The Calormene dungeon was nothing like the one in Cair Paravel. This one was dank, smelly, cold, and foul, the small pile of straw in the corner of the cell wet and mildewy. The few torches that flickered on the stone wall were smoky and poorly fed; a thin, mangy dog gnawed on a bone just outside the guardroom.
It was here that Enna, Endrit, and Tamlyn found themselves, shoved together into a tiny cell no more than six feet by six feet in size. Somewhere deeper in the dungeon, someone was wailing pitifully, their pathetic cries echoing up the dark corridor to mingle with Tamlyn's hiccupping sobs.
The poor girl sat in the least filthy corner of the dungeon she could find, bleating wretchedly into the corner of Endrit's turban. He sat by her, looking drawn and pained, as though he did not know quite what to do with her or himself. "Whatever shall we do?" Tamlyn wept. "Aramir was our only hope…now he is dead, and we are to be strung up, as well!"
"Hush, Tamlyn," said Endrit sharply.
Enna watched them blankly, her own mind too cottony to think of a response. Indeed, they were to be hung from the city walls at daylight the next morning, their corpses left to rot and be eaten by crows. But ironically, Enna found no distress in such a thought. If she could die nobly, she told herself, she could at least pay homage to Aramir's spirit. Doubtless, he was now festering in some municipal boneyard, tossed there to molder to nothing. It was almost fitting—his Calormene bones dissolving back into Calormene dust.
But she wished his Archenlandian half had won out.
Tamlyn uttered another gasping sob, clutching at her heart as though it were paining her. "Oh, Aramir, Aramir," she wailed, rocking to and fro. "Why?"
"Shut your mouth, Tamlyn," Enna snapped.
Both Tamlyn and Endrit stared at her, but Enna could not care less. Who was Tamlyn to mourn Aramir? She had scarcely known him a month. If anyone had a right to grieve, it was Enna, who knew and cared for him more than she did her own brother. He had been more than her friend and partner—he was that irritating voice that filled in for her conscience when it took holidays, the patience and understanding she so desperately needed on a daily basis, the one person who knew how to make her smile.
Tears prickled at the corners of Enna's eyes, but she fiercely blinked them back, drawing her sleeve across her face. He would not want her to cry. With a sarcastic snort to herself, she imagined what he would say: "You needn't cry, Enna. It's not nearly so bad as you think. Aslan's got it in his plans for this war, you know—this'll probably help Calormen become our ally. Or perhaps Sabsestrin will see the grief his misdeeds have caused, and surrender immediately!"
Enna couldn't see Aslan's paw in this.
Endrit stood up across from her, stretched once, and came around to sit at her side. "Don't look so glum, sister. You won't miss him any longer once morning comes around."
"You are very encouraging," Enna retaliated, rather wanting to hit him around the head.
"I am simply telling you how I feel."
"You're telling me how I should feel."
"You know, Aramir, may he rest in peace, wouldn't wish you to carry on like this."
Tears gathered in Enna's eyes and began to threaten to drip, almost as if in spite of Endrit's words. It was all right for her to think things like that. Hearing someone else say so, on the other hand, reminded her of Aramir's death all the more vividly. "Leave me be, Endrit," she forced out.
And so he did, returning to sit by Tamlyn.
But his departure broke the last defenses of Enna's resolve. Aramir would not have let me be, she thought hysterically, and broke into tears. How could he be dead? She had seen him scarcely four hours ago! He had been hale, hearty, all smiles and freckles. The memory of him lying there on the Tisroc's cold marble floors, his face white and vacant, limbs slack, rushed forward without bidding, wrenching a painful knife of guilt in her proverbial gut. If she had just run…if she had just ignored Tamlyn…if she had just never come to Narnia in the first place!
The tears came without ceasing for Enna, try as she might to hold them in. It was as if the gilded cage she was accustomed to holding them in had shattered, been cast against a stone wall and destroyed. So much disappointment…so much guilt and remorse! What a way to spend one's last night!
And so, the sun set outside the bleak dungeon. Tashbaan retired to bed for the night, and the jackals began their distant howling, kept out of the city only by the high stone walls surrounding it. As for the four Archenlanders in the Tisroc's dungeon, they could only tell the passage of time by the heavying of their eyelids.
But suddenly, there came an echoing step in the corridor. Endrit heard it first, then Enna, then Tamlyn, who stirred sleepily and sat up. Could it be dawn already? Was this really the last time they'd see each other alive? Tamlyn reached for Enna's hand, and Enna gripped hers tightly.
A shadowy form came towards their cell. It was a tall man, broad-shouldered but lean, munching on what appeared to be an apple; keys jingled in his grip. At last, he stepped into the meager light of a nearby torch. Tamlyn gasped.
It was Aramir!
Enna flung herself to the door. "Aramir," she cried out, reaching through the bars for his hand.
Grinning, he put the apple away in his pocket and took her outstretched hand with both of his. "Hello, Enna. Are you ready?"
