Narnia fic: Carpetbaggers Chapter IV, Part 6 (2050 words)
Chapters I and II are here.
Chapter III and earlier parts of Chapter IV are here.
Peter wasn't sure when it was that he heard someone approaching. Except that wasn't right. Someone was approaching, that was for sure, except he wasn't hearing anything. It was more like he felt the soft padding footsteps, as though they reverberated softly in his own chest, like a heavy lorry driving past the house. Except it wasn't that, either.
He had sacrificed his shirt, crouched shocky in the bloody mud next to the Were-wolf's body, as he tore the cloth into strips and tied it roughly around his upper arm. It was wet through almost immediately, but there was nothing for it. Then he had cleaned his sword (always clean your sword, Sir Peter), sheathed it, and began to walk as evenly as possible down the trail.
Then it had begun to rain. If Peter had had the breath, he would have laughed, but it was all he could do to keep moving forward, one step following the other with increasing uncertainty. At some point it grew dark: he was pretty sure that was a natural phenomenon, and not a result of the fact that he'd lost a great deal of blood.
It was raining and the sound of the rain on the leaves drowned out everything else, everything but the way the pain in his shoulder swelled and faded with his pulse. And yet there was that sense--someone was coming. He stopped, swaying gently, and considered hiding behind a tree, but the closest tree was six or seven feet away: clearly too far. Whatever was coming had better be friendly. Perhaps it would be the Unicorn he had ridden during the battle; Peter couldn't remember its name right now.
The sense of someone approaching grew stronger, and then a voice came out of the darkness. "Oh, king. I came as quickly as I could."
Rhea. Oh, thank the Lion, it was Rhea. Peter nearly staggered, and then he felt the warmth of the Wolf next to him, supporting him as best she could. He couldn't lean on her, but she was there, pushing against him, leading him away from the trail and down towards the creek.
"You need water, king, you've lost too much blood." Peter blinked the rain out of his eyes and found himself kneeling at the edge of the water. He was suddenly desperate with thirst, and leaned forward, scooping the cold water up with his right hand, over and over. When his belly was so full of water he thought he might slosh with it, Rhea shoved her head under his arm and with her help, he levered himself back to his feet.
"How far are we?" he managed to ask, as she led them back up the bank to the trail. "To Tumnus?"
"An hour, maybe two," she said gravely. "We should be there before midnight. Your siblings are all there, and safe. King Edmund negotiated the agreement with the Patrol, and Queen Lucy roused the local Dryads, although they are few in this area."
Peter nodded. He remembered being very worried about Edmund, but it was hard to hold onto that. His legs were so heavy, and his arm hurt. He'd hurt it somehow: maybe when he fell from the tree. Why had he been in the tree? It was raining: why were they out in the rain? Shouldn't they be somewhere warm and dry? Mother used to tell stories on wet and stormy nights, because Lucy (and Edmund) would sometimes be afraid of the wind and the thunder.
"Tell me something," Peter said. Mumbled, maybe. "Tell a story."
There was a soft snort from his right, and very briefly a warm tongue swiped his hand. They walked for a little while longer, and then Rhea said, "Very well. I will tell you the story of Earl Shandon and the last defense of Cair Paravel."
*
Peter followed Rhea's voice, as she spoke of battles and treachery, murder and sacrifice, leading him on, until it seemed as though he had always been walking in the wet and slippery darkness, and always would be. Then suddenly there were new voices and hands touching him, which barely reached through the fog of pain and exhaustion, and he stumbled forward as one of them pulled his good arm across a shoulder and led him into a place of warmth brightness.
Then followed a period of confusion, in which he was seated, and there was more light, and then heat--and pain--as his clothes were pulled off. And then another voice, shriller, and then, finally, blessedly, warm silence as he fell into darkness.
The door to the cave was open when Peter awoke, the morning light streaming in across the floor. He blinked at the bright sun, and then looked about: he was arrayed on Tumnus' divan, stripped to his underclothes underneath a deep pile of motheaten blankets. He turned his head, cautiously, and then felt at his left shoulder. It didn't hurt. Although the skin felt strange: he drew the blankets down and looked.
