Chapter 54: Ch 54: The War Council

Ch 54: The War Council

The news of the declaration spread through the guard like wildfire. By evening mess, every soldier in the barracks knew about the South Courtyard Council and their formal challenge. The atmosphere was electric, a mix of hilarity and fierce, mock-serious pride.

Conversations that had begun with complaints about drills and the quality of the evening stew had quickly turned into heated debates about military strategy. Men who had faced real enemies without flinching were now arguing over whether a four-year-old could be considered a legitimate opposing commander.

Someone had already started a betting pool on how long it would take before Rylan accidentally offended the children and got them to declare a second war.

Rylan himself was loudly insisting that he could win any contest involving apples, cookies, or whispering. Nobody believed him.

After dinner, Aster called a proper war council. Not in the officers’ tent, but crammed into the long, low-beamed common room of the guards’ quarters. Benches were pulled around the central hearth. Mugs of weak ale were passed around. The air smelled of woodsmoke, leather, and eager anticipation.

Someone had even dragged a battered wooden table into the center of the room, where it served as the official planning table. There were no maps of enemy fortifications, no reports of troop movements, and no sketches of battle formations. Instead, a soldier had placed an apple on the table as a visual aid.

Nobody had dared remove it.

Aster stood before the rough stone fireplace. His men filled the benches, leaning forward. Loren was practically vibrating. Jax kept grinning like a loon. Even Kaelen had a faint, amused tilt to his mouth as he sharpened a dagger with methodical strokes.

"Right," Aster began, clasping his hands behind his back. "We have a situation. A hostile faction has challenged our claim to a valuable asset."

"Brother Abel!" someone shouted from the back, followed by a ripple of laughter.

"Our captain," Aster corrected, though his tone was fond. "The terms are clear. Three challenges, chosen by the opposing council. We provide a champion. They provide a champion. The victor gains primary scheduling rights and biscuit tribute."

He paused, allowing the full gravity of the situation to settle over the room.

A soldier slowly raised his mug in a solemn toast.

"To biscuit tribute."

Several others raised theirs in response.

"So we’re fighting kids for playtime?" Garret asked, scratching his head.

"We’re upholding the honor of the Ironwood Guard," Aster stated, utterly serious. "Our reputation is at stake. Our biscuits are at stake. This is no laughing matter."

This only made the men laugh harder, but they quickly stifled it under Aster’s stern gaze.

"Who’s their champion gonna be?" Corin asked, perched on the edge of his bench.

"Logically, it will be their leader," Willem said, though he wasn’t there. The voice came from Kaelen, who had stopped sharpening his knife. Everyone turned to look at him. He shrugged one shoulder. "The red-haired girl. Millie. She’s the strategist."

"A little girl," Loren mused, rubbing his chin. "Tricky. Can’t hit her. Can’t scare her. She’s already declared war on a full captain. Fear is not in her vocabulary."

"She’s also the one who convinced everyone that Abel had been stolen from them," Corin added thoughtfully. "I wouldn’t underestimate her."

A few soldiers nodded, their amusement giving way to something resembling genuine respect. They had all seen Millie’s determination before. When that girl decided something belonged to her, she defended the claim with the confidence of a queen and the stubbornness of a mule.

"Our champion, as decided, is Captain Abel," Aster continued. "This presents both an advantage and a complication."

"The advantage is he’s ours and we love him," Jax boomed, earning nods all around.

"And he’ll probably win us the cookies," Rylan added.

Aster slowly turned his head toward him.

Rylan lowered his mug.

"I mean, we’ll support him regardless of the outcome."

"The complication," Kaelen said quietly, "is that he doesn’t know he’s in a war. And the challenges are a mystery. They could be anything. A race. A riddle. A staring contest. We can’t prepare him for what we don’t know."

Aster nodded. "Exactly. So our strategy cannot be to train Abel. Our strategy must be to support him. To be his... advisors. His second-in-commands. We make sure he shows up. We make sure he understands it’s a game. And we make sure he has fun."

"He always has fun playing," Jax said confidently.

"But this is different," Loren countered. "This is structured. There’s pressure. There’s an audience. Us. Them. He might get confused. He might think he’s doing something wrong if he loses."

Silence fell as they considered this. The image of Abel’s face clouding with disappointment was a sobering one.

The soldiers could endure bruises, exhausting drills, and Aster’s legendary punishments without much complaint. But the thought of their little captain looking at them with wounded eyes was another matter entirely.

Someone near the hearth quietly pushed the apple farther away from the edge of the table, as though even the fruit had become a symbol of their responsibility.

"Then we don’t let him lose," Aster said simply. "But we also don’t let the children lose. This isn’t a real war. It’s a... diplomatic engagement. The objective is mutual enjoyment and a fair treaty."

"So we cheat?" Rylan asked, hopeful.

"We do not cheat," Aster said, giving him a look that promised extra latrine duty. "We assist. Subtly. We are the... spirit of the regiment, standing behind our champion."

Rylan looked faintly disappointed by the distinction.

He apparently believed there were several perfectly reasonable interpretations of the word subtly, and none of them involved sitting quietly.

Aster began to pace. "Tomorrow. We meet at the orchard at eleven-hundred hours. Full dress uniform—clean tunics, brushed boots, all of it. We stand in formation behind Captain Abel. We look impressive. We look united. We are the might of the Ironwood Guard, assembled for a picnic battle."

The men straightened up, chests puffing out at the idea.

A few immediately began inspecting their sleeves. One soldier glanced down at his boots with the expression of a man who had just remembered several months of neglect.

