Author's note: I am very sorry for the delay, dear readers. Summer ends in a week and this is only the second update since it began. At any rate, the LSAT is well behind me, the law school applications coming along, so a last weekend before summer ends seemed the ideal time to knock out a chapter. I hope you enjoy it, and I would love to hear your feedback!
Update, Jan. 2022: In the almost decade since I posted this chapter, the plot has evolved in a way that required non-negligible changes to the previous chapter and this one. For new readers, I hope you can look forward to a more coherent narrative. For old readers, my deepest apologies and assurances that the changes are necessary.
The usual disclaimers apply.
Chapter the Twenty-Second: For Archenland and the North
11 Mayblossom 2076, Somewhere in the Calormene Desert
Sand swirled beneath the pounding hooves as the fiery sun glared unyieldingly. The Narnian tried to avert his eyes, but no matter where he looked the brightness overwhelmed him, seeming to even hang in the air with an oppressive shimmer. Mount Pire's forked peak rose from the far-off horizon, dusky purple against the azure sky.
The north-bound party had ridden all night from the Valley of the Three Lakes, making haste towards home. At dawn the group had reached the outskirts of Calormen, where they rested at the crest of the last hill before the desert sand began. As they paused and the northerners' new companions looked their last on their homeland, sharp-eyed Sir Ferian saw the dust flurries kicked up by five horses at a hard gallop on the road below. Five of Prince Karim's officers had followed them, hindered by the time required to retrieve the scattered horses. The flash of dawn light off spiked helmets chilled the hearts of the two Calormenes in the company, ever fearful of finding their new freedom taken from them.
"They have come to take us back," Niusha had whispered, dread evident in her voice.
"Nay, miss," Sir Marin answered her grimly, his hand on his sword hilt, "they have come to avenge their prince."
"I am afraid we shall have to disappoint them," Sir Drenan grinned as he fitted an arrow to his bowstring. Ewan and Galen similarly seized their bows and set nock to string. The Calormene soldiers had come nearer, urging their horses faster as they foolishly pursued death in payment for death. As they had charged the base of the hill, all three archers had drawn the grey-fletched shafts to their ears, corrected their aim, and let the deadly points fly. Three Calormene horses had suddenly become riderless, and the two remaining quickly joined their fellows at the sharp end of an Archen arrow. The party had wasted no time in turning back to the North.
Now, after hours in the scorching heat, Galen wryly noted that his excitement to finally leave Calormen turned dull with the blindingly golden expanse of sand that now spread all around him.
As the sun began to finally move towards the western horizon, the inviting sight of palm trees rose from the desert. They returned at last to the oasis.
"We have done well, my friends. Let us rest for the time being," Ayden declared as the horses finally came to a wearied stop and began to drink deeply from the spring beneath the palms. Sir Glyn dismounted quickly and aided his brother, who tumbled weakly from the saddle.
"How are you faring, my friend?" Galen asked after his fellow Narnian had quenched his thirst.
"I shall be glad to be out of this sand," Aiolos replied wearily, and Galen nodded, sitting on a rock beside the spring.
"Forgive me for causing you such hardship," the young knight looked up at the Horse contritely. Aiolos smiled.
"Galen, I chose to join you, and it is my honor to continue to do so."
"Thank you." Galen said simply, but earnestly. He looked out towards the east, where silver Aravir shone brightly in the dusky lavender sky, then stood and joined the others.
Most of the Archen knights clustered beneath a large palm tree, partaking of the simple fare they had with them. Nearby, Glynan rested limply on his brother's shoulder, his breaths labored.
"How are you faring, my friend?" Lyra inquired gently, kneeling at his side.
"I've—I've been better, your highness," Glynan struggled to answer her.
Lyra held a hand to his forehead—it burned with a heat not of the desert's making.
"He's taken some water, my lady, but not as much as he needs, I fear," Glyn worried to her.
"Keep giving him a little at time," she answered. "But first, let's see that wound before we lose the light."
She gently lifted the tunic and unwrapped the bandages swathing the knight's torso. Her heart sank as she observed the wound, but she said nothing and did her best to clean and re-bandage it. The wounded knight shuddered as she worked, clenching his brother's hand tightly but uttering no sound. By the time she finished, sleep or unconsciousness claimed him, but he breathed more easily.
"Let him rest, Glyn," Lyra instructed. "I'll bring you some water and cloth. Best to tend his fever while we can."