Where yesterday morning there had been smooth pale skin, with a few freckles, there was now a wrinkled mass of scarred flesh, the size of his palm, just below the point of his shoulder. As though he had been bitten years ago, and fully healed. It didn't hurt, and he seemed to have full use of the shoulder.
"Lucy's cordial can't fix everything, we've learned," said Edmund, handing Peter a cup of tea. "If it's been too long since the injury, I guess it just doesn't work as well."
"Well enough, though," said Peter, raising the arm to demonstrate.
Edmund smiled, though there was a strain about his eyes that hadn't been there yesterday. "You gave us a scare," he said, and drank some of his tea, staring down at Peter. "What were you thinking, going off alone?"
"I was thinking we needed the intelligence!" protested Peter. "Besides--" but it wasn't fair, to blame Susan, so he amended the sentence to, "--you were late coming back! I was bored."
Giving him a sour stare, Edmund said, "The point of that exercise was to convince the Patrol that you were well away from here. Getting yourself jumped and chewed on is not lying low, Pete."
"Fine," Peter said, and pushed himself to his feet. "Where are my clothes, and what happened with the Patrol, anyway?"
His clothes had been hung to dry by the fire, and they were still damp, but at least someone had knocked the worst of the mud off them. He struggled into his breeches, just in time for Susan and Lucy to come yawning from the inner room. Susan headed for the teapot, while Lucy threw herself at Peter and hugged him hard. "I was so worried!" she said, her eyes wide. "You were all grey and floppy, it was frightening!"
"Well, you fixed me right up," Peter said, hugging her back gratefully. "I'm sorry I scared you."
"And you left him a brilliant scar he can impress girls with," noted Edmund, and then ducked a lazy swat from Susan.
"We're all back now," Susan noted, dropping into a chair close to the fire. "I think Rhea's outside with Tumnus--Lucy, can you call them in? We need to plan for today."
When they had all settled around the hearth, and Peter had a bowl of lukewarm rabbit stew to eat, he pointed his spoon at Edmund, and demanded, "Talk. What happened yesterday?"
"Well, it worked," Edmund said. "They've agreed to ally with us, at least for this. They're dodgy, but they saw the value of acting against the Witch's forces."
"Rebels," reminded Lucy, and Edmund grinned.
"Anyway. Bruno's smarter than he lets on; he was pretty skeptical of us when we arrived. And he's got his own intelligence--"
"Peter, it was that crow!" interrupted Lucy, waving one hand. "The one I saw at Stormcoat's village! I knew there was something strange about it, and I was right, it was eavesdropping on us, and then it must have flown off and told Bruno we were coming!!"
Tumnus put a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. Peter just nodded, his mouth full, and waved a hand at Edmund, who took a bite of toast and continued.
"Well, there was a crow, so Lucy may be right about that. I didn't recognize him. Anyway, Bruno's got some intelligence, so he quizzed me about you, why we had separated, all that. By the way, you and Lu have spent the last few days on your way to Beruna, to help with the floods. That's why you're not here, so do me a favor and stay out of sight this time?" Peter didn't reply; Edmund shrugged. "He said he would bring his troop to the rendezvous by sunset today, and the rest of the schedule depends on what you learned on your adventure yesterday."
Peter put his bowl on the table and poured himself more tea. "I got a good look at the rebels' camp. It was pretty big: I'd say they had nearly a hundred people there. Ogres, Hags, Goblins, Were-wolves. Quite a few Dwarfs, too--you'll have to watch out for their archery. And Harpies. Oh, and some Wolves." Rhea stirred at that, but didn't say anything. "They're camped--let me see--" He turned back to the table and shuffled through the maps. "Here. On the west side of ... Blackthorn Ridge, just north of an oak grove."
Edmund and the others gathered around, and Edmund traced Lantern Creek with his finger, until he hit the point where it curved away west. The map didn't have topographic lines, like the ones their Uncle George used on his tramping holidays, but it did mark the landmarks, like hills and rivers. "Here," Peter said, tapping the map. "Here's their camp. It's not a bad place for a battle, but it depends on your numbers. If you're outnumbered, I'd rather you draw them to you, say at this spot here." He pointed to a rise further down the valley. "I think the hilltop is clear, but there's a lot of trees on the lower slope, it would serve to break their forces up. How many do we have so far?"
