A.N. The first two chapters serve mainly to introduce the main characters and their characters and motivations, which are what will drive this story. The post-Disappearance plot begins moving in Chapter 3.

Edric

It was the fourteenth year of the reign of the High King Peter in Cair Paravel and of his brother Edmund and sisters Susan and Lucy. And in the far west of Narnia, beyond the town of Chippingford and almost to the great waterfall and the Cauldron Pool that marked the beginning of the south branch of the Great River, there lived a boy of ten named Edric. It being a fine autumn morning, he was a-hunting with his friends.

At least that was the way a story would begin, Edric thought, about a prince or a lord. He had grown up on these stories, hanging attentively to every word of the tales that the man whom he called Papa Einar would spin. Einar could take any tale and make it golden, like Rumpelstiltskin with straw. There were the old accounts of Frank and Helen, and of the kings and queens that came after them. There were tales of knights who rode about the land, setting things right and winning the hearts of pure, gentle maidens. New stories made their appearance over the years, accounts of the Pevensies and their great deeds that would contribute to the legend of what was becoming known as the Golden Age of Narnia. But no tales were told of one like him. Nobody ever tells a story about a bastard, Edric reflected.

"Mayhaps you'll be a knight one day," Einar would say, laying a wrinkled hand on his shoulder, "And they'll sing songs of you…my son." But Papa Einar was not his real father, or Mama Brigid his true mother. They had no children of their own. Ten years before, a man and a centaur, their faces covered, had given them a child of barely a month to raise and care for. Einar and Brigid had fulfilled the bargain; Edric had never known a home or parents other than theirs, nor did he wish to. But whenever he left the shelter of their little farm, he could hear the not-so-quiet whispers. He had learned what a whore was, from hearing Lothar and Bracegirdle call his mother that. Edric thought it unfair. A knight would not speak against those not present to defend themselves.

But neither could he truly defend himself from the taunts. They were terribly unoriginal; the word bastard always seemed to be involved. But that one word still cut sharp…

Crack. Crunch.

Edric glanced over at his companion. Wooster was a bulgy bear of twenty years. In human terms, he would be about fifteen years old; and according to the jibes of others, he had the intelligence of one of ten years.

"Sorry," Wooster mumbled. The great axe resting on his shoulder had clipped into an overhanging branch, and he had kept walking into the tangled mass as it fell. The bear was now trying to disentangle himself, making even more of a ruckus. "'Fraid that'll scare off any deer."

"It's fine." Edric could not bring himself to be angry at the bear, as he helped pull away the mess. Wooster had a great heart, surpassed only by his strength, even if he was clumsy. We're friends. A deer isn't as important as that.

But as Wooster brushed himself off, they could hear something crashing through the woods. "There it is!" Edric shouted. A fine buck, with a rack that would be the envy of many a house. And its meat, salted or smoked, then packed away, would make many winter meals far cheerier.

It was moving now, back towards where they had just been. "Let's head it off!" Edric shouted over his shoulder to Wooster. "Drive it back towards the other two." Now he was running. He felt the ground fall away lightly beneath his feet, his brown hair streaming in the wind. He knew these woods like the back of his hand, not that he spent much time examining his hands. Here was a stone which he could leap off of; there was the hole in which he had once rolled his ankle. Wooster was stomping after him; the bear's heavy footfalls would spook the deer far more than his own, Edric knew. The deer was turning away now, just where they wanted.

There was a sharp thwang from their left, and the buck stumbled to the ground with an arrow beneath a shoulder. Edric raced to finish it off, Wooster hot on his heels. Moments later, two others also came crashing through the underbrush.

"Snorri!" Edric called to the taller of the two. "It surprised us; I'm glad you noticed in time."

The faun unstrung his bow and hung it over his back. "I wish I waited," he said, looking mournfully at the buck.

"It was a fine shot!" exclaimed Hornblower the badger. "While running, none the less."

"You can't make neck shots all the time," Edric agreed. "We won't lose too much meat."

Snorri shook his head. "That arrow took an awful long time to make. I was going to save it for something larger."

