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narniaexchangeTitle: Passing Seasons
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nasimwrites
Recipient:jn208505
Rating: T
Content/Warnings: Violence, some dark themes.
Summary: “Here was once a land of joy and plenty, once torn apart by the Long Winter and now twice torn apart by those who dare call themselves saviors of Narnia.” Summer brings new challenges for the Pevensies.
Author’s Notes: Thank you, Janet, for being my beta even though it was on short notice!
This story was originally meant to be less than 16 pages in length, but it mutated and grew and is now over 100 pages in length and has nearly 60,000 words… I hope you don’t mind reading a novel-length fic!
Passing Seasons
Chapter 3
“You were very lucky, Sire,” said Dorick grimly, his long white beard jutting out as he sat on a stool near Peter’s chair. They were in Peter and Edmund’s tent that served as their quarters during the festival. “It was by a mere stroke of luck that one of the dogs smelled the bottle as it passed on its way to your tent.” He seemed to suppress a shiver. “Things could have gone much worse.”
“Yes, they could have,” said Peter grimly. He found himself holding his sheathed sword on his lap and gripping it tightly. The carving of the Lion on the hilt seemed to stare at him with sorrowful eyes. “We are fortunate that Paldin drank so little of the wine, though the healers say it is not likely that he will be able to fight during the Festival.” He groaned and put his head in his hands. “This is a political nightmare.”
“It does not have to be, though,” said King Lune in a low voice from where he sat opposite from Peter. His normally merry expression was clouded with concern, but there was kindness in his voice. “The situation is worrisome and potentially dangerous if not handled with care, but King Edmund made the right choice when he bade the healers to treat Paldin within the tent. The worst of his ailment was not seen by any other than Your Majesty’s people, and therefore a potential outbreak of panic on our allies’ part was averted.”
“His House, however, is another matter,” said Peter grimly.
“Thou mustn’t worry about Archenland, my friend,” said Lune. “Lord Paldin is a good man and will not hold Narnia responsible for the harm he has suffered. With careful words and skillful diplomacy, our alliances will hold and Narnia may emerge even stronger from this crisis. The true problem that thou facest at this time is another.”
“I am aware of that, yes,” said Peter grimly. “Someone has attempted to murder us and we do not know who it is.”
“And there are more suspects to take into account, I am afraid,” said Dorick, his voice lowered. “We may rule Archenland out, perhaps, but there are two other visiting nations surrounding us, and that is without considering the Narnians themselves… perhaps there are still remnants of the White Witch’s army wandering about undetected.”
“I doubt that they would have the organization to carry out such a well-planned strategy,” Peter said. “We have killed the last of the Witch’s generals and any who took part in her government. Those that we suspect remain are too fearful and weak to pose much of a threat, not even to village folk at this point.”
Dorick took a long draw from his pipe, his eyes grave. “Poison is a coward’s work,” he said gruffly. “And in wine, in an encampment of such magnitude, with so many people coming and going… discovering a criminal would be nearly impossible.”
“If I might make a suggestion,” King Lune put in, and his tone was grave. “Though it is hard for me to say, I must insist that thou dost not rule out my people. Though I trust each and every one of them with my life, even a King has faults in his judgment, and I would not have thy trust in my choices stand as a barrier between Narnia and safety.”
There was silence for a moment, and Peter nodded. “Very well, then. But if an investigation is to take place, it must be done with much care. I do not wish to alarm King Reghorius and the Calormene Princes. Should word come out that there is no safety in our realm, I shudder to think the consequences it might have, both on the Festival itself and on an international level.” He stood up and strapped the sword to his belt once more. “Come, let us join the others.”
Susan, Edmund and Lucy were waiting seated on a long table in the larger tent, along with the Galman King and both the Princes of Calormen. The mess from dinner had been cleared, and there were no signs of the disturbance the poison had caused. Lord Paldin had been moved to healers' tent, where the healers would care for him until his full recovery. The naiad that received Susan when she went to inquire about his state had explained that the symptoms he suffered of were consistent with Wolf's Bane poisoning, caused by the root of a plant that grew in many forests of Narnia.
The guards held open the flaps of the tent as Peter stepped in, followed by King Lune. He took a seat at the center of the table with his siblings on either side of him, and King Lune sat on one of the ends of the table.
"Your Lordships," Peter began. "It grieves me to strike council on such grave matters in a time meant for merriment and games, but circumstances have forced my hand, and my Royal Brother and Sisters and I shall attempt to lay to rest whatever questions Your Royal selves may have about what has come to pass during this day. I have heard that rumors have been circling as to the fate of our most esteemed Lord Paldin of Archenland, whom was sadly debilitated after consuming a substance we believe was harmful to his body. Our healers have assured us that he will fully recover in time, but regretfully he will not be able to continue participating in the tournaments. We are not sure how the substance made its way into our camp, but we assure you that we are taking careful measures to ensure that such a thing does not happen again."
"With your permission, High King," Prince Jarrash spoke up from his seat. "The land of Narnia is fair and full of enjoyment, and my kinsman and I have been quite charmed by the honor you have done us with the commodities you have provided. But I believe Your Majesty will understand when I humbly remark that it is worrisome for us to consider that a man was harmed within the confines of your very own household. Your Majesty surely has considered that this substance you speak of could only have reached the High King's table, which we know was shared by this ailing Lord you speak of, through unlawful means and with sinister intent?" His eyes glinted in the candlelight; it was dusk outside. "Assuredly it would have been easier for a criminal of this type to lay harm upon the man in his own household and not that of the Crowns of Narnia. Therefore the most logical conclusion, which I am sure Your Majesties Yourselves have come to, is that the poison was meant for you and not for the man who had the misfortune of drinking it."
There was silence around the table before Edmund spoke up.
“You are quite correct, Prince Jarrash,” he said. “We have considered these possibilities and, like my Royal Brother has explained, begun to take measures to ensure there is no danger, if this is the case.”
King Reghorius of Galma grunted from where he sat, a slight scowl hidden under his mustache. “I mean no disrespect, King Edmund,” he said, meeting Edmund’s gaze. “But it will take time and effort to discover the culprit of this murder attempt, should it prove to be such, and not an ill-fated mistake on the part of your people.” The last remark was rather snide, and Edmund did his best to keep his eyes from hardening and the implication that the Narnians would be fools enough to put Wolf's Bane into their wine. "My concern is for the safety of all of us who are guests under your care. An attempt took place today; how can we be sure that tomorrow it shall not succeed? Higher security measures can do little to stop a faceless criminal, particularly if his target could be any of us. Indeed, many would benefit from murdering any person seated at this table. Shall we begin to distrust even the water we are given to drink?"
"We understand your concern," Susan said suddenly. "Truly, it is a valid point. When our security is compromised it is sensible to wonder what else it as stake. But I believe it is reasonable to think that, should the incident indeed have a sinister motive, the criminal is targeting myself, my Sister and my Brothers only. You have all enjoyed the entirety of your meals earlier today and nobody else suffered any harm. Surely, had the intent been to target multiple nations, the attempt would have been carried out all at once?”
"Sir, none of us are more alarmed by what has happened than ourselves. After all, we nearly died this afternoon." Edmund's voice was calm but serious.
