So this chapter is a lot shorter than the last, but I promise I will make them longer! Please leave a review! xx.


Chapter Four

The Lord and The General

Far away to the north, darkness was gathering.

A group of rebels, fanatics, were plotting. They were the remaining loyal men of King Miraz's Telmarine army. It had taken them three years to gather the men and supplies to strike back at the Narnia's for their defeat at the Second Battle of Beruna.

Though many with darkness and hatred in their hearts had joined the cause, it was not enough to battle the superior numbers of Narnia's army.

Alone in his tent, the leader of the rebels contemplated this problem. His name was Racilion, and he was once a power Lord under Miraz's reign. He had the same cruel ambition and power as the late king had, dark shoulder length hair and piercing dark eyes. King Caspian's revolution had stripped him of his land and power, and Racilion was determined to make him and the other Narnian monarch's pay.

But first, there was the problem of numbers…

His second in command, General Sopherian, entered his tent. Like Racilion, he had the same complexion that identified him as a Telmarine and the same dark hair. But Sopherian's most striking feature was the long scar that travelled down his face, from beside his right eye, all the way down to the tip of his chin. It was given to him by the Just King, and Sopherian was determined to get vengeance on the young king for disfiguring him so.

"You wanted to see me?" The general asked.

"Yes," Racilion said shortly, gesturing to a chair. "Sit. We have much to discuss."

Sopherian did as he was told and looked up at Racilion expectantly. The Lord paced in his tent, thinking about their situation. "The Narnian's outnumber us," he said at length, "to go up against them in battle is foolish."

"We need more men."

Racilion scowled, "That is obvious. How goes the recruitment?"

"Mercenaries will fight in our name," Sopherian answered. "Though I am unsure how their loyalty will last since we don't plan to pay them for their services upfront."

"They will get their reward once Narnia is ours! They can have their pick from the barbarians treasury."

"The mercenaries are known for their love of gold, yes. But will it inspire their loyalty?"

"They can have as much as they want from the vaults and once we have dethroned the usurpers, the men can do as they please with the two Queens … I hear Queen Susan is particularly beautiful, and it would hurt Caspian doubly so. She is his beloved, after all."

Sopherian smiled savagely, "I do believe the men will be happy to fight for us if that is the prize."

Racilion nodded, "Still, we need to act soon. The men grow restless. They want a fight. But the Narnian's are strong…" The Lord paused his placing to lean against his desk, his brow furrowed in thought.

Sopherian stood and joined him by the table. "Then we need to destabilize them. To strike a blow in the heart of the Narnian monarchy. Then while they are grieving, while they are vulnerable … we will strike!" On his last word, he drew a dagger from his belt and stabbed Racilion's desk for emphasis.

"What do you suggest?"

"Next week is Caspian's and Susan's wedding. What is one more face in the crowd of well-wishers? One of our own could enter the castle unnoticed and … let's say … slip a little something extra into one of the King's drinks?"

"Poison? There is no honour in poison. It is the assassination too for the weak."

"There is no honour in the ones who usurped and killed our king! They stripped us of our land, our power, everything! They are nothing! They believe themselves above us due to their success and that infamous mythical lion of theirs. They deserved nothing less!"

Racilion conceded the point. "Very well. Caspian will die during his own wedding feast –"

"– No."

The lord looked at his second in command, a mask of anger on his features. "You dare defy me?"

"Caspian is the one who started the Revolution," Sopherian argued. "He should be the one to die last. But first we shall take everything he holds dear away from him, as he has done the same to us. At last, when all his friends are dead and gone, then we will kill the bastard, but first we will make him suffer."

Racilion grinned viciously. Yes. It was a good plan. "We will make him regret ever trying to take the throne."

Sopherian nodded, "Yes. He and all those other Narnian scum who dare to call themselves royalty."

"Not even their precious Lion could save them from our vengeance," the leader vowed. "Our cause is righteous. The gods of revenge smile down upon us. If the Lion dares to rear his head I will kill him and wear his fur like a cape, like the Witch Queen of Old."

At the mention of Aslan, Sopherian scoffed. "The Lion is merely rumor, and the White Witch a legend."

