Rhea wasn't willing to bushwhack as she and Lucy headed back east. "The Great Road runs east out of Farsight Valley and into the plains, queen. It will be much faster, and any messengers will more likely find us along it, than in the bush on the north side of the valley."

So they cut southeast, struggling through a stretch of mucky ground and a line of densely-intertwined pines, but after a few hours, they came out into open ground. Lucy looked down the steep bank to see a road before them, broad as a farm lane in England, although overgrown with weeds and wildflowers.

When they came down onto the road, Rhea sniffed carefully. "Humans on horses," she said, "but not recently, and they were headed west. I think it's safe."

With every step they took eastward, Lucy's heart grew heavier. Peter, Edmund, and Susan were all behind her; surely Aslan could not mean for her to leave them behind? But every time she opened her mouth, she remembered that she had promised to get help, and by herself she could hardly save Peter from bandits or Edmund from a dragon. This was her task, no matter how difficult she found it.

It was not in Lucy's nature, however, to dwell on unhappiness, and she found herself enjoying the peaceful walk with Rhea along the ancient road. They had finally left the rain behind, the day was clear and warm, and the trees were turning yellow on the mountains to her right. Lucy watched for birds, and they saw many, but none seemed to be Talking Birds, and none approached them.

In late afternoon, they discovered the body.

The body was-well, Lucy didn't look that closely, to be honest. It lay at the side of the road, looking smaller than a fox, or a Fox, should. Rhea sniffed at it, then stepped back, looking worried. "It's a nursing Vixen, queen." Rhea put her nose to the ground and began casting about in a widening spiral around the body.

Lucy looked from the body to Rhea and back again. "I don't understand."

"It means there are kits, queen. Babies, who will starve without her." The Wolf's voice was rough, more growly than usual, and her ears lay back against her head in a way that Lucy had not seen before.

There was no question of what must be done, of course. Finding help for Peter and Edmund was important, but babies were starving. That had to come first. Rhea went back and forth, up and down along the road, and Lucy watched silently, wishing as hard as she could. At length, in the lee of a blackberry bush covered with thumb-sized berries, Rhea found the scent she was searching for. She pushed past the bush, ignoring the thorns, and disappeared into the brush, and Lucy followed her.

The trail led them a quarter-mile off the road, across a dry gully and a small meadow, and came to an end at the edge of a river. "I think that's the Rose, queen," said Rhea, nodding at the water. It was a small stream, nothing like the Great River, or even the Whiterush, but it was fast-running in a little rocky gorge that dropped a good twenty feet below the bank on which they stood.

"Where do we go now?" asked Lucy, looking around. They stood in the shadow of an ancient oak, whose branches spread into the air above the stream and whose roots crept down the steep rock face: it looked as though two or three more storm seasons would take it crashing down across the gorge. Under the oak, the sunlight was dappled and dimmed by its passage through the great tree's foliage.

Rhea sniffed at one of the oak roots protruding from the bank. "This way, queen. Can you see where this root leads?"

Lucy hooked her hand around one of the oak branches and leaned outwards very carefully, following the root Rhea had indicated with her eyes. "Oh, no. It goes out and down along the cliff, and then there's a shadow there-there must be a cave. Are you sure?"

Rhea sneezed. "Very sure. That Vixen has come and gone this way many times in the last weeks."

It was, in fact, a very secure den: well-hidden from predators, and almost impossible for anyone to reach, as getting to it required trotting down a narrow, twisting root for nearly ten feet before jumping into the opening of the den. The problem, however, was that the root was too thin to bear Rhea's weight, or Lucy's. If the dead Vixen's kits were in that den, Lucy and Rhea would have to find another way to get to them.

"You think they're in there?" Lucy asked, nervously. "They might have come out..." The shadow she thought marked the entrance to the den was six or eight feet below the rim of the gorge, the face of which steepened considerably at about that point. Anything that fell out of the den entrance (and did not make the leap to the root) would tumble unstoppably down the cliff face and into the swift-running water of the River Rose.

Rhea shook her head and put one foot on the root, before drawing it back in dismay. "No, they're in there. If the mother was still nursing, they were too small to leave the den. We have to fetch them out."

"Don't they have a father?" It would be nice if someone else could help the kits. That cliff looked scary.

But Rhea shook her head. "If they do, he's not been here lately. Just the Vixen."

Lucy bit at a fingernail. If Susan were here, she would give Lucy the eye for that, but Susan wasn't. If Susan or Peter were here, one of them would climb down the cliff face and rescue the kits, and hand them out to Lucy waiting safely on the top. But they weren't, and there wasn't anyone else around. And the kits were probably hungry. Maybe starving.

"All right," she said, and took her finger out of her mouth. "What do I do?"


She would have felt safer with a rope. Not safe, but safer. The stream seemed very far away, and it looked cold, and there were rocks in the water.

Well. She should just have to be very careful not to fall. Lucy sat on the edge of the cliff and took a deep breath. She had taken her bow off her shoulder, and emptied her pack as well, piling everything on the ground neatly in the shelter of a bush. She had decided to keep her boots on, as the rocks looked rough.

One more deep breath, and then she twisted around and reached down with one foot, scrabbling for a hold. Ah, there was something under foot. With both hands locked around a tree root, she lowered herself a few inches until all her weight was on her feet, and she was standing on a tiny ledge jutting out from the cliff face.

That wasn't so bad, she realized, and smiled up at Rhea. "Okay so far!"

The next bit would be harder, though, because she would have to let go of the oak roots. The face of the cliff was mostly rock, but not entirely, and it was, thankfully, not smooth. There were many little ledges and places where the rock cracked to form hand- or foot-holds. But they were not regularly-spaced like the rungs of a ladder, and there were patches of moss in places, as well. She might slip.

She looked down at the water, but that turned out to be a very bad idea, because now she didn't want to move at all. The water appeared to be even further away than it was from the top of the cliff, and the cliff much steeper. Lucy wasn't strong: her arms were already beginning to ache. What if she fell? She wasn't a swimmer, not like Susan, and Rhea could not catch her from the top of the gorge. If she fell, she might not even make it to the water-she could hit her head on a stone, like the ledge she was standing on, and be knocked unconscious and drown!

Lucy clung to the cliff, face pressed against the cold stone, breathing quickly. She couldn't move, and all she could hear was the sound of the river rushing by below.

"Queen? Queen, you must move," said a voice from above, and Lucy forced her eyes open. Just a few feet above her, she saw Rhea's dark eyes and grizzled muzzle. "You are almost there," said the Wolf, her voice as soft and reassuring as Lucy had ever heard it.

'I can't!" whispered Lucy. "I'm stuck!" Although she was not, truly, stuck: she was afraid.

"I cannot help you, Lucy," said Rhea. "But Aslan would not have set this task before us if you were not strong enough to accomplish it. And you must, or those kits will die where they are, starving and alone."

"Oh," said Lucy, and thought of Aslan looking at her. That helped, a little. She looked at the cliff face in front of her. There was a horizontal crack right there, with a lip on it. It looked secure. Very carefully, very slowly, she unclenched her right hand from about the root and brought it down to the crack. It fit perfectly.

There was a breath of wind past her face, cool and refreshing on her sweaty brow and neck. It smelled lovely, and it gave Lucy the courage to loosen her left hand, too, and begin to lower herself to the next foot-hold. She worked her way down one more step after that, and then looked back up at Rhea. "How much farther? Can you see?"

"I think you are there, queen!"

And Rhea was right. Lucy looked to her right and saw nothing but rocks and moss; but to her left, just within arm's reach, was a shadowy cleft in the rock, in front of which the root bent in a sinuous curve before continuing on down the cliff face. Something snuffled from inside the cleft. Lucy put her left hand out and shuffled oh, so carefully sideways until she was right in front of the little cave.

Lucy locked her right hand around a sturdy-seeming hold above the cave mouth, and stuck her head into the dark space. It smelled stinky, of animals and waste, but she could see nothing, after the bright sunlight outside. "Hello?" she asked cautiously. "Is anyone there?"

There was a silence, and then something whimpered. "I'm hungry!"

"Quiet!" hissed another voice, and then a third snarled, "No, you be quiet! Mother left me in charge!"

"I'm glad there's someone in charge, then," said Lucy, still peering into the cave. "You'll need to help me get you out of there."

"Who are you?" said the third voice, suspiciously. "Why should we go with you?"

Her hand was getting tired, but she could hold on for a while longer. "My name is Queen Lucy, and I'd like to be your friend. What are your names?"

"Queen!" hissed one of the kits. "Like Mother said! My name is Ruby, and that's Roxy, and that's Rory."

"That's just a story from the Magpies," said the third voice, the suspicious one. Lucy thought it might be Roxy.

"Oh, you know the Magpies? Good! They're my friends, too, and I have another friend at the top of the gorge, who is waiting for us. Aren't you hungry? Wouldn't you like to go get something to eat?" She nearly went on to say something about their mother, and then stopped. Time for that later, as Susan would say.

Ruby and Rory, the younger sister and brother, were inclined to listen to Lucy; but Roxy took some convincing, and by the time her siblings had brought her around, Lucy's arms were beginning to ache. "You will have to help me now," she said, trying not to reveal how tired she was becoming. "You shall have to get into my pack, here, on my back, see? And that way I can climb back up the cliff with you safely."

The kits were dubious, but Roxy, while suspicious, was also the bravest, and so she came forward into the light and clambered up Lucy's shoulder and over it, into the pack. "Ooof!" she said, her voice muffled. "It smells in here!"

"And now the others, up you go!" And so they did, their little claws scratching Lucy's hands and arms, and catching in the cloth of her tunic as they scrambled into the pack. When they were all settled, Roxy stuck her head back out and into Lucy's ear, which tickled. "All right, now we climb back up," said Lucy.

It was not nearly as terrifying as the climb down, for this time Lucy could see where to put her feet and hands, and she knew that there were enough ledges and cracks to support her. But the pack on her back was now loaded with squirming, wriggly Fox kits, and they could not be convinced to stay still. At least once they knocked her off balance and one foot slipped from its hold, sending her swinging into space like a barn door opening. Lucy gasped, and the kits squeaked in surprise, but she managed to pull herself back onto the wall and continue climbing.

Rhea was waiting as Lucy pulled herself over the ledge, and the Wolf came forward to sniff at the Fox kits as they tumbled into Lucy's pack. After she had had reassured herself that all three were safe and healthy, she turned to Lucy and, astonishingly, licked Lucy once on the cheek. "Well done, queen," she said.


The kits were hungry. Very hungry. Almost immediately upon spilling out from Lucy's backpack onto the grass, they started complaining.

Lucy looked at Rhea in some despair, because they had no milk about them, nor could she see any way of obtaining any. However Rhea lay down and considered the kits, her tail waving gently, and twitched an ear. "I think they may be old enough for something solid," she said, and Lucy seized upon that with great relief.