"It has been heard of that the culprit harms his own first in order to escape the blame," said Reghorius in a low voice, but all heard him. There was a somber silence.
"I do not believe it is befitting of a high rank to blatantly imply treason at the table of a host," said Ishamiel Tarkaan in a quiet voice, yet one that communicated harsh offence.
King Reghorius clenched his teeth angrily, and the mood at the table darkened threateningly. But King Lune spoke up just in time.
"My friends, it is a particularly delicate situation, I am afraid," he said, his voice calm and friendly despite the tension that surrounded him. "Especially given the presence of monarchy from various nations. Let us not submit to blind fear or distrust in this moment, but rather consider the reality of the situation. This faceless criminal may be of Narnian origin, but also may very well be any of our own people. No amount of trust can ensure that there is not one in our party that secretly harbors treason, or hatred towards Narnia, and no one is at fault if such a thing has occurred other than the traitor himself. Rather, I believe we must work together to keep peace and harmony among our people and ensure that the Festival remains what it is meant to be: a friendly gathering of all countries, to share and learn from each other in joy and merriment."
His words seemed to diffuse the tense atmosphere, and Susan exhaled a quiet breath of relief. Most of the anger and suspicion had been erased from the faces of those present, and was replaced with thoughtful, if rather grim, looks.
"Thank you, King Lune," said Peter with a grateful smile. "Your words are most inspiring. It is also important to take into account that this may have been purely an isolated act, and that the culprit has left us already and run. The danger may very well be past us. I encourage us all to take part in the festivities and fear not; for like dumb beasts, criminals can smell fear and take advantage of it. All Kings and Queens have enemies; this has not stopped us from succeeding in our endeavors. Measures shall be taken, but the festivities will not be stopped." He turned to the King of Galma. "You and your family may eat and drink all you wish and have no fear."
//
"Are you sure, Peter?" Susan asked in a hushed voice as Edmund and Lucy walked away to explain to the guards the new security measures that would be taken. The meeting had been adjourned, and the Kings and Princes had left towards their tents, where supper would be served. The music outside had begun once more, and there was much laughter and merriment, contrasting with the somber expressions on Peter and Susan's faces as they spoke in the shadows of the large tent.
"Are we not giving the wrong message by retreating? The others might feel that we are placing them in between us and whatever danger exists."
"It is a risk we are going to have to take," Peter said grimly. "We cannot risk something happening to all four of us. By moving you and Lucy to the palace, we show that we are caring for your protection, and the others will see proof of our security being heightened. There might be better trust among our allies, and our enemy, if he is still here, might be discouraged from another attempt."
Susan sighed and glanced furtively around them before speaking again. "Do you really think there will be another?"
Peter clenched his jaw. "I'm hoping not, but part of me suspects that he will try again. If he had the means to reach us the first time, Aslan knows he has the means to do so a second."
"I will watch over Lucy," she murmured. "The garrison shall keep anything unwanted from entering the palace or accessing our meals, and I shall instruct our handmaidens to be watchful." She put a hand on Peter's arm as he stared off into space, a worried frown on his face. "We shall be fine, Peter. It is you I am concerned about."
"We cannot leave the Festival. To do so would be abandoning our own people and our guests. I can watch over Edmund, and Oreius already has his orders. Nothing will be left without inspection."
"I believe Edmund can care after himself," Susan said with a slight smile on her face. "He grows older by the day; his manner of conducting himself is truly worthy of respect."
Peter shook his head. "He's still young. Don't let his manner fool you."
"Not much younger than you and I," she said. "I think what happened... with the Witch... it has made him mature. Sometimes I feel he knows more than I do."
"It doesn't mean he doesn't need defending," said Peter. "He doesn't let on, but I know he still suffers. What happened took a toll on him, and not all of the effects were positive."
He held her gaze for a moment and then gave her a curt nod, walking away. Susan stood for a moment in the shadows and took a deep breath, gazing at the bright orange light that bounced off the trunks of the trees nearby and the sides of the tents, giving everything a golden glow. It seemed the dancing had begun; she could see the shadows of Fauns and dryads holding hands as they skipped around the clearing. The merry pipes and fiddles nearly drowned out the distant sound of the crashing waves, and something stirred in her heart. There was a kind of yearning that the Fauns created with every song they played: a mournful nostalgia, a joy born from things she had forgotten. It was music that made her laugh and dance, but deep in her heart, almost made her want to cry. “Joy and sadness are fruits from the same tree,” an old Faun had once told her, long ago, the first time she had ever heard them play like this. “One must feel a little of both in order to be able to feel at all. To feel truly alive.”
She sighed. The feeling was one she felt only Lucy could understand out of the four of them. There were many things in Narnia she had yet to comprehend, things that no amount of history lessons in Cair Paravel could explain, things she wondered if she would ever come to understand.
Turning, she looked in the opposite direction of that from where the music was coming. She could see the distant peaks of the mountains that stood between them and Archenland, a dark silhouette against the twilight sky. Perhaps whoever had poisoned the wine had long retreated in that direction; perhaps he was hiding in the forests, running towards whichever hole he had come from.
She heard footsteps and watched as three Tarkaans passed her, a few tents away. She couldn’t remember their names. They didn’t see her where she stood, but she caught the glimmer of the firelight on the points of the helmets that rose from under their colored turbans, and the glint of their dark eyes as they looked around them.
There were so many people in the Festival, it would be impossible to tell who might be a criminal. Maybe the choice to have it take place had been a mistake. Maybe Narnia wasn’t ready for a crisis of this sort. There were too many things at stake.
“But when, then?” she murmured to herself. “Will we ever be ready?”
Susan sighed. They were literally surrounded by suspects, and somebody in the joyful occasion meant to murder all four of them. They were never truly safe. She didn’t believe she ran the risk of anyone sneaking up to them from behind and slitting their throats, but if they had begun at poison, no one knew how sly they might become. All they could do was trust their own judgment and hope for the best. Aslan’s blessings would protect them… or so she hoped.
Looking around her, she caught sight of two centaurs standing silently nearby. She realized they were meant to guard her. They were subtle and if it were possible for a centaur to go unnoticed, they would. She hoped Oreius’ defenses would hold.
//
The crowd erupted in cheers as the knights entered the lists, wielding swords and shields with their coat of arms emblazoned upon them. Archenland and Calormen were going to meet in a melee fight, with three knights on either side. The banners of both countries had been raised up on either side of the roped area, depicting Tash and the cross respectively. On these ends were the galleries of each kingdom: King Lune sat laughing in seat, cheerfully talking and sharing flagons of mead with a Talking Bear with whom he seemed to have become friends. All around him the delegation that had come with him from Anvard cheered and waved their colors in flags and ribbons, and many of the Narnians and Galmans had joined in that side of the crowd.
