Here is this; thank you again to PaintingMusic14 for taking the time to look it over and catch my typos!
I am completely overwhelmed by the amount of support for this story! Thank you so much! It makes me so happy to see so many people reading and reviewing :-) Seriously, you guys majorly brighten my week!
One thing I seem to be hearing consistently is...update! Well, alright :-) I will attempt to move to twice weekly updates and see how that works, so expect another chapter on Saturday. Hopefully I can accomplish that :-)
Guest: Thank you so much! I am glad you are enjoying this story so much :-)
Aslan's Daughter: Your only complaint will be answered with updates! So glad you are still reading and enjoying. To answer your question, yes, I am working on a prequel to this story which takes place in Tashbaan during the time Edmund cannot remember. However, it will have to be posted after this story is complete because otherwise it would spoil some of the plot twists :-)
Far to the South of Narnia, over the mountain pass and beyond the borders of Archenland, across the great desert, the city of Tashbaan stands between sand and sea. In this city lived a man called Obresh Tarkaan. He was very wealthy and lived in a grand palace—right at the heart of the city—and his power and authority were second only to the Tisroc's, may he live forever. But, despite all his riches and the respect he had earned of his fellows, the Tarkaan was very unhappy. His wife was all that he could desire in kindness and in beauty and could truly be called the delight of his eyes, but Obresh was growing old and they were yet childless.
Tarkaan and his Tarkheena were forever visiting the temple of the great god Tash in supplication, and great were their sacrifices—greater still were the sacrifices they swore on their very souls to make—should The Inexorable grant them a child of their own bloodline. For years their pleas were unanswered and Obresh fell into despair—taking a mistress of Northern birth in the hopes that she could give him a son.
The Tarkaan's mistress begged her lord to release her, for she had been captured from Archenland and had not come to Tashbaan of her own will. Though the Tarkaan was kind to her she longed for the cool mountains and snowy forests of her home, but Obresh had grown desperate and would not heed her pleas.
In time word was given to Obresh that the woman was with child, and great was his rejoicing when she bore him a son. The Tarkaan was content, but a seed of hate was planted in the Tarkheena's once gentle heart—against the woman who could give her husband what she had so long failed to, and against the son who should have been hers. She went again in secret to the temple of Tash, cloaked and hooded, and knelt before his bloody altar. There she swore to do even greater things in his service, if only he would grant her a son of her own—a true heir for her lord.
It had long been known that Tash, for all his power and majesty, was a harsh Lord—but even he was moved by the Tarkheena's tears and her promises of the power she would win for him. He appeared to her then, in the guise of a great Vulture with eyes of fire, and spoke—asking what more she could grant him than had already been promised by her husband.
The Tarkheena's spirit was strong, but even she cowered in the presence of her god—falling to her face before him. "Oh Tash, Inexorable and Irresistible," spoke the Tarkheena. "I would gladly give all I have and all I could ever gain, if only you would grant me a son. You are great and terrible in majesty and there is nothing your power cannot accomplish. Have pity upon me, oh master of my soul, and heed the cries of a distraught woman."
Now it so happened, that across the desert, and the mountains, and the country of Archenland lay another land—frozen in eternal winter and peopled by the spirits of Trees, and Waters, and roamed by Animals who spoke with voices of men—and this land was called Narnia. Tash had long desired this land—for it was a place of strong magic and many riches—and when he heard the Tarkheena's plea, he saw in his wisdom, that she would grant him anything he desired—even the land of Narnia if it were within her power to do so.
So Tash spoke to her once again and swore to grant her wish, if she would swear in return to grant him whatever he desired when the time came. The Tarkheena wept with joy, and bowed before him in thanks before swearing on her soul—and the souls of all those beloved to her—that she would grant her Dread Lord his price. Having sworn thus the Tarkheena departed the temple of Tash and returned to the house of her husband.
She threw off the cloak and hood of her mourning and dressed herself in her finest gown and jewels. She embraced her husband and was merry, but told him nothing of what had passed between her and Tash.
The Tarkheena remained childless, despite Tash's promise, for three years more until, in the midst of summer, on the last day of the Great Festival of Tash, she bore a son and named him Obridesh. The Tarkaan, who had long ago despaired that his beloved would give him a child rejoiced greatly and swore that he would grant her whatever she most desired.
