Chapter Twelve: The Battle

Philip made his way slowly down from the copse of trees to where the Stone Table was. Laboriously, he climbed the steps, until he stood beside Edmund's body. The young human was pale, and his blood pooled darkly on the stone beneath him.

Philip lowered himself until he was lying beside Edmund. Reaching out, he sunk his teeth into his jerkin, pulling him as close as he could. Then, he started tugging at the ropes that tightly bound Edmund's hands behind his back. He stopped, however, when he quickly realized that he couldn't get the ropes off without breaking Edmund's skin.

Just as quickly, he also realized that he had no way to get Edmund onto his back. Not without help. Despair filled him as he realized he could not fulfill his last promise to his friend.

Then, he heard a rustling sound.

For a moment, the Horse's baser instincts took over, and the sight of the mice swarming over Edmund's body filled him with disgust and fear. But, he quickly realized that they weren't harming him; quite the opposite. The mice were actually gnawing through the thick ropes, which fell, fiber by fiber, to the cold stone floor.

Finally, the last of the ropes were gone, and Edmund's arms flopped down to his sides. There was still the problem of getting Edmund back to camp, but that was solved by a pair of Dryads who, appearing out of nowhere, gently maneuvered Edmund onto Philip's back and steadied him as the Horse lurched to his feet and stepped delicately off the Stone Table.

"Thank you," Philip said, softly, as he studied the Dryads.

"Fight well against the Witch," one of them said, in that peculiar leaves-in-the-wind voice that all Dryads possessed. "Do not let our forests burn."

Philip nodded, and the Dryads vanished from sight. Then, with a heavy sigh, he turned to make his way back to Aslan's camp.

Except that he found himself to stunned to move.

Stunned, by the feel of a hand weakly curling into a fist against his side.

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"The Witch's army is on the move!"

Peter's head snapped up at the cry, as Bertran came barreling toward them as fast as his paws could carry him.

"The advance scouts," the Wolf panted, heavily, as he slammed to a stop in front of Aslan's tent. "They've seen the Witch's army advancing on us."

"Where are they headed?" Oreius demanded.

"The fords of Beruna," came the reply.

"Make ready the troops," Aslan commanded, to Oreius, who bowed deeply and cantered off.

"You will lead them into battle," he continued, looking at Peter, who gaped in astonishment.

"Me?" Peter blustered. "But, I can't-what about you?"

"I have a mission of my own to accomplish," Aslan informed him, gravely. "One that Lucy must accompany me on."

The youngest Pevensie swallowed hard at this, but nodded resolutely, wiping away the tears that had streaked her face.

"Climb onto my back, child," Aslan prompted Lucy, who did so, quickly.

Then, the Lion and his passenger bounded off, leaving a stunned King in their wake.

Peter couldn't believe what had happened. He knew next to nothing about commanding anything, let alone troops into battle, and Aslan had just left him. To muddle through alone, without a single bit of advice.

"Aslan trusts you," Susan told him, quietly, startling him out of his reverie.

"What?" he asked, confused, turning toward her.

"Aslan trusts you to lead us," she repeated. "And so do I. We need you, Peter."

"I don't know that I can do this," he told her. "Edmund was the one who was here for five years, not me."

"Well, Edmund's not here!" Susan cried, suddenly, and Peter was ashamed with himself for reminding her of their little brother.

"Edmund's not here," Susan repeated, softer. "He died to save Narnia, and now we need to make sure his sacrifice won't be in vain."

Peter closed his eyes, as a wave of grief overwhelmed him. He felt raw inside, the place in his heart where Edmund resided, a gaping hole.

'Law or no law,' a voice whispered in the back of his mind, 'she needs to pay for killing Edmund.'

"I don't know what to do," he admitted, out loud.

"Perhaps I may be of assistance, Majesty?" Oreius interjected, coming up beside him.

Peter nodded, quickly, and the Centaur stepped over to the map where the battle plans were laid out.

"You, and I, will be here," Oreius told him, pointing to a spot in front of the first wave of troops. "Queen Susan, you will be with the archers."

Peter was surprised, to hear this, but Susan only nodded, a determined glint in her eyes. When she caught sight of Peter's expression, she gave him a tiny grin.

"You didn't really think you were leaving me behind, did you?" she asked.

Peter felt an answering smile tug at his lips, and a tiny flower of hope bloom in his chest.