On the opposite end sat Prince Jarrash, his golden turban shining like true gold as he sipped his wine, a small smile on his bearded face as he conversed with Alimash Tarkaan, who had won the jousting match earlier that day and was now sitting beside the Crown Prince. Ishamiel Tarkaan also sat near his half brother, but seemed more immersed in enjoying his surroundings than striking conversation with anybody. Even the Calormenes, who had initially seemed extremely suspicious of any Narnians, seemed to have made some friends, as a Dwarf or two and a few dryads could be seen speaking to both the Tarkaans and the slaves, who were positioned lower on the gallery, yet were the loudest of all when cheering. Only those who were serving their masters were silent and subdued. The other servants who had come in their ship waved flags in the air and shouted phrases in the old Calormene Tongue to applaud their knights. Even Lord Bar, absent from the Archenland gallery, seemed to be present among the Calormenes, nearly hidden by the mass of people.
Between both parties, on opposite sides, were the Galman delegation and most of the Narnians. King Reghorius looked slightly drunk, and therefore seemed more pleasant than usual, laughing and making loud remarks to his wife, who sat meekly at his side, her eyes downcast. The Galmans were not all present, some of them having elected to participate in other activities outside of the tiltyard, but those who wished to watch, or were obliged to watch out of respect, sat mostly cheerful, sharing drinks and making bets among each other.
On the Narnian side, Peter and Susan sat watching the knights in the lists, eating fruit from yet another dish that the Trees had offered them. Around them, many creatures laughed and made bets, arguing over which knights were the most skillful and who was most likely to win. Some of the Fauns had even attempted to bring in more music, but they were swiftly hushed, as it was not the right moment to entertain. Edmund had left earlier to join in a chess tournament, and Lucy could be found walking arm in arm with Prince Cadoc of Galma and Mr. Tumnus, occasionally joined by a dryad or two, cheering for both sides.
Lord Dar, Lord Darrin and Lord Cole represented Archenland. Dar and Darrin were not twins, but they certainly looked as if they were, their faces stern and determined as they drew their swords and pulled down their helmet visors. Beside them, Cole, the youngest knight, gave a fierce grin as he did the same.
On the opposing side stood Ilgamuth Tarkaan, Khalid Tarkaan and Masud Tarkaan, wearing blue turbans and long scimitars, which they drew in unison. Ilgamuth, vulgarly known as Ilgamuth of the Twisted Lip, though no one knew the reason for the scar that crossed his features, bared his teeth as they faced the others. Khalid was the heaviest of them all, his arms and chest large and muscular, while Masud was the eldest and thinnest, yet his skill was noticeable from the moment his blade was drawn. The Calormene did not use visors on their helmets, but after the prowess they had demonstrated in earlier matches, nobody doubted that both parties were on equal footing.
Combat began with a clash of swords, and battle cries from the knights, nearly drowned out by the cheers from the spectators around them. Ilgamuth quickly pushed Dar against the edge of the lists, his sword striking mercilessly here and there until all Dar was able to do was defend himself against the attack. But Cole’s youth and speedy footing protected him from Masud’s skillful swordsmanship, and he managed to dodge every blow, quickly retaliating with well planned strikes. Khalid and Darrin seemed evenly matched as the fight began, but it quickly became obvious that Darrin would not be able to hold off the Tarkaan much longer. The Archenlanders cheered and shouted advice to their knights, while the Calormenes did the same, though with considerably more glee as they realized their men were at an advantage.
But Dar seemed to have a plan, even as he warded off Khalid’s blows and attempted to strike back viciously. He jumped backwards until he was well positioned between the other two fighting pairs, and he yelled out something to Cole which was drowned out for the ears of the spectators by the cheering on either side. But Cole seemed to understand, and soon both knights were back to back as they warded off their opponents. And in a blink of an eye, they turned and switched, even as their opponents mustered the force to bring down their swords.
With a clash of metal, Archenland was leading. Dar fought Masud fiercely, blocking the Tarkaan’s every move and forcing the man back against the ropes that marked the lists, drawing near to his brother, who was struggling to keep his shield up against Ilgamuth, who had managed to hit his sword against his shoulder, which thankfully merely bounced off the armor. On the opposite end of the lists, Cole was no match for Khalid, who was much too heavy to keep up with the young knight’s speed and quickly became overwhelmed, barely blocking his blows until, barely two minutes later, he kneeled defeated before the Archenland knight. The stands erupted in cheers and the frantic waving of the Archenland flag, as Cole rushed to his fellow knights’ aid.
But Darrin could only ward off the attack for so long, and Cole was too late. Ilgamuth gave a small, twisted grin as he overtook his opponent, forcing Darrin to stumble and fall against the ropes, eliciting gleeful shouts from the Calormene side as Archenland lost their first knight, leaving both sides evenly matched once more. The Narnians were beside themselves with excitement, unsure as to who was going to win.
Ilgamuth turned to Cole and they were soon at each other, their swords clashing against each other’s shields as they moved quickly, ducking and parrying. Dar hit Masud’s arm, his sword bouncing off the Tarkaan’s mail but weakening his grip, and Masud’s shield was inadvertently lowered; taking advantage of this, Dar quickly disarmed Masud and with a few quick strikes, ensured Archenland’s victory as Masud was forced to leave the fight. Skillful and fierce as he was, Ilgamuth knew when he was outnumbered, and though he tried his best to keep up with both Cole and Dar, there was only so much he could do. Even so, Ilgamuth Tarkaan managed to draw the fight out an additional five minutes, which was incredibly impressive given the fact that he was fighting two skilled knights at once. When he finally yielded, the round of applause and cheers were truly meant for both Archenland and Ilgamuth Tarkaan’s skill on the field. Peter secretly hoped it would never come to a war with Calormen; a few more men like Ilgamuth and he wasn’t sure if they would be able to win.
Narnia faced Archenland later that day in melee combat, Peridan, Inckarik and Ekhar narrowly managing to defeat the Archenland knights, though one-on-one combat followed and Sarius lost dismally to Ishamiel Tarkaan, whose skill with the blade was almost frightening. A joust followed, with Lord Galen of Narnia triumphing over Lord Bar of Archenland, which drew the more important fights of the day to a close. Yet an archery contest took place, and a Dwarf was declared champion of chess for the day, which brought much pride (and beer) to the dwarves of his clan.
By the time it was nearing supper hour and the sky was slowly darkening, Lucy was exhausted from all the walking and laughing. Mr. Tumnus had gone to meet with some of his friends, and she was having her windswept hair braided by her dryad handmaiden, Klaia, sitting on some chairs by an abandoned table where some badgers had been playing with dice earlier that day.
She smiled as she smelled the smoke of lamb being roasted somewhere nearby, and listened to the sounds of many people speaking amongst each other near the tents a bit farther off. She smoothed her deep red dress; it was in a surprisingly good state, given that she had roamed near almost the entire camp earlier. Cadoc had proven a very pleasant and friendly companion, and actually quite amusingly humorous when he felt comfortable enough. She hoped the fun that they had had during the day would be enough to clear the young Prince’s mind from his worries regarding his father.
Lucy couldn’t help but smile with amusement at the thought of her mother’s face if she could see them where they were now: Kings and Queens of an entire nation. Would her mother believe them if they told her? Most probably not.
She felt the familiar sadness in her heart and quickly turned her thoughts to more cheerful matters. Though she felt Narnia was her home and had never felt otherwise, she knew there was a part of her that still remembered the feelings of that old life. And those feelings could turn painful if she lingered in them too much.
