Author's note: Please accept my sincerest apologies, dear readers. I wish it had not taken so very long to update, but school decided to throw everything it had at me at once. I hope you enjoy this next chapter, and I would very much like to hear what you think.
Chapter the Fifth: Harbor
Galen awoke to late afternoon sunlight streaming in his window. The breeze rustling the curtains was cool, and carried the sweet, heady smell of hay and roses mingled. A mockingbird sang its cheery song from the top of the barn roof as the golden sun began its descent to the mountains of the west.
Galen crawled out of bed and found his clothes neatly folded and stacked on the chest at the foot of the bed. As he pulled them on he noticed they had the fresh, airy smell that comes of a laundering and a drying in the warm sun. His leggings, shirt, and jerkin were there, but his tabard, the one belonging to his grandfather, was missing. Galen hurried to pull on his boots—freshly polished, he noticed, buckled his sword about his waist, and slung his satchel over his shoulder before yanking the door open and clattering down the stairs.
Saliha sat in a rocking chair in a corner of the room humming a tune to herself as she rocked and sewed busily on a blue cloth. As Galen reached the base of the stairs, Saliha bit off the thread and stood.
"Ah, Galen! You are awake. I took the liberty of washing your clothes and mending your lovely tabard," she said, the royal blue garment dangling from her entwined fingers.
"I hope you do not mind. It had a little tear along the hem that wanted fixing."
"Of course not. My thanks, Lady Saliha. You really needn't have gone to so much trouble," replied Galen, relieved.
"Here," said she, handing him the tabard, which he promptly folded and tucked in his satchel. "Am I correct that you are one of the Redemption Knights?" Saliha asked softly, a gentle curiosity filling her dark eyes. Galen's hand flew of its own accord to his satchel.
"You are indeed correct. Your grandfather has taught you well if it was the tabard that betrayed me," Galen replied tersely.
"Yes, I recognized the tabard, but inquired of my grandfather for confirmation. He is most anxious to hear your tale."
"Where is your grandfather?"
"He is attending to the needs of your companion, and will return in time for an early supper before you leave," Saliha replied. "I will begin preparing our meal. If you like, you may speak with your friend," she said, motioning towards the door.
"Thank you, my lady," replied Galen, standing and inclining his head in thanks. He exited the house and strode into the warm glow of the spring afternoon. Galen entered the rust colored barn to see Saliha's grandfather leaning on the door of Aiolos' stall conversing with the stallion. Both turned as he entered.
"Ah, Galen, my boy. You rested well, I trust?" the old man inquired.
"Yes indeed, Sir, thank you."
"Come now, call me Terrabrick, and stop this "Sir" rubbish," he answered, his voice gruff, but his eyes twinkling with laughter.
"Alright, then, Terrabrick. May I speak with Aiolos for a moment?"
"Of course, but tarry not too long, for I dare say Saliha would give you an earful if you let your supper grow cold," Terrabrick replied, a ghost of a smile crossing his weathered face. Galen smiled in return, and Terrabrick left the musty smelling barn carrying two fresh pails of milk as he went.
"Well, my friend, there is no doubt that the Lion led us to this home. Even now He cares for us well," said Aiolos, his brown eyes aglow.
"Indeed, Aiolos, more than you know. They know what I am—she saw the tabard. They will want to hear my story, but what should I say?"
"I believe it will do no harm to tell them of your mission, but do so only after Terrabrick tells you his and tell no specifics of our journey. I am sure they are who they say, but it is best to be certain," replied the horse. "We should leave soon after nightfall. If all goes well we can be within the skirts of the Southern Woods and upon the spurs of the mountains by daybreak."
"I suppose I had better be getting back. I would prefer to avoid Saliha's scoldings," Galen grinned.
"Go then, Galen, but return shortly."
Galen nodded and left the barn. As he returned to the house he smelled the warm fragrance of something beef. He entered the house and saw Saliha filling bowls with a hearty stew of beef and vegetables and placing large hunks of buttered cornbread on wooden plates. Saliha turned at the creak of the door's old hinges, and seeing Galen she smiled.
"Good, you are just in time. Supper is ready," Saliha said as she placed the dishes on the table. "Sit down."
Galen sat, and Terrabrick appeared from the cellar and joined him. The three began the meal and a comfortable silence washed over the room, for they little wished to waste time in conversation that was better used in devouring Saliha's delicious cooking.
Soon enough the stew pot was dry and a satisfied sigh escaped Galen's lips.
"In truth, lady, I have never had so much food, and none as tasty. I wish I could repay your hospitality."