"Loren, you’re on morale. You keep the energy light. Jax, you’re on provisions. Get cookies from the kitchen. The good ones. Not just for us. For them, too. A peace offering, regardless of outcome."

Jax saluted. "Yes, sir!"

He looked so delighted by his assignment that Aster briefly seemed to reconsider whether giving him responsibility for the cookies had been wise.

"Kaelen, you’re on observation. Watch the children. See how they interact with Abel. Their dynamic is the key to this. Corin, you’re our runner. If anything unexpected happens, you fetch Master Arlen or Lord Orion, immediately."

They all nodded, the plan settling into place.

Kaelen returned to sharpening his dagger, although the faint amusement at the corner of his mouth remained. Corin looked almost proud to have been entrusted with such an important role. Jax was already muttering about the kitchen’s best biscuit tin.

"What about the challenges, Captain?" someone asked.

"We adapt," Aster said. "We react. We trust our champion. And we remember the most important rule." He looked around at each of them, his gaze firm. "No one gets hurt. Not their feelings, not their pride. This ends with everyone smiling and sharing biscuits. Understood?"

A chorus of "Yes, Captain!" filled the room.

"Good. Dismissed. Get your uniforms ready. And for the love of the gods, someone wash Rylan. He still smells like the mud pit."

Rylan stared at him in betrayal.

"I was following orders!"

"And now you’re following them again."

Laughter followed him as he stood, muttering about the unfair treatment of decorated soldiers. The council broke apart, but the men left with the solemn determination of an army preparing for its most unusual campaign.

Tomorrow, the Ironwood Guard would march into battle.

And they would look magnificent doing it.

---

Meanwhile, in a dusty corner of the south courtyard, another war council was in session.

Millie sat on an upturned crate, her council arrayed on sacks of grain before her. A single stubby candle cast flickering shadows on their determined faces.

Unlike the guards, the South Courtyard Council had no ale, no benches, and no impressive fireplace. They had a candle, a notebook, and the kind of determination that could make an ordinary afternoon sound like a matter of national survival.

Lissy held Lady Rag tightly against her chest. Toben sat forward with both hands on his knees. Willem had already opened his notebook and was prepared to record every important decision.

"We have the advantage of surprise," Millie stated, her voice low and serious. "And home territory. The orchard is ours. We know every tree, every hiding spot."

"But they’re soldiers," Willem pointed out, his notebook open. "Their physical capabilities are superior. A direct physical contest is inadvisable."

"Which is why we won’t choose one," Millie said, a sly glint in her eye. "We choose our games. The games Brother Abel is best at."

Toben leaned forward. "Like what?"

Millie held up three fingers. "Challenge one: The Great Apple Balance. Who can walk the farthest along the low orchard wall without dropping their apple? Abel can do that. He’s got balance like a cat. Soldiers in big boots will wobble and fall."

Willem scribbled furiously. "Sound. Tests equilibrium, not brute strength."

He underlined the words twice, apparently convinced that the fate of their entire campaign depended on documenting the principle correctly.

"Challenge two," Millie continued. "The Whisper Chain. We line up, pass a secret message down the line by whisper. Last person has to say it out loud. Abel’s good at listening. Really good. Soldiers shout. They’ll mess it up."

Toben giggled at the thought of a line of grown soldiers leaning close together and whispering nonsense into one another’s ears.

Lissy, clutching Lady Rag, whispered something. Millie nodded.

"And challenge three," Millie said, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. "The Cookie Guess."

Toben’s eyes went wide. "Cookie?"

"Yes. Cookies."

For a moment, the entire council seemed to forget the military implications of their mission.

Millie held up one finger, restoring order.

"We blindfold them. We give them three different cookies to taste. They have to guess which is ginger, which is honey, which is oat. Abel knows cookies. He loves cookies. Those soldiers probably eat hardtack and call it food."

Toben looked horrified on behalf of every cookie in the kingdom that had ever been insulted by military rations.

It was a brilliant strategy. Not a single challenge relied on strength or speed. They relied on finesse, attention, and familiarity—all things Abel possessed in abundance, especially when he was relaxed and having fun.

"What if they get mad?" Toben asked, a hint of worry in his voice. "What if they say no?"

"They won’t," Millie said with absolute certainty. "They accepted the war. They have to play by our rules. That’s how it works. And if they try to change the games, we forfeit and tell Brother Abel they cheated. He won’t like that."

Willem paused his writing to consider this.

It was a checkmate. The children understood the true battlefield wasn’t the orchard; it was Abel’s affection. Whoever played fair and kept things fun would win his loyalty.

"We need to tell Brother Abel," Willem said, closing his notebook. "So he knows to come."

"No," Millie said firmly. "We don’t tell him it’s a war. We tell him it’s a special game day. With his friends the soldiers and his friends us. If we tell him it’s a contest, he might get nervous. He might think he has to win. We just tell him to come play."

The others nodded. It was wiser.

After all, Brother Abel wasn’t supposed to be a prize to be won. He was their friend, and the whole point was to spend time with him.

Millie seemed to understand that better than anyone.

"Tomorrow then," Millie said, blowing out the candle. "We meet at the old gnarled tree one hour before noon. We prepare the ground. And we win back our friend."

In the darkness, four small hands stacked together in the center of their circle.

"The South Courtyard Council," Millie whispered.

"Victory or cookies!" Toben whispered back.

They scattered into the night, their hearts pounding with the thrilling, secret weight of their mission. In rooms high in the manor, Abel slept peacefully, dreaming of wooden castles and ginger biscuits, completely unaware that he was the prized territory in tomorrow’s gentle, biscuit-fueled war.