Klaia’s soft fingers were halfway done with braiding Lucy’s hair when a kingfisher suddenly appeared, flapping its wings wildly as it landed on the table near them.
“Queen Lucy!” it cried frantically. “Forgive me, but we need your help!”
“What is it?” she exclaimed in concern. Klaia stopped braiding.
The poor little kingfisher seemed to have been flying as fast as it could, and it was very nearly out of breath. “There… there is a hare running this way, Your Majesty,” it said. “It looks terribly ill and I am afraid it might die of exhaustion before reaching the camp!”
Instantly Lucy was on her feet, her half-braided hair cascading down her back. “Show me,” she said, and with Klaia following closely behind, they ran after the flying bird. Lucy heard the noise of galloping hooves and turned her head to see a centaur and Witrow following closely behind; they must have been the guards assigned to protect her.
They soon reached the edge of the camp, where the only noise that could be heard was the faint murmur of distant activity from the tents beyond. Before her, Lucy could see the road stretching back over the hills towards the rest of Narnia, and the trees that reached out on either side. The little bird was flying ahead of them towards the top of the hill, where the cluster of trees grew thicker.
“Hurry, Your Majesty!” it cried.
Lucy moved to follow it and suddenly felt a hand on her arm hold her back.
“Nay, Your Highness should remain here,” said the centaur’s rumbling voice. “It could be anything.”
“Somebody is injured!” she pleaded. “I must go help them!”
“Forgive me, my Queen, but I cannot allow that. I shall go ahead and retrieve them and I request that you remain here with the leopard, where you may be safe.”
Lucy bit back a growl of frustration. He was right; as helpless as it made her feel, her responsibility was with her country and she could not disregard her brother’s orders, especially not after what had happened.
She gave a resigned nod, and the centaur took off at a gallop towards the top of the hill. Beside her, Witrow’s ears were pressed flat against his head, his greenish brown eyes wide and watchful.
“Oh dear, I hope it isn’t too hurt,” Lucy said helplessly. “I cannot spare another drop of my cordial, but it breaks my heart to deny it to someone… I wonder what happened; why was it running this way?”
“Perhaps it was a part of the festival and got lost,” said Klaia softly. “That is, if it is a young hare. If not, perhaps it is being pursued by something.”
“I don’t trust those blue birds,” Witrow growled from where he crouched. “Flighty little things. Should know to take up the issue with the Guard and not with the Queen; especially given the circumstances.”
Lucy held back a smile. It seemed that Witrow didn’t trust anyone but his own kind, and even then, she had doubts he might be comfortable. But another idea hit her, and her eyes widened with fear. “Witrow, what if it is a trap?”
The large cat’s eyes flitted to hers before this ears moved, pointing to the direction in which the centaur had disappeared. “There’s no sound of a struggle, Your Majesty,” he said. “And no centaur would go down without a fight.”
Lucy was pale. “Perhaps we ought to fetch my brothers,” she said. “Klaia-”
But she stopped speaking as the centaur’s figure appeared, dark against the sunset, riding down the side of the hill. There was something small cradled in his arms. No sword was drawn, and the kingfisher was flying above his large head, looping in large circles, twittering wildly.
Lucy couldn’t help running forwards to meet the centaur on the path, reaching out to look at the bundle he held in his arms.
“The bird was right,” said the centaur in his rumbling voice. “It’s a young hare, fainted on the side of the road just as I reached him.”
He kneeled as she stood on tiptoes to see the Talking Animal. Its ears and paws were covered in scratches and cuts, and its fur was matted with mud, leaves and pieces of grass. Lucy thought she could see a thorn stuck painfully into its forepaw. Its eyes were closed, and it barely seemed to breathe at all.
//
The four of them met for supper in Peter and Edmund’s tent. Lucy and Susan were then to be escorted back to the Cair until the next morning.
“The hare is not likely to wake until tomorrow morning,” said Lucy as she ate the last few spoonfuls of her meal.
“He probably just got a fright,” Edmund replied. “I just hope no rumors have been circling within the camp.”
“I am sure there have been,” said Susan. “But there are rumors all the time. I fear less the reaction of our people than I do the fact that we know nothing yet of our murderous enemy.”
There was silence as they all finished supper, broken only by the sound of crickets in the grass outside and occasional footsteps passing. The two centaurs standing guard outside were noiseless, but Edmund could see their shadows thrown against the wall of the tent.
Peter shook his head slightly as he set his spoon down on the table. “There is no clue as to who is the culprit. The casket from which the poisoned bottle was taken was positioned among many others, all of which had been opened yesterday morning for inspection. The dog we were so fortunate to have warn us explored the site in an attempt to catch the scent of the culprit, but the amount of people who have been circulating the area is too high and it was impossible to pick out a single scent from it. The dryad who served it was overtaken with grief at the thought that she may have been responsible for our deaths if things had not gone the way they did, but she had entered that tent for the very first time that day, only having arrived at the Festival yesterday morning. The Goddess Pomona has vouched for her.” He sighed. “It is strange. This does not seem to me the work of those who acted in the name of the Witch. It is sly, it is calculated and subtle, and they seem to have allies within the festival.”
“It is not our own that worry me the most,” said Susan, lowering her voice so that only her siblings would hear her. “I do not fear treason from Archenland, nor do I believe Galma or Calormen would be so bold as to strike at us in this manner, at this time, while they sleep on our land. But every country has its own criminals, and there are more personal feuds that can have equally fatal consequences.”
“To strike on the very first day, though?” Lucy sounded skeptical. Her expression was more serious than Edmund remembered seeing it in a long time. “I would have thought they would wish to ensure a passage back home and not risk more opportunities to be caught.”
“Perhaps it gives space for further attempts?”
“A single man does not think in this way,” said Peter, leaning back in his seat. “Lucy is right. The strategy, the timing… it does not make any sense.”
“Well, the drinks are now thoroughly inspected before being served, and so is the food. It will be very hard to fool Talking Beasts. Our guards are keeping close watch on the tents, and the girls will be moving to the Cair during the nights. I do not believe there is much more we can do,” said Edmund.
“A coward’s work, said Dorick,” Peter murmured.
Lucy smiled. “Then with the Guard at our heels nearly every moment, I doubt there is yet any danger.” She turned to Susan. “Come, sister. A long day awaits us tomorrow, and the dwarves of the Hill Caves have promised us warm bread for breakfast if we rise early enough!”
They departed with hugs and smiles despite the weightiness of their previous conversation. As Susan and Lucy left through the flaps of the tent and they heard the guards assigned to escort them back to the safety of the palace approach, a Faun entered and took the trays of dishes they had left behind. The Kings began to remove their clothes before bed.
Edmund felt exhausted. Though he himself hadn’t participated in any of the tourneys, the mental stress of constant awareness of what happened around them and the prolonged concentration that the chess matches he had partaken in during the day had left him feeling weak and drained. His belt slid to the floor off the chair from which he had hung it, and he couldn’t bring himself to bend down to pick it up. Instead, he pulled the blankets off the cot that had been set out for him and was soon buried under the crisp sheets, feeling as if his entire body was sinking into the mattress underneath him.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Author:
nasimwritesRecipient:
jn208505Rating: T
Content/Warnings: Violence, some dark themes.