In the time between the Tarkheena's visit to Tash's temple and the birth of her son, the other son of Obresh had grown into a fine young lad and was much beloved by his father. Seeing this the Tarkheena's hate grew and flowered—and the fruit of that hate was poison. When her son was borne she feared Obresh would still find favour for the other child, who he had named Emreth, and so bade him send both mother and child far from his palace.
Obresh wept bitterly at his wife's demand, for, though he loved his infant son, the other boy was as much his own as Obridesh. He begged his wife, entreating with her for many days, before she at last relented. She resolved to tolerate the boy's presence if his mother were sent away and Emreth himself remained merely a servant in his father's house.
Obresh agreed, though it caused his heart pain for his son to be denied the title due to him, and sent his Mistress away, across the desert and back to the forests and mountains of her well-beloved home.
The two sons of Obresh Tarkaan grew swiftly, and though the Tarkheena hated Emreth, Obresh never forgot the love he felt for his firstborne. He saw that the lad was educated well in the ways of his people and when Obridesh was of an age to learn he joined his brother in his lessons.
All who saw the two boys declared they had yet to see two brothers so devoted to each other, and so blessed by Tash. They were scarcely to be parted from each other's company, save when Emreth's duties as stable boy called him from his brother's side. They fought, as all brothers must, but by the time they had grown from boys to young men it seemed there was nothing which could come between them.
In all the years that passed the Tarkheena never spoke of her long-ago meeting with Tash—though she never forgot the debt she owed him and at times her fear nearly overcame the joy she felt for the son she had been granted. She was a canny woman and knew that Tash would soon exact his price and feared he would take that which was most precious to her—the life of Obridesh her son.
When Obridesh had reached his seventeenth year the Tarkheena once more journeyed to the great Temple and prostrated herself before the altar.
"Oh Tash, mighty and terrible," spoke she. "You have granted me a son and for that you have my undying thanks and service. Oh my dreaded Lord, I promised you many years since that I would grant you whatever price you asked, and yet, you have demanded nothing from me. I come before you, your servant always, to inquire what I must do in recompense for the life you have granted."
Tash once more took the form of a great vulture with eyes of fire and once more terror gripped the spirit of the Tarkheena and she fell to the floor before him, and could not lift her eyes to gaze upon him.
"Oh foolish woman!" chided Tash. "That you should think to summon me as if I were yours to command. It is you, oh weak hearted daughter, who have promised your soul—and the souls of all your beloved—to me and it is I who command you. For your insolence I will punish you by telling what it is I require of you."
"There is a land, far to the North of here, peopled by demons and ghouls, many of whom possess great magic. They think themselves my equals, and are forever defying me—in my power I could destroy them with a mere thought—and yet, I desire that land and governance over it more than I desire its destruction. You will travel to this land and win its throne and power for me or I will take the life your son, oh wretched worm, which was granted only through my grace."
Hearing these words the Tarkheena's courage fled from her, for she had heard many tales of Narnia and knew what land it was her Lord spoke of. "Oh, my most dreaded Lord," spoke the Tarkheena, though her blood was like water in her veins. "I am woman, and weak with age. I have not now the strength to journey so far, nor to conquer the kingdom you desire. I beg you, have mercy upon me, oh Lord of my Soul, and do not take the delight of my old age from me. Have mercy!"
Tash heard her pleas, but would not this time be moved by her tears and laughed at her weakness. "Oh that it had been your husband who made such a bargain with me, for he would have served his Lord to better purpose!"
But he was resolute in his demands and dropped at her feet a knife which his claws had clutched through all their conference. "In your weakness, foolish wretch, you cannot conquer a kingdom. But take this knife, and travel with it to the castle of Cair Paravel. There you shall find four thrones and upon those four thrones sit four sovereigns who have been granted dominion over all Narnia. Bow before them and drive this blade into your own flesh—it will take your life, but not before they have sprung forward to help you, for they are mere children and weakhearted. Cut the hand of the High King with this blade and when his blood mixes with yours upon it your spirit will flee your body and find new lodging in that of the King. From his throne you shall overthrow the other three and bring Narnia under my eternal rule—for this is the price I demand of you who dare make requests of me."
The Tarkheena wept bitterly when she heard these words, for Tash's orders meant her death and separation from her beloved son. She pleaded with him for the space of seven days, but in all that time The Inexorable would not be moved and the Tarkheena fell into a bleak despair. To deny the Dread god his price would be to forfeit her son's life, but to accept would be to lose him just as surely.