"Word has spread very rapidly, King Peter," said Tumnus. "There is a sizeable encampment already at the Ford, and more are arriving every hour."
"Great," said Peter. "Are there any archers?"
"Two squads of Faun archers who fought at Beruna," said Susan. "You remember Fraxinus and his brothers?"
Peter raised his eyebrows; when that squad of Fauns had run out of arrows, they had dropped their bows and charged screaming into the melee. They had cut quite a swath through the Witch's Dwarfs, as Peter recalled. "How many troops so far, do you think?"
Edmund shrugged. "A few dozen, but like Tumnus said, more are coming in all the time." He turned back to the map. "That looks like it would take us about half a day to get that far, with the entire force. If we can bring them to battle, it won't be before tomorrow afternoon. Which reminds me, how do you want to split up?"
"Do we have to?" asked Lucy. "Split up, I mean."
Susan gave her a look. "You're not going into battle with us, Lu."
"Well," said Peter. "At least, that's not the idea." When Susan glared at him, he shrugged helplessly. "We have to get into the castle somehow, and Lucy's been there before. And I won't leave her unprotected, either."
"I don't need protection!" protested Lucy, apparently forgetting that she wanted to be where the danger was.
Susan folded her arms, frowning. "You know, I'm not sure I like this plan. Too many things can go wrong."
Peter looked at her, scowling at the map, and then down at the parchment spread across Tumnus' table. They were just children, he thought, barely able to defend themselves, and they were taking on this enormous challenge. Driving off the rebels, sneaking into a fortified castle--it was madness.
But it was what they had to do. Peter sighed, and bent over the charts, and tried to figure out a way to get a group of soldiers into range of the Witch's castle without anyone noticing them.
*
Note: I have every intention of writing up the story of Earl Shandon and the last defense of Cair Paravel. Um, at some point.
Crossposted from DW, where there are
comments; comment here or there.
Chapter III and earlier parts of Chapter IV are here.
Peter wasn't sure when it was that he heard someone approaching. Except that wasn't right. Someone was approaching, that was for sure, except he wasn't hearing anything. It was more like he felt the soft padding footsteps, as though they reverberated softly in his own chest, like a heavy lorry driving past the house. Except it wasn't that, either.
He had sacrificed his shirt, crouched shocky in the bloody mud next to the Were-wolf's body, as he tore the cloth into strips and tied it roughly around his upper arm. It was wet through almost immediately, but there was nothing for it. Then he had cleaned his sword (always clean your sword, Sir Peter), sheathed it, and began to walk as evenly as possible down the trail.
Then it had begun to rain. If Peter had had the breath, he would have laughed, but it was all he could do to keep moving forward, one step following the other with increasing uncertainty. At some point it grew dark: he was pretty sure that was a natural phenomenon, and not a result of the fact that he'd lost a great deal of blood.
It was raining and the sound of the rain on the leaves drowned out everything else, everything but the way the pain in his shoulder swelled and faded with his pulse. And yet there was that sense--someone was coming. He stopped, swaying gently, and considered hiding behind a tree, but the closest tree was six or seven feet away: clearly too far. Whatever was coming had better be friendly. Perhaps it would be the Unicorn he had ridden during the battle; Peter couldn't remember its name right now.
The sense of someone approaching grew stronger, and then a voice came out of the darkness. "Oh, king. I came as quickly as I could."
Rhea. Oh, thank the Lion, it was Rhea. Peter nearly staggered, and then he felt the warmth of the Wolf next to him, supporting him as best she could. He couldn't lean on her, but she was there, pushing against him, leading him away from the trail and down towards the creek.
"You need water, king, you've lost too much blood." Peter blinked the rain out of his eyes and found himself kneeling at the edge of the water. He was suddenly desperate with thirst, and leaned forward, scooping the cold water up with his right hand, over and over. When his belly was so full of water he thought he might slosh with it, Rhea shoved her head under his arm and with her help, he levered himself back to his feet.
