A/N: Welcome back to zombie land, folks! Just wanted to say a big thank you again to everyone who's commented on the first two chapters. Every comment seriously makes my day and motivates me to keep writing, I appreciate you all bunches!

Also this chapter is a long one, so buckle up, haha. It really should be two chapters, but my schedule didn't allow for that so instead enjoy this mammoth beast of a thing. Love y'all!

xXx

CHAPTER THREE: SENTINEL

"What time would you say it is?" asked Peter.

Edmund squinted up at the angry clouds through sparse treetops, the dull grey sky affording no hint at the sun's position.

"Mid afternoon. Maybe four," he guessed, though he was going more by the feeling of the air than by trying to imagine which patch of cloud was less dim.

They fell back into silence, save for the plodding of the horses' hooves over soft earth, and occasional scattered birdsong. The three riders had long since given up conversation.

When they'd left the Cair yesterday morning, Lucy and Peter had attempted to keep up an exchange to distract themselves, but it only put Edmund more on edge, afraid they would make too much noise, or miss something important. Now they only commented here and there on the places they passed, or the weather, or the time.

Even then, Edmund's insides felt like lead, and every hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

The country which had once felt so welcoming and joyful was now utterly unknown to him. Every shadow seemed a threat, the canopy of shivering leaves beneath which he would ordinarily have felt at home now harbored any number of dangers. The blanket of fear hanging over the land was one he had not known even in all his years fighting dark creatures in the far reaches of the wood. Worst of all, this wasn't something he could hunt.

It did scare him. More than the witch ever had.

That being said, their journey so far had been relatively fortunate. They had occasionally come through places littered with remnants of destruction, blood or bodies, or hastily abandoned homes lying open and unguarded, but Lucy had only been forced to shoot one fox, and although she had cried bitterly, their plan of traveling north seemed to be working better than Edmund had expected.

At last they crested a low hill and came into view of a fork in the wide river that flowed a ways to the south of them on the left.

"That's our path," said Edmund. "It'll be easy enough to ford this time of year, and then down to the foothills around the thick of the forest."

Peter nodded.

"Wait," said Lucy, pulling up abruptly.

Edmund and Peter both slowed and turned back to her.

"What is it?" asked Peter.

"We need to check on Tumnus."

Edmund sighed, and glanced at Peter whose expression was tight. I knew this would happen, he wanted to say, but instead he looked back at his sister.

"Lu." He tried to be as gentle as he could, but largely failed to keep the edge out of his voice. "I'm sure there are any number of creatures in this wood we're worried about, but we can't risk everything for one person. Our path is south."

"No," she said, "Really, I have a feeling about this, we need to go, I know it."

"How?" asked Peter. "That only takes us deeper into the forest. We won't be able to defend ourselves if the place is overtaken."

"I don't know how," said Lucy, "But this isn't just a whim, I swear it. Besides, his cave would make for good shelter tonight."

Edmund looked at Peter again. Everything inside him wanted to tell Lucy she didn't know what she was talking about, but a very small voice in his head said she'd been right before, and he had no reason not to trust her intuition.

Whether Peter faced the same internal battle, or the argument for shelter had swayed him, Edmund didn't know, but several long moments later he finally conceded. "Alright, we'll do it your way."

Lucy smiled, Edmund bit his tongue, and Peter urged his horse straight onward.

It only took them a couple of hours to get right in amongst the thick of Lantern Waste, all dense and dark, the heavy scent of pine pervading the air and smothering Edmund's senses.

He didn't like how thick the trees were, or how loudly the horses crunched over every twig and leaf, loud as firecrackers in the dead silence.

The birds weren't singing here either.

He wanted to turn back, to go the way they'd planned, but it was too late to say so now. Turning back wouldn't be any less dangerous.

Already they'd passed a swath of spruce bathed in dark, days-old blood, and spotted corpses half-buried in the underbrush, animals torn beyond recognition, a skeletal badger missing its head.

Lucy wiped her face a great deal, but diligently made no sound.

Even the trees were still and silent, not a whisper in the leaves or the budge of a root to hint at the life within.

