Chapter Thirty-One: Knave

In my restless dream, if dream it was and not a vision, it was dawn at Cair Paravel.

I stood in the courtyard between the barracks and the armory. These grounds were familiar - this was where Edmund and I trained to be warriors six days out of the week, summer or winter, rain or shine. Every morning before dawn we donned our armor and gathered our weapons and waited for Oreius and Celer. Here we weren't kings, but soldiers.

I heard metallic footsteps and the sound of hooves. I turned to the archway behind me as Edmund stepped into the yard. I felt a thrill at seeing him, dream or no. Beneath his mail cowl and helmet his face was pale and thin, but his dark eyes had the same cool, sharp look I knew and loved in my clever little brother. I recognized his mood instantly: fierce determination. This was not an Edmund to be trifled with, and when he got in this mind set not even I cared to cross him. He could only be pushed into a mood like this, and this early in the morning I knew he was pushing himself.

Celer stood beside him and the Faun captain seemed to pick up on his state.

"We'll warm up until General Oreius arrives," decided Celer, his breath visible in the cold morning air. "Start with blocking."

Edmund nodded, drawing Shafelm. I felt a twinge of envy and guilt as he knocked his visor down into place. I missed these lessons, but I had sorely ignored practice. Edmund was going to be a force to be reckoned with when I got back to the Cair - his form was exceptional and his control seemed vastly improved. They exchanged blows, blocking and striking in turn, slowly circling.

"Shields down?" asked Celer. It struck me as odd that he should ask. Usually whomever was in charge simply ordered us to do this or that and we obeyed. It was also odd that it was just the two of them. Usually there were other officers and guards and servants about. It was almost as if they were trying to hide something, meeting here in secret.

Edmund nodded and set his shield aside. I wished he would speak. Now came the real show of Edmund's skill with a sword, for he fought better without a shield in duels. I watched him with delight as the warm-up gradually became a lesson and they began to fight in earnest. The Narnian style of swordsmanship is graceful and beautiful, utilizing momentum and spins and speed to best advantage. It was particularly suited to Humans, given our size and quickness and build. Edmund was holding his own against the Faun, using his sword to block and parry and strike in motions as fluid as water. In battle Edmund would also be kicking and stomping and hitting on top of using his sword. That wasn't permissible in a match such as this since we had the advantage over Fauns and Satyrs in that we could easily kick in any direction and they could only kick backwards.

I sensed motion out of the corner of my vision and turned to see Oreius standing in the archway, arms crossed against his chest. The expression on his face was unreadable. Was it alarm? Concern? Or was he proud? Perhaps all three. He seemed tense, as if he was about to speak, and then his stance stiffened. I heard the dull clang of a poorly blocked strike, as if by a sword held too loosely. I whirled just as Edmund dropped Shafelm. Both of his hands were pressed to his chest, holding the wound as he had done the night of the anniversary celebration. He fell to his knees, unable to speak through for the sheer agony so much physical activity had caused.

I wanted to scream. I tried to scream, but this was a dream and I was mute. I couldn't even run to him as Oreius and Celer did. I could only watch as my brother pitched forward, gasping for air as Celer gently held him and pulled off his helmet. He clapped a hand over his own mouth to keep from crying out his pain, and for several endless and cruel minutes Edmund simply knelt in the courtyard and fought for control and for every breath. He was so terribly pale I expected him to faint at any moment. Centaur and Faun exchanged a desperate look over his bent head.

"Sire," Oreius said softly, "you must rest. Your body is not equal to the demands you place upon it. When your brother returns and this curse is broken, then we'll make up for lost time. Until then, King Edmund, you must not drive yourself so hard."

Edmund looked up at him. There were no tears in his eyes, just the echoing pangs of pain. For a moment I thought he might refuse, but then he slowly, reluctantly nodded in resignation. I sighed in relief, even though for Edmund I knew it was as close to admitting defeat as he'd ever come.

"Come," said the Centaur, helping him to gain his feet. He did not release my brother from his gentle grasp, but supported him as they slowly walked. "Back to the Cair." Celer fetched the fallen sword and shields. Edmund slid Shafelm into its sheath with hands that visibly quaked and reached for his shield, but Celer stepped out of range.

"You can have it back when we reach the stables," said the Faun. Edmund huffed, then tried to stand straighter and winced. They slowly walked past me, never seeing me. The whole time Edmund had not uttered a single word. I reached out, tried to touch them, and -

I woke up to something tugging at my clothes. With little shout I lifted my head from the moss. It was morning and I was staring at a pair of small and ugly feet.