Rory was male, and the smallest, and he didn't really like the solid food, but in the end he took a bit of waybread and nibbled on it. Ruby ate three pieces of waybread-more than Lucy herself could eat in one sitting, for it was quite dense and hard to chew-and sniffed about for more. Roxy had a piece of waybread as well, but far preferred the dried mutton, and chewed it laboriously with her tiny sharp teeth.

"Now it's time to go," said Lucy, and then hesitated. How was she to travel with these children? They were quite small, and if she carried them, she would have no room in her pack for her bedroll, water, and food. Well, she would just have to manage something. In the end, she tied her water skin to her belt and rolled her blanket about the food packets so she could strap that to the outside of her pack. Then she piled the kits into the pack and struggled it onto her shoulders. It was heavy-far heavier than it had been before, but it would have to do.

Rhea led them back to the East Road (on a much more direct route than the kits' mother had taken) and they struck out at once. It was now late in the day and Lucy feared they had not traveled far enough. However after only half an hour of walking, there was a flash of black-and-white in the brush ahead of them, and her heart leapt. "Magpie!" she cried, and the bird startled out into the open air, coming to a fluttering landing on a branch next to the road.

"Who calls?" the Magpie asked, sounded annoyed.

"Your queen," growled Rhea. "Know you not that this is Queen Lucy, set on the throne at Cair Paravel by Aslan himself?"

The Magpie fluffed his wings, then bobbed his head towards Lucy. "Your pardon," he said, sounding embarrassed. "Word had not come that the kings and queens were coming to Farsight Valley. What service, queen, can I offer?"

Lucy paused to think, instead of simply babbling out the story, for that would likely confuse both the Magpie and any who heard his message later. "I need you to find Windcaller the Centaur, or Sallowpad the Raven. Windcaller should be in Beruna by now, or on his way from Beruna to Cair Paravel. I do not know where Sallowpad may be, but he said he would look for us, so he may be between here and the Dwarf village of Grass Hill. Tell them that King Peter has been captured by Human bandits from across the border, and we are in need of their help. Then fly back or send a message back this way, and meet me here." There, she thought: that was brief enough.

Rhea gave her one of those sidelong glances, and Lucy felt warm with the Wolf's approval.

"King Peter captured! Fell news indeed! I shall carry the message right away-" and with that, the Magpie was gone, a black-and-white arrow shooting into the sky.

Now that the message had been sent, Lucy realized there was little reason to hurry on east, and she was very tired (as were the kits). They made camp a little ways off the road, in a meadow rich with flowers and surrounded by birch trees whose leaves were golden in the late afternoon light. As the sun dropped towards the western mountains, the temperature fell as well, and Lucy put on her woolen jerkin, layering it under her cloak. She would have liked a fire, but she had not learned to use the flint and steel properly, and after trying for several minutes, decided that a cold supper would have to do.

They sat in the last of the sun, watching the shadows lengthen, and the kits tumbled about the meadow. It was very peaceful, although Lucy worried about Edmund and the dragon, and Peter and the bandits, and Susan in her quest to free Peter. When the sun paused briefly before sliding down behind Farsight Peak, Lucy closed her eyes and whispered, "Oh, Aslan, please help them."

She felt better after that, and after spending much of the twilight playing with the kits in the open ground. They were excited by the adventure of leaving their den, and seemed not to miss their mother too much.

"Rhea," Lucy said quietly, as Roxy chased Ruby over, under, and around a fallen birch on the edge of the clearing, "should we be looking for their father?" In fact, she really wanted to talk about what they should do tomorrow: should they reverse their steps again, head back towards Telmar Pass, and try to help Susan? Should they continue on towards Beruna in hopes of meeting whatever help might be coming? Should Lucy stay here with the kits and send Rhea on her own? But those were questions she was too weary and frightened to pose.

Her tail twitching, Rhea stretched, lengthening her body and legs in a pose that made her seem nearly as long (if not as tall) as Aslan himself. Then she rolled over, scratching her back on the ground in such a way that Lucy covered her mouth to keep from giggling. At length the Wolf sat up.

"Their father is likely dead," Rhea said, putting her ears back briefly. "I smelled nothing of him, and Foxes mate for life. He would not have left them alone for so long willingly."

"What shall we do with them, then? I can hardly carry them back to Cair Paravel with me!" Lucy looked at the kits. Rory had fallen asleep, his stomach rounded after a meal of rabbit that Rhea had caught. Ruby and Roxy rolled on top of one another lazily, and as Lucy watched, Ruby yawned.

Rhea cocked her head. "I don't know, queen. Perhaps we shall find someone nearby who will take them on. They can hardly be the only Talking Beasts in the valley, after all."

"But what if-" Lucy began to say, and then stopped, when Rhea lifted her head, her hackles lifting and ears pricking towards the road.

They were separated from the road by a thin screen of trees and bushes, and in the fast-falling darkness, Lucy could see nothing. "What is it?" she whispered.

"A troop of horse, moving fast," said Rhea, equally quietly. "I think we should go see," she added, looking at Lucy.

The kits seemed safe where they were, curled up on and over one another on top of Lucy's bedroll. Lucy followed Rhea to the other side of the meadow, and, dropping to a crawl, wormed her way through the brush to a spot where she could see the road.

At first there was no activity, just the sounds of insects and nightbirds, and the occasional flutter of a bat overhead as the stars began to come out. But then Lucy heard the sound of hoofbeats, and far to the right, where the road took a bend, she saw a bouncing red light, and then another. "Torches?" she whispered to Rhea, and the Wolf's ear dipped in agreement.

They waited as the sound of hoofbeats grew louder, now accompanied by the jingle of harness and the occasional soft word. Lucy, peering down the road, could not clearly see who they were nor how many, because the light of the torches carried by those in front made it too hard to see past them. "How many?" she whispered.

"More than ten, fewer than fifty," came the Wolf's response. Then she stiffened. "One of them is a Centaur," she said, sounding surprised. "No, wait, two."

The troop was nearly abreast of them now; Lucy squinted past the torchlight to see that the troop was made up of men and women in shining mail, armed with tall spears; they carried shields on their backs, and some of them had bows as well. They were mostly Human, but not all-there were also two Centaurs, a Badger riding pillion behind a soldier on horseback, and a Crow on the shoulder of one of the torchbearers.

In the instant, her decision was made. She jumped to her feet and waved her arms, shouting, "Stop! I need to talk to you!"


This high on the mountain, the air was thin and cold, although the sun was fierce. Edmund found himself gasping for breath, and stopping more than he wanted to, leaning against the sturdy pines and getting sap all over his tunic. He was grateful long before noon for the streams cutting their way down the mountainside, bitter cold though the water was from the snowmelt above.

The problem was that, although the call told him where to go, it couldn't tell him how, and there was no path to take him straight up the steep hillside. He cut back and forth across the face, struggling through scree fields and across steep-sided gullies, always aiming for a spot high up on the shoulder of Mount Farsight. Sweat poured down his face and stung his eyes, the stones and brush scratched his hands, and he could feel blisters forming on his feet, even inside his marvelous new boots.

It didn't seem to matter. The higher he climbed, the clearer the call came: it was in his bones now, and if he closed his eyes, he could turn and face it, even with his boots on. His head felt light and clear, and while he should have been worried and frightened-as he had been for the last few days-he felt only a strange and distant certainty. He wasn't even thinking about the dragon, or about saving Peter: just about the climb.

I might die, he thought at one point, splashing through yet another freezing-cold rivulet. It seemed likely, after all, but the thought drifted away, while Edmund scrambled up the bank through some red and yellow wildflowers, and back into another scree field. (It was actually all one scree field, millions of stones cascading in a wide swath down the mountain, but Edmund had to cross it over and over as he climbed.)

After noon, when the sun was mostly in his face instead of at his back, he paused to eat. Where he sat, chewing at strips of salty dried meat, he could look down into the great valley below. From here, he could see the road from the pass, which was off to his right, around the shoulder of the mountain. The road wound back and forth, heading generally east, and some distance away (and far below) he saw sparks on it, as if from sunlight glinting off armor or weapons. He wondered briefly about that, but then he turned and looked up the mountain, his attention caught by the next stage of his climb.

Soon, he thought, but couldn't tell what it was, that would be soon, nor even if he was eager or afraid. It just was, like the mountain itself.

When the sun had slid behind the ridge so the shadows draped across all the eastern faces of Mount Farsight, Edmund found, high on the mountain, a narrow twisting trail. It looked like only goats had used it for many years (although he had not seen any goats; the only wildlife he had seen all day were an occasional bird, and three small furred creatures that had darted into the rocks at the sight of him). There was very little vegetation this high up, just some low shrubs with shriveled blue berries on them, and grey-green lichen on some of the stones. The trail seemed to go the right way, so Edmund followed it as it wound across the mountainside, heading generally west.

The trail curved about a horn of rock, and as he came about it, he found himself in full sun again. The sun was just a handspan above the horizon, which itself was yet another range of mountains in the distance. The land between was now mostly in shadow, but it looked like steep cliffs dropping off to rolling hills and a broad forested valley. The trail dipped here, then climbed again to a lower rise, and then curled out of sight around another ledge of rock.

From here, Edmund could look south, as well, and he peered down to see that far below was the road to the pass: he saw the dull brown line weaving through dark-green shadows up and through a narrow notch, and then down again into the broad valley to the west. That was Telmar, then. And this was-he stopped and looked at the narrow trail, and then turned to look the way he had come-this was another path. A narrow, dangerous, high pass, a secret route into Narnia.

But this high pass wasn't the reason he had come here. Edmund took a few steps down the trail, into the hollow, and then he saw it: the shadow on the rocky wall wasn't a shadow at all, but a cleft in the stone of the mountainside. More than a cleft: a great doorway into the darkness.

He stepped closer, and from the dark inside the cave there came a smell. Something both sharp and smoky, reminding him of railway platforms and cold November evenings-and then, suddenly, the world shifted about him.

The call was gone. The certainty was gone. The strange distance he had felt all day had evaporated, and now, in a flash, he was Edmund Pevensie again, with a sweat-smeared face and blisters on his heels, hesitating at the door of a dragon's cave. Miles and miles from any help, high on a narrow mountain path, with a dizzying drop behind him.

Edmund took a great breath of the cold air, and then another. He reached up over his shoulder and drew his sword, and stepped into the darkness.

He found himself in a tunnel about five paces long, leading almost straight back into the mountain. The roof came to a peak high above his head. The cave had a rocky, uneven floor, but there was enough light filtering in through the entrance that Edmund was able to navigate without tripping and falling on his face. Stepping carefully, and keeping as silent as he could, he followed the passageway until it opened up into a much larger space.