Racilion drew his sword and had it aimed at Sopherian's throat in an instant. "You were not there at the bridge, General," he said the title sneeringly. "You were lying in a ditch, bleeding out, disfigured by the Just King's blade. You did not see what I saw. You did not see the lion that could make people out of water and drown hundreds of men in an instant. No, you were bleeding on the ground because a swordsman half your age got the better of you."

"It will not happen again!" Sopherian growled.

"And the White Witch?" Racilion continued as if Sopherian hadn't spoken. "She kept their beloved Aslan at bay for decades. She was ruthless and powerful and from the same time as the four Kings and Queens of Old. You believe in them but not her? If she were here we would win this war in a heartbeat."

There was a silence between the two, but Racilion didn't lower his sword from Sopherian's throat. "… Perhaps that's what we need to do," the lord said at last, struck by a sudden thought of brilliance.

"What?"

"The Witch. We need to summon the White Witch." Racilion sheathed his sword and began pacing once more. A smile gracing his features as he became more and more certain that this was the best course of action.

Sopherian watched him, unconvinced. "If the legends are true, the White Witch has been dead for centuries."

Racilion turned to face him, a feverish excitement in his eyes. "No, but there have been rumors. Whispers of a battle within Aslan's How. Where the Witch was summoned and nearly freed."

"Hearsay."

Racilion rounded on him. "Opportunity!" He argued. "With the Witch on our side, none could stand in our way."

"She lost once to the Kings and Queens of Old, who's to say she will not again?"

"Because she didn't have the might of Telmar behind her! Now she will. The Kings and Queens have become complacent in their peace. They believe themselves safe. With Queen Jadis by our side, we will change that."

Sopherian still looked skeptical, but knew better than to question his commanding officer. Racilion had a fanatic, crazed air about him now. He would not be persuaded. "What are your orders then, my lord?"

"I will travel to the How and see what I can find. If there is nothing, I will go to the darkest parts of the Great Western Wood. It is said some creatures who dwell there are still loyal to the Witch, even after all these years. If anyone knows how to summon her, it will be them."

The general couldn't help himself; Racilion's plan was outrageous. "You are basing your plan on myth and rumours! We have spent too long to –"

He was cut off as his commander back handed him across the face. Caught by surprise, Sopherian fell to the floor. Racilion towered over him. The lord pressed his boot up against Sopherian's throat, cutting off his air supply. "You would be wise to not question me again, General Sopherian. You have hate in your heart and revenge in your mind. You have served me well, but do not make the mistake in thinking you are irreplaceable. Many men are capable of doing your job just as well as you."

He moved his foot away from the general's windpipe and Sopherian gasped in some much needed air. "You say we have waited too long, worked too hard to go chasing off after rumors of myths and witchcraft? You are mistaken. With this power we could topple armies, conquer worlds. It will be well worth the wait. But question my authority and cross me again, and I will make sure it is you who I first test this new power on. Do I make myself clear?"

Sopherian slowly stood. "Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, sir."

Racilion smiled, the anger clouding his face gone in an instant. "Good."

"My orders … sir?"

Lord Racilion nodded, "Your idea to make Caspian suffer and destabilize the Narnian monarchy has merit. Pick the most powerful poison you can find. Use the wedding as cover. I trust this task to you, Sopherian. No one else."

"Yes, my Lord. I will not fail you."

"I know you won't. If you do, you will suffer greatly at my hand. But you have served me well in the past, and for that you will be rewarded."

"My Lord?"

"We want vengeance upon Caspian, that's true. Caspian and those Narnian dogs. But there is another of whom you want revenge. The one who disfigured you, who scarred you face. Edmund Pevensie, the Just King. This is my gift to you. Use the poison. Use the poison and get your revenge. He will be the first to die."

General Sopherian grinned savagely at the thought of his retribution. He bowed to his leader and left the tent.

Racilion sat down at his desk, feeling far more at ease than he did not even ten minutes previously. It was then that he noticed that Sopherian's dagger was still embedded in the table. His desk was covered with paper: battle plans, orders, recruitment sheets, illustrations of his enemies.

It was in one such picture that the dagger was fixed. Lord Racilion got a violent pleasure from the sight.

Sopherian had thrust the dagger through the eye of Edmund Pevensie.