Summary: “Here was once a land of joy and plenty, once torn apart by the Long Winter and now twice torn apart by those who dare call themselves saviors of Narnia.” Summer brings new challenges for the Pevensies.
Author’s Notes: Thank you, Janet, for being my beta even though it was on short notice!
This story was originally meant to be less than 16 pages in length, but it mutated and grew and is now over 100 pages in length and has nearly 60,000 words… I hope you don’t mind reading a novel-length fic!
Chapter 3
“You were very lucky, Sire,” said Dorick grimly, his long white beard jutting out as he sat on a stool near Peter’s chair. They were in Peter and Edmund’s tent that served as their quarters during the festival. “It was by a mere stroke of luck that one of the dogs smelled the bottle as it passed on its way to your tent.” He seemed to suppress a shiver. “Things could have gone much worse.”
“Yes, they could have,” said Peter grimly. He found himself holding his sheathed sword on his lap and gripping it tightly. The carving of the Lion on the hilt seemed to stare at him with sorrowful eyes. “We are fortunate that Paldin drank so little of the wine, though the healers say it is not likely that he will be able to fight during the Festival.” He groaned and put his head in his hands. “This is a political nightmare.”
“It does not have to be, though,” said King Lune in a low voice from where he sat opposite from Peter. His normally merry expression was clouded with concern, but there was kindness in his voice. “The situation is worrisome and potentially dangerous if not handled with care, but King Edmund made the right choice when he bade the healers to treat Paldin within the tent. The worst of his ailment was not seen by any other than Your Majesty’s people, and therefore a potential outbreak of panic on our allies’ part was averted.”
“His House, however, is another matter,” said Peter grimly.
“Thou mustn’t worry about Archenland, my friend,” said Lune. “Lord Paldin is a good man and will not hold Narnia responsible for the harm he has suffered. With careful words and skillful diplomacy, our alliances will hold and Narnia may emerge even stronger from this crisis. The true problem that thou facest at this time is another.”
“I am aware of that, yes,” said Peter grimly. “Someone has attempted to murder us and we do not know who it is.”
“And there are more suspects to take into account, I am afraid,” said Dorick, his voice lowered. “We may rule Archenland out, perhaps, but there are two other visiting nations surrounding us, and that is without considering the Narnians themselves… perhaps there are still remnants of the White Witch’s army wandering about undetected.”
“I doubt that they would have the organization to carry out such a well-planned strategy,” Peter said. “We have killed the last of the Witch’s generals and any who took part in her government. Those that we suspect remain are too fearful and weak to pose much of a threat, not even to village folk at this point.”
Dorick took a long draw from his pipe, his eyes grave. “Poison is a coward’s work,” he said gruffly. “And in wine, in an encampment of such magnitude, with so many people coming and going… discovering a criminal would be nearly impossible.”
“If I might make a suggestion,” King Lune put in, and his tone was grave. “Though it is hard for me to say, I must insist that thou dost not rule out my people. Though I trust each and every one of them with my life, even a King has faults in his judgment, and I would not have thy trust in my choices stand as a barrier between Narnia and safety.”
There was silence for a moment, and Peter nodded. “Very well, then. But if an investigation is to take place, it must be done with much care. I do not wish to alarm King Reghorius and the Calormene Princes. Should word come out that there is no safety in our realm, I shudder to think the consequences it might have, both on the Festival itself and on an international level.” He stood up and strapped the sword to his belt once more. “Come, let us join the others.”
Susan, Edmund and Lucy were waiting seated on a long table in the larger tent, along with the Galman King and both the Princes of Calormen. The mess from dinner had been cleared, and there were no signs of the disturbance the poison had caused. Lord Paldin had been moved to healers' tent, where the healers would care for him until his full recovery. The naiad that received Susan when she went to inquire about his state had explained that the symptoms he suffered of were consistent with Wolf's Bane poisoning, caused by the root of a plant that grew in many forests of Narnia.
The guards held open the flaps of the tent as Peter stepped in, followed by King Lune. He took a seat at the center of the table with his siblings on either side of him, and King Lune sat on one of the ends of the table.
"Your Lordships," Peter began. "It grieves me to strike council on such grave matters in a time meant for merriment and games, but circumstances have forced my hand, and my Royal Brother and Sisters and I shall attempt to lay to rest whatever questions Your Royal selves may have about what has come to pass during this day. I have heard that rumors have been circling as to the fate of our most esteemed Lord Paldin of Archenland, whom was sadly debilitated after consuming a substance we believe was harmful to his body. Our healers have assured us that he will fully recover in time, but regretfully he will not be able to continue participating in the tournaments. We are not sure how the substance made its way into our camp, but we assure you that we are taking careful measures to ensure that such a thing does not happen again."
"With your permission, High King," Prince Jarrash spoke up from his seat. "The land of Narnia is fair and full of enjoyment, and my kinsman and I have been quite charmed by the honor you have done us with the commodities you have provided. But I believe Your Majesty will understand when I humbly remark that it is worrisome for us to consider that a man was harmed within the confines of your very own household. Your Majesty surely has considered that this substance you speak of could only have reached the High King's table, which we know was shared by this ailing Lord you speak of, through unlawful means and with sinister intent?" His eyes glinted in the candlelight; it was dusk outside. "Assuredly it would have been easier for a criminal of this type to lay harm upon the man in his own household and not that of the Crowns of Narnia. Therefore the most logical conclusion, which I am sure Your Majesties Yourselves have come to, is that the poison was meant for you and not for the man who had the misfortune of drinking it."
There was silence around the table before Edmund spoke up.
“You are quite correct, Prince Jarrash,” he said. “We have considered these possibilities and, like my Royal Brother has explained, begun to take measures to ensure there is no danger, if this is the case.”
King Reghorius of Galma grunted from where he sat, a slight scowl hidden under his mustache. “I mean no disrespect, King Edmund,” he said, meeting Edmund’s gaze. “But it will take time and effort to discover the culprit of this murder attempt, should it prove to be such, and not an ill-fated mistake on the part of your people.” The last remark was rather snide, and Edmund did his best to keep his eyes from hardening and the implication that the Narnians would be fools enough to put Wolf's Bane into their wine. "My concern is for the safety of all of us who are guests under your care. An attempt took place today; how can we be sure that tomorrow it shall not succeed? Higher security measures can do little to stop a faceless criminal, particularly if his target could be any of us. Indeed, many would benefit from murdering any person seated at this table. Shall we begin to distrust even the water we are given to drink?"
"We understand your concern," Susan said suddenly. "Truly, it is a valid point. When our security is compromised it is sensible to wonder what else it as stake. But I believe it is reasonable to think that, should the incident indeed have a sinister motive, the criminal is targeting myself, my Sister and my Brothers only. You have all enjoyed the entirety of your meals earlier today and nobody else suffered any harm. Surely, had the intent been to target multiple nations, the attempt would have been carried out all at once?”
"Sir, none of us are more alarmed by what has happened than ourselves. After all, we nearly died this afternoon." Edmund's voice was calm but serious.
