Chapter Two: The Rescue
A/N: I changed the rating on this to be a little higher, because there is fighting, and fighting is bloody. In a perfect world there wouldn't be any, but even Narnia isn't a perfect world.
Disclaimer: Written for practice writing action stories (and hopefully others' enjoyment) and not for profit, because it isn't mine to profit from.
OOOOO
Mawrit was silent, invisible in the dark except for the times he turned and waited, eyes glowing. He led the king, queen, and footsoldiers to the mountain and up an almost-path towards the peak. Peter had sheathed his sword, climbing with hands as well as feet as the mountain grew steeper. He hated this; going slowly so he didn't end up gasping for breath for all to hear, but itching to finish, to be at the top, to find them. Susan was silent just below him; her grace served her well, even when climbing, bow on her back to be out of the way. In front of them were three cats (the cheetahs and Mawrit), behind them were the sixteen fauns and four beavers. Twenty-five soldiers, against forty. Twenty-seven, if—when, Peter told himself, when—they rescued Edmund and Lucy.
As long as his siblings hadn't been hurt too much to fight.
Sometimes thinking like a commander was horrible. Necessary, but horrible.
Lift another hand; set it down gently, searching in the dark for a hold. Flinch back from the sharp edge of a rock; there, something to grab. Lift up. Search in the dark for a new handhold. He could smell the dirt in the dark. The new moon helped hide them, but it made things so much more difficult.
It took them two hours, the night passing. He knew it would take the centaurs about an hour longer to reach the Archeland exit; they could go by a pass and make better time, but they had to circle back on the other side.
It would give the soldiers at the top a time to rest, regroup, he knew, but as he pulled himself up that last stretch he sent a prayer to Aslan for patience. Lucy and Edmund were so close. Aslan, let them be unhurt.
The other panthers were waiting, tails twitching in the starlight wasn't hindered by the forest. Peter sat farthest from the edge, giving the others room to come up. Susan first, spilling onto the flat space. Peter turned to check the tunnel once he saw her safe. It was a dark hole, barely large enough for me, several meters away; the peak leveled out before going up again. The fauns came after her, many breathing hard, but quietly. Groundhoof's training was worth it, if it made it the rescue possible.
Susan, wordless, slung her bow around from the back and tested it, the faint twang of the string barely audible. She spilled her arrows into her hand next, running her fingers over them, checking them for breaks. Finished, she looked up. "Is the waiting always this hard?" she whispered.
Peter thought back, to the waiting before Beruna, to the ambush he'd led for the largest remnant of the witch's army and the hours in the bushes, to the time he knew his group were being hunted and had to wait for them to catch up. They'd all been awful - fighting still made his stomach clench, and the waiting for the blood, screams, and death was worse. But Peter remembered another moment, too. At Beruna, when he'd turned just in time to see Edmund fall. "Yes," Peter whispered back, "but there are worse moments. Courage, Su. Groundhoof told me once waiting gives us time to pray. Aslan has authority over every battle."
Her breathe went in and out, and Peter felt some of her tension ease at the reminder that this was Aslan's battle. "We have a saying in the castle; Aslan direct our day. Here, Aslan direct our battle," she said softly. Peter nodded, and she leaned against his shoulder. It was a comfort for both of them to know that one sibling, at least, was safe. Peter prayed Aslan would keep Susan so through the night.
They passed the rest of the time in silence. Peter kept my eyes on the new moon, judging time by its position. Finally Peter stood, and Susan slung her bow on her back and stood as well. Around them were the small, quiet noises of the fauns getting ready; the beavers were behind them. "Mawrit, take the Cats first. I will follow; then the Fauns, then you, Beavers. Susan, bring up the rear, and if it comes to battle, find a high place out of reach and take out as many as you can with arrows. Beavers, I want you checking for ways to bring passages down - preferably not on us - to close us off from pursuit, if need be. But only if we have a clear way out. See if you can chew down the supports for the cave system. Each of you chose a Faun as a partner; that partner's job is to keep you alive. Cats, you'll be our scouts. Warn us if you hear or scent anyone getting close. Everyone understand?" The king heard a quiet chorus of "Yes, sire," and added, "Mawrit, how far down, and how steep is this tunnel?"
"You'll probably slide the first part of the way, maybe a third of the way down the mountain" said the cat cooly, balancing perfectly on his feet. "But it ends in an empty cave, a small one, and from there we can walk."
