Someone smack me over the head...I am supposed to be updating on a WEEKLY basis, yet here I am, nearly two days sooner than planned. Ah well, I was simply too impatient to hear what you all think of this chapter. Thank you for all the lovely reviews on the first chapter! Also, pay close attention to the dates listed at the beginning of every chapter-they will become very important later.
7th. of Greenroof, 1012—Second-day
At dawn the next day a more remarkable than may have been wished pair of merchants boarded the Calormene merchant vessel, The Bolt of Tash. The elder, and slightly taller of the two, was muffled in a thick sailor's cloak that nearly hid the glint of his fair hair and he kept his head bent with his eyes downcast. Nearly everyone on board the ship noticed him immediately, perhaps more due to his attempts at seeming unremarkable then because of his actually appearance, and within ten minutes rumours about his identity were spreading from prow to stern. Most agreed that he was, in all likelihood, a minor lord of some sort who, having fallen upon hard times, was now fleeing Narnia, or Archenland, in the hopes of avoiding the debt collectors pursuing him.
His younger companion was so utterly unlike him that it seemed nearly impossible they should be traveling together. While the first was secretive, nervous and silent his companion was bare headed, walked with a confidant stride, and was as free with his gold as he was with his conversation. There was no need to speculate about his circumstances or the purpose of his sudden trip to Calormen. He readily revealed that he was a distant descendant of a long ago disgraced and banished Calormene family and was now returning to his ancestral land in hopes of finding favor there. He had fallen in with the hapless Archenlander in his travels and pledged to help him establish a name for himself as a merchant—should his own fortunes prove bright.
These two were of course Edmund and Peridan, and despite all Edmund's warnings to the contrary Peridan was trailing after him in a most deferential manner and persisting in addressing him as "My lord". Once they had boarded the ship and were safely below decks Edmund did not hesitate to show his considerable frustration with his companion's actions.
"Are you trying to get us killed?" he demanded, slamming the cabin door sharply while trying, and failing to remain patient.
"N-no, your majesty," stammered Peridan uncertainly, discarding the heavy cloak with visible relief—the morning was fast becoming far too warm for such heavy attire.
"And yet you persist in addressing me formally. What do you presume would happen if a Tarkaan or Calormene soldier were to hear you address me as one would address a king?" Edmund glared at the cabin door and attempted to behave reasonably despite the earliness of the hour. I suppose it isn't entirely his fault, he admitted grudgingly.
"I presume it would be most inconvenient, my lord."
"If you consider being captured and executed by the Calormen to be inconvenient then you are correct."
The ship lurched slightly as it cast off and Peridan's face immediately turned a rather sickly shade of green. He put a hand to his head, stumbled drizzly, and gratefully sank onto the one chair on the cabin. A moment later he leapt to his feet, mumbling an indistinct apology and appearing horrified that he had presumed, not only to sit in the presence of royalty without invitation, but to appropriate the only chair.
Edmund sighed, shook his head in combined amusement and annoyance, and nodded in the direction of the chair. "Sit down, preferably before you are sick. I take it you've never been at sea before?" Peter, I take it back; I would much rather deal with Susan's suitors.
Peridan shook his head, looking more ill than ever as the ship rocked slightly, turning towards the open sea. "No, my lord. Is it always so rough?"
And this a mere five minutes from port in perfect calm. "No; it is usually a good deal worse." It was rather amusing to watch what little colour remained in Peridan's face fade from it as he groaned and dropped his head forward into his hands, although he did fell slightly sorry for him.
"Is there anything that will help? I feel as though I've drunk an entire barrel of mead. I swear I haven't, your majesty," he added quickly, as if Edmund would suspect alcohol to be the cause of his present troubles.
Edmund shrugged and began rummaging through the pack he had brought with him. "I really couldn't say, though Peter seems to find lying still in the dark and cursing to be somewhat effective. That and behaving like an utter prat until no one can bear his company." Blast! I was certain I brought a second knife, where the blazes did I put it? It would have been considered unusual for a pair of aspiring merchants to openly carry weapons, but that did not mean Edmund had any wish to be defenseless. His own knife was safely hidden inside his right boot, but he highly doubted Peridan had thought of making similar preparations.