His words struck an inharmonious chord in Enna's head. Loosening her hands from his, she stepped back, a feverish sweat breaking out on her forehead. Aramir was no longer wearing his tarkhaan clothes—he was dressed as an Archenlander again, in fresh, white linen and unsoiled trousers, Arondight at his hip; his face was washed and the gash on his forehead was clean and a healthy pink. Tamlyn clamped onto Enna's hand, obviously realizing the same thing—the spirit of their dead companion had come to bring them with him to the afterlife!
"Why the big eyes?" Aramir asked, blinking as he looked between them. "You all look as though you've seen a ghost!"
"We have," Tamlyn whispered.
Aramir looked over his shoulder. "Where?"
"It's you," Enna said. She didn't know whether to be overjoyed or heartbroken. Here stood Aramir again, obviously in no pain, just as she remembered him. But seeing him in this unearthly form meant that he was really gone, and that they were soon to follow him to the grave.
Aramir blinked at her. "What do you mean, 'me'?"
"You died," squeaked Tamlyn.
They all stared at each other for a moment or two before Aramir started laughing. "Me? Dead? Hardly!"
"What…what do you mean?" Endrit asked. "We saw you get killed!"
Aramir shook his head, still grinning. "I learned this trick from possums. I knew that if captured, we'd be all taken to prison and then executed. So I decided, when I saw that there was no further hope we'd escape, that if one of our number were to avoid prison, it would solve a few problems. The Calormenes thought they'd killed me—I hadn't thought you would believe it, too!"
"You mean…" Enna breathed, "that you faked your death?"
"Absolutely! And once night fell, I got out of that horrid mortuary, changed my clothes and washed a bit, and came right here."
"But…your wound!" Tamlyn said.
Aramir touched the puckered scar. "It seemed bad. But once I washed the blood away, it proved quite surface. Doesn't even hurt anymore! But it sure helped me get in without being noticed—no one expects me to be alive. See? I have the keys to your cell."
"Then get us out of here, man!" Endrit said with a laugh.
Still grinning easily, Aramir found the key and unlocked the door, pulling it open with a rusty squeak. Enna tumbled out of the cell before either Tamlyn or Endrit had a chance to move, and flung her arms around Aramir's neck, recalling all too clearly the anguish she'd felt on his part just a moment ago, believing she'd never see him again! But his arms around her were tight, his breath warmed her hair, and she felt the pulse in his neck against her temple.
"Never, ever do that without advance warning again," she groaned, and trod purposely on his toes. "You had me quite troubled there for a time."
"She bawled her little eyes out for you," Endrit told him, peeling her away. "She and Tamlyn both."
"I never meant to distress you," Aramir said sincerely. "I thought you'd know I was all right!"
Enna grumbled and ducked her head to hide her foolish tears of relief. "Never mind that now. Let's get out of Tashbaan before it's too late."
"Right. I got our horses out of the stables, and they're waiting near the exit. Oh, and I nearly forgot—" Aramir stopped and dug in his pockets, withdrawing three gleaming red apples. "I thought you might be hungry."
Enna had never been more ravenous in her life. Sinking her teeth into the soft, sweet flesh of the fruit, she and the other three tiptoed down the corridor, up a flight of stairs, and out into the cool night air with no fuss. Indeed, their horses were waiting, and soon they were hurrying down into the main city, their way unhindered by the market crowds that had been there earlier in the day. The doors to the city were closed tight, but a word and a gleaming Archenlandian gild got them opened enough for the four horses to squeeze through. Thus, they escaped from Tashbaan safe and unbothered.
That is, until some eagle-eyed night watchman saw them leave the city. The alarm was sounded, and before the four of them had a chance to react, a sharp arrow whistled over Enna's head and buried itself in the riverbank.
"Fly!" Endrit roared.
They all kicked their mounts into gallops. More arrows began falling from the sky, striking closer and closer, but still Endrit bellowed, "Fly! Fly! Don't turn around—keep going! We'll be out of range in but a moment—!"
With a sickening thud, he lurched forward on his horse, straining for a handhold, then slowly slipped off and landed on the sandy ground. "Don't slow down, Enna!" he called as she reigned her horse in. "I'll catch up!"
She didn't want to heed him. But her brother urged her to go, and Aramir urged her to come, and so she at last did their bidding and gave her horse his head. Three riders thundered away along the rushing river, and gradually the archers on the city walls gave up and put their bows away.
"What a farewell!" Aramir blustered as they slid from their mounts to camp in the last cluster of vegetation before the desert. "Why did they shoot, I wonder?"
"Do you think they saw that we had escaped?" Enna mused.
"Hardly possible—we hadn't been gone that long."
"Perhaps they simply thought we were suspicious looking," said Tamlyn airily, bending at the river's edge to try and wash the dungeon filth off. "I've heard the Calormenes kill first and inquire later."
"That's an idea, I suppose," Enna conceded. She felt rather guilty that she'd so mistreated Endrit and Tamlyn in the dungeon—they were simply trying to deal with their own grief and console her at the same time.
