Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed, and virtual cookies for everyone. And for those who didn't know, Hengroen is one of King Arthur's horses. He and Peter have more than a lot in common.
Chapter Twenty-One: Sword and Shield
They broke camp early in the morning, before the sun had even risen on the horizon. They rode silently through the slowly-lightening darkness, with only the sound of jangling armor to break the still quiet. They were still following the Great River, tracing its meandering path through the low foothills of the Black Mountains.
Peter and Edmund rode at the front of their guard, with Oreius alongside. Very little conversation passed between the brothers, although Peter broke the silence occasionally to ask about landmarks that they went by. Edmund always answered Peter's questions, but the further into the forests they travelled, the more distracted he became. He was more withdrawn than he'd been last night, and Peter was starting to get worried.
He hated seeing the old, tired look on his brother's face, watching him get lost in old memories as he battled personal demons. There were shadows under his eyes that Peter would have given anything to erase, and his hands kept clutching convulsively at Philip's mane.
Behind them, the rest of the guard was just as quiet, just as tense. Everyone was on edge, like a powder keg about to explode.
"I will be glad," Peter said, quietly, "when this is over with and we're back at Cair Paravel."
"Peace will be a welcome change," Oreius agreed. "This war has gone on long enough."
"Have we reached the mountains, yet?" Peter asked, looking around at the forests that surrounded them.
They'd been traveling for hours, now, but all they'd seen were more and more forests. The only break in the monotony of the trees was the river that they followed, although it had narrowed, considerably, and was much less turbulent than it was further downstream.
"We've been travelling through the Mountains for the last hour, actually," Oreius said, surprising Peter. "But it's a very low ascent to begin with."
"So, why are we still following the river?" Peter asked. "If we're in the mountains-"
"The Great River is born from glaciers near the peak of the mountains," Bertran said, trotting up alongside Peter. "It flows down through the mountains and runs through Narnia."
"Have you been here, before?" Peter asked, curiously, looking down at the Wolf.
"A long time ago," Bertran answered, shortly. "I was born here. My pack-"
He trailed off, but Peter knew what he was going to say.
"Your pack died here," he finished, quietly. "I'm sorry, Bertran."
"It feels strange to be back," Bertran replied. "There was a time when I swore I'd never set foot in these mountains, ever again."
"Thank you for coming with us," Peter told him, after a few seconds. "I know how hard this must be for you, but we couldn't do this without you, Bertran."
"Thank you, Majesty," Bertran said, sounding surprised.
Someone from the back of the formation called the Wolf's name, and, after a quick, parting nod to Peter, he whirled and ran back to join them.
Peter watched him go, and then turned to look at Edmund, to see how his brother was handling things. Edmund was still silent, deep lines furrowed into his forehead as he stared off into the distance. Nudging Hengroen with his heels, Peter got closer to Edmund, bumping his brother's arm lightly with his own.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, quietly.
"I just want this to be over," Edmund said, his voice rough.
"Remember what I said yesterday about bad omens?" Peter said, looking around at the trees that surrounded them. "It's getting worse."
"I'm starting to wonder if maybe we shouldn't have come," Edmund admitted, quietly.
"You should listen to those feelings," a new voice spoke up, and Philip and Hengroen both shied, suddenly, startled by a rangy Wolf that popped up right under their noses. "We don't like intruders in our territory."
"So, you speak for the rogues, now, Cyrran?" Bertran asked, coming forward to confront the other Wolf.
"I lead them," Cyrran replied. "Their numbers have dwindled, thanks to the White Witch; mine and I have sworn to protect them."
"Protect them from what?" Peter interjected, as he urged Hengroen forward, again.
"From boot-licking sycophants like him," the Wolf snarled, glaring at Bertran. "From those who would try to continue the Witch's work, just like Maugrim."
"I loved my brother," Bertran told her. "That doesn't mean that I was loyal to the Witch."