The Archen knight nodded, easing his sleeping brother down to rest in his arms.
"My lady," Glyn asked solemnly when she returned with the promised items, "will he live?"
"Only Aslan knows," Lyra hesitated.
"But you doubt it," Glyn finished grimly. The princess nodded sorrowfully.
"Thank you, your highness," the knight responded solemnly as he turned his attention to laving his sleeping brother's feverish brow.
Lyra withdrew quietly and pulled Ayden aside. The Archen prince held his weary head in his hands when he learned of Glynan's condition.
"I wish there was more I could do," Lyra whispered remorsefully.
"You have done your best," Ayden patted her shoulder. "Now go—he is not your only patient."
Lyra nodded, then made her way towards the two Calormenes beneath another tree nearby.
"How do you fare, my friends?" She managed to feign a cheerful smile.
"I am well, your highness," Emeth answered, "but I fear Niusha is in pain."
"It is fine, Emeth," the serving girl chided, averting her eyes from the princess.
"I am a fair healer if you'll let me help," Lyra encouraged gently. The Calormene girl nodded at last.
As the twilight deepened, Galen left the rest and began to wander the oasis. He could see Lyra sitting beneath another tree nearby tending to Niusha's injuries. The Calormene handmaid rested her head on her folded arms, which leaned against the rock in front of her, and bit her lip to keep silent as the Archenlander cleaned and bandaged the stripes left by the vizier's lash. Emeth sat a little ways off from the rest, his countenance melancholy. The Calormene soldier looked off towards the east and the ever-purpling sky. Galen joined the Calormene as he slowly ate.
"I always love to watch the dusk," Galen remarked. "See, Aravir's sisters begin to join her, now, in the dance they have stepped since time began," the Narnian smiled, looking off towards the east where other stars indeed sparkled beside the Lady of Evening.
"The last time I watched the dusk was many years ago. I did not realize how much I missed it," Emeth replied softly.
"You seem troubled, friend," Galen turned towards him.
"I cannot bear to see Niusha hurt," Emeth answered, wrapping his arms around himself. "When I think of what she must have endured in that dungeon—," the once-Calormene shuddered and turned his eyes back toward the eastern sky.
"There was not a one of us whose heart did not grow cold as we understood what had befallen her. Worry not, though. With Lyra to tend her, all will be well."
"I wanted to stay with Niusha and help her, but I think I must have gotten in the way because the Princess shooed me away with orders to go eat something."
The Narnian chuckled.
"The gods have blessed you, giving you as home a land where freedom is held a virtue, not a topic to be scorned," Emeth spoke in a more serious tone. "I have been a soldier in the Tisroc's (may he live forever) army since I was old enough to hold a scimitar. Such is required of every tarkaan's lesser sons, and even though I did not want to fight, I had no choice. You and others of your land (as I have seen), on the other hand, fight because it is your choice, because you wish to serve the nation you love and wish to preserve the freedom that enables you to do so. You and the other knights even acknowledge Niusha politely in passing despite her servant's rank. I have long dreamed of a land so free, but cannot help but feel that now I am without a home," the Calormene continued quietly. As Galen listened, he looked out towards the ever-starrier sky, then looked down as Emeth finished.
"My land is not as free as you imagine," Galen responded after a moment's pause. "I am not of Archenland but of Narnia. Yes, my people consider freedom a virtue, but it is a virtue beyond their country's grasp as she suffers at the point of Telmar's sword. I only wish I could fight for Narnia's freedom."
"Then we are both without homes," Emeth observed.
"Perhaps. But Archenland has been good to me. It may not be the home that calls my heart, but freedom does flourish there." Galen paused a moment. "If I may ask, what have you dreamed of doing with freedom?"
Emeth smiled a little. "I have dreamed of peace, of laying down my scimitar and never taking it up again. I have dreamed of making a home for myself, where I could be my own person and rank would not matter. I want to choose what to do with my life, and I want to choose the person with whom I share it regardless of their family or mine."
"Then you will indeed find that for which you wish, friend," Galen smiled. "In Archenland those goals are not lofty."
As they spoke, the moon began to rise up into the night's black velvet curtain with its sprinkling of diamonds.
Laughter echoed through the night air, and Galen looked behind them. Beneath several of the palm trees the rest of the knights, as well as Lyra and Niusha, were resting and talking cheerfully.