Surprised at Peridan's silence he glanced up from the pack to find the older man watching him with a very odd expression on his face. He seemed torn between horror, and reproach and it took Edmund only a moment to identify the cause of his consternation. Peter, I am liable to murder you when I get back. "Peter, my brother, the High King? Perhaps you've met him?"
"Never let them see how frustrating their actions prove to you," Metelus, his longtime friend and tutor had counseled him once. He had been speaking then of visiting dignitaries, nobles, and ladies, but Edmund had long since learned the advice was sound in a vast array of situations—such as dealing with an overzealous courtier. In such circumstances he had often found sarcastic humour to be a most effective weapon in masking frustration, as it both confounded the troublesome individuals and allowed him to marshal his patience. He wasn't entirely certain that it was working in this case, however.
"Yes, of course, but, good my lord, surely it is not entirely proper to insult the High King?" The look on Peridan's face was mightily amusing; nearly, but not quite, amusing enough for Edmund to let the still too formal method of address pass. He was beginning to feel ever more sorry for Peridan; it was hardly his fault he had been brought up in Archenland where formality was valued far more than it was in Narnia. But, however sorry for him he felt now, they would both be a good deal sorrier if Peridan persisted in his habits.
"He is my brother; I'll call him what I like and if he takes issue with it I daresay he'll throw something at my head when next I see him. Perhaps you should concern yourself less with what I call my brother and more with what you call me? I have told you once already, but it seems I must do so again for the sake of clarity." Not even Lucy or Metelus could have successfully prevented him from showing his annoyance at having to repeat himself and he was quite certain Peter would not have bothered trying. "For the duration of this trip, or until a change of circumstance necessitates a change in plan, my name is Edreth and yours is Perin. If you cannot manage to address me by name, then at least refrain from addressing me in any manner that will generate suspicion." He waited to see Peridan nod before turning back to rummaging through the pack again.
The knife he was certain he had not forgotten to pack was still nowhere to be found, and Edmund was quickly losing patience. With a muttered curse he upended the sturdy canvas pack and shook it, sending its various contents tumbling out onto the narrow cot. A shirt of Calormene mail, a good-sized earthenware jug, the contents of which he devoutly hoped would not be needed, a considerable length of plain white cloth, an assortment of clothes, bandages, papers, books, and-at last-a straight hunting knife in a plain leather sheath.
He tossed the knife in Peridan's direction with a smirk, half expecting the other man to miss catching it. To his credit, Peridan did manage to intercept the weapon, though he looked at it dubiously, as if afraid it would spring to life and cut his hand.
"I presume you can fight?"
"Yes, your-my lord, well, not well enough to be relied upon, but well enough to survive."
Wonderful! Edmund though sarcastically as he shoved the various items back into the pack in no particular order. Is there anything he can do? "Apparently you are also rubbish at following instructions." "Pot, kettle," he seemed to hear Peter saying in his most amused voice but chose to ignore it for the moment. Peter wasn't there, and if he had been Edmund wasn't entirely sure he would be able to keep from punching him for sending him such a frustrating companion.
"Oh. My apologies, my lord, I assumed since no one was listening there was no need to address you informally." He looked thoroughly miserable and Edmund wasn't sure if was due to the lurching of the ship or his latest slip in character.
Patience, he reminded himself silently. (It should be noted that, while Edmund had obtained a quite accurate reputation for being the more patient of Narnia's kings it was a skill which did not come naturally to him, but was the result of long practice and many grumbling in private.) Everyone begins somewhere. "You will soon find it is usually best to assume someone is always listening." He smiled slightly at Peridan's disconcerted expression, tossed the pack carelessly under the cot and turn to the door. "Try to get some sleep if you can; it will be a good three days before we dock at Tashbaan."