The smell was stronger here; Edmund heard something breathing. He squinted into the dimness, and after several heartbeats, his vision began to adjust. It helped that there was a small crack in the ceiling of the cave, allowing in some indirect light from high above.

The space was a great cavern, bigger than his house in Finchley, although smaller than the Great Hall at Cair Paravel. Like the passageway, the walls and floor were rough and uneven, not like a cave in a storybook at all. In the far corner there was a great lump that was not rock: it had a smooth and rounded surface, like something that had been sanded and polished over time.

Edmund stepped cautiously out onto the floor of the cavern, keeping his sword up. Nothing happened. The sound of breathing was a tiny bit louder, but he saw nothing moving. Where was the Dragon? Was that lump it? What should he do?

In the stories, the hero would dig a hole in the dragon's path, and then stab it from below. It occurred to Edmund that this was unsporting, and possibly not the sort of action Aslan would approve. He stood quietly, listening. Either the light improved, or his eyes adjusted, because when he next looked at the lump in the corner, he saw it truly.

The Dragon seemed to be asleep: its head was tucked under itself, its wings sleek against its glossy back, so all Edmund could see were the coils of its scaly skin. It looked like a python he had seen at the zoo: all shining scales in loops and knots, and no head nor tail at all. In the dim light, it had no color but grey.

"Well?" said a strange, low, hissing kind of voice, and Edmund jumped, and the sword slipped in his hand. "What are you going to do, Human?"

The voice seemed to come from all about him, but Edmund decided that was merely the rocky walls of the cavern playing tricks on him. He faced the Dragon, and nodded to it politely. (One should always be polite to something that could eat you, but hasn't decided to yet.) "I don't know," he said, hoping his voice wouldn't break. "What should I do?"

At that, the Dragon snorted and drew its head out from under its wing. It had a head the size of a railway trunk, covered in dark scales, but with large pale eyes. It stared at him, and its tongue flickered out, just like a snake's would. Its tongue was very long indeed; Edmund couldn't control a shudder.

"You should make up your mind quickly, Son of Adam. I am bound only while the sun is in the sky. When the stars are out, I am free. Best kill me now, while you may-" and it shook a leg, with a shocking clanking noise that echoed around the cavern.

Edmund stared; for the Dragon was chained to the cavern wall! There was a great shackle bolted about its leg, and chains ran from it to an enormous U-shaped bolt in the rock of the rear of the cave. "What-how can you be chained?" Edmund asked. "I saw you flying, last night!"

The Dragon gave a great, gusty, sigh (Edmund tried not to cough at the smell) and stretched its head forward. At its fullest extent, it could not quite reach Edmund where he stood, but it was close enough for him to see deep into its gullet, and see the sharp tips of its many teeth. He wasn't sure why he was still here: this was by far the most dangerous thing he had ever done, and by rights he should have fled as soon as the Dragon woke up. Instead, he clutched his sword (little use though it would be against a creature of this size), and his knees shook, and he stayed where he was.

"Did you not hear me? I am bound by day, but by night I am-somewhat-free. Except then, while my wings may fly, my mind is chained and I am no more than a dumb beast. The Witch knows well that I take my power from the sun. So kill me now, while you can. The sun sets even now, and once it is gone, I shall break you like a hound does a rat he catches in his master's yard."

Edmund stared. The Dragon stared back. "But the Witch is dead!" Edmund began, and then hesitated. The sun was setting, and how could he tell how much time he had? He stepped sideways, the Dragon following him with its eyes, and tried to get a better look at the chain. From this angle, it looked familiar: it was not cast iron or even bronze, but a striking silvery-white, almost translucent. Etched into the surface of the shackle and the bolt were letters and runes that Edmund knew he had seen before.

"Dead?" said the Dragon. "And yet I am still bound, son of Adam. Unless you bear with you the Witch's power, none can now free me, then, and I shall live out my days in this dark hole, living only half a life." It snarled, then, the sound filling the cave and making the hair on Edmund's arms stand up. He nearly dropped his sword again, the voice of the Dragon was so full of rage and yearning.

The light was dimming, although the shackle and chain on the Dragon's leg seemed to have a glow of their own. Edmund bit his lip. If the Dragon was telling the truth, it would shortly be free, and Edmund had no way to escape it. But what if it were freed before the sun set?

"What's your name?" Edmund asked the Dragon.

The Dragon cocked its head. It peered at him, tongue flickering. "Name? The Witch took it," it said, finally. It sounded lost, sadly alone. "It's gone, died in the dark and the cold."

For a hundred years, perhaps, this creature had been chained in this cave, nameless in the dark. Even if it meant to kill him, Edmund couldn't be afraid of it anymore. It had been just as much a victim of the Witch as he had-and for far longer.

"How long until sunset?" he asked, wondering if he were mad. What he was considering was the sort of thing Lucy would do, with no regard for her own safety.

"Soon," said the Dragon. "Why?"

Edmund shook his head. "Can you promise not to eat me until then?" he asked. "Because I have an idea."

The Dragon drew back its head in some surprise, tongue flickering. Then said, "Until sunset? Yes. Besides, I don't eat Humans."

"Good," said Edmund, and made himself walk forward, until he was well within striking range of the Dragon's enormous teeth. The Dragon's body was bigger than he had realized, in the poor light, nearly the size of a London double decker, although not as tall. It was more snake-like than he had expected. But he had no trouble finding the leg with the shackle on it, for the shackle was glowing more brightly now; Edmund worried that this signified some magical action soon to occur.

The Dragon's leg was long: longer than a Human man was tall, and it ended in a long foot with five clawed toes. The shackle was bolted above what on a horse would be the ankle, firmly enough not to be removed but not so tight it galled the skin. The shackle, chain, and bolt in the wall were all the same pearly-white that the Witch's wand had been.

He heard a snort, and realized the Dragon's head was immediately behind him, its great eyes peering over his shoulder.

"The wand broke," he said, mostly to himself. He braced himself, and raised his sword above his head with both hands on the hilt. Then he hesitated. "This might hurt," he said to the Dragon.

The Dragon nodded. "I shall not hold it against you. Even if you fail, and I kill you."

"Wonderful," muttered Edmund, and swung the sword down against the silver-white shackle. There was an enormous flash and everything went dark.


Damn, thought Susan, as she was roughly forced through the crowd of mercenaries in the center of Silver Pine Valley. Getting captured was not part of her plan, but she'd waited too long to cut the horses free, and two of the soldiers had spotted her as she ran for the trees.

Susan twisted and wrenched, but she had neither the strength nor the leverage to pull herself free. "Thought we wouldn't see you, girl?" asked the tall woman in green, with a grim smile. "Did they send you ahead, then?"

"No, I-" Susan couldn't think of what to say, and they weren't listening anyway. The mercenaries were rapidly forming up into lines, stringing their bows and drawing their swords. If they had been taken by surprise by the arrival of the cavalry, they were reacting fast. Soon this yard was going to be awash in blood, and Susan would be in the middle of it.

As they wove their way among the soldiers, the tall woman neatly took away Susan's knives, and the shorter one nodded to the tall man directing the company. "Captain, we found this girl cutting loose the horses," she said in a hoarse voice, but then broke off, as an enormous noise drowned out what she was saying.

The noise was coming from the sky, and everyone looked up, even the Captain. The shorter woman let go of Susan's arm, gaping.

"Dragon!" someone shouted. "A Dragon is coming!"

It had to be the Dragon that Edmund had gone after, Susan thought, despairing, for how could there be two in Farsight Valley? Had Edmund found it, had he fought it and died? Or had it simply flown away before he could get close to it? She couldn't imagine Edmund hurting it: it was enormous, glittering gold with a black head, tail, and wing-tips, rather like a Siamese cat. It didn't land, although it soared quite close overhead, whipping past before turning above the headwall and coasting back north along the valley. Then it flapped its wings twice and settled into a lazy circle that covered everything from the headwall to the farthest fencelines on the valley floor. It almost appeared to be examining the lay of things.

And "things" were certainly in a right mess, as Mrs. Halifax from the butcher shop would say.

The troop of cavalry had reached the valley floor and was gathered in a tight pack about a quarter-mile distant, on the far side of one of the tilled fields. Susan peered at them through the crowd around her (most of the mercenaries were taller than she was), and realized, to her surprise, that at least one of them was a Centaur. Was it Stormcoat? But no, because the rest seemed to be Humans on horses, clad in green, and they carried a green banner with a silver symbol on it. Susan wasn't used to counting military forces, but there seem to be fewer of them than of the mercenaries.

The mercenaries, meanwhile, had managed to recapture many of their horses, although most of them were staying afoot, some of them with sharp-bladed short spears that Susan suspected would wreak horrible damage on the green troop's horses. She saw, to the rear, a dozen of the dark-skinned women preparing deeply-curved short bows decorated with black feathers.

She could see the shed where Peter had been held, but not the spot where Perrin and Rena had begun digging the tunnel to free him. Had he gotten out? Where were they?

Oh, Aslan, everything had gone so wrong: she could weep, except that she found herself furious instead. Who were all these people? What gave them the right to come into Narnia with their horses and their weapons? How dare they invade this peaceful Dwarf village and abuse them so?

As they had skulked through the woods, Perrin and Rena had told her of the terrifying assault by the mercenaries, and about how the two of them had managed to escape through the woods instead of being trapped inside the workings, like so many others. Since then, and it had been weeks, the mercenaries had been taking boxes and crates out of the Dwarf halls, and the few Dwarfs Perrin had seen had been closely guarded-and badly bruised. Rena assumed the Dwarfs inside were being forced to turn over their silver, and mine more for the mercenaries. It was too awful, like something out of a novel. Why had Aslan not prevented this?

But Susan had little time to worry about the Dwarfs, as the two soldiers ignored her scowl and bound her hands behind her. It was unsettling being among Humans again: they were all so much taller than Susan was, except for one or two of the women in green. And those women were clearly adults-one of them even had grey braids bound about her head. Those few soldiers who even noticed her, in the flurry of their preparations, looked at her with a mixture of scorn and leering dislike that made her face burn. To them, she was nothing but a child again.

"Fetch her ladyship," said the Captain, staring at the troop of cavalry, which was gathered at the foot of the rise, but not yet moving forward. "They'll want to see her, and then we can talk money. If we play this properly, we'll have a good start on a new treasury, on top of the silver from the maggots. Enough to cover what the Witch should have paid us, three times over."

Only a moment later, however, a young soldier hurried up, his broad forehead creased with worry. "The prisoners, Captain Asper-they're gone, both of them! And there's a hole in the floor, a tunnel..."

Susan hid a smile: Peter had escaped, then. One thing had gone right, at least. Although she wondered who "her ladyship" was.