'You will be avenged, Ed,' he vowed, silently. 'I swear it.'

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The quiet that had fallen over the camp after the departure of the troops was suddenly broken by the pounding of hooves. Expecting to see a Centaur coming with news of the battle, the inhabitants that had been left behind were shocked to see Philip galloping wildly through the camp, their fallen King on his back.

The Horse slid to a hasty stop in front of the Healer's tent, urgency evident in his voice as he whinnied frantically for Shanza. The Healer came on the run, catching the young King as he slipped from Philip's back.

The Horse said something that the curious eavesdroppers couldn't hear, and the Healer disappeared into the tent, Edmund cradled in her strong arms. Philip was right behind her, his sides heaving as he blew out an exhausted breath, and the tent flap closed securely after him.

After a few moments of wild speculation, Bandera was elected as the one to go find out the truth. Nervously, because whatever had the normally placid Horse so worked up couldn't possibly be good, the Fox trotted toward the tent. As she neared the tent, she could make out the voices of the inhabitants inside.

"I don't understand how he could be--what of the Witch's promise to destroy Narnia in fire and flood?"

"All she needed was the blood of the traitor, and plenty of that was left on the Stone Table."

"Maybe too much. He's incredibly weak. I may not be able to do anything."

"He's not going to die. Not like this."

The Horse's voice was full of righteous anger, and Bandera risked a peek inside the tent to discover the cause. Shanza hovered over Edmund's body, administering various concoctions, while Philip stood off to the side, anxiously watching. Then, Edmund gave a weak cough that startled everyone in the tent.

Bandera leapt onto a nearby box in time to see the young King open his eyes and look around, blinking slowly.

"Wh-where?" he croaked, softly.

"You are back at camp, Majesty," Shanza assured him, as Bandera gaped down at the sight of her undead King.

"How am I-" Edmund started, but broke off suddenly as he was overcome by a coughing fit.

When it passed, the Healer held a cup of water to his lips, which he sipped gratefully.

"The Witch," Shanza informed him, "for all she claims to be human, seems to be sorely lacking in knowledge of your anatomy. She missed your heart, which invariably saved your life. I've stopped the bleeding and bound your wound, and restorative tonics are returning your strength, but you need to rest."

Bandera suddenly leapt off the box, still unnoticed by everyone else, as she dashed outside to spread the news. As she left the tent, she thought she heard Edmund inquire about his siblings.

"Well?" an old Badger demanded, as she was confronted outside the Healer's tent.

"King Edmund lives!" she cried, happily, "He lives, and the Deep Magic is appeased."

A ragged cheer rose from the assembled crowd, but it quickly died down at the sight of Edmund staggering, pale and weak, from the Healer's tent. The act of simply standing required him to cling to Philip's back, but there was a determined glint in his eyes that was evident to all.

Their King meant to go to war.

The Horse and human were arguing vehemently as they passed through the crowd, but they headed, nonetheless, in the direction of the armory tent. They once again disappeared from view, as the Creatures milled anxiously, waiting eagerly for their King to reappear.

And he didn't disappoint them. Several long minutes later, he reappeared, this time sitting on Philip's bare back. Clad in mail and chain, with his sword by his side, he looked every inch the warrior. If anyone noticed the pale pallor of his skin and the way his hands shook slightly, they made no mention of it.

Instead, they cheered him heartily, encouraged by his seeming resurrection from death. Bolstered by their cheers, Edmund sat straighter, surer, as he and Philip galloped out of camp.

As they passed her, Bandera distinctly heard Philip's voice.

"I don't care how healthy you think you are. When this is over, you're lying down for a week, even if I have to get King Peter to sit on you."

Even fainter was Edmund's voice.

"I don't think you'll have to work very hard to convince him."

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Peter looked out over the battlefield, his expression unreadable. Beneath him, Perrin was as still as stone, betraying nothing of how he felt.

Above them, a Gryphon circled, coming in for a landing. Alighting on the rock beside them, he opened his beak.

"They come, your Highness, in numbers and weapons far greater than our own."

"Numbers do not win a battle," Oreius proclaimed, from where he was standing on Peter's other side.

"No," Peter mused, "but I'll bet they help."