"It has been heard of that the culprit harms his own first in order to escape the blame," said Reghorius in a low voice, but all heard him. There was a somber silence.
"I do not believe it is befitting of a high rank to blatantly imply treason at the table of a host," said Ishamiel Tarkaan in a quiet voice, yet one that communicated harsh offence.
King Reghorius clenched his teeth angrily, and the mood at the table darkened threateningly. But King Lune spoke up just in time.
"My friends, it is a particularly delicate situation, I am afraid," he said, his voice calm and friendly despite the tension that surrounded him. "Especially given the presence of monarchy from various nations. Let us not submit to blind fear or distrust in this moment, but rather consider the reality of the situation. This faceless criminal may be of Narnian origin, but also may very well be any of our own people. No amount of trust can ensure that there is not one in our party that secretly harbors treason, or hatred towards Narnia, and no one is at fault if such a thing has occurred other than the traitor himself. Rather, I believe we must work together to keep peace and harmony among our people and ensure that the Festival remains what it is meant to be: a friendly gathering of all countries, to share and learn from each other in joy and merriment."
His words seemed to diffuse the tense atmosphere, and Susan exhaled a quiet breath of relief. Most of the anger and suspicion had been erased from the faces of those present, and was replaced with thoughtful, if rather grim, looks.
"Thank you, King Lune," said Peter with a grateful smile. "Your words are most inspiring. It is also important to take into account that this may have been purely an isolated act, and that the culprit has left us already and run. The danger may very well be past us. I encourage us all to take part in the festivities and fear not; for like dumb beasts, criminals can smell fear and take advantage of it. All Kings and Queens have enemies; this has not stopped us from succeeding in our endeavors. Measures shall be taken, but the festivities will not be stopped." He turned to the King of Galma. "You and your family may eat and drink all you wish and have no fear."
//
"Are you sure, Peter?" Susan asked in a hushed voice as Edmund and Lucy walked away to explain to the guards the new security measures that would be taken. The meeting had been adjourned, and the Kings and Princes had left towards their tents, where supper would be served. The music outside had begun once more, and there was much laughter and merriment, contrasting with the somber expressions on Peter and Susan's faces as they spoke in the shadows of the large tent.
"Are we not giving the wrong message by retreating? The others might feel that we are placing them in between us and whatever danger exists."
"It is a risk we are going to have to take," Peter said grimly. "We cannot risk something happening to all four of us. By moving you and Lucy to the palace, we show that we are caring for your protection, and the others will see proof of our security being heightened. There might be better trust among our allies, and our enemy, if he is still here, might be discouraged from another attempt."
Susan sighed and glanced furtively around them before speaking again. "Do you really think there will be another?"
Peter clenched his jaw. "I'm hoping not, but part of me suspects that he will try again. If he had the means to reach us the first time, Aslan knows he has the means to do so a second."
"I will watch over Lucy," she murmured. "The garrison shall keep anything unwanted from entering the palace or accessing our meals, and I shall instruct our handmaidens to be watchful." She put a hand on Peter's arm as he stared off into space, a worried frown on his face. "We shall be fine, Peter. It is you I am concerned about."
"We cannot leave the Festival. To do so would be abandoning our own people and our guests. I can watch over Edmund, and Oreius already has his orders. Nothing will be left without inspection."
"I believe Edmund can care after himself," Susan said with a slight smile on her face. "He grows older by the day; his manner of conducting himself is truly worthy of respect."
Peter shook his head. "He's still young. Don't let his manner fool you."
"Not much younger than you and I," she said. "I think what happened... with the Witch... it has made him mature. Sometimes I feel he knows more than I do."
"It doesn't mean he doesn't need defending," said Peter. "He doesn't let on, but I know he still suffers. What happened took a toll on him, and not all of the effects were positive."
He held her gaze for a moment and then gave her a curt nod, walking away. Susan stood for a moment in the shadows and took a deep breath, gazing at the bright orange light that bounced off the trunks of the trees nearby and the sides of the tents, giving everything a golden glow. It seemed the dancing had begun; she could see the shadows of Fauns and dryads holding hands as they skipped around the clearing. The merry pipes and fiddles nearly drowned out the distant sound of the crashing waves, and something stirred in her heart. There was a kind of yearning that the Fauns created with every song they played: a mournful nostalgia, a joy born from things she had forgotten. It was music that made her laugh and dance, but deep in her heart, almost made her want to cry. “Joy and sadness are fruits from the same tree,” an old Faun had once told her, long ago, the first time she had ever heard them play like this. “One must feel a little of both in order to be able to feel at all. To feel truly alive.”
She sighed. The feeling was one she felt only Lucy could understand out of the four of them. There were many things in Narnia she had yet to comprehend, things that no amount of history lessons in Cair Paravel could explain, things she wondered if she would ever come to understand.
Turning, she looked in the opposite direction of that from where the music was coming. She could see the distant peaks of the mountains that stood between them and Archenland, a dark silhouette against the twilight sky. Perhaps whoever had poisoned the wine had long retreated in that direction; perhaps he was hiding in the forests, running towards whichever hole he had come from.
She heard footsteps and watched as three Tarkaans passed her, a few tents away. She couldn’t remember their names. They didn’t see her where she stood, but she caught the glimmer of the firelight on the points of the helmets that rose from under their colored turbans, and the glint of their dark eyes as they looked around them.
There were so many people in the Festival, it would be impossible to tell who might be a criminal. Maybe the choice to have it take place had been a mistake. Maybe Narnia wasn’t ready for a crisis of this sort. There were too many things at stake.
“But when, then?” she murmured to herself. “Will we ever be ready?”
Susan sighed. They were literally surrounded by suspects, and somebody in the joyful occasion meant to murder all four of them. They were never truly safe. She didn’t believe she ran the risk of anyone sneaking up to them from behind and slitting their throats, but if they had begun at poison, no one knew how sly they might become. All they could do was trust their own judgment and hope for the best. Aslan’s blessings would protect them… or so she hoped.
Looking around her, she caught sight of two centaurs standing silently nearby. She realized they were meant to guard her. They were subtle and if it were possible for a centaur to go unnoticed, they would. She hoped Oreius’ defenses would hold.
//
The crowd erupted in cheers as the knights entered the lists, wielding swords and shields with their coat of arms emblazoned upon them. Archenland and Calormen were going to meet in a melee fight, with three knights on either side. The banners of both countries had been raised up on either side of the roped area, depicting Tash and the cross respectively. On these ends were the galleries of each kingdom: King Lune sat laughing in seat, cheerfully talking and sharing flagons of mead with a Talking Bear with whom he seemed to have become friends. All around him the delegation that had come with him from Anvard cheered and waved their colors in flags and ribbons, and many of the Narnians and Galmans had joined in that side of the crowd.