Aramir knelt and struck up a fire, building it high and blazing to combat the chill autumn air. "Well, there's no use in wondering now," he said. "Come and warm yourselves. Endrit will be here soon, and then we can eat a little and retire."
"I hope he's all right," Enna said, coming to sit by him. "He took a hard fall. I wonder what caused it?"
"A falter in his horse's step, I shouldn't wonder," Aramir replied. As he spoke, he pulled one of the blankets out from a satchel and draped it over Enna's shoulders. "Or perhaps a low-hanging branch we didn't see."
"That must be it." Enna drew the blanket about herself, patting his hand in thanks. "He looked rather pained."
"I hear hoof steps!" Tamlyn cried from the riverbank. "Here comes a horse!"
Enna and Aramir leapt to their feet. Sure enough, Endrit's horse came snorting into the firelight, dusty and dirty but otherwise unharmed. But there was something greatly amiss with the picture.
"Aramir," Enna breathed, "where's Endrit?"
His lips were thin. "I'll go see if I can find him. Stay here."
A sick feeling churned in the pit of Enna's stomach, and she clutched at Aramir's hand as he walked past. "Please," she said weakly, "please be careful. I…I feel poorly about this."
"I'll be careful," he replied, patting her hand. "I promise."
With this reassurance, he went back to his horse (which snorted with displeasure at the idea of being ridden again) and mounted, heading back the way they came.
Tamlyn came back from the riverside to dry by the fire; she hummed and Enna started to drift off to sleep as she leaned against a tree trunk. The next thing she knew, Tamlyn was shaking her awake. "I hear Aramir's horse," she said.
Enna sat up straight, rubbing her eyes. "I'll bet Endrit is exhausted."
The horse trotted into the firelight. Enna leapt to her feet with joy, but then frowned. She saw only Aramir atop the beast, no second rider. "Did you not find him?" she asked aloud, her stomach clenching.
Aramir dismounted silently.
"Aramir?"
He turned to her, face drawn and pallid. "Enna, come here a moment."
Enna rushed to his side. "What—what's going on—"
She saw his Adam's apple bob once or twice as he put his hands on her arms. "Enna," he began slowly, "I found him."
"I don't see him."
His lips thinned even more. "It wasn't a falter in his horse's step, after all."
"A branch."
"No. Worse. Enna, lass…he got an arrow. Right between his ribs."
Enna faltered back a step or two, the sudden rush of blood to her head causing her vision to blacken alarmingly. "But—he said—what about…"
"He was gone by the time I reached him."
"Gone?" Enna repeated dazedly. "What…what do you mean?"
Aramir sighed. "He died, Enna. Endrit was killed by a Calormene arrow."
The words hung noisily in the still night air. Behind them, Tamlyn dropped a flask of water with a resounding crash. A jackal howled in the distance and the horses shifted uneasily.
Enna laughed tensely, shaking her finger to and fro. "If—if this is a jest," she began.
Aramir took her arms firmly in his big hands, forcing her to look up in his face. "I would never jest about such matters," he said.
"Then…then where is he?" Enna said shakily.
Aramir stared down at her for another moment or two before releasing her and turning to his horse. As he stepped aside, Enna saw for the first time a large, man-sized bundle draped over Aramir's saddle, wrapped up in a travel stained cloak. Her heart faltered. Aramir took the heavy load and set it, grimacing with the strain, gently on the sandy ground. But even before he began to loosen the bindings, Enna realized she already knew what he would reveal.
Even so, she could not look away. The wool cloak fell away, revealing the very thing she dreaded: Endrit's face, white and still as marble, oddly slack and oddly empty. A lock of his auburn hair, usually neat, had fallen over his forehead, and Enna found herself brushing it aside. His flesh was still springy under her fingertips, and held yet a touch of warmth, but Enna knew. Her brother was dead, and this time, it was no mockery.
She sat back and let Aramir cover him up again. Tamlyn flung herself to the grass and wept loudly, but to Enna's distant horror, no tears would come.
"Are you well?" Aramir said gently.
Enna nodded. "It's odd."
"What is?"
"I…" Enna broke off, looking down at her slightly numb fingers. "I can't seem to…to feel anything, just yet. All I can think of is…what am I to say to Reselda?"
Aramir shifted his weight and pulled her into his arms. Enna went reluctantly, but as soon as she settled her cheek on his firm shoulder, she felt that gilded cage begin to break.
"You mustn't worry about that, lass," he said tenderly. "It is my responsibility, you hear? I will tell Lady Roscommon. I will take the blame."
"But it isn't your fault," Enna protested. "It's mine. My uncle, my war, my fault."
Aramir hugged her tighter. "I know that. But it doesn't mean I'm not willing to bear the anguish in your place."
Enna could not hold it in any longer. Weakly, she turned her face into Aramir's soft, clean tunic and wept for Endrit like she had never wept before.
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A/N: It wasn't Aramir I was talking about last chapter, was it!