(words 2,499 inclusive this posting)

(I draw inspiration for my stories from the Chronicles of Narnia in all its manifestations both canon and non-canon).

Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia are the intellectual property of Clive Staples Lewis and his legally recognized representatives. We come here just to play in his garden.

Warning: rated T plus for some graphic depictions of violence.

Second warning: lore braking ahead, continue reading at your own risk.

a/n. (The text wall is completely intentional. This is my attempt to convey in a small way the shifting fortunes that occur on the field of battle.)

Peter Pevensie the sounds of conflict ringing in his ears thrashed about in an attempt to free himself. Jadis towering over him pinned Peter to the ground with her foot, a minotaur's two-handed sword in her right hand and what was left of her crystal wand in the other. The weapon held overhead promised Peter a swift release from the agony he felt watching Edmunds blood dripping from the end of the broken scepter. Ed had been so brave, his selfless act had given them at least a slim chance of turning the tide of battle. Now because of his arrogance his brother's sacrifice would come to naught. He had failed miserably, failed them all. Ed, Lucy, Susan, Aslan but worst of all he had failed the nation placed in his trust. His eyes pressed shut trying to hold back the tears Peter surrendered to his fate. A sense of peace filling him his troubles evaporated like a mist. But - that feeling lasted just a moment replaced by a seething rage. 'This was not how a king acts.' More importantly this was not how an Englishman acts. 'They could beat him to the ground. They could rob him of his life but he would not yield.' Peter squaring his jaw did his best to put on a face of unbridled contempt. He could not help smiling as the witch's expression change from one of triumph to utter confusion.
- The battle had been a costly one 'But what matter that to her. One final stroke and it would be over.' Jadis consternation grew as the little worm once again squirmed under her foot. 'No. No, this just wouldn't do. The old wizard had died too quickly under her knife.' This one she would toy with for awhile, draw out his suffering a little longer but how. She was a master in the art of inflicting pain and suffering, both physical and psychological on her victims. She quickly hit upon an idea.
- Peter in one last show of bravado clawed at the ground trying to find purchase. His left hand falling across the hilt of one of the discarded swords littering the battlefield Peter looked up, wondering if she had caught wind of his plan.
- Jadis waring a demonic expression taunted him in a casual tone, "after I finish with you I think I shall see if there's any magic I can squeeze out of those sisters of yours. Magic does seem to favor the female gender, don't you think?"
-For Peter it was now or never. His fingers wrapping around the sword's grip, the vision of Lucy and Susan in the clutches of this monster lent mettle to his backbone. In the voice of a man twice his age he roared, "No-Ooo!" A rumble shook the ground mingling with the boy's battle cry. A sound so deep it threatened to rend apart the very fabric of existence.
- Jadis a stunned look on her face whispered, "Impossible." Her foot sliding off Peter's breast-plate she flattened her stance in preparation for the final confrontation.
- Peter seizing the opportunity lashed out with all the strength he could muster. The point of his blade parting the silks and lace of her robes slid under her ribcage up into her chest.
-Mouth opening and closing wordlessly, Jadis stared in disbelief down at the boy.
-Peter no longer burden by the witch's foot rolled onto his right-side tucking his arm in as he went. Using his elbow to lever himself up Peter finished driving the swords blade in almost to it's guard.
-Jadis arms dropping to her side, the sword and the scepter she held landed at her feet with a clang and a rattle. The centuries held at bay for so long rushed in to claim what was rightly theirs.
-Peter falling back to the ground watched in horrified fascination as the witch's gossamer hair shriveled and turn black as cornsilk tossed on a fire. In the span of a sigh, the pail lustrous beauty of that face turn brown and stiff as old leather. Her dry cracked lips pulled back across her face in a sardonic smile, her bulging eyes shriveled to nothing leaving behind a pair of empty sockets. The leathery skin of her face turning black and brittle as burnt paper sloughed off in motes leaving the gown clad skeleton hanging in the air a moment before collapsing to the ground. The chalk dust mounds left by the decaying bones were picked up and carried away by a gentle breeze stirring at his back. Heedless of his own armour Peter sprang to his feet. The breeze growing stronger flowed around him and - threw him leaving Peter with the sensation of multitudes trumpeting the arrival of the nonpareil entity. He felt at his back the approaching presence but knowing who it must be, he didn't turn around.

- "Well met Son of Adam," a voice of pure serenity greeted him.

The Nail: suspension

chapter 2

"Six months later"

The dirt, pollen and leaves migrating through the open doors and windows of the abandoned Keep had given the air inside an earthy aroma. The light of a newly minted day streaming through the main door silhouetted a form shambling down the column lined hallway. Deadeyes mumbled to herself about not having to be here if not for the items stored in the locker upstairs.

She was not here to reminisce about the past, there where less then two days until the summer solstice. Two more days and the power of Narnia's magic, like the sun itself, would reach its zenith. If they failed to take advantage of this opportunity they'd have to wait another year before they could try again and she doubted the new regime would allow that to happen.

Having been a resident of this edifice all her life Deadeyes knew the place well and something didn't feel right. She stepped up to the nearest ornate pillar for a closer inspection. None could fail to see the luster had gone out of it's icy makeup, worse, sickly light-gray splotches covered the structure in random patterns. On a hunch she scratched at the corruption where her nails gouged bits of material off the surface.

Contemplating the sandy colored chips and granules at her feet Deadeyes could draw only one conclusion, without the power of the Endless Winter to hold it in check the magic binding the house together was wicking back into the outside world. This fact caused her little concern, though. If this was the level of deterioration experienced by the structure thus far, she'd have plenty of time to get what she needed.

