Author's Note: Well, I thought I had this chapter well along, but I suppose school had other ideas. My humble apologies, dear readers. I'll quit promising a schedule to which I cannot keep. As compensation, this chapter is extra-long. The longest chapter to date, actually. I do hope you enjoy it. I was going to break it into two chapters, but there really was not a good place to break it up. This was wonderful fun to write. I hope you, dear readers, enjoy it as much as I. I would love to hear what you think!
Updated Author's Note, Jan. 2022: Dear readers, I posted this chapter almost a decade ago, and the plot has since developed in a way that required certain non-negligible changes to this chapter and several that follow. For new readers, I hope you can look forward to a more internally coherent narrative as you read forward. For return readers, I have only to offer my apologies and assurance that plot cohesion did, in fact, require it.
Disclaimer: Narnia is certainly not mine. No copyright infringement is intended.
"When the Philistines captured the ark of God, they brought it from Ebenezer to Ashdod. Then the Philistines took the ark of God and brought it into the house of Dagon and set it up beside Dagon. And when the people of Ashdod rose early the next day, behold, Dagon had fallen face downward on the ground before the ark of the Lord."
1 Samuel 5:1-3
Chapter the Twenty-First: Power Revealed
10 Mayblossom 2076, Northwestern Calormen
By mid-day the party of knights reached the fork in the road and continued on the southwestern fork. The hills began to rise around them, the road snaking deeper into the valley. Finally, just as the sun began to dip below the western horizon, the knights turned a corner in the road and saw a long blue-green lake spread out in front of them. The vineyards on the hillsides became shrouded in shadow as the tops of the hills glowed as though the sunset had set them aflame. Trees surrounded the edges of the lake, and the Archenlanders and Narnian set up a camp of sorts in a little grove at the end and tended to the horses. From there they could see the sprawling manor house, glowing with light. The northerners could catch strains of curious flute music that floated on the air. Galen looked at it with foreboding—the manor seemed so beautiful, yet the very sight of it repulsed him.
"How should we attack?" Galen asked, looking towards Ayden. One look at the Archen prince's face could tell that he felt the same way as Galen towards the manor house. The Archenlander's jaw was set firmly and his eyes sparked with green flame. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword and he did not answer, instead fingering with his other hand the pommel of the second sword—his sister's—that he carried.
"They will most likely have too many soldiers for us to mount a direct attack. I recommend stealth, my lord," Sir Ferian advised, "We can leave the horses here and then circle around the house and infiltrate it silently."
"I agree," Sir Torban concurred, running a hand through his dark, messy hair before letting it rest on his sword hilt.
"Stealth is no stranger to me, Ayden," Galen interjected. "If the years in Narnia's woods have taught me anything they have taught me that. I recommend those of us with bows use them primarily instead of swords. We can better keep the element of surprise."
"Good," Ayden answered, shaking himself out of his reverie and focusing on the task at hand. "But we'll need to capture one alive to get Lyra's location in the house. How many others carry bows?"
Two other knights, Sirs Drenan and Ewan, raised their bows in reply.
"Good. Sir Galen, you will take point. Sir Ewan, behind him, and Sir Drenan, you will guard our backs," Ayden ordered. The knights nodded in reply. "As soon as it is quite dark, we will move out. Aiolos, will you be alright guarding our mounts?"
"Indeed, your highness. Horses are not renowned for their stealth," Aiolos chuckled. "I'll be sure your mounts will not forsake us."
"Thank you, good Horse," Ayden nodded.
The next half hour saw Galen and the Archenlanders fold up cloaks, string their bows, and ready their swords. After ensuring the water containers were filled from the lake and the horses were well-tethered to the trees, Ayden gave the order to advance.
"Aslan between you and danger, my friend," Aiolos said to Galen. Galen laid a hand on the Horse's neck and murmured his thanks.
"Are you sure you will you be alright here?"
"Now, young one, no time for that," the Horse cheerfully chided. "Your friend and the Knife await you."
Galen nodded, and turned back towards the manor house that spread out before them.
The knights moved out of the trees and toward the vineyard that spread out through the valley. The moon shone softly on them, the sliver of a crescent thankfully not too bright. Galen thought later that the landscape must have been beautiful, but in that moment, as the Narnian stepped carefully through the rows of grapevines, an arrow on the string, he could think on nothing else but the manor house and feel little else than the knot of apprehension, repulsion, and anger that settled in his heart. The Archen knights followed him, Sir Drenan and his bow at his heels. In a few minutes, the party left the vineyards behind and came upon the palace gardens. Galen paused a moment to survey the terrain before him—the garden's lovely plant life offered little cover, but up ahead a little ways stood a small tree.
