Author's Note: Well, dear readers, I suppose six months is better than seven, but neither is very wonderful an update interval. In any case, I thank you very much for your patience. I am very happy, though, to have graduated from college and will be on my way to grad school in a couple of months. Well, onward ho!
Updated Author's Note: I've now corrected a couple of particularly irritating grammatical mistakes. It seems I am quite the bonehead today. My apologies for leaving that subject out without its verb!
Disclaimer: Narnia is not mine, no copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter the Twenty-fifth: the Problem of Popularity
The moon shone softly over the bubbling falls and soft grasses of the little Archen glen, and the snow on the mountain tops glistened silver in her light. Beyond the tree tops the capitol of Archenland busied itself with music and merriment, but in the glen the only music was made by the waterfall and the nightingale in the silvery aspen leaves. Were someone to have watched the glen that evening, though, they would have found a strange sight come to meet them. The most enormous Lion stood upon the breeze-blown grasses beneath the willow tree, a soft golden glow washing each grass blade and creamy buttercup in vibrant color. To the young Narnian who knelt before the Lion, it seemed as if everything around him had somehow grown richer— as though he had been living all his life in a hazy dream and had only just awakened to find the world dawning anew.
"My Lord, if I may," Galen began, a warm flush of happiness resting on his face as he opened the smooth wooden box in his hands, "it is an honor to return to You that which is Your own."
"Rise, knight of Narnia," the Great Lion's voice softly reverberated. "You have done well."
The Narnian stood, and could not help the smile that lit his eyes. "I am honored, my Lord."
"But your story is only just beginning, and you will serve as guardian a little longer," Aslan continued, turning towards the pool.
"Then there is a place for the Stone Knife!" Galen turned towards the Lion elatedly.
"Yes," Aslan spoke. "I have made a place for it— the sanctuary you have endeavored to find, where the Stone Knife may be kept in honor while the world lasts."*
"I ask forgiveness for my query, my Lord, but why do You not take the Stone Knife and deliver it Yourself? Surely You are more able a protector than I could ever aspire to be."
"You ask forgiveness where none is required, dear one," Aslan answered, the light of laughter in His eyes. "There is yet much good that you will be able to do in the journey to come, the Stone Knife in your keeping."
Galen sat beside the Lion at the edge of the pool and glanced down momentarily. When he turned his gaze back towards Aslan, the Lion was looking above the tree tops to where Aravir shone jewel-like in the indigo sky.
"I must caution you, though. The way ahead will not be easy," He looked back towards the Narnian. "The fate of many, not merely the fate of the Stone Knife, rest in the balance of this quest's course."
Galen looked up towards Aslan. In that moment, gazing into the Lion's deep amber eyes, he felt warmth fill him, a peace unlike any he had ever felt stilling his racing heart. The moment could not have been more than a few seconds, but the Narnian felt as though it lasted an eternity.
"Then I ask only that Thou givest me the strength to accomplish the task," the young knight spoke reverently.
"Never fear thee, dear child," the Lion answered, a smile in His sonorous voice. He paused a moment before continuing. "The sanctuary lies across the sea, far to the east of the Lone Islands. There, at the beginning of the end of the world, lies an island," Aslan turned towards the pool and blew softly upon it. The water rippled, and upon its surface Galen could see the image of a small island with a wide bay. Its downy green hills sloped gently towards a sky tinged with rose and gold, while silent waves brushed the sandy shores. "There I have made My Table and thither do I send you to fulfill your journey."*
The image on the pool's surface faded, once more reflecting the stars above it, and the Lion turned towards Galen. "Trust in a precious few the purpose of your journey, and be on your guard against all others. Enemies you as yet do not know will seek you and that which you carry."
"How will I know whom to trust?"
"One of them stands within hearing," the Lion raised his voice a trifle and smiled patiently, gazing beyond Galen towards the edge of the glen. A skirt and sleeve fluttered in a breath of wind as Lyra emerged from behind a tree, face flushed.
"My apologies, my Lord," Lyra murmured, eyes downcast, once she had approached and knelt in the soft grass, her soft white skirts puddling in the grass around her. "I did not wish to interrupt."
"Rise, princess of Archenland. No apologies are necessary," Aslan replied, His golden eyes warm and bright.
Lyra smiled softly and stood beside her Narnian friend.
"You too have a purpose across the Eastern seas," the Lion spoke.