"What are you planning to do, your-sir—" he paused seemed to struggle with the words and at last managed to ask the question in its improper but necessary form. "What will you be doing?"
Edmund grinned back at him as he pushed the door open, relieved beyond measure when Peridan managed the question without a title attached to it. "Spying," he remarked airily, and pulled the door closed after him.
There were few things Edmund loved more than spying, or as Lucy liked to call it "gathering information by underhanded means". He suspected she had read the phrase in a book somewhere and immediately decided she liked it, and, as she had told him once, "spying is far too simple and common a word for what you do, dear brother". She was right as far as an observer's viewpoint was concerned, but Edmund himself rarely saw his methods of gathering information as particularly difficult or complicated. Slipping into the mannerisms of a created persona was something that had always come naturally to him, though, much to his annoyance, that skill seemed to vanish in the presence of his family members. It also did not seem to extend to fools, Susan's suitors, or potentially sycophantic Royal Advisors.
He gratefully left Peridan—retching and temporarily incapable of causing unwarranted trouble—below decks, summoned up a smile that would not be in the least sincere until a far later hour, and went to gather what information he could from the crew and other passengers. The crew were mainly Calormenes, with the few Terebinthians and Galmans appearing conspicuous due to their fair hair and lighter skin, and the passengers were all Calormen merchants who, having sold their goods in Narnia and Archenland, were now bound for home.
He talked with anyone willing to spare him a second glance and gathered, in the space of half an hour, a veritable wealth of information—both useful and not. The helmsman, a short Calormen with a greying beard and hawk-like eyes, was all too willing to complain of pirates in the waters near Galma, and of strange, shadowy creatures (that he seemed to believe were some manner of sea serpents) off the coast of Terebinthia. Edmund quickly dismissed the later as fanciful nonsense and filed the former away for more careful consideration at a later time.
When he cautiously inquired if there had been similar things seen near the Lone Islands, or if there was any news from Narrowhaven, the sailor's mood changed abruptly. His expression darkened, and he shook his head emphatically while bringing the palm of his right hand up to cover the bridge of his nose and the centre of his forehead. Edmund recognised the gesture as one the Calormene ambassador was wont to use when he felt the need to invoke the protection of Tash against some danger and wondered what could be so frightening as to necessitate such a plea to the demon.
"It's worth more than my life to tell you that, young master," he informed Edmund with an air of absolute finality, and he would say no more on the matter. Edmund smiled, assured him it had only been an idle request, and moved on, sending a silent and heartfelt expression of thanks to Aslan that Calormene sailors were more plain speaking and less given to using flowery epitaphs than their land-dwelling kin. If he had asked the question in Tashbaan, or another of the Calormene cities, it would likely have been hours before he managed to slip away.
The cook was slightly more helpful and volunteered the information that a fleet of Calormene warships had recently departed Tashbaan, bound for parts unknown. When Edmund mentioned the Lone Islands however, the fellow's reaction was much the same as the helmsman's had been.
So it followed with the rest of the crew and the half dozen or so Calormene merchants on board. They all seemed ready enough to share gossip, to tell tall tales of sea monsters, and even to insult the governance of the Tisroc—leading Edmund to suspect that the Tisroc's people, who knew very well that he would not live forever, were simply waiting for him to die in anticipation of the spectacle his sons fighting over his throne would surely provide. But, without fail it took only a mention of the Lone Islands for even the most loquacious sailor to become surly, silent, and thoroughly frightened.
By the time the ship docked in Tashbaan three days later Edmund found that he was heartily sick of his questions being avoided and he was entirely convinced everyone on board knew more than they were saying. Peridan was heartily sick as well—though in a more literal way and for entirely different reasons—and Edmund had been quite content to avoid him as much as possible. He had always shared Lucy's dislike of being confined to a cabin while at sea and had been more than happy to spend his nights above deck, watching the stars spin above him in the sky, and turning his troubled thoughts over and over in his head. The conclusions he was reaching were ever more troubling and it was becoming very clear what he must do. He supposed he had known all along, and wondered if Peter had figured it out yet.