At the end of the seventh day the Tarkheena cast down the knife of Tash and turned her back on him—resolving that if she must be separated from her son they would die in each other's company. She returned to the house of her husband and wept, and called for her son to come to her, but Obridesh had gone riding—hunting lions in the south with Emreth his brother—and the wrath of Tash was swifter than the messengers of the Tarkheena.
When the two sons of Obresh returned to their father's house it was to find the palace in mourning and the Tarkheena lying dead in her chamber. For Tash desired Narnia above all else and was resolved to have it, and so he took the life of the mother and not of the son, remembering well that the Tarkheena had sworn her oath upon the souls of all who were beloved to her.
Obresh mourned his wife deeply and would not be consoled, even by the strength of the love he bore for his sons and they for him. Not many months beyond her death the Tarkheena's husband joined her in the Earth's cold embrace and Obridesh was left an orphan, with no living kin save his faithful brother Emreth.
He took his father's place as Royal Advisor to the Tisroc, may he live forever, but found no joy in the cruelties he was duty bound to perform—for he was kind of heart. His only solace was found in the hours free of duty when he could slip away from Tashbaan to race on horseback through the Southern Wilderness with Emreth at his side. And so he lived, the last of the Tarkheena's beloved souls, unaware of the curse that lurked in every shadow and the vulture that circled high above his head—Tash would bide his time, but when the time was ripe the Knife would pass to Obridesh and Narnia would fall.
10th. of Greenroof—Fifthday, 1012
Peridan had thought he could not be more miserable than he had been on the voyage to Tashbaan—he quickly learned he had been mistaken. Tarkaan's goblet barely stopped spinning on the filthy floor before King Edmund had collected the Tarkaan's scimitar, replaced it in its empty sheath, and was on his feet. He draped one of the unconscious man's arms over his shoulders—which proved rather ineffective considering the Tarkaan was a good three inches taller than the Narnian king. After trying, and failing, to drag the Tarkaan across the room on his own King Edmund scowled in annoyance and turned to Peridan with a resigned sigh.
"If you would kindly aid me in assisting our friend to his rooms?" It was phrased as a question, but it never occurred to Peridan that he could refuse. He hastily collected the King's pack from beneath the table and took the Tarkaan's other arm. He nearly gagged at the combined smell of cheap wine, unwashed clothing, and stale rosewater, but stubbornly kept his expression neutral.
It was clear to Peridan that King Edmund thought him a useless fool—if he could prove him wrong then perhaps there was the slightest chance he could earn the man's favour, and thereby reclaiming his ancestral land. All his life he had clung desperately to his dream of becoming a Narnian—of returning to his home as its rightful lord—and that dream was now nearly strong enough to overcome his distress at the more distasteful aspects of his mission.
King Edmund called out cheerfully to the innkeeper and a short, rather loud exchange followed—ending only when a purse of gold was tossed in the man's direction and the location of the Tarkaan's room was revealed. Greed, it seemed, would always be a stronger motivator than good sense for the innkeeper barely seemed reluctant in revealing the information to two armed and apparently drunken strangers.
It was with a great amount of difficulty—and no small amount of cursing—that they managed to half carry, half drag the Tarkaan up the narrow flight of stairs and into the disgracefully shabby room the innkeeper had directed them to. By the time they managed it Peridan's shins were thoroughly bruised by the number of times he had stumbled and banged them against the stairs, and King Edmund was looking distinctly pale and short of breath.
Once inside the door, King Edmund dropped the Tarkaan's arm and Peridan hastily followed suit, relieved to not only be free of the fellow's weight, but also of the smell that clung to him. He crumpled to the floor, still insensible, and the King did not spare him a second glance as he let the carefully muddled, drunk expression he had used when speaking to the innkeeper fade from his face.
"Bar the door," he ordered shortly, stepping over the unconscious Obridesh to begin rummaging through the untidy heap that constituted most of the man's possessions—which were lying jumbled beside the narrow bed.
Peridan hastened to pull the rusted and mostly useless bolt across the door—though he was certain it would not withstand even a moderately forceful kick—and turned back to survey the room. If he had thought the main portion of the inn to be filthy the Tarkaan's room was far worse. Tattered, wine-stained clothes covered a good bit of the floor, the straw of the mattress was foul with mold, and Peridan caught a glimpse of a grey shape he took to be rat in the corner. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he looked back down at the Tarkaan's unconscious body.