"So you say," Cyrran said, distrust plain in her voice. Looking up at Peter, she asked, "What are you doing here, Son of Adam?"
"We came to find you," Peter told her. "Two nights ago, a Wolf called Shendar came to Cair Paravel."
"He left us a week ago," Cyrran said. "I would have gone after him, but I couldn't risk the safety of my pack. You said that you've found him?"
"He found us," Peter said, slowly.
He hesitated with the next bit of news that he had to impart, knowing how he'd react if he was hearing the same sort of thing about Edmund, Susan, or Lucy.
"He attacked us," he admitted, finally. "We were forced to defend ourselves."
"You killed Shendar," Cyrran said, slowly, her golden eyes never leaving Peter's face.
"I killed him," Peter told her, "when he attacked my sister."
"Regardless," Cyrran spat out, "he is dead by your sword."
"I had no other choice," Peter said, feeling like he was being backed into a corner.
"Neither do I," came the Wolf's reply. "I challenge you, High King, in my brother's name. I challenge you to a fight to the death."
A low rumble went up through the guard at the Wolf's words, the fighters tightening their ranks protectively around their King. At the same time, Edmund and Philip moved forward, placing themselves squarely between Peter and Cyrran. Edmund drew his sword from its sheath, his eyes hard.
"You'll have to go through me to get to him," he threatened, only backing down when Peter put a hand on his arm.
"May we have a moment?" he asked, and Cyrran nodded, stiffly, backing away to the edge of the clearing to give them privacy.
Peter urged Hengroen backward, feeling the stallion shudder with relief as they got further away from the unknown Wolf. He rejoined Oreius, with Edmund following reluctantly behind.
"You do not have to fight," Oreius told him, before he could say anything. "Their forces undoubtedly number far fewer than ours; they would not risk a confrontation by coming after us if you refuse the Wolf's challenge."
"But we lose any chance of having them as allies," Peter said, seeing acknowledgement pass across the Centaur's face. "No, I can't back down. Not if we expect to keep these rogues on our side."
"Then, I'll fight in your place," Edmund spoke up, his voice still tight with tension. "Rules of formal combat state that either combatant may choose a second to fight for them."
"Only if the one who appoints the second is in no condition to fight," Oreius corrected him, although the admission sounded as though it was being dragged from him.
"Then, I guess I have no choice," Peter said, as Edmund cursed softly under his breath.
"Let's get you ready, then," his brother said, after a moment.
Slinging his leg over Philip's back, he jumped to the ground and landed lightly on his feet. Peter, for his part, climbed awkwardly out of Hengroen's saddle, wincing at the cramps that shot through his legs as he hit the ground.
He tried to hide the pain that flashed across his face, but he must not have been successful, because Edmund sighed when he glanced over at him, a flash of anger crossing his face before his expression went blank, again.
"May we have an hour before your duel?" he called out to Cyrran, his eyes never leaving Peter.
The Wolf considered Edmund's request for a few seconds before nodding.
"I will return in one hour," she said, before whirling around and vanishing into the trees.
"For someone who's trying to kill me, she's being awfully accommodating," Peter commented, as he limped over to where Edmund was waiting.
"I'm beginning to think that when she said that she had no choice," Edmund replied, "that she meant it. She doesn't seem like she wants to fight you."
"But she has to, to avenge her brother's death," Peter finished for him.
At Edmund's gesture, Peter sank down to sit next to his brother, looking curiously over to where Edmund had both of their packs spread open on the ground beside them. Wordlessly, Edmund reached out and grabbed Peter's foot, tugging until Peter shifted so that his legs were stretched out across Edmund's. Then, Edmund dug his fingers into the back of Peter's calf, working out the knots in the muscles.
"You can't fight if you can't stand up," he said, by way of explanation. "You'll still need to stretch out when I'm done, but this will take care of the worst of it."
"Thanks," Peter said, wincing as Edmund's kneading fingers caught a particularly tight knot. "I guess I'm not used to riding for hours, yet."