They all chuckled at that. The buck was the largest that they had ever shot, and likely larger than any they would ever see again. "Come on!" Edric shouted. "Let's see if we can gut this faster than you can make another arrow!"

"And leave all the stinky work to you? I would never do that."

The four jested and bantered, and they had the deer prepared before the sun was high in the sky. Then they set off, the dead deer tied to a pole that Wooster and Snorri carried between them. They found a fairly clear path, and soon met the road that ran along the river back to Chippingford. Hornblower began a merry tune, and they all joined in, Wooster with his rough voice that spoke of earth and wood, Snorri and his own voices that had not yet cracked, Hornblower's gentle lilt. Are you going to Chippingford fair; parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme…

"Old Feathers," Wooster interrupted.

Old Feathers was their nickname for the sheriff, who was presently walking towards them. Chauncer was a very large rooster, whose comb reached nearly to Snorri's belt and above Edric's. His favorite accompaniment was a large wooden baton, which he clutched under a wing like an umbrella. Edric doubted he could even use it, but Chauncer loved it and viewed it as a symbol of his authority. "Well, if it isn't our little band of misfits," the rooster crowed as he approached.

Edric flushed, but he knew it was true. He was a bastard, to be shunned by society as a product of sin. Wooster was slow-witted and clumsy, the butt of jokes among his own people. Snorri was the village rascal, always ending up in jail for one small offence or another. Hornblower was different; she was sweet and gentle, and a badger would come one day to give her a home and make her a wife. But she owed everything to Edric; he had found her as a babe in the woods, alone and shivering after her parents had been caught and killed in a sudden storm. He had named her Hornblower for her parents' horn that she had been piteously trying to blow for help, and had brought her back home for Einar and Brigid to raise. They were all misfits, and their best friends were each other. And that was almost enough. When Chauncer called them a band, that meant something; others saw their unity, and Edric was glad of that.

But Snorri would not be quiet. "We'd better find a Fountain of Shortliness, Edric. I think our sheriff mistakes us for somebody else."

"Be quiet. Handcuffs shorten any person. This deer you've shot. Was it from the royal forests?" There was a pause as Chauncer stared at each of them in turn. "Well? Lost your tongues? Silence gives consent?"

Snorri shrugged. "You said to be quiet."

Edric decided to step in before his friend antagonized the prickly sheriff any more. "We weren't poaching, sheriff. If you follow this road for a hundred paces, you'll find a little path on the right. Follow that till you find a rock with a cleft the size of a melon straight across, then turn and follow the sun till you reach a little brook. Go upstream till you reach a sycamore with an oak on the southeast and a beech on the west, and you'll find the deer parts we left behind. It's outside the royal forest."

The sheriff thought for a moment. "I suppose I'll have to take your bastard word. For what it's worth." Chauncer smoothed out his feathers and continued walking down the road.

The band burst out laughing as soon as the sheriff was out of sight. "He'll never figure those directions out," Snorri managed to gasp. "Quick thinking. That's supposed to be my profession."

"We weren't actually poaching, were we?" Wooster asked, blinking his eyes.

"No, no. My directions were accurate." They always tried to stay inside the law, at least all but Snorri. What good would a knight be if he didn't obey the laws he defended? "Let's take this deer to Papa Einar and Mama Brigid's house. It's the closest."

Einar and Brigid's house nestled on the edge of the forest, with little plots of vegetables and grain growing on the other sides. It had been built out of wood when they returned from exile, after the defeat of winter, with a stone chimney. Over the years Einar had added more stone all around the wood, till they had a snug house that would be quite warm in winter and yet have the cheer and coziness of wood on the inside. It seemed to Edric everything that a home should be. He never called it "my house," though. It would not be his to inherit after Einar and Brigid; it would instead pass to a distant cousin. A bastard came after all other relatives. And Einar and Brigid, as much as they cared for him, would never adopt him. He was not of their blood.