Asper's face twisted in rage, and the soldiers around Susan stiffened. There was a long, terrifying pause, and then he gave a short, harsh, laugh. "Well. We still have the silver, then-and with luck the bloody Archens will be off with the girl, once we've spanked them a bit. Lune's not got the reach to expand this direction, not with the Tisroc snapping at his toes."

"Sir," said the tall woman to Susan's left. "We caught this girl among the horses, figure she's one of the Archen scouts-"

Lowering his gaze from the enemy, Asper turned to examine Susan. His eyes glinted as they looked her over, and she resisted the urge to look away. She would not be shamed by a dirty mercenary; she stared at him fiercely, not hiding her rage.

"Bit young for it, aren't you?" he said, with a knowing grin that made her long for her knife. "Well, you'll do. Keep her out of the way," he said to the tall woman. "I might want her later."

"As for the rest of you," Asper went on, raising his voice so all his company could hear, "Ignore the Dragon. Why should it care what happens here, unless it feeds on the dead? And our dead won't mind it. This is the plan: I want Sentu's archers on the right rear-if you see an opening, swing wide to catch them on the flank. Pedrosian, you get to earn all the ale you've pissed out these last months: your troop takes the front line, to break the charge. The rest of you grubbers, if the horses get through, break apart and let them pass. They'll hit the buildings and we can take them down at a distance. This isn't the end of this venture, not by-"

And then he stopped talking.

For the Dragon had ceased its circling, and was gliding smoothly in for a landing in the open space between the two companies of soldiers. It hit the ground at an angle and skidded to a stop in the middle of the field, flattening several rows of tiny green plants. Even on the ground, it was the most enormous living creature Susan had ever seen, although most of its bulk was in its length: it looked far more like a snake than the pictures she had seen of any Dragon in a book.

But that was not the most remarkable thing about the Dragon. The most astonishing thing about the Dragon was not its size, nor its color, nor the smoke that jetted out of its flaring nostrils; the most astonishing thing was that there was a boy sitting astride the Dragon's neck, and he was laughing.

It was, of course, Edmund. Susan knew that even at this distance, some two hundred yards off. He spoke to the Dragon and it replied, more smoke spilling from its jaws, and then lowered its head and neck to the ground. Edmund jumped off, stumbled on the landing, and then straightened.

Susan must have made a noise, because she was wrenched suddenly about. "You know him?" snapped Asper. "Then he should care what becomes of you!" Gripping Susan's arm tightly with one large hand, he forced his way through the press of his soldiers and out into the open. "Bring her!"

More hands seized Susan and she was forced along behind Asper as he moved across the ground with long, angry strides.

But Asper and Susan were not the only people advancing to what was apparently going to be a parley. For now she saw Peter, walking calmly across the field from the edge of the trees, keeping his distance from the mercenaries, and followed by Perrin and Rena. The Dwarf women both carried their bows, with arrows to the string. Susan tried to see if Peter was injured, but he was too far away. At least she could see that he carried her own bow, which she had left with the Dwarfs.

Beyond Peter, at the edge of the woods, Susan saw another figure, someone taller, with blonde braids, running towards the green troop. When she reached them, their ranks opened up smoothly to admit her. "Her ladyship," perhaps?

Peter reached a spot about halfway between the two companies of soldiers and came to a stop, the two Dwarfs staying some distance behind him. Edmund met Peter there, and they embraced (which made the soldiers about Susan exclaim in surprise), speaking too quietly for Susan to hear at this distance. Asper came up to them then, but he did not approach too closely; instead he stayed about ten yards away, as if waiting for something. Susan and her guards were some distance behind him: close enough to hear if people spoke clearly, but still out of range of her brothers.

The Dragon, only thirty yards away, snorted, and a blast of smoke jetted from its nostrils. Susan's guards jumped and Asper's hand clenched about his sword-hilt, although he said nothing. Susan noticed, belatedly, that Asper was wearing Rhindon, and her eyes narrowed. She couldn't tell if Peter saw it.

Peter said, quite cordially, "Good morning, Captain Asper. I suggest we wait before speaking. I expect the Archenlander captain will want to join us." There was no indication on Peter's dirty face that he recognized Susan, standing behind Asper with her arms bound; she schooled her face as well. She wasn't sure what her brothers were planning, but she was quite sure they had a plan.

After a short time, someone on horseback emerged from the green troop: a man, followed by a great dark Wolf. "Rhea!" Susan burst out, and then shut her mouth again. Thankfully, her guards didn't seem to notice. If Rhea was with the "Archens", as Asper had called them, then Lucy probably was as well. Archenland, Archenland-there, Susan could see it on Edmund's map, in the mountains to the south. They must be very close to the border here.

The rider pulled up equidistant from the others, so they formed a rough square, and Susan saw that the blonde woman rode behind the Archenlander captain. She jumped down easily, and they both strode forward to join the parley.

The six figures-Peter, Edmund, Asper, Rhea, and the two Archenlanders-stood for a long moment, looking at one another across the trampled ground. Other than Peter and Edmund, none of them stood within arms reach of one another. All but Edmund kept a nervous distance from the Dragon, which had not moved since lowering Edmund to the ground, but appeared to be paying close attention to the proceedings.

Susan was, apparently, not a participant in this, but was there merely to be displayed. She had transformed from a queen to a rescuer to a spy to a prisoner, to a hostage-all in less than twenty-four hours. She snorted quietly, then shrugged to herself, trying not to worry. She wasn't going to die: Peter was free, Rhea was with him, Lucy must be with the Archenlanders, and Edmund had a Dragon. If anyone was going to die, it was Asper, but not (she hoped with a flash of viciousness she knew Aslan would disapprove) painlessly.

"Introductions, Pete?" said Edmund, and Susan bit her lip to keep from grinning, despite everything. Only Peter and Edmund would initiate foreign relations in the middle of a field, and grossly outnumbered. Although not, she thought, looking at the Dragon, outweighed.

Peter inclined his head with great courtesy, as if he were in the throne room at Cair Paravel instead of standing in a muddy field, with a dirty face and torn breeches. "I am reminded of my manners. My name is Peter Pevensie, High King of Narnia; this is my brother King Edmund, and my guide, the Wolf Rhea. I know the Princess Eluned," he nodded to the blonde, "and Captain Asper. But I'm afraid I don't know you, sir."

Before Peter even named Edmund, there was a strangled gasp from the blonde, and Asper laughed outright. The Archenlander captain, however, did not smile; instead, he bowed shallowly, and said, "I am honored, your majesty. I am Sir Peridan of Arrowhead, Warden of the West Marches."

The blonde threw Peridan a disgusted look. "This is ridiculous," she announced. "There is no king of Narnia, he's just a child telling stories. Why are we wasting our time with this?"

The Dragon lifted its head when Edmund coughed. "Ah, because we have a Dragon? And your intelligence, Princess, is out of date. We were crowned with-we were crowned at Cair Paravel about six weeks ago. Our apologies for not sending out announcements, but we were a little busy, what with floods and Giants and kicking out the last remnants of the White Witch's army."

On the face of it, Susan had to admit, it looked absurd. Two schoolboys, ragged and filthy, facing off against a princess, a knight, and a captain of mercenaries; and yet Peter and Edmund both seemed so composed, so sure of their authority. Asper shifted his feet and Susan knew that he was considering the possibility. Sir Peridan, a fair-haired young man who looked like he might be only twenty, but who carried himself like a man of great experience, nodded without speaking, his face thoughtful.

"All of which is beside the point," interjected Peter. "We are not here to discuss the legitimacy of our rule, but to address the wrongs that have been committed here. Captain Asper," he continued, and his voice sharpened. "I want your company out of Narnia by sunset today."

Asper laughed, but the line of his back was stiff. "Or?"

Rhea's hackles went up.

"Or we shall make you leave," replied Peter, his face hard. "I should prefer to do this without bloodshed, but you have trespassed on Narnian land, abused and stolen from Narnian citizens, and abducted travelers on Narnian roads. You shall leave, and you shall take with you only what you carried when you came across the border originally."

Sir Peridan stepped forward a pace. "And under the authority granted me as Warden of the West Marches, my company shall assist King Peter in enforcing this order."

Eluned went scarlet, and she grabbed at Peridan's arm, dragging him down to hiss into his ear. He heard her out, but shook his head. Internal Archenland politics looked to be complicated.

Asper, meanwhile, had come to some decision. He jerked his head and said, belligerently, "Oh, we'll leave, all right. But we're taking what we came for. We were owed: we're collecting on that debt. And we've got your girl, see? She'll make sure you don't try to steal from us, or there will be bloodshed," and that last was said in a high, mocking voice, evidently aimed at Peter.

All eyes went to Susan. She kept her face still, realizing finally why Peter and Edmund had not mentioned her, nor even acknowledged her presence. If Asper knew she was Queen of Narnia, he would never let her go. She would disappear into Telmar, to be used as hostage against her brothers and sister, and Asper would bleed Narnia dry with a knife at Susan's throat.

Peter's lips thinned, but Susan already knew he was not willing to kill men and women (or risk Susan's life) over nothing but stolen silver. A Dragon, she thought, was a blunt instrument, better as a threat than a tool.

"Fine," said Peter, at last, his voice clipped and angry. "You will release your hostage to us at the border. And Sir Peridan," he went on, "would you be so kind as to escort the Telmarines to the Pass? I would take it as a symbol of the friendship between our two peoples."

"I would be honored, your majesty," said Peridan, and he bowed again, this time much more deeply, and swept around to return to his company. Eluned glared at everyone, and marched off behind him, her back stiff with rage.

Edmund turned his eyes back to Asper. "You have an hour," he said, conversationally. "Best use it." And behind him, the Dragon yawned.


Asper began snapping orders as soon as he was within earshot of his company. "Saddle up! I want all the silver packed on the ponies first, and then the rest of you grunts get your packs together. Standard hazard gear, helmets and hauberks on. I won't put anything past these maggot-lovers and magicians-they say they'll not touch us as long as we have her, but girls like that are easy enough to find. Watch your backs!"

Susan's guards had to pack, too, so they forced her to her knees and tied her feet together, and left her in the middle of the yard. So she sat, and waited, and watched, as the camp burst into activity around her. She would be freed at the border; she held onto that, and wondered what might happen if she weren't. Probably there would, in fact, be bloodshed, and at the thought of that, she might have smiled a little.

She was watching a thick-set Telmarine wrestle a small but heavy crate onto the back of a mule, when there was a sudden, startling roar, and then a horrendous, ground-shaking crash, as if thousands of tons of rock had fallen from a height.

Swiveling around in her cramped position, Susan realized that that was exactly what had just happened.

While the Dwarf village had several free-standing buildings about the yard, which functioned as barns or storage sheds, the central hall was built into the stone headwall of the valley. That headwall soared steeply for two hundred feet above the valley floor, and behind it, inside the mountain, were the dwellings, store-rooms, and mines of the Dwarf village.