Lyra could not help the smile of excitement that sparkled in her blue eyes.
"Princess of Archenland, if you are willing, will seek the Utter East with the last knight of the order of My Redemption. In aiding him, it will lay within your power to cripple one of Archenland's most dangerous foes."
"I am willing, dearest Lord," Lyra answered swiftly and resolutely, eyes a-glint with anticipation.
A wise smile graced the countenance of the Great Lion. "I knew that neither of you, dear ones, would do any less."
"Now, because you came, daughter, and did not run from Me," Aslan pulled one of His great paws up from the grass, and Galen looked down to see a bright blue stone nestled in the soft turf. "For this, I know, you will find a use," the Lion's voice carried a hint of laughter.
Lyra bent down and carefully, almost timidly, lifted the stone from its bed of grass. She found it was bound to a delicate silver chain, and as she held it up in the moonlight it glinted like a drop of dew on the strand of a spider's web.
"Oh, Aslan, thank you!" said she, voice filled with awe as she beheld the Lion's gift.
"Take care, dear ones. The road will not be easy, but never doubt that I will always stand beside you and guide your way." As He spoke, the Great Lion breathed softly upon them, and Galen felt his spirit encouraged and strengthened beyond measure.
"Thank you, my Lord," the young knight knelt once more, his head bowed. "I hope that I shall always serve Thee well."
"As do I, dearest Lord," the Archen princess knelt beside him.
"You already have, dear children," the Lion's voice resounded as softly as a breath of wind upon the willow leaves. Galen looked up and found himself alone once more but for the friend beside him. As he glanced toward his Archen companion, he started momentarily.
"Lyra, look to the necklace!"
As the Archen princess looked down at the jewel now suspended around her neck she realized that it glowed with a light all its own, a light that the jewels on Galen's sword and the Stone Knife emitted as well. After a moment it faded, and the two were left to the same murmuring water and singing nightingale as before.
As the daze subsided, the Narnian jumped to his feet, a smile of wonder lighting his face with a joy that the Archenlander had never seen before. Lyra stood as well, her heart light with amazement.
"I can scarcely believe it, Galen, He was right here, speaking to me!"
"Aye, was He not amazing?" the Narnian exclaimed, "I feel as though I could swim all the way to the Utter East!"
"What shall we do now, my friend?" Lyra turned her gaze from the velvet sky where Aravir glimmered. "We are bound to seek the East, but towards that end there must be great preparation."
"Aye, agreed," Galen replied, his face becoming a trifle more serious, though the joyful light that had sparked in his eyes remained, a glimmer of confident determination. "We must entrust this secret to as few as possible, and must seem for all the world that we are undertaking the voyage for another unrelated purpose."
Lyra nodded, her arms wrapped around herself as she leaned against the willow tree in thought. "I would think," she said, "we could entrust our true mission to my parents and Ayden."
"I agree," Galen replied. "Without their aid I could not imagine this venture succeeding."
"What venture?" An impertinent voice questioned, and the two jumped. "I thought you two might be here. You know, a person might begin to feel left out if he had a mind to," Ayden, feigning hurt, stood at the edge of the glen.
Lyra and Galen, visibly relieved, stood to greet him.
"Oh, Ayden," Lyra rushed to him with shining eyes, "we've seen Aslan!"
Later that evening, Ayden, Lyra, and Galen sat in the tastefully decorated sitting room of the king and queen's private quarters. The servants had been dismissed, and the rooms lay in corridors no one had any occasion to come. Presently King Lorn and Queen Layla entered the room and sat down.
"Your majesties," the Narnian began, standing, "I know this must seem quite irregular for me to request a meeting so late in the evening, but the importance of the matter at hand cannot be understated. I would ask that, of your courtesy, to keep what I am about to say in the strictest confidence." At the king's nod, Galen continued. "Your majesty said, King Lorn, upon my arrival in this country that Archenland would be honored to render me such aid as it was able. I come now to ask for that aid."
"Of course, Sir Galen, anything that we can do," King Lorn answered, the concern showing in his eyes mirrored in the countenance of his wife. "Is anything wrong?"
"Not at all, my lord. You are aware of the purpose for which I journeyed to Anvard. This evening," he paused, "Aslan appeared and spoke to me of it."
The king and queen both jumped up.
"Aslan! Here?!" exclaimed the king.