Probably not, he had thought, with a hint of grim amusement and sighed.
Sadly, it no longer proved possible to avoid Peridan once they were on solid ground again and Edmund silently resigned himself to tolerating his still too deferential companion. For his part Peridan seemed uninclined to conversation as he staggered down the gangway, struggled to find his balance when he reached the cobbled street, and promptly tripped over his own feet and sat down heavily in the dust.
"Give yourself a moment to find your balance," Edmund cautioned, keeping his own balance with an ease borne of long practice as he scanned the surrounding streets and buildings.
The docks were on the very edge of Tashbaan, far enough from the palaces and grand houses that the smell of fish would not disturb the wealthy citizens, but there were a good number of inns in the immediate vicinity. Judging by Peridan's pallor and unsteadiness it would be unwise to venture further than necessary into the city that day and Edmund sighed yet again as he helped his companion to his feet. I don't have time for this.
"If memory serves there is an only slightly disreputable inn some hundred yards further up the street. Can you walk?" He's worse than Peter; at least Peter recovers well and quickly enough on dry land.
Peridan nodded, looking distinctly sullen and followed him, only a trifle unsteadily, as they made their way through the press of people towards the less crowded end of the street.
Edmund remembered a time when Tashbaan had been a city that both fascinated and disgusted him. It now merely disgusted him. The wealthy merchants, nobles, and anyone else with enough money lived in luxurious and ridiculous comfort while, mere yards away, those less fortunate starved in the streets. That would have been bad enough had it not been for the flourishing trade in slaves-some captured from the islands, some from Narnian and Archenland, but the majority from the Calormene villages themselves. It never ceased to amaze and anger him that any ruler should permit such blatant mistreatment of his own people, and not merely permit it, but actively promote it.
Peridan's expression displayed a similar disgust and distress and Edmund was glad of it. An incompetent operative and slightly sycophantic advisor he would grudgingly tolerate, but a proponent of slavery and injustice was the type of man he could not in good conscience allow to remain at the heart of Cair Paravel. There may be hope for him yet.
Peridan prided himself on possessing at least some degree of intelligence. It had served him well enough in Archenland, allowing him to garner favour with the other lords-though he always suspected that King Lune would have preferred him to be more forthright and less courtly in his behaviour. Whatever the King would have preferred he still had found no fault with Peridan's service and had been reluctant to see him go.
Peridan had dreamed of returning to his family's ancestral home since he had first been able to understand the reasons his great grandfather had been forced to flee. While the Witch held sway over the land there was no possibility for returning, but when word had come that she was dead, and Narnia was once more under the governance of human monarchs, Peridan's longing had been rekindled.
It had taken him ten years to achieve a position in King Lune's court that was elevated enough it would give him a legitimate claim for being able to aid Narnia's young rulers. The intelligence he so prided himself on possessing had served him well and he had learned quickly that there was nothing lords loved more than being treated with more respect than they had earned. As the years passed he found himself falling more and more into the trap set by flattering and groveling to achieve his ends, until at last the honest, frankly speaking man he had been in his youth seemed lost forever.
That brought him to his current predicament. A young man still, though rapidly approaching thirty, Royal Advisor to the Narnian Kings, and currently traipsing through the choking dust and blinding heat of Tashbaan in summer as he trailed after the younger of the kings while trying to keep his nausea at bay.
He had lately suffered no little confusion concerning how ineffective his ordinary means of currying favour had proved to be. Narnians in general, it seemed, cared little for formalities, and their rulers even less so. High King Peter had tolerated his high formal method of address with visible frustration, Queen Susan had been gracious but dismissive, Queen Lucy had actually giggled when addressed by her full title, and countless times in the past three days he had found himself ducking as King Edmund threw a book at his head in response to being addressed even as simply "my lord". It was incredibly frustrating, bewildering, and if he was entirely honest with himself, infuriating.