"Aslan, help me," Galen fleetingly whispered (his focus returning to the task at hand) before motioning for the rest to remain crouched between the grapevine rows. He darted out from the cover of the grapevines and silently traversed the distance to the tree. Taking a position behind it, he scanned the area for guards and when he was sure it was safe, he motioned for the rest to follow. The tree was not large enough to provide cover for all ten knights, so as the rest moved one by one to the tree, Galen darted from the tree to the manor house wall, and one by one they followed until all stood pressed against the wall. The music was louder now, the sound of tambourine, drum, and flute mingling on the air. Galen edged towards the northwest corner of the house and peeked around it. Two Calormene soldiers stood just ahead, one on either side of the western entrance. The Narnian indicated this to Sir Ewan, then pulled the bow string back to his ear. He swiftly turned the corner and let the grey-fletched arrow fly. The arrow struck the farthest Calormene in the chest, and before the other soldier could sound the alarm, Sir Ewan had also turned the corner and loosed his string. The Archen arrow caught the nearest Calormene in the neck, and both fell to the ground with little sound save the reverberating hum of bowstrings.
The rest of the knights turned the corner as well, swords at the ready. There was no need, though, and Galen and Ewan moved towards the entrance as soon as they each held a new arrow on the string. The marble hallway before them was partly in shadow and looked deserted, so the Narnian stepped carefully inside.
No alarm sounded, and the northern knights began to silently progress down the hall.
Meanwhile, Lyra found herself walking towards the banquet hall on the south side of the manor house, arrayed in the dreadful Calormene dress. Several of the servants followed, and once outside the eastern wing, two guards took up positions directly behind her on either side and followed. Their boots echoed loudly on the floor as they walked, and that along with the faint jingle of chain mail made Lyra feel rather like she was being escorted to her execution instead of her wedding.
"It might as well be an execution," the Archenlander thought wryly, and the words she thought rang truer than their sarcasm belied.
From down the hallway she could hear the sound of a reedy flute and an assortment of small drums. Lyra continued to walk, and soon enough the hallway opened into a wide room that encompassed most of the southeast wing. The music was louder now, and she could see that the room was festively decorated with scarlet silk and gold. The guards took up positions at either side of the doorway as Lyra took a deep breath and entered. The room was full of noisy chatter as the overdressed persons within partook of the feast that lay on the tables that lined the room. A narrow aisle ran between the two rows of tables and along the aisle a group of skilled (but scantily clad, Lyra observed with a trifle of disdain) female dancers swayed to the intricate, twining rhythms of the drums and flute. A last table was settled at the top of the dais at the other end of the room, and there she could see Prince Karim, in all his pompous, feathered glory, sitting in a plush chair and thoroughly enjoying himself. The Archenlander stepped forward into the room, then stopped and crossed her arms.
"You call this a wedding? Little wonder Calormen is so disagreeable," she observed dryly, raising her voice so that it resonated off the walls and reached the ears of all present. Immediately the room went silent. The dancing girls quietly cleared the floor.
"Ah, my ice princess, you have come at last!" Karim exclaimed, jumping down from the dais and walking (Lyra thought it was more like prancing) towards her.
"I am here, foul prince, as you have asked. Release the servant Niusha."
"In time, delight-of-my-eyes, in time," he answered, reaching her. He snapped his fingers, and some sort of colorfully arrayed priest approached, accompanied by a servant with a tray which held the necklace offered to her earlier. The Calormene prince took the necklace from the tray and moved to fasten it around Lyra's neck. The Archenlander took a step back and pushed his hand away.
"I will accept nothing from you, most loathsome of creatures," she responded, eyes flashing.
"My dear Lyra," the prince stepped forward again, the corners of his mouth turned up in an all-too clever smirk, "you will accept it and everything it entails," he whispered, "or the servant girl will suffer most exquisitely. She has already endured the lash for your earlier stubbornness, but if you insist on protesting, I have but to nod to yonder soldier and I promise you, oh-delight-of-my-eyes, that were you in Tashbaan you would still be able to hear her screams."
Lyra glared at the prince silently, anger welling up inside her as she clenched her jaw. She reached out and took the necklace from Karim, fastening it around her neck herself.
The priest held a little censer which held of some sort of incense. This odd little vessel he waved once or twice before handing it to the servant.
"Prince Karim, do you wish to take this woman as your own?"
"Yes," the prince answered smugly.
"Then so be it," the priest returned.
"Wait!" Lyra exclaimed. "I want no part of this! What of my consent?"
"You have accepted the necklace-token, have you not?" The old priest asked pointedly.
"Not of my own volition!"
"It matters not insofar as a woman is concerned. You wear the token, that is sufficient," the priest answered with little effort, as though brushing away a bothersome fly.
