A/N: Well, it took me a long time, but I finally decided on a new villain. An extra special thanks to Shauna for not only being a good reviewer, but also helping me with my inspiration! You're idea on the henchman being 'good with water' was a wonderful inspiration, and I immediately scuttled off to check the encyclopedia.

Unfortunately. The villain won't be appearing just yet. I have GOT to get Peter and Edmund nearer their goal before that…and also actually come up with a strategy for the girls. I'm so bad at military procedure…

Oh well. Thanks to all who reviewed, and enjoy the chapter!

Chapter twenty four

Susan and Lucy sat atop the knoll in the fading daylight, putting the finishing touches to the once blank piece of paper stretched out across the grass between them. Susan glanced up, wincing as he spine creaked in protest from her hunched position. They had only about half an hour before the lines of the witch's defenses would be swallowed by the oncoming darkness.

"Finished!"

Lucy exclaimed, exhilarated, as she filled in the last small shape which indicated a lookout. From their position high up above the camp, they could see far across the battlefield, and, using the small spyglass Toll had brought to them, could map out the enemies positions.

Disturbingly, they appeared to be very tight. Susan fervently wished she could simply march over the border and give the witch a good smack, then go home. Lucy bent over the now completed map, silently counting each small marker and calculating the approximate overall strength.

They outdid their forces ten to one.

However, Lucy wasn't perturbed by this. She had realized, through her long observations of the ways of conflict. Take out the leader, and the whole force crumbles. After all, their own army had fallen apart without Aslan or Peter to guide them.

They had to figure out a way to kill the witch quickly, efficiently and with the least loss of life. The only question was, how?

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Cifel was bent on one knee at the riverside, palms flat against the crumbly earth ridge. Rising out of the rippling waters was a figure composed of the very waves themselves, molded to the likeness of a scaled face. It appeared to be an elderly, but regal, man, whose beard was made of shoal and clothing from pebbles and silt. It was the spirit of the river; Shribble, the old stream of the mountains.

Cifel listened silently as the elderlyriver recounted his tale, his voice wispy and hushed, barely discernible above the rushing whirl of the wind. Cifel, however, heard his tones quite clearly.

"…came by my way, my Lord. I consulted my brethren, and it seems the creature has moved up from the deep sea and around the tributaries. Seems to be under some kind of enchantment. Moved very queerly."

Cifel nodded, comparing the information to various creatures which had been around since this world had begun. Nothing quite fitted the description. They were either too large, or too small to travel so far. But he knew one thing; whatever it was, it was under the influence of the witch's power.

And more than likely was heading after the sons of Adam.

"Where was it, when last you heard?"

Shribble drew himself up, sending flumes of spray all about him and his scales clinking and scraping as he did so.

"Close by here, my Lord. A few leagues down the great river, heading southwards."

Cifel's heart sank, and he nodded his thanks to the river spirit, who gave a brief bow which spattered Cifel with water, before sliding back beneath the surface and becoming molding back within the texture of the waves. Cifel pushed his damp hair out of his eyes, scrambled to his feet and stood for a moment, thinking.

It was just the sort of thing she would do; send some sort of assassin ahead. She knew full well she would never catch them herself, nor retain them, which left her with no other choice.

She intended to kill them before they could become reunited with the lion's forces once again.

A cornered, desperate enemy was a dangerous one.

Cifel raised his head and followed the course of the river, before it disappeared, swallowed by a dark patch of trees far into the distance. The sons of Adam were probably nearly at the estuary by now; which gave the creature a superior advantage. After all, a cornered enemy was no worse than one which could not be seen at all.

If things went south (both literally and metaphorically), there would be no saving the sons of Adam once they were trapped by the confines of the sea.

Which gave him very little time.

Cifel sighed exasperatedly, spread his stiff and aching wings, and took off once again, allowing the high winds to carry his weight more than usual. He needed to think. This was not the mere matter of saving two innocent lives, or for he himself to wallow in bitter self pity.

The imminent course of events could decide the very fate of Narnia itself.

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No sooner had Edmund leapt back and collided with the side of the boat, Peter had his sword drawn and pointed steadily at the quivering bundle. It hastily unraveled and revealed itself to be what appeared, strangely, to be a lump of faded brown and green clothing.

However, they soon discovered this not to be the case; as it soon began cursing and shouting in a muffled, hoarse voice as itstruggled to free itself from the confines of the grimy sheet it had been wrapped in.

Peter and Edmund shared a bemused and slightly fearful glance, as the thing finally freed itself and leapt to its ridiculously long, pointed feet, shaking its fist furiously.

It was only about four feet high, and was dressed in faded, patched moss and bark coloured leggings and tunic. It wore a long, pointed red cap which nearly reached its waist, and from which what appeared to be a carved bone swung. Once it raised its head to look up at Peter, the boys saw that it had a long, forked, tangled red beard which nearly reached his knees.