Peter took one more look at the tunnel, shifting his sheathed sword so it wouldn't get tangled in the slide. "Lead on," he commanded in a whisper. Finally, finally, they could move.
The cats bounded into the tunnel with a soundless leap. He heaved himself up to the entrance, at waist height, and swung his legs under him so he'd slide that way first. The cats were right, it was steep, about as steep as a steeple roof in the place he remembered. He caught himself thinking that Lucy would have loved it. He was going to go get her.
Inside was completely dark. They couldn't risk light, and Peter could see nothing within a few meters, feeling his way forward and down by touch alone. The slide was rough. Peter guessed the water had run down the tunnel, making it bigger over time, but that meant it washed away the dirt and left all the rocks. Half of it was scrambling, scooting himself forward; the other half were short drops that ended abruptly against cave walls. It was louder than he liked, with the echoes of whispered pain and moving pebbles, but the invisible Cats were silent, and he hoped that meant there was no one waiting for them.
It took them perhaps fifteen minutes, he estimated by counting; it felt much longer. When the floor leveled off and stayed level, he got to his knees so he could crawl; the tunnel was still too short to stand. But it made following it through any turns easy; just reach for the empty space. Forward, forward, with dirt finally under his hands, softer than the tunnel coming down. This must be where the water pooled.
"Light a torch, sire," rumbled a low voice, and he almost yelled. Panting, he reached to the flint he'd taken from his horse's saddlebags, trying to slow his heartbeat and breathing. Behind him he heard the fauns soft hoofbeats, then the small pattering feet of the beavers coming closer.
"Here," said a quiet voice behind him; he struck the flint and saw Susan holding out a torch she'd put in her quiver. He lit it, took it from her, and looked around.
The cave was small, and the hole they'd come out of had been around a turn, almost invisible from the inside. He lit two more torches other fauns held, and they fell in near the middle and end of the group. He moved forward, towards the entrance where the cave got smaller again. Behind him he could hear the others fall in. The cats were near the entrance, the cheetahs at the back, completely still till he was almost even; they looked lethal, guardians of the night with two suns at the back in the flickering light of the torch. They turned and led the way once he reached the entrance.
That cave led to another, a long one, wide enough for three or four to walk together, still slanted down. Peter kept one eye forward and another on the cats, his hand ready on his sword hilt. Defeating this army would be easier if they had no hostages to worry about; the rescue first, and the rescue would be easier if they remained undiscovered.
The long cave took a sharp dive down; if it had been a river it would have looked like a waterfall. But another cave branched off, and the cats turned there; small, and the walls looked like they had been dug out with claws. The cats slipped in easily; Peter had to turn sideways at times, torch first, careful not to brush it against the wall, hoping he didn't have to draw his sword. That cave didn't last long, though it widened at the end. The cats stopped in the shadow of its walls, and he saw why. There was light ahead.
He smothered his torch on the wall quickly; but the cats' fur was lying flat, and they didn't seem alarmed. Slowly, he made his way forward.
Mawrit's mate, Kelna, was nearest him. Smaller, lighter, and as unblinking as her beloved, she turned her head, tickling his cheek with her fur.
"One guard, your majesty. Bored, and he has not heard us, but he's at the end and we have to get past him." She licked her paw delicately. "We can pass unseen; shall we take care of him?"
Peter wiped his forehead and tried to think. "Is he in armor?" The panther nodded, and he frowned. Kelna was deadly, he'd seen her hunt, and Mawrit could handle several of the guards all on his own without a tremble in his whiskers, but unless the cats took out the guard's voice he might still have a chance to cry out. He looked back at Kelna. "Go get Queen Susan," he whispered. The panther was gone in an instant. It took Susan some moments to make her way up the narrow cave past the rest, but Peter waited. She was Narnia's finest archer, and he would wait rather than take a risk. A few minutes later she was crouched beside him and the panthers. He looked at Mawrit and whispered, "Give her the guard's position."
Mawrit bounded forward, one leap, two, and froze, listening. Everything was silent. The cat leaned forward, all four paws still in place, till his head poked beyond the wall. A few moments; he drew it back, and his turn and leap was a single, fluid movement too fast to follow. "Helmet, chain mail covering his arms, as far to the left as the length of the great hall at Cair, leaning against the wall with arms folded, watching the cave in the other direction." Peter glanced at Susan; her face was set, determined, and she slowly, quietly, carefully, drew her bow off her back again and placed one arrow on the string, the bow still loose. She stood, eyes on the light, the entrance.