On the opposite end sat Prince Jarrash, his golden turban shining like true gold as he sipped his wine, a small smile on his bearded face as he conversed with Alimash Tarkaan, who had won the jousting match earlier that day and was now sitting beside the Crown Prince. Ishamiel Tarkaan also sat near his half brother, but seemed more immersed in enjoying his surroundings than striking conversation with anybody. Even the Calormenes, who had initially seemed extremely suspicious of any Narnians, seemed to have made some friends, as a Dwarf or two and a few dryads could be seen speaking to both the Tarkaans and the slaves, who were positioned lower on the gallery, yet were the loudest of all when cheering. Only those who were serving their masters were silent and subdued. The other servants who had come in their ship waved flags in the air and shouted phrases in the old Calormene Tongue to applaud their knights. Even Lord Bar, absent from the Archenland gallery, seemed to be present among the Calormenes, nearly hidden by the mass of people.
Between both parties, on opposite sides, were the Galman delegation and most of the Narnians. King Reghorius looked slightly drunk, and therefore seemed more pleasant than usual, laughing and making loud remarks to his wife, who sat meekly at his side, her eyes downcast. The Galmans were not all present, some of them having elected to participate in other activities outside of the tiltyard, but those who wished to watch, or were obliged to watch out of respect, sat mostly cheerful, sharing drinks and making bets among each other.
On the Narnian side, Peter and Susan sat watching the knights in the lists, eating fruit from yet another dish that the Trees had offered them. Around them, many creatures laughed and made bets, arguing over which knights were the most skillful and who was most likely to win. Some of the Fauns had even attempted to bring in more music, but they were swiftly hushed, as it was not the right moment to entertain. Edmund had left earlier to join in a chess tournament, and Lucy could be found walking arm in arm with Prince Cadoc of Galma and Mr. Tumnus, occasionally joined by a dryad or two, cheering for both sides.
Lord Dar, Lord Darrin and Lord Cole represented Archenland. Dar and Darrin were not twins, but they certainly looked as if they were, their faces stern and determined as they drew their swords and pulled down their helmet visors. Beside them, Cole, the youngest knight, gave a fierce grin as he did the same.
On the opposing side stood Ilgamuth Tarkaan, Khalid Tarkaan and Masud Tarkaan, wearing blue turbans and long scimitars, which they drew in unison. Ilgamuth, vulgarly known as Ilgamuth of the Twisted Lip, though no one knew the reason for the scar that crossed his features, bared his teeth as they faced the others. Khalid was the heaviest of them all, his arms and chest large and muscular, while Masud was the eldest and thinnest, yet his skill was noticeable from the moment his blade was drawn. The Calormene did not use visors on their helmets, but after the prowess they had demonstrated in earlier matches, nobody doubted that both parties were on equal footing.
Combat began with a clash of swords, and battle cries from the knights, nearly drowned out by the cheers from the spectators around them. Ilgamuth quickly pushed Dar against the edge of the lists, his sword striking mercilessly here and there until all Dar was able to do was defend himself against the attack. But Cole’s youth and speedy footing protected him from Masud’s skillful swordsmanship, and he managed to dodge every blow, quickly retaliating with well planned strikes. Khalid and Darrin seemed evenly matched as the fight began, but it quickly became obvious that Darrin would not be able to hold off the Tarkaan much longer. The Archenlanders cheered and shouted advice to their knights, while the Calormenes did the same, though with considerably more glee as they realized their men were at an advantage.
But Dar seemed to have a plan, even as he warded off Khalid’s blows and attempted to strike back viciously. He jumped backwards until he was well positioned between the other two fighting pairs, and he yelled out something to Cole which was drowned out for the ears of the spectators by the cheering on either side. But Cole seemed to understand, and soon both knights were back to back as they warded off their opponents. And in a blink of an eye, they turned and switched, even as their opponents mustered the force to bring down their swords.
With a clash of metal, Archenland was leading. Dar fought Masud fiercely, blocking the Tarkaan’s every move and forcing the man back against the ropes that marked the lists, drawing near to his brother, who was struggling to keep his shield up against Ilgamuth, who had managed to hit his sword against his shoulder, which thankfully merely bounced off the armor. On the opposite end of the lists, Cole was no match for Khalid, who was much too heavy to keep up with the young knight’s speed and quickly became overwhelmed, barely blocking his blows until, barely two minutes later, he kneeled defeated before the Archenland knight. The stands erupted in cheers and the frantic waving of the Archenland flag, as Cole rushed to his fellow knights’ aid.
But Darrin could only ward off the attack for so long, and Cole was too late. Ilgamuth gave a small, twisted grin as he overtook his opponent, forcing Darrin to stumble and fall against the ropes, eliciting gleeful shouts from the Calormene side as Archenland lost their first knight, leaving both sides evenly matched once more. The Narnians were beside themselves with excitement, unsure as to who was going to win.
Ilgamuth turned to Cole and they were soon at each other, their swords clashing against each other’s shields as they moved quickly, ducking and parrying. Dar hit Masud’s arm, his sword bouncing off the Tarkaan’s mail but weakening his grip, and Masud’s shield was inadvertently lowered; taking advantage of this, Dar quickly disarmed Masud and with a few quick strikes, ensured Archenland’s victory as Masud was forced to leave the fight. Skillful and fierce as he was, Ilgamuth knew when he was outnumbered, and though he tried his best to keep up with both Cole and Dar, there was only so much he could do. Even so, Ilgamuth Tarkaan managed to draw the fight out an additional five minutes, which was incredibly impressive given the fact that he was fighting two skilled knights at once. When he finally yielded, the round of applause and cheers were truly meant for both Archenland and Ilgamuth Tarkaan’s skill on the field. Peter secretly hoped it would never come to a war with Calormen; a few more men like Ilgamuth and he wasn’t sure if they would be able to win.
Narnia faced Archenland later that day in melee combat, Peridan, Inckarik and Ekhar narrowly managing to defeat the Archenland knights, though one-on-one combat followed and Sarius lost dismally to Ishamiel Tarkaan, whose skill with the blade was almost frightening. A joust followed, with Lord Galen of Narnia triumphing over Lord Bar of Archenland, which drew the more important fights of the day to a close. Yet an archery contest took place, and a Dwarf was declared champion of chess for the day, which brought much pride (and beer) to the dwarves of his clan.
By the time it was nearing supper hour and the sky was slowly darkening, Lucy was exhausted from all the walking and laughing. Mr. Tumnus had gone to meet with some of his friends, and she was having her windswept hair braided by her dryad handmaiden, Klaia, sitting on some chairs by an abandoned table where some badgers had been playing with dice earlier that day.
She smiled as she smelled the smoke of lamb being roasted somewhere nearby, and listened to the sounds of many people speaking amongst each other near the tents a bit farther off. She smoothed her deep red dress; it was in a surprisingly good state, given that she had roamed near almost the entire camp earlier. Cadoc had proven a very pleasant and friendly companion, and actually quite amusingly humorous when he felt comfortable enough. She hoped the fun that they had had during the day would be enough to clear the young Prince’s mind from his worries regarding his father.
Lucy couldn’t help but smile with amusement at the thought of her mother’s face if she could see them where they were now: Kings and Queens of an entire nation. Would her mother believe them if they told her? Most probably not.
She felt the familiar sadness in her heart and quickly turned her thoughts to more cheerful matters. Though she felt Narnia was her home and had never felt otherwise, she knew there was a part of her that still remembered the feelings of that old life. And those feelings could turn painful if she lingered in them too much.
