Chapter Eleven: Battle For Narnia
"But why?" Darkmoon asked as Rhianna spread her bedding on the springy turf of the horses' and unicorns' meadow.
The elf refused to meet her friend's eyes. "Nothing good in my life ever lasts. We could all die tomorrow and lose everything we had. It's better for all of us this way."
"Better for you, you mean." The mare's tone was gentle and unaccusing. She nipped lightly at the elf's sleeve. "Rhianna, child, why are you afraid to love?"
Rhianna looked up sharply. "I'm not," she said, a little too forcefully. Then she sighed, "Goodnight, Darkmoon, we have a long hard day ahead of us." She rolled over in her bedroll and closed her eyes, calling on her dream-like repose to overcome her.
"Rhianna?" Edmund's eyes were wide with hurt as he looked at her over the faun that was strapping his armor around his chest.
For some reason, Rhianna could not bring herself to meet those sad, dark eyes. "Yes, Edmund?" she said, focusing on pulling the light chain mail tunic over her head. Then she quickly checked that her arm-guards and shin-caps were in place.
"Why did you leave?" he asked in the blunt way that only an eleven-year-old could.
She sighed. "It's a long story, Edmund."
"Well, I think it's stupid," he said hotly. "You and Peter are always acting like strangers to each other. Especially now. Peter won't even talk about you. I tried asking him where you went, but he wouldn't talk. We're about to go to war; people could die. We could die. You two picked a lousy time to stop talking to each other."
"Edmund," Rhianna said gently, "it's nothing against you, or your siblings. I just…don't belong. It's not my place." She pulled the dark-haired boy into a hug, then bent and kissed his cheek. "Be careful out there, Edmund. Try to come out of it in one piece." He blushed deeply at her affections and looked down at his toes. Rhianna shouldered her quiver and bow and strapped on her sword. "I have to find Darkmoon," she told him, touching his shoulder briefly in a last farewell.
As she strode out of the armory, she nearly collided with Peter. "Rhianna!" he said, a smile beginning to cross his face. His eyes traveled over her battle regalia and darkened. "You're fighting, then?"
"Of course."
"Then I have orders for you… as your King: I want you with the archers – under Edmund's command." Gripping her shoulder suddenly, he said fiercely, "I don't want you in the front lines."
"With you? You don't want me to be with you, you mean." Her eyes narrowed.
"It's too dangerous. You could –"
"Too dangerous!" Rhianna barked incredulously. "For me? I, who have been through more in one month than you have in your entire life?" Before Peter could interject, she overrode his words, "With all due respect, Sir, you are not the king yet – as you insisted yourself, yesterday – and I will not abandon my duty and betray Aslan's trust by failing to guard you with my very life. I will not break my oath, Peter." She turned to go, but paused and turned back. "I know you don't want me here. Rest assured: when this battle is won, Darkmoon and I will return to the life we know – living off the land. I will trouble you no more." She bowed deeply, one hand on her sword hilt. "By your leave, milord."
"Rhianna, wait!" She turned back, fixing him with a level, emotionless stare. He sighed. "Very well, you will ride with me, on my right flank. Oreius will be my left."
She nodded curtly. "Thank you, sir."
Walking to the meadow where all the horses and unicorns waited for their riders, Rhianna was grateful to see Darkmoon waiting for her. She approached and lovingly caressed the mare's black muzzle, kissing her nose. Darkmoon simply stood, seeming to understand that her friend did not wish to speak. A handsome male unicorn broke away from the others to come to Peter's outstretched hand, followed by a flurry of motion as the horses were saddled and harnessed. Darkmoon shuddered as she watched.
"I don't know how they stand it," she muttered to Rhianna, glaring darkly at the saddles and tack. "I'm so glad that I have an elf for a rider and not one of those humans and dryads, who insist on riding gear."
"Shh," Rhianna quieted her and swung easily onto the mare's back, awaiting orders.
