February, week 4; 2 months after The Start of The End

“..if we add another wing here we could double capacity.”

“With triple the construction time. Where would we get the supplies?”

“We can send more raids. We need the space.”

The Golden Stag rubbed his temples as the two argued. Since construction started the debates had been never-ending. There were no weak opinions on the future of their home; the price had been too great to get here. Building a kingdom took time and passion, the same ingredients that bred division.

The Stag looked down, reviewing the plans on the table before him. The design of the Clinic was simple; a long stone building, built in two stories. Rough electrical and plumbing schematics were laid over the blueprints; drawn on transparent tracing paper used as an overlay. The architecture was practical, designed to hold up to a hundred patients at a time. This, however, was only a fraction of the Realm’s population, with more arriving each day. The woods suffered no shortage of manpower, but struggled with supplying its people.

Turning away from the table, The Stag gazed across the clearing. The opening was bathed in a golden light, with the pale blue of the sky visible above. Flowers grew along the edge, ringing the woods with a line of color. A light breeze blew through, and the songs of birds floated down from the trees. The people had decided early to make this their court; the centerpiece of their new home. Here they would vote on their future, and celebrate their successes.

Moving his attention to his people, The Stag watched as they worked. At the back of the clearing workers packed dirt and rubble into a small hill, forming a raised platform. To their right a squad of warriors reviewed bayonet drills, while a group of Does practiced archery beside them. The Silver Doe moved between them, shouting instructions to both groups. Glancing to The Stag she met his gaze, and he smiled. The Doe smiled back, and she gave one final command before moving to cross the clearing.

“…and what if the beds fill? Who’ll be responsible for turning them away? You?!”

The Stag turned back to the table, hearing the argument take a sharp turn. Two middle aged planners stood opposite of him, furiously debating the Clinic’s design. Both were dressed practically, with high-vis vests worn loosely over light blue coveralls. The Woodland Realm was one of few to have surviving engineers, and they had been instrumental in its construction. Rarely though did they agree on its details, and The Stag found himself devoting much of his time to resolving disputes.

“Rey is right about the materials.” The Stag interjected, silencing them both. “We’re already running low on stone, and our patrols have to go dangerously far to find more.”

Rey nodded victoriously at his partner, Phillip, who frowned.

“But sir-” Phillip started.

“You are also correct” The Stag said to Phillip “in that capacity is far too low. We are growing more rapidly than the clinic can handle. We already struggle to treat the wounded; too many have died since coming here.”

Both nodded seriously, before Rey spoke again “We can’t treat more people without more space.”

“No we cannot. But there is a compromise.” The Stag pointed to the back of the drawing, which led off towards the woods “The trees here are spread just enough to give us more space, while providing natural pillars. If we pave the ground and install mounting points, we could stretch waterproof fabric over the whole space like a tent. This would allow for more beds when needed, without building a more permanent structure.”

Both planners stared at the blueprints, deep in thought. “If we wired some outlets here and here…” Phillip’s voice drifted off as the two began to talk amongst themselves, working out the details.

“How goes the clinic?” The Silver Doe’s voice was cheerful as she appeared to The Stag’s left. He looked at her and smiled.

“Same as everything else: behind schedule.” The Stag put his left arm around her waist and gave her a quick kiss. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and the two watched the planners work.

“Looks like whatever you’re adding is going to help with the space problem.” The Doe gestured towards the rough sketches the planners had added, as they continued to fret over logistics

“It’s a start, but it’s still not enough. We’re gonna have to build a second one.”

There was a shout behind them, and they turned to see The Black Owl rushing over. The spymaster was dressed entirely in black, wearing a dark T-shirt and cargo pants over battered combat boots. He had a concerned look on his face, though that came as no surprise to The Stag. The Owl carried his concerns like a backpack; constantly visible, but zipped tight to hide their contents. Without him they would have never survived their journey, but The Stag worried at the cost. Concern was next door to paranoia, which stood mere steps from madness.

“He’s here sir.” The Owl blurted out as he reached them “The Herald of the Queen.”

The Stag frowned, letting go of the Silver Doe. “Where?”

“On the main trail; The Guardians delayed him just long enough to warn you.”

The Stag nodded, then walked towards the center of the clearing. Behind him The Owl and The Doe followed close behind. As they walked The Owl gestured to the training warriors, and several broke off to join them. Reaching the center The Stag halted, the warriors forming up alongside him. They were still wearing their training clothes, but had managed to grab their spears and shields along the way. The Stag looked to the closest warrior, who nodded at him.

A horn blasted outside the clearing, silencing all activity. A small man appeared at the entrance to the Court, escorted by two Guardians in full tactical gear. He was dressed opulently, wearing a gold brocade vest under a velvet burgundy blazer. Around his neck was a matching burgundy tie, while his feet gleamed with carefully shined leather. The ensemble was completed with a dark grey shirt and slacks, made of the finest silk. Before The Start of the End such attire would have been comical, but times had changed. The world had grown absurd, and such garb was commonplace.

The man bowed slightly to the trio, stopping 10 feet in front of The Stag. “Greetings Sire, I am-”

“The White Rabbit.” The Stag interrupted “We know.”

The Rabbit fidgeted, and The Stag caught a flash of amusement in his eyes. He smiled slightly before resuming his cold stare. Everything about the diplomat was a facade, and The Owl’s intel had been flawless. The Rabbit looked around awkwardly, and opened his mouth to speak. The Stag interrupted him before he could.

“You’re late.”

AUTHORS NOTE:

The first days of The Start of The End were a messy time, with little recorded of their exact details. Madness and warfare enveloped the land, and most societies suffered from complete breakdown. Reporters and news outlets attempted to capture what they could, but ultimately fell victim to the insanity. The historians and scholars that survived this time have warned of a “dark period”; a blank void in the recordings of history, where almost nothing is known. As the world has began to stabilize several researchers have attempted to remedy this, forming a corps of archivists which travel the globe. They have been granted near-universal support in this effort, with even the staunchest of enemies recognizing the importance of their project to future generations. They have gained the unique ability to travel through even the most war-torn regions, creating a much-needed written record. The only exception has been the great mesoamerican empire Aztlan, where multiple researchers have vanished without a trace.

Chapter 9 takes place six months after The Start of The End.