A snap in the undergrowth was all the warning Edmund had before something leaped like a bolt with a scream straight up into his face, and his blade flashed out on sheer reflex, striking it and spraying him with thick, hot blood as the thing struck a tree and thumped to the ground in two pieces.

The horses skidded to a halt as Peter and Lucy drew their weapons.

Edmund let out a short breath, heart pounding in his eardrums, and his horse quivered beneath him, ears flat against its skull as it shuffled its hooves, but he held the reins steady, and a minute dragged by with no further action.

Finally, he spared a glance down at the thing on the forest floor.

Only the long ears gave away that it had once been a hare, and Peter said "Buckwheat," though Edmund didn't know how he could possibly tell through the layer of gore that marred and clung to its face, one eye torn out entirely.

They all looked at each other, and after a few more moments of silence Peter nudged his horse hesitantly forward again.

Edmund never sheathed his sword, the hare's blood streaked across the metal, faintly tickling him as it dripped down his temple. Yet the eerie quiet stretched on. And at last, an agonizing quarter of an hour later, they came in sight of Tumnus' door in the hill.

Lucy dropped to the ground and hurried out across the leaf-strewn clearing before Edmund or Peter could call her back or tell her to be more careful, and Edmund dismounted behind her, sword still in hand, taking both of their horses' reins as he followed her.

She knocked three times. The sharp noise made Edmund cringe.

Only silence answered, however, and Lucy glanced back as Peter joined them, Rhindon out at his side.

She swallowed, then knocked again, three quick raps.

Edmund was about to say they should never have come, when at last the latch clicked and the door cracked open just the slightest quarter of an inch.

"Who is it?" a voice whispered.

"It's us," said Lucy, "It's Lucy and Edmund and Peter!"

The door widened another inch, and then it flew open all the way and Lucy threw herself into the arms of the faun.

"Oh, Tumnus!" Lucy's curls shrouded him from view for a few moments, but when at last she extracted herself from his arms, Edmund saw to his surprise that there wasn't a scratch on him. "You're alright!"

"And so are you," said Tumnus as he gave a quick bow. "What are your majesties doing out here? Have you come to help us?"

"Yes," said Peter hurriedly, "The infected have spread as far as Dancing Lawn. By now they may even be at the walls of Cair Paravel. We've come searching for the source of this madness."

"Does anyone around here know where it came from?" asked Edmund.

Tumnus glanced at him, and there was a glint of survival in his eyes that Edmund hadn't seen there in over a decade. "I may be able to help with that."

He scanned the forest behind them, his goat ears pricked forward. "You can't leave your horses out here. I assume your majesties are staying?"

"If you'll have us," said Peter.

"Right, then, I'll find someone to take them. They won't fit in my cave, you understand." He shuffled out on his small hooves, a curved faunish sword in hand, and took the horses' leads.

"Oh, Tumnus," said Lucy, "Is that safe?"

"Don't worry about me," he said with a hint of a grin, "I'm quick on my feet." And with that he disappeared into the forest with the horses, following along the edge of the rock face.

He was gone only a few minutes (though Edmund began to get antsy after one) and when he appeared again he was alone, hurrying to usher the three of them into his home.

"My cousins up the way have the space for horses," he explained as he locked the door behind them and the dull orange glow of the cave replaced the pale grey of the outside world; as if hiding your steeds from a bloodthirsty forest was merely an everyday inconvenience. "Bigger caves. Comes from buying up all the real estate before the great winter. Their family always was well-to-do about that sort of thing."

"Thank you," said Lucy, kicking off her riding boots the moment her feet touched the entry mat. "But, Tumnus, you do seem rather chipper for the end of the world."

The faun smiled. "Not at all. The world has ended before, my dear queen, and when you live as long as I have, you learn it all comes right in the end."

Edmund glanced at him with a slight smile, just as another voice piped up.

"That's all well and good for you, but I think some of us would prefer it to come right before the end."

And that was when he realized they weren't Tumnus' only visitors.

A family of robins, two rabbits, and a cat (it was the cat who had spoken) were already gathered in his tiny sitting room, rising to greet the monarchs as they filed into the low, sloping space.

Edmund dropped his weapons and gear by the door and settled into an armchair by the crackling fire.