"If you would privilege us with your story 'twould be payment enough," replied Saliha, speaking the thoughts shared by her grandfather.
"I shall endeavor to repay this debt to your satisfaction, but I fear I cannot divulge the minutest details, for I would not endanger my kind hosts even if 'twere on pain of mine own life. I do not wish to impose on you further, Terrabrick, but I would better be able to share my story were I to know your own.
"Of course, dear boy," replied the wizened dwarf. "I was a very young warrior when the Telmarines besieged the Cair. I was one of the Royal Guard- an apprentice to the master handler and almost ready to become a full-fledged knight of the guard. Cair fell, and the master handler bade me flee. I did not wish to do so, but the master's command I obeyed. I joined the ranks of the dwarves in hiding, and we devised a plan of subterfuge and infiltration. We, as dwarves, resembled men the most of all the Narnians, and as such could mingle with them and live among them unsuspected. I was among the first group of dwarves to leave the forest and adopt the ways of the Telmarines. We caused much damage to the Telmarines—sabotaging their war machines, burning fields of crops, assassinating well established lords to keep constant political turmoil. Seldom were we ever discovered, for most Telmarines attributed the strange happenings to the "ghosts of the Black Woods", and any of us who were captured knew we had to die rather than give away any information. Eventually I married Saliha's grandmother—the only Telmarine I ever met who had compassion in her heart. My son married a cold Telmarine maid, and she turned him from the ways of Narnia. He moved to a larger town, and when they both died from illness about thirteen years ago my dear Saliha came to live with me. I trained her in the ways of my homeland, and she has blossomed into far more a Narnian lady than e'er I had hoped. That is the extent of my story, although I do recall knowing a few of your order before Cair fell. One—Sir Drystan—was a particular friend, for he and I were near in age and similar in spirit. Everything was in chaos during the battle, and I know not if Drystan escaped alive. Through him I know the function of your order, Galen, but what of your own story?"
"Good sir," Galen replied, his voice thick with emotion, "I know now I can entrust you with my tale, for that self-same Sir Drystan was, in truth, my grandfather. He was the only of our order to escape the carnage at Cair Paravel. He guarded the Stone Knife and brought it to the safety of the forests, bequeathing knighthood and his sacred duty to my father, his son, who but recently passed it to me with his dying breath. I thank Aslan, for He hath given me sanctuary in the house of my grandfather's friend as I endeavor to fulfill my duty and promise. I promised my father I would take the knife to a place beyond Telmarine grasp where it would be safe for all time, and that promise brings me on this journey."
Terrabrick's eyes shone with unshed tears, and his voice trembled as he said, "In truth, the Lion has blessed me in my old age to bring me the grandson of my old friend."
"May we see the Stone Knife?" Saliha inquired, eyes bright with curiosity.
Galen nodded once and gently drew the wooden box from his satchel. Laying it carefully on the table, he turned the latch and opened the carved top, revealing the knife nestled in blue velvet. The dark blade gleamed in the firelight, and the sapphire pommel shone with a soft radiance of its own. A light sigh escaped Saliha's lips as she beheld the relic, and Terrabrick felt as though an empty space in his heart had been filled to be so close to one of the two holiest artifacts of his homeland, and the sight of it brought a flood of memories unbidden to his mind.
"I never dreamt I would see this precious symbol of my home again," he breathed. Terrabrick looked up to the window and say the last gleam of dusk had given way to the twinkling of stars. He closed the case and locked the latch, his hand tarrying upon its carved surface for the barest moment.
"Go, my son. Fulfill thy noble quest, and accept my sincerest thanks. Thou hast revived an old man's heart this day."
All stood, and Terrabrick grasped Galen's arm firmly in warrior's handshake.
"Lion keep thee, Sir Galen," the dwarf blessed, eyes evenly meeting Galen's.
"May the road yield before thee, may thy blade remain beside thee true, and through thy journeys, where'er they be, may Aslan keep thee ever between His mighty paws. Fare thee well," Saliha spoke the ancient traveler's blessing and embraced him tightly.
"Thank you both. You have helped me more than e'er I can repay. Aslan keep you both," returned Galen, then turned and slipped out the door. He hurried to the barn and quickly saddled Aiolos, then pulled his cloak around him and mounted. Horse and boy galloped from the barn, and soon the thump of hoof beats sounded on the road as the stalwart travelers began their journey anew.
