"Handcuffs weigh much more than gravestones."

― Visar Zhiti

~O~

Chapter 8: Chasing Prisoners

~O~

Thanks to a survival training session with a couple of fauns who were once prisoners of war, Edmund had done what he could to loosen the ropes on his wrist and take off his gag. With his ankles still shackled by a cuff that could only be opened with a key, he figures out his escape route.

By the time another pirate had gone down to check on him, he had hoisted himself up and out of sight in the dark shroud of the ceiling, to which the pirate makes the mistake of unlocking the wooden cell to look for him. No sooner when he enters, Edmund makes a jump for it and lands squarely on his head, knocking him out clean and silently. He digs around the Calormene's layered clothing and finds the keys to the cuff on his ankles and unshackles himself.

Taking the man's scimitar, he also grabs the turban to wrap around his head and dons the man's curved boots, deciding that a quiet subterfuge would better aid him in his attempt to find Calla on the ship.

When he clambers onto the main deck, he finds a tempest of a storm roaring and bellowing, and a turbulent mast is raging above him. The men are hauling in lines from the stern to pivot the ship. On the horizon, Edmund sees the faint shape of islands, and deems that a landing to a port is imminent.

"Where'dyu think the cap'n is?!" yells one man and Edmund bristles.

"Y'know him," the other beside him scoffs. "He's still inside."

"The cabin or the girl?"

Something riles in him as a brother of two sisters, Edmund feels his nails dig into his palms—especially as the two men burst out laughing.

"We should get 'im, though."

Edmund watches as the two of them begin to ascend the quarter deck and decides to follow in their footsteps once an unsuspicious distance was stretched in between. They weave through the halls and arrive at the captain's door, marked sensibly with two swords overlapping each other.

Hiding behind a post, Edmund watches them. "Cap'n, what're yer orders as soon as we dock the ship?" One of the slave traders calls out after a brusque knock on the door.

Instead of an answer, only a muted thud follows. The men stare at each other, at the door, and proceed to kick the door in unison. When the door flies unhinged, their sights are set immediately on the captain's body lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

Before they could take out their swords, Edmund cold clocks the back of their heads with the pommel of the scimitar. When their bodies hit the ground, his eyes drift to the sight of Calla in the far end of the cabin, half-naked, flecks of red splattered across her face. Her eyes are frozen on him in a rictus of horror, arms in a defensive front about her until Edmund takes off the turban and reveals himself. She is visibly relieved, but he notes the minute degree changes in her disposition as he draws near to wrap the turban around her.

"We have to go," he tells her as he helps her up, the cloth allowing him to avoid unwanted physical contact. He begins looting the men for their trousers and boots and turns to her. "Put these on."

"We're on a boat. Surrounded," she says as she slips into Calormene garb.

"We'll take our chances. I'm not waiting around for them to do anything more. Will you?"

Edmund asks, his back facing her as he fixes up his own disguise. He didn't mean for it to come out that way. "They will be up here any moment," he adds quickly to dissipate the terrifying thought he might have imposed on her.

When he stops hearing the rustle of clothes, she finally says, "Follow me," but heading opposite the door and instead, unlocks the clasp on a window.

"Do you know how to swim?"

-O-

If there is one thing Rabadash does not like—well, it wouldn't matter, as he hates everything at the moment. And anyone within earshot would know he's not exactly having the time of his life.

It was his fifth vase thrown at Ahoshta, who had been brave enough to stick by the livid prince despite his short fuse.

"As I was saying, Oh Venerable Prince," Ahoshta tries to inject while Rabadash rubs his temples with his index fingers. "The only realistic way we can invade Narnia is if we're certain that they are no longer allies with Archenland."

"Then WHY is it taking so bloody long?" Rabadash half-screams in his seat, and he inadvertently slaps a servant fanning him. "I thought the spies you sent are supposed to take of that."

"They may have run into some unexpected company. It's Giants territory, you know." The Vizier explains. "But they will send a raven soon, I'm sure of it."

"You better be." Rabadash drops his tone ominously. "If they're not sending a raven, I'm having you castrated for your impotence."

Ahoshta tries not to correct that he meant "incompetence," and instead laughs—if only for his sake. "Shame, as I already have been, your Most Honorable Highness."

