A Magic Deeper Still
Chapter 1: The Loss of the Four
Metal scraped against metal, sweat stung the future king's eyes as he and his twin pressed up against the side of the stable, a little too close to the horses stabled there. They nickered and pranced away from the sparring brothers and kicked the ground. "You'll get a hoof to the head if you don't let up, brother," said the younger twin, Prince Corin.
"I will not yield," Cor grunted, pressing all the harder, forcing his eyes to stay open and straining his muscles against his brother's superior girth. Corin boxed, and was massively built. He hit hard and he moved slowly. Cor was a much better swordsman, he was lean and quick, and much smaller than his brother. As children, they'd been identical, now, the only thing similar about them were their clear, blue eyes.
"You'll yield," said Corin, huffing and mustering his strength for one more shove. "Because you fight and look like a woman." He grunted and pushed with all his might, throwing his older twin off him, so that Cor staggered back several paces and let his brother step away from the stable. "Only Narnians wear their hair long, you know," said Cor, running his gauntleted hand over his shorn head. "Let me cut it for you, won't you?"
"Never," said Cor. "You'll have to catch me first, and ogres don't run very fast." He flashed a smile at his brother, reveling in their banter, enjoying the easy friendship they'd forged since the day they met, seven years ago.
"Fast or not, they don't call me Thunderfist for nothing," said Corin. "I'll wager the Lady Aravis prefers me to your scrawny form."
"I thought you had your sights on Queen Lucy, though she's nearly twice your age. Or is it the newly widowed Lazaraleen Tarkheena you want now? I can never remember with all the women you're after."
"Oh, anything to distract me from talking about your little Tarkheena. You can't keep your eyes off her…" Corin rushed his brother, forgetting his sword, and shoved him into the mud.
Prince Cor sprung to his feet again and threw off his gauntlets. "I do not!" he shouted. He reached back and let his fist swing toward his brother's jaw, but Corin blocked it easily, and swept his brother to the ground again with one powerful blow. Cor laughed as he spit out a mouthful of mud, and Corin helped him to his feet.
"Enough sparring for one day, I think," said Corin. "You're getting better—you're deadly with a blade. But that hot head of yours…"
"I thought you were the hot-headed one," said Cor.
"Oh, no, brother," said Corin. "I may look like a great oaf, but I'm thinking at least three steps ahead of you in every fight. We play at crossing words, but you take them too personally. You should learn to ignore them."
"Oh yes?" asked Cor, and swinging his leg out he caught his brother behind the knees and knocked him to the ground.
Corin roared with laughter, shaking mud out of his short hair and throwing a clod of it at his brother, missing, and hitting the stable. "That's more like it, brother! Now help me up!" Cor grasped his brother's hand, but instead of helping him up, he was pulled to the ground, and before he knew it, they were shoving clods of mud in one another's faces and scrambling all over the tilt yard, engaged in a new fight. Finally, when even their laughter had subsided, they called a truce and stood up, shaking off their armor, breathing hard.
"Father's going to be furious," said Cor. "We're due to dine, you know. Our guests will be here soon."
"Well go as you are if you want to be on time so very much," said Corin. "But I'm taking a bath." Together they left the tilt yard and walked through the bailey, covered in dirt and sweat, and smelling foul. In moments, however another smell assailed Prince Cor's senses. It was one he knew very well, and it maddened him. It was something like vanilla and exotic spices, wafting on a warm breeze. He glanced at the portcullis and saw her: Aravis Tarkheena, his friend and his father's ward, with whom he'd helped to save Archenland and Narnia from invasion seven years ago. Her loam brown hair was braided down her back, and she wore a dress that moved with her—the fabric imported from Narnia, and woven by wood nymphs. Her eyes were dark—almost black—and they were fixed on him in abject fury. "Forget father," said Corin with a wry smile, "Aravis looks as though she might kill you."
"A better death who could ask for?" asked Cor bravely, but his stomach jolted within him at the sight of her. She was livid.
"Shasta, how dare you!" she said in a quiet, but cold voice. "Our guests arrive any moment, and you… and YOU, Corin! How could you…" she couldn't finish, she was so angry. Cor flinched. She'd called him Shasta. That was never a good sign. She only called him that when she was especially annoyed with him. They'd been sent out by their father to don armor in preparation for the arrival of Narnia's Four, the Kings Peter and Edmund, and the Queens Susan and Lucy. On the way back, Corin had said something to provoke his brother, and an impromptu battle had ensued.
"It won't take long to clean up, Aravis," said Corin. smartly "We promise."
"I'm tired of promises, Corin!" said Aravis, looking exhausted. "And Cor… you ought to know better! Your father… Cor—this latest escapade might kill him!" She was exaggerating, but only slightly. King Lune's health had been failing for some time, and it was not thought that he would live out a year. Cor was immediately ashamed of himself. Not only because he knew he'd been irresponsible, but because he wanted Aravis' respect more than anything, and once again, he'd failed. He said nothing, but walked purposefully toward the entrance to Anvard, so that he might clean up and attend his father and the imminent arrival of his guests.
As he reached the top stair, the scent of vanilla and spices met him again, and he stopped near Aravis. Glancing at her, he said coldly, "My apologies, Lady," and made to move on.
