Young Writers Society

Author's Notes: 2,188 words.  There are a lot of things I don't like about this - especially sitting in the dead man's chair - but it would take me forever to edit.  So, here it is in its mostly-terrible glory.

The sun had already risen for an hour or so when Madeleine guided the depressed Eremia from the private tent set up for her to the no-longer-imposing tent of The Doves, Yorew in tow.

“You should not be a general,” Madeleine commented, leading Eremia along the trampled grass of the camp grounds as she stared ahead towards the large, beige structure looming ahead. “Alarick is being a foolish and stupid man again, which isn’t at all surprising. You have no prowess on a battlefield, and I don’t want you feeling cocky enough to try. Remember that it is your choice, and he cannot hold anything against you.”

Eremia nodded. Yorew pulled a comb from his pocket and attempted to fix her rebellious, scattered hair. She still had a few bandages over the most persistent injuries, though most of her wounds had been healed with ease.

Importantly, Eremia had stopped crying a long time ago. What was left was emptiness.

The trio entered the tent. Large wooden posts held up the faded tent as it towered over the heads of all the occupants. One of the corners had been burned off by the fire, and the whole place still smelled of smoke. Several people were attempting to brush the ashes off of the damaged table, dusting it away from the ground before throwing it outside to be carried away by the wind. Light shot in through the various holes on the canvas, revealing the central table and its various occupants as they attempted to arrange papers. Some maps and documents had been burned outright, while numerous others were at least partly damaged. Soldiers were carting in boxes from what was probably Alarick’s private tent; Alarick helped to pry them open and investigate their contents.

Compared to the already partly number of seats, there were few generals. Jonathan nodded politely as Madeline sat down across from him. Eremia sat next to him, Yorew choosing to sit next to her. Yorew remained as blank-faced as ever, although his emotions, however hard to read, suggested concern for Eremia. It was when he reacted at all that demonstrated any kind of strong feeling, but Eremia stared at the wood on the table and ignored him. Opposite of Yorew, sitting beside an empty seat with red cushioning, was a strange, gray-haired man in a red and black suit. Everyone, save for Eremia, stared at the front seat as Alarick sat down, with Jonathan to his right and Madeleine to his left, the latter two patiently awaiting Alarick’s verdict.

Alarick sighed and buried his face in his massive hands for a few seconds before looking at the assembled room with a battered expression. The bags under his eyes, deeper than normal, told everyone he clearly had not been sleeping that night. Alarick offhandedly waved away the few people still arranging papers on the table and pulling more from the boxes; they scattered as Jonathan calmly stared at him and said, “He’s late…as usual.”

Alarick brushed it aside, grasping the table in frustration. “He had to be brought into the infirmary for arrow wounds. That’s all the reason I need for him to be even less punctual than normal.” Alarick coughed and tightened his hold on the table. “I must apologize, everyone, for the shabby conditions of our tent this morning, and for the lack of people seated or in attendance. I have had most apprentices and guards sent to patch up tents, collect what little has not already burned, and determine how a small mo” – he saw Eremia’s vehement expression – “child was able to sneak past my assorted guards in the middle of the night to commit arson.”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow as he set his legs on the table, concern edging his voice. “Where is Terasu?”

An audible sigh escaped Alarick’s lips. After a few seconds, a quick glance between him and Madeleine led the latter to respond, “unstable, mentally and physically. She has been temporarily demoted from her position to deal with…personal troubles. In her place is her attendant, Latton.” She gestured to the man in the black-and-red outfit, who waved briefly and looked grim. “He will serve as her voice to the rest of us. Alarick is having him trained to fight, if need be.”

“Yes,” confirmed Alarick, nodding to Madeleine before continuing, “Ceinen is, as Jonathan pointed out, likely on his way. Our friend here is presently sitting where Rowland had.”

Eremia was dismayed to look behind her and see the large, embroidered “R” (in a red and gold pattern) on the seat. Yorew helped her stand up as she, slightly trembling and pale, walked around the table and sat beside Madeleine. The servant and healer exchanged worried looks as Eremia resumed staring at the table.

After a few seconds of waiting and awkward silence, Alarick continued. “Now that the matter of…attendance…has been resolved, it is up to us to create a battle plan. That he, or whatever he was, set this tent ablaze is enough to convince me he has awareness of the political situation in this land. My recon officers, as Eremia here has supported, indicate that he is heading for the capital of Eimhin.”

There would have been a gasp throughout the room, but nobody apperead surprised by this news – their heads all lowered. Jonathan scowled ferociously and crossed his arms. “The Alliance,” he said with contempt.

“What he has planned is beyond me,” remarked Alarick, “but it is clear that he is looking to rendezvous with the Alliance. Unfortunately, he has already made quick work of the border guards, and there is far too much attention on his presence for us to slip in and…retrieve him.” Alarick had been about to say something else, but a glare from Eremia forced him to change his mind.

Latton coughed for everyone’s attention. “The Alliance of Boisbaudran is still scattered across the Confederacy, yes? We are a large army, but surely we could reach Wyandanch long before they have the chance to move.”

“Why?” demanded Eremia, head shooting up. “He is my brother, and I do want to find him and save him from whatever controls him, but why is it so disconcerting that he join the Alliance? What do they expect from him that they would march on Wyandanch itself?”