He craned his head around, and spotted Susan up on the cliffs with the other archers, her armor glinting in the sun and her bow ready in her hands. He couldn't clearly see her face, but he knew the same fierce fire filled her eyes as did his.

Looking at the troops gathered behind him, he caught Bertran's eye as the Wolf stood with the rest of the front lines. Interpreting his expression correctly, the Wolf broke from the line and trotted over.

"Majesty," Bertran acknowledged, solemnly.

"Are you with me, Bertran?" Peter asked.

'Even though I'm not Edmund?' a little voice in the back of his mind added.

"To the death, my King," the Wolf replied, softly. "To the death."

Peter nodded, and turned back to survey the Witch's advancing troops. Raising his sword to the sky, he settled his helm on his head.

"For Narnia!" he cried, his voice carrying even to the cliffs. "For Edmund!"

Perrin reared, once, and then charged down the hill, toward the Witch's army. Oreius and Bertran to either side, his troops behind, they met the Witch's forces with a resounding crash of bodies and steel.

A powerful lunge from Perrin carried them over the Witch's front line of troops and into the thick of the battle. Peter swung his sword at a Wolf lunging at Perrin's flanks, cutting the beast down before it could hurt Perrin. Perrin lunged, skewering a Hag on his deadly horn. As they fought, Peter tried to remember everything that Orieus had taught him about mounted combat, and about working with his partner.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bertran and a pair of Cheetahs ganging up on an advancing Troll, circling it to cut it off from the rest of the Witch's troops and then bringing it down. Then, as the Cheetahs peeled off to head in another direction, Bertran whirled and bounded toward Peter, a massive leap carrying him up to land precariously on Perrin's haunches behind Peter.

Even as Peter wondered what they were doing, Perrin spun on his front hooves, his momentum launching Bertran off his back to send him flying toward an approaching Minotaur like he'd been thrown from a catapult. The Wolf hit the Minotaur and brought it down with the sheer force of his blow, and then he bounded away, leaving the Minotaur motionless on the ground behind him.

On the other side of the field, Orieus fought with a Minotaur, his swords flashing in the sunlight. The Centaur countered every move the Minotaur made, moving with deadly precision. Peter watched Orieus fight for a moment and then Perrin shuddered beneath him, and Peter startled as he realized that they were surrounded.

"Hang on," Perrin told him, grimly, and then the Unicorn reared and charged forward, trampling the Creatures in his path beneath his hooves.

Peter swatted a Boggle away with his sword but wasn't fast enough to counter the other coming at them from the other side.

"Perrin, go left!" he called, tensing for the inevitable blow, but it never came.

The Gryphon scout from earlier swooped down and grabbed the Boggle by the back of the neck, carrying it high into the sky before letting it fall back to the earth with a sickening crunch. Then, the Gryphon tossed Peter a quick salute before climbing higher into the air.

"How much longer?" Perrin called back to him, swinging his head around to risk a quick look at Peter.

"Not much longer," Peter said, flashing back to the battle plans he, Susan, and Orieus had drawn up.

As if his words had been a catalyst, all of their airborne fighters let out a shrieking cry, the signal he'd been waiting for.

"Pull back!" he shouted, hoarsely, as Oreius sounded the horn as a signal to the rest of their troops. "Head them towards the rocks!"

Perrin whirled, galloping back to the cliffs, as the Witch's troops followed in pursuit. Around them, arrows flew, courtesy of Susan and the other archers. No few arrows found their marks in the bodies of the Witch's army.

Then, suddenly, Perrin stumbled, and Peter saw an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. He looked up just long enough to see a Dwarf grinning cruelly at him, holding an empty bow, before he was thrown violently off Perrin's back to land hard on the ground.

Winded, he began to struggle to his feet when he saw the Witch advancing on him, her sword and wand held in her hands. Oreius must have seen her as well, because suddenly he was galloping past Peter, his own swords at the ready as he prepared to attack the Witch.

With an almost casual gesture, she struck him with her wand, turning him instantly to stone. Then, she continued towards Peter.

He managed to get to his feet, but he knew with a chilling certainty that he wasn't going to be able to get his sword up in time.

'I guess I'll be joining you, wherever you are, Ed.'

Then, he heard a horse's scream, and looked up to see Edmund…

A/N: Another cliffy, but this one isn't so tragic. I hope. It's also different from the emotional gut-punch last chapter. Can't have my readers crying with every update.