Chapter Eleven : Thirty Spires of Silver
Elizabeth's shoulder was locking with stiffening bruises and her back winced away whenever she moved under the armor by the time she, Edmund and Nicodemus – loping alongside their horses like an impossibly large gray dog – reached the Silver Citadel. Hylonome and her father had galloped after the bolted horses, managing to catch up with them and – by some sort of horsey-magnetism – persuade them to come back despite the scent of blood and excitement in the air.
Edmund was a little ahead of Elizabeth and – as the valley opened out – he felt her slow and almost stop behind him. He reined in his horse as Nicodemus ran forward, splashing through the shallow river that chattered between them and their destination, deep-chested and swift on his padding paws. Edmund span his horse and called back at Elizabeth.
"Nearly there!" But, by now, she had reined to a halt and was simply looking at the scene before them. There, on the other side of the river, not far away, in the middle of a plain between two hills, she saw what must be the Silver Citadel – certainly an apt name, for it was white as the deep snow around it, all spikes and points and little towers, needle sharp and casting a long shadow on the hills behind it from the southern sun. Edmund – front-lit by that same sun – sat on a rearing horse before it, his shadow lying across the shattered rent where the front gate and towers had once stood.
"The Witch's House . . ." breathed Elizabeth. Something of the wind must have caught her words and wafted them to Edmund, for they were so quiet there was no way he could have heard them normally. He nodded, perhaps understanding, and reined his horse into stillness, gently nudging it towards her.
"Not any more," said Edmund reassuringly. "This is the Silver Citadel, the capital of the Lantern Waste. It was promised to me by its previous owner and – even if she did not mean it – I would always do my best to have her keep those promises she could."
For a second, Elizabeth simply stared at Edmund – there was something harsh and lupine about his face and the way he sat on the horse like a wolf perched on a crag. She remembered the way Nicodemus had bowed his head to him, the casual violence of his destruction of those that threatened him. And behind him reared a mighty castle of the far north, an outpost far from the sunlight and warmth of the Cair. She shivered, and the moment passed. She kicked her horse into a canter and – with Edmund beside her – splashed through the river. It was cold, but not deep, and barely came to the knees of the horses. She drew up her feet as she rode across to save her boots from the water and then kicked down as the horses struggled out of the river on the other side, shaking water out of their fur and tails with little shivering motions. She looked ahead to see Nicodemus weaving his way through tumbled masonry rimed with thick slabs of ice, entering the great courtyard of the castle. She and Edmund dismounted and lead their horses into the little maze of chaotic stone and ice, finding a small niche that had had a wooden roof and door attached, and the floor strewn with warm straw. They stripped off the saddles of the horses and removed the bridles and left them in the stable with nosebags full of oats.
As Edmund and Elizabeth moved out into the courtyard proper, she looked upwards, seeing the castle's detail for the first time. The walls which reared all around her were incomplete – but not tumbled with the passage of time, but rather melted with the absence of magic. The fortress walls were spurs and spars and ribs of white stone with great spaces between them – great spaces that had once been filled with huge sheets of ice as thick as masonry, blue as steel and smooth as oil. Iron grilles had been set for windows and doors, frozen into the walls – but now these were tumbled to the ground, lying flat in the snow or partially-frozen into the lower ice-sheets.
"It melts every Spring," said Edmund dreamily in her ear, making her jump, "There's just the skeleton left by the time the blossom comes. But every Winter, the ice grows back – less than complete the first year, and less than then in this." He paused. "I wonder how long it will be before it vanishes completely." He laughed softly. "It will almost seem a shame."
"It's beautiful," Elizabeth said in an awed whisper. The sunlight shattered itself on the fractured ice, splitting into shimmering rainbows of light that cut through the banks of fog that lay in the corners and painting the snow crimson and green and blue and gold. Here and there icicle-railings sparkled like stars and the sullen weight of silver-silence pressed on her like a mantle.
"So was she," said Edmund softly, leading the way towards an arched doorway across the snow-strewn courtyard, criss-crossed by the unmistakable paw-prints of wolves. Even to Elizabeth's dull senses, the scent of wolf-spoor was clear.
"The wolves have been here," she began, her hand straying to the hilt of her sword. Edmund laughed softly.
"My wolves have been here - and live here," he purred. She looked at him, a mix of puzzlement and shock on her face. "Come now, Lady Elizabeth - did you think Nicodemus was the only only one of Jadis' former servants who has come to call me Alpha?" He paused and grinned at her. "And there were always wolves who did not offer their throats to the Witch."
