2 - The Traveler

Cair Paravel, Narnia
Spring 1030

"Well, that's it," said High King Peter from the chair of his state room desk. "Anvard's about to be sacked."

"What?" Cori burst out, turning on him with alarm.

Peter gave her a rueful look and waved the letter in his hands. "Our dear son is in love ... so he thinks."

Cori tilted her head. "With whom?"

"Cor's daughter, Ingride. He won't hear of the match—she's only fourteen. Far too young."

"Aedan is not all that long in years, himself," Cori muttered.

"Ten," Peter admitted, "but he's nearly a man grown. Older than me, when I took the throne. The magic in his blood, no doubt ... which he'll use as an excuse to tell you he's old enough, himself, so I wouldn't go needling him about his youth."

"He has your stubbornness, I am afraid," Cori sighed.

Peter angled a dry look at her and went back to reading. "He says he's heard from Silas's captain. More fighting in Silverwood. Aedan's itching to go help him."

The state room door opened and Edmund walked in, trailing a breathtakingly beautiful child with long waves of black hair and blue eyes. "Uncle, you promised!"

"Save me," Ed pleaded to Peter.

The little girl rushed to Peter's desk. "Uncle Edmund promised he'd take me to see the Boars."

Edmund caught Peter's eye and made a motion as if to hold his nose. When the little girl looked, Ed quickly scratched his head instead. Cori stifled a snort of laughter.

Peter shared a grin with Cori. The Boars were as loyal to Narnia as any of the Good Beasts, and just as deserving of respect ... but their scent had been known to put her dryad-soulbound (and smell-sensitive) brother-in-law off his food.

Peter pulled the child onto his lap. Susan's daughter beamed. "I'll tell you what, Danae. Aunt Lucy and I will take you to see the Boars. I should visit Grum, anyway." He added a bit of pointed reprimand to his tone. "Your uncle does like truffles, and the Boars are handy at finding them."

Ed raised his brow at Peter.

"Aedan has written that he's heard from Silas's captain," Cori said to Edmund. "Have you received any news from Silas himself?"

"Not of late," Ed said, and she caught a flash of dismay in his eyes. Edmund and Asha had never been able to conceive another child after the loss of their infant daughter Helen. If any harm came to their only son, Cori could hardly imagine how her brother- and sister-in-law might take it.

"I'm sure he's fine," Peter said lightly. "He wouldn't dare finish the job in Selbaran and leave Aedan nothing to fight after his training is complete."

Ed gave him a quick look, but Cori saw the gratitude in it. When he spoke, his tone was regretful. "I threw down the gauntlet, telling him of all our victories as young men. He merely picked it up and slapped me with it."

"It isn't your fault," Cori said. She reached for Ed's arm and gave it a squeeze. "How can anyone not want to emulate Narnia's finest soldiers?"

"Uncle Peter," said Danae, hopping up and down on his lap. "When do we leave? The Boars tell the best stories!"

He smiled indulgently. "We leave now. If you've told your parents."

"Of course I have," she pouted.

"Then off we go, to get stories and truffles alike," Peter said. He escorted Danae from the state room.

When they were alone, Cori stood on tiptoe and kissed Ed's cheek. "I'm certain he's fine," she said softly. "He has his father's bravery."

Ed took her hand and kissed the back of it. "Always the insightful one, my lady."

She grinned. "I do try."

- # -

Archenland
2303

Jaelyn stumbled along a rocky path, weary, but still walking. Every time she stopped to rest, she heard the panic in her master's voice when he told her to run and not return. Her water supply was gone already, drunk in a moment of thirst. She'd never had to ration anything before.

Not return to her only home? What was so important in this box, that he'd made her flee with it? She'd been tempted to stop and open it, but her fear of capture was, so far, greater than any curiosity.

Until she got to a crossroad that would take her either into Narnia or deeper into Archenland.

"Which way?" she murmured. She pushed the hood of her lightweight cloak off her head and checked in each direction. Rune had only said to run into the forest, and there was forest in both directions. With a frustrated sigh, she sat at the fork in the road and opened the wooden box.

Inside was a book—a small one, no bigger than her outspread hand, and in a language she didn't understand. She didn't understand the etchings, either, but they terrified her.

