Beta'd by BellatrixTheStar - she helped me provide you a more accurate, character-driven, and more presentable story! Thank you!
OOOOO
He's gone mad.
"Here's how this will work…Dracus? Are you listening?"
"Uh-huh," he replied after blinking at the young King.
"Good. Now—"
"Edmund?"
"Yes?"
"You've gone mad."
Edmund laughed from across the table. The inn was shabby, but doubtlessly cleaner than the one they had nearly lost their lives outside two days ago. With lines of circular tables and chairs even rounder, the inn was positively stuffed. Other than the two of them, the inn was mostly empty. Two men, drunk enough to not recognise their own names, were breathing in large amounts of ale in one corner of the inn. They weren't interested in much other than their goblets and glasses of wine and ale, content with babbling and muttering some curses. Then there were the soldiers. They made this asinine plan feel near to impossible. The spikes over their turbans seemed sharp enough to pierce human flesh. Dracus shuddered, thinking if they've ever been used for that. It was still early, the sun had recently sunk, disappearing behind the white buildings, into the west. So, this group must have been relieved of their duties early.
The innkeeper was a silent chap, and sincerer than the one before. He seemed to know who they were, but left them to themselves. Edmund muttered a thank you when the innkeeper presented them with two glasses of water. Then the innkeeper nodded and was back to his place behind the counter, observing everything silently, with vulture-like eyes.
"Drink," said Edmund.
Dracus did so. Edmund said, "Now, this is what you must do: you will stage a fight—"
"Edmund?"
"Yes?"
"You've gone mad."
This time, his comment was not replied to with a laugh but instead, a fierce scowl. Edmund thumped his glass down onto the table with a loud clap! and continued, "Stop interrupting me. Now, you will stage a fight with one of the guards, drawing the rest of them to you. I'll slip into the girls' rooms, provided I manage to find them. You'll get out in ten minutes. Earlier if I signal you but you will not linger any longer. Got it?"
"Yes," Dracus replied reluctantly, his forehead creasing in light concern.
Neither of them had noticed the innkeeper's presence until he cleared his throat and said, "Anything else?"
"No, here," Edmund said, handing the man a few Crescents. He took them, smiling, and then retreated back to the counter.
"Edmund?"
Edmund looked at him furiously, eyes narrowed, glowering.
Dracus laughed. "I wasn't going to tell you that you've gone mad. Just…the soldiers." Dracus inclined his neck towards said soldiers. One of them was laughing thunderously, his voice reverberating through the small inn. He clapped his hand on his fellow soldier's back and murmured something incoherent, words blurred.
"As long as we're stealthy, they won't bother us."
Dracus smiled. Stealth. Something Edmund was a master of. He prided himself over it. He had a right to.
"And how exactly do you plan to get out with twenty girls to hide?"
Edmund's eyes twinkled with a strange mix of wit and pride. "Leave that to me."
Dracus wanted to argue but he sighed instead. "So, we're really doing this?"
"We're really doing this."
He took a deep breath in. "Aslan be with us then."
~o~
The guards were staring at him.
In this place, you were bound to stumble into someone at every step. It was packed. Even though half of the men were guards, the number of customers wasn't small. There were at least ten seated comfortably on the furnished sofas in the hall, girls whispering in their ears as they fed the men girls were fully clothed, wrapped in rich gowns, their colours matched the dark hues of the thick tapestries that bathed the walls; they showed illustrations similar to the ones he had seen in the castle of the Tisroc. Scimitars and shields with the face of a vulture hung from the wall, giving the place a rather odd look. Unlike the tapestries, the floor was white and tiled.
Calormene culture was on the display here. Only curved swords were in sight, except Edmund's Vera, hidden securely under his thick cloak, some of the pommel's ruby red colour flashing through the coarse surface. All the rowdy-looking guards were wearing turbans and a silver scimitar hung from their sides.
In one corner, a shy looking Calormene boy was playing an instrument that was foreign to Dracus. But its sweet tune was heavenly.
