Disclaimer: Look at all the things in this story I don't own. The English alphabet, for one. The words used to tell the tale. The characters. This particular world. The names. I own the profile that posted the story and that's about it. Side note, this is not my favorite chapter (A/N below), so sorry.
Beta'd by trustingHim17, which is great, 'cause I wrote it in the car after very little sleep (but don't worry, I obviously wasn't driving), and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want the result of such endeavors.
OOOOO
Peter turned back towards the bars a moment later. He could hear Patterfeet's paws coming back at twice the speed they'd been sent out, and there had not been enough time for him to get to the end of the hall and gain the keys.
"Cousin?" he called in a low tone, standing by the bars and looking for the Squirrel.
"They're coming!" Patterfeet gasped, and Peter thrust his arm through the bars, drawing it back inside the instant he felt the Squirrel's weight. The King moved beneath the crevice, holding up his arm, watching as the Squirrel leaped up and disappeared. Peter pulled the rope from around his waist, tied it in lose loops, and held the rope behind his back, keeping his movements calm and easy even as he heard footsteps approaching. Closer, closer, as one hand slipped through the knotted circle, and the voices—Dagguer's and a foreign one, or several—grew louder. The other wrist slipped through, and Peter backed himself against the wall, though he didn't sit. They would know he was awake; he needn't be more vulnerable.
"And here, you see, we succeeded."
"I wanted them both," a petulant voice responded, and Peter stiffened. He had heard that voice recently.
"That was not what you paid us for, you overpri-"
"As my compatriot somewhat inaccurately states, you offered fifteen well-fed, well-cared for slaves in exchange for the Narnian High King." Dagguer stopped in front of the bars. "And that is what we have delivered, see? Right here, see for yourself." He stepped aside, his three men moving aside as he did, and Peter glared at the Calormene behind them.
Uvayeth sneered as he stepped closer; but he addressed Dagguer, ignoring the High King. "I would have paid twice for the two, barbarians though they be! You had half of Narnia's rulers in your hands, and you let one go!"
"I do not alter terms of a bargain after it's been made." Dagguer's tone grew icier. "If you want another King or Queen, I have ideas, see? But it will be a bargain, sealed and written, with no change once the blood stains the scroll. That's the way to do business. That's right, that is."
"You will not lay hand or claw on any more of Narnia's rulers," Peter interrupted, pushing off the wall to approach the bars. "Already the punishment of Aslan will be visited on your heads."
Dagguer bowed. "Allow me to present your buyer, King Peter of Narnia. This is Uvayeth, nephew of Calormen's Tisroc, and the buyer who pays so dearly for your arrangements." His eyes flicked from one to the other, watching intently.
"We are aware, idiot of a trader! We have met in the courts of kings; we have no need of your pretend airs, son of merchants. Now leave, that those of high standing and much wisdom may discuss what is beyond the comprehension of those who bargain with lives instead of rule them."
Dagguer's eyes were cold, and his grin changed to his manic one, but he bowed and withdrew, leaving Uvayeth on one side of the bars and Peter on the other.
"Now I have you, once High King of Narnia," Uvayeth breathed, watching Peter hungrily. "Much harm did you do, unwitting fool! For the treaty was sent by my hand, that Calormen and Narnia would seem to be pleasant accord, and no call for enmity; but that treaty you and yours refused, thrice-accursed barbarians! The treaty set by the will of the dying Tisroc (may he live forever) himself, the last chance for the rising of my glory before his timorous son begins to reign. I would have done by a paper and a band of thieves what Rabadash could not do with two hundred mounted warriors. But it availed you nothing, for look, barbarian—you are in my hand, and when we leave, Peter of Narnia, we go to the dungeons of Tash, and I give you to the priests to be broken."
"Of what use is a broken king to you?" Peter asked calmly. His fingers held the loose rope, ready, if Uvayeth entered, to rip it off and take the Calormene captive. But slow, good brother, slow, he heard his siblings tell him. There are few better times to learn of enemies than when they believe you in their power.
Uvayeth sneered again. "King by birth; oldest king. Your siblings love you; however broken you might be, they would take you back in the whisper of false lover's words. But broken, you will be ours, trembling before the commands of your enlightened betters. Through you Narnia will be ours as well. Love makes the weakest of rulers, as the poets say. Oh, we know you will take time to break," he added, scorning the defiance of the High King. "But our priests are taught by the god Tash himself, and no mortal stands before his power. And broken, you will be our spy. I have plans," Uvayeth finished, eyes glistening with the greed Peter had tried to discover. "The treaty could be light, what of it? For once we ruled Narnia, its goods will be ours, to be fashioned to our needs, in the style only the great the nation of Calormen can reach!"
"Ours?" Peter asked goadingly. "I see only one man with delusions of ruling a country through a King yet unbroken. The Land of the Lion will never be yours."
Uvayeth studied him a moment. "No," be breathed, his eyes glistening. "No, I do not think it will. Igteroth seeks to rule this paltry land in Tisroc's name (may he live forever), but I aspire more. I was born of the next eldest son; I am of the line of Tash." He paused.
"And Rabadash is a fool," Peter said, fishing.
"A weak and trembling rabbit of a man who allowed himself to become a donkey," Uvayeth snarled, beginning to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, just beyond the bars of Peter's cell. "The Tisroc (may he live forever) must see it. Is Rabadash not proof that love weakens kings, as all the poets speak? His defeat runs through all the nations of the spreading world, chasing after a woman till he became an ass. But I, I, I am more. I fell the thunderbolts running in my heart. I will deliver them! The bolt of Tash will strike, it has struck, and when the Tisroc (may he live forever) sees Narnia brought to its knees, he will name me, and not my cowardly cousin, the heir to his throne. But the Gentle Queen! They had in her their grasp! For my cousin speaks not of her even in poetry, but if he saw her again, just once, and Narnia was ours, would he not take his place as ruler here, if his father delineated the throne of Calormen to me? I could have bought my cousin's acquiesce with the price of her hand, a paltry price to pay, just fifteen slaves!"