Peter looked at Kelna and nodded to the Queen; Kelna rose and walked with her. Peter ached to go forward too, but the more humans, the more noise, and the greater chance the guard would turn. Susan paused at the entrance, against the wall, and drew the arrow and string back. She stepped out in a single movement of grace, bow drawn, sighted for a millisecond, and fired. Peter heard a cut off choke, a thump, and Susan released her bow. He took a breath and moved forward, touching her arm with a whispered "Well done." Her face was white and pain in her eyes, but she nodded. Peter looked down the hall; the guard was lying on the floor. They moved past him, the cats leading once again, staying to the side of the cave and the shadows. Once two hags came cackling down the corridor, food in hand, and the panthers were on them before the group could be seen. Once they turned into another hallway to find a ghoul at the end, licking its fingers; Susan shot it before it could do more than snarl. But the caves seemed strangely empty, and Peter's stomach twisted. Was this an Aslan sent blessing? Something seemed wrong.
But Lucy and Edmund were ahead, and Peter didn't have a choice but to forge on. They'd probably been moving for half an hour since they reached the flat cave and lit the torches.
The cats stopped again, and Kelna stepped daintily back to him and Susan, looking up with a panther's dark face. "Their majesties are held just beyond this, King Peter. But there's five ogres between us and them."
Peter hesitated; five was a lot to take out soundlessly. "Are there any other routes out of that cave?" Susan asked calmly, reaching back quietly for another arrow.
"There's a short cave, carved out, between us and the cave with the ogres. Their majesties are in an alcove in that cave, with iron bars keeping them in. Or the ogres out; Queen Lucy was not impressed with their captors, the last time we were here, and they weren't getting closer to her than they had to. Or King Edmund. There's one more way out of the cave, but as far as we could explore, it leads to nearly the outside of the mountain before curving back around. If they run that way we will outrun them, and then, well, it's been a while since my mate and I got to hunt together." Kelna grinned, the panther grin that still sent chills down Peter's spine. He nodded, and gestured the true Narnians forward so he could whisper to them.
"Cats first; get to the other exit if you can. Two of you," pointing to the fauns, "with me. Susan, you enter behind us, and take as many of the ogres as you can before we get there. Beavers, stay near the entrance; if there's wood there, see if you can collapse it if you hear reinforcements coming." He looked around; they nodded their understanding. "Aslan be with us, and bless our battle." He turned back towards the entrance, two fauns coming to his side, Susan falling behind them. The cats slunk forward and were gone, the cheetah's staying behind. He drew his sword, praying as he did what he always asked: let this do good and never ill. Then through the cave, the cats already invisible in the dark hallway between the two.
He let his eyes adjust to the light beyond for a just a moment, then ran through, five big, ugly monsters with fat little heads turning at the sound of his footsteps. He heard "Peter!" from his right, with a "Peter!" in Lucy's voice a moment later, and then a whistle of an arrow and one ogre fell, an arrow in his eyes; a second arrow followed a moment later, and the ogre closest to the other door fell two. Then Peter was close enough to fight.
And he slashed, first, at the ogre who had grinned and lifted its wooden club, half the size he was, and swung. He turned his sword away and ducked under, then thrust, and the ogre dropped the club, howling, as he pierced its muscled arm. The faun beside him finished that ogre off as he turned towards the other one that swung at his stomach. Move back, bend, out of the way, turn again, twist the sword, and the ogre fell, it's leg bleeding; step over it, thrust the sword down, four out of five dead, the fifth? The fauns had already taken it down. He looked around, automatically cleaning his sword on the ogre at the same time; one faun was holding his arm and grimacing, but everyone else was unharmed, including Susan. He turned towards where he'd heard the voices.
Iron bars ran floor the cave ceiling, a door of iron bars locked in the middle of the bars, hands clasped around them, were both of Narnia's missing rulers. He strode forward, looking them over at the same time, Susan already running forward from the wall. Edmund was pale but standing straight, a smile in his eyes at the sight of his siblings, and Lucy was already calling their names in a soft, fluting voice. "Peter! Susan!" Peter reached over and touched both their hands, a gentle touch; Susan reaching through the bars to wipe Lucy's hair out of her face, gentle probing down at a cut running the width of her cheek. Peter looked at it and shuddered; probably from a vulture's claws.