For the first time since their unfortunate excursion two days ago, he relaxed.

With a faun and three full-grown humans in the mix, it was a very cozy fit indeed, but nobody complained, and Tumnus at once busied himself about the nook that constituted his kitchen. "I'm afraid we don't have much in the way of food. I had a good bit stored away, but we're rationing it out between all the wood-folk. There's not much hunting or gathering to be done, you see."

"Oh, don't bother about us," said Lucy quickly, "We packed enough for ourselves."

For three days, Edmund added internally, but aloud he said "You mustn't share your own rations, Tumnus."

"But-"

"I insist," said Peter. "In fact, I've some meat in my pack we could share around, I daresay it's scarce around here."

Tumnus looked between the three of them, as if searching for a way to turn the offer down politely, but the cat straightened up very quickly at the mention of meat, and at last Tumnus obliged.

Lucy got up to help him in the kitchen and Edmund leaned forward in his chair, propping his elbows on his knees and rubbing an itch on his cheekbone with his wrist. The end of his sleeve came away crimson.

"So…" He absently rubbed the bloodstain with his thumb. "How many are still alive in this area?"

The male robin twirred from his perch on the mantle. "We can't be sure, Sire." His voice was halfway between a chirp and a whistle. "The fauns have sheltered as many as they can, and there are a few more hiding places between the tunneling creatures, but I don't know how many others made it."

"It's food that's the real problem," said the cat. He was a grey long-hair with a snaggletooth, and eyes the color of pale squash. "Even us hunters can't linger in the forest, and nobody's tried going to market. Not that it's likely to be there, anyway."

"The squirrels have already shared their winter stash," said one of the rabbits, "But it won't last like this. And we can't all eat nuts."

Edmund glanced at Peter.

His brother's eyes betrayed all of his sorrow.

"How long has it been for you since this happened?" asked Peter.

"Five days," said the cat.

Edmund's stomach sank. His people had been living like this for days before he even knew about it.

Then the creatures asked about life in the rest of the country, and Peter caught them up until Tumnus and Lucy came in to pass out dishes, each with their own sorts of food. The cat had a small chunk of meat on a saucer and water in a matching teacup; the bunnies and birds had grasses and seeds on a dessert plate.

"Tumnus," said Edmund after they'd all eaten in silence for a few minutes, "You said you knew something about where this… infection came from?"

"Yes," said the faun, sitting up in his chair. "I heard it from Talon the hawk, the day it all happened. He saw it himself, flying up over the Moors when that ogre came down into the valley."

"An ogre?" asked Lucy, as if personally offended by the concept. "But we haven't had any trouble from ogres in years! What makes it think it can just come walking back in? Why, I—"

"Shh, Lucy," said Peter. "Let him speak."

Tumnus continued, nodding to Lucy. "As you know, ogres are big, lumbering things, but Talon said this one was fast. Unnatural quick, he said, and odd, too. It didn't move quite right."

"It was infected," said Edmund, and Tumnus nodded again.

"The creatures in the valley gave it a good fight, but not before… well… I'm sure you can imagine. It was all over from there. The forest was overrun before we knew what was happening."

Peter stared at his feet.

"So, the Moors," said Edmund after a short silence. "That's our direction."

The others looked at him.

"What will you do when you get there?" asked Tumnus.

Edmund shook his head. "Track down whatever this thing came from, if we can. And if not… I don't know. We'll find something. We'll find a way to stop it."

He felt the cat's yellow eyes on him. All of the creatures were watching them now. He knew the weight of this mission. He knew the weight if they failed.

"We have to do something," said Lucy quietly, and Peter put an arm around her shoulders.

"We will."

The rest of the meal went by without much conversation, and eventually the creatures turned in for bed.

Tumnus didn't have beds for the humans, but he gave them furs and linens to make their own on the floor, apologizing all the while, and of course they said not to mention it and they were all more than grateful to have soft blankets and a roof over their heads.

Lucy had to talk him out of giving her his own bed.

Even after Peter and Edmund tucked themselves away and Peter's soft snore rumbled in Edmund's ear, Lucy and Tumnus sat up talking by the fire, their soft voices carrying throughout the cave, lapping like a murmuring sea against the earthy walls.