And as Dracus felt himself dissolve into the rhythm, a man wrapped in rich robes brushed past him, and he suddenly realised that it was a miracle they hadn't run into someone familiar already. As far as he knew, Edmund knew a number of Tarkans and none were particularly fond of him. Discovery would not only blow their cover, Edmund's reputation as a King would be forever tainted.
Dracus allowed himself to glance around once more, hoping he didn't seem conspicuous shifting his to right foot, when the left fell asleep from standing that long. The room that they were in seemed to be the taproom. The back wall was circular and the door was swinging to and fro, a flurry of the rich cloak disappearing behind it. Dracus suspected it led to smaller bedrooms, made for men to get some privacy. He shuddered, wrinkling his nose in disgust. The right corner was where the stairs were. And they were being guarded by three men, their weapons sheathed. But they looked lethal nonetheless. Edmund had been staring at them until a girl—about Edmund's age—approached them and whispered to the King, "Come."
Just as she began dragging him away by the arm, Edmund shook her off. And then said something close to the words, "No, thank you." The girl pouted, unpleased. She eyed Edmund like he was a prize but then wandered off, the tail of her gown sweeping on the ground.
Edmund looked at him. "Go on. You know what you must do."
He nodded, ready to go.
"And Dracus." He turned, lifting his eyebrows. "Be careful."
"I will."
And then Edmund disappeared into the crowd. Dracus picked the nearest guard. He swayed on his feet and bent slightly, acting as if his knees were weak and legs wobbly. Hiccuping, he bumped accidentally into the turbaned guard standing near the large doors, sending him hurling back. He almost crashed onto the floor and the sudden movement caught the attention of many.
Perfect, Dracus thought.
When the guard regained his balance, he jabbed an accusing finger at his chest and growled, "And who are you, that has dared to crash with me, Tarkan Orad, Son of Tarkan Obesh?"
"Tarkan, please, forget the petty matter. It was a mere stumble. A mistake common to all."
"Are you, foul soldier, suggesting that I am the one at fault? Tell me, friends, was I the cause of this? Or is this man too absorbed in revelling and drinking to still have a sense of direction?" Dracus poked another finger at him, seizing his collar.
"Lord, I beseech you, cease this."
"And let you go unpunished? Your breath smells of Ale and nothing else!" Dracus threw a clumsy punch at him, not aiming for his face. The guard dodged it without even moving his feet and grabbed Dracus' wrist.
"I warned you once and many times, sire. Violence is not tolerated here."
"You-!"
Someone had already grabbed his arm from behind and was roughly shoving him out of the Parlour. He was pushed to the street, and he fell with a thud. A group of five turbaned guards were staring at him. The large iron doors smashed shut.
Dracus stood up, dusted his clothes and stared at the Parlour. Suspicious observers had stopped to stare at him but he didn't register them. It had been scarcely five minutes.
"Well," said Dracus with a small shrug, "that went well."
~o~
Every inch of Leiya's body ached.
She turned to her right to see the most recent addition to the group—one of the girls Northern girls that Serkan had stolen from the streets—sitting in the corner, absolutely flustered, shivering with her knees pressed against her chest, rocking on the hard ground, murmuring indistinct words. Her blue eyes were glistening silver with new tears and her fair and thinned hands were shaking brutally. Occasionally, she would whisper a plea, begging the girls to get her out of here. But everyone just ignored her. There was too much on their minds to pay any heed to the girl's whimpers and desperate pleadings. How could they—who were helpless themselves—help her?
Leiya was about to ignore her altogether, and head back down to the hall—which was thankfully not empty anymore. Clients were waiting, she knew she had work to do, but the girl's sobs made her stop. She just seemed so young, so vulnerable. She had to make her understand.
She steadily walked to her and kneeling in front of her, she took her hands in hers and said, "The poets have said, 'A flower blooms late, the night lingers.' Accept it now, and the dark shall leave you."
