling, it began to move its pillar to surround Catharnach. Leathan embraced him as they cowered, it surrounding itself in its own dark materials. As they were its own constructions, it could see through them to observe the terrified people below. “I need not be taunted, children,” it said.

The Mad King raised a hand, the other clutching Leathan. “I surrender!” he shouted. “If you are the Prince of Exedor, so be it! We will raze that city together!”

The pillar gradually receded. “You will not regret this,” it said as it descended onto the ground, Catharnach’s entourage surrounding him. Ailean, moving unsteadily, stood between it and his father, bow at the ready. It laughed and pushed him aside easily, choosing to leer at Catharnach. “I will see to it that you are placed upon the Throne of Dragons, and then be off on my merry way. You will try to kill me afterwards, of course. I would like to see you try.”

“When I am upon that throne, I could send the entire world crashing upon your head,” spat Catharnach.

“When I have placed you upon that throne, the entire world won’t be enough to stop me,” it said, laughing. “I could have murdered all of you at this very spot, yet I am merciful. Work with me, King, and you will have your piece of the pie. I will gladly take the rest.”