Edmund lay awake, listening. And for a moment he imagined a world in which he never heard them again.

Tumnus's voice, warm and kind and soothing; Lucy's, soft and bright and musical. Snuffed out. Gone forever. Replaced only by shrieks in the night.

He shivered and rolled onto his side.

The fire cast flickering shadows over his brother's face, all worry temporarily forgotten, the deep lines eased from his brow. Neither of them had slept a wink last night, with only the distant boom of dwarves at their bellows echoing ominously through the dark forest. In fact, they hadn't really slept the night before that, either.

Peter wasn't built for this.

He was a king of great battles and honest victories, of gold and sunlight and feasting and hunts. He wasn't built for the bloodlust of monsters, for aimless killing and meaningless death. He was too warm for it. Too vibrant. Peter wasn't built for helplessness.

Neither was Edmund, for that matter. But he knew how to bear it.

Peter could only tear himself apart.

The gentle voices by the fire hummed on, washing over Edmund's ears, and at last the exhaustion of the day claimed him, blurring the flickering orange of the walls until the world fell away and he collapsed into nothingness. But his dreams were cold.

The morning came in cold, too.

Heavy white mist still clung to the ground as they said their farewells and Tumnus returned with their horses, already saddled and fed.

"Tell the others thank you for us," said Lucy, and gave him one last hug before mounting her dappled mare.

"I will," said Tumnus.

He stood by the door and waved until the three of them were out of sight among the trees, soggy leaves underfoot and their breath in the air.

Edmund's nerves crept back into his skin the moment the dark forest enveloped them, though they met no danger as they kept in sight of the rocky hills for the next couple of hours.

The pale sun never broke through the mist.

At last, the ground sloped gradually upward, and they came to the top of a hill looking out over the wide valley that lay between Lantern Waste and the Moorish foothills. The northwestern border of Narnia.

Peter took the lead down into the valley and across to the rocky roots of the mountain, low and scattered at first, but blue peaks rose in the distance, their tops shrouded in cloud.

A few animal corpses lay half buried in the field, but nobody mentioned them, and soon the tall grass became scarce, the horses' hooves clopping over stone as natural paths led up into the hills.

They rode steadily onward and upward, sometimes zig-zagging around rock formations, sometimes struggling up sharper inclines, and at last they passed out of the land Edmund knew, into higher paths and sharper rocks and steeper drop-offs, beyond Narnia and beyond anything they'd ever seen from their borders.

They were truly in the wilds, now.

Just past noon, it began to rain.

And it continued to rain, hard and cold, drenching their clothes and their bags and their horses, until muddy water pooled underfoot in every cleft and basin, and the hours grew miserable and grey.

They didn't bother to stop for lunch.

All Edmund knew was the dark sky growing steadily darker, the stone becoming harder and harder to see through sheets of rain.

They had to shout to be heard over the downpour whenever they had to decide where to turn, and the boys only had a vague idea of which direction they were even going. The terrain made you turn around so many times it got confusing in only a few detours, and the sun was nowhere to be seen.

At last, Peter shouted "Stop! It's no use going on like this, we're just as likely to turn all the way back around!"

"What do you suggest we do, then?" shouted Edmund back at him.

"There!" called Lucy, and pointed to a jagged ridge some distance in front of them, "That might keep the rain out!"

It turned out to be more of a shelf than a ridge, and formed a long cave through the narrow pass. The moment Edmund's head passed under it, the roar of the rain turned to something more like thunder in a railway tunnel; still loud, but he could hear his own voice at last, echoing off the stone.

"Well, that's more like."

"I'll say," said Peter, dismounting the moment they hit dry ground. "Good eye, Lu."

Lucy's curls were bedraggled beyond repair; in fact all three of them looked rather like drowned rats, but the relief of getting out of the ice bath was so great that nobody cared.

"I suppose we'll have to make camp," said Lucy as she followed Peter down to the ground. "It must be getting late."

"No fire, though," said Edmund. And that brought the mood down quite a bit.

They were soaked to the bone. Lucy's teeth chattered, and it didn't help much when they stripped off their dripping cloaks, though the work of brushing the horses down brought a bit of warmth back into Edmund's arms.