As Rena and Perrin had told the story, the Dwarfs of the village, surprised by the mercenaries' attack some weeks ago, had been trapped inside the mountain, and forced to serve the mercenaries, as well as turn over their hard-won treasures. Many of the Dwarf women, and most of the children, had escaped through secret tunnels and passages leading deeper into the southern mountains, but the men had been trapped while they covered that escape, and for the last several weeks had been abused and exploited by the stronger and better-armed Humans. Perrin had seen several Dwarfs badly beaten in the yard, and at least one body thrown into the latrine pits, as if he were no more than an animal.

But it looked as though the Dwarfs of Silver Pine Valley had not been passively waiting for rescue. For now there was a great hole in the headwall of the valley, and a huge pile of broken stone beneath it-over which flowed scores of angry Dwarfs, each with an axe or hammer in his or her hand.

In the open, and trapped between the Archenlander cavalry (still waiting patiently across the fields) and a great many enraged Dwarfs, the mercenaries panicked. Crates and packs were abandoned where they lay, sleeping rolls tossed aside, and even food and weapons left behind. Those who had horses leapt astride them, while many foot-soldiers threw their packs over their shoulders and left the village at a flat run.

Any hope Susan had to be left behind was dashed, however, as the tall soldier who had captured her slashed the cords about her ankles and yanked her to her feet. As Susan stumbled upright, the woman knotted a rope about Susan's neck, scowling. "You come now, or you'll pay for it. We don't have to keep you healthy, just alive until we reach the border."

With that, she yanked on the rope, and Susan staggered after her.

The tall soldier, whose name Susan later determined was Serta, towed Susan out of the village and up the long sloping road that climbed to the western ridge above Silver Pine Valley. They were surrounded by other fleeing soldiers, slowly forming into their separate troops, organization shaping itself out of chaos. The Dwarfs stayed in the village once they'd chased out the mercenaries, except for a squad of about twenty, who followed on behind to make sure the mercenaries were really leaving.

And behind the Dwarfs came about half of the Archenlander cavalry, with Rhea. The Wolf ranged up the line of march, sometimes coming in range of the mercenaries' arrows, although she was swift enough to evade them. But Susan saw her, once or twice, and the knowledge that Rhea was there, watching, was a balm to her heart. She could not see Peter, though she was sure he must be following as well.

She knew Edmund was nearby, for the Dragon glided overhead, an ever-present threat that kept the mercenaries moving long after they would have ordinarily stopped to rest. Serta and the Captain made sure that Susan stayed in the middle of the column, always surrounded by soldiers; if the Dragon attacked, Susan would die along with her captors.

They left the village an hour or two after dawn, and marched at a fast pace all day long, stopping only twice, briefly. As the afternoon bent towards evening, and Susan stumbled more frequently, the road began to climb. It wound back and forth up a narrowing slope that seemed pinned between two great peaks. The ground became rockier, the trees dwindled to wind-swept and bent old pines, and the air became colder and biting.

Susan shivered, but no one heeded her; indeed, even Serta paid little attention to her beyond giving her a few sips of water at the last stop. She felt light-headed with exhaustion (and possibly altitude), and she was covered with dust from the trail and bloodied from falls. She would have given a great deal just to sit down by the side of the road and rest; even on the mad flight from the White Witch, she had never been this miserable.

Instead she blinked sweat out of her eyes, blessed the Centaurs for the warmth of her woolen jerkin, and kept her eyes on the ground in front of her. It was a shock when, after one particularly steep and rough section of road, she walked right into Serta's back. The column of mercenaries had stopped.

It was sunset now: the mountaintops above them were shining gold and pink in the last light of the day, and the wind had dropped. Looking about, Susan saw that they were very high. The land dropped away behind them, the road swiftly disappearing into shadow. She could not see the Archenlanders or the Dwarfs, though she assumed they were still there, invisible in the shadows. Up ahead, over the shoulders of the mercenaries in front of her, she saw the road rise for another hundred yards, and then pass through a narrow notch between the mountains to the left and right. The sunset was streaming almost directly through the notch, and she could not see what lay on the other side.

But just this side of the notch, half in shadow, lay a great golden form, blocking the road. In front of the Dragon stood two small figures, one dark-haired and one bright.

"You have come safe to the border," said Peter's voice. "Now release your hostage, and you may go." With the sun behind him, Susan couldn't see his face.

Asper seemed to have regained some of his confidence on the long hike to the pass: he laughed. "Or what? What will you do if I decide to keep her? Burn us up? No, you won't, not if you value her pretty skin." He waved a hand, and Serta yanked on the rope, pulling Susan forward through the crowd.

Susan bumped against several soldiers, and then staggered into the open beside Asper. He seized her by the hair and forced her head around to face him. "And not just pretty skin, either, hey?" he said to Serta, who shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "The Tisroc has few enough Northerners in his markets, after all. And she's tough, aren't you, girl? You could pay me back some of what those maggots cost me-"

But Edmund, apparently, had had enough. For there was a whisper of movement, and then a large gold and black head appeared just beyond Asper's shoulder. The Dragon smiled, exposing teeth like daggers, and said, in a courteous, sibilant, voice, "I would not recommend that."

Asper gaped. Serta opened her hand with a jerk, so that Susan's leash fell to the ground.

"Queen, will you join your brothers?" said the Dragon, again with that exquisite politeness.

"Yes," said Susan, forcing the word out through desert-dry lips. But before she went, she turned to Serta. "Free me," she commanded, and under the Dragon's gaze, Serta drew her dagger, and with shaking hands, cut Susan's bonds.

Susan stepped over the rope on the ground and turned to Asper, who had at last closed his mouth; now he looked scared, but his eyes were avid and covetous.

"Queen?" he rasped. "What ransom would they have paid for you, girl?"

Susan forced herself to step closer to him, close enough so she could smell the sweat on him, tangy and sharp. With his breath puffing against her face, she unbuckled his fine leather belt, and caught the sword by its sheath as it fell. She lifted it in both hands, and the golden pommel caught the sunset light.

"My ransom, Captain, would be blood," she whispered, and with all the strength she had, struck Asper across the face with the sheathed sword. It was not enough for what he had done: to her, and more importantly to the Dwarfs of Silver Pine Valley. But he would not forget her.

He fell, blood streaming from his nose and a gash on his cheek. Serta and two of the other mercenaries startled forward, but stopped when the Dragon shifted its gaze to them.

Susan turned away and walked, unsteadily but upright, toward her brothers. Peter came to meet her, hands outstretched, but she put a hand up to stop him and then, slowly, sank to one knee. She held the sword out in front of her, horizontally, although it was very hard to keep her balance. She only needed to stay upright for a few more minutes; she could do this.

The sun had dropped behind the pass now, and there was light only on the mountain tops. Peter looked pale as he took the sword from her, and, handing it off to Edmund, lifted her to her feet. His hands were cold around hers. "Su," he said softly, and his voice shook. "I'm sorry, I wanted to-but we couldn't, they had to leave, and if they had no guarantee, they might have fought-"

She had known, all the way from the village, that she was the price of this temporary peace. But her throat had closed, and so she just nodded. "Later," she whispered.

Edmund hugged her, then, and she clung to him-so tall, now, how had that happened?-as Peter stepped forward next to the Dragon. "Go now," he shouted at the mercenaries. "Leave Narnia, and never try our borders again! Spread the word: Narnia is free, and strong again! Now, GO!"

Peter swung an arm, and the Dragon reared up, raising its enormous head and long body like a snake about to strike. The mercenaries looked at the Dragon, and the short distance to the top of the pass, visibly nervous. Then Serta squatted down, and with another soldier, pulled Asper to his feet, his arms draped over their shoulders. She marched forward, half-dragging her captain, and the front ranks followed her. The soldiers shuffled past the Dragon uncomfortably, and then, as the column advanced, they began going faster and faster the farther they got, until by the point the last of them actually crossed the border, they were "going like blazes," as Edmund said later.

"I've got some water," said Edmund, and he guided Susan off the road to a spot behind the bulk of the Dragon's enormous tail, where she could sit down on a large rock. She realized, as Edmund pressed his water-skin into her hands, that she was shaking. He didn't say anything, but he shrugged out of his cloak and tucked it around her, over her own. Susan drank the water, spilling some, and drank some more, and stared at the Dragon's gold-and-black tail, and let her mind go blissfully blank.

After a while, she became aware that Edmund was speaking, telling a story in a soft voice as the final light of the sunset died from the mountains and the stars came out overhead. "-And when I woke up, it was free, and wasn't angry, but it didn't know anything that had happened. So I told it about coming to Narnia, and Aslan, and-and the battle, and everything. And it said that it wasn't a Dragon at all, but a Wyvern, and they're much rarer."

Susan blinked at that, and turned her head. "Not a Dragon?"

She couldn't see Edmund's face in the darkness. "No. Dragons have wings and four legs, and Wyverns have wings and two legs. Which is why it lands so ... thumpingly."

The Dra-Wyvern's bulk shielded them from the road, but Susan could tell that the mercenaries were all gone. However, a light appeared, reflecting off the Wyvern's golden scales. "What's his name?"

"Oh." Edmund sounded uncertain then. "Well, Ponsonby. He-it, the Witch had taken its memory. And everything, including its name. So I-"

"Edmund, Ponsonby? Really? How could you?" If she had the energy, she would have laughed.

"Ponsonby was a hero of-of-Waterloo, I think. And I was stuck!"

"Oh, very well." Susan finished the water, and leaned against Edmund. She was so very tired, and her feet hurt. "But why do you keep calling him 'it'?"

There was an audible swallow from beside her. When he spoke, Edmund's voice was a little strangled. "It's... well. Wyverns, it tells me, don't actually become male or female, until they're adult and ready to, well. There's so few of them, Ponsonby says, and that helps." He sounded miserably uncomfortable, and Susan was reminded that Edmund was still a boy, and young one at that. She thought about Asper, and shuddered, and then forced herself to remember the look on his face when he fell. Asper was gone, chased across the border back into Telmar, with the rest of his soldiers. If he were wise, he would not be returning.

"Where's Lucy?" she asked, startling herself. She had not seen Lucy since noon yesterday, she realized (nor had she slept in that time, and had barely eaten or drunk: no wonder she was barely able to move), not since they had parted in the woods.

Edmund patted her knee. "It's okay, she's with the Archenlanders, back at Silver Pine Valley. They think she's marvelous-did you know she jumped out of the woods in front of that cavalry troop? Nearly got herself trampled! Oh, and she's adopted-"

"All right, you two?" came Peter's voice, as he walked around the Wyvern's tail, carrying a torch. Behind him, Susan saw some other figures, and now that she was paying attention, she heard horses stamping, and harness jingling. "Peridan is here."

Susan levered herself off her rocky seat: her brain felt as slow and stiff as her limbs did. "Who?"