"He will never have her," Peter broke in. His fingers clenched around the rope. "That prince will never see her again, nor will the paltry possession he desired ever be given to him." Uvayeth laughed.
"And what will you do against the might of Calormen, King in a cell?" He drew nearer the bars, smirking at Peter. "Rest while you can. We leave for the sea in before the moon rises, and there will be none who can save you from the hand of Tash then! Igteroth!" he called down the hall, and Peter's hands clenched again at this proof another of their five guests planned ill for Narnia. He heard the door at the end of the hall open, and Uvayeth commanded, "Tell them to ready the captive to leave, O fellow companion in this venture."
"That is not possible," an implacable voice interjected politely. Dagguer's voice, Peter realized. "For we do not surrender the prisoner, see, till payment is made. All's good and fair then, right? And payment hasn't arrived yet, so the prisoner stays in the cell, see?"
Uvayeth frowned darkly down the hall. "You dare to question the word of a Tarkaan? Know this, I have slaves in the hundreds at my estates, and wealth uncountable will be mine. Your paltry payment means nothing to me; but the King is mine."
"He is ours, till payment arrives. Now, now, I wouldn't go getting upset," Dagguer remonstrated softly, coming into Peter's view. "You've only five here, see? And I've a band. We've taken him, and we'll keep him, till we're paid; that's how the world works, ain't it? I could hardly tell my men we let off the King without being paid. So how's this: you and your band sleep, and stay, and why, once we've our payment, we send the King with you, and a smile for each of you, pleasure doing business and all. But if the slaves don't come, why then," he paused, smile feral and eyes glittering, "you and your men, and the King himself, they can take the place of the slaves, don't you see? And just in time, too. The feast is coming."
Uvayeth went to draw the scimitar at his waist, but Dagguer had a blade at the Calormene's throat almost instantaneously. "You can sleep beside the King in this hall, or in our quarters as guests, your choice," he threatened.
"You dare," Uvayeth raged, shaking with anger.
"I dared take a King," Dagguer reminded him. "I dare anything I think will be to my profit, see? Kings, Tarkaans, or common, it makes not a spot of rust's difference to me. Now what will it be, captive or guest?"
"Guest," said a trembling voice behind them. Igteroth's, Peter realized. His eyes were on the drama before him, watching, wondering if he should push them further against each other—but he knew of Uvayeth's plans, and had not sworn any oath to submit to him. He did not yet know why Dagguer wanted slaves, and he did not think he would enjoy finding out. Igteroth spoke again. "My lord Uvayeth, though valor is spoken of highly by the poets, discretion is also held to shine as the stars of the heavens. Their knives are at our throats; surely even the Tisroc himself (may he live forever) would see the wisdom in agreeing to wait till payment arrives."
Uvayeth glared at Dagguer, though he spoke to his cohort. "You words remind me of the sickening constraints of Ikelken's speech, Igteroth. But even fools may speak wisdom sent from the gods, as the poets say. I choose guest, Dagguer. For now," he added in a quieter tone, letting go of the scimitar's handle. Dagguer smiled and withdrew his own blade.
"Then let me show you where you'll be staying. Nice and quiet-like, I promise—only the best for our guests. Right this way, gentlemen. Oriet, take your dagger from the gentleman's neck! They're our guests, they are, and the ones who told me all about the Narnian sovereigns, too—though they got a bit wrong. The Queens have some fight in them after all, I found. Shall I tell you about that? See…" and Dagguer's voice faded out as the door closed. Peter leaned against the bars, listening. He listened till the footsteps faded away and not a sound could be heard.
"Patterfeet!" he called softly, and heard the Squirrel scrambling down the walls behind him, then running to his feet. "Good cousin, our work must begin soon," he explained softly. "Go to the hall, watching for any guard, and get the keys. I would listen to more of our enemies speaking together, if Aslan wills. But ware; for if we cannot discover more, I must send you away at once. My siblings must know of Uvayeth's plans."
"Yes, sir, going now, sir!" and the Squirrel once more ran down the hall. Peter slipped his hands from the loops and asked for Aslan's blessing on the rest of the night. He had a feeling the challenges were just beginning.
OOOOO
A/N: I'm sorry this is so short. It's been a rough week and a half, and the new week beginning isn't that much easier. It killed my motivation for writing; but maybe tomorrow's writing meeting will help bring it back!
Response to Anonymousme: the Tumnus story is pre-LWW, and it will (hopefully) chronicle the story of his temptation, his fall, and perhaps his first meeting with Lucy. If it gets wildly out of hand, it might go through the end of LWW too and include his redemption. Purpoise was actually mentioned earlier in this tale-Lucy's escape to Archenland was accomplished through his help. But he's mentioned, not present, and unless I write another sea story he probably won't be-that's the hard part about writing Turtles! Peter having sense I picked up from the books, actually-when I reread his portions to try to figure out how to picture him, I realised most of what he does is sensible. And I'm certain Patterfeet would send a message that way, but there aren't any Narnian birds about; they're out of Narnia, unfortunately. And yes, I like to imagine that talking Animals are much cleverer about using their feet, paws, fingers, claws, than regular animals, and can therefore do much more. After all, Mrs. Beaver had a sewing machine, which would require quite a bit of dexterity!