Lucy sorted through their packs and pulled out what was left of their food: a few bits of meat wrapped in lettuce leaves, some soggy oat bread, and a hunk of cheese. It wasn't exactly the dinner Edmund had been hoping for, but knowing it was the last of their rations made it precious anyway.

They ate with their backs to the wall, the pounding rain the only sound echoing through the natural tunnel. Nobody seemed to have much to say. And they didn't know how much later, but eventually the sky grew darker, and the rain began to let up.

Edmund had almost nodded off when Lucy said "The moon is out."

And so it was. Shrouded in wisps of cloud, shining coldly over glistening dark rocks, the pools outside their shelter reflecting its silver glow.

Edmund got up to stretch his legs and groaned, all his muscles having gone stiff while he sat in his wet things.

"No use trying to go anywhere in the dark," said Peter. "We might as well get some sleep."

Lucy tucked herself into Peter's side, and Edmund glanced at them.

"You go ahead. I'll take first watch."

Peter opened his mouth, most likely to object, but then looked down at his snuggly companion and thought better of it. "Okay. Wake me before dawn."

Edmund smirked. "Of course. You didn't think I would let you sleep all night, did you?"

Peter shot him a 'wow, thanks' smile, but shifted his position to wrap an arm around Lucy, and Edmund turned to wander off toward the edge of their shelter.

It was good luck that the tunnel ran a little uphill, otherwise they would have been stuck camping in standing water. Instead, the glassy puddles came right up to Edmund's boots as he settled down and pulled his sword out to sharpen on the whetstone he carried in his belt.

In the stillness and silence of the mountains, with nothing to occupy him but his own thoughts, he couldn't help but wonder what they would eat tomorrow.

At least bare survival distracted from the heavier questions; whether they would really find the source of the infection, whether they would be able to do anything about it if they did, whether they were even going the right direction.

The moon faded in and out of cloud, and in the hours that followed, Edmund found himself imagining shapes in the shadows around him, just as he'd done as a child when a candle was left flickering in his room.

A wolf here, a giant there, strange forms that started to change the longer you looked at them.

Edmund blinked.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been spacing out, but he shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and stared back at the jagged rocks, squinting into the pinnacle forms that stood up sharp against the grey sky a hundred paces from him.

He almost pinched himself, but the sudden chill that ran down his spine was more than enough to tell him he was wide awake.

The shadows were moving.

"Peter," he murmured, eyes fixed on the patches of black nothingness.

Peter grunted a non-committal response, still mostly asleep.

The strange, wafting movement from within the darkness seemed to be coming closer, and Edmund wasn't sure exactly how he knew that, but his eyes were well enough accustomed to strange sights by now. Something was keeping the shadows at its back. Even out of reach of the moonlight, it wasn't quite as black as the abyss it swayed in.

"Pete," he hissed, and this time Peter seemed to really wake as Lucy stirred.

"Edmund?" she asked in a sleepy but forcibly awake voice. "What is it?"

He nodded slightly toward the shadows but didn't otherwise move. He didn't want to tip it off, whatever it was.

There was some rustling behind him as the other two sat up, probably looking out into the darkness, too.

"I don't see anything," said Peter.

Indeed, there wasn't much to see, but Edmund's eyes never left that strange ripple in the void, almost as if the darkness itself were distorted. But all of his senses told him it was watching him back.

"It's-" he began, but then Lucy screamed.

Edmund whipped around just as the metallic flash of Peter's sword rang through the cave, and he saw the gangly shadow creature leering over them for just a split second before Peter brought Rhindon smashing through it and sprayed them all with cold liquid.

Edmund gasped.

The thing rippled like a soapy bubble and then collapsed—almost deflated—to the ground, icy water spilling out across the stone.

Before Edmund could even form a coherent thought, however, Peter glanced past him and shouted "Ed!" just before a weight crashed into his back and drove his chin straight into the rock.

The thing's momentum threw it scrabbling over his head, and just as it reeled back he swung out and slashed through its body like jelly, that same liquid spurting over his hand as the thing rippled and keeled over.

Edmund scrambled to his feet and Peter pulled Lucy behind him, all glancing around, weapons up, waiting for more, but the night fell back into a tomb-like stillness, save for their panting breaths.