Peter and Edmund could only stare in dumb amazement, as the thing continued its unintelligible rant, arms and legs flailing everywhere and sending the boat rocking violently from side to side. Edmund blinked, and his eyes narrowed as he identified the creature as a dwarf, much like the servant which served the witch.

"Just who do ye thin' ye are, comin' down while I was snoozing and stealing me boat! I'll teach you a lesson, ye little vagabonds!"

And to Peter and Edmund's astonishment, he reached behind him and under his hat, and withdrew a large, rusted but nevertheless perilously sharp, wrought iron axe.

Which Edmund promptly reached down and attempted to pluck from the dwarf's hands as he made to swing it at Peter. Unfortunately, the dwarf clung on and ended up hanging from the shaft, feet frenziedly attempting to kick Edmund in the knees.

"Thieves! Filthy little curs! Ye jus' wait, I'll ave ye guts fer garters, I will!"

Edmund blinked, and glanced up at Peter in confusion.

"Uh…didn't quite catch that."

Peter chuckled lightly and sheathed his sword, reaching over to pull the dwarf away from the axe, holding him at arms length with an apprehensive expression on his face as the creature continued to curse wildly.

"I think he said 'I'll have your guts for garters', but I'm not too sure. So, what do you suppose-"

"-Slime ridden leeches! Villainous ragamuffins! Thieving demons! Scu-"

"Oh, shut UP!"

Edmund exclaimed, growing annoyed at the constant flow of unflattering insults which the dwarf kept up with surprising stamina. The creature let out a growl of frustration but nevertheless ceased, his sharp, beady black eyes eying Peter's sheathed sword with venom. Peter raised him up so they were face to face, and frowned at the creature, eyebrow raised.

"If it let you go, will you give me a warrior's honour you will not attempt to harm us?"

The dwarf glared darkly at him, but nodded curtly after a moment. Peter dropped him bodily to the floor of the boat, and the creature let out a yelp, hand flying to his posterior with a wince. Edmund hastily backed further up to the end of the boat as the creature stood tall, chin raised in defiance, lookingPeter overwith trepidation.

"What do we ave ere, then? Some sort of deformed river spirits, who's course as dried up?"

Peter shook his head, leaning down to kneel beside the creature, face adopting a trusting smile. Edmund saw amusement glittering in his older brother's eyes, and wondered where Peter had gotten such a talent for seeing the good in even the most ridiculous of things.

Probably from their father, come to think of it.

"We're humans…I mean…Sons of Adam. We don't mean any harm."

Peter extended a hand to the dwarf, who stared at it with undisguised fear and affront, apparently unsure of why Peter had done such a thing. Eventually, he staunchly crossed his arms and raised his chin even higher.

"S'not a matter of whether you mean well, laddie. It's a matter of whether I mean well."

Peter withdrew his hand and laughed gently, but somehow, it didn't seem mocking. Edmund marveled at his brother's face, which was shining with a strange sort of enjoyment. The dwarf bristled.

"You think me no match for ye? Let me tell ye, laddie, I could best you in any a fight, me! Just you see!"

Peter stopped chuckling, and his face grew slightly more serious, but Edmund could still see the twinkle of laughter in his eyes. He gestured for Edmund to hand him the axe, which Edmund did, confused as to what Peter intended to do.

"Peace, little man. I meant no insult. I am sure you would be a worthy match for both my brother and I combined."

Peter balanced the axe between his hands, and then carefully held it out to the dwarf, who eagerly took hold of the shaft, but paused when he realized Peter still held it within his own hands.

"I give you back your weapon, trusting in the knowledge that, as an honourable creature, you shall do us no harm; and in return, I too swear on both I and my brother's behalf that we mean you no ill."

The dwarf searched Peter's gaze, distrusting, but eventually gave another stiff nod, and Peter released the axe. The dwarf laid it carefully at his pointed feet and cocked his head to the side, staring up at Peter.

"Well, I'll be. Never knew thieves to be so kindly. I thank ye, laddie. But do a poor dwarf a courtesy; I still don't know the seeming noble stealers of my boat!"

Peter laughed again, as Edmund moved to secure the sail from its slipped position on the boom. He watched as Peter wrapped the creature around his little finger, just as he had done so many adults in the past. What could he say?

Peter was simply born with charm.

"We are very sorry; you see, we've come a long way and we thought your boat empty and abandoned. It is a very fine boat, too. Did you make it yourself?"

The dwarf nodded, distracted from the situation by the veiled compliment. Edmund frowned as he tied a second reef knot in the sail.

"Why, yes, I did. She is a lovely little vessel, ain't she? Been with me a long time, has Philicewith me."

He smiled reminiscently, as Peter gave Edmund a significant look and jabbed a finger at the fallen axe, which Edmund subtly slid under the seat and out of sight.

"But tell me, lad. Who are ye? You have names?"

