Gaenrorke stood on the hilltop, his eyes focused on the expanse of swampland bordering The Empress Lake. A slight grimace marred his rugged, bearded face. Centaurs had never been fond of swamps. It was too easy for them to get stuck, or far worse, to sink and never rise again.
Still . . .
"Uncle? Does something trouble you?"
He turned to young centaur to his right, one with smooth, angular features and long dark hair.
"I'm just thinking," he told his niece, Skyla. "Thinking about how a swamp like that would make a good hiding place for our enemies."
"I think I would agree," Skyla nodded. "Only the most loathsome of creatures would live in a swamp. That certainly would include the followers of the White Witch."
Gaenrorke chuckled, as did several of the other centaurs in his group. Skyla's wit never ceased to amuse him. She was so unlike Filadra, his sister and her mother. But that's what he appreciated about Skyla. Much as he loved his sister, Filadra could be too serious for her own good. Sometimes he wondered how his niece had acquired her wit.
"And in order to search for them," said a young centaur with fiery red hair and a short beard, "we must venture into the swamp, with no assurance any of the White Witch's followers are even in there."
Gaenrorke frowned as he turned to Thonmak. "You have been doubtful of this mission ever since we set out from our camp."
"Because the battle has been won. The White Witch is dead, as are most of her lieutenants. Her army is routed, and the rightful kings and queens of Narnia now sit in Cair Paravel. We are at peace now."
"Being at peace does not mean we fall into complacency. When we do that, we risk ignoring potential threats to that peace. Many of the White Witch's army were killed at Beruna, but some managed to slither away."
"Most likely to skulk in whatever hole they could find," countered Thonmak. "I fail to see how they can threaten Narnia now."
"Even as small as their numbers are, they are more than capable of raiding isolated dwellings or small villages. And if unchecked, one of their number could rise as a leader, recruit more creatures to their ranks, and threaten all of Narnia."
"Perhaps. But after their crushing defeat at Beruna, after the death of the White Witch at Aslan's paws, the fight must be gone from them. Wouldn't they much rather hide than risk death?"
"There is cause to be concerned, Thonmak." Skyla turned to him. "My uncle has scanned the night skies closely, read the stars and constellations. They reveal a possible new threat to Narnia. It is likely that threat is the remnants of the White Witch's army. Also, remember what General Oreius told us before we left. Shortly after the coronation, Aslan told High King Peter that he and his siblings, and all of Narnia, would be tested, and soon. A test that we must pass or fail on our own, without help from Aslan, to show how deep our desire is to live in peace and freedom. If you doubt the survivors of the White Witch's army are this new threat, does that mean you believe my uncle is wrong? Or that Aslan himself is wrong?"
Thonmak's eyes widened. "What? No, of course not."
"Then perhaps you should quell any doubts you have and focus on stamping out this potential threat Uncle Gaenrorke and Aslan speak of."
Thonmak bit his lower lip. He groaned and lowered his head. "I will."
A couple centaurs in the back chuckled softly.
A huge smile spread across Gaenrorke's face as he gazed at his niece. Pride surged through him as he patted Skyla's shoulder. She turned to him with a smile of her own that made his heart swell. He did not need the stars to tell him Skyla had a bright future ahead of her. She had given a good account of herself in the battle against the White Witch. Her skills in divination improved each day. Her intelligence and compassion knew no bounds. He could picture her as a great warrior and seer one day, perhaps even a great leader.
And speaking of being a leader . . .
"Now that we have sufficiently debated the merits of our mission, it is time we continue."
"Into the swamp?" asked Thonmak.
"Yes . . . unfortunately."
Gaenrorke led the other seven centaurs down the hill and toward the swamp. Occasionally, he glanced over his shoulder at Thonmak. He brooded a bit, no doubt his pride wounded at being defeated in an argument, and by a centaur younger than him. Then again, Thonmak was young too, by centaur standards. Sometimes that youthfulness led to bouts of impatience, hotheadedness, and overconfidence. Though with the right tutelage, he would one day mature into a fine example of centaur –
"Did you hear that?" Skyla halted.
Gaenrorke stopped as well, the other centaurs following suit. "What is it?"
Skyla kept silent, pointing to a clump of bushes thirty paces ahead. "I heard something shuffling in those bushes."
That was another thing his niece had been blessed with, exceptional ears. He followed the direction of Skyla's extended finger and stilled himself. Several moments passed with the only sound around the gentle breeze.
Then a rustling came from the bushes.
Gaenrorke waved his centaurs forward, all of them drawing their swords. When they got within ten paces of bush, Gaenrorke called out, "Show yourself!"
The bushes rustled again. Gaenrorke's hands tightened around the hilt of his broadsword.
A small, furry creature with canine features and a bushy tail darted out from under the bush.
