Chapter Seven: All That Was Found

'. . . The first to suffer
were the people on the land, but before long
it was their treasure-giver who would come to grief.'

- Beowulf, lines 2309-2311

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

I reached far forward and laid my hand upon the hilt of my brother's sword, drawing it free of the earth and brush. A familiar, metallic ring broke the silence as the steel blade brushed against stone. Either I was suddenly weak or the sword weighed far more than I remembered, it seemed to take all my strength to lift Rhindon clear of where it had fallen. Holding it before me, I gazed up the sword's length.

Dried, brown blood smeared the tip and the length of the keen blade. I felt a swell of pride, glad that Peter had exacted some price for this affront. I wiped it clean on my tunic before thrusting the sword into my belt. Rhindon was longer than Shafelm and heavier, the cross-guard resting high and tight against my ribs, but I would carry it until I could return it to Peter. I turned back to Phillip and the assembled soldiers. Drawing a deep breath, I said the words I had never imagined myself speaking:

"To the castle."

It was no easy task picking a route along the submerged causeway and I walked rather than rode for fear of Phillip slipping and falling. The icy water over the uneven stones reached almost as high as my knees at times, but Kanell stayed close by me every step of the way. We were silent, moving with weapons drawn, and when we gained the island Kanell motioned for Flinder and two of the archers to circle the castle. They were back in a few agonizing minutes, shaking their heads. They had nothing to report.

"Stay back," ordered the mighty Centaur to me, motioning the other three Centaurs and the archers forward. I stood waiting beside Phillip and the rest of the party, trying not to look at the towering entrance I remembered so well. Lucy had told me how the doors had been broken off their hinges by Aslan when he had freed the White Witch's victims. I would have given anything to have the Lion beside me now as we stood in the castle's shadow, but the fact that he wasn't here told me that the means to save Peter lay within our own powers. At least that was what I kept telling myself.

A Satyr poked his head through the doorway and motioned that the way was clear. The three Birds went first, swooping through the portal as we followed just behind them. Inside all was dirty and dark and mercifully empty of statues. I hurried over to Kanell.

"King Edmund, you are our guide," he stated softly. "Where would Giants go? Where would they easily fit?"

I was struck mute as panic at being back in this place gripped me for a moment. Kanell's question was unexpected but he was absolutely right. I was the only one in our party and one of the few beings in Narnia that had entered this place and left alive. There were equal parts of sympathy and understanding in the captain's eyes as he turned to me, but I knew full well my feelings would not be allowed to interfere in this quest to rescue my brother, either by the Centaur or by me.

"King Edmund?"

Swallowing my anxiety, I nodded and pointed straight ahead. "The throne room is down there, through that arch," I said in a voice that didn't seem to be quite mine. So long as I didn't have to step foot in Jadis' private chambers, I was fairly confident I could keep myself from going to pieces until after we had Peter back.

We moved forward and the entrance quickly gave way to the vast chamber where I had met Maugrim and where I had received my first hint of Jadis' true nature. I held Shafelm in a white-knuckled grip as all around me, the archers remained tense and ready, arrows notched in their bows as they fanned out through the room.

Suddenly Kanell gasped in horror, the last sound I ever expected to hear out of him. I started to turn his way, saw a smear of red and caught a whiff of death, but he seized me, his hand clamping around my right wrist and hand, locking my fingers around Shafelm's grip and holding my sword arm well away from us both. His huge form blocked my view as he forced me backwards, removing me bodily from the room.

"Don't look, King Edmund!"

Anything that could disturb Kanell so completely must be horrifying indeed. Only one thought occurred to me, though, and in a split second I went from apprehensive to a state of frenzy.

"Peter! No! Peter! Let me go! Kanell, let me go! PETER!"

I fought against his iron hold as he dragged me away from whatever he had seen. My shrill voice echoed through the room, a desperate scream of sheer terror that was echoed in the gasps of the soldiers. I had felt this rage before - the day I had been knighted, at Beruna, and in my most dreadful nightmares - and it always spurred me to move, to act, to fight. I had no word for the emotion gripping me - more consuming than loss, deeper than panic, controllable only through understanding. Struggling, I didn't even know what I was doing or why or what I really wanted. I just tried to reach whatever it was that Kanell was protecting me from. The captain set me down hard on my heels, pinning me in place a few paces outside the throne room and letting the shock of pain bring me back to the moment. He held me by the elbow and wrist and he looked down at me sternly, locking his gaze with mine.

"I don't think it's your brother, Sir Edmund, but if it is I will tell you. Wait right here," he ordered tightly.

He glared until I reluctantly nodded. Phillip, Xati and Ninia stood close by as Kanell released me. He gently cuffed me on the back of the head as was his habit when he was pleased with something I had done before he returned to the throne room. His reluctance to let me see the bodies had me confused, for I was no stranger to death. I stared at his back, my throat aching and my chest tight with strain as I exerted every effort to keep my word.

What followed was the worst, longest, most agonizing ten minutes of my life, worse even than waiting for midnight every night for more than four months last year. Fear to match the horror I had felt in this very house once before seized me. I was forced to sheath Shafelm before I dropped it. I knew far too well what it was like to wait for your own execution.

This was worse.