"We're all right," Edmund said, wriggling his fingers out from under Peter's to clasp his hand. "But something's wrong, Peter, it's almost like we were bait. We have to get out of here." Mawrit's cousin - Peter thought, anyway, he wasn't clear - was examining the lock. He reared back, placing one paw on the bars so he stood on his hind legs, and unsheathed his claws and stuck one in. He turned it, trying once, twice, the four rulers turning to look at him with a little bit of awe. A moment later the lock clanged, and the panther drew his claw back, the door coming open with it. The younger siblings tore hands away from the others and ran to the door and out, Peter and Susan catching them in a four-way hug as soon as they came out. Peter let it last a moment, just a moment, to thank Aslan and feel that they really were ok, before letting go. "Mawrit, lead us back? I agree with Edmund, something's-" A patter of small paws stopped him, a patter followed by a rumbling, and the beavers came scurrying into the cave. "The army!" they shrieked in chorus. "Just behind us, and the cave won't collapse the whole way!" Peter turned to Mawrit; the panther nodded towards the cave behind him, and the army fell behind the four as they moved forward, guarding them from the rear.
"Aslan, lead us out," Peter heard muttered behind him in Edmund's voice, and he heartily agreed. Get them out, then come back and destroy everyone who'd dared to imprison Edmund and make Lucy bleed. Sword still drawn, he moved forward, past the panthers and cheetahs, taking point now that they didn't need stealth. Susan stayed at the rear, Edmund guarding her, to take down anyone who got to close, and the group headed as swiftly as they could for the exit, Mawrit growling directions in Peter's ear as they followed the long, long, long cave. There was still no one, and Peter took a moment to thank Aslan for that as they stopped, resting against the wall to ease the stitch in his side. Thirty seconds, enough to breathe deeply, then they were off again, following the cave with its random torches in the walls, long, twice Peter's height, and heading mostly straight.
Straight, for the rest of their run and two more breathing breaks, until suddenly it turned. Peter paused to gather any stragglers (Lucy and the four beavers had short legs and were slower). They turned the corner and he breathed out; more empty cave. The run began again, a jog this time, the four rulers at the front, grouped together. Peter wanted them close. The cave branched up ahead, and Peter remembered Mawrit telling him to take the right-hand fork, one with two torches on either side of the beginning. Two more caves and they'd be out, on Archeland side, but with a group of centaurs. Two more and they'd be safe. He grabbed Lucy's hand; Edmund and Susan were right behind him. Through the entrance, tripping suddenly over a rope at ankle level, what? -
And he heard a rumbling, right overhead, and dived forward, pulling Lucy along. He heard Edmund and Susan hit the ground beside him, along with a grunt of pain from a cheetah, then another - the others had been too slow. Peter watched in horror as the cave ceiling came down, cutting off the rest of the army. He looked forward; there, waiting, was the rest of the rebelling army, hags, specters, ogres, ghouls, cruels, people of the toadstools, and a minotaur at the front, battle axe in hand (1). Peter tried to push himself up and grab his sword, and the minotaur roared, rocks resetting as the echoes faded. Peter flinched.
"I wouldn't do that, little king." His voice was worse than the roar, sneering, condescending, gravelly and low. His bull's head nodded to his side; a few satyrs held bows, drawn - and pointed at his siblings. The minotaur stepped forward. "Let go of your sword, little king," he said, and Peter glared but took his hand off it. "Stand up." Peter did, pulling Lucy up and putting her behind him; stepping forward to be in front of Edmund and Susan as well. Susan was helping Edmund up; he swayed, and his arm was bent at stomach-jolting angle. Susan ripped her archer's glove off; Peter stopped paying attention as the minotaur walked forward, looming over them. He looked at Peter, just looked, with greedy, dark eyes and an unpleasant smile. "Take them to my throne room," he said finally, and turned away as several of his army took the sovereigns by their arms, forcing them to kneel. The cold, pinching, cruel hands pulled at him and his siblings, binding their hands behind their backs with snarls and growls. The minotaur stopped and looked over his shoulder. "The rest of you, go block up the other exit to that cave. No one gets out on either side." Peter, just before he was hauled to his feet, closed his eyes. Aslan help them. They were all captives now.
OOOOO
(1) I took the list of evil creatures from LWW p. 132. I'm hoping to do something with the people of the toadstools in the next chapter, because I'm wondering what on earth they're like. I hear the fairy Merryweather in my head going "a fat old hoptoad," and I think they'd be something like that.
Response to RiteOfSpringIS: Thank you so much for your review, and the compliments! I don't usually try to write action, so I'm so glad you enjoyed it! May your Easter be filled with the presence of God.