"Sir Peridan is the leader of the Archenlander cavalry," said Peter, as the young man strode up, his cloak flapping heroically behind him. When he saw Susan, he straightened and took off his helm. Rhea followed him, tail waving.

"Peridan of Arrowhead, your majesty," he said, and made Susan a quick bow. "We came looking for our own lost lamb-" at this he shared an amused glance with Peter, "-and instead found, with Aslan's favor, the four sovereigns of Narnia. And such kings and queens as have not been seen in these Northern lands in many years-minstrels shall sing of your deeds this day, your majesty!"

Susan gaped at him for a moment, startled by the language as much as the sentiment, and then said, "Thank you, although in the end, my efforts were wasted; it was your arrival, and Edmund, and the Dwarfs, who saved the day. I was merely-"

"No, my queen." Rhea pressed her nose into Susan's hand, then stood quietly, letting Susan's fingers tangle in the thick fur of her shoulders. "You risked your life to save the High King-you could have died. You put yourself into Aslan's paws, and he holds you there: there is no waste in such a gift."

"Wonderful," said Edmund, and then yawned enormously. "Can we go now? Because I'm pretty sure it's past my bedtime."


The night flight on Ponsonby wasn't something Peter wanted to repeat anytime soon. The Wyvern's neck was smooth and even, with nothing to hold onto: the only way to keep from sliding all the way to its hind legs was to sit just in front of the wings, and lock one's legs in place. As there were three of them, Peter sat in the rear, with Susan between himself and Edmund. Every time Ponsonby dipped, theyall slid forward; every time it climbed, they slid back, ending with a jolt as Edmund and Susan's body-weight pinned Peter against the wing-joints.

It landed them on the ridge above Silver Pine Valley, with another of those long skids that made Peter's pulse race: exhilarating and terrifying at once. Getting off was much easier than getting on: Peter just swung his legs over the side and slid down. The jar of his boots hitting the ground made him grunt. Turning, he reached to help Susan, but she was already down herself. She seemed to have recovered somewhat from the awful trek up to the Pass, but even in this dim moonlight, she looked pale and shaky.

"Nearly there, Su," said Peter. "I'm pretty sure the Dwarfs will give us a bed for the night-Lucy's probably got them eating out of her hand already!"

Susan smiled weakly, and then yawned. Peter put his arm around her to steady her, as they waited for Edmund to bid Ponsonby farewell.

"If you need anything," Edmund was saying, "come to Cair Paravel-just fly east from here and it's the castle on the ocean. Or send word: I still owe you."

"It is I who owe you for my freedom," said the Wyvern, its gold scales glimmering. "But it is good to be free, Edmund of Narnia. Now I go to find my own people!" And with that Ponsonby sprang into the air. The beating of its great gold-and-black wings kicked up dust from the road and blew Peter's hair into his eyes, but he shaded them against the wind, and kept watching as the Wyvern climbed high into the night sky and disappeared at last into the darkness between the stars.

"Where's it going?" Peter asked.

Edmund shrugged. "It said it thinks it came from the Western Wild, far to the north. It's not really sure, though. The Witch left almost nothing in its mind. I can't imagine how awful that must be, not to know anything..."

Peter thought about that, thought about waking up one morning to have no idea even of his own name, and shuddered in sympathy. "Well," he said, pushing the thought away, "let's get on."

"When you do you think Peridan and Rhea will get back?" asked Susan, through another yawn, as Peter led them down the slope into the valley. Although it was very late now, Peter saw lights ahead in the village, and he guessed that the Dwarfs were probably rebuilding already. Much of their living space had probably been damaged by the way they had broken out through the face of the cliff itself. Which meant, he realized, that he and his siblings would likely be sleeping outdoors again.

"Maybe by dawn," said Edmund. "But they'd have to ride all night, and there's no hurry. If they stop to rest, they should be here in the afternoon."

"So we're staying then, do you think?" Susan sounded as if the chilly night air had revived her a bit. Or maybe she was talking to keep herself awake. Peter realized that Susan had not slept for close to two days; no wonder she was stumbling with exhaustion.

He considered the question, but really, it was obvious: they were all exhausted, and there was no particular rush. After a day or so, they could head east, follow the mountains back to the sea and then work their way north to Cair Paravel. Or maybe go to Archenland, like Peridan had said, and visit King Lune. See if Eluned was as outrageous as Peridan hadn't-quite-implied.

Peter rather liked Sir Peridan. He was young (maybe six years older than Peter, he thought), but competent, and unlike the mercenaries and Eluned, he seemed entirely comfortable with non-human Narnians. And Peter gave him extra points for not only not trampling Lucy when she jumped out of the bushes at him, but listening to what she had to say. Not every knight would pay that kind of attention to a nine-year-old girl, even one accompanied by a Talking Wolf.

Eluned, though: Peter wondered about Eluned. He hadn't believed her, not really-had she truly thought she could just ride into Narnia and take the throne? But Peridan had confirmed her story about Col, although he'd also said that King Lune would never approve such an attempt, not after Aslan himself had set Peter and his siblings on the throne. "So she's done this on her own?" Peter had asked, and Peridan had not answered directly.

"Her Majesty the Queen has, at last, given the King two sons. He has an heir now, Prince Cor. Princess Eluned-" Peridan had hesitated, and finished, "-she did not take the news well, after so long as the heir apparent. It has been difficult for her, these last few years."

Peter had thought that was a very charitable description of a real trouble-maker, but he didn't say so. Peridan had given him a small nod, and gone off to meet with his Centaur second-in-command.

They were finally at the bottom of the slope now, walking toward the lights of the village. Peter would have to think of something to do about Eluned, if she refused to return to Anvard with Peridan. Well, it would have to wait until tomorrow.

Except it didn't wait.

"What do you mean, Eluned's gone?" he found himself asking Rena five minutes later, as they stood gathered around a great fire, hands cupping small but welcome mugs of mint tea. "Where did she go?"

"That's the question, king," Rena said, and shrugged. She had been asleep when the Pevensies arrived, and was still barefoot, a striped woolen shawl wrapped about her shoulders. "Nevvik was up on the fell, and he said her horses went east from there, not south. She's not gone to Anvard, despite what she told me."

"When did they leave?" asked Edmund, from the other side of the fire. "Did she take all the men Peridan left behind?"

"Noon, or thereabouts, and yes, but the Badger wouldn't go, he stayed with the young queen, and the kits." Rena nodded at the nearby shed-the same one where Peter had been imprisoned (only yesterday, he realized in astonishment). "They're all abed in there, comfortable as a Wiggle in mud."

East, thought Peter, and pictured the Great Road on Edmund's map, curving eastward over the plains for mile after mile, and then swerving north and east, crossing the Great River at Beruna, and then on, through hill and vale, until it ended at last at the gates of Cair Paravel. Which they had left standing open, trusting Aslan, and Narnia itself, to protect the castle's secrets.

"She's gone to Cair Paravel, hasn't she?" said Susan, whom Peter had caught up on his encounter with Eluned while they flew down from the pass. "To try to take the throne."

The last of Peter's tea hissed as he upended his cup into the fire. He was so tired he could lay down right here, in the rocks of the yard, and sleep for a week. Even his anger felt banked, buried under the ash of exhaustion. "Yes, she has. We're just children, after all, and she claims the right by descent from the first king of Narnia."

"Well," said Edmund, with an edge of humor in his voice. "Reckon we know what we're doing tomorrow, after all."


"Pity you sent Ponsonby away, Ed," said Peter, in the morning. He'd meant to rise at dawn and get an early start, but the shed had been warm, the blankets the Dwarfs had provided them as comfortable as his bed in Finchley, and he had not risen until the sun was high.

Lucy, who had not been nearly as weary as the others, had charitably refrained from waking them, and instead brought them cups of tea and slices of chewy Dwarf bread to eat when they arose. Now she was squatting on her heels, picking burrs out of Rhea's coat, as Peter worked on his second cup of tea and Susan sorted through their packs.

Susan looked quite recovered from her ordeal, but had told her brothers not to tell Lucy any of the details. Now, she said, not looking up from the scant pile of waybread she had assembled, "It is quite a long way to Cair Paravel; a Wyvern would have been convenient."

They were gathered around last night's fire, which was much smaller this morning. The Dwarfs of Silver Pine Valley were bustling about them, but by far the most activity was going on at the headwall, and inside the mountain. Given the fantastic rate at which they were all working-even the Dwarf women and children who had fled into the mountains, and had now returned, were working-Peter expected the repairs to be completed within a week.

The sun shone down from a sky spotted with swiftly-traveling clouds, and a wind rattled the treetops, some of which bore red and yellow leaves. In the open yard where yesterday morning a troop of mercenaries had been camped, three Fox kits tumbled over each other, watched over by an avuncular Badger named Softpaw. (A personality more different than Broadclaw could hardly be imagined, and Peter found it hard to believe they were the same species.)

Edmund shook his head, looking stubborn. "Ponsonby did me a good turn, and we're square now. It wouldn't be right to take advantage of it."

"You're probably right," agreed Peter, and then looked down at Lucy. "Lu, the others never met Eluned, but you were here with her after we all left yesterday. Did you talk to her? Did she say anything?"

Throwing a burr into the fire, where it blazed minutely, Lucy sat up and scowled. "I didn't like her," she said, to Peter's surprise. There were very few people Lucy would say that of. "She laughed at me, when I told her Aslan had made us all kings and queens. And she was nasty to Rena and Softpaw."

Rhea twitched an ear, lifting her lip to show a shining canine: she clearly didn't think it was appropriate for anyone (other than her) to laugh at the Pevensies. Rhea had arrived during the night, having left Peridan's troop behind. She looked weary, but comfortable, splayed on her side in the sunlight, while Lucy picked through her coat.

"What did she say, exactly, Lu?" asked Edmund.

"Well, first she didn't believe me at all. But Rena told her it was true, that some of the Dwarfs here had been to the battle and seen Aslan acclaim us." Lucy smiled in recollection.

"And then?" Susan urged her.

"And then she tapped the hilt of her sword, and said something about how a soft hand may take a crown, but-" Lucy stumbled, frowning as she tried to recall the words. "-But it takes a hard hand to keep it. And then she smiled at me, but not a real smile, and she asked me all sorts of questions about Cair Paravel."

Peter thought about that, remembering what Eluned had said about her own claim to the throne, a claim reaching back, if she were to be believed, all the way to the first king of Narnia. "Rhea," he asked, scratching his shoulder, where his scar from the werewolf attack was itching, "does Eluned have a claim on the throne? She said the kings of Archenland were descended from the first king of Narnia."

The Wolf, half-asleep, yawned widely without moving, her long red tongue trailing out of her mouth. "I am not a historian, king. You'd do better to ask the Centaurs, or a Badger. But it sounds likely. Not that it matters-Aslan named you high king. Aslan crowned King Frank, and now he has crowned you. That is all that matters."

