The Kelpies


When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.

~ William Shakespeare


In the semi darkness of predawn Eustace propelled Lucy onto her horse.

"Do you honestly think it'll work?" Lucy whispered quietly, as he swung astride his own steed.

"Martin knows his stuff," he said, with half a smile, "I think it will."

They urged their horses to a canter, flashing past the Narnian lines as they assembled silently just out of sight of the Telmarines on the ridge of the hill. As Lucy and Eustace broke out of the trees, they saw the Telmarine lines arrayed below them again, waiting for the attack. Silence hovered over the misty, blood stained field, silence and anticipation that could have been cut with a knife.

Lucy watched the woods, searching for a flicker of movement that would prove that the Narnian right had flanked the enemy. She saw nothing… then the clear voice of a horn split the air and the Narnians, lead by Martin, his chestnut coat gleaming, burst from the woods, their war cries hovering eerie over the battlefield as they charged, weapons flashing.

Looking over their shoulders, the Telmarine line wavered, then broke running.

"Now Ahearn," Lucy said quietly.

Ahearn gave her one glance and drew his claymore.

"Narnians! With me!" he cried, his voice echoing. Behind him came the ring of steel as swords were drawn, then they were charging down the hill, beating back the fleeing Telmarines.

Men and steel screamed as they clashed. Sparks flew, blood spurted, hooves trampled, cries rang across the field and Lucy watched in grim satisfaction. The Narnians, with only half the strength of the Telmarines, had the upper hand. And it did seem to work, for a little while at least. For an hour, the Narnians beat the enemy back, almost into the opposite tree line. Then something happened that changed everything.

From the end of the field, a man, no, a mere lad, in a chariot drawn by two stunning white horses, thundered between the ranks of the Telmarines. They rallied around him like iron shards drawn to a magnet. The Telmarine commanders yelled until they were hoarse and the Telmarine troops began to assemble again, their disorder replaced with formation.

"Where on earth did he come from?" Eustace exclaimed angrily, "little upstart!"

Lucy did not answer, but stood in her stirrup and watched while the Narnian line broke and scattered back. Before Eustace could stop her, she had kicked her horse to a gallop and flew to them. Half way down the hill, she dropped her reins and drew her bow to her ear, and with blinding speed, sent arrows whistling into the Telmarines, clearing a path for herself to her own people.

"Narnians! To me!" she cried, "Remember your freedom, remember your country! Remember your families! Do not draw back!"

She was almost crying, turning her horse in wild circles while she tried to see everyone and tell them what she felt. She groped at her side for a little ivory horn that hung there; she raised it to her lips and blew it. As the sound, high, clear and beautiful echoed away as thunder, the Narnians turned to look at her. She wished she were Peter, she wished she were anyone but herself. She felt they would never follow her. But they loved her more then she knew and they turned to go after her.

Eustace kicked his horse to a gallop only a moment behind her. He watched them follow her, but he knew it was hopeless, there were too few of them, too many of the Telmarines. He drew his broadsword; if all was lost then he would get Lucy out at least. Hacking right and left, he reached her and grabbed at the reins of her horse.

"Lucy!" he cried.

Behind them, at the ridge, they heard a clear sound of a hunting horn. It was a light merry sound; mocking at their defeat. Eustace knew before he even turned his horse that it must be Telmarine reinforcements. He saw them on the southern edge of the battlefield, strong well rested men under a huge banner. Then he paused, the banner was blue, not the green ground of the Telmarine flag. The wind caught it and it streamed out. Eustace let out a cry of joy, for the device on the banner was not the white horse of Telmar, but the golden lily of Archenland.

~o*o~

"So they haven't surrendered?" Lucy asked as she stood in her tent, tugging absently at her gold braid.

"No," Eustace said, "We've won this battle, but not the war."

A rustling of silk and they turned to see a leopard bow before them and announce, "General Calhoun of Archenland."

The tent flap rippled and a tall man entered, his sword at his side. He was fair haired and his face was young, but his eyes held a look of great experience.