Peter broke the silence after a minute.

"Sprites."

Edmund looked down at the crumpled puddles on the floor and realized they still held some sort of shape, as if their insides had been liquified but they still had their skin.

They were gangly, translucent things. Water spirits, though not like any kind they'd seen since the days of the witch.

"Brought out by the rain, I'd guess," said Peter.

Lucy inched toward them, kneeling down by Edmund's feet. "Something's wrong about them."

"You think?" asked Edmund, pressing the cuff of his sleeve to the warmth dripping down his chin.

"More than usual, I mean. Sprites are supposed to be like leeches, right? They come when you're sleeping, or injured. I've never heard of them attacking outright."

Peter nudged one of them with his foot. "I don't think they're even built to take a punch."

Edmund crouched down to touch the wet ground with two fingers, brought them up to his nose and grimaced. "Blood."

Old blood mixed with cold water.

He poked at the crumpled gelatin skin just as a high-pitched shriek echoed through the mountain and he shot to his feet. Goosebumps tingled over his arms as the scream lingered for several seconds too long and then turned to a cackle, joined by a low, haunting howl.

"We've made too much noise," hissed Peter, and Lucy's wide eyes flashed in the dark.

"Can we get away?"

"That would only make more noise," said Edmund, mind racing. "It might be better to stay here if it comes to a fight."

"We'll be outnumbered," argued Peter, "And they'll have the advantage in the dark."

"It'll be no less dark if we run."

The boys looked at each other as another shriek erupted nearby, a chorus of inhuman cries piercing the night.

The horses shifted nervously, ears flicking to and fro.

"On second thought," said Edmund, and grabbed his pack from against the cave wall.

"Arrow on the string, Lucy," said Peter, gathering up his soggy cloak and heaving himself into the saddle.

Lucy and Edmund followed quickly, weapons out, and Peter urged his horse forward through the tunnel, the cloppity clop of twelve hooves echoing thunderously off the narrow walls.

A moment later they burst out the other side and the lane widened, moonlight bathing the glistening stone in its pale glow as they splashed through glassy puddles and the horrible howling noises grew ever closer.

The moon at last afforded some sense of direction, and Edmund was just getting an idea of their position when something crashed down into the path and Peter's horse reared up to miss it, horse scream and demon scream intermingled as Edmund pulled off hard to the right and nearly collided with a wall of rock.

There was a twang from Lucy's bow and another scream, and Peter's horse jerked back and spun so sharply that he lost his grip and landed hard on the stone.

"Peter!" she screamed as a haggard wolfish form stalked into the sickly light and towered over him.

She shot again just as it lunged for him, and Peter had just enough time to get his bearings before the beast bore down and his blade plunged straight up through its heart. Wild howl cut short, it slumped onto his legs, glistening tongue lolling out in a pool of blood.

Peter's horse bolted back the way they'd come before he could snatch at its reins, still struggling out from under the twitching carcass.

And then the stones were moving, every pinnacle crawling with arched backs and sharp limbs and flashing teeth, and Peter flung himself up behind Edmund as they surged forward and the monsters dove.

Lucy flew straight out ahead of them, hair whipping, bow strung at her side, and Edmund clutched tight with his knees as one of Peter's arms wrapped around his waist and a clamor of shrieks and growls erupted behind them.

Rushing stone, pounding hooves, wind stinging his eyes and cheeks as adrenaline raced through Edmund's veins and the world turned to sheer chaos. White eyes flashed from jagged ridges as all manner of creatures threw themselves into their path and bones crunched under hooves, no self preservation to their madness, only the clamor for the kill, twisted forms, hungry and rotten.

They stormed into a jagged mountain valley just as a shadow dropped from above and bowled Edmund out of his saddle.

For one heart-stopping second there was nothing but air, and then the hilt of his sword dug into his stomach and drove the breath from his body as he struck the stone with a sickening crack, sparks flying in his vision.

He rolled over just in time to block the lurch of a twisted, bloody face, a hag's beak inches from his nose, snapping and hissing and garbling meaningless noises, pale eyes bugging out of their sockets. And in a haze of adrenaline the strength rushed back to his arms and he threw her off, flipping over and slamming her into the ground.