"RANKS MOVE OUT!" Oreius bellowed over the noise. Slowly, with the rumble akin to an approaching storm, the riders fanned out and fell into position. Rhianna and Darkmoon eased their way through the crowd until they were at Peter's side. He nodded briefly to her, then urged his unicorn forward. Under Aslan's guidance, Peter had already selected the location for the battle. A large hill reared above the surrounding terrain and it was around this geographical feature that the loyal Narnians would mass. Edmund's division of archers formed ranks along the crest of the hill, high above the heads of their own people, while Peter, at the head of the bulk of the army, filled in along the base. The young future king was magnificently arrayed in full chain-mail and shining sliver armor. His shield, breastplate, and helmet all proudly bore the symbol of a roaring lion – Aslan's mark.
A low rumble reached their ears as the White Witch's arm arrayed itself several hundred meters away, across the plain. Jadis had abandoned her usual ice-blue gown and was robed in a full chain-mail dress with a magnificent golden ruff around her neck. Rumbles of curiosity and disgust rippled through Peter's ranks; it was apparent that she was rudely imitating the Great Lion.
"Sir," Oreius suddenly addressed Peter. "A message for you." He extended his arm, on which was perched a small black-and-white chickadee.
"Speak," Peter commanded.
The chickadee bowed, its beak touching Oreius's armguard. "Last night," he said in a small, high voice, "At the Stone Table…I saw… the Witch…" he shuddered a little and Rhianna leaned forward to listen better, "and…Aslan." The poor bird was having a very difficult time speaking; he seemed to be in a state of shocked horror.
Rhianna extended her hand and the chickadee hopped onto her fingers. "Shh, little one," she murmured gently, humming a few melodic notes until his shivers ceased. Raising her arm so that he was at eye level, she cast a quick glance at Oreius and Peter, who were watching the whole thing intently. "Now," she pressed her nose to the chickadee's feathery chest. "Tell me what you saw."
The little bird seemed to draw strength from her nearness and bravely continued his tale, telling of Aslan's deal – to exchange his life for Edmund's. He told of the Great Lion's utter humiliation, of his refusal to resist or to speak, of the Witch's chilling final words to him, and of the final, horrible moment when the sacrificial knife fell. Several times, the bird had to stop speaking as the shudders of horror wracking his tiny little body, and Rhianna would hum a few more notes to soothe him again. By the time he finished, Oreius was ashen-faced, Peter seemed to have caved in on himself, and Rhianna felt as though her heart had been painfully wrenched from her chest – again. Tears pricked at her eyes as she kissed the bird's head and instructed him to fly home to his family.
Peter stared at his saddle horn for a long while until a minotaur's bugle from the other side reminded him where he was. His head came up abruptly, his clear blue eyes flashing angrily. Slowly, he turned his mount around to face his army and drew his sword, raising it high in the air. Word had spread like wildfire through the ranks from those who were close enough to hear the chickadee's message: Aslan was dead. Thousands of dejected eyes lifted to look upon their future king, wondering what was to become of them.
Peter allowed his eyes to scan across the ranks, his sword still in the air, before he turned back to face the enemy lines. "For Narnia!" he cried, "FOR ASLAN!" The unicorn surged forward, Darkmoon springing into action and following close behind, she and Rhianna echoing the cry.
"ASLAN!" the roar rang out as the ranks followed their leaders.
The cheetahs, tigers, and other large cats emerged in the front in spearhead formation, leading the charge now. A battalion of gryphons swooped overhead, dropping large rocks on the enemy lines. The Witch's army was already moving, sending werewolves and white tigers out to lead their charge. For one moment, Rhianna watched as the armies closed in on each other, the next, she heard the sickening crunch of a thousand bodies colliding in battle, accompanied by snarls and screams. Chaos reigned and it taxed the elf to the limits of her capabilities to defend both herself and Peter. She followed as Peter charged headlong into a clump of ogres, crying over the noise, "Darkmoon! You have to run for both of us!" Straightening from her crouched position over the mare's neck, she sheathed her sword, whipped out her bow and nocked an arrow, sighting down the shaft before releasing it. As Darkmoon dodged blows and lashed out with teeth and hooves, Rhianna kept her sights set on any attackers that might harm Peter – or herself – and eliminated them. Arrow by arrow, her supply dwindled and she felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach; this was a battle they couldn't win, not alone. The enemy was simply too many and for every one she shot down, there were two more to take its place, while all around her, loyal Narnians fell and there were none to take their places. Edmund's archers kept up a steady stream of arrows until their stock too, began to be depleted.