Mama Brigid was coming out to meet them, her sleeves rolled up and a rolling pin in her hands. She was a tall, thin woman with sharp features and a sharper tongue, though it belied a kind heart. Her dress was grey homespun; all their clothes were made of that, though sometimes Einar would find or buy some saffron or woad or madder to dye them. "Hang that out in the shed," she ordered, with a short glance at the deer. "Einar and I will butcher it this afternoon, and you all will be here for dinner. We'll have roast venison with potatoes and carrots." There was never any 'if' with Mama Brigid. Nor would she ever admit to being impressed, even if they had brought in the White Stag itself from hunting. "Then you can pick up your portions, Wooster and Snorri."

"Snorri should have the largest part," Edric put in. "He shot it."

"I'll take the antlers, if you let me help you," Snorri suggested with a smirk.

Brigid shook her rolling pin at the faun. "Don't you even try, Master Snorri. You're like to pinch all our knives while at it, you little rascal. Now be off. That goes for you too, you great big bear. Edric, fetch some wood. And tell Papa Einar to get his fat bottom in here." They loved each other, Einar and Brigid, though the good-natured Einar sometimes complained that when they married, he had been presented with his wife's hand, tongue, and nothing else.

"Can I invite Hilda over for dinner when I'm done?" Edric asked.

"Yes, a haunch from that deer should feed another mouth or two. Now, don't you be talking to her without supervision…"

Edric ran off to do the appointed tasks. Snorri was lounging against the little brown gate when he was done. "How old does she think you are?" the faun laughed. He began mimicking Mama Brigid. "Don't be talking to her without supervision."

"We grow up more quickly than fauns," Edric shot back as he ran down the road. "And bastards must grow up fastest of all," he added to himself.

Snorri and Wooster made their way back to their homes into the woods, but Edric directed his feet east along the river road. The road was edged on the left by the forest and on the right by the river, but here and there settlers had cleared little swathes of wood and placed their houses, far from civilization. Few of those who lived here had ever seen Cair Paravel, or even Beruna; as for Telmar and Calmoren, these were only distant names. The people scratched a living from the soil and the woods, and learned to depend on each other. It should have been a peaceful, quiet world. But Edric could never escape the reminders of who he was.

Across the road from Hilda's house, almost at the outskirts of Chippingford, a satyr and a dwarf were skipping stones into the river. Lothar and Bracegirdle, his worst tormentors. He hoped they wouldn't notice him. Maybe he could slip in the back way. But no, that wouldn't be proper. Edric tiptoed towards the gate.

"Beards and bedsteads!" Bracegirdle exclaimed, looking over. "What's the world coming to? You'd think regular people wouldn't have to sneak around like crooks."

Lothar took the cue. "He isn't a regular person. He's a bastard. He's usually more brazen, though. Thinks he can call himself a knight and rise above us."

"Must get it from his mother," Bracegirdle added. "Brazen as a whore, she must have been. Probably was one, come to think of it."

The satyr slapped his friend on the back. "Wasn't probably one, stupid. Who else would just abandon their child? Not that I see much to care for in him, anyway."

Edric clenched his fists. I won't cry. He tried to think of something to say. I can't just run from them, he repeated to himself over and over. But before he could say anything, he heard Hilda's voice coming from the porch. "Now run along before I come out and beat you over your empty heads." She was standing there on the porch, the broom in her hand pointed at his tormenters.

Bracegirdle laughed. "Bulbs and bolsters! Now he's got a woman to defend him. Some knight."

Hilda advanced threateningly on the two. "And who's going to defend you?" she snapped.

Lothar glanced at Bracegirdle. "Come on; it's boring here anyway." He glanced back over his shoulder as the two walked off. "Reckon there'll be some more bastards out of those two, some day. Just look at that gap-tooth."

"Come on in and don't mind them," Hilda whispered as she unlatched the gate to admit Edric. Hilda was a buxom, gap-toothed girl, three years older than Edric. She had always been kind to him, and he thought her pretty, no matter what Lothar and Bracegirdle said. Today she had her blonde hair tied back under a white kerchief. "They're cowards, that's what they are," she continued.

But they're not afraid till challenged, Edric reflected. I'll be a knight someday. Then I can protect others from people like them. Yet he felt ashamed as he followed Hilda inside, past the rosebushes that grew by the door. I can't even protect myself yet.