"You will be," Edmund told him.
He lapsed into silence, focusing on his massage. His head was bowed so that Peter couldn't see his expression, but he could read the tight line of his brother's shoulders as easy as a book.
"What's wrong?" he asked, quietly, and Edmund sighed in resignation.
"I'm scared," he admitted, softly. "We'd just barely had the chance to be a family, again, and then we had to split up. And, now you're going to fight Cyrran, and it's to the death-"
"I'm not going to die," Peter reassured him, but Edmund shook his head.
"You don't know that," he said. "Peter, I can't lose you."
Pulling his legs out of Edmund's grip, Peter shifted around until he could wrap his arms around his younger brother, pulling Edmund to his chest and holding on tight.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, fiercely, blinded by a sudden rush of tears that clouded his vision.
Edmund hugged him back, just as hard, trembling in Peter's embrace. When he pulled away, his eyes were suspiciously wet.
"See that you don't," he said. "Because if you die, I will never forgive you."
"Noted," Peter said, stretching out to ease the last of the ache in his legs.
While he was stretching, he could hear Edmund rummaging around in their packs. Lifting his head, he watched as Edmund pulled his extra pieces of armor out of his packs, laying them in a neat line on the ground. They'd both dressed only in light armor, that morning, to spare Philip and Hengroen the unnecessary weight, but now it looked like Edmund was outfitting him for war.
Which, in his brother's mind, he probably was. Peter could see how unhappy he still was about everything, even if he was willing to drop the subject, but if it eased Edmund's mind even a little bit to kit him out in full armor, Peter wasn't going to say anything.
He stood still as Edmund fastened the greaves to his legs, then shifted his weight, testing his flexibility. The vambraces followed, but he shook his head when Edmund held out the accompanying gloves.
"Cyrran looks fast," he said. "I don't want any extra weight that will slow me down."
Edmund nodded. "You'll want to forgo your shield, then," he replied. "It'll just get in your way. Use your vambraces, instead. Her chest and torso are vulnerable, but her shoulders and hindquarters are pure muscle."
"Anything else I should know?" Peter asked, as he took Rhindon from Edmund's outstretched hands.
"I assume you're looking not to kill her?" Edmund asked, and Peter nodded, emphatically.
"There's been enough bloodshed, already," he said. "I just want to fight her to a standstill."
"She'll probably accept that," Edmund replied, "since she's followed the rules of formal combat so far. Which could work in your favor."
"How so?" Peter asked.
"Despite her claim, maybe she doesn't want to fight you to the death, either," Edmund pointed out.
"Here's hoping," Peter muttered.
He caught a flash of gray out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to see Cyrran emerging from the far tree line. She was alone, just as she'd been when she confronted them, earlier, and Peter thought that it was a deliberate choice. If he won, Cyrran would take them to the rogues and introduce them; but if she won, no one in her pack would be know that they had ever been there. Peter found his respect for the Wolf growing, seeing her devotion to protecting her pack.
Cyrran paused at the edge of the clearing, her attention caught by something, and Peter followed her gaze to see her locking eyes with Edmund. Peter couldn't interpret the silent communication passing between the pair, but after a few seconds, Cyrran nodded slowly to Edmund, as though acknowledging something.
"What was that about?" Peter asked, but Edmund shook his head.
"Good luck," was all he said, and then he stepped back to join the rest of the guard as they ringed the fighters in the center of the clearing.
Peter strode forward, meeting Cyrran halfway. He didn't know what to expect – an outright attack, maybe, but the Wolf surprised him by bowing in a ritualistic manner, her eyes never leaving his face. After a startled moment, Peter bowed back, crossing Rhindon across his chest. When he straightened, Cyrran backed a few steps away, circling him slowly.
Peter held Rhindon in front of him in a guard position, watching the Wolf's movements, warily. He could see the play of muscles under her skin as she moved in a slow, graceful prowl, and when she tensed to spring, he was ready. He twisted out of the way as she leapt for him, spinning to follow her as she landed behind him.