"What did He say?" Queen Layla asked, wonder in her eyes.
"I am to travel East, beyond the Lone Islands, and seek an island where Aslan has made a sanctuary for the Stone Knife to be kept in safety."
"But no one has ever mapped the Eastern Seas, and no one who has ever ventured there has returned," the king remarked.
"It is no matter to me, your majesty," Galen replied. "This is of Aslan's making and the fulfillment of all I have dared to dream. How could I fail to go?"
"Of course," Queen Layla smiled, and a momentary quiet settled over the room.
"I will seek the East as well," Lyra's voice broke the silence.
"Lyra, no!" the queen jumped up from her seat again, her countenance pale with fear and concern.
"Mother, I too saw Aslan and He said that this quest holds the fate of many, and in aiding our Narnian friend I will be able to stop Archenland's most dangerous foe. It is my honor to go, and if I do not return, I will know that I will have done what is right and what will protect my dear country," the Archen princess spoke with resolve. She stood and grasped her mother's hand fervently. "Please understand, mother, that this is what I must do."
The queen looked down a moment, then raised her tear-filled eyes to meet her daughter's gaze.
"Of course you must, my Lyra," the queen blinked away the tears and smiled. "I know you well."
"Then if this is the task at hand," King Lorn began, "there must needs be thorough preparations. The first problem is to determine a ship and, more importantly, a captain. Though secrecy is doubtless important, the ship captain will need to be told and, thus, need to be one that we can trust. If I may," the king continued, "I would think that the best ship for the voyage would be the Jewel of Archenland."
"Oh, Father, thank you!" Lyra's eyes lit up at the ship's name. "She's a beautiful frigate and one of the fastest ships the Archen fleet," she explained to the Narnian.
"What's more important," Ayden interjected, "her captain, Captain Torin, is a loyal and trusted friend. There is no one I can think of who would be more willing to undertake the voyage, more willing to see it through, and more willing to preserve its secret."
Galen nodded, a pensive expression on his face.
"The problem that puzzles me, however, is of designing a pretense for the journey. Surely it would arouse suspicion if the princess and I decided of a morning to take a jaunt to the end of the world," Galen remarked after a moment, a hint of wryness entering his voice as looked towards Lyra and Ayden.
"I suppose it would, at that," the king chuckled.
Suddenly Lyra stood and snapped her fingers. "Diplomacy!"
"Of course!" Ayden stood and smiled mischievously. "What could be more natural? Archenland's royal envoy," he put a hand on Lyra's shoulder, "and a knight in her company for security," he motioned towards Galen, a twinkle in his eye, "on a diplomatic voyage to maintain amicable relations with the eastern isles."
"The treaty with Galma needs to be renewed anyway," the queen agreed, "but the arrangements with the ship captain will need to be done in person," she concluded doubtfully.
"Then Juliana will prove herself useful for something," spoke the princess. "The day after tomorrow the sentence is to be carried out, and she is to be transported to the port of Ramstowne. The fleet is at anchor there, and it should be no trouble for us to join the party escorting Juliana to the coast."
"It sounds as though all is coming together well," the king remarked, satisfied. "Let us take to the necessary preparations with a good will."
The Narnian stood and bowed. "Thank you, your majesties. I have not the words to express my gratitude."
"None are necessary, Sir Galen," King Lorn replied. "I only wish you Godspeed and all success in your errand."
After he took leave of the king and queen, Galen made his way to the stables, where he had a much needed talk with his fellow Narnian.
"Aiolos, I have so much to tell you!" Galen exclaimed as he pushed open the stable door. Aiolos followed him outside and they began to walk by the light of the stars.
"What has happened, my friend?" the Horse inquired, his ears tilted forward with curiosity.
"I have seen Aslan, Aiolos, this very night!"
The Horse was speechless for a moment. "Well, what did He say? What was He like?"
"Amazing, Aiolos," Galen beamed. "There is a safe place for the Stone Knife! Aslan told me that it lies beyond the Lone Islands in the Eastern Sea, and I am to seek Him there."
"I know not what to say," Aiolos replied. "In any other context I would think such a venture madness, but if Aslan bids you go, I know that you will be safe."
"You have always been a constant friend to me, Aiolos, and have aided me beyond my ability to repay," Galen looked the horse solemnly. "I would in no wise try to exclude you, but I worry that a ship is not equipped with adequate quarters for a Horse. When I think of weeks, even months, spent at sea with you kept down in the hold without the sun or fresh air, my heart cannot stand the sorrow of it."