"General Calhoun!" Lucy exclaimed.

"My lady," He bowed and kissed her hand.

"I hardly know what we would have done if you hadn't come!" Lucy said, "How did you know we were in need?"

Calhoun looked puzzled, "why my lady, you sent us a messenger yourself!"

"I?" Lucy gasped, "No, I thought about it, but I never did!"

Calhoun raised an eyebrow, "it was a golden cat, he explained your need and King Lune saw fit to send me and two regiments. Why, the message itself bore your seal!"

"How very odd." Lucy said, glancing down at her finger, which bore her royal seal, "I have it with me always!"

~o*o~

That night, Lucy invited the Archenlandish General and his aides to a small dinner in her tent. Several traveling tables were set up with folding stools and though they collapsed randomly through the meal, everyone had a rather delightful time. A stag had been shot that afternoon and the venison was particularly good, seasoned with the spices of victory.

But as the evening progressed, Lucy found her eyes growing heavy and Eva, who had been standing behind her, bent her head in worry.

"You must be very tired," she whispered.

"I'm all right," Lucy said, waving her away with a smile. But General Calhoun heard their exchange.

"We stay too long," He said standing up, "Your majesty must be weary and we ought to let you have your rest. Thank you for the marvelous evening."

"Thank you for coming." And Lucy rose to see them out. At last they were gone and she sagged.

"Bed," Eva said, taking her elbow.

"Wait, Eustace?" Lucy said just as her cousin ducked to leave the tent, "Who was the boy in the chariot?"

"He is the crown prince of Telmar." Eustace said, looking back.

"No wonder they rallied around him, then!" Lucy exclaimed.

"Actually," Eustace said, "They weren't rallying around him; they were rallying around the horses."

"The horses?"

"Yes, the horses," Eustace said, "they are kelpies, a kind of water horse, the Telmarines think they are gods, why they would harness gods to a chariot is beyond me, but that's what they do."

"Is that why their flag has a white horse on a green ground?"

"Yes, kelpies are sacred animals to them," Eustace said, "I believe they caught these two just recently. They have even carved a giant white horse into the chalk hill next to their capital city."

"Hmmm." Lucy turned away and stared out of the tent flap, then she turned to him suddenly.

"Eustace?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think there could be some way we could steal the horses? The kelpies, I mean."

"Hardly," Eustace said, "I imagine they are very well guarded."

"I suppose," Lucy said, "But if we could get them, it would help us."

"We could try if you like." Eustace said with half a smile.

"I would like."


As they traveled Ettinsmoor, the country gradually changed and the road narrowed to little more than a sheep track. It was the farthest edge of the moor, which gave way to high crested hills, deep ravines and great silent locks between towering hills. Beyond these hills the mountains were still, always far distant.

But it was the fifth day of travel that was marked the most on their memories. They labored up one of the steeper, more craggy hills and had just topped the crest, when they looked down a deep slope, very steep. At the bottom ran a great frothing river, cascading from the snow shrouded mountains in the northwest. It was so far down, they could barely hear the roar of it.

"Well that's a pleasant thought," Baeth said. "How are we going to get down that?"

"We can get down it," Peter said, "the slopes aren't sheer, but I don't want to leave the horses. It can't be so deep upriver."

"That's out of your way, sire." Glumkin said. "I've heard that the giants just built a bridge farther downstream. How would it be if we tried to find it? 'Course," Glumkin added with a wave of marshwiggleness, "We may not be able to find it."

"We could," Peter said, "How friendly are the giants nowadays?"

"Well, I wouldn't call them exactly friendly," Glumkin said. "But they aren't man eating if that's what you want to know."

"Were they ever man eating?" Peter asked.

"It was an old custom long ago," Glumkin said, "But they've all gone on fad diets and man isn't part of them."

"Well, I guess I'll take my chances with them being man eating," Peter said, turning Mystic's head. "Let's find this bridge."


A/N: Now we're getting somewhere...