Galen and Emeth joined them as their laughter subsided.
"There you are! You missed the amusing tale Sir Torban was just telling us," Ayden greeted.
"A pity, indeed," Galen replied with a smile. "How are you faring, miss?" Galen asked Niusha.
The Calormene girl looked up and smiled. "Much better, sir, thank you."
"I am glad to hear that."
Just as Galen finished speaking, Lyra suddenly gasped. All heads turned inquiringly.
"How could I have forgotten!" The princess exclaimed. "Brother, tell me Juliana is still at Anvard."
"I would think so, sister. When we left, she was being escorted to," Ayden paused, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "less comfortable quarters."
"So you discovered her treachery?" Lyra asked with urgency.
"It was really Galen who found her out," Ayden grinned, and the rest of the knights could not help laughing. Lyra smiled quizzically.
"We were all just minding our business, trying to organize an appropriate rescue party," Sir Ewan began, "when Galen, face as dark as a thundercloud, drags Lady Juliana into the Great Hall by the scruff of the neck, that monster boot dagger of his behind her ear, and dumps her on the floor in front of the king and queen."
Laughter once again filled the little oasis.
"Oh, I wish I could have seen it!" Lyra gasped with laughter. "Galen, how did you know?"
The Narnian, for his part, had turned beet red. "Juliana was entirely too smug for her own good. Not to mention that wearing an emerald engraved with Prince Karim's standard was not the best of ideas," Galen at last smiled.
"She never was very bright when it came to anything beyond manipulation," Lyra scoffed. "I am so glad she was not allowed the opportunity to escape."
"When we return to Anvard, I think she would prefer her current quarters, where Galen and his boot dagger are separated from her by sturdy iron bars," Drenan remarked with a smile, and again the party laughed with mirth.
By this time the moon had risen to cast a silver glow over the sand, and Sir Ferian glanced at Ayden, who promptly understood the knight's meaning.
"Friends, we need to depart within the half-hour," the Archen prince announced. "We had best take advantage of the cool evening to make headway against this desert. However, we left in such haste that I have sorely neglected my courtesy. Niusha, Emeth, we welcome you into our company," Ayden turned to the Calormenes and bowed. "I thank you for your service to my sister. You will be most welcome in the Kingdom of Archenland."
One by one the Archen prince introduced the knights that accompanied them, each bowing in turn and biding their new friends a hearty welcome. Niusha and Emeth both were greatly surprised that anyone, much less the heir to Archenland's throne, would deign to show them any courtesy, a courtesy which they shyly returned.
That accomplished, the company packed up, mounted their horses, and began the journey anew.
12 Mayblossom 2076
The Archen-bound party traveled slower in the cool starry night, letting the wearied horses set a comfortable pace. Although fatigue left none untouched, with each hour the mountains seemed to grow closer. Sir Glyn rode close beside his wounded brother, supporting him as he passed in and out of consciousness. The morning dawned bright, and with the sun the human travelers dismounted and began to walk in order to spare the horses. Fortunately, Glynan's horse endured despite not receiving the same relief. In this manner they traveled without ceasing, but the time seemed to wear on, especially for the wounded knight and his brother. However, just after midday, the sand began to slope upwards and taper off into dirt. The group crested the scrub-covered hill and looked down to the green valley below to see the broad ribbon of the Winding Arrow River snaking towards the sea beside Archenland's southern forest.
"If I may ask, may I have a moment?" Emeth requested of Ayden with slight timidity. The Archen prince nodded in return.
The Calormene turned back towards the desert sand, walking until his boots displaced the sand in soft drifts. Emeth then drew his scimitar and held the curved blade towards the ground. Pausing the barest moment to let his gaze linger on the bright goldenness of the South, he drove the scimitar into the sand until it was buried up to the hilt. He unfastened the scabbard from his belt and dropped it beside the scimitar. Turning towards the North, Emeth smiled slightly, standing a little taller, and returned up the hill, turning his back to the land he had once called home.
As the party prepared to cross the final stretch of foreign land before the Archen border, a commotion to the rear of the column stopped them. Glynan fell at last from his horse, collapsing into his brother's arms.
"Your highness, surely you can do something!" Glyn cried desperately as he cradled his younger brother.
Lyra kneeled beside them, reaching for the bandages, but Glynan stopped her hand with his own.
"No, my lady," he struggled to whisper. Blinking sluggishly, he made himself meet her eyes, where tears began to pool. "I know there is nothing you can do," he breathed raggedly. "This is not your fault."
