Susan
This chain mail was heavy and unfamiliar, yet its very weight comforted me as I strode down the lines, inspecting the archers. They were as prepared as can be at the moment and there was really no need for me to check, but I needed the distraction as much as the soldiers under me needed to be distracted as we waited. The battle had started and my brothers were in it - leading it, planning it, and, Aslan willing, winning it. This was the closest I had ever been to taking active part in a battle, though even now I would not get any closer than I was now. We were out of sight of the battlefield, waiting along the planned routes to defend the army as they fell back. I had half the archers with me, the other half had moved to the front on Edmund's orders.
Already many of the wounded have passed before us, heading back to the healers at the main camp. In Beruna I was removed from the field and helped only in the last, most desperate, moments of the engagement. I was not afraid to admit, at least to myself, that I was very frightened at the prospect of going to war. I was not like my brothers, trained knights of Narnia that they are, or my valiant little sister, all of whom leaped to our kingdom's defense with weapons in hand. Though I would do whatever it took to defend my country, I would sooner solve problems with words than steel.
This time, though, our choices were few and words were in vain. Driven from their home in the Mirror Mountains for want of food, the Ogres invaded Ettinsmoor without warning or provocation and we quickly learned there was only one thing they understood and respected: superior might.
I prayed they faced it now.
I stopped and stood beside Xati, the Captain of Archers appointed by Edmund two years ago. Her flanks were a beautiful black-and-white pinto pattern, which was unusual for a Centaur. She was talking to Pawlin, a Black Dwarf officer under her command. Pawlin was typically cranky, but of all the Black Dwarves I had ever met, he was the most loyal and outgoing. They were discussing the terrain and I listened without really hearing them, calmed by their apparent composure, until Beth, Ravenwolf's daughter, came with news of the battle.
The Ravenwolfs came to us this past spring, the third year of our reign. They were a family of black Wolves born at the end of Jadis's bitter rule in the forest west of Glasswater. Their mother, Suki Ravenwolf, was the noble matriarch of their extended family and she committed her whole litter to our service. There were five in all, four sons and a daughter, and they were loyal and true servants of Narnia. Many people, the Beavers and Tumnus especially, were wary of Wolves on principal, but it was proven that Suki and her clan had never answered to the White Witch and Peter welcomed them gladly into our service. They were excellent scouts and messengers - quick, sharp, and keenly intelligent, while the eldest, Arthur, was a surprisingly good poet.
"How goes the battle?" I asked, resisting the temptation to press her for news about Peter and Edmund. They were not the only warriors on the field, though they were the ones I cared about the most.
"The air assault was successful in breaking up the Ogres' attack on the right flank, my queen," said Beth. All Wolves have deep voices and if I hadn't known better, I would have thought her a male. Everyone within earshot paused to listen to her news. "Captain Kanell is holding firm. General Oreius's feint went as planned and your brothers are engaged in the middle of the line."
"What of the Ogre king?" pressed Xati.
"Methalain is geared for battle, but he has not taken part in the fight. He is their only control and if he commits himself to the battle the Ogres will run berserk."
Pawlin snorted. "That may be his plan and he's waiting for the right moment to attack. Not much of a plan if you ask me."
Beth shook her head. "It would be effective."
I had seen Ogres once before on the edge of the Western Wild. Horrid creatures, they ranged in size from a pony to an elephant, and the larger they were the more authority they commanded within the Ogre hierarchy. Their legs were short, thick as tree trunks, and ended in broad, flat feet with only three toes. Their arms were equally huge, but overlong and their hands had three fingers ending in thick claws. They had no neck and their heads were mostly mouth and beady eyes. Edmund had described them as walking potatoes, walking rotten potatoes, which was a fairly accurate assessment since they were brownish green in color and had lumpy, scaly hides. They were savage and destructive creatures with a taste for any type of flesh including their own, and now they had turned their sights on Narnia.
I shuddered, thinking of my two brothers so small against Methalain's troops.