"She's right, Pete," said Susan. "So why do we care if Eluned gets to the castle first?" She looked disinclined to set out on another cross-country march, even as she sorted through their traveling gear.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

"Well, there's nothing in the castle, is there?" asked Lucy.

Susan nodded. "Lu's right. What could Eluned do if she got into the castle? Read some old records? Sit on our chairs? There's no weapons or treasure, after all."

"So we should just let her go, and take over Cair Paravel?" Peter didn't like that idea. The more he thought about it, the less he liked it. He didn't think it was because he was selfish, or because he deserved it-at least he hoped that wasn't why. It was just that Aslan had given the responsibility to them, to Peter and his siblings, to care for Narnia and look after its people. Even if Eluned thought it was something one could just take on by claiming it, Peter wasn't going to give it up that easily.

Edmund was frowning now, thinking harder. "No, we shouldn't. The girls are right, there's nothing actually in Cair Paravel that will help Eluned take the throne-aside from the thrones themselves, I guess. But the castle's important, it's a symbol. It means something to Narnia, to the people."

"Oh!" said Lucy, and waved a hand as if she were in the classroom. "The poem that Mr. Beaver told us! When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone sit at Cair Paravel in throne-"

"-The evil time will be over and done," finished Susan, with an approving nod. "I think you've got it, Ed. It's like, in all those wars in history, they're always fighting for strategic castles and cities, and not just because they're ports or something. Sometimes it's because it's the emperor's city, and holding it makes people think you should be emperor." Peter looked at Susan, astonished: he knew how much she disliked history lessons. She flushed and shrugged.

The tea in his cup was cold (to be honest, it wasn't really tea, but a hot drink made from leaves of some mountain shrub that stained the water proper tea-color but tasted a bit like pine trees smelled). Peter stared into it, wondering if he turned it upside-down would it give him answers.

"I don't think we can beat her there," he finally said. "She's got a big head start, and we haven't any horses. But we've got to try."

"Maybe you and Su should go ahead," Edmund suggested, looking down at Lucy, who scowled imperiously.

"I can keep up!" she protested. It was true that she looked more capable than she had when they had first fallen through the wardrobe: she seemed taller and stronger, her face browned by the sun and her hair so much longer now, caught back in a short plait that Susan must have done for her.

There was a thump as Susan dropped Peter's pack in front of him. "I don't think we should separate again," she said, her gaze direct as she met his eyes. "Especially for this." And then she deliberately placed her hand flat on the bare ground, and looked around at the others.

Edmund raised his eyebrows, but put his teacup down and leaned over to follow suit. Lucy was already on the ground: she just dug one bare toe into the soil, and looked up at Peter. "Come on, Peter!"

"Right," said Peter, and squatted down, carefully shifting Rhindon out of the way. (He was reluctant to let the sword out of his sight, now that he had it back: he had even slept with it under his hand last night.) The ground under his fingers was dry and gravelly, dotted with occasional grey-green weeds and granite pebbles. But underneath that was a profound sense of well-being, of satisfaction. It was similar to hearing a conversation that was too distant to catch the words, but in which the tone was very clear to the listener. Narnia was pleased, and comfortable, like a well-fed cat on a rug in front of a cozy fire. They had done well, and their reward was to continue with it.

He looked up: his siblings looked, from youngest to oldest: pleased, interested, and happy-but-uncertain. "Well," said Peter, "I guess that answers it, doesn't it?"

Just then, there was a ragged squawking cough from above, and they all looked up, to see a large but ragged-looking Raven swooping towards them. It landed with a final flutter of its wings on the ground at Peter's side, and bobbed at each Pevensie in turn. "I am pleased to find you here, your majesties," Sallowpad croaked, settling his feathers. "Queen Lucy's message indicated you were in dire straits, but you have freed yourself without any of our help, I see."

"Well, not without help of some kind," said Edmund, his voice dry. "Just not yours." And in a few short sentences, he outlined for Sallowpad all that had happened in the past several days, ending with the discovery that Princess Eluned had set off for Cair Paravel, intending to take control of the castle, and presumably the crown.

Sallowpad clacked his beak in agitation, and three Magpies Peter hadn't noticed circled down to land nearby. "That's ill word, but not as bad as it might be, King Edmund. For Queen Lucy had sent for help, and as we speak, Windcaller leads a company of the Oath-Sworn on their way from Beruna. If they stay on the Great Road (which is possible), they may well intercept the Princess."

"I don't want any more bloodshed," said Peter, thinking unhappily of Centaurs charging against the heavy cavalry of the Archenlanders. No matter who won, both Narnia and Archenland lost. "And I'd like to stay on good terms with our next-door neighbors, as well."

Edmund nodded, but pointed out, "Just remember, Pete, if she gets into the castle before us, we may need more than a can-opener to get her out!"

There was another clack from Sallowpad, who said, "Then we should send messages by these Magpies, my kings and queens. One, I think, to King Lune of Archenland, who should be told of the reckless actions of his sister. A second to Windcaller, with instructions to slow Eluned if he can, but to draw no blood. And a third to the Free Horses of the plains."

"What will you tell them?" asked Lucy, but Peter had already guessed. More bare-back riding, he thought, and caught Edmund's eye, who grinned and rubbed his backside in remembered discomfort.


It was a long way from Farsight Valley to Cair Paravel: on Edmund's map, it looked to be twice as far as the distance they had come from the Witch's castle. So despite the risks of riding bareback, Peter was glad, halfway through their second day of walking east along the Great Road, to see a cloud of dust in the distance, and shortly later to get Rhea's confirmation on the identity of the approaching Horses.

Among the dozen Horses arriving in a thunder of unshod hooves, lashing tails, and flaring nostrils, was Philip, who greeted Edmund with more respect than Peter would have expected. After all, Edmund had called him "Horsie," which Peter suspected was worse than calling Rhea a dog. (Not that he intended ever to find out!)

Despite their swift journey, the Horses seemed in good condition, and were quite willing to turn about and retrace their steps carrying riders. Indeed, there was a dispute over who would get the honor of bearing the various Pevensies. At length, Rhea stepped in and made the assignments; Susan reassured those not chosen that the journey was long enough that surely all the Horses would have the opportunity to participate. This soothed most of them, but a black mare, of small stature but fine lines, continued stamping and muttering long after the other Horses had settled.

Rhea put Lucy up with Edmund on Philip; mounted Susan on a long-legged chestnut mare with a white teardrop-shaped blaze; and directed Peter to a stocky bay stallion named Fwindorbrinnywhee-or so it sounded to Peter. "Err, can I just call you Fwind? It's rather long..."

The stallion's eyes rolled (apparently Horses have no trouble remembering long vowel-laden names), but he tossed his head in agreement. "Mount up, king! It is many leagues to Cair Paravel."

"Yeah," said Peter, wincing, and with some help from a stone beside the road, struggled onto Fwind's back.

In later days, songs were sung about the Great Ride from Farsight Valley to Cair Paravel, verse after rhythmic verse describing the descent from the high valley into the foothills, and the seemingly-endless plains, the golden grass rustling in the autumn wind, and then the great forests of eastern Narnia, through which the road rolled, crossing streams and meadows as the sun sank earlier every day and the nights turned chill even in the lowlands.

It all would sound glorious, glamorous, even, the sort of thing that would look marvelous in a film. But what the bards-even the Centaur bards, who should know better-would omit would be the things that stuck most clearly in Peter's memory long afterwards. Like the way his bones would rattle like dice as the Horse trotted, jarring Peter's spine all the way to his cranium. Like the way Lucy fell off Philip's back three times the first day, the last time landing so hard on a steep downhill slope that she broke her arm, and had to be healed with her own cordial. Like the look on Susan's face when she slid off her mare's back at the end of their first day, and walked very stiffly away into the brush. When she came back, her face was quite white; despite that, it took a direct order from Peter to get her to use the cordial herself in the morning.

Like the fact that riding horseback for hour after hour across the plains is boring, and one can only spend so much time quizzing one's mount about Horse politics. Edmund evidently was re-inventing the Narnian judicial system while he rode, deep in conversation with Philip, despite Lucy's frequent complaints of boredom. After the first day, she demanded to ride with Susan, who was more interested in the various Narnian peoples.

On the third day of riding they came to the end of the plains, and stopped at a small Faun holt beside a lush meadow, where they received a meal of grilled fish, with nuts, berries, and something that seemed like a potato except it was purple. Ilexus also brought out several sacks of grain for the Horses, which Fwind received with pleasure. Susan gave Ilexus the last of the small coin they had, over his objections, before they departed the next morning.

The woods took another whole day, for the road was quite overgrown and the footing uncertain in the shadow of the trees. Lucy claimed she saw Dryads several times, but they had to push on, leaving the beach-girls and oak-lords behind. Even the fiery black mare, whose name was Shindalinn, was weary by the time they broke out of the trees and found themselves on the bank of the Great River.

A ford was marked by a series of wooden poles set into the ground at intervals wide enough to let boats pass, and on the far side of the river (which was much wider here than it was where they had crossed upstream) Peter saw dozens of buildings. The town of Beruna was built on a rise above the river, but its buildings flowed down the slope, ending in a series of warehouses opening onto docks just downstream of the ford. "Looks pretty good," said Edmund, at Peter's shoulder. "Can't see any flood damage from here."

Sallowpad, who was riding on top of Peter's pack, clacked in agreement. "The messages you sent saved many lives, king. Now, we should cross the River: there will be food and beds for you in the town."

Sallowpad, a marvel of organizational ability, led them to a large farmhouse on the outskirts of town, where they were greeted by a stout Faun and a small herd of Goats, who clattered out to meet the kings and queens with great enthusiasm. After a quick meal (which included cheese none of the Pevensies was willing to eat, for fear it was made from the Goats' own milk), they fell onto soft mattresses on the swept stone floors, and were asleep before the dishes were cleared away.

They rose in the grey of dawn, were mounted within ten minutes, and clattered out of the courtyard still clutching cold sandwiches made of seedcakes and mutton. They circled around the still-sleeping Beruna, and as they crossed the foggy fields, a Magpie landed on Edmund's shoulder.

"What news, good friend?" asked Peter, after swallowing a too-large bite of his sandwich.

"Princess Eluned and her company are at the gates of Cair Paravel, king!" piped the Magpie, who seemed to be very young. Peter groaned. "But fear not!" continued the Magpie, bouncing with excitement and making Edmund wince as its sharp claws bit into his shoulder. "The castle gates are shut, and the Princess cannot enter!"

"Why not?" asked Susan, leaning sideways dangerously, trying to hear. But the Magpie just bounced and nodded, clearly too confused to answer-Peter realized they would get no answers from him.