Rabadash frowns. "When did that happen?"

"Remember? When I accidentally brought you an egg that had a split yolk?"

"Ah," the jaded prince recalls. "Then we'll just cut off what else is left."

The Vizier swallows and is about to propose a milder punishment when a raven swoops in from the skylight above Rabadash, illuminating him in a glorious glare that Ahoshta finds completely unbefitting.

It lands on the prince's shoulder. "You've been saved for now, you foolish goat." He remarks, unrolling the scroll he retrieved from the bird.

A sinister smile grows on Rabadash as he skims the paper. "Our spies have confirmed that the High King has seen the decoy." He comments, so peacefully that Ahoshta was visibly unnerved by the softness in his voice.

"Today is a good day to talk to our little guest then, don't you think, old goat?" Rabadash asks as he lifts his arm to let the raven fly away.

Ahoshta concurs with a nod, and they walk towards the spiraling staircase.

They approach the door held secure by a thick lever. Rabadash snaps his fingers and Ahoshta dutifully lifts the thick piece of log and pushes the door with a grunt. He pulls the torch from the scone and brings it with him.

Not even a trace of sunlight found its way through the damp, cold stone walls—perfect for keeping a hostage. At the far end of the room, the sound of the door opening made a figure bristle, rattling chains. Ahoshta leads the way as he follows the sound. Rabadash trails not too far behind him, and insists he's not intimidated by the dark at all when he's jolted by a rat passing by.

The glow of the torch stretches to a pair of feet, calloused and red. When Ahoshta lifts the torch further, they shadows unveil a bruised boy on his side—wrists, ankles, and neck bound to chains that barely gave him room to move.

"See what three days of no food and water can do?" Rabadash exclaims as though no one had seen it coming. "All that talk of his iron fists—pfft—maybe, you'll talk now with iron shackles."

The boy only curls up, cloaking his face with his elbows and twining his fingers at the back of his head.

"No? Worried about your reputation?" Rabadash huffs. "I'd say that is very noble of you, but these gestures are of no use—not when you're already seen as a traitor."

"I didn't mean to!" The boy finally spoke, his yell was more of a croak that barely ricocheted off the walls. "…I wasn't trying to run away."

"Oh," Rabadash pretends to sympathize. "I will never understand the likes of those who run away from their destiny. Well, no matter. No one will come looking for you anyway."

"You're wrong." The boy coughs, eyes averting from the ruddy glow of Ahoshta's torch. "My father will not stop looking for me. And you'll pay for it when I get out of here!"

"Delusions!" Rabadash exclaims giddily. "Who will look for someone who's already been found?"

A wave of both confusion and horror washes over the boy's eyes. "W-what do you mean?"

"Let's see," Rabadash pretends to recall as he thumbs his chin. "Has your father ever told you the story of how you survived as a baby?"

The boy keeps his lips thin, refusing to partake in the prince's mind games.

"Well," Rabadash continues anyway. "Every citizen in the land knows your strength comes from the rumored sustenance you gained—" he leans forward to whisper in his ear. "—eating your twin brother in the womb."

"That's not true." The boy counters fervent conviction. "I was an only child—always have been."

"Again, delusions!" Rabadash roars with laughter. "Anyhow, you're right. The myth isn't true... not exactly." The prince grabs the torch from Ahoshta and begins his way out. "But no matter—the only myth you should worry about is you becoming one. After all, what kind of prince runs away—only to be found trying to kill the High King of Narnia?"

"You skinbag!" The boy tries to chase him, but he's pulled back by the chains and the momentum slams him against the floor. "No one will believe that!"

"I don't have to make them believe me." Rabadash's smile only grows as Ahoshta begins pulling the door. "They will listen to you—even after you declare war on your allies, of course."

"I will make no such claims."

"Oh, you will. At least, someone who looks like you will." Rabadash waves his hand. "Good night, my dear Prince Corin."

The boy opens his mouth to scream at Rabadash, but none of it is heard when Ahoshta slams the door behind them.

A/N: thank you for sticking around. Work has been hectic, and but I knew it would make me feel better to write.

up next: siblings who try to find their way back, but find themselves drifting further.