He paused and his eyelids fluttered with exhaustion. His sovereign grasped his hand.
"To die in your service is my great honor, your highness," he whispered, "but I beg you, do not let me die on foreign soil within sight of Archenland."
Lyra's face hardened with resolve, and she pressed his hand.
"We must ford the river at once!" She ordered, standing.
Glyn struggled to his feet with his mortally wounded brother in his arms, taking slow, steady strides towards the river that marked the border of Archenland. His tears flowed freely. Their companions followed closely, solemn sorrow written on their faces. The horses stopped to drink deeply as they came to the wide, shallow ford. Ayden and several of the knights joined Glyn to help carry their dying friend across the river. Once across, they laid him gently on the soft, green Archen grass on the northern riverbank. The rest of the party followed, leading the horses. Aiolos, Niusha, and Emeth kept the horses close, leaving the knights free to pay their respects before the end.
Archenland's prince knelt beside the dying knight, who, supported in his brother's arms, fondly stroked the long, vibrant Archen grass with his left hand.
"Thank you," he grasped Glynan's right hand tightly.
The wounded knight smiled as he looked glassily on his sovereign and friend. Contentment reflected in his countenance.
"May Aslan welcome you to His fair country," Ayden spoke thickly. Then he stood, moving to the side. The other knights bade their farewells quickly, then joined their leader in giving the last moments to his brother alone.
Sir Glyn held his brother close, and the knights did not hear what words they exchanged. After a moment, Glyn bowed his head and kissed his brother's brow, weeping freely. The knights approached once more, kneeling beside their fallen friend and resting strong hands on his brother's shoulders. Close by, Ayden embraced his sister as she wept.
A little ways off, Emeth and Niusha bowed their heads respectfully as they paused from tending the horses.
A moment passed between them in heavy silence before Emeth turned to the young woman beside him.
"Niusha, I must ask you something. Life is too fleeting to hesitate a moment more," he spoke earnestly.
"Of course," she nodded.
"The first time I met you, I awoke to find you tending my wounds from a battle with the western outlaws. The moment you looked at me, with such a reassuring smile, my heart belonged to you. I cannot imagine a moment without you." Emeth paused a moment, looking down. "I have nothing of worth, and am no one of worth. I do not even have a land to call home. I cannot promise you the moon and stars as others would. Indeed, I cannot promise anything save that I love you, and that I will unfailingly stand beside you. Now that we are free, if you will permit me, I would humbly beg the honor of becoming your husband," Emeth spoke softly, a tremor in his voice as he held out his hand.
Tears shone in Niusha's eyes as he spoke, and when he had finished she looked up at him and took the hand he offered.
"I have never wanted the moon, my love," she smiled, embracing him. "I have only ever wanted to be with you."
Emeth smiled for the first time since he had left Calormen, and held Niusha close. She tensed as he returned her embrace, her painful reminders of Calormen still not fully healed.
"I'm so sorry I could not protect you, Niusha," Emeth's voice wavered.
"But you did," she looked back at him and smiled. "You have always been by my side, and these past few days have been no different. You have helped me, cared for me, and, most importantly, you came with me. These stripes are a paltry price to pay to for freedom," Niusha spoke earnestly. She paused and chuckled as she continued, "Besides, Princess Lyra told me what you were going to do. I am very glad that she kept you from charging the dungeon alone."
Emeth ducked his head and smiled sheepishly as they continued to tend the horses.
At last, Sir Ferian gently insisted that party continue on.
"Come, friends," the knight-tracker ordered surely, "let us camp within the forest tonight and make our way to Anvard on the morrow. If our good bowmen will oblige us," he nodded towards Galen, Ewan, and Drenan, "perhaps we might dine on something other than travel rations tonight."
Before embarking anew, the knights carefully tended their fellow's body, wrapping him in his cloak and securing him across his horse's saddle. Finally, Sir Ferian lead the way into the green Archen forests. While the rest of the party prepared a fine campsite in a clearing several miles within the borders of the Archen forest, Galen and his fellow archers roamed the forest. The Narnian thought he felt more at home than he had the whole time he had been in Archenland as he softly threaded his way through the trees, his arrow at the ready. The space of focused solitude gave Galen time to relax after the harried hours of the past few days. The fresh smell of the pine forest provided relief from the desert heat that the Narnian welcomed, and so contented he found himself as he was a-hunting that afternoon that he was almost loath to return to the camp. However, by the time the rosy hues of sunset streaked the sky, Galen rejoined his fellow bowmen and returned to camp with dinner in hand.