"I want Mama."
Leiya blinked. She didn't even remember her mother. "I know you do. But it'll be alright in time. I promise."
The girl merely wept harder, muttering the same thing, "I want Mama!"
She gave a gentle stroke to her yellow strands and then left her alone. Then, standing up, she moved past the thick crowd of girls. She reached for the doorknob, but the door suddenly flew open and she startled back. And when the boy with the familiar dark mop of hair and pale face emerged in, she froze, eyes unblinking.
It was the King.
~o~
Edmund had melted into the shadows as soon as Dracus had left. Near the guards, he had taken his position. And then he waited. The first shout reached him, and he smiled. Dracus, apparently, was a really good actor. He looked over at the three guards in anticipation but they didn't budge. Not enough commotion. Mere seconds had passed before Dracus growled again. This time, the guards glanced worriedly at each other. One of them nodded decisively and the three were off to deal with Dracus who had somehow managed to convince the guards that he was of Calormene birth. Edmund considered; Dracus' skin was darker than his—but almost everyone's was. He grinned. It was all going according to plan. If Dracus could hold them only some minutes longer—
"You-!"
He was already ascending the stairs when the guards shoved Dracus out of the doors. Alarmed, he hurried up the stairs, climbing two steps at a time. The corridor that the stairs led him to was empty and there were four doors in sight. Edmund opened the door that was closest to him. Closing the door behind him, he examined the room with a smile. It seemed that for the first time in his life, luck was on his side.
He gave the room a quick scam. It would have seemed large, had it not been crowded with fifteen girls. Some of them had combs in their hands and stood frozen with open mouths. Others seemed to have been dressing up before he came in—they now stood startled in one corner, bundled together, hiding behind the covers of bedsheets. Speaking of bedsheets, there were ten beds lined one beside the other on one side. He heard a whimper and turned to his right. It was a girl—the same one he had almost died trying to rescue. She was crying into her sleeve.
He gulped. He hadn't thought about this part. "Um…I'm here to rescue you," he said, making all sets of eyes blink.
"What?" someone asked and he shifted his gaze towards her. Instantly, he recognised her.
"I'm here to get you out. All of you. If you'll just—"
"No."
Edmund blinked at her. "I'm sorry?"
"We don't need rescuing."
Edmund could do nothing but blink again. They didn't need rescuing—?
"But Leiya, we wish to—" one of the—Calormene, judging by her copper skin—tried, only to be interrupted by Leiya's sharp voice.
"I have built a life here, King. We have accepted—"
"I don't think the others agree with you," Edmund said, gesturing with his hands. Their weary eyes were suddenly glinting with hope, muscles tense, showing hesitation, but their eyes shone bright and conveyed all that Edmund needed to know. The Archenlandish ones were smiling—Edmund wondered if they knew who he was. Edmund glanced at the littlest one in the corner. He smiled at her; she smiled back, solemnly, wiping her tears, telling him she recognised him.
"Lord Serkan promised our families a good life, he said that my brother will—" Leiya said.
"No, Leiya, the Tarkan only promised you that.…" the same one whispered from behind, her voice hesitant yet bold.
Edmund didn't have time for this argument to stretch itself. He only had a few minutes before—
"You're not taking them anywhere," Leiya said, pulling out something that glinted in the light. She advanced on him, and only then did Edmund noticed she had a knife in her hand.
"Stand aside. I'm going to call the guards," she ordered.
"I can't let you do that," Edmund said, raising his hands.
"Then I'll force you to."
"No, Leiya!"
But it was too late. Leiya lunged at him, knife pointed at his chest, her eyes sharp. Edmund dodged out of her way, forcing her to scramble ahead clumsily. He kept Vera sheathed. He would not hurt a girl. But the girl was intent on killing him. She leapt at him again like a cheetah leaps for his prey. And this time, he didn't have enough time to move out of her way, and she swiftly slid in front of him, blade ready to be plunged into him. He grabbed her wrist, forcing the knife back. But she was surprisingly strong. The knife inched closer.