“He is the Prince of Exedor,” replied Alarick, instantly silencing the girl. “Four of five states in the Confederacy oppose Wyandanch, though one is begrudgingly so. Wyandanch has long relied on the military strength and leadership of Exedor to keep its already-frail dominion over the Confederacy stable. If the Alliance has the child of the fifth country, they may choose to use him as ransom. Also, now that you and the Prince have both left the family’s palace, Exedor is in a panic – I would not be surprised if they have withdrawn their troops from Wyandanch to search for you both.

Madeleine continued, noticing Alarick taking in a deep breath. “In other words, if he finds one of the Alliance’s armies, the Alliance may walk up to the gates of Wyandanch and force Seres’s hand. Seres cannot attack, as he doesn’t want to hurt his greatest allies’ child, and so can either surrender or enter a siege he can’t win. With your brother, the Confederacy may collapse.”

Eremia set her elbows on the table and placed her palms to her temples as she looked down in terror. Madeleine put a hand on her shoulder, but Eremia pushed it aside.

“What is our route?” asked Jonathan after another long pause. He, too, was becoming more disconcerted and frustrated.

“That is the question,” replied Alarick, sighing. “We are a large and slow force, and a single boy – especially one so strangely powerful - can reach the capital of Eimhin with ease. It will, however, take some time for the Mad King to build a strong army, assuming that he does not have one already. The lack of respect and cooperation between Alliance nations leads me to believe otherwise.”

Madeleine pointed to a map of the Confederacy. “We are by the Lake, and closer to Walenty and Claec than Eimhin. It would be suicide to travel through Eimhin, so we would have to take a northern route through Exedor, or a southern route stretching along the border of Walenty and into the Pillars.”

Jonathan placed his feet on the ground and stared over the table to where Madeleine was pointing. “The south path…is shorter,” he remarked gruffly.

“Indeed,” said Alarick while nodding. “Besides, we cannot head into Exedor with only a single child. They would have us stopped, investigated systematically, and likely try to deliver an army of their own. That would take too long; you, Eremia, want to get to your brother, and we want to defend the capital.”

“And you still don’t trust them,” Eremia snapped.

Alarick bowed his head and nodded ever so slightly. “I find it harder and harder than in the past,” Alarick admitted. “Though it’s more complicated, I suspect, than you’ve been told.” Madeleine glared at him, lips tightening, but he had no clear reaction beyond staring at no one in particular.

Eremia trembled in rage. “I thought,” she said, fists striking the table, “that you’d promised me I would know everything. If you want a general, I want to know what exactly I’m doing, who I’m doing it for, and who is counting on me.”

Alarick gave her a dismayed, disconcerted expression. “And would you believe me?” On seeing her evasive expression, he continued. “…It is settled. We will be traveling along the southern route. Kasimir guards his country well, so we may have to skirt the country entirely, though I believe we may be able to slip in between two of his more imposing fortifications some distance ahead of us. So as long as we have the moral high ground, and do not interfere in his affairs, any attack on his part will be seen as unprovoked. Assuming he is not already planning to destroy Wyandanch, he should have no motivation to stop us on our travels without the threat of warfare on his back. And, if he is, he will likely be organizing his army towards the part of his country nearest that city-state, and will have too few troops towards the east to concern himself with the movement of another, smaller army.”

“Messengers?” questioned Jonathan, watching as an infuriated Eremia stood up and stormed out of the tent, followed by Yorew.

Alarick sighed and beckoned Madeleine to exit as well. She stayed in place, and he responded to Jonathan’s question after a quiet, sharp exchange of words between the former two. “As we should like both Exedor and Wyandanch to be aware of their incoming troubles before our arrival, we will be sending several messages along the lake and into Exedor. Others will be sent along the network of paths in Eimhin – in secret, of course – and make their way to Wyandanch. I expect they will arrive in, at most, a week. I will send them out after this meeting has concluded.”

“What about the bird?” said Jonathan as Yorew led Eremia back into the tent, a fire in her eyes. Upon hearing Jonathan’s words, she decided to be brave enough to sit on Rowland’s old seat again, fists clenched. Yorew took his seat next to Madeleine as Alarick stared up at the ceiling and mulled it over.

Finally, he looked down and addressed Jonathan. “If he flew all the way from Exedor and was willing to put his life in risk, I believe he is a daring and determined soul. I should like him to be sent back to Exedor, as he would know the quickest path, though there appears to be only one person he is willing to listen to.” He gestured to Eremia.

She scowled at him, but, under his piercing gaze, stared at the patches of trampled grass under her feet. “After all that you’ve hidden from me, and beneath all of your shaky motivations, how do you expect me to listen to you?”

“Because you have no other choice,” boomed Alarick, catching everyone off guard. “Because you want to save your brother. Will you not take up arms as a general?”

Madeleine looked at him briefly, saw his expression, and took over the conversation. “That is not necessarily true. Though he would like you to be a general,” she explained calmly to Eremia, who was now shifting between enraged and nervous, “as you have the proper motivation, that is not your only option. You may also work as an apprentice under Ceinen and I. We wouldn’t mind showing you how to be a strategist and leader, particularly if you are still the heir to the Throne of Exedor, as seems to be the case. You would not have to take direct orders from Alarick, and we can help you become a better leader as you search to save your brother. Would you like that?”

“…yes,” quietly replied the girl, finally coming to terms with the gravity of her situation. “I will do it, if only for Jonah.”