As the stars began to sparkle through the tree tops, the Archenlanders and their Narnian companions settled around a pleasant campfire and devoured the turkey and brace of pheasants the sharp-eyed archers had managed to procure before the light bid farewell. Evergreen trees surrounded the small opening in the forest, filling the air with a fresh, piney smell and leaving a carpet of soft pine needles upon which Archen boots tread. A swift stream murmured happily as its cold waters charged across the rocks a little ways northeast of the clearing. However, melancholy silence replaced their usual cheerful conversation. Sir Glynan's shrouded body lay carefully tended nearby.
"Sir Galen," Glyn spoke at last, "have you your flute?"
"Indeed, sir," Galen answered, removing the instrument from his satchel. The Narnian sat as near the campfire as any of the others, but leaned against Aiolos' back instead of a log. The Horse, for his part, had laid down in the first comfortable spot he had seen and was long asleep.
"Would you honor my brother with a lament?"
"Of course," Galen nodded solemnly. He closed his eyes in thought for a moment, then began to play. The beautiful tune that filled the glade carried a rich grief and a subtle hope. It washed over the Archenlanders, who found that it refreshed their mourning spirits by completing, not contradicting, their sorrow. When he finished at last, thoughtful silence enveloped them. After a while, Sir Glyn found the words to thank him, then proposed a cheerier tune.
"You will all well recall my brother's jovial spirit. He would wish that we rejoice in returning victorious."
Beside him, Sir Torban lamented that he did not have his lute with him.
"Perhaps our Narnian friend knows the Ballad of Lord Kilpatrick?" Torban suggested.
Galen shook his head.
"Well, nevermind. I'll start off and you can follow along."
"I'll do my best," Galen smiled. Torban paused a moment, and then began to sing. Galen listened to the Archen tune for a moment, then he picked up the music's thread and followed it with the free-spirited cascades of his Narnian flute. Settling into the song's comfortable beat, the other fellow Archenlanders' voices happily joined them.
"My good old Lord Kilpatrick
Was as dreary as you please.
He did'na fancy sunshine,
So dour and dry was he.
.
Ho, there! Hi, there!
Yon scalawags, get thee gone!
.
I once knew a little lad
Who tried to make him laugh.
Instead he got a rock or two
And never came he back!
.
Ho, there! Hi, there!
Yon scalawags, get thee gone!"*
The joyous combination of voices and flute filled the camp long into the evening as they celebrated their victory and the life of their fallen comrade. Niusha and Emeth warmed to the strange northern music, and as the evening wore on they bent their heads close together in happy conversation. At last, Sir Torban noticed the young woman's unusually delighted smiles as she talked with her friend, whose eyes flickered with joy.
"Alright, friends," he cut into the music with a mischievous feigned suspicion. "I believe our Calormene companions owe us an explanation of what wonderful tale could be so mirthful to occupy them thusly."
Niusha giggled and ducked her head. Emeth smiled without restraint.
"Out with it!" Lyra commanded with a smile.
"We are to be married, your highness," Niusha admitted shyly at last.
"Huzzah!" The shout filled the glade as the Archenlanders and Narnian applauded.
"Aslan's blessings to you both," Sir Reinald smiled broadly as he communicated their uniform sentiments.
"We'd best turn in, friends," Sir Ferian, a seasoned knight and experienced woodsman above all else, practically cautioned at last.
"I'll take the first watch," Galen volunteered, standing and picking up his bow. Ferian nodded in return before following his companions' example and seeking a few hours' rest.
The Narnian looked around the clearing for a moment, then found a suitable tree and climbed to a spot high enough in its branches that he could survey the entire campsite and its surroundings. Galen leaned against the tree trunk and rested his bow across his legs. The campfire's coals glowed a warm orange, casting long, dark shadows across the forest floor. Below him, Sir Glyn kept a vigil over his fallen brother. Above him, the stars shimmered brightly, all the familiar constellations dancing as they had since time began. He looked towards Spearhead, who ever pointed the way home. A pang of homesickness struck him, but the settled puzzlement over the last week's events replaced it swiftly. The power channeled by the Stone Knife was in some respects frightening, but in more ways it was a familiar thing, awaking the memories of Sir Achaicus' lessons. Beneath these same stars, Galen remembered, the old centaur had endeavored to teach him the lessons that he said they taught: lessons about the world, of the nature of the fabric of Deep Magic that held it together.