He took Karim's hand by the wrist, palm upwards, in one of his hands and Lyra's hand in his other, laying her hand on top of the prince's.
"Rejoice, friends and subjects!" Karim exclaimed, turning towards those assembled, holding their joined hands above them both. "Behold, your princess!" A gong reverberated through the hall, then the music started anew as he walked back towards the dais. Once he was seated, he indicated Lyra's seat beside his and she took it.
The dancers returned and the steady drum rhythms and loud chatter began once more as the courtiers took to their meals. Quite a while passed as the Archenlander sat stiffly in her chair, eschewing the bounty of food laid out in front of her as anger coursed through veins.
It seemed there was little else to compose the Calormene wedding, and after a little while she began to examine alternatives. The hall was too crowded and the guard with Niusha's life in his hands too near for Lyra to attempt anything in the hall itself.
"Perhaps," thought she, "I have been approaching the escape wrongly. Subterfuge might prove a more fruitful endeavor."
The Archenlander raised her glass to her lips and pretended to drink.
"Perhaps this land is not without its pleasures," she observed loudly enough for Karim to hear.
"Has my fair ice princess finally thawed?" Karim asked with a smile.
"Perchance," Lyra replied, smiling slightly again. "I must admit that even Archenland does not contain such riches as you have displayed here, and the fruit of yonder vineyards is most distinctive."
"Ah, indeed, my love, my vineyards are beyond compare, and baubles to delight your womanish fancy you will not lack!"
"In truth?" Lyra replied, feigning interest while biting back the retort that came to mind. "Perhaps I was hasty indeed."
"My heart rejoices to hear your lips speak thusly, oh-the-delight of my eyes," declared Karim, with one hand stroking the side of her face.
It took the entirety of her strength to smile instead of pulling away. The prince returned to his food, and Lyra began to eat a little of hers. The celebration continued, and after a few minutes Lyra turned to Prince Karim.
"The evening is long, is it not, my lord?" She began, placing a light hand on the Calormene's arm. He inclined his head in agreement. "I find myself tiring of these festivities. Surely there are other pursuits to which we may devote the remainder of the evening," Lyra raised an eyebrow and smiled slyly.
For his part, the prince made no attempt to disguise the greed that lit his eyes as she spoke. "I thought you would never ask, my love," he replied, standing and offering his hand.
Lyra took it and stood, walking with Karim out of the banquet hall and towards the northern end of the palace. On the way, Karim beckoned a soldier to follow. Once they reached a particular hallway, the prince motioned for the soldier to stand guard.
"Emeth, make sure we are not disturbed."
"Of course, your highness," Emeth answered, but glanced toward Lyra, who nodded almost imperceptibly to him, indicating for him to remain where he was.
The prince turned into a large, lavishly appointed room, allowing Lyra to enter first. Karim shut the door, then turned around to face Lyra. However, the sight he expected was not the sight he saw. As he turned around, Lyra reached behind her shoulder and drew the throwing knife from the back of the dress. Before he could take a step or utter a word, the prince felt a sensation of fire explode in his chest, and he looked down to see Archen steel drawing an ever expanding crimson stain. He stumbled back and fell to the ground, the rich carpet beneath him quickly ruined.
Lyra quickly extricated herself from the Calormene dress in favor of the traveling clothes she wore beneath it. The Archenlander approached the prince and walked around him slowly. His eyes struggled to focus as his breathing became increasingly labored.
"How…?" He managed to choke out, eyes wide with fear.
"How could I do this to you?" Lyra supplied, voice as hard as the steel that she had thrown. She tore the Calormene necklace from her neck and dropped it on the floor, crushing it beneath her heel as she walked. Leaning over him, she pinned his arm down with her boot as her hand curled around the knife hilt. "You underestimated me too much, my lord," she answered. "I will never be yours," she growled, removing the knife sharply. The prince cried out in pain and then lay still.
Galen continued down the hallway, the Archenlanders close behind him. The Narnian stopped as the hallway opened into another corridor. A Calormene soldier stood guard to the right, as yet unaware of the imminent danger. The Archen party paused, and Galen looked towards Ayden in silent question. Ayden glanced at the soldier critically, then nodded to Galen. The Narnian proceeded to capture the soldier for the prince's questions.
"You move, you die," Galen stated with icy simplicity as he turned the corner and leveled his arrow at the Calormene's chest. Ewan turned the corner as well and stood with his back to Galen's, his arrow guarding the corridor's other side. Ayden and the other knights quickly surrounded the soldier and took up vantage points around the area. The Calormene's eyes went wide.
"Please spare me, bold northerners!"
"Pray tell, why should we do that?" Ayden asked with deadly calm, the tip of his sword resting at the base of the Calormene's throat.
"I...I can help you."
