Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't... I also don't own the Narnian Calendar. It belongs to Elecktrum who was kind enough to let me borrow it for my story. Her own stories are awesome and you should go read them too.
Summary: When disaster strikes, sometimes even the most conventional warrior must resort to unorthodox measures.
A/N: This is part of my A Light in the Darkness universe. Enjoy!
Unorthodox Measures
Part Three
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It took every ounce of my control to resist the urge to grab that fiend claiming to be an emissary and enlighten him to the fact that taking Alambiel, bringing harm to her, was the last foolish decision he and his master would ever make. Fury raged with horror at the thought that the blood covering Alambiel's boot knife was hers and I could barely attend to the conversation around me enough to nod to Lieutenant Dalibor when the High King commanded that this poor excuse of an emissary be taken to a tent to await their decision. As soon as he was beyond line of sight and out of earshot, my colts exchanged grim looks then the High King beckoned to one of the Wolves. "Check whose blood it is, Vahan."
Vahan Windwolf, Vardan's eldest son, stepped forward, his muzzle wrinkling as he inhaled the scents. I struggled to keep myself from demanding he speak of his findings at once. He was still checking, but surely, if it were Alambiel's blood, he would have said so immediately. I clung to the faint hope that it was not Alambiel's lifeblood that stained the blade of that knife, trying to ignore the dread feeling that it was hers and the unease that accompanied the knowledge that Alambiel would have to be in dire straits before she would resort to her boot knife in the midst of battle. Please, Great Lion, do not let this dread be accurate.
The Wolf lifted his grey head and I read reluctance in his gaze as he glanced at me then turned his full attention to the Kings. "Your Majesties know well that Dame Sepphora's scent differs from that of a full-blooded Human. Because of this, I can tell that her scent is the only one associated with the bloody blade, but another's, a full-blooded Human's, scent mixes with hers on the hilt and the scent of this stranger is fresher than that of Dame Sepphora's. I believe the knife was used by another at the same time Dame Sepphora's blood covered the blade. The scents smell as though they are the same age, perhaps four hours old."
No. I flicked my tail but managed to keep from vehemently denying Vahan's words. My heart did not wish to believe it. Peter leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense, as he queried, "But, you can't confirm how the blood came to decorate the blade or that it is without a doubt Dame Sepphora's blood, can you?"
Vahan shook his head. "No, your majesty, I cannot. However, I believe it highly unlikely that it is anyone but Dame Sepphora's blood. The scent is too memorable and too strong to be another's blood merely covering her blade."
My golden colt nodded, dismissing Vahan, and then his brother spoke up, "They didn't offer her as trade. Peter, if this were a true prisoner exchange, why would they only offer a vague promise of information instead of actually offering to exchange Kat for the return of our prisoners?"
That question was already haunting me. Why offer information instead of offering Alambiel? Was she too badly wounded? The thought was nigh unbearable and I turned to the hope that if Alambiel had received a mortal wound, then the bandits' pretense of an emissary would have brought her body to taunt us. Armor and weapons did not mean she was beyond aid and I would see that aid found her.
The High King shook his head, "I don't know, Ed. We'll have to ask him." He paused as concern entered his blue eyes while he studied his brother's face. "Are you still feeling up to this, Edmund? Maybe we should continue without you?"
Studying my dark colt, I could see that what little color had returned to his naturally pale complexion had once again drained away, leaving Edmund whiter than the pale white of his under tunic. But, his dark brows came together and his mouth turned down in a scowl as he snapped, "No you bloody well will not continue without me! We already discussed this, Peter. I have to be here for the negotiations or that miscreant of a two-faced, underhanded, caitiff, purloining scapegrace will take a report back to this robber baron styling himself as "the Lord of the West" that says we've been weakened. Not to mention, they'll probably take it to mean that we won't be able to do anything if they don't return Kat." Peter opened his mouth to protest but my dark colt merely continued in a savage hiss, "Lion's Whiskers, Peter, I tell you I'm fine!" He jumped to his feet, somehow paled even further, and crumpled. He would have hit the ground had his brother not already launched himself to catch him.
Peter shook his head, muttering ruefully, "Right, you're just fine. Stubborn fool." He carefully lifted his brother then turned to me, "It's almost dark. We'll continue these negotiations tomorrow morn after my brother's body has a chance to catch up with his stubbornness, so he can at least sit for a while without fainting."