Gaenrorke lowered his sword and groaned.
Fox.
"I say," the little animal spoke. "Would you mind keeping it down?"
"Fox. What are you doing here? Spying on us?" True Fox and his kind had opposed the White Witch, but in his experience, foxes were sly, untrustworthy, and tended to be out solely for themselves.
"Spying?" Fox retreated a step, surprise in his eyes. "Why no, of course not. What reason would I have for spying on noble centaurs such as yourselves?"
"You're a fox," said Thonmak. "That is reason enough."
Fox sighed and shook his head. "If you must know, I was just about ready to pounce on a very fat, juicy rabbit hidden in those bushes. And I would have had him if not for your bellowing."
Gaenrorke's eyes narrowed. "We have more important matters to attend to than keeping your belly full."
"Obviously, since you scared away my lunch. I figured you centaurs would be more sympathetic to my plight, being you have two bellies to keep full."
"You try my patience, Fox." Gaenrorke stomped forward.
"Uncle, please." Skyla put a hand on his shoulder. "Fox is only following his natural instincts. We, unfortunately, spoiled his meal. Should we not have sympathy for one of Aslan's children?"
"Ah, well put, milady." Fox bowed his hand. "Thank you."
Gaenrorke sighed, the anger uncoiling inside him. He turned his head from his niece to Fox. "Perhaps you can make yourself useful. Have you seen any followers of the White Witch in these parts?"
"Followers of the White Witch? I assumed them all to be dead, or hiding somewhere."
"It is our task to hunt them down in case they wish to threaten Narnia again. Now, have you seen any of them?"
"Alas, no." Fox shook his head. "But I wish you luck in your task. Or perhaps not. I would hope no one ever sees a follower of the White Witch again."
Skyla grinned. Gaenrorke groaned in response. "If you do happen to see anything, report it to us."
"I will. Rest assured, noble centaur, you may count on me."
Again, Gaenrorke groaned. He waved the other centaurs to continue.
"Good luck in your hunt, Fox," Skyla said.
"Thank you, milady." He bowed again. "Thank you. You are most kind."
With that, Fox darted back into the bushes.
Gaenrorke tried to put the annoying little creature out of his mind as they neared the swamp. His muscles tensed, the sword tight in his hand.
"Wait!" Skyla stopped. "I hear something."
"Not Fox again," grumbled Thonmak.
"No. Something . . . something else." Skyla's face twisted in puzzlement. She walked away from the swamp, her gaze aimed at one of the nearby hills.
Gaenrorke followed, his ears perked up. He heard it, too. Some sort of steady grinding sound. He searched his memory to see if he had ever heard anything like it before.
He hadn't.
"Follow me, and keep your swords ready."
The centaurs moved toward the hill. The sound grew louder and louder. Could it be a monster? A dragon, perhaps? But it had been many, many years since anyone had seen a dragon in Narnia.
By the mane, what could it be?
Gaenrorke froze for a moment when he saw something roll over the hill.
"What is that thing?" Thonmak wondered aloud as a second . . . thing appeared.
"A sleigh, perhaps?" Skyla speculated. "Or some sort of chariot?"
"How can it be?" said Thonmak. "Where are the horses to pull it?"
"I don't know." Gaenrorke shook his head. The closer the things got, he knew they were some means of transportation, for men sat in them. Men like King Peter and King Edmund. But he knew of no other men in Narnia save their kings. Telmarines? They were said to have strange ways about them. But as with dragons, no one had seen Telmarines in a long time.
The – chariots? – came within sixty paces of them. Fifty. Forty.
"Halt!" Gaenrorke boomed, raising his hand.
The chariots ground to a halt.
"Declare yourselves!"
The two men sitting in the front of the chariot turned to one another and spoke. Gaenrorke had trouble making out what they said. Their language sounded like nothing spoken in Narnia. It was sharp and harsh.
"I said declare yourselves!" Gaenrorke raised his sword higher.
One of the men in the chariot raised his hand to the other. He opened a door and stepped out.
Gaenrorke raised an eyebrow as he studied the man. He was tall with an ugly scar marring the left side of his face. The sign of a warrior. Yet he did not look like any warrior he'd ever seen. The man wore no armor or chainmail. He did have on a helmet, though one that looked more like a pail for fetching water than for wearing in battle. And he carried no weapon! Or perhaps he did. The man clutched some sort of tube with a stick connected underneath. What kind of weapon could that be, if it indeed was one?
The man got within fifteen paces before he stopped and smiled. Not a very sincere smile at that. More like a smile he'd expect from Fox.
"Guten Tag," said the man.
A puzzled look came over Gaenrorke's face. "What mean you?"
"Ah. English. Good, I can speak that."
"Who are you?" Thonmak demanded.