"Perin!" He was so deep in thought it momentarily did not register that King Edmund was addressing him. The King was watching him with some amusement from the low door of a decrepit inn. "Unless you fancy having your throat slit for your gold I would suggest joining me." He ducked through the door and Peridan, who had no desire to find his throat slit for any reason, followed him quickly.
It was unlike any inn or tavern in Narnia or Archenland. The place was filthy, the floor littered with broken plates and drunken men sleeping slumped against their overturned chairs. The windows were shuttered over and the only light came from a few smoking tapers that provided little illumination and only served to add to the stuffy heat that pervaded the room. A few scantily clad women with painted faces moved among the jumble, speaking softly, and Peridan would have been a fool not to guess their office. He shuddered and followed King Edmund swiftly, pulling the hood of his cloak farther forward despite the heat. He got the distinct impression that Northerners were not welcome here.
Thankfully no one seemed to take notice of them as King Edmund crossed to a table in the corner, moved two of the three chairs until their backs were against the wall, and dropped into one indicating that Peridan should take the other. The innkeeper, a wizened old man with greedy eyes, was summoned and moments later two tankards of very cheap and unspeakably foul ale were deposited on the filthy table top. Peridan took a sip, nearly choked, and pushed the tankard away. King Edmund's lips twitched in a smile as he studied the liquid in his own tankard and wisely did not drink. A moment later Peridan saw him tense and he cursed, quietly but very sincerely.
"What is it, my lord?" Peridan asked automatically, before he could stop the title from attaching itself to the question. The King barely spared him a glance in annoyance before jerking his chin towards the high counter on the other side of the room.
"The Tarkaan, the tall fellow at the bar," he said quietly, not taking his eyes from the armed and turbaned figure. "I know him, rather too well for comfort in fact. Keep your head down and your mouth shut."
There was what seemed to be genuine surprise and shock in the king's voice and Peridan found that he no objections to doing precisely as he was told. A very tense moment passed in which he fervently hoped the Tarkaan would not notice them. Luck, however, was not with them and the tall figure turned, eyes fixing on King Edmund's face with a predatory look as he stalked towards them.
The King sighed, muttered another curse, and quite suddenly his demeanor changed. His shoulders relaxed, his expression became unconcerned, bordering on boredom. By the time the Tarkaan reached their table there was no trace of trepidation or annoyance remaining on King Edmund's face and Peridan found himself feeling a confused sort of admiration at his ability to change his manner so quickly. It was a skill Peridan himself did not possess and he pulled the cloak closer and attempted to fade into the shadows.
"Tarkaan Obridesh," King Edmund acknowledged with a nod, not raising his eyes from their scrutiny of the cheap ale in his tankard. "I must say, this is quite an unpleasant surprise. Although, considering your taste in companionship, I suppose I ought not to be surprised at finding you in the slums of Tashbaan." Peridan saw the corner of his mouth twitch, as if in amusement at some private joke, though he could see nothing remotely amusing about their current circumstances.
The Tarkaan snarled and Peridan fervently wished he retreat further into the shadows, or better yet run all the way back to Archenland. He was no stranger to dealing with Calormens and had quickly learned they did not respond well either to being mocked or to sarcastic humour. Surely King Edmund knows this as well as I? Perhaps he is deliberately trying to infuriate the fellow? That course of action seemed surprisingly foolish, and foolishness was not something Peridan had come to associate with the young king.
"And you, oh most sagacious king?" sneered the Tarkaan, dropping drunkenly and uninvited into the vacant chair. "I have not heard tidings of a royal visit." He hiccupped, drained the contents of his goblet, and slammed the pewter vessel down on the filthy tabletop. "And you are dressed and accompanied most unbecomingly for one of your status. Could it be, oh noble sir, that the famed King Edmund of Narnian is spying like a common sneak?"
Peridan very much did not like the sudden, hard light in the Tarkaan's dark eyes. He wanted desperately to speak but doubted King Edmund would welcome his interference. Besides, the Tarkaan seemed as though he not yet taken notice of Peridan and was unlikely to listen to anything he had to say.