Peter looked around for Rhea, and spotted her where she had spent much of the journey: just ahead and to the left of his horse. "How much farther, Rhea?"

"We shall be there by late afternoon, king," she said, without looking around. Her steady lope did not falter, and Peter sighed. It would be a long day, but at least it wasn't raining.

Beruna lay on the Great River, which entered the ocean near Cair Paravel, but the river took a great loop southward between them, and so the road cut across that loop, winding through a series of low wooded hills and soft green valleys. Many of the valleys, like some they had seen in northern Narnia, bore evidence of agriculture: green fields of some unfamiliar grain, or neat rows of apple or nut trees. Once, they even passed a terraced hillside planted with low bushes Edmund swore were grapevines, but it was some distance from the road, and they had no time to stop. "Later, Ed," snapped Peter, and hoped there would be a later.

They stopped briefly at noon, feasting on apples picked from the trees along the road, and eating the last of the cold mutton Bilnus the Faun had pressed on them at dawn. A great elm-girl came out of the wood to speak with Lucy, and after a few minutes talk, Lucy hurried to Peter.

"There are people ahead of us! Naned says many people have passed, on the way to Cair Paravel! Oh, Peter, who could it be?"

"More Horses?" suggested Edmund.

Susan pursed her lips. "An army out of Archenland?" But she sounded doubtful; no one could cross the plains in force without the Horses seeing them, and the Horses would have sent word.

"Pirates!" Lucy suggested, and laughed at Peter's expression, then sobered. "Well, the mercenaries were pirates, weren't they?"

"They were," agreed Peter. He looked down at the apple in his hand, no longer hungry. He offered it to his current mount, who was a rangy blood bay named Pillarinwhee; she took it from his palm, and crunched it with an odd delicacy. "Anyway, it doesn't matter: we have to push on. We can't stop now."

Weary as they all were, the Horses picked up the pace when they at last came out of the hills an hour later. The road was a golden snake laid across the open green land, winding several peaceful miles toward where the land ended and they saw the shine of the eastern sea. And now, after so long, where the road ended, they saw the windows of Cair Paravel shimmering in the westering sun.

It was too far away to see anything clearly, but Peter thought he saw something twinkle, as if sunlight reflected off a spear-point or mail shirt. "Sallowpad, go see," he ordered, and the Raven took off, flapping his wings heavily as he climbed.

They set forth at a canter, Peter and his siblings wrapping their hands in their mounts' manes and gripping as tight as they could with their legs. They would be lucky to be able to walk after this, Peter thought, and then just concentrated on staying upright.

They rode hard, the Horses' coats darkening with sweat; they all became covered with dust. It was hot, hotter than it had been since they left the Witch's castle. Between the heat and the worry about what they would find, sweat trickled down Peter's back, and stung in his eyes. He risked a glance at his siblings. Edmund looked stoney-faced; Susan concerned; and Lucy looked as though she were having the most marvelous time. She laughed when she saw Peter looking at her, and he couldn't help but laugh with her.

Sallowpad did not return. Peter looked again at Lucy's face, and despite everything, his heart rose. Aslan had been with them all through this long journey, with its many trials-even if they had never seen him nor touched him, the good luck they had experienced and the good folk they had met clearly showed the mark of Aslan's favor.

Whatever they met outside the castle walls, this was not the end of the adventure.


Just before the castle, the road passed through one last copse of trees, hiding the great walls from view. ("We should take these down," said Edmund, as they cantered, ducking under branches. "It would be too easy to sneak close to the walls." Peter just glared at him, and Edmund shrugged. "What? I'm not worried." But his airiness seemed forced.)

When they broke back into the sunlight, the Horses slowed suddenly, and it took Peter several precious seconds to decipher the scene before him. There were a great many people gathered in front of the castle, many of them shouting or making other noise, and the colors of the throng were startlingly bright after the dim shadows under the trees.

A dark shape swept past him, and settled on Susan's shoulder. "My apologies, your majesties," said Sallowpad, shifting his weight from one foot to another, as if he were uncertain. "I was detained. But I do not think you will fault me," he added, with some satisfaction.

Peter stared at him, open-mouthed, and then turned to look again at the crowd. "I...right," he said, and urged Pillarinwhee forward. "Is that a Giant? And where did all those Dwarfs come from?"

As they moved forward, the people closest to them finally appeared to notice their approach, and a cry went up. Other people turned about and saw them, and they too began to shout. "The High King! The Kings and Queens of Narnia!" "By the Lion, it's the King!" "But they were in Western Narnia!" "Well, who else could they be?"

The crowd included Centaurs: some thirty yards away, Peter spotted Windcaller above the crowd, surrounded by several shorter figures he recognized as some of the Oath-Sworn. But there were more people here than just Windcaller's company, or the Archenlanders Eluned had gathered about her-whom he located in a tightly-packed bunch, backed up against the closed gates of the castle. Even from this distance, Peter could see she looked nervous.

And she had every reason to be. For, Peter suspected, even if word had not reached Windcaller, there was no way Eluned could have taken Cair Paravel unopposed. Gathered about her were Narnians, armed and unarmed, of every type and people. He saw a towering green figure that might have been the Oak-god, or his twin; two separate companies of Dwarfs (one Red and one Black); at least two dozen Fauns, heavily armed, with Fraxinus at their head; a Unicorn at the edge of the crowd, its horn sparkling in the sunlight; several packs of Dogs; Dryads dripping leaves and swaying, although there was no wind; and a Giant standing in front of the Archenlanders, with a club in his hand and a remarkably sweet look on his face.

"Rumblebuffin!" cried Lucy. She waved wildly, and the Giant, seeing her, waved back, nearly taking off the head of one of the Archenlander soldiers by accident.

Edmund poked Peter in the shoulder and pointed up; roosting on the tall castle walls were dozens of Birds, including Magpies, Robins, three Eagles, and a great white bird with a long neck. And squatting on the top of the highest tower were two Gryphons.

"Oh, my," said Susan.

"Well," said Peter, and then stopped. He swallowed, hard, threw a beseeching look at Edmund, and realized there wasn't really anything to say. So he patted Pillarinwhee, swung his right leg over her neck, and slipped down to the ground. As he landed, Fraxinus raced up to offer him a hand, which Peter took gratefully while his legs adjusted to solid earth again.

When he felt secure enough, he let go, and Fraxinus immediately dropped to one knee. "My king," said the Faun, and would not get up until Peter ordered him to.

Around him, the others had dismounted as well. Peter clapped Fraxinus on the shoulder and walked into the crowd. Narnians made way, many of them bowing (or nodding, or curtseying, each in their own fashion), and their voices gradually quieted, until there was almost no sound but the panting of the Dogs and the Pevensies' soft footsteps on the dusty earth.

Peter suspected he didn't look very regal, covered as he was with dust, sweat, and horse-slobber. But none of the faces around him betrayed the least uncertainty, and he gathered that trust to him, feeling it buoy him up as he stepped at last into the open space in front of the castle gates.

Rumblebuffin looked down on Peter from his great height, rested his club on the ground, and gave him a solemn bow. "Welcome back to Cair Paravel, High King."

"Thank you, Giant Rumblebuffin," said Peter, evenly. He was very thirsty, but he suspected now was not the time to go asking for a water-skin. His siblings had arrayed themselves about him: Edmund to his right, Susan and Lucy to his left. He knew that if he dropped down to touch the ground, he would feel Narnia itself thrumming in his veins.

The Archenlanders seemed much less intimidating than they had appeared in Peter's mind during these last several days. There were fewer of them than he thought, and Peter wondered if some had slipped away, less eager than their Princess to contradict Aslan's stated intentions. Certainly they had ridden hard: their horses' heads drooped, and all bore the look of hard travel. They were ordinary-looking men and women, most of them dark-haired and fair-skinned, although Peter saw a redhead near the back. Nearly all looked nervous, although two of them near the front had distinctly unfriendly looks on their faces. One of them was a short dark man whose jerkin was badly ripped: he had a bandage covering his right ear.

The other was, of course, Princess Eluned. She had found a new tabard: this one was unstained, and her hair was neatly braided, coiled on her head to fit under the steel cap that hung on her saddle-bow. She met Peter's eyes defiantly, and kicked her horse so it advanced into the open.

"Wolfsbane, is it?" she challenged him, but her voice was shrill and nervous. "Falsetongue, I name you!"

There was an angry rustle about him. Peter raised a hand, and it died away immediately. "Wolfsbane, Aslan named me, the day I killed Maugrim. I never lied to you, Princess." He would have if he'd had to, though.

"So you killed a Wolf, and Aslan made you king? Ridiculous!" She sneered, and Peter had to respect her, still defiant in the face of this great crowd, who could tear her apart so easily.

"Kill a Wolf, kill a Witch, break the Winter," said Edmund, his voice carrying across the crowd. "The Deep Magic needed Humans in Narnia, to bring Aslan back and the spring with him. Why did you never before cross the border, Princess, even though you had a claim on the crown of Narnia? Was the snow too great a barrier, even for such a prize?" Were you afraid? went unsaid, but Peter heard it anyway-and so did Eluned.

She seized her sword-hilt, and the crowd tensed. The hair on Peter's arms stood up, as if there were electricity in the air. "Don't," he cautioned her, his voice low. "I cannot hold them, if you do."

He could nearly hear her teeth grinding, at this close range, but she slowly released her grip on the sword. She stared at him, brows drawn down over blue eyes snapping with frustrated rage. Peter suspected that she was probably quite pretty, when she wasn't trying to steal his throne. (It occurred to him much later that she could have been a good prospect for a marriage alliance with Archenland, if it weren't for the fact that she would never be trusted by any loyal Narnian, no matter what she did afterwards. Well, that and the fact that she hated him, and probably would until the day she died.)

"Peasant!" she snapped, and spat on the ground before him. "I am the sister of the King of Archenland. You shall not touch me, not even with all your rabble."

It was arrogant and offensive, but it was, in fact, a capitulation. Peter nodded to her, and took a step back, swinging to the side; he motioned to the others, and they gave way as well. "Convey my greetings to your royal brother," Peter said loudly. "My Gryphons shall escort you and your company on your journey to Anvard. Ride safely, Princess. And I suggest that further embassies from Archenland come in less warlike guise, so we avoid any further... misunderstandings."

There was a ripple of laughter about them, and the crowd pulled back, clearing the road for the Archenlander company. She snarled and pulled her helmet on with a shaking hand, and then kicked her weary horse into a uneven trot. Her soldiers followed, raggedly.

The Narnians watched them go in silence. They stayed silent until the very last soldier-the redhead at the rear-disappeared into the shadows of the wood. The stillness held for another long moment, and then, spontaneously, a great cheer went up, startling birds out of the trees.

It was a cheer without words: just a shout of delight from three hundred different voices, and it seemed to rock the walls of the castle itself.