This is a biggie. The old chapter 13 drama. Not much dialog. Kinda boring. But it has a cliff hanger, and good imagery.
The Battle and the Suprise
"Look" Susan raise her bow to point in the direction of a pillar of smoke rising from the flat area over the next dusty green hill
"I think its from the House of Harfang" Peter guessed, taking his spyglass out of his leather saddlebag
"The what?" William asked
"The House of Harfang is the primary settlement of giants" Peter explained
"The Witch must not care if we know where she is" Susan said
"Maybe, maybe not. Don't underestimate her. It could easily be a ruse" Edmund said warily, pulling his traveling cape tighter around his chilled body
"Ruse or not, we should get a move on. One of the men said that your army has been spotted over that rise. We should meet them" William suggested
39103391033910339103
"She is ready, your Highness. The Witch already has her army lining up for an attack" The Narnian general informed Peter when he arrived in the camp
"She believes herself to be a step ahead of us. The Witch thinks we are worn out from our journey, when we are more ready that she could ever know"
"What of the Calormenes. They have yet to arrive. Do we wait?" the general asked Peter
"No. We attack. If we finish this soon, all the better. If it rages to long, the Calormenes will arrive later, still be able to hold up the fight while we recuperate. Let them think that we are a smaller force that we actually are. We might give them a fright when the Calormenes arrive. Pass the word, we shall not wait for the Calormenes to arrive" Peter rode off to see that everyone was in position
39103
"For freedom of repression, and in the Lions name!" Peter cried as he raised his sword. The horsemen thundered across the plaines to meet the Witches advancing army. Archers, under Susan's rule, were scattered along the higher land. Edmund was in charge of the warriors on foot, and was waiting with them at the foot of one of the small hills. William was proving himself to be a natural born leader. He had maneuvered his men in precise patterns, and was successfully leading them into battle. Peter briefly thought that is was interesting to see that the loss of Williams sister had not hardened him. Those thoughts were lost at the sound of metal against metal.
Peter saw the Witches mouth quietly form the words, "Kill them" to an armor clad minotaur beside her. He felt his heart burn with the emotionless way she said it. He would be glad to rid the world of unfeeling people like her.
The Witch herself was riding on a cross between a chariot and her beloved sleigh, decorated with little bells. She stood atop it, a spear in her hand, her snow-like dress billowing behind her. A small dwarf squatted in front of her, steering the horses that drew the contraption.
From her place on a boulder, up the small slope of one of the hills, Susan marveled at how similar this battle was to the original battle they had fought against the White Witch. There was the same basic tactics being used, except the flying creatures were dropping flaming arrows, in addition to the large rocks, on the heads of the enemy. Susan also noted that there were a fair amount of giants on their side, opposed to the Witches. As Susan watched, she saw the familiar layout spread out below her. To either side of her, there were the Witches best warriors, trying to crush the opposing creatures from the outside. In front of her, she saw the weaker, less trained, soldiers battling with petty slashes of their swords, maces, and spears. Directly below her, stood the ground forces, headed by Edmund. They were stationary, careful not to move in case it should give an opportunity for the enemy to get behind their ranks. The air was filled with the sounds of weapons hitting weapons, weapons hitting armor, and weapons hitting bodies. The cries of wounded and dieing creatures pierced Susan's heart. It was pure chaos, and yet deathly silent. None of the soldiers on foot stirred, none of the archers flinched. Not a sound broke their concentration, not one sword clanked, not one dagger dropped, not one bow was drawn, not one spear touched the ground, not one arrow was thatched, and it seemed that not even one heart was beating. They were prepared, they were ready, they were confident.
Edmund saw the Witches forces break through a small section of Peters ranks. It was the small signal that triggered everything. He raised his sword and let out a whooping battle cry. Edmund ran as quickly as he could in his heavy armor to get to the minotaur that seemed to be in charge. Their swords clashed with a metallic ringing. Edmund had gotten much better over the years, but he could tell it would be a difficult battle, for it was apparent that the Witches army had also been practicing.
The battle had been raging for about an hour, and Peter was wishing that the Calormenes would arrive soon. The Archenlanders were well trained, but for a much different terrain. The archers were running out of arrows, and the swordsmen were rapidly tiering. Peters horsemen were in the best shape overall, but there were not many of them. Peter himself would fight to the death to defeat the evil of the Witch, but he was afraid that his death would arrive all to soon at this rate.
"Sire, look" a centaur cried from beside Peter, as they both fought off a large ettin. Peter chanced a quick glance away from his opponent. What he saw made his heart soar. Over the top of a hill could be seen a yellow flag approaching. They were close to. Peter was surprised he hadn't noticed it before, but they battle was raging at the bottom of a great dust basin, so not much was visible.
With a triumphant cry, Peter pushed the ettin away with his spear before turning his horse away and riding back towards the hills.
"Oh lookie, the little kingsy runs away" the ettin said. The ettins second head added "run run kingsy, go home to your mammy!" they both began to laugh. The laughter behind Peter was silenced by a smart blow from the centaur. Peter weaved through the sea of shinning metal and bloodied bodies, his mind already formulating a plan.
"Wha... Peter?" Edmund said, confused, as his brother galloped by him
"Susan, signal the camp, tell them that we will start bringing in the wounded. The Calormenes are here" Peter called to his sister, who nodded and jumped off the boulder. Peter rode through the masses of archers, firing in rapid succession, and down the other side, where he spotted a vast amount of warriors marching towards him.
"Warriors of Calormene, hurry, your services are needed" Peter called to them. He looked amongst them, but couldn't see her, so he found the next person in charge
"The Tarkaan, I presume?" Peter asked, as he rode over to a tall, dark, man who, by the fineness of his red and gold garments, seemed to be in charge
"That is me" The man spoke in a heavy accent
"I have heard of the skills of your warriors, and in this climate, they should be to are advantage. I praise you for having trained them so well, but I was wondering, not meaning disrespect, where the princess is" Peter asked, cautiously. They were nearing the peek of the ill, and the cries of battle began to become apparent. The Tarkaan rode silently for a moment
"I cannot believe you northern scum" he finally said in a harsh whisper
"I beg your pardon" Peter exclaimed, offended by the Tarkaan's words
"How could you let this happen!" The Tarkaan's voice rose, "I knew this would happen! I knew it! I told the Tisroc that the battlefield was no place for a princess, but he thought that she could fend for herself. The fool!"
"Where is she?" Peter's own voice was growing louder
"Shes suppose to be here!"
"What do you mean!"
"A while back, she claimed to hear the sounds of battle. She is younger, and so has better hearing, so we believed her. She told us that she was going to ride on ahead, to tell you that we were on our way. Its just like a young girl to run off like this. Doesn't she know that its dangerous. Doesn't she..."
Peter didn't bother to listen to the Tarkaan's rant. Rachel had ridden on ahead, but had never arrived. He knew that Rachel hadn't run off, and he was pretty sure he knew where she was. His eyes scanned the battle field, and his worst suspicions were confirmed. The was no longer a chariot drawn by horses, nor little bells chiming upon it, nor a small dwarf driving it, nor a white clad figure standing on it. The White Witch was gone.
Duh duh dun...