Edmund smiled lazily and leaned back in his chair, looking utterly at ease despite the feel of danger in the air. "And you, oh most venomous serpent?" he countered easily, watching the Tarkaan impassively. "Could it be that the most exalted and favoured advisor of the Tisroc, may he rot forever, has fallen out of favour?"
Peridan flinched as King Edmund's words fell with the cruel precision of well-aimed blows. The Tarkaan glowered more darkly still, and when he did not verbally respond the King shrugged nonchalantly and continued speaking.
"It seems obvious enough to me. Your robes are worn, your beard undyed, and you have fallen so low as to visit the lower town in search of cheap spirits and cheaper company. The second two might be explicable when unaccompanied by the first; as it stands, oh most disgraced worm, it would seem you have lost your status. What was it, Obridesh? Did the grand vizier find you in the chambers of his favourite slave? Or perhaps," the King's voice turned truly venomous now and his eyes flashed dangerously, "Perhaps it was the chambers of his youngest son?"
"Perhaps the Tisroc, may he live forever, will find better favour for me when I return to him with a spying traitor's head!" The Tarkaan's chair crashed to the floor as he sprang to his feet with a roar of fury, drawing his scimitar with catlike swiftness. Quick as he was the Narnian king was quicker and before either Peridan or the Calormen could react he had disarmed the furious Tarkaan with a deft flick of his wrist and dropped, unconcernedly back into his chair. The knife that had appeared, as if by magic in his right hand, now disappeared just as swiftly back into his boot before he silently passed the Tarkaan's scimitar to Peridan.
Peridan accepted the blade, still shocked and attempting feebly to catch his breath and still his shaking hands. He had seen death in the Tarkaan's eyes, could not doubt his king had seen it too, but while he had been frozen in terrified inactivity King Edmund had acted with all the swift sureness of a striking snake.
"Perhaps," King Edmund agreed, nonchalantly summoning the innkeeper with a commanding wave of his hand. It took Peridan a moment to realise he was responding to the Tarkaan's prior statement as if the conversation had not been interrupted by murderous action. "But he will doubtless find less favour for you if you return, failing to have done more than scratch me. It will doubtless be your head upon the block now if you are foolish enough to admit having seen me."
The innkeeper approached warily, bowing and obviously expecting further violence. The King handed the man four times the amount of gold he owed and nodded to the Tarkaan's empty goblet. "A flask of your best wine for my friend, if you would good sir."
"At once, oh my master." The innkeeper bowed so low he missed the flash of disgust in the Narnian's eyes at the word master; Peridan did not.
"Now," King Edmund continued in a cheerfully conversational tone, smiling calmly at the still seething Calormen. "Since we have effectively gotten violent formalities out of the way, perhaps we can now converse in a more civilised manner."
"I have no civility for barbarian dogs!" the other man shot back, eyes blazing with impotent fury. Peridan edged away slightly, moving the man's scimitar further from his reach.
"Tsk. That really is not the way to address a friend, Obridesh." Again, there was a hint of sardonic amusement in King Edmund's voice and Peridan found himself wondering at it. He had heard stories of the younger king, the spymaster of Narnia, but had suspected them to be nonsense, now he found that he nearly believed them.
"Then I must praise the gods you are no friend of mine! May you drown in a river of your own blood, barbarian swine." He spat on the floor, but for all his vile words did not deny the flask of wine the innkeeper set at his elbow.
"I must admit to being surprised at you, Tarkaan. I thought you wise enough to make friends when necessary, and, seeing as no one else seems willing to aid you, I would consider my friendship necessary to your continued survival." He paused to stare thoughtfully into the murky depths of his tankard. Peridan had yet to see him drink and suspected the presence of the ale was simply another carefully calculated detail. "As for blood and drowning," he said a moment later, in a much different and darker voice. "I really cannot recommend it."
Peridan watched as he raised his gaze from the goblet to the Tarkaan's face and met his eyes. A flash of understanding seemed to pass briefly between them before the Tarkaan shifted uncomfortably and looked away.