Peter nodded, and gestured to himself, then to Edmund as he introduced them.

"I'm Peter, and this is my younger brother, Edmund. And who is our noble host?"

The dwarf flushed with pride, and drew himself up once more, puffing out his chest with pride.

"I be Rabadash the mountain dwarf, formerly of the Thistlekin clan. I come from a long and noble line, I do. But dear me…Peter and…oh, what was the other?"

Edmund flashed a simmering glare at him, and repeated his name to the dwarf, who eyed him with seeming dislike.

"Peter and Edward, then-"

"Edmund!"

The dwarf nodded distractedly, and Peter gave Edmund a sympathetic shrug before turning his attention back to Rabadash.

"Yes yes, Edward…such queer names. Where do you hail from then, my strange wee laddies? What did ye say ye were again?"

"Oh, we're humans. Sons of Adam, I mean. We came from the lantern wastes."

Rabadash burst out laughing, red head thrown back in raucous mirth, and Peter appeared affronted, looking to Edmund in confusion. Edmund rolled his eyes and sat down on the seat, eying the snickering dwarf with disdain.

Rabadash wiped a tear from his eye, as his chuckles died away, and continued.

"Oh, that's a good one! Ye little joker, you. Humans? What poppycock!"

Peter fixed him with a serious, clear, blue eyed gaze which made him freeze in his mirth. Edmund swallowed. He hated that look. It reminded him so painfully of his father's reprimanding eyes when he had done something wrong.

"I assure you, Rabadash the dwarf, that I am not jesting. Just as the river is made of water, we are from the human realm."

Rabadash seemed to study Peter, shuddering slightly under the intense gaze. He rubbed his beard and shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Ye got such haunting eyes on ye, laddie. Could put them to good use, no doubt, when charming the ladies, eh?"

He winked, and Peter faltered, a light blush rising to his cheeks. Edmund glared. Although Peter was far from bad looking, very far, in fact, their mother had always firmly maintained that both her sons were handsome in their own ways. He had grown so sick of Peter always, even if it was through no fault of his own, taking the limelight.

But all that was in the past. Peter cleared his throat uncomfortably, ears growing a bright pink.

"Yes, well…how can we prove to you that we are human?"

Rabadash turned to look Edmund up and down as he considered his comment. His eyes lingered on Edmund's feet, and suddenly widened, and he whipped about to look at Peter's feet.

"I heard tell…in tales of old, that humans…possessed ten-toed feet. Can ye prove that to me, lad?"

Peter exchanged a thoroughly disturbed look with his brother, but nodded for Edmund to demonstrate. Edmund huffed, undid the laces on his shoes and pulled off his sock of viciously, bringing his foot back down with perhaps more force than was necessary.

"Well, I'll be thrice damned and have me beard shawn off! Ye truly weren't jesting…"

He simply gaped at Edmund's bare foot, while Peter glanced down at the glistening surface of the water, watching the contours flow lazily by. Then he frowned.

"Oh…hey, what's-"

But before he could finish his sentence, the water all around them exploded in cascading flumes of spray, and the boat almost overturned as something huge emerged from the depths below.

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Helen Pevensie's hands shook as her fingers clenched the letter with bone crushing force. Silent tears rolled mockingly slowly down her hollow cheeks, before tumbling down and blurring the neat, inky handwriting which spiraled across the page's surface.

Henry.

Henry had been killed in action…one of the first 'valiant' victims of the battle of Dunkirk, round the outskirts of Paris.

Her hands lost all their strength and slumped in her lap, as the letter drifted slowly to the ground, face down beside the chair; now stained with moisture.

They had all left her now.

Her husband, her friends, her babies. Even her angel.

She clenched the soft material within her hands; a modest, baby blue knitted jumper which Peter had somehow managed to leave behind. It had a hole in one elbow, which now sat half darned shut with a needle poised mid-stitch.

She closed her eyes and leant back in the armchair, the tears now flowing freely down her pale face, the once strong soul within being torn asunder by wave upon wave of sorrow.

"Oh angel, angel. Why have you forsaken me so?"

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In case you forgot, Henry is Mr Pevensie.

A/N: I know I said I would explain Ed's fear of water in this chapter, but developments occurred and I had to postpone it. It will be in the next chapter, though, I promise!

So…anyone think they know what I chose for the next little obstacle in the boy's journey? You'll never get it!

The river spirit, old man Shribble, was an idea taken from Prince Caspian; in which, the 'river' itself in the form of a human made of waves, asks Aslan to free him from his chains. It would make sense that Cifel, as guardian of the realm, would have all the elements at his command.

Toll: (gagged)

Cifel: (whistles not so innocently)

(Sigh) OC's cost so much to keep…so I need funds…in the form of reviews! Review if you don't want Cifel to spontaneously be killed off…(and remember just who is heading to save Peter and Edmund's sorry hides…)

Cifel: WHAT!

(Evil grin)