Artemis and Caspian: The Spy

Chapter Eleven

"Should we exploit them?" a general asked as he watched the Calatinian Lady stalk back toward the direction of the castle.

"No," Cerberus whispered, keeping his voice low as he tracked Kendra himself. He had no need to break the peace agreement. The Lord was certain his superior army would wipe out the realm by the end of the month. This time needed to be spent doing much more important things.

"Have the soldiers start working on the camp's construction," he said casually, wiping the blood from his sword off on a shield from a fallen enemy warrior. "Have the tent from my visit with the King moved to the center. Clean it thoroughly. Build an extension. Furnish it with my trophies and possessions. I'll be using it as my base of operations." General Dagaric nodded sharply and disappeared into the mass of soldiers gathering behind Cerberus.

"You heard the Lord, get to it!"

The crowd shouted in response and got to work gathering supplies. Out of the two moon realms, Guilamountians weren't typically famous for their intelligence but the Lord was an exception, choosing to expertly bring supplies in from Guilamount while the Calatinian army was distracted by their initial attacks, hiding it in plain sight under Meridan's bushy canopy at the edge of the battlefield. More supplies would be on their way soon. Cerberus watched briefly as his people lugged tall beams from the woods, groaning under the labor. Others pulled canvas tarps from wagons, draping them delicately on the ground. It wasn't long before the sounds of hammers ringing against the earth echoed through the air, sharply stinging his ears. Low bellows of men shouting orders undercut the sound of women diligently calling for more supplies. A warrior with distinct Celestian tattoos fell as he walked, spilling an arm full of wood clumsily on the ground. A larger Guilamontian soldier stopped short behind him, grunting as he quickly balanced his load back precariously in his arms.

"Watch where you're going," he barked, kicking the other man swiftly in the back of the shin. The Celestian man stumbled forward, catching himself before he hit the ground. The Guilamontian just rolled his eyes and passed him by, shooting a disgusted glare once over his shoulder. The other man said nothing, just gathered back his supplies and kept going. Cerberus smiled. He knew he made the right choice attacking them first. Celestians were known for their cleverness and they all had figured out rather quickly that disobeying his total control ended painfully. They were also known for their fierce loyalty. With Lady Azura locked away under his thumb, they had no choice but to divert their undying loyalty onto him. He figured that's why they put up with the constant bullying from the bigger Guilamontian riff raff, for now. It wasn't a secret how much the soldiers from his homeland hated sharing the same air as the Celestians. They showed their displeasure with daily abuse like the incident he'd just witnessed. Unless it affected their performance, Cerberus really didn't consider it any of his concern. He had work to do. He flagged down a nearby soldier, struggling to tie some rope into place.

"Where's my trunk?"

The soldier looked at him a tad terrified and pointed at two more warriors carrying a large black trunk. Without acknowledging him further, Cerberus marched over to the women, signaling for them to put it down. When they did, he produced a key from around his neck hidden beneath his shirt and jammed it into the lock, opening it with a loud click. Rifling through old papers, Cerberus tried to ignore the stains the blood from his caked hands were making on their beige exteriors. He rolled his eyes when he finally hit the bottom. In his haste, he'd packed the trunk wrong. It was the only explanation why the blank paper was here instead of on top where it should have been. Grabbing a few pieces and a feather, he made his way out of the commotion to a nearby rock, sitting in the afternoon sun. It would have to do until his tent was ready. Sitting down, he realized a second dilemma. The feather was useless without ink. Sulking, he pushed himself up off the rock and jogged a few paces away, sticking the pen in a fresh pool of blood on the ground, not caring enough to notice who it used to belong to. He smirked as the red liquid caught the sunlight. If it was the blood of his enemies then he appreciated the irony. It would be used to write their downfall. Grabbing another abandoned shield, he sat down on the grass. It was time to strategize his victory.