Phillip stood nearby but he knew better than to try to get me to talk or be still. I rested my trembling hand on the Horse's neck for a few moments before pushing off and pacing some more. I tried to turn my thoughts to Aslan, hoping the mere mention of the great Lion would soothe me, but my heart was beating too hard for calmness and it was all I could do to control my breaths to stop myself from hyperventilating. I paced and fidgeted and tried to keep from vomiting up the contents of my stomach.

Not Peter. Not Peter. Not my brother. Please, Aslan, don't let whatever they found be Peter. Let him be alive and waiting for me to reach him. Please, Aslan, I'm begging you. He's your king. He's my king. He's my only brother. Don't let him be hurt. Don't let it be him. Please . . . he's been hurt too often.

On and on went my thoughts. Perhaps Aslan had made a mistake in telling me he always heard and answered my prayers because right now he would be listening to little more than a riot going on in my head.

I winced when I heard someone being sick in the next room. That did not bode well and reminded my own nervous stomach it would love nothing better than to empty itself. I was getting close that, was a certainty. Sweat beaded on my brow despite the cool and I felt light-headed. Why me? Peter never got sick in a crisis. If Kanell didn't get back here soon I knew I was going to do something drastic - scream or faint or go charging into the throne room regardless.

"Majesty," whispered Ninia.

I whirled at the far point of my pacing to see Kanell returning. Dread and hope vied for supremacy in my breast as I rushed to him, trying to speak, trying to see the answer I wanted in his dark, expressionless face. He leaned far over and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Your brother is not there, my king."

I gasped in relief, my knees suddenly weak. Kanell was the only thing that held me upright as I collected myself. I clung weakly to his arms, my head bowed. Not Peter. It was not Peter. That was not his blood. My brother did not lie among the dead in the next room. Xati passed me a water skin and I drank gratefully. I looked up at the captain, forcing my teeth not to chatter as I asked,

"Who is in there, Kanell?"

"All of his guard . . . and Jett."

Oh, no. Mighty Aslan, no. Oh, Peter . . .

"Killed?" I asked, never realizing so gruesome a question could betray my innocense and ignorance.

He pursed his lips. "Edmund, they have been devoured. There is naught but broken bones and hide left."

I gasped, clapping a hand over my mouth. Eaten? Eaten? That was the last thing I expected him to say. What gross cannibalism was this?

"Show me."

"No."

"Captain . . ."

"King Edmund, you have seen honorable death in battle and you have faced death with valor and courage few could match, but what's in that room is murder. Trust me, Sire, you do not want to see it."

Peter had seen it. Of that I was certain. Horrible events had a way of entrapping my poor brother. I swallowed. Kanell was quite right, of course. The last thing I needed was more fodder for nightmares.

"Where is Peter, then? Where have they taken him?"

"The soldiers are checking. I suspect, Majesty, that there is far more to this castle than meets the eye."

I was about to make a reply when Ninia let out a little warning nicker. We both turned, hands poised over our weapons, at a sound from the entrance. Kanell placed himself between me and the doors.

"Kanell?" called Athan, wise enough not to enter without leave. The remainder of our troop had caught up.

"Come!" called the Centaur.

The Dwarfs and Boar and other small Animals filed in behind Athan. Immediately the Gorilla approached us, bowing to me before asking of the captain, "What word?"

"The High King's guard and horse have been slaughtered," the captain replied. "The king himself is missing and there are no signs that the Ettins are still here."

"King Edmund!"

All eyes turned to Gicelus as the Faun hurried out of the throne room carrying something long and flat and painfully familiar: Rhindon's sheath. He passed it to me and I gripped it tightly in both hands, somehow even more affected at seeing the sheath than the sword it housed. Phillip made a little sound of distress.

"Where did you find this?" I asked. "Was it in the throne room?"

"Nay, Sire, but in a hall off the dais."

Despite myself I flinched as if I had been struck. The hall lead to stairs. Go down and you were in an ice dungeon. Go up and you entered a chamber far, far worse than any prison. Sadly, I knew them both.

I couldn't look at any of my fellows, afraid of what I might betray with my expression. Despite my gloves my fingers felt icy cold as I drew Rhindon from my belt. I handed it to Gicelus to hold as I began to undo the straps holding Shafelm on my left hip. I moved my sword to my right side, then carefully strapped Rhindon's sheath to my left hip.

Kanell, teacher, soldier, and sword master, took Rhindon from the Faun and approached me. He slid the blade into the empty sheath, adjusted the straps, then rested his hands on my shoulders. I finally forced myself to look up at him and as I did so I wondered where I had ever found the temerity to challenge him to a sword fight. His eyes were full of understanding.

"Don't try to draw them both at once," he advised softly. "Rhindon, then Shafelm."

That was all, but I needed nothing more. Until I could return it to Peter, Rhindon was now my primary weapon. The weight was as reassuring as Kanell's advice because he hadn't ordered me not to use my brother's sword. He just wanted to make certain I didn't hurt myself in my zeal. Lion knows I'd certainly done so in the past.

I nodded to Kanell, ready now for what needed to be done. Drawing a deep breath, I stood straight and tall and resolute as I turned to Gicelus.

"Show me exactly where you found this sheath."