She whirled around as soon as her paws touched the grass, lunging at him, again. This time, he took Edmund's advice and swung his arm out as he sidestepped, clipping her on the side of the head with his vambrace. The blow knocked her to the ground, but she rolled to her paws, quickly, shaking her head and staggering, slightly.
"I will not underestimate you, again, High King," she said, a grudging respect in her voice.
"You mean you've been going easy on me, before now?" Peter muttered, startling a growling laugh out of the Wolf.
She feinted, suddenly, but he pulled up short when she danced backward, eyeing him, speculatively. He knew he had to have left himself open, falling for her move like he had, but she didn't take the opportunity to cripple him. Instead, she waited until he had regained his balance, silent as she circled him.
She lunged, again, unexpectedly, and when he staggered backward, she rushed him. Slamming into his legs, she knocked him to the ground. Peter twisted as he was falling, lashing out and catching the Wolf in the ribs with his booted foot. The force of the blow knocked her backward, panting for breath, and Peter rolled to his feet.
He swept Rhindon out in an arc, slamming the flat of the blade into her side and making her stagger. He continued the blow into a reverse arc that caught her on the other side, and she slipped on the grass, crashing heavily to the ground. Before she could recover, Peter had Rhindon's blade lying lightly on her neck. She froze at the contact, rolling an eye back to watch him, carefully.
"Well?" she prompted, when he just stood there, breathing heavily. "Our duel was to the death. Are you going to kill me?"
"No," Peter said, watching surprise flash across her face. "Will you surrender, anyway?"
The Wolf was silent for so long that Peter was afraid that she was going to try to fight her way out from underneath the blade. Then, she jerked her head in a movement that might have been a nod.
"I yield," she said, shortly, and Peter stepped back, dropping Rhindon to rest the point of the sword on the grass.
Cyrran climbed slowly to her feet, watching him the whole time. Then, she bowed low, one leg stretched out in front of her as her head almost touched the ground.
"Chosen of Aslan and of Narnia," she said, as she straightened. "And now I see why."
"Will you take us to the rogues?" Peter asked.
"This way," Cyrran said, trotting past him into the trees.
Peter waited until Edmund had caught up with him, taking Hengroen's reins from his brother. As he led the horse forward, following the Wolf, Edmund slung an arm across his shoulders, matching him step for step.
"That was very well done," he said, quietly.
"Thanks," Peter said, pleased by his brother's praise. "And I think we gained a new ally in the process."
"We'll make a diplomat out of you, yet," Edmund teased, and Peter was happy to see a lighter expression on his younger brother's face.
He looked like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he was even smiling as they walked through the forest. He looked almost happy for the first time in days.
They'd been walking for almost half an hour when Cyrran stopped, suddenly, turning to face the group ranged behind her.
"My pack is in there," she said, indicating a thicker stand of trees with a jerk of her head. "I give you my word that none of your guard will come to harm while you reside with us."
"And you have my word, as well," Peter told her, and Cyrran bobbed her head in acknowledgement.
She led the way through the trees, and they emerged into a hidden paradise. A crystal-blue creek ran along one edge and enormous trees ringed the other borders of the clearing. The clearing was filled with Creatures; Wolves, like he'd expected, but also Bobcats, a couple of thin, scarred Tigers, and, to his amazement, a Minotaur.
He heard Edmund gasp beside him, and the Minotaur whipped its head around at the sound. It was then that Peter saw the scarred sockets that were all that was left of its eyes. The Beast sniffed the air, turning its head from side to side as it tried to place them, and Cyrran gave a soft wuff of breath as she trotted over to its side. The Minotaur relaxed as Cyrran pressed her nose to its hand, whining reassuringly.
"Welcome, Majesties," she said to Peter and Edmund, as everyone looked around in astonishment. "Welcome to our little refugee camp."