The insincere smile grew wider. "Obersturmfuhrer Otto Skorzeny." The man bowed, though kept his eyes on the centaurs. "Humble servant of the German Reich."
"Who is this German Reich you speak of?" asked Skyla.
"A great nation far away from here. Or maybe not very far, depending on your point of view. And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
"I am Gaenrorke, and this is my niece, Skyla."
"And you are centaurs, I imagine?"
"Of course." An edge crept into Gaenrorke's tone.
"And where do you come from?"
"We come from Narnia," said Thonmak.
"I assumed that. But where in Narnia? A large city? A small village? Who is your leader?"
"You ask many questions, Oob . . . Oob . . . Oob-strum-fur Skor-ee-zee." Gaenrorke scowled, knowing he butchered that strange name.
"Obersturmfuhrer Skorzeny. And yes, I do have many questions, for I need to know all I can about Narnia."
"For what purpose?" Thonmak trotted closer. "Are you friend or foe of the kings and queens of Narnia?"
"Thonmak," Gaenrorke snapped.
"Ah." The predatory smile on Skorzeny grew wider. "So you are ruled by kings and queens. Hmph! Where I come from they usually just have one of each. Interesting."
"We shall answer no more of your questions," Gaenrorke said sternly. "In fact, you will surrender and tell us your intentions here in Narnia."
Skorzeny looked unfazed. In fact, the man chuckled. Surprise and rage collided within Gaenrorke. Who was this fool to laugh at such a command by a centaur?
"Nein, nein, nein, my horsey friend."
Shocked and furious gasps rose up from the centaurs, Gaenrorke included. Did his ears deceive him? Had Skorzeny referred to them as mere horses? Did this man have no concern for his physical well-being?
Skorzeny continued. "As I said, I am in need of information about Narnia, which means that you will surrender yourselves to us, and answer all our questions . . . if you value your lives."
"You dare threaten us!" Thonmak bared his teeth. "You believe you can make us submit with mere words?"
"Oh no. I have more than words to make you surrender."
Skorzeny pointed his skinny tube at the ground. Thunder and flame spewed from the hole in the end. Gaenrorke jumped back in surprise. Little fountains of dirt sprouted a couple paces in front of him.
What evil magic was this?
"Now," the fake warmness faded from Skorzeny's voice. "Drop your weapons, line up over there, and answer every question we have about Narnia! You saw what this machine gun can do to the ground. Imagine what it can do to your flesh!"
"You will not take us without a fight!" Thonmak charged forward, sword raised.
More cracks of thunder split the air. Not from Skorzeny's "machine gun," but from a big man in one of the chariots who held a much longer tubular weapon.
Skyla gasped. Thonmak twisted, splotches of red covering his torso. He fell to the ground and laid on his side, unmoving.
Two more centaurs charged forward, swords raised. More cracks of thunder erupted from the "machine guns." A sound like angry hornets buzzed all around him. Blood burst from the torsos and hides of the two centaurs. Both dropped to the ground dead.
"Take cover!" Gaenrorke hollered. "Take cover!"
He galloped toward a clump of trees nearby, Skyla by his side. More crackles of miniature thunder filled the air, merging into a sustained roar.
One centaur stumbled and fell. So did another. Something bit into his rear hide. Pain burned through the length of his body. Gaenrorke kept going, the trees looking so far away.
Suddenly he was behind them, as was Skyla and the surviving centaur, Balyamr. The angry hornets continued to cut through the air, smacking the bark of the trees.
"What are those weapons, Uncle?" Skyla asked, breathing heavily. "What they did to Thonmak and the others . . ."
"I don't know." More hornets slapped against the trees. "I just know those men are a threat to Narnia, perhaps the threat I foresaw. The kings and queens must be made aware."
He gazed at his niece, his insides twisting. "Skyla, you must flee."
"What. No, Uncle, I will not abandon you in battle."
"You must. You must warn the kings and queens. We shall hold off these men and give you time to escape."
"But you'll . . . you'll . . ." Tears welled in Skyla's eyes.
"Skyla, you must! Narnia is depending on you! Now go, and keep going. Don't look back, no matter what you hear."
Skyla clenched her jaw, a tear trickling down her cheek. She nodded. "I love you, Uncle."
"I love you, too. Now when Balyamr and I jump out from behind this tree, you run. Understood?"
She nodded.
Gaenrorke looked to the other Balyamr. "Ready?"
The other centaur nodded.
Gaenrorke tensed, praying to Aslan to keep him and his comrade alive long enough to allow Skyla to get away.
Suddenly, the sounds of thunder and hornets stopped.
"Balyamr, now! Skyla, go!"
With a choked sob, Skyla galloped away. Gaenrorke and Balyamr jumped out from behind the trees, unleashing a battle cry and raising their swords.
Two sticks with a cylinder on the end bounced across the ground toward them.