"Indeed?" Ayden replied coolly. "Name and rank," the Archen prince ordered tersely.
"Second lieutenant Emeth Tarkaan."
"Well, second lieutenant Emeth Tarkaan, I will ask you this once. Where is my sister?"
"With Prince Karim, your highness, there," Emeth hurriedly pointed.
"Reinald, kick in the door!" Ayden ordered the nearest knight sharply, eyes ablaze with green-flamed fury.
"I did not want to let her go with him, but she indicated for me to stay here."
Puzzlement mingled with the fury on Ayden's face. The hall reverberated with a dull thud as Sir Reinald struck the door near the knob. The door shuddered on its hinges, but did not break.
"What do you mean 'she indicated for you to stay here'?" Ayden pressed the sword more firmly, forcing Emeth to his knees.
"I...I was going to help her and one of her servants escape. Niusha and I have wanted to escape Calormen for years, and this seemed our best chance."
"Indeed," Ayden said suspiciously, more of a declaration of mistrust than a query. The Calormene met the Archenlander's gaze, silently begging him to believe him.
Reinald kicked the door again, and this time the lock gave way and the door flew open. The Archen knight hurried into the room, followed closely by Ayden and Galen.
"Sir Reinald?" Galen and Ayden heard a startled, familiar voice exclaim with relief from within the room.
The Archen knight had entered the room to see the person they had come to rescue poised to throw a knife towards his throat.
"My lady, it is a relief to see you unharmed," the dark-haired knight bowed, smiling as she lowered the knife. Ayden fairly pushed the knight out of the way as he rushed forward into the room.
"Lyra!" Ayden hurried to embrace his sister. "Thou art well?"
"Aye, brother, I am well," Lyra smiled. "I knew thou wouldst come."
"It is good to see you, Lyra," Galen smiled, grasping her forearm in the traditional handshake of warriors and of friends.
"A sight for sore eyes you are, the lot of you!" Lyra laughed. "I thought the palace soldiers were trying to break in the door."
"Come, let us be rid of this loathsome place!" Ayden exclaimed, practically pulling Lyra towards the door.
"Wait—Ayden, we need to find the Stone Knife," Galen interjected.
"The Stone Knife—what, that Calormene took it from Anvard?" Lyra asked, shocked.
"Aye," Ayden answered grimly. "Let's find that miserable excuse for a prince and beat its location out of him," the Archenlander growled.
"Erm...my lord?" Sir Reinald nudged Ayden and pointed towards the blood stained corner behind him. Ayden glanced impatiently in the direction the knight indicated, then turned quickly back towards his sister.
"Ah. Never mind. Good for you, sister!" Ayden smiled, the first Galen had seen cross the Archen prince's face since they left Anvard. Ayden leaned out the doorway and motioned for the rest of the Archenlanders to join them instead of remaining conspicuous in the hallway.
"Tear the room apart," Ayden ordered. "Find the Stone Knife, then we leave."
"What of this one?" The knight who held Emeth asked.
"Let him go, Sir Torban," Lyra instructed.
"My lady?" The knight looked at the princess quizzically.
"Then he has helped you as he claimed?" Ayden turned to his sister, who nodded.
"Aye, brother. He loves the servant girl Prince Karim assigned to attend me, and Emeth and Niusha have been invaluable in helping plan our escape."
"Good," Ayden nodded. "Then we need only collect the servant girl—Niusha you said her name is?—and begone."
"Ah, there's the rub, brother," Lyra shook her head. "That pitiful excuse for a prince lacked a great deal, but one thing he did well enough was use a weakness to his advantage. He realized that I cared what happened to Niusha—'tis a long story, but in short I kept her from receiving unjust punishment—and he threatened her to coerce my cooperation. I do not know where she is being held."
As she spoke, Galen noticed Emeth blanch. Lyra noticed it as well.
"I am sorry Emeth," the Archen princess spoke. "Do you know where Niusha might be?"
"Did the prince say anything about her before he died?" The Calormene asked in a soft voice.
"Earlier in the banquet hall he threatened to torture her. He said he had already had her beaten," Lyra answered, an angry undercurrent surging beneath her steady tones.
Emeth looked down briefly, and when he looked back to the northern warriors in front of him his eyes were hard and determined.
"Then she is probably being held in the dungeons. I am going to get her out," he turned toward the door, hand on his scimitar hilt.
"Not by yourself," Lyra laid a hand on his arm to stop him. "We will not leave without her," she reassured him.
"I little think it wise to tarry here," Ayden grew impatient. "Galen, is the Stone Knife here?"
"We cannot find it anywhere," Galen answered disappointedly.
"Aye, we've torn the room apart," Sir Glynan, a fiery haired youth (who was normally quite jovial) answered. His older brother Sir Glyn stood beside him, equally empty-handed.