Aravis grasped his arm—one of the only parts of him not covered in mud—and said, "Cor… please… Just, just try, won't you?"
Angry at her for her disappointment in him, no matter how justified it may be, he groaned and walked on. Stomping inside and up the grand staircase, he hollered for hot water and unbuckled his armor. Reaching his chamber, he dropped the armor and various pieces of clothing as he paced the room. What did he care if she was angry? Corin was as much to blame as he was. No, he knew that was untrue. Cor was the first born, and his mantle of responsibility was heavier than his brother's would ever be.
His bath felt wonderful, but he had little time to enjoy it, as his guests would be arriving shortly. He washed his long hair, then tied it at the base of his neck, knowing he must look strange with it still wet, but it could not be helped. He donned his court tunic and hose, but it would be useless to replace his armor—it was no longer shining, but covered in mud. He sighed, realizing that this would make Aravis madder still.
When he finally joined the others, he expected to find the Four Sovereigns of Narnia in the hall, but they had not arrived yet. He sighed deeply, relieved he had not missed his guests' arrival. Corin approached him solemnly. "Brother, you took nearly an hour," he said.
"No I didn't," said Cor. "Barely twenty minutes, I'm sure. Where are the Narnians?"
"No one knows. It is half a day's ride from Cair. Still, I'd have thought they'd arrive by now."
"Where is Aravis?"
"Pacing the bailey," said Corin.
"Is she angry still?"
"Not as much as she is worried. I've never seen her like this."
Cor thought for a moment. "She's always been a little over-zealous… She often worries."
"You've not seen her, then," said Corin. "Her eyes… she knows something, I fancy. Or senses something."
"Where's father?"
"In his chamber. He's too unwell to join us tonight."
Cor nodded, then headed for the bailey. The sight of Aravis pacing was normal enough, but Corin was right—her eyes were like those of a hunted animal. Even her perfectly plaited braid had begun to come undone, and strands of her think, dark hair were flying away behind her. She wrung her hands—he could tell they were red with the wringing, though her dark Calormen skin rarely showed redness, having lived in the north these seven years had paled her considerably. He especially could tell that she was nervous, for when she looked at him, she did not scold him as he'd believed she would, she simply continued to pace, saying nothing.
Cor approached her. "I'm sure they'll be here soon," he said. Aravis stopped and stared at him, as if she hadn't heard. "They'll arrive any moment, I'm sure," he said encouragingly.
"They're over an hour late now," said Aravis, resuming her pacing.
"It's a long way from Cair," said Cor. And did they not go to the west in a hunt yesterday? Perhaps they took the journey slowly."
"No," said Aravis, her voice panic-stricken. Somehow when she was upset, the spice of her Calormene heritage was more obvious in her words. "There is something wrong. I know that to be true."
Suddenly, there was a great noise, as the trampling of many feet and hooves. "You see?" said Cor, smiling. "Here they are! They've brought half the court with them, I'll warrant." Aravis rushed down the steps to meet those first through the gates of Anvard. She saw fauns, birds, centaurs, cats, and horses. Her old mare Hwin and Cor's friend Bree were among the talking animals.
"Well met, Hwin!" said Aravis, brightening. "But where…"
A faun they both recognized as Tumnus approached them, his breath heaving. "Your Highnesses…" he said, clutching at his chest—for he was an old and stout faun now—"It is the Four!"
"What's wrong?" asked Cor, his fear mounting.
Corin joined him in the Bailey. "Welcome, Narnia!" he said joyously. "I say… what's the matter?"
"The Four of Cair!" shouted Tumnus, and the other Narnians ceased their chatter and moving. "They have vanished!"
"Vanished, what do you mean?" asked Aravis. "Where could they have got to?"
"Yesterday…" said Tumnus, his voice cracking with anxiety, "They left on the hunt… the hunt for the White Stag… They never returned."
"Well, then, we search!" said Cor. "Bree, might I ride you?"
"Wait, your Highness," said Tumnus. "That is not all… We know where they have gone."
"Where?" asked Aravis in a panic.
"Back to their own world," said Tumnus. "Aslan has come to visit us. He told us to waste no time in informing you, for our land is left without a human ruler… and may easily fall into the hands of Evil once more…"
"What?" asked Prince Corin, surprise on his face.
"I shall tell all," said Tumnus. "I ask only…" he took a breath, his face red, his eyes weary.
"Enter, friend," said Prince Cor. "We will dine you—and every Narnian present. If there is time, let us go immediately to counsel and take food and drink. Someone, wine for the fauns and centaurs! You horses and cats—"
"We will do very well drinking from the Winding Arrow," said the horse Bree, with a bow of his head. Archenland's river lay across the lawn from the house of Anvard, not a stone's throw away."
"Very well," said Cor. "Then you will dine as well—though the stables of Anvard are not nearly as comfortable as those of Cair…"
"It is perfect," said Bree, and he and the other talking animals departed to have a drink. The fauns, centaurs, dwarves, and some tree women followed the princes Cor and Corin and the Lady Aravis into the hall of Anvard. Once seated around the table and served their supper, the council began.
"Aslan has told us," said Tumnus. "That only a human can rule for Narnia to prosper. And until one is decided upon on a permanent basis, a regent must supply the rule. Aslan has told us it is to be one of the princes of Archenland!"