Aiolos whinnied a sort of horsey chuckle. "I must agree with you, young one. A ship is no place for a free Narnian Horse. It has been my honor to aid you in this solemn quest, and it will continue to be my honor until you depart this nation."
"What will you do afterwards?" Galen asked, concern in his voice.
"Do not worry for me, my friend. I will return to the southern forests of Narnia, where some of my family live. It will be an easy journey, and I will not need to stray from the protection of the forests. My worry is for you, Galen. The Eastern Seas," the Horse sighed. "I cannot think of more dangerous an adventure. My prayers and thoughts will always be with you."
16 Mayblossom 2076
The next day brought a gentle rain upon the green spring foliage. After a light breakfast, Galen had spent the morning hours strolling along the windowed corridors of Anvard in thought. As he walked, though, he encountered many courtiers.
"Sir Galen, good morning!" Lord Porphyra greeted him warmly.
"My lord," Galen returned with a nod and continued to walk, but the Archen lord stopped him.
"How are you faring, good sir, after your adventure of the past week?"
"I am well, my lord, thank you," Galen answered succinctly, though not impolitely. "We were all most fortunate in our endeavor."
"You were much more than fortunate, I hear. The Stone Knife has a great power to protect, they say."
"Aye, Aslan's power is great, my lord," Galen replied tersely.
"It will be a great blessing to Archenland when you return the knife to its gallery. When will that occur, my good knight?"
Galen paused.
"I must begin preparations for tomorrow's journey, my lord, but I will, perhaps, discuss this upon my return. If you will excuse me," the Narnian bowed and continued down the corridor.
"Sir Galen!" A voice rang out a moment later. A girl clad in bright tangerine silk hurried up.
"Lady Valencia," Galen returned, fighting back a cringe.
"Oh, Sir Galen, could you come with me a moment? Thank you!" The girl did not wait for answer, seizing the Narnian's hand and half-dragging him down the corridor. Around the corner at the bottom of the stairs clustered a group of similarly attired girls who simpered and giggled as the two joined them. The cringe was now very hard to suppress.
"How can I be of service, my ladies," Galen asked, a hint of weariness creeping into his voice. The girls giggled again.
"Sir Galen, we have heard so many fantastic stories about the Stone Knife. Could we see it?"
"Well, my ladies, I must apologize, but … "
"Oh, please, sir knight!" Valencia simpered and laid a hand on his arm. "We have been dying to see such an amazingly powerful object! Why, if we could see it, perhaps any wish might come true!"
Galen's expression hardened, and he pulled away.
"I am sorry, my ladies. The Stone Knife is not the magic lamp of Calormene fable, however much you might wish it otherwise. Please excuse me," the Narnian walked quickly away and ducked into the nearest stair. He quickly ascended the steps and peered out the door on the next level. Seeing no one, he dashed across the corridor and entered his room.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Galen sat down on the bed. He had hardly rested a minute when a knock sounded on his door. Another court lord stood there.
"I am sorry, my lord," Galen quickly spoke before the lord could utter a word, pushing past him into the hall. "I must be off to… to sparring practice." He pulled the door shut and stepped quickly down the corridor. Ascending another stair, he made sure the way was clear before hurrying around the corner. Coming to the door set in the round turret structure, he knocked frantically.
"Galen, come in!" Lyra greeted upon opening the door.
"Oh, thank you, my friend. They are after me!"
"Who is after you?" she laughed, but thought the better of it upon seeing her friend's harried expression.
"Them! The courtiers! They never give me a moment's peace! Not even in my own room!"
"Never worry, dear friend! Have lunch here with me today, and we can pore over some of these archived sea charts. The guards have standing orders never to allow courtiers down this hall," the Archen princess said with a smile.
"Thank you," Galen said, much relieved, as he plopped into one of the two plush chairs around the map-covered table in the center of Lyra's sitting room.
A pair of servants brought a hearty luncheon, and the afternoon hours were whiled away over the yellowing edges of many an old map.
"Are there no more maps of the seas beyond the Lone Islands?" Galen asked after they had pored over all the maps on the table.
"I am afraid not," Lyra shook her head. "No explorers have ever returned from the Eastern seas with reliable records. Some have sailed until forced to turn back, but found nothing but sea."