"How far are we?" he managed to ask, as she led them back up the bank to the trail. "To Tumnus?"
"An hour, maybe two," she said gravely. "We should be there before midnight. Your siblings are all there, and safe. King Edmund negotiated the agreement with the Patrol, and Queen Lucy roused the local Dryads, although they are few in this area."
Peter nodded. He remembered being very worried about Edmund, but it was hard to hold onto that. His legs were so heavy, and his arm hurt. He'd hurt it somehow: maybe when he fell from the tree. Why had he been in the tree? It was raining: why were they out in the rain? Shouldn't they be somewhere warm and dry? Mother used to tell stories on wet and stormy nights, because Lucy (and Edmund) would sometimes be afraid of the wind and the thunder.
"Tell me something," Peter said. Mumbled, maybe. "Tell a story."
There was a soft snort from his right, and very briefly a warm tongue swiped his hand. They walked for a little while longer, and then Rhea said, "Very well. I will tell you the story of Earl Shandon and the last defense of Cair Paravel."
*
Peter followed Rhea's voice, as she spoke of battles and treachery, murder and sacrifice, leading him on, until it seemed as though he had always been walking in the wet and slippery darkness, and always would be. Then suddenly there were new voices and hands touching him, which barely reached through the fog of pain and exhaustion, and he stumbled forward as one of them pulled his good arm across a shoulder and led him into a place of warmth brightness.
Then followed a period of confusion, in which he was seated, and there was more light, and then heat--and pain--as his clothes were pulled off. And then another voice, shriller, and then, finally, blessedly, warm silence as he fell into darkness.
The door to the cave was open when Peter awoke, the morning light streaming in across the floor. He blinked at the bright sun, and then looked about: he was arrayed on Tumnus' divan, stripped to his underclothes underneath a deep pile of motheaten blankets. He turned his head, cautiously, and then felt at his left shoulder. It didn't hurt. Although the skin felt strange: he drew the blankets down and looked.
Where yesterday morning there had been smooth pale skin, with a few freckles, there was now a wrinkled mass of scarred flesh, the size of his palm, just below the point of his shoulder. As though he had been bitten years ago, and fully healed. It didn't hurt, and he seemed to have full use of the shoulder.
"Lucy's cordial can't fix everything, we've learned," said Edmund, handing Peter a cup of tea. "If it's been too long since the injury, I guess it just doesn't work as well."
"Well enough, though," said Peter, raising the arm to demonstrate.
Edmund smiled, though there was a strain about his eyes that hadn't been there yesterday. "You gave us a scare," he said, and drank some of his tea, staring down at Peter. "What were you thinking, going off alone?"
"I was thinking we needed the intelligence!" protested Peter. "Besides--" but it wasn't fair, to blame Susan, so he amended the sentence to, "--you were late coming back! I was bored."
Giving him a sour stare, Edmund said, "The point of that exercise was to convince the Patrol that you were well away from here. Getting yourself jumped and chewed on is not lying low, Pete."
"Fine," Peter said, and pushed himself to his feet. "Where are my clothes, and what happened with the Patrol, anyway?"
His clothes had been hung to dry by the fire, and they were still damp, but at least someone had knocked the worst of the mud off them. He struggled into his breeches, just in time for Susan and Lucy to come yawning from the inner room. Susan headed for the teapot, while Lucy threw herself at Peter and hugged him hard. "I was so worried!" she said, her eyes wide. "You were all grey and floppy, it was frightening!"
"Well, you fixed me right up," Peter said, hugging her back gratefully. "I'm sorry I scared you."
"And you left him a brilliant scar he can impress girls with," noted Edmund, and then ducked a lazy swat from Susan.
"We're all back now," Susan noted, dropping into a chair close to the fire. "I think Rhea's outside with Tumnus--Lucy, can you call them in? We need to plan for today."
When they had all settled around the hearth, and Peter had a bowl of lukewarm rabbit stew to eat, he pointed his spoon at Edmund, and demanded, "Talk. What happened yesterday?"