Elizabeth's eyes widened in surprise as she realized her previous musings and misgivings might have very-well been right - he had, more than any other of his siblings, taken on the mantle of the previous monarch of Narnia. The northern outpost, the ruthless power and leadership, and the cadre of wolves were all of a piece; an heirloom he had been promised in lies but had taken in truth. She shivered as Edmund stepped through the doorway and she followed.
Through it was a small room, stone walled and with a smooth floor. In one corner a stack of firewood was neatly drying and a fireplace and chimney took up the opposite corner. A set of spiral stairs lead upwards into darkness and mystery. Nicodemus was already there, setting spars of wood in the grate with his mouth. Edmund pulled a thick hide curtain over the doorway and lit a lantern – the room filled with a cheerful yellowish glow.
"Brought down a deer yesterday evening," Nicodemus said, stepping aside to let Edmund light the fire, "Would your majesty like some venison?" The wood caught, smoke flowing backwards down the cold flue. Edmund grabbed a burning branch and shoved it up the chimney, trying to warm the column of air.
"Yes, please," he coughed. He gestured at the bag he had brought in from his horse. "There's some wine in there, Elizabeth, and some cheese and fruit." She fumbled around as the smoke was sucked into the chimney, pulling out a flask of wine and a few leather pouches. She unsheathed her knife and considered what she knew about butchering meat – it wasn't much.
Nicodemus was dragging the carcass of a deer – a large doe – down the stairs, it's neck mangled and broken with a single blow. Edmund stood from tending the fire – which had now settled down to a babble of amber tongues – and took the knife from Elizabeth. He looked at Nicodemus. "You caught it – first cut is yours." Nicodemus seemed to shrug.
"Take what you like – you children of Adam and Eve barely eat anything." Edmund smiled and began to fillet the backstrap, wrapping it around itself and a handful of herbs and skewering it together. He broke a few ribs with a twist of his knife and smeared them with some of the fat, sprinkling a pinch of salt and herbs on them. He placed them on the metal grille suspended above the fire and settled down to wait with a mug of wine in his hand. Elizabeth took up the position mirroring him on the other side of the room, while Nicodemus lay – supine and seemingly asleep – on the floor in front of the fire. There was silence for a few minutes, broken only by the smell of roasting meat and the hiss of fat in the flames.
Elizabeth was nodding off – her body aching and her bones tired. And when the other two began to discuss the disposition of troops – and place-names she had never heard, and regiments she could not even imagine – her eyelids drooped. It was only noon, but she was hungry and tried, weary and exhausted. Her head dropped to her chest and she slept.
She was awoken by the sensation of saliva in her mouth – her sense of smell was still working – and opened her eyes to see that Edmund was cutting a slice of bread for her and placing a few ribs and some cuts of meat on it, together with some cheese and fruit. She took it as Edmund started on his and Nicodemus bent his head and – with a terrible crunching of bone and sinew – chewed his way through great slabs of meat and viscera. The venison was smoky and toothsome, the slightest bit burnt on the outside and good and bloody in the middle, the wine was good and it was a merry meal. There was little conversation – except the odd noise of contentment – and time passed pleasantly.
Only one small incident marred an otherwise delightful experience; without thinking, Elizabeth finished stripping the flesh from her ribs and simply tossed the chewed bones down at the massive canine in front of her. There was a moment of shocked silence, and then Elizabeth realized what she had done. It was only the look of abject horror and shame that flashed across her face that stopped Nicodemus from flinging a slab of bleeding meat into her face.
"I . . . I'm terribly sorry," she said, blushing. She reached forward and picked up the fragment of bone. "I didn't think." Nicodemus' yellow eyes narrowed.
"Well, think next time," he growled. It looked as if her were smiling, but Elizabeth knew enough about canines to know the bared teeth were a warning. She swallowed nervously and was about to apologize again, when Nicodemus shook his massive head. "No, I'm sorry – you meant nothing by it. Anyone could have made that mistake." He licked his blood-stained jaws clean and switched off the smile that wasn't. "I apologize, Daughter of Eve."
"I . . . that is . . ." Elizabeth began. Edmund interrupted her.
"Shall we talk armies?" he asked diplomatically. Elizabeth smiled weakly.
"I thought we already had?" she asked. "I think it put me to sleep." She paused. "I'm turning into Queen Susan."