What are –
Thunder enveloped him. Chunks of dirt and grass burst in front of him. Dozens of tiny white hot shards tore into Gaenrorke's flesh. He cried out and collapsed to the ground. Pain lashed his entire body. A deep hum filled his ears. His vision darkened for a moment.
He clenched his teeth, trying to fight off the fiery knives slicing through his bones and flesh. He looked over at Balyamr. He laid on his side, covered in blood.
Skyla. He groaned as he turned his head – by the mane, even that simple act sent searing pain through his body.
His heart leapt as he watched his niece galloping toward the hills at full speed. A smile formed on his lips. She had to be at least two hundred paces away by now. Hopefully far enough away to not be harmed by those "machine guns." Hopefully Skorzeny and his minions would keep all their attention focused on him while . . .
A muffled crack made it through the hum in his ears. His body went cold when he saw the side of Skyla's head burst apart. A cloud of red formed in the air over her. She stopped and keeled over on her side.
Skyla? Get up, Skyla. Please get up.
She continued to lay on the ground, unmoving.
Gaenrorke's body shook. The pain was forgotten. A dark hole opened under his heart and swallowed it. His eyes remained fixed on his niece's body.
His dead niece.
No. She couldn't be dead. She had too much life ahead of her. She couldn't . . .
"NOOOO!" Tears spilled from Gaenrorke's eyes. "Skyla. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
XXXXX
"Dammit!" Thalberg lowered his modified Mauser rifle with the sniper scope. He stared in the direction of the dead female centaur and shook his head. "I pulled my shot to the left."
"What difference does it make?" asked Maier. "You killed the damn horse thing, didn't you?"
Thalberg just sneered at Maier.
Skorzeny couldn't help but smile. Even when it came to killing, Thalberg was a perfectionist.
"Herr Obersturmfuhrer," Heigl called out. "One of the things is still alive."
Skorzeny turned and spotted the centaur leader, Gaenrorke, lying on his side, looking off in the distance and crying.
Oh, right. Didn't he call the female centaur his niece?
He waved the other men forward, keeping his MP40 trained on the centaur. The burning smell of cordite lingered in the air.
He and his men stood in a semi-circle around Gaenrorke, their weapons pointed at him. The centaur turned to them, tear tracks staining his cheeks.
"You filthy butchers!" he hollered. "You monsters! She was just a young one!"
"And now she's dead," Skorzeny shouted over the ringing in his ears, and probably the ringing in the centaur's ears as well. "And you will join her if you do not tell us everything we want to know about Narnia."
"I'll tell you nothing! I curse you and I curse your families for all eternity!"
Skorzeny snorted. "Let's just see how brave you are. Von Droth, do your worst."
"With pleasure." A grin formed on the Prussian's lips as he drew his Knights War Axe and slowly strode toward Gaenrorke, emitting a low, evil laugh.
XXXXX
Fox shuddered with every scream that came from the centaur. Never had he believed a centaur could scream like that. But as he peered out from under his bush and saw what that man did with his axe . . .
He clamped down on his jaws to prevent a whimper from escaping his mouth.
He wanted to look away. By the mane, this was horrible! But he found himself frozen, afraid to make the slightest move for fear those men might hear him.
Just . . . just stay here. Don't let them find you.
Another agonized scream came from the centaur. Fox trembled. His imagination turned on him. He pictured those men stomping over to his bush, pulling him out, and doing . . . those things to him.
He fought the urge to vomit.
Again the centaur screamed. After dealing with the White Witch and her followers, Fox thought he had seen everything evil was capable of.
Looking at what those men did to that centaur, he knew he was wrong.
He gulped as he recalled that terrifying day when the White Witch had turned him to stone with her staff. The fear he felt at that moment came roaring back. Would he remain stone forever? Would the White Witch just shatter him for fun?
Fox looked at the men again, recalled the weapons they used. The tubes that spat thunder and fire and ripped apart flesh. The little sticks that erupted like miniature volcanoes.
Could these men be worse than the White Witch?
I can't . . . I can't live under evil again. Not so soon after it's been vanquished.
The Kings and queens had to be warned.
But if he left the bush, the men might see him and chop him to pieces.
The centaur cried out again.
Fox closed his eyes. You have to go.
I don't want to die.
Another tortured cry came from the centaur.
They're all busy with the centaur. Go now.
Fox drew a quiet breath and forced his right rear paw to move. He took another step back. Another. Soon he was out from under the bush. He looked over to the lake, and to the small slope that led to the bank.
Tensing, he darted toward it, half-expecting one of the men to shout, or use that thunder stick that killed the female centaur.
He raced down the slope, reached the bank, and ran alongside the lake, ran as fast as he could. Not daring to look back, and trying to block out the centaur's cries.
TO BE CONTINUED