A great creature with a cat's body, the head of an eagle, and enormous wings. A wolf, standing on two legs like a man. A horrifying creature with an old woman's body, and the beak of a bird of prey. Afraid of the next image, she turned the page again ... and found what looked like a human, standing among a grove of trees.

The least frightening of the lot, she thought with a sigh of relief. What was this book of dreadful images?

Tucked into the back cover was a loose sheet of paper. She hesitated, uncertain if she really wanted to know what was inside ... but what else could she do now, jelly-legged and with no direction? She opened the paper.

To The Esteemed Doctor Cornelius,

May this book be useful to you, at least in academic terms. I cannot help you further. Magic no longer exists in Archenland. It is my hope that you may know what to do with the enclosed, but I must confess to being grateful it is out of my hands. I have no wish to stand against what may be coming. Rather, I would keep myself and those I care for far out of your Lord Protector's reach.

Regards,

Rune

Jaelyn's hands shook so that she dropped the second page. No longer magic ... not never any at all? Then Silas's letter was true. It was all true. Rune had lied ... to protect her, yes, but lied. What else had he kept from her? Why had he kept it from her?

Through her tears, she retrieved the second page and read aloud.

"Centuries hence
comes spirit from thence
Born of magic,
Of magic borne
By the call of ivory horn,
The hand of magic to bring recompense."

A gust of wind blew across the road and whipped the papers out of her hands. She gasped and held the book firm to her chest, and she swore she heard the echo of a horn on the wind.

Shuddering and tearful and completely without understanding of anything that had happened in two days, she grabbed up her pack and rushed blindly down the road to Narnia.

Half a day she ran, walked, and then stumbled, unsure what she might be running from, before she realized she was heading in the direction of Telmarine-occupied Narnia.

All this way, wasted in panic and without thought, running toward the danger. What had she been thinking?

Exhaustion brought her to tears. The path blurred before her, and she tripped over a stone. Sobbing now, she had just enough presence of mind to get off the road and into the woods.

In the forest, she dragged herself along for endless steps. Each time she wanted to stop, something drove her on. Fear, determination, a compelling force, she knew not what. Finally, she tripped over a fallen log and dropped onto her belly in the leaf litter, and there she fell deep asleep.

- # -

Hands curled behind her head and back, and lifted. Limply, she allowed it. She had no strength to fight it.

The hands settled her into something soft. She was warm. She was comfortable. Was she home? Had she been dreaming?

She had to force her own eyes open. She saw a crouching male figure silhouetted against firelight, and heard the metallic shiver of chain mail.

A soldier.

She cowered back against the log and blankets in which she had slept.

Slept? Blankets?

The figure noticed her motion and turned toward her. She froze, but couldn't stifle the yelp of panic that escaped her lips.

The figure rose upright. Taller than she—wiry but broad-shouldered. She doubted she could outrun him.

He came toward her with something in his hands—a knife? With another yelp, she threw off the blankets and began to scramble away over the log.

"I won't hurt you!" he said.

She stopped, and then smelled food. Her stomach roared greedily. Feeling her cheeks grow hot, she turned around.

The figure crouched and held the something out—a bowl of meat and bread. "It's the last of what I have. It's yours, if you want it."

Cautiously, she studied him. He certainly wasn't posed like he meant to threaten her. She hesitated and then reached out. He leaned toward her, and she held her breath as he bent into the firelight.

Unruly dark hair just brushed the tops of his ears. His eyes were bottomless brown with a touch of green like a deep forest, and gazing at her out of a striking face. He held out the bowl. "Go on, take it."

She did, and ate ravenously. The soldier said nothing ... just watched her, and periodically looked around the forest as if he expected something and it wasn't happening. She was too hungry to care.

When she was on the crust of bread, he got up and circled the fire. At a large oak, he paused. He let his hand hover over the bark for a moment, then he touched it.

Only crickets and the popping fire disturbed the silence. He lifted his hand away and rubbed his fingers with a quizzical frown.

He came back to her with a frustrated look. "Are you all right now?"

"Yes," she said. With a gesture encompassing the food and blankets, she added, "Thank you." Good manners kicked her until she added, "How can I repay your kindness, Sir ...?"

He seemed to gather up his composure, and gave her a very formal bow. "Silas Pevensie, my lady. I would be very obliged if you could tell me where I am."