Sir Giles Fox

The Centaur archers and the bull Elks all whipped around at the sound of my voice, ready to shoot, gore, and trample me. Not the smartest move I've ever made, but I couldn't resist teasing them as I showed off a bit of slyness. Sneaking about was a skill and like any other I needed to practice to keep it sharp. I couldn't imagine why I managed to get so close to them, but I'll admit I didn't even try it until the Ravenwolf brothers had left.

"Get down here," Oreius ordered rudely, which was as much as I expected of him when we were in the midst of a pitched battle. I had been circling around from the Ogres' lines where I had spent my time collecting intelligence - a ridiculously easy task when Ogres are involved - when I spotted the strange formation of Centaurs and overgrown Deer in my path. Since being a Fox makes nosiness my business, I had to know what they were about.

Ever obedient, I jumped down from my perch on a brace of stone, more of that bland granite that the Giants are so fond of throwing at each other. A bull Elk stamped a hoof and snorted angrily at me, but since I answered not to him but to the good general, I ignored him as I moved around to Oreius's front.

"Are you injured?" I asked, far more concerned for the general than I let on. "Why are you - oh, by the Lion, no!"

The High King himself was cradled in Oreius's arms. A chill as cold as the Hundred-Year Winter shook me from my whiskers to the tip of my tail, reminding me of nothing less than the feel of Jadis's wand turning me to stone. Blood streaked King Peter's armor and I could tell his breathing was completely wrong. His left arm and both his legs were broken and he wasn't moving. No expert on Humans, I was fairly certain their lips weren't supposed to be blue, nor their faces as pale as snow. I have never seen such a look of dread in Oreius's expression in all the years I have known him.

"Your report," demanded Oreius.

I blinked, trying to find my voice, finally dragging my eyes away from the king. I sat back on my haunches to hide my trembling. "The Ogres are routed. Their ranks are completely broken and scattered."

The bull Elk snorted again, but the tone was smug, not angry. Amazing how much emotion they can pack into a grunt.

Oreius nodded. "King Peter stabbed Methalain with his sword before he was wounded. We're waiting for Queen Lucy."

"Well," I said, realizing the fruits of my labors, "in a way I suppose that's very good news."

"In a way?" He knew it wasn't good.

"Methalain is dead, then, according to what the Ogres were howling."

I was trying the general's patience. His dark eyes narrowed on me. "But..."

"Without him to hold the army together, the Ogres are on a rampage and about fifty or so of them have circled around are headed this way."

"He can't move," hissed Oreius, looking down at his fragile burden.

"Perhaps, but his brother and sister certainly can."

"Get them. Now."

I ran, knowing what was at stake.