Hilda's younger siblings were inside. Little Gertrud with her cap of blonde curls was playing with some blocks that Edric had carved for her. The smells of bay leaves and cumin and thyme wafted from the kitchen, and Edric glanced in and saw young Harold stirring a pot of stew. The house had only three rooms—a main room, a small kitchen, and an even smaller bedroom for ailing old Osmund. The children slept in the attic.

"Alright, Harold, you can go play outside now. You too, Gertrud." Hilda pressed a kiss on her little sister's head and guided her to the door.

"I'll stir the stew," Edric put in. Hilda looked harassed and overworked. "Please sit down." There was a little bench in the corner of the kitchen, and the girl gratefully sat down. Her mother was dead, and her father had been badly injured and crippled by a falling tree. It was now up to her to raise her two younger siblings and manage the little farm. Edric would help whenever he could, and sometimes he managed to persuade Wooster and Snorri to help as well.

"I'll be a knight one day," he declared. "They'll insult a bastard, but not a knight."

Hilda laughed. Edric liked when she did that. He thought the way the dimples on her nose would shake was cute, and she had laughed too little since her mother died. "Do you think whether you're a knight or a bastard matters to me, Edric? You'll always be a kind boy, no matter what Lothar or Bracegirdle or others call you."

"But it'll matter to me." I would give everything to be a knight, Edric thought. "And think of what I could do! I could protect Wooster, and go fight the Telmarines or Calmorens. And I could have a farm, and your father and Gertrud and you could live there." Harold would inherit the family property, not Hilda. "You could be my lady."

Hilda turned away. Edric thought that she was smiling. "And how will you pay for all that, if you're away being a knight?"

"The knights always have a little castle or farm in the stories. I suppose it's given to them out of gratitude, or as a reward for their bravery." It was a fond dream of Edric's. He would have a little farm, just like Papa Einar's. Hilda would be the mistress, and he would go back there to her after a war. Maybe he would be carrying a captured enemy banner; he would present it to her and she would be the proudest, happiest girl in Chippingford. "Oh, I almost forgot why I came!" he added, nearly dropping the ladle. "Snorri shot the biggest buck you'll ever see! You have to come over to dinner."

"Just me?" There was a little bit of teasing in her voice. "None of the others have had venison in a long time, and I'm sure it'll do Father good."

I should have thought of that. A knight would do that. "Of course. I can help wheel your father over." Edric was sure that Mama Brigid would complain at first but be secretly happy that more people would be present to appreciate her cooking. He refused the stew that Hilda offered; he would have to be back for Mama Brigid's lunch.

Harold and Gertrud were chasing each other in the yard. Harold holloed at him before catching up with his sister and hoisting her up onto his narrow shoulders. Gertrud waved a chubby hand at him, clutching one of the wooden blocks. Edric wondered if they still would love him when they learned what he was. Maybe I'll be a knight by then. Then they won't think of me as a bastard.

He noticed an approaching horse and cloud of dust as he unlatched the gate. "Malachy!" he called. There was no mistaking the easy gait and the ease with which the rider dismounted. Malachy was kind to him, though too old to be part of his group. Now fifteen, the young man enjoyed riding about the countryside and generally avoiding helping his father on their nearby farm.

"War!" he shouted to Edric. "It's war! I met a traveler from Beruna, and he says that the Calmorenes invaded Archenland! A Narnian army is going to meet them. Oh, if only I could be there!"

That puzzled Edric. "Isn't the army up north with the High King?" he asked.

"It is. The army that marches south was mostly the guards who remained in Cair Paravel, and some volunteers. King Edmund and Queen Lucy are leading them. There was another lord who went with them. The traveler said that he had once been a peasant, too! Apparently he earned a lordship, fighting against the White Witch."

"That could be us someday!" Edric exclaimed. "What was his name?"

"Peridan, I think."

Edric repeated the name to himself. "Peridan." I'll remember that name.

Next POV: Peridan

The fiddlers sat down and the minstrel strummed his lute. "Oh, the horse and his boy, the horse and his boy. When Rabadash the Ass marched with his dread host from Tashbaan evil…"

The stars twinkled above the great feast on the lawn. Peridan wondered if they were winking. In a couple days, two hundred men had already become a dread host.