As the Narnian thought, he nonetheless kept alert, and detected a figure stand in the shadows of the trees, moving towards the one in which he sat. The figure stealthily began to climb his tree, but Galen did not make a move against it.
"Good evening, my lady," Galen calmly greeted as the person reached him.
"I suppose I could not expect to surprise you twice," Lyra chuckled and looked up towards the stars.
"A very sorry watchman I would be indeed if you could," Galen smiled in response, still scanning the ground below.
For a moment, the wind blew through the boughs around them, wafting the scent of pine through the cool air. Lyra looked up towards the moon and let the wind toss her hair.
"I am glad to be home," she sighed contentedly.
"We are all glad of that as well."
"Thank you," Lyra smiled, "for coming for me."
"Of course," Galen smiled in return.
"Galen, the other knights told me that the Stone Knife released some kind of energy to repulse the Calormenes near the stable," Lyra looked down a moment. "If you had not done what you did, we might not have escaped—or, at least, we might have suffered greater casualties. What power did you unleash?"
"I did nothing. Aslan, in His power, protected us."
"But the Stone Knife and your sword were doubtless the conduits," the Archenlander replied. "How did it happen?"
"Earlier, as we left the manor house, a soldier ambushed me behind the barn. As we fought, the Stone Knife fell out of its case, and as I caught it I remember thinking a little, fleeting thought calling to Aslan for help. At that moment, as I held both my sword and the Stone Knife, the same blue light radiated from the Stone Knife and struck my opponent to the ground. At first I did not know what to think, but I have pondered much on our journey. When I was growing up in Narnia, my teacher and mentor was a Centaur, Sir Achaicus. He was brother to my grandfather's mentor, who died in the battle for Cair Paravel and was also a knight of the Lion's Redemption. After my father died, five years ago now, and I took on the duty of guarding the Stone Knife, Sir Achaicus began to teach me what he knew of the Stone Knife." Galen paused, looking up at the stars with a wistful smile. "He could look at the stars for hours on end, marking their steps in the heavens with practiced ease and wide-eyed curiosity. So many years studying Aslan's messengers taught him a great deal. I remember many a night we sat on the top of a hill to stargaze, and as he traced the star-paths he would tell me of the Deep Magic that binds the world together. The Stone Knife, Sir Achaicus thought, was part of that Deep Magic, woven into it by the holiness of the Lion's blood itself. Narnian legend tells that the Knife holds great defensive power, and only Aslan's chosen guardians—the members of my order—could handle it safely. This must be part of that power."
"He taught you to bring the Stone Knife's power to light?"
"No," the Narnian replied. "I have never seen the Stone Knife behave as it has since I undertook this journey. However, one thing my father always taught me more than anything else was that the Stone Knife is not something powerful in and of itself, and it is never ever something to be worshipped. I believe the events of the past several days are proof of that. The power we see in the Stone Knife comes from Aslan. He gave me the sword that complements the Stone Knife and is connected to it somehow, and it was Him I asked to help me. The day we confuse the Stone Knife with Aslan will be the day we lose everything we are," Galen finished, eyes flashing.
"I understand now why the Stone Knife gallery at Anvard troubled you so," Lyra remarked quietly. "I am hesitant to speak this thought, but I wonder now, after all I have seen and all you have told me, if Anvard is truly the appropriate place for the Stone Knife to reside."
Galen looked down a moment, then glanced upwards as the wind rustled the pine needles once again.
"Aye, that very question has been plaguing my mind for some time now. When we get to Anvard, the Stone Knife will not leave my side again, of that I am certain. I do not know where Aslan intends the Stone Knife to reside, but I cannot help but feel drawn eastward, as though Aravir calls me towards Aslan's Country," Galen looked up to where the Lady of Morning brushed the tree tops far in the distance and smiled surely. "I think the adventure He will give me lies seaward."
Author's note: thank you so much for reading! I would love to hear what you think!
Since I first posted this chapter, I have completed the little Archen ballad. It is published as a separate story under my profile, and if you want to have a look at it, I hope you enjoy it and would love to know what you think.
Up next: Justice, in which Archenland's legal system is explored.