The Narnian leaned back in his chair and looked to his friend with seriousness. "Then ours is indeed a leap of faith."
17 Mayblossom 2076
The seventeenth of Mayblossom dawned bright, the happy rays of sunlight illuminating the vibrant colors of the new spring flowers as the robin sang her cheery tune. The promise of a lovely day, however, had but little affect on the spirit surrounding Archenland's capitol. The evening before, Anvard mourned Sir Glynan with a beautiful and solemn funeral. This morning carried significance too, and a tense hush fell over Anvard. By nine o'clock, a group of ten soldiers and three knights dressed in chain mail and Archen green tabards assembled in the Anvard courtyard with their mounts. Sir Torban, Sir Glyn, and Sir Ewan wore green cloaks and carried bright shields, while the soldiers carried long lances with the golden Archen gryphon proud upon the green standards fluttering from the tips.
Six stable hands approached, each leading a saddled horse. Aiolos walked ahead of them, once again bearing neither saddle nor bridle. Another stable hand followed after a moment, leading a pack horse loaded with several bags.
After a moment, Lyra, Ayden, and Galen emerged from the castle and entered the courtyard. Each carried small leather valise and a traveling satchel. While each wore a soft shirt rather than chain mail, Ayden wore a green tabard similar to that of the knights, Lyra wore her leather cuirass stamped with the Archen standard, and Galen wore his grandfather's blue tabard.
"The air is a trifle chilly for the season, would you not agree?" Lyra remarked as they descended the three shallow stairs to the courtyard. She fastened her forest green traveling cloak around her shoulders, and Ayden did the same.
"Aye, it is a little cold at that, sister."
"I, for one, will be glad to have this duty finished, regardless of the temperature," Galen added as he pulled a dark blue cloak around himself.
"Then we had best be mounting up. The guards are escorting her up now," Ayden advised.
The three friends took their horses (or greeted his Horse) from the stable hands and mounted.
"Well, Aiolos, it seems we at least have one more journey ahead of us, at least."
"I am glad of it. The stable has become quite dull, I must confess."
"I am sorry, my friend," Galen remorsefully replied, "I would doubt very much, at least, if this journey is a dull one."
At that moment, Lord and Lady Kellan entered the courtyard and silently took their mounts. At the same time, a court herald dressed in the green Archen tabard and carrying a bundle of rolled up parchments that bore the royal seal came out of the castle and stood before Ayden and Lyra.
"Your highnesses," he swept a low bow, "Herald Parry at your service. Their majesties have bid me join the journey to Ramstowne and see that the announcements of judgement in the case of the traitoress Juliana be posted accordingly. Shall I join the traveling party?"
"Aye, with a good will," Ayden replied.
"Welcome to our company, good herald."
"Thank you, my lady," the herald swept another bow and mounted his horse.
At that moment, the sound of marching echoed into the courtyard and the Narnian turned to look.
A platoon of Archen soldiers, with Sir Reinald at their head came into the doorway of the castle. Between them walked Lady Juliana, head held high. Her raven hair hung in loose curls around the shoulders of her red velvet traveling cloak. Beneath it she wore a long chocolate colored riding dress, and her green eyes stared at the courtyard walls with a cold gleam. As she stepped down the steps, Galen was able to see that her hands were bound securely, though not cruelly. Lady Catherine stood in the shadow of the doorway, crying. The horse Juliana was to ride was lead up, but before she could mount, Catherine ran up and embraced her.
"Oh, Juliana, I shall miss you," she sobbed.
"I know," Juliana murmured absentmindedly. Sir Reinald took Catherine's arm and lead her firmly away from Julianna. The traitoress set foot in the stirrup and grasped the saddle horn with her bound hands. As she struggled to mount, Sir Reinald put a hand beneath her elbow to assist her. Once she had her seat, he moved to the head of the column and bowed.
"Your highnesses, I now transfer to you custody of the traitoress Juliana. Aslan be with you in your journey."
"Thank you, Sir Reinald," the princess answered, inclining her head.
"Men of Archenland, let us depart," Ayden raised his voice, and the column began to move forward out of the courtyard. The mounted soldiers surrounded Juliana, while the knights rode ahead of her abreast. Ayden and the herald lead the column, while Galen and Lyra rode between him and the knights. As the horses wound their way through the streets of the village at Anvard's feet, the column halted in the village square. The herald rode to the front of the column and brought a horn to his lips. The sound reverberated, bright and clear, through the village and echoed on the stonework of the castle behind them.