"Prince Karim was very proud of the Stone Knife," Emeth interjected. "He boasted a great deal of his conquest, but I do not know where he kept it. The prince had a secret hideaway somewhere in the palace where he would often disappear for hours on end. It is rumored he kept his most special weapons and prizes of conquest there. No one but the prince's closest advisor, the fearsome man who carries out all of his orders, would know where it is."
"Where is this advisor?" Galen asked.
"I do not know. I did not see him at the banquet."
"We'll find this advisor, but first, let us free Niusha!" Lyra insisted.
"I agree. We are yet on borrowed time," Sir Ferian grimly concurred.
Galen took up his bow and laid an arrow to the string, as did Sir Ewan.
"Which way is the dungeon?" Galen asked Emeth, who indicated that he should turn to the left.
The Archenlanders and Narnian moved forward as before, stealthily gaining vantage points as they moved throughout the corridor, the Narnian arrow-tip pointing the way.
They paused for a moment as Galen and Ewan made sure the cross-corridor was clear.
"I almost forgot!" Ayden exclaimed (albeit in whispered tones). Lyra looked at him quizzically as he removed a scabbard from his sword-belt. "I believe you dropped this, sister," he smiled.
The Archen princess took her sword from her brother's hand and smiled in return, the sword finding its rightful place in her hand again.
The party continued to move down the corridor, soon reaching the cross-corridor that ran around the southern side of the manor.
"Now where?" Ayden asked.
"Follow this corridor east. There will be a stairwell on the left. It leads down to the lower level: the soldiers' mess, armory, and the dungeons.
"Soldiers' mess and armory?" Sir Glynan exclaimed. "Lion's mane! Could you've picked a harder target? Perhaps you'd like us to raid Tashbaan's treasure tower while we're at it!"
"Nay, brother," Sir Glyn answered, an impish grin playing with the corners of his lips. "We're leaving you that job."
The rest of the knights chuckled. Galen and Ewan looked out into the south corridor, and Galen promptly motioned for silence. He could see the stairwell to the lower level, but two Calormene soldiers stood guard on either side.
"I can get them to leave," Emeth volunteered.
"No," Ayden replied tersely, holding up his hand to halt the eager Calormene. The Archenlander did not harbor an overabundance of trust for their newfound companion.
Ayden instead nodded to Ewan, who turned the corner swiftly and let his arrow fly. The projectile caught the furthest Calormene in the chest and felled him without a sound. His companion turned towards the intruders, but before he could draw his sword, Galen's arrow left him lifeless as well.
The party quickly advanced into the stairwell. Ayden nodded indicated to four of the knights—Drenan, Torban, Marin, and Reinald to hide the Calormenes in the shadowed alcove beside the stairs. Galen silently took each step, his arrow at the ready. At the base of the stairwell he could see dim torchlight spill onto the last sandstone step, illuminating the worn stone floor beneath him. The Narnian peered around the corner. A corridor spread out in front of him, and although the corridor itself was deserted, he could hear raucous laughter and the clatter of dishes coming from the doorway to the right. The doorway to the left must have been the armory, Galen thought, because a curved Calormene scimitar hung above the door. At the northern end of the corridor Galen could see a heavy iron door.
"The door at the end there is the entrance to the dungeon," Emeth whispered. "We can get to it without being seen. The door to the soldiers' mess is always closed, and no one much cares to go down in the dungeon without a reason."
Galen nodded, then motioned for the rest of the Archenlanders to follow. Galen and Ewan made sure to step silently as they snuck past the two doors. Galen could feel his heart in his throat as they moved past the doorway to the soldiers' mess. A loud burst of laughter startled the Narnian for the barest moment, but no one exited and Galen and Ewan reached the dungeon door unobserved. The other Archenlanders followed, trying to keep silent as well. Although they were not as quiet, the Calormene soldiers in the next room paid whatever footsteps they heard no mind.
The dungeon door was set within a convenient little alcove that provided adequate cover for the knights. Galen put a hand to the door handle a pulled. It was not locked, but the stiff hinges protested with a squeal, and for a moment the northern knights held their breaths. As soon as he could, Galen ducked inside, Lyra, Ayden and the rest of the knights behind them. Ewan, however, stayed within the alcove to keep watch, hiding imperceptibly in the shadows.
Once inside the door, six steps lead down to the dirty, sunken room. Torches flickered from their wall-sconces, casting an eery light over the room. Galen felt thoroughly unsettled, his heart becoming heavy and withdrawing within himself, so strong was the sense of evil that pervaded the dungeon. Lyra stepped close behind him, her sword poised to attack. One glance at her face told Galen that she could feel the same evil emanating from the room.