"Well, it worked," Edmund said. "They've agreed to ally with us, at least for this. They're dodgy, but they saw the value of acting against the Witch's forces."
"Rebels," reminded Lucy, and Edmund grinned.
"Anyway. Bruno's smarter than he lets on; he was pretty skeptical of us when we arrived. And he's got his own intelligence--"
"Peter, it was that crow!" interrupted Lucy, waving one hand. "The one I saw at Stormcoat's village! I knew there was something strange about it, and I was right, it was eavesdropping on us, and then it must have flown off and told Bruno we were coming!!"
Tumnus put a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. Peter just nodded, his mouth full, and waved a hand at Edmund, who took a bite of toast and continued.
"Well, there was a crow, so Lucy may be right about that. I didn't recognize him. Anyway, Bruno's got some intelligence, so he quizzed me about you, why we had separated, all that. By the way, you and Lu have spent the last few days on your way to Beruna, to help with the floods. That's why you're not here, so do me a favor and stay out of sight this time?" Peter didn't reply; Edmund shrugged. "He said he would bring his troop to the rendezvous by sunset today, and the rest of the schedule depends on what you learned on your adventure yesterday."
Peter put his bowl on the table and poured himself more tea. "I got a good look at the rebels' camp. It was pretty big: I'd say they had nearly a hundred people there. Ogres, Hags, Goblins, Were-wolves. Quite a few Dwarfs, too--you'll have to watch out for their archery. And Harpies. Oh, and some Wolves." Rhea stirred at that, but didn't say anything. "They're camped--let me see--" He turned back to the table and shuffled through the maps. "Here. On the west side of ... Blackthorn Ridge, just north of an oak grove."
Edmund and the others gathered around, and Edmund traced Lantern Creek with his finger, until he hit the point where it curved away west. The map didn't have topographic lines, like the ones their Uncle George used on his tramping holidays, but it did mark the landmarks, like hills and rivers. "Here," Peter said, tapping the map. "Here's their camp. It's not a bad place for a battle, but it depends on your numbers. If you're outnumbered, I'd rather you draw them to you, say at this spot here." He pointed to a rise further down the valley. "I think the hilltop is clear, but there's a lot of trees on the lower slope, it would serve to break their forces up. How many do we have so far?"
"Word has spread very rapidly, King Peter," said Tumnus. "There is a sizeable encampment already at the Ford, and more are arriving every hour."
"Great," said Peter. "Are there any archers?"
"Two squads of Faun archers who fought at Beruna," said Susan. "You remember Fraxinus and his brothers?"
Peter raised his eyebrows; when that squad of Fauns had run out of arrows, they had dropped their bows and charged screaming into the melee. They had cut quite a swath through the Witch's Dwarfs, as Peter recalled. "How many troops so far, do you think?"
Edmund shrugged. "A few dozen, but like Tumnus said, more are coming in all the time." He turned back to the map. "That looks like it would take us about half a day to get that far, with the entire force. If we can bring them to battle, it won't be before tomorrow afternoon. Which reminds me, how do you want to split up?"
"Do we have to?" asked Lucy. "Split up, I mean."
Susan gave her a look. "You're not going into battle with us, Lu."
"Well," said Peter. "At least, that's not the idea." When Susan glared at him, he shrugged helplessly. "We have to get into the castle somehow, and Lucy's been there before. And I won't leave her unprotected, either."
"I don't need protection!" protested Lucy, apparently forgetting that she wanted to be where the danger was.
Susan folded her arms, frowning. "You know, I'm not sure I like this plan. Too many things can go wrong."
Peter looked at her, scowling at the map, and then down at the parchment spread across Tumnus' table. They were just children, he thought, barely able to defend themselves, and they were taking on this enormous challenge. Driving off the rebels, sneaking into a fortified castle--it was madness.
But it was what they had to do. Peter sighed, and bent over the charts, and tried to figure out a way to get a group of soldiers into range of the Witch's castle without anyone noticing them.
*
Note: I have every intention of writing up the story of Earl Shandon and the last defense of Cair Paravel. Um, at some point.
Crossposted from DW, where there are
comments; comment here or there.