"Your archery needs work," quipped Nicodemus. She made a face at him and – suddenly – they were friends. The wolf continued. "As per your instructions, sire, I have sent orders for all the troops bar the Centaurs to move downriver and assemble at Beaversdam. Naturally, I have ordered the Centaurs to disperse over the whole of the Lantern Waste – although defending it with forces spread so thinly will be difficult."
Edmund's pleasant smile didn't waver, but there was an almost imperceptible shift in his stance and scent which told Elizabeth the wolf was supposed to judge the human's expression by his own, lupine, standards. "Those were not my orders, Marshal – my orders were to preserve the Western March via defense of its borders. The Lantern Waster is too large – and too heavily forested – to hold effectively with the Centaurs under your command." Nicodemus growled.
"Which was the very point I made to your majesty," he said. "I cannot hold the Lantern Waste with the forces you leave me."
"It is indeed fortunate, Marshal," said Edmund with a thin smile, "that task is one which I have not asked to accomplish." Nicodemus broke the femur of the doe with a casual twist of his neck, but Edmund remained unimpressed. "My desire is for the Western March to be held with the forces you have available – the Lantern Waste will be abandoned. Once the Lone Islands are conquered – and their people freed – we shall complete this war." Nicodemus narrowed his opal eyes.
"You cannot just abandon the Lantern Waste, sire!" Edmund interrupted him.
"I am not abandoning the Lantern Waste – we are abandoning the Lantern Waste, Marshal," he said flatly, "I will have your support in this matter." Nicodemus growled.
"Have you forgotten what that land is, your majesty?" he implored. "It was in the Lantern Waste that Aslan walked when he sang the world into being, it was there the Tree was planted, the Lantern itself is there – the signpost to the world of Adam and Eve." He gestured with his lupine head in the direction of Elizabeth. "The silver to make that armor came from the Argent Tree, cut down by Queen Swanwhite herself. Aslan only knows what else should happen here – and might not if we don't hold onto it!" Edmund remained impassive, his lips pressed tightly together. Elizabeth remained silent – unwilling to upset or anger either one of them. Presently, Edmund spoke, softly and with inexorable logic.
"You say much of what the Lantern Waste was and might be, Marshal." His words were slow and measured, his fingertips pressed together and his eyes half-veiled. "You do not speak at all of what it is – let me tell you what the Lantern Waste is. It is a forest; too dense for anything except the woodland animals to settle in for the most part. It has no strategic value, no material value. It is, admittedly, beautiful and filled with history. It is inhabited by few, save the trees themselves. It is, utterly, impossible to defend against the guerrilla warfare the traitor wolves of the Western Wild practice – only by ambush and counter-ambush do we have a hope of victory unless they are foolish enough to meet us in open battle; and such a battle will not be fought in the Waste." His speech had been smooth and without hesitation, but now he paused and looked at Nicodemus. "I realize, Marshal, the attachment that the Woodland Folk feel for the Lantern Waste, but we must appreciate . . ."
"You don't understand at all!" exploded the wolf, leaping to his feet and with waveform lips drawing back rippling from knife-white teeth, "It doesn't matter if we are constantly under attack and can never defeat them, it is the Lantern Waste! The very land itself is sacred."
Edmund was on his feet now, his patience gone. "It's land, Nicodemus!" he thundered. "It's land! If you stab it, it doesn't bleed. If you hurt it, it doesn't cry. It doesn't laugh and doesn't scream and doesn't have hopes and fears and loves! I will not pour out my blood and the blood of my friends and family and subjects to hold land over and above people!" He sighed and closed his eyes, mastering himself and dealing with the wolf as a human would. "I am sorry, Nicodemus, I should not have lost my temper. But I stand by my words – I will not buy the Lantern Waste with the freedom of the Islanders. When the crusade is over, we will return and finish this war." He smiled down at him, careful not to bare his teeth. "Today you have killed Varden – we should be celebrating, Marshal – not at each other's throats." He sat down and took the wolf's massive head in his hands. "You are the best general I have, Nicodemus," he said. "If I could spare you here, I would take you to the Islands. But, more than that, you are my friend."
"And you are mine, your majesty," said Nicodemus gravely, "yet . . ."
"You and Edmund have walked the same path, have you not, Marshal?" asked Elizabeth, almost surprised to hear her own voice and certainly surprised by the words she spoke. The wolf nodded, ashamed. "You should be brothers, not foes." She sighed. "I can see the merit in what you both say . . ." she began placatingly. Edmund interrupted her harshly.