The room dropped off into a main corridor lined with several heavy doors with strong locks. At the end of the corridor, however, more torches flickered and the hallway seemed to open into a workspace of some sort, with several benches of neatly laid out tools (although what exactly the tools were, Galen could not make out). The knights started a moment as they began to hear a voice: a voice of such a weaselly tone it would otherwise have been comical, but the thin, nasal tone held a sinister edge.
"I really rather hope that the barbarian princess continues to vex his highness, my dear," the voice declared with a dry laugh. "I always relish the opportuity to practice my favorite pastime."
A rough screech, the sound of steel being sharpened, punctuated the last phrase.
Lyra's was not the only countenance crossed by horror.
"That's him: Prince Karim's vizier, Tamarak," Emeth whispered, eyes wide with fear.
The knights hurried to take up defensive positions while Lyra and Emeth rushed forward, Ayden and Galen directly behind them.
"What is this! I gave orders not to be disturbed except for the prince's messenger!" The owner of the voice exclaimed as Emeth came around the corner. His frustration quickly turned to fear as Lyra took the man by surprise, forcing him to the ground with a well-aimed kick and holding the tip of her blade at his throat.
"The prince is dead," Lyra snarled venomously. "Keep silent or you will join him."
"Niusha!" Emeth exclaimed, hurrying towards the other end of the room.
Galen looked up and saw a pitiful figure curled up in the corner, secured to the wall with heavy chains. The back of the tunic she was wearing was shredded and stained with blood. He looked around, and the realization of the room's purpose made the Narnian's stomach turn.
"Emeth?" a small voice asked.
"Yes, my love, I am here," Emeth answered as he put an arm around her and stroked her forehead.
"Keys," Lyra demanded tersely, pressing the tip of her sword more forcefully to the vizier's throat. Tamarak managed to point to a heavy ring of keys that hung from a hook on the wall.
Lyra snatched the keys from the wall and sheathed her sword, hurrying to unlock the cruelly heavy manacles. The vizier would have tried to escape, but Torban and Ayden quickly leveled their swords at him and he thought the better of it.
Throwing the chains away, Lyra helped Niusha to sit up, but the servant girl cried out.
"Niusha, what happened? What did he do?"
"The lash, my lady," she answered, taking a shuddering breath and relaxing in Emeth's arms. "The prince was very angry you would not voluntarily accept his hand. Out of spite, he ordered that the punishment you kept him from carrying out in Archenland be executed."
"Niusha, I am so sorry," the Archenlander took the girl's hand. "He'll never do anything to you or anyone else ever again," her eyes hardened as she spoke, and for a moment a thick pause settled over the dungeon.
"Where is the Stone Knife?" Galen demanded of the Calormene at the end of his sword.
"I do not know," the vizier whined pitifully.
"Ayden, do you have any water?" Lyra asked her brother, who promptly tossed her the container he carried. As yet, the other Archenlanders had not spoken, but the heavy silence they kept spoke volumes as to the disgust and horror they felt for what had befallen the servant girl.
"Can you walk?" Lyra asked Niusha after helping her drink.
"I think so."
"Good. We'll not stay here another minute," the Archen princess declared.
As she spoke, suddenly deep bells began tolling, breaking the silence of the night.
"They must have discovered some of our handiwork," Galen fingered his bow.
"We need to leave now!" Ayden urgently declared.
Sir Ewan ducked into the dungeon from outside.
"The Calormenes are mustering upstairs. This floor is swarming with soldiers. They are not coming here yet, but I do not know how long that will last."
"For the last time, where is the Stone Knife?" Galen demanded again.
"I'll not tell a barbarian. You could walk right past it and not even know," Tamarak sneered, finding his arrogance with the sound of the warning bells.
Galen paced towards the other wall in frustration, praying for Aslan to help him find it.
"Vizier Tamarak!" A loud knock sounded on the outer iron door. "Vizier Tamarak! Prince Karim and several soldiers are dead! The manor is under attack!"
"They're here! Help!" Tamarak managed to yell before Ayden relieved him of the ability to ever do so again.
"Soldiers of the Tisroc to arms, may he live forever!" The group could hear the battle cry let loose upon the air.
Ewan had managed to lock the door, but the soldiers outside began to pound it down.
"Take defensive positions!" Ayden ordered, and the knights fell back, taking the most protected positions.
"Galen, look!" Lyra suddenly exclaimed, pointing to his sword.
Then Narnian looked down and was startled: the sapphires that encircled the pommel glowed with blue light, the same blue light as the Stone Knife's pommel had glowed the day of the siege at Anvard.
"What could this mean?" Lyra asked.
"The light grows more intense when the sword moves closer to the wall," Galen observed.
The iron door shuddered as the Calormenes struck it once more. Then, a shout bade the attackers cease. The spare key had been retrieved from the guardhouse.