"Hear ye, hear ye!" Parry spoke in a raised voice, "By order of the king, the Lady Juliana is hereby banished from the realm of Archenland as traitoress to the crown! Look ye upon her and know that should she ever return her life is forfeit to the crown." The herald rode up and posted one of his notices on one of the walls of the village hall. Turning his horse around to face the gathered crowd, he raised an arm and shouted, "Long live the King!"
"Long live the King!" The assembled villagers returned, joined by the soldiers, knights, prince, and princess.
Just as the cry faded, one of the villagers pointed towards Galen and exclaimed, "Three cheers for the knight of the Stone Knife! Long may It shine!"
The other villagers picked up the cheer, "Hooray for the Stone Knife!"
Ayden cued his horse to a brisk trot and the herald fell in line beside him. The eyes of the villagers (those who paid attention to her) rested coldly on Juliana as she passed, but she kept her eyes fixed ahead and her spine straight. Last of all, after the soldiers, came Juliana's parents and the little pack horse. Most of the village, however, ran along beside the column with cheers, applauding the Stone Knife and its guardian. Galen felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment.
The group continued to ride throughout the day through the cool green forests of central Archenland. For a while they descended from the Anvard highland, but soon the mountains melted into a tall horizon, blindly white from the snow at their peaks. After a while, the guard relaxed their stern faces and began to chat amongst themselves. Galen turned his thoughts to the delicious green coolness of the forest around him, talking on occasion with Aiolos, Lyra, and the knights behind him.
They halted for lunch beside a bubbling stream. The guards did their jobs well and kept closely around Juliana as the knights and monarchs conversed happily.
"So, tell me, Glyn, what is Ramstowne like?" Galen began, "I have heard any number of you mention it, but I've never had a good description."
"Oh, Ramstowne is a fun little town," Torban began. "Glyn and Glynan are—um, were, my apologies—from near there, you know." Torban flushed at his casual remark regarding the recently deceased, but good-natured Glyn waved away the unvoiced apology.
"The sea is the most beautiful shade of blue," Glyn noted.
"Ramstowne," Ayden added, "is Archenland's primary seaport and largest city. "fun little town," indeed!"
"Aye, the bulk of the Archen fleet normally sits at anchor there," Glyn continued, "and any number of merchant ships come in each day."
"The city is named for King Ram the Great* one of Archenland's greatest kings. He lived near the time of Narnia's Golden Age, now that I think of it," Lyra remarked.
"I see," the Narnian replied with a smile.
"Well, I suppose that we had better keep moving, or we'll not make Aradale by nightfall," Ayden stood, brushed his hands off and went to check the horses.
The rest of the knights stood as well and began to ready for departure. Lyra stalked across the grass to where Juliana sat amongst her guard.
"I trust you enjoyed your meal, my lady," Lyra smiled, but her eyes carried a deadly glimmer.
"Is that sarcasm I hear, princess?" Juliana returned icily, her green eyes carrying a growing spark of hatred.
"Most astute, my dear lady," Lyra returned with a smirk and a flourish.
"May I be of service, your highness?" The highest ranking soldier stood.
"Yes, sergeant, thank you. Prepare to move out," she instructed.
By the time the sun began to cast its rays from behind the Western Mountains, the party was galloping through the downy hills of eastern Archenland. As they had the traveled, Herald Parry had posted his notices in every village. Half of them already fluttered at the tavern-walls of a half-dozen Archen towns. As they paused at the crest of a hill, Galen could see a little village spread out in the valley before them. Soon they pulled the weary horses to a stop at the town hall.
"Sir Torban," Ayden began as he dismounted, "would you mind holding the horses a moment? We shall be back quickly." Lyra dismounted and followed him. The two, along with the herald, entered the town hall and ascended the steps at the end of the room. An office door greeted them, and Ayden rapped quickly on it.
"Who is it?" A tired mumble came from within.
"The crown prince of Archenland and his noble companions!" Herald Parry replied resoundingly. "Pray tire them no further with your tarrying!"
The three friends could not help but chuckle at the zealous herald, whose proclamation was most effective. A startled splutter was heard from within, and the town's mayor hurriedly pulled the door open.