I bowed, smothering the protest that had sprung to my lips, I would not argue with my King in front of an audience. "Yes, my King." I issued the orders for a tripling of the guard not only around this so-called emissary's tent but also around the Kings' tent. I took Alambiel's armor and knives to her tent myself. I knew how meticulous she was regarding their upkeep, especially her knives. She would be greatly vexed if they were not properly cleaned and polished. I busied my hands with seeing that each blade would pass Alambiel's inspection even as my mind raced with the thoughts and fears that she was grievously injured or even dead. I had promised her that she would not be forced to fight alone. I had not kept that promise, even in my poor attempt to send a proxy in my stead to relieve her. I had failed her.
My gaze was drawn to the blood staining the cleaning rag…her blood. Some of it had transferred to my hand…her blood was on my hands. I felt the weight of guilt add itself to the dread that already constricted my heart. I was pledged to be her shield, doubly so now that I courted her, and I had failed her terribly this day. Leaving the now cleaned armor and weapons in Alambiel's tent, I walked through the camp attempting to corral my emotions. But the vision of the bloody blade and the blood on my hand haunted me. I needed to know what had happened after I carried Edmund away from the battlefield…
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Night had fallen when I returned to the Kings' tent, but there was no time to waste…we'd already wasted enough. Peter was once again sitting by his brother's side, jerking out of his light doze when I entered. He instinctively shot a worried glance at his brother, but the dark colt was still sleeping peacefully. Then he turned his questioning gaze to me. "Oreius, what is it?"
"Alambiel never received aid on the battlefield, she was completely cut off and none thought to report it until I questioned them more thoroughly." I took a breath, reminding myself that it was not the colt's fault that those he'd told to aid my Alambiel were bogged down in their own fights. Nevertheless, I could still hear the strain in my own voice as I spoke again, "We must force this bandit to show the way to the robber baron's base camp. Alambiel must be there and if we leave her in their hands overlong…she may not survive."
The High King was already shaking his head before I'd even finished speaking. "No, Oreius, you know the regulations for negotiating a prisoner exchange forbid using an emissary, even if we don't think much of him, in such a manner. Kat's life would be forfeit if we did that."
"Her life is forfeit the longer she remains in their grasp. These men have ties to Heikki. We should not expect them to act as though they have a better grasp of honor than that snake. These negotiations are but a façade that only wins Alambiel's captors more time to harm her further. We betray her trust if we do not act now."
Peter rose from the folding stool, his gaze pained but his voice was calm as he met my eyes unflinchingly, "General Oreius, Narnia cannot abandon the route of negotiation at this time. We shall simply have to trust to Aslan to keep Kat between His paws until such time as we are able to act in a more direct manner."
I clenched my fists, struggling to maintain my composure, to resist shouting that I knew my Alambiel did not have that time. The negotiation was merely a tactic to delay us. Instead, I bowed stiffly, "I understand, my King, that Narnia cannot pursue this course of action. Forgive me for disturbing you. I hope your brother wakes in the morn feeling stronger."
Returning to my own tent, I stamped a hoof. Alambiel was in danger and I would never forgive myself if my failure to keep my promise, to act, cost my love her life. But, there was a way… A way I normally would never consider, too unorthodox, too outside the rules and regulations that accompanied my life as a soldier, as the General. As the High King had said, Narnia could not abandon the negotiation, decoy though it may be, but an ordinary Narnian could if he did not do so representing Narnia. I stripped off my armor, removing that which would readily identify me as the General of Narnia, whose actions would always be interpreted as representing those of Narnia herself. No, I would not be the General. I would be nothing more than a simple Centaur who is searching for his abducted lady. Narnia would not be blamed for my actions. I would face a penalty when I returned, no doubt, but if I returned with Alambiel alive, I would gladly take whatever punishment the Kings handed down.
The soldiers on watch would not question me. What reason would they have? I left my tent, being thankful that the moon was but a sliver of light this night. I went back to Alambiel's tent and took her healing kit before I headed for the border of the camp. One of the guards noted my departure, but did not delay me as I knew they would not. I took the long way back to the battlefield, searching out the place where I'd last seen her and then I would turn my search northwest, the direction where Lieutenant Dalibor and the others had seen the bandits' decoy emissary emerging from and where I felt my Alambiel had been taken. Hold on, my milis cantalach, hold on, I'm coming.
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A/N: Please Read and Review!
A/N2: Attention anyone who is a member of the Narnia Still Lives forum! The nominations for the Narnia Still Lives Fanfic Awards 2013 are underway. Please nominate those stories and authors who stood out with their writing in 2013 and should win one of the awards. Nominations close March 1st. And remember anyone can join the forum, only an introduction is required, and then make your nominations.
Full details can be found at the Narnia Still Lives Forum (the top forum when one clicks on The Chronicles of Narnia forums) under Honoring the Heroes: Nominating for the 2013 Fanfic Awards thread (top thread).
Lady Alambiel
Awards Coordinator