If this is what happens when you fall foul of the Tisroc I must endeavour not to follow Obridesh's example, he thought with a fair amount of determination.A moment later he bit back a laugh at the absurdity of the thought. Falling foul of the Tisroc was most likely an inevitable result of traveling with King Edmund—if they lived long enough to even be worth his notice.
King Edmund turned at the snort of amusement Peridan couldn't quite hide and raised an eyebrow at him. "So, you do have a sense of humour," he remarked, seeming genuinely pleased by this revelation, before turning back to continue rummaging through the pile of stained clothes and ragged bedding—kneeling on the floor despite the filth.
Peridan frowned slightly, wondering where the King had gotten the impression that he did not find amusement in the world. So, he not only thinks me a fool, but a dreadful bore as well. It was not a reassuring thought, given that so much of his own future seemed to rest on his ability to find favour with Narnia's monarchs.
Peridan shifted his weight from foot to foot and shot a nervous glance at the door—it hardly seemed possible that no one would suspect their business and he fully expected a troupe of armed Calormenes to burst through flimsily barred construction at any moment. When no Calormenes appeared, he shifted his gaze from the door to the unconscious Tarkaan—who was snoring quietly and appeared peaceful enough. But how long can we expect him to remain so?
"A few hours," the king said quietly, in answer to Peridan's unspoken question—that raised an entirely different question.
"Did you drug him, your m—" he barely caught himself before the "your majesty" automatically attached itself to the end of his sentence.
"Of course. An unconscious Tarkaan is an excellent excuse to search his rooms." He got to his feet with a scowl and kicked crossly at the pile of clothes and bedding. "It might actually have been a useful risk to take—if there was anything here."
"Your—" Peridan broke off suddenly as he caught sight of the king's left hand and saw the steady flow of blood dripping from his fingers. "You're bleeding!"
King Edmund's mouth twitched in amusement at his clumsy recovery, but did not comment. He crossed the room to the pack Peridan had discarded near the door, rummaged through it for a long moment, and pulled out a strip of cotton bandage. He examined his bleeding hand with detached interest—the scratch was in reality a three inch gash across his palm where the Tarkaan's sword had cut him before he had brought his knife up to block the rest of the blow—then wrapped the strip of cloth around it. "So it would seem—jolly lucky Peter convinced me to bring bandages at all—the Tarkaan might be cross if I got blood on his assorted possessions." The last statement was obviously meant as a joke, but Peridan couldn't quite manage to laugh—his knees had gone rather weak at the sight of the blood.
"Help me look, will you?" King Edmund seemed utterly unconcerned with his hand now that it was bandaged.
"But, my lord, you're bleeding." Peridan repeated, feeling rather foolish and cursing himself for once again failing to address the king as he had been charged to. Perhaps I truly am a useless fool.
For once, King Edmund seemed not to notice the too formal method of address—or if he did, he did not comment—though he did look vaguely annoyed by Peridan's continued protests. "As I told the Tarkaan, a scratch—which will stop bleeding soon enough—especially now," he added, waving his bandaged hand vaguely in Peridan's direction. "Now help me search, if you would."
Peridan was incredibly reluctant to go anywhere near the corner where the rat was lurking, the king had already searched through the jumble of clothes, and he had no idea what they were looking for. He wandered aimlessly towards the small table and fragile looking chair in the other corner and began to shift cautiously through the pile of filthy plates and goblets that littered it.
"My lord?"
King Edmund sighed audibly and turned towards him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, Perrin?"
"What exactly are you hoping to find?" He barely caught a pewter bowl before it could crash to the floor and replaced it on the top of a teetering stack of similar bowls—it seemed the Tarkaan had been living in this room for quite some time.
"Papers—letters, orders—anything that might reveal a connection between the Lone Islands and Calormen." The King kicked crossly at the straw mattress, sending a cloud of mold dust into the air, and shook his head. "Only there seems to be nothing here."
The Lone Islands and Calormen? Peridan was puzzled by how often the King seemed to draw a connection between the two lands, and he frowned uncomprehendingly. Calormene warships sailing for Narrowhaven, talk of political and military coups, and yet no one seems willing to explain anything to me. Still, he found it was usually best if he seemed to know more than he actually did, so he refrained from asking any questions which might reveal the true depth of his ignorance.
"Why Obridesh?" he asked instead—abandoning his search of the table and throwing another nervous glance in the still unconscious man's direction. "Surely a disgraced Tarkaan can be of little use to you, my lord."