The mood was far into her celestial path, but a wakeful man sat yet in his Spartan study. A second's glance was more than enough to see he was a warrior—a commander who had seen battle and blood many times over. This night the commander was puzzled with the reports he had received that evening. It seemed as though the entire southern countryside had suddenly been swept with fear this day, for a hundred separate reports of a dark hooded specter—a mysterious midnight rider flying through the southern villages had been given to him by panicked farmers. This commander did not put much stock in specters or other such tales of the Black Woods, but still something in the midnight air felt different to him as he stared out his towered window at the crescent moon. Perhaps something was afoot despite its preposterously superstitious feel.
A knock sounded at his door.
"Enter!" he commanded, and a young soldier did so, leading a roughly clothed townsperson.
"I am sorry to bother you, Sir, but this man insists he has important information for you."
"Thank you, corporal. What do you wish to report mister…?"
"Afrim, Sir"
"Alright, Mr. Afrim, what have you to say?"
"I have seen a great and terrible thing this ill-omened night, Sir. As I and my family sat down to eat, a lone rider—swathed in black—galloped through the town. Mist enshrouded the specter—and I specter it was, I warrant, it seemed not even earthly in itself and dangerous, as specters are wont to be," Mr. Afrim replied.
"The specter again! I tire of hearing of this grim apparition! Corporal, escort Mr. Afrim out immediately!"
The frustrated commander retook his seat. A moment later he unrolled a map and picked up a quill pen. Sifting through his sheaf of parchment, he marked each specter sighting precisely on the map. Presently a cunning smile curved his lips and a chuckle escaped them.
"Ah, ha, Southton. How gloriously predictable. Corporal!"
The door opened
"Yes, Sir?"
"Saddle my horse and ready half the garrison for travel. I little think a specter is flying about the countryside, but whatever or whoever it is we shall be sure to catch. We ride for Southton within half an hour.
Galen and Aiolos were, at that time, making rather slow progress through a patch of quagmire. The road, it seemed, ran over a stream whose banks had swollen with the spring snowmelt, and had consequently turned the dirt road treacherous.
"Oh, Aiolos, look out!"
"I am looking out!"
"We're stuck!"
"No we aren't, Galen."
"Yes we are."
"They are my hooves, boy. I would know," was the string of outbursts which came of frustrated minds, strained tempers, and entirely too much mud. These, however, would soon prove to be the least of their troubles that night.
Soon enough the two travelers extricated themselves from the much and continued on. Just as before, they galloped as fleetly as an eagle flies through moonlit mist and sleepy hamlets without event. The plains melted away into rolling hills, and the hills gave way to steeper hills and green valleys.
Finally, as the moon began its downward step, Galen and Aiolos paused as the road reached the crest of a hill and wound down into the valley below. From this vantage point they could see a larger town nestled between the hills. The lights of the town still twinkled brightly despite the late hour, and the town's gates stood open. A great snow-capped mountain towered over the valley, and her sisters spread out on either side as far as the eye could see. Mt. Pire's forked peak gleamed jaggedly to the west, and the magnificent height of Stormness Head spiraled dizzyingly upward to the east. The moonlight lent an eerie, ethereal shadow to the scenery spread before them, and the air was crisp and cold.
"There is Southton, Galen, our last obstruction from freedom in Archenland."
"Why do we not circumvent this town altogether and enter the mountains and forests without hindrance?"
"There are many old mountain paths, Galen, but only one crosses them into Archenland. The mountains are treacherous, but that is not our primary problem. Narnia's southern border is guarded by an extensive system of castles and forts linked by strong stone walls. In some places the walls have fallen into disrepair, but we cannot know where. Southton's southern gate must open directly onto the Southern Pass, and there is no way around it."
"I suppose we'd best be going on then, my friend," replied Galen.
"Indeed," agreed Aiolos, and the pair of travelers began the descent into the valley.
Unbeknownst to the young knight and his equine companion, their descent was observed from Southton's wall by a maille-clad man with cold, steely eyes.
Galen pulled his dark hood closer around his head and laid a hand to his sword hilt as they passed through the gate and into town. They continued at a brisk walk through the middle of the little city, passing many a shop and tavern from which yellow light and raucous laughter emanated.
What was really mere moments seemed endless ages of foreboding time to Galen. The road ended in a cul-de-sac—a dead end framed by houses. Here was the fatal error of their plan: Southton had no south gate. The Telmarines feared the wooded mountain slopes too much to build one, and Aiolos had assumed wrongly.
An ominous clang rang through the cold air—the north and only gate had been shut—an iron portcullis sealing the town and seemingly the two Narnians' fates as well.
Author's note: I am hoping to update by Thanksgiving, but with all the dreadful schoolwork and college applications and such, I can make no promises.
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