"This does not require mediation, Lady Elizabeth," he snapped, "The position is clear."
"And I disagree," snarled Nicodemus, jerking his head out of Edmund's grasp. Edmund spread his hands almost apologetically.
"The Crown of Narnia hears your views, Marshal, and we have considered them," he said icily, "It does not please us, however, to change our mind on this matter – our orders stand." Nicodemus bowed his head very slowly.
"To hear is to obey, your majesty." His voice was a low, defeated growl in the base of his throat, a Beta wolf loosing to his Alpha, "I shall abandon the Lantern Waste." He raised his head and then lowered his shoulders smoothly – a lupine bow, Elizabeth assumed – and turned to leave the chamber. "If you will excuse me, I have troops to see to."
"Nicodemus . . ." began Elizabeth, reaching for him, but she did not know how to proceed, and he broke in on her words.
"No, Lady Elizabeth," he snapped, jaundiced eyes flashing, "I beg of you, do not speak to me. I have no desire to talk right now – neither of you understand, none of you humans do. The Lantern Waste occupies such a point in our lives, in the life of Narnia. It is true that I betrayed Narnia, but I will not do so again – not willingly. This is a heavy thing King Edmund asks of me – to let our sacred places fall."
"It is just a place," said Edmund, in a tone that suggested he was weary of the subject.
"Would you say the same about the Stone Table?" snarled Nicodemus, half-turning to look at the King. He faced Elizabeth as she spoke.
"He already has," she said softly, her heart bleeding for the poor wolf. She could understand what he was feeling – or, at least, imagined she could. Nowhere in the world was sacred to her – she had never really had anywhere that felt like home as a child, spending too-much time with nannies and childminders, and had lived in a succession of offices and hotels for much of her adult life. She could equate this wolf's reaction at having to abandon his own personal Mecca to things in her knowledge, if not her experience. Nicodemus's head drooped.
"Very well," he said, tears catching in his throat. "Aslan chose you, sire – and for that I will trust your judgment that these people's freedom is worth more than the Lantern Waste. But forgive me if I do not believe you." He turned and, with soft pads of his paws on the snow, withdrew from the room and out into the courtyard.
There was silence for a few seconds, Elizabeth staring forlornly at the place where the wolf had stood. And then Edmund stood and spoke dismissively. "Everyone's got their own point of view and the right to the wrong opinion," he said.
Elizabeth grabbed him by the upper arm, spinning him around before she realized what she'd done, blazing in his face, "Edmund, this isn't a game! It's about places that people love and revere!" She paused, letting go of his arm and lowering her voice. "People are going to feel very strongly about this."
"And people are going to be wrong," said Edmund flatly. "What is this obsession with protecting so-called sacred places? This isn't about places or times, this is about ideals and actions – this is about people. My family fled a war, were pushed by the government away from a place to preserve us as people, so that England has a future even if Hitler bombs London flat. Destroy the Houses of Parliament and England endures, destroy her people and the white cliffs are nothing!" He clenched his fist in front of his face. "Why don't people see this?"
"It is the human thing to do, Edmund!" He shook his head.
"No – Nicodemus is not human, I am." Elizabeth raised her hands in frustration.
"Oh, then it's what people do – you know what I mean!" she snapped. Edmund smiled.
"Yes, I do, but you are wrong." Her face transfigured with annoyance as she remembered just how young he was. He saw it and continued. "I have fought my brother over this crusade, I have fought Nicodemus – Aslan help me, Elizabeth, I will fight you if I have to. People may be thinking like that, but humans are not – and Men rule this land. Narnia is not a man's country, but it is a country for a man to be King of – since King Frank, that has been the case. When humans sit at the Cair, Narnia flourishes. I have wrestled long and hard with this, Elizabeth." He closed his eyes and – for the first time – pain invaded his features. "Do you think it is easy to make the choice I have? To give up lands where so much happened? But it is the best choice. It is hard, but it is for the best." He paused and ran a hand through his dark hair. "The crusade is worth more than the Waste."
Elizabeth was subdued – pushed gently into submission by his conviction and self-belief. "There is more to this than your crusade," she said softly. The King's response was calm and measured; the self-satisfied smile of a man who knows he is right and can make you believe it.
"No, there isn't – there is just more to my crusade than you think."