The King shook his head, crossing to the window and tugging the sagging shutters open to examine the gaps in the wood for hidden papers. "I thought he might still have more favour with the Tisroc than is immediately apparent. Obridesh is a clever man and should not be underestimated, but perhaps—"
Whatever he had been about to say was cut short as, with a flutter of wings and a sonorous croak, an enormous raven swept through the recently opened window and alighted on King Edmund's shoulder.
Peridan found himself stumbling back in fright—ravens were creatures associated with death and the worst of luck in Archenland and the sudden appearance of one was enough to make Peridan's knees go weak. King Edmund, however, seemed not at all distressed—though his expression did display a certain annoyance as he transferred the raven easily from his shoulder to his right forearm.
"What is the meaning of this, good cousin?" he asked sternly, and Peridan received a second nasty shock when the raven tilted its head to one side as if trying very hard to understand—and answered him in a rough but nearly human voice.
"I was sent by your sister, Queen Susan, to see that your majesty remains in possession of both your senses and your limbs," the Bird croaked, following the words with a harsh—though not unpleasant—laugh.
A Raven, not merely a raven in the sense I am familiar with, Peridan corrected himself—though he still felt distinctly uneasy in the Bird's presence.
King Edmund nodded, seeming unsurprised by the revelation and deposited the Bird on the narrow windowsill. "I see. And does my dear sister's concern have anything to do with the Tarkaan currently lying unconscious on the floor, my good Sallowpad?"
Sallowpad laughed again and the feathers along his back ruffled slightly as he turned his beady eyes first upon Peridan and then upon Obridesh. "Your majesty is clever—nearly clever enough for a Raven."
Peridan was utterly uncertain what he ought to make of this unusually informal exchange and he found himself wishing yet again that the High King had not chosen him to accompany King Edmund. Surely there must have been someone more suited to the task than he was himself—someone more used to the peculiarities displayed by Narnians.
"Fly to the docks," King Edmund was saying to Sallowpad, speaking urgently now. "If you must be here you may as well make yourself useful. Listen to what gossip you can and find, if possible, a ship sailing to Narrowhaven in two days' time—three at the most—but take care you are not seen. I trust you will be able to find me again when you have learned what you can?"
The Raven tilted his head with an indignant croak and Peridan flinched at the Creature's impertinence—King Edmund seemed characteristically unconcerned by it, but Peridan had to bite his tongue to keep from scolding the Bird.
Sallowpad hopped forward to the edge of the window-sill before turning his head back to peer over his shoulder. "Have a care, your majesty, a Vulture circles above and I fear he means mischief." With those cryptic words he spread his wings and launched his glossy body forward and up into the late afternoon sky.
Peridan—though he did not know what the Raven meant—shuddered at the foreboding intonation of his words. A vulture—a carrion bird of the battlefield. He shuddered again, then felt his face flush in shame as King Edmund turned and saw his expression of fear. The King, however, did not seem disdainful and merely smiled in what was most likely meant to be a reassuring way.
"He means Tash," the King explained calmly, gathering up the pack from the floor. "The Calormene god. He is said to sometimes take the form of a Vulture so that he can fly high above Tashbaan. He looks down upon his people from the sky, and wherever the shadows of his wings fall terror grips the hearts of the Calormenes. We should go."
Peridan could not have agreed more heartily—though he believed firmly that they should leave Calormen altogether and knew King Edmund simply meant the inn. There was something in the air of this strange place that Peridan did not at all like.
Perhaps I am simply being a coward, he thought as they left the Tarkaan still slumped on the floor and made their way back down the narrow staircase. But I cannot help feeling that death is lurking around every corner of this cursed city.
In the now silent room of the decrepit inn, Tarkaan Obridesh opened his eyes with a sly smile, and stood without a hint of the dizziness which should have accompanied his waking. He crossed to the open window, looking down at the two figures slipping through the narrow street, and his smile widened—his eyes glittering with barely contained malevolence.
"Narnia will fall, oh foolish King," he said softly. "For the glory of Tash."
Far above in the scorched, cloudless sky, a Vulture with eyes of flame circled the city—spreading wings of darkest shadow wide as he passed between Earth and Sun. For a moment, all of Tashbaan lay cloaked in his shadow and despair gripped the hearts of every Calormen within the walls. Tash was with them, and they were afraid.
Do let me know what you think! Thank you for all the reviews so far, and hopefully I will be updating on Saturday as planned. :-)
Cheers,
A