The crack of her skull resonated through his bones, but still she lashed out with cruel clawed fingers, and he slammed her head against the stone again and again, over and over in a blind heat until she finally went limp and sticky warmth oozed between his fingers.

A roar cut short behind him and he spun to see Peter sword-deep in a minotaur, before an arrow whizzed over their heads and struck a Sprite that burst above them in the clefts.

Peter jumped down from the saddle and pulled Edmund bodily to his feet, the world tilting dizzyingly around him as he gripped his brother's arm and the roar of the horde came nearly upon them.

"You okay?"

"Fine," he said, pressing a hand to his splitting forehead as he glanced around the moonlit valley.

But then his heart dropped into his stomach.

It was a dead end.

He looked back in the direction they'd come just as the first of the horde poured into the valley and Peter's grip tightened.

"Go," said Edmund, his tone still hazy, absent. "Climb."

"What?"

"Climb! The walls, now, climb!"

"What about the horses?" cried Lucy as she strung another arrow from the back of her mare.

"Leave them," he shouted as he shoved Peter toward the ridge and stumbled after him, "We don't have another choice!"

Lucy let her arrow fly into the gurgling mass and then dropped to the ground, sending her horse off at a gallop as she turned to run after the boys.

Edmund hit the edge of the cliff just a second after Peter, Lucy right behind him, and they climbed, fingers scrabbling for hold on the stone, legs working to propel him upward, loose pebbles skittering around them.

Peter was above him in a second, throwing a leg up over the edge and reaching down to help the other two.

Edmund wrapped an arm around Lucy's waist and boosted her up so that her fingers connected with Peter's, who hauled her up the rest of the way as a snarling beast struck the stone beneath them and claws stabbed through Edmund's boot.

He cried out and lost his grip on the stone just before Peter's hand flew down and clenched his wrist like a vice.

The cliff face crashed hard into him, shoulder straining under his full weight, legs thrashing out to find purchase on the brute's face, and at last dashing it into the rock enough to loosen its grip.

Peter pulled, Edmund growled with the effort as he dragged himself up, the beast let go, and they both collapsed over the top of the ridge, scrambling away from the edge the second they got a hold on solid ground.

Edmund flattened himself against the cool stone, heart pounding against his ribcage.

Equine screams split the air as the gurgling mass flooded into the valley, and Edmund squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw before looking back out at the horde.

It was already hard to make anything out of the sea of bodies, like a hive of insects crawling over a piece of rotten meat.

A fleshy orknie shambled in their direction, but none of its four white eyes went up to them. Edmund braced for the recognition, but it never came, and he realized after a minute that it wasn't clever enough to smell them out.

In fact, none of the monsters even seemed to be looking for them, swarming and tearing at what he could only assume were the horses.

And the minutes dragged on, snarling mobs of flesh and the unearthly screeching, and Edmund lost all concept of time, trapped in an eternal loop of this bone chilling hell as monsters ripped each other apart below.

Lucy trembled violently beside him.

He didn't remember exactly when he'd taken her into his arms, but that was how he found himself when the sky at last turned a shade lighter, his hands in her hair, her face buried into his tunic.

The second thing he noticed was that the noises had stopped.

He turned to look at Peter, neck stiff and aching as he did so, and his brother's blue eyes met his in the pre-dawn light. Then he looked down into the ravine, the stone littered with bodies, twisted and mangled and heaped together, some half eaten, a very few others still straggling among them, limbs missing, mouths dripping.

"Lu," he murmured as he struggled into a sitting position and ignored the stab of pain through his skull.

She shifted and detached herself from him, glancing for a second down into the carnage before quickly looking away. And at last Edmund turned to look behind them, into the jagged misty landscape as the first pale glow of dawn struck the stone.

The whole mountain seemed to drop off below them. He could see over all the other sloping peaks into what almost looked like a deep valley, a real one, not like this shallow rocky bowl, miles long, settled between the mountains.

And rising out of it was the sharp, cruel spire of a black tower.

"By the Lion," murmured Peter as he sat up and followed Edmund's gaze. "That's something."