I sat up, suppressing a groan as I tried to separate myself from the vision of Cair Paravel and be alert to the situation at hand. I blinked stupidly, my hand automatically closing over Rhindon's hilt, for I had slept fitfully with it drawn and under my hand all night. Focusing on my unwelcome companion, I saw a creature that looked like a mix of Dwarf, hedgehog, and pinecone. About two feet tall, it had a roughly Dwarfish build with a long, sharp nose and beady eyes like a hedgehog, but with huge, pointed ears set far back on its head. On its back was a cape of sorts with tapered points sticking out its whole length. Everything about it was brown, and I realized that was exactly what it was.

"Who are you?" the Brownie demanded in a shrill voice, frightened and alarmed that I had woken.

"Nobody," I replied. "Who are you?"

"I'm the toll keeper. You owe me a toll for passing through this valley."

"Why should I pay you?"

"Because you want to pass through," he reasoned, for the voice was most definitely male. "I want a pretty thing!"

"I have nothing to give you," I said.

"Liar!" spat the Brownie. "Liar! Knave and a liar! You have a pretty thing! I saw! I want! I took!"

Sneering and proud of himself, he drew his hand from behind his back.

He had the apple.

I felt myself go cold. The apple lay in his gnarly hand silver and perfect and fragrant. The little creature leered at me, pleased with himself and stupid enough to be boastful.

"Knight is a liar! Liar and knave! And for that lie, you owe me more!"

I dropped my left hand to the ground as it ranted, out of its line of vision. Carefully I worked my fingers past the rug of moss. The Brownie was too busy antagonizing me to notice as I released Rhindon.

"Pretty, pretty, pretty," he laughed wickedly, tossing it from hand to hand. "I could throw it into the forest, or..." He caught it up and smelled it, inhaling deeply. "Mmm."

"Don't eat it," I warned.

The Brownie smirked at me sadistically. He was enjoying tormenting me, the little beast, and he held it near his open mouth, displaying a row of crooked brown teeth. "Why not? Will it kill me?"

"No," said I in savage tones. I felt the soil beneath my hand, closing my fingers into a fist as I gained my feet. "You'll just wish it had."

That was not the answer he expected and he hesitated. I took advantage and whipped the handful of dirt and gravel I had picked up right into his face as hard as I could. The Brownie let out a scream of pain and indignation as I lunged, drawing my knife. I had the steel blade at his throat and my hand seized his bony wrist, squeezing with crushing force to make him drop the apple. He squealed in pain and tried to squirm away, but I held him without mercy, twisting his arm. He tried to turn into the pain but Edmund's gift held him at bay.

"How dare you try to steal something I've fought and suffered for," I hissed, furious enough to ignore his pain. "My brother's salvation depends upon that apple and you would just eat it to be spiteful? How dare you mock me!" I moved the knife and yanked him to the ground. He hit the dirt face-first. Still gripping his arm, I stepped on his back, pinning him firmly as I had been taught by the general of my army. It wasn't easy since he was so small, but with my foot on his back he wasn't going anywhere. I couldn't remember a time when I had been more furious than now. It was as if something within me had snapped. "I tell you this, you miserable piece of filth, I have killed creatures far worse and far more evil than you without a second thought. Why should I let a thief live?"

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" screamed the Brownie, kicking his feet.

"You certainly are," I agreed, tightening my grip.

"You can pass! You can pass!"

I didn't move, tempted to finish him off just to be sure he wouldn't follow and harass me. For a long moment I considered. Too long, perhaps, because I thought I heard on the breeze a faint growl. I knew the tone instantly, be it real or imagined.

Aslan.

I let go. Later on I might be ashamed for prolonging his pain for my own satisfaction, but right now I was too angry to care. The Brownie cradled his arm, sobbing, and I was sorely tempted to kick him.

"Do as I say or I'll do far worse than kill you," I promised, scooping up the silver apple, "I'll hurt you. Now get up."

His swagger gone, the Brownie stood. I drew the knife again and yanked him forward until we were almost nose-to-nose.

"Do you know what this is?" I demanded, holding the knife about an inch from his face. He flinched at the sight of the silvery blade.

"'Tis Blue steel," he whispered, terrified.

"It was forged by a king," I hissed. "You like pretty things? Lead me out of this valley down river. Try and deceive me and trust me, I'll give this to you." My meaning was unmistakable. He thought I had gone mad and perhaps I had, a little. He had pushed me beyond the point of caring and it felt good to vent the fury that possessed me. I tightened my hold on him and the Brownie nodded anxiously. I roughly let him go, pushing him away.

Sniffing, defeated, the creature crawled miserably along, terrified to have his back to me. He sickened me and perhaps I sickened myself a bit by stooping to threaten so low a being, but fresh in my mind was the image of Edmund gasping in agony and defeat. The Brownie had stolen from me and saw fit to mock me and I had had enough. I was sure I'd have regrets for my conduct later, but so long as I got out of this valley I could live with regrets.