"Your royal highness! Highnesses, I should say!" He amended, catching sight of Lyra. "Please come in, and welcome to Aradale!"
"Oh, do calm down good mayor," Lyra smiled. "All is well, the kingdom is safe, and we are not here escorting members of the Elections Oversight Committee.*"
"My apologies, your highnesses, how can I be of service?" The mayor smiled.
"We are here to escort a particular prisoner to the coast and require the use of your town jail for the night."
"Oh, of course, your highnesses. Please come with me."
The mayor lead them down the stairs and across the street to the sheriff's* office. As they entered, they saw an older (though capable) gentleman reclining in a chair behind a desk, his tall black boots resting on the desk.
"Ahem!" The mayor cleared his throat loudly and slammed the door.
"What! What's wrong!?" The sheriff jumped up,
"Prince Ayden, Princess Lyra," the mayor began, "I am pleased to present the sheriff of Aradale."
"A pleasure, your highnesses. How may I be of service?" The gentleman bowed, a hand resting on the hilt of his long broadsword.
"We would ask that you keep a particular prisoner in your facilities for the night, of your courtesy," Ayden answered.
"Certainly! Please, make yourselves at home, your highnesses. Anything you require is at your disposal," the sheriff answered warmly.
"Thank you, good sir," Lyra replied. She stepped outside momentarily.
"Sir Torban! Please bring the prisoner in."
Torban came in promptly, leading Juliana by the arm. Four soldiers followed. The sheriff hurried to open one of the three cells that lined the opposite wall. Torban guided her firmly inside, then pulled a knife from his belt and cut the bonds around her wrists before closing the door and making sure it was locked. The cell was spartanly appointed, but warm and clean. Torban indicated for the soldiers to take up positions at either side of the cell.
"Thank you, Sheriff. I'll stay with the prisoner, my lady," Torban turned to Lyra. "Please go and enjoy your dinner."
"Thank you, Torban," Ayden answered, and Lyra smiled gratefully.
The prince, princess, herald, and mayor rejoined the traveling party.
"Glyn," Ayden began, "if you will, lead everyone over to TheOld Mill. The horses will need stabling, and I know old Sam will take care of them well. Glyn nodded and wheeled his horse around, and the remaining soldiers, horses, and Juliana's parents followed. Galen had already dismounted and stood beside Ayden and Lyra.
"My lord, if I may," the sheriff of Aradale, who had followed them outside, spoke.
"Of course," the Archen prince answered.
"What has the young lady yonder done to run afoul of the Crown?"
"She is the traitoress Juliana, convicted in fair trial before the High Court the day before yesterday."
"That is she of whom everyone has spoken? I had no idea she was so young! You may be assured, though, my lord and lady, that she will not escape my jail."
"Thank you, good sir," Lyra answered, and the sheriff turned and reentered his office.
"If there is anything else I can do," the mayor spoke, about to return to his office, when he paused, looking at Galen. "Pardon me, sir knight, but you seem to wear the colors I have heard are—" he paused a moment, as though he was too frightened to speak it aloud, "are the colors of the Knight of the Stone Knife. Are you he?"
"I am," Galen replied, puzzled. To the Narnian's dismay, the mayor sunk to one knee on the ground before him.
"Please, my lord," he spoke timidly, "I would humbly ask you to bestow upon the good people of this town the blessing of the Stone Knife."
The Narnian was stunned and felt as though he had been struck. After a moment, he recovered from his surprise and knelt beside the mayor. Galen put a hand beneath the Archenlander's arm and stood, raising the mayor with him.
"Only Aslan has the power to bless or to curse — not I, and not the Stone Knife. Do not kneel to me, I beg of you," the Narnian spoke softly, the last sentence uttered with such a sad earnestness that one might have thought the mayor had informed the knight that his best friend had disowned him, instead of honoring him. "Aslan be with you, friend," Galen turned and quickly walked back up the road.
Lyra and Ayden joined him a moment later and the three walked in silence to an inn with a brightly painted sign that read The Old Mill. Warm light spilled from the doorway, and laughter could be heard from inside. A stable boy was just rounding the corner of the building. He swept a quick bow.
"I'll have your horses stabled and fed in a trice, your highnesses!" He spoke cheerfully, and they thanked him.