Obridesh swiftly drained the contents of his goblet and clumsily poured another, peering blearily at Peridan and seeming to notice him for the first time. "And who is your companion, most distasteful ally? A bastard brother to your bastard of a brother?" The last comment was added when he caught a glimpse of Peridan's fair hair beneath the hood of his cloak.
It took a moment for Peridan to decipher the slurred words, but when he did, he nearly sprang to his feet to confront the drunkard who dared insult his High King; it was only King Edmund's hand on his wrist that stopped him. "Peace, Perin," he said softly, the warning plain. "For shame Tarkaan, that you should rail against your betters. Hath not one of your own poets said, "A distraught man must guard his tongue, lest his words prove unwise"?" His voice was calm as ever, but his right hand had clenched into a fist at the insult to his brother.
For the first time the Tarkaan looked as though the king's words had reached him. He shrugged and blinked quickly as he again reached unsteadily for the flask of wine. "Well spoken, oh eloquent king; though what a barbarian such as you should know of our poets I really cannot understand." His words slurred together, making his previously slight accent more pronounced and nearly indecipherable.
"So, oh noble Tarkaan," said King Edmund quietly, his words sounding more measured and his voice more controlled than ever in contrast to the Tarkaan's drunkenness. "Are we to be friends?"
"Certainly!" the other man slurred, reaching the stage of inebriation at which he was disposed to be merry. "For as long as my goblet is full, and the wine is good."
The innkeeper was duly summoned, and the flask refilled, much to Peridan's disgust, and he suspected to the King's as well, though there was no sign of it in his expression.
"Tell me, friend, why my inquiries about the Lone Islands have been met with fear and a lack of response?"
Obridesh set his goblet down, nearly missing the edge of the table and focused blearily on the King's face. "So, there is something the great spymaster of Narnia does not know and cannot discern; that is a pretty jest!"
Again, it was only King Edmund's restraining arm on his wrist that kept Peridan from rising to the Calormene's bait. He undoubtedly wanted a fight and Peridan had to admit it was better not to give him one, still it made his blood boil to be unable to answer the man's rudeness in kind.
King Edmund surreptitiously slid the flask of wine just out of reach and leaned back in his chair again, studying the Calormen with enviable detachment. "I will pardon your rudeness, Obridesh, if you will answer my question."
The Calormen reached for the flask, found it missing, and glared accusingly at the King. "You're a fool," he spat contemptuously. "You and the pack of barbarian dogs you call family. Your people stand poised to rebel and you notice nothing. Your inquiries, oh king, go unanswered, lest word reach Narnia that even now a fleet of our warships have set sail for Narrowhaven."
"So, it is to be a military coupe and not merely a political one? Would the Tisroc, I do not care how long he lives, so long as it is far from me, really risk breaking our treaty?" Peridan shuddered at the thought of war with Calormen, but the king's voice remained as calm as it had ever been and his gaze was steady as he fixed it on the Tarkaan's face.
"A treaty is only as strong as the country that backs it," the Tarkaan said, gazing mournfully at the wine flask. "Narnia has grown weak, stretched thin by fighting in the North, the High King's long absences, and Queen Susan's growing preoccupation with her flattering visitors. The Lone Islands have grown discontent and are ripe for the taking."
King Edmund passed him the flask with a sigh. "And this fleet? It puts in at Narrowhaven to provide military support for the Council's overthrowal of the governor?"
"Your wisdom does…you credit." His words were halting as he finished his latest goblet of wine and his swarthy face flushed a dark red. He reached for the flask again, missed and sent his empty goblet spinning to the floor. A moment later his head collided with the table, producing a dull thud as he slumped forward, insensible.
Well then! Do let me know what you thought, of Obridesh and Peridan especially :-)
To answer my guest reviewers...never fear! Peter and Edmund WILL most definitely be reuniting at some point well before this story draws to an end...I'm just going to have a bit of fun first. *Evil laugh-oh, wait, spoilers! Erhmm...too much caffeine? Is that a valid excuse?
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Cheers,
A