What had forced this girl to act this way? What kind of pain must have had this girl endured to finally accept and come to terms with this gruesome reality? Why wouldn't she just accept his help and thank him like any normal girl under the circumstances would?
The knife was only an inch away from his shirt now. He grimaced, trying to hold her back. And then the blade cut his skin, drawing blood. After that, Edmund didn't know what happened. He was taken back into a memory. The monster was sneering at him as Arman brought the knife closer. And just as fast the memory had bubbled around him, it vanished, wiped away with a blood-curdling scream coming from somewhere behind him. Blood. There was blood. He turned to the crimson knife in his hand.
And then to the girl lying motionlessly on the ground. Leiya was coughing up blood, crying as pain coursed through her body. Her stomach was stained with the red liquid. There were some girls beside her, trying to help her in some way but no good would come. She was dying. He blinked at the knife again. He had.
He dropped the cursed thing and stumbled back. I couldn't have…Oh Aslan, I—
Leiya's eyes slipped closed and footsteps outside the door snapped him back to reality. The guards must have heard the scream. Someone was pounding on the door. He had to get out. But—
He looked around. The girls all looked terrified. He looked at the little girl he had fought to save a night ago and even she edged away.
He had failed. Utterly.
And he was a murderer. Oh, Aslan. How could I have—
The door snapped open. He tried to unsheathe his sword but he was already being lifted up by the neck. He was slammed against the wall, the air knocked out of his lungs. He fought to breathe.
"You killed her!" the man who was choking him growled.
Edmund's legs were kicking as he tried to breathe. "I—" he tried but couldn't get another word out for the man's grip on his throat tightened, the pressure stifling him, crushing his windpipe. He couldn't even groan.
Unconsciousness was threatening to take over, lingering close. Was he to die now? But didn't he deserve it after what he had done? Dracus was out there, waiting for him to come running out with the girls. Edmund had failed him. Lucy would be back at their quarters, worrying, and praying for him. He had failed her. Susan would be at Cair, praying for her siblings' safety. He had failed her as well.
And Peter—
He couldn't even think of him. It hurt too much. He knew that if he died here, it would destroy his brother.
The last bit of strength he had left was draining away. His legs stopped kicking. And his hands left his throat and the man's murderous hands. He let his head limp, dropping ahead, his chin dug into his chest. And he waited.
"Don't kill him yet!"
He was dropped to the ground. He took in a sharp breath, eyes snapping open. His hands automatically went to his bruised throat. He blinked and saw two blurry figures arguing, probably deciding whether to kill him or not. His hands rested on the hilt of his sword. Vera's cool touch provided some reassurance and renewed strength. He struggled to gain his feet and unsheathed Vera with a chink. He could barely see, let alone focus. But there were only two of them. Right?
"You didn't disarm him?"
"I was going to kill him."
Edmund's clumsy attack was blocked by the man with his scimitar. Down below, he could hear the chaos erupting. Areesh had done his job.
"Lord Serkan will likely want to speak with him. Try not to kill him, Gerum."
The second man, apparently trusting his friend to take care of Edmund himself, hurried out of the room. Edmund would have said the man had underestimated him but judging by the fact that he couldn't even make out the face of his opponent, he would not be surprised if he lost.
"You are nothing more than a murderer," the man growled, swinging his blade at him. Edmund barely dodged it in time, ducking low. He slashed Vera at him, maintaining his guard; the blade cut swiftly through the man's shirt, but never caught any flesh. Another slash. He ducked once more, letting the scimitar cut the air above his head. He straightened again, his rear foot thrusting him forward as he made his offence. Vera met the man's blade and Edmund pushed his opponent back.
The girls had all gathered in a corner, watching them with terrified eyes. He spared them one glance.