Upstairs in the Witch Queen's charnel house Deadeyes tied the fur coats waiting there for her together in a bundle. She turned her attention next to the shelf were waited the envelope containing the instructions for the final part of the spell.

Scratching feverishly at the icy stamp the seal exploded in a shower of magic sparks. Tweezing out the warrant Deadeyes tossed the envelope aside. Reading through it's contents she allowed herself a nod. Nothing in the rituals were beyond her experience as a mage. The second part of the letter, the words of invocation, were a different matter. These she would need to practice for if not executed with due diligence all her efforts would amount to nothing.

Tucking the folded note into a pouch at her belt, Deadeyes reaching up tugged the canvas valise of potions and compounds down off the shelf. She stumbled back as she took it's full weight against her chest before lowering it to the ground. The satchel gripped with both hands she staggered for the exit. A sound like rasping and snapping coming through the door leading to the master bedchamber froze the hag in her tracks.

Deadeyes listening with care felt a touch embarrassed when she realized the sounds coming from the next room were only the tattered window treatments fluttering in the breeze. Nervous, of course she was nervous. Here among the decaying ruins she could almost feel the dead queen's eyes burrowing into her back.

Giving herself a small shake Deadeyes retrieved the satchel before hurrying threw the royal apartment, down the stairs leading to the grand audience chamber with it's forgotten throne and back out into the main colonnade. There, leaning against one of the columns to catch her breath other sounds began to reach her ears.

'Long mournful sighs?' Oh. Just the breeze playing through empty rooms.

'Tormented spirits scratching around the vailed walls as they reached out to drag her away?' No! It must be the small vermin scudding about in their leafy hideaways.

The sounds in her head growing louder as she tried blocking them out, Deadeyes could take no more. The sun as it glared through the door transformed the room into a surreal landscape of blinding light, only the shadow backed columns gave it any definition at all. The columns themselves seemed as ghostly fingers reaching out to try and snare her. Driven by her own paranoia Deadeyes dashed from the room into the daylight with nary a glance back as she scurried away.

In her haste to get away Deadeyes failed to notice rainbow colored flecks of light dancing about in the gloom as a figure separated itself from the base of a near by column. Sargent Akela, with a paw, pinned against his chest the gold dipped pewter chevron dangling from the leather cord around his neck. Brows knitted down over a set of golden wolf eyes, he whispered in a guttural growl. "And pray tell my dear den sister, what brings Deadeyes out from under her rock on this sunny day?"

He knew Deadeyes from back in the days when he served as a lieutenant in the queen's secret police, though he was sure the hag probably viewed him as just another one of the nameless Old Narnian trash.

Akela doubted this had anything to do with the reports of missing persons he had been sent here by good King Peter to investigate, the beldam was probably just looking for abandoned stocks to loot. He was here because his superiors had decided the old castle seemed the best place to begin his inquiry even though there had been no reports of suspicious activity since the end of the war.

The hag's trail leading into the castle had been the only thing out of the ordinary he had found. No one else had been this way in months it would seem. This was beginning to look like just another case of a cub chasing his own tail but he wanted to be thorough. He had only just made it into the hall of columns when he heard the witch returning.

Crouching in the shadows he would wait for her to leave before seeing what she was about. Sampling the air around the pilaster she had earlier paused at, the sergeant began sifting through the smells comparing them against his library of stored scents.

First was the musty old satchel stuffed full of magic corrupting concoctions. Next, clinging to Deadeyes was the stench of five, no, maybe six other hags. A witches coven with Deadeyes as it's head? 'That was so like the vain old fool, she did so crave power.' Then of course every member of the coven would have to have her own body guards. Dark spawn, survivors left over from The Great battle, numbering at least six or eight for each Mage.

Delving still further, ears standing straight up, the wolf's body went stiff as wood. 'That sent!' It was old, it was faded with time, almost indiscernible among the other smells but he'd know it, anywhere. It was the scent of his most gracious sovereigns, King Peter and the Ladies Susan and Lucy.

His feet, almost before he realized it, had carried him out through the door into the sunlit courtyard. He could not let this threat against the personage of his kings and queens go unchallenged. There was no telling what kind of mischief Deadeyes might get into while in possession of items belonging to the royal family. He'd have to set aside his primary mission for now, any threats to his sovereigns was of paramount concern.

He would need help if he planned to brace the covey of mages. To the north, about a half day's distance at a mileage eating wolf's lope, was the outer patrol route used by rangers. Mulling over in his head the intelligence reports he had studied back in Cair Paravel he expected to find three scouts he might commandeer. A west bound dwarf and an inbound satyr along with another dwarf. The dwarves, he decided, were out. they're fine fighters but tend to be slow of foot and an argumentative lot.

He needed to make all haste right now and the satyr seemed his best choice. He knew Fain, their paths occasionally crossed back in the capital and the trooper struck him as a stout fellow, good in a fight as most satyrs tend to be. The sort you could count on to have your back if things got dicey..., and if King Peter didn't hold that little set-to with the Calormenes against the satyr then why should he care. Akela also hoped to come across a few veterans he could impress into service but for now Fain would have to do.

'Now, which way was north.'

a/n: Thank you patron for sticking with me this far. Firstly, a big thankyou to Stargazeypi for the lovely review, but as I said before reviews are not necessary. I beg you to just read my story.

Secondly, for those who don't recognize it, Akela is the name of a character in Rudyard Kipling's " The Jungle Book". I plan to acknowledge that fact in future disclaimers.

Finally, now that I've gotten the preliminaries out of the way I hope to offer the reader shorter, more linear chapters. Till next time, be safe, wear your mask and may the shadow of the lion blanket you wherever you go.