The three entered the inn, and Galen could see a middle-aged man in an off-white shirt and apron hurrying around the room with serving platters. Ayden walked up and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Well, my dear Sam, how are they treating you?"
Startled, the innkeeper turned around sharply. "Oh, Prince Ayden, how good to see you!" The relieved man shook Ayden's hand fervently. "Your friends are over there, my lord. I have made sure your horses have been seen to, and the best rooms are being made up for you and your party as we speak."
"Thank you ever so much!" Ayden answered. "I knew we could depend on you."
"I think you work too hard, though, my dear innkeeper," Lyra chided, smiling.
"Aye, m'lady, don't we all," Sam hoisted the platter up again and continued on.
The three friends found Glyn, Ewan, and the rest of the soldiers and joined their merry gathering. The innkeeper brought them plates of food in short order.
Though the food was good, Galen did not eat very much. The Narnian tended instead to stare out the window in thought, and after a little while he excused himself and, after obtaining directions from Ayden, walked upstairs to the room he was to share with the Archen prince. The room was rustic but charming, with a large glass window, white curtains, and two immaculately made beds. A vase of cheerful daisies stood on the night table next to a glass oil lamp, and a rocking chair with soft calico cushions sat in the corner.
Galen had intended to go right to sleep, but after he removed his blue tabard and laid it on the bed next to his cloak he found he was too troubled to sleep. Instead, the Narnian found himself leaning against the window sill and staring at the nearly full moon as it washed the land and the window sill in milky radiance. The cool night wind tossed his hair and rustled the soft sleeves of his creamy white shirt, bringing with it the fresh smell of spring. The incident with the mayor and with the Anvard villagers earlier in the day plagued him, and he turned it over unceasingly in his mind. He did not know how much time had passed when he heard a soft knock at the door.
"Come in!" Galen answered quietly and without turning away from the window. The door opened and closed softly, a light step creaking the floorboards.
"Are you alright, my friend?" Lyra's voice sounded quietly, barely above a whisper. "I was worried."
The young knight drew a shuddering breath and rested his head in his hand.
"Galen, what is wrong?" she asked, concern in her voice as she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Oh, Lyra, what have I done?" he answered in such a sad, despairing voice that the Archen princess thought it would break her heart. "They cheer to me, kneel to me, beg a blessing of me— of It," Galen looked at Lyra with tears in his blue eyes. Forcefully blinking away the tears, he looked out again towards the Archen countryside and spoke with a voice full of misery. "Aslan forgive me for what I have let His gift become."
The Narnian's head drooped again. The Archen princess's heart went out to him and she took the hand that rested on the window sill in her own.
"Galen, you have been the most loyal guardian of the Stone Knife. It is the folly of the ill-informed that have twisted it into this travesty," Lyra looked steadily at the young knight. "Look at me and answer me this: have you held the Stone Knife over anyone, taken advantage of the power that would be given you? Have you demanded servitude, demanded tribute, demanded bent knees and bared heads? Have you demanded for yourself anything, even of the tiniest measure?" Galen returned her gaze as she spoke, his eyes still burdened with sadness. "My friend," she spoke earnestly, "we both well know that you have not. Whatever strange malady of mind has stricken these Archen citizens is not of your making, nor have you taken advantage of it. You have no need of forgiveness."
The young knight was quiet for a moment and bowed his head, but took a deep breath and seemed to relax a trifle. Lyra leaned on the window next to him and looked out over the countryside. Their hands remained clasped, though they did not realize it.
"Thank you," Galen spoke quietly after a moment, his voice still thick with the strong sentiments that had gripped him. Lyra looked at him and smiled.
"This," he continued gravely, "this Knife-worship cannot be allowed to continue, even after we have left for the East," his voice softened to a near whisper. "I fear, though, that I have not the ability to turn this tide."
The Archen princess paused a moment in thought, then chuckled. "I may, if you are willing, have an idea."
Author's note: Thank you so much for reading, and for tolerating my excess of author's notes. I would love your opinions!
*The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, chapter 13.
Ram the Great was the son of Cor and Aravis; see The Horse and His Boy.
* Nothing is more frightening than bureaucracy.
I know I'm getting a little long-winded in terms of author's notes, but I did want to point out one last thing. I use the term sheriff in the sense of its origin in medieval England (i.e. Sheriff of Nottingham), not as a homage to the wild west (although if that floats your boat, by all means think of it in that way. I don't mind).