Klaia’s soft fingers were halfway done with braiding Lucy’s hair when a kingfisher suddenly appeared, flapping its wings wildly as it landed on the table near them.
“Queen Lucy!” it cried frantically. “Forgive me, but we need your help!”
“What is it?” she exclaimed in concern. Klaia stopped braiding.
The poor little kingfisher seemed to have been flying as fast as it could, and it was very nearly out of breath. “There… there is a hare running this way, Your Majesty,” it said. “It looks terribly ill and I am afraid it might die of exhaustion before reaching the camp!”
Instantly Lucy was on her feet, her half-braided hair cascading down her back. “Show me,” she said, and with Klaia following closely behind, they ran after the flying bird. Lucy heard the noise of galloping hooves and turned her head to see a centaur and Witrow following closely behind; they must have been the guards assigned to protect her.
They soon reached the edge of the camp, where the only noise that could be heard was the faint murmur of distant activity from the tents beyond. Before her, Lucy could see the road stretching back over the hills towards the rest of Narnia, and the trees that reached out on either side. The little bird was flying ahead of them towards the top of the hill, where the cluster of trees grew thicker.
“Hurry, Your Majesty!” it cried.
Lucy moved to follow it and suddenly felt a hand on her arm hold her back.
“Nay, Your Highness should remain here,” said the centaur’s rumbling voice. “It could be anything.”
“Somebody is injured!” she pleaded. “I must go help them!”
“Forgive me, my Queen, but I cannot allow that. I shall go ahead and retrieve them and I request that you remain here with the leopard, where you may be safe.”
Lucy bit back a growl of frustration. He was right; as helpless as it made her feel, her responsibility was with her country and she could not disregard her brother’s orders, especially not after what had happened.
She gave a resigned nod, and the centaur took off at a gallop towards the top of the hill. Beside her, Witrow’s ears were pressed flat against his head, his greenish brown eyes wide and watchful.
“Oh dear, I hope it isn’t too hurt,” Lucy said helplessly. “I cannot spare another drop of my cordial, but it breaks my heart to deny it to someone… I wonder what happened; why was it running this way?”
“Perhaps it was a part of the festival and got lost,” said Klaia softly. “That is, if it is a young hare. If not, perhaps it is being pursued by something.”
“I don’t trust those blue birds,” Witrow growled from where he crouched. “Flighty little things. Should know to take up the issue with the Guard and not with the Queen; especially given the circumstances.”
Lucy held back a smile. It seemed that Witrow didn’t trust anyone but his own kind, and even then, she had doubts he might be comfortable. But another idea hit her, and her eyes widened with fear. “Witrow, what if it is a trap?”
The large cat’s eyes flitted to hers before this ears moved, pointing to the direction in which the centaur had disappeared. “There’s no sound of a struggle, Your Majesty,” he said. “And no centaur would go down without a fight.”
Lucy was pale. “Perhaps we ought to fetch my brothers,” she said. “Klaia-”
But she stopped speaking as the centaur’s figure appeared, dark against the sunset, riding down the side of the hill. There was something small cradled in his arms. No sword was drawn, and the kingfisher was flying above his large head, looping in large circles, twittering wildly.
Lucy couldn’t help running forwards to meet the centaur on the path, reaching out to look at the bundle he held in his arms.
“The bird was right,” said the centaur in his rumbling voice. “It’s a young hare, fainted on the side of the road just as I reached him.”
He kneeled as she stood on tiptoes to see the Talking Animal. Its ears and paws were covered in scratches and cuts, and its fur was matted with mud, leaves and pieces of grass. Lucy thought she could see a thorn stuck painfully into its forepaw. Its eyes were closed, and it barely seemed to breathe at all.
//
The four of them met for supper in Peter and Edmund’s tent. Lucy and Susan were then to be escorted back to the Cair until the next morning.
“The hare is not likely to wake until tomorrow morning,” said Lucy as she ate the last few spoonfuls of her meal.
“He probably just got a fright,” Edmund replied. “I just hope no rumors have been circling within the camp.”
“I am sure there have been,” said Susan. “But there are rumors all the time. I fear less the reaction of our people than I do the fact that we know nothing yet of our murderous enemy.”
There was silence as they all finished supper, broken only by the sound of crickets in the grass outside and occasional footsteps passing. The two centaurs standing guard outside were noiseless, but Edmund could see their shadows thrown against the wall of the tent.
Peter shook his head slightly as he set his spoon down on the table. “There is no clue as to who is the culprit. The casket from which the poisoned bottle was taken was positioned among many others, all of which had been opened yesterday morning for inspection. The dog we were so fortunate to have warn us explored the site in an attempt to catch the scent of the culprit, but the amount of people who have been circulating the area is too high and it was impossible to pick out a single scent from it. The dryad who served it was overtaken with grief at the thought that she may have been responsible for our deaths if things had not gone the way they did, but she had entered that tent for the very first time that day, only having arrived at the Festival yesterday morning. The Goddess Pomona has vouched for her.” He sighed. “It is strange. This does not seem to me the work of those who acted in the name of the Witch. It is sly, it is calculated and subtle, and they seem to have allies within the festival.”
“It is not our own that worry me the most,” said Susan, lowering her voice so that only her siblings would hear her. “I do not fear treason from Archenland, nor do I believe Galma or Calormen would be so bold as to strike at us in this manner, at this time, while they sleep on our land. But every country has its own criminals, and there are more personal feuds that can have equally fatal consequences.”
“To strike on the very first day, though?” Lucy sounded skeptical. Her expression was more serious than Edmund remembered seeing it in a long time. “I would have thought they would wish to ensure a passage back home and not risk more opportunities to be caught.”
“Perhaps it gives space for further attempts?”
“A single man does not think in this way,” said Peter, leaning back in his seat. “Lucy is right. The strategy, the timing… it does not make any sense.”
“Well, the drinks are now thoroughly inspected before being served, and so is the food. It will be very hard to fool Talking Beasts. Our guards are keeping close watch on the tents, and the girls will be moving to the Cair during the nights. I do not believe there is much more we can do,” said Edmund.
“A coward’s work, said Dorick,” Peter murmured.
Lucy smiled. “Then with the Guard at our heels nearly every moment, I doubt there is yet any danger.” She turned to Susan. “Come, sister. A long day awaits us tomorrow, and the dwarves of the Hill Caves have promised us warm bread for breakfast if we rise early enough!”
They departed with hugs and smiles despite the weightiness of their previous conversation. As Susan and Lucy left through the flaps of the tent and they heard the guards assigned to escort them back to the safety of the palace approach, a Faun entered and took the trays of dishes they had left behind. The Kings began to remove their clothes before bed.
Edmund felt exhausted. Though he himself hadn’t participated in any of the tourneys, the mental stress of constant awareness of what happened around them and the prolonged concentration that the chess matches he had partaken in during the day had left him feeling weak and drained. His belt slid to the floor off the chair from which he had hung it, and he couldn’t bring himself to bend down to pick it up. Instead, he pulled the blankets off the cot that had been set out for him and was soon buried under the crisp sheets, feeling as if his entire body was sinking into the mattress underneath him.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
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