"They're going to be swarming in here in a moment! Is there any way out of this death trap?" Ayden asked, directing his question to Emeth.
"Ayden, I may have found the prince's hideaway. The Stone Knife must be behind this wall! Perhaps there is a way out from there," Galen interjected.
"Then I encourage you to find it, and quickly," the Archen prince responded, turning his eyes to the dungeon door and joining the other knights.
"Emeth, Niusha, come over here, quickly!" Lyra ordered. Emeth helped Niusha stand and they did as Lyra instructed.
The distinctive creak of iron hinges rent the air, and Calormene soldiers rushed through the entrance. Ewan and Drenan took to their bows and struck down seven before the Archen knights were force to join battle. Clashes of steel meeting steel filled the air, together with the cries of the newly wounded.
To Galen's relief, those cries came from unfamiliar voices. The Narnian knight brought his sword hilt closer to the wall and ran it along the wall until the jewels reached their brightest.
"It must be here! Lyra, help me find the opening."
The pair felt along the stones, tapping here and there.
"Galen! We need to get out of here!" Ayden's voice rang urgently, accompanied by the ever-present ring of steel. "We are losing ground!"
"Here!" Galen exclaimed, pointing to a thin metal strip that protruded from the space between two bricks. He pushed it upwards, and they heard a distinctive click. A moment later, the section of the east wall pivoted inwards, revealing another room.
"Fall back!" Lyra shouted. The Archen knights hurried to obey, yielding ground readily to the onslaught of Calormenes. Lyra made sure Niusha and Emeth were through the doorway, then waved Ewan and Glynan through. One by one, the rest of the Archen knights ducked through the doorway, until only Ayden, Lyra, and Galen held them back.
"Push the door closed!" Ayden ordered.
"I'm not leaving you here!" Lyra countered as she slashed at the nearest Calormene.
"You don't have to!"
Lyra looked at her brother, then pulled Galen through the door with her. Drenan and Glyn began to push the door closed, and just before it shut, Ayden slipped through.
"That will hold them at least a moment," Ayden wiped perspiration from his brow.
Galen looked around a moment. The room in which they found themselves was covered in rich tapestries, gold, and plush furniture. The walls were lined with various weapons, paintings, and jewels: Prince Karim's prizes of conquest. At the center of the room, a grotesque gilded statue lay on the floor beside a tall pedestal. The pedestal's edge was a deep reservoir of oil that fed small lamps built into each corner. The flickering flames threw ominous light and shadow through the room. The sculpture had evidently fallen from the pedestal. Galen looked closely to observe the statue's skeletal body and hideous vulture's head, which lay face down. Four arms with cruel talons curled around its body—a great feat for some Calormene sculptor. Galen stared at it intently; the image invoked a deep sense of evil in the depths of his spirit, even prostrate on the floor.
"Tash," Ferian explained, distaste evident in his voice. Nearby, the Archen prince paced nervously.
"That door will not hold them for long. Find a way out of this place!" Ayden ordered at last.
Galen hastened his search for the Stone Knife. After several fruitless moments, he stopped and looked back at the statue of Tash lying on the ground. It lay on its face, as though bowing before the North wall. With sudden inspiration, he rushed to inspect the series of unlit display cabinets on the North wall. In the third one from the left, Galen found the Stone Knife's carved box. Holding his breath anxiously, he lifted the cover to find the Knife still nestled in age-old blue velvet. With a sigh of relief, Galen made sure the Knife case was fastened securely before tucking it in his bag. He stole one last glance at the evil statue on the floor. Even the idols of Aslan's enemies could not help but acknowledge His power.
"Here!" Sir Marin called. He had found an ornate wooden door on the west wall. The Archen knight opened it, revealing a spiraling stairwell.
"Galen, take point!" Ayden ordered, and the Narnian began to ascend the stairwell, Ewan, Lyra, and their Calormene companions behind him.
After ascending several flights, the stairwell ended in another door. Galen carefully opened it and found himself in Prince Karim's closet, which was still a disaster area from when they had torn it apart looking for the Knife. The Narnian motioned for the others to follow him quietly, and he made his way out of the closet (they had been so close earlier, Galen thought with frustration) and into the spacious suite of rooms that used to belong to Calormen's fourth prince. Keeping an arrow on the string, he peered around the corner. The prince's body was now lying on the bed, covered in a silken sheet and two soldiers stood outside the door. Galen drew the fletching to his ear and let the arrow fly. It struck the soldier on the right and he fell with barely a cry. The other turned around, drawing his scimitar, and charged into the room. Galen did not hesitate to let fly another, and the Calormene dropped to the richly patterned rug, ruining it for the second time that evening.