The man stumbled back and drew in a heavy breath, clearly surprised by the challenge Edmund posed. A strangled cry coming from beside him managed to distract him long enough for his opponent to make his move. He struck Edmund's ankle with his foot. A crunch came and Edmund let out a pain-filled cry. He limped back, pointing his sword at the man's chest.
The guard clashed his scimitar with Vera and she was sent flying away, landing near the girls who moved away from the blade. Edmund looked at the Calormene again. He swung the blade expertly once, his shoulder moved back, and then with sheer force, he drove the blade through Edmund's left shoulder. Not again. He couldn't go back again.
"You are a great fighter for your age," the man hissed but Edmund could barely hear him. He moved closer with each word, swinging his weapon in his hand, staring at Edmund in anticipation, a hideous smile, saggy skin dangling down from his plump cheeks.
The blade cut the air with a whooshing sound and Edmund ducked and the scimitar struck the tapestried wall with enough force to get stuck between the bricks. Turning mid-air, Edmund already had a dagger out—one of the four he carried on his person, and he let it swiftly slide into the man's flesh, digging deep enough to touch the bone. He shrieked once and said no more. Body lax on the ground, his lifeless eyes stared at him eerily. Edmund looked away, gulping. Pain suddenly shot through his shoulder and he cried out.
His broken foot couldn't support his weight anymore, and he came tumbling down to the floor. With his back against the wall, he found himself sitting in a rather comfortable position. He could feel the blood pouring out. He was, quite simply, bleeding to death. Earnestly, he looked at the girls. No one moved. They were just going to let him die. He smiled, thinking it was rather fitting. He deserved it.
And then he closed his eyes.
~o~
He was gasping for air when he woke up. He took some deep, even breaths and looked around. Nothing had changed. The Calormene was still lying dead on the ground with his lifeless eyes open and staring. Leiya's body was lying in a pool of blood. The girls were all still huddled together and all gasped when he looked at them. Tiredly, he blinked at the girls and one of them—the littlest one, the one he'd fought to save in the alley—picked up Vera and handed her to him. She smiled gravely through her golden strands, as if thanking him. She knew. She knew.
Edmund wanted to say, "Thank you." But he could only manage a smile. He stood up. Somehow, he stood up, and stumbled ahead, avoiding the two bodies. The corridor was dark and was echoing with shouts coming from the hall down below. His head was spinning, so were the walls. His ankle was screaming in pain but he urged forward. He just needed to get to the inn.
Climbing down the stairs was especially painful. Wincing, he moved ahead, trying his hardest to not put any weight on his broken ankle. Shouts coming from every direction made him smile.
"Here! Over here! It's Lord Trogel now! Oh, I think he's dying!"
"My Lord? My Lord? Can you hear me? I think he's dead!"
Areesh had put Feroictum in their drinks. It wasn't proper poison, it just slowed down heartbeats to almost nothing. All of them would return to full health in about twenty minutes. A set of footsteps that were drawing nearer made him halt. He froze in his place, there was nowhere to hide. If he was discovered—
"Come here, Orrun!" someone shouted and the footsteps stopped.
"My Lord, the girls—I shall—"
"These poor men need help! Come!"
The man must have given the Lord a silent nod for the footsteps retreated and Edmund released a long breath.
In the hall, everything was in chaos. Lords hollering orders, confused guards running to and fro, all at loss for what to do. Everyone was in turmoil, and too busy to notice a limping northerner climb down the stairs and then leave through the front door. Not one set of eyes locked on him, no one questioned him. He simply slipped out of the Parlour and then crossed the street, ignoring the suspicious and concerned glares that the passers shot him.
He pushed open the inn's door and limped in. All eyes turned to him. He looked to his left.
"Edmund! Oh, Aslan—"
He saw Dracus running towards him. And then, he lost his footing and came crashing down. He felt someone catch his limp body and heard a voice desperately call his name. But he could not respond; the world had gone very dark.
To be continued...
Author's note: Well, I'll say one thing. Uh-oh.