"Here they come! Move!" Sir Ferian ordered from the back of the room, indicating the Calormenes had found their way into Karim's hideaway.
Galen and the other Archenlanders needed no further prompting. They ran quickly back the way they had entered the palace, ceasing not until they stood in the moonlight outside the west entrance.
"Where are the stables?" Lyra asked Emeth.
"Just around that corner," he pointed to the west. "I hid the provisions for the journey nearby."
"Good. Follow me," she instructed, looking towards Galen. The Archenlander silently traversed the distance between the palace wall and the stable wall, and in a short space of time, the entire party stood behind her.
"Drenan, Marin, Ewan, Reinald, and Ferian, go ahead of us and get the horses ready. Lyra, Nuisha—go with them. We will follow promptly," Ayden ordered. Lyra began to protest, but Ayden's stern look brooked no argument this time. Lyra assented and quickly embraced her elder brother, then led Nuisha away with the knights. They disappeared into the shadows of the vineyards within seconds.
Ayden and Glyn ducked into the stable, while the others took up concealed positions. They reappeared in a short while leading two Calormene horses.
"Torban, would you kindly arrange for a distraction?" said Ayden, and Torban grinned. He ducked into the stable and in a moment the horses began to stampede out. After they were gone, Torban tossed a torch into the hay, and flames began to quickly lick up the sides of the stable.
As the Archenlanders were busy watching Torban's mischief-making, Galen was watching the other side of the stable. Unbeknownst to him, a Calormene soldier, scimitar at the ready, turned the south corner. Just as the Calormene was about to swing, Galen spun around and parried the blow. The Calormene kicked Galen savagely, and the Narnian fell to the ground, with a silent prayer pleading Aslan to give him strength. The Calormene landed a second blow, but the third time Galen rolled out of the way and regained his footing. However, his satchel still lay in the dust, the mahogany corner of the Stone Knife box peeking out. Galen struck towards the Calormene, but the soldier parried and took the opportunity to give the box a mighty kick, propelling it into the air to Galen's horror. The Narnian disengaged his blade from the Calormene's and ran to catch it, diving under the soldier's scimitar. Just as the scimitar swung above Galen's head, the box fell to the ground and the latch fell open. Galen reached out, catching the ancient blade as it slid from its velvet resting place. The soldier swung his scimitar again, and Galen parried the blow. As he did so, a hand on the hilt of his sword and a hand on the hilt of the Stone Knife, the jewels on both pommels came alive with blue light. The light radiated between the Stone Knife's pommel and the pommel of Galen's sword, in the whisper of a second creating a pulse of light that radiated out, striking the Calormene and leaving him lying motionless in the dirt. As suddenly as the light pulse emerged it ceased.
Galen blinked in shock, then picked himself out of the dirt and carefully placed the Stone Knife back in its box and picked up his bow and satchel. Turning around, he stopped short when he saw his companions' faces. Ayden and the remaining Archen knights paused mid-stride, staring with wide eyes. Emeth was truly terrified.
"Come on," Galen broke the spell, and the Archenlanders hurried to retreat to the vineyards with the extra horses. Flames fully engulfed the stable now, and the Calormene soldiers were too preoccupied dealing with it to notice several figures retreating into the vineyards. None too soon for Galen, they reached the grove of trees where their fellows and the horses waited.
"Let's be off! For Archenland and the north!" Ayden exclaimed, reaching for his mount's reins.
"A moment, my lord," a strained voice pleaded.
Everyone turned to see Glynan supporting himself with an arm on his horse's saddle, his breathing labored.
"Glynan?" His brother hastened to his side.
"I just need a moment," Glynan panted, but Glyn threw his brother's arm over his shoulders and supported the younger knight's side as his knees weakened and he collapsed to the ground.
"My lady," Glyn looked up at Lyra with wide eyes. She hastened to the knight's side. In the moon's wan light, she could just make out a dark stain on his slashed leather tunic and the shirt beneath. She examined the injury as best she could in the near darkness.
"This is a scimitar wound; I don't know how serious," she spoke at last.
"Bind it up and let's go," Glynan panted. Lyra set her jaw grimly, silently taking the roll of bandages Sir Reinald offered.
"Hold on, Glynan, you'll be alright," Glyn reassured his brother gently as the princess tightly bound the wound, but the tremor in his voice belied his optimistic words.
"Done." Lyra spoke.
"Let's be off," Ayden answered quietly. "Before they recover their horses and pursue us."
The wounded Archen knight managed to get his feet under him for a moment as his brother helped him up. Once on his horse, Glynan breathed in relief, steeling himself for the journey ahead.
"For Archenland and the North," Ayden repeated solemnly.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! I would be even more delighted if you would leave a review on the way out! :)
Up Next: For Archenland and the North.