I'm dreadfully late-since I was supposed to post this on Saturday-so sorry! Please do excuse any slight errors in this chapter. If it doesn't make sense I blame it on a scrambled brain and hopefully my beta will catch most of the errors once I send it to her.

Aslan's Daughter: Sorry you didn't actually get your two updates on time :-( As for the Biblical allusion; I think you're the first person to tell me they noticed that, so well done! It was intentional, though I did stray from direct allegory by adding an even darker twist. As far as the other brother being sent away-I perhaps didn;t make it entirely clear. The Tarkheena wants Emreth sent away, ut Obresh convinces her to relent, so only Emreth's mother ends up being sent away. Description of the knife is included in this chapter! The dates will be made clear by the end of the story ;-). Thank you for reviewing! Hope you like this chapter as well.

Guest: I am happy to hear I have the necessary aspects for a good fanfiction covered! So glad to hear you are enjoying this story, and I hope this chapter meets with your approval as well. :-)

10th. Greenroof, 1012-Fifthday

Sallowpad rejoined them some hours later, swooping down from the swiftly darkening sky to alight on Edmund's shoulder with barely a whisper of sound as he closed his wings. Edmund glanced around the seemingly deserted street quickly and breathed a sigh of relief when it seemed there was no one present to see the Raven's return.

The inn had been left far behind them as they picked their way through the crowds nearer the docks and eventually found themselves in largely deserted streets lined with decrepit houses and a few half-starved children. Edmund, who was more familiar with this part of Tashbaan than he wanted to be, sensed no danger in the immediate vicinity, but he saw that Peridan was more uneasy even than he had been in the inn.

It seems you have sent me an unfailingly frustrating companion, Peter, he thought grimly as Peridan stumbled back in surprise at Sallowpad's sudden reappearance. But Peridan was not currently one of his more urgent concerns.

"What have you learned?" he asked Sallowpad, biting his tongue to keep from adding a scathing remark concerning the Raven's endlessly frustrating habit of perching nearly out of sight. Currently Edmund was in no mood to attempt peering at the Bird from the corner of his eye and doing so only served to increase the headache and dizziness he had stubbornly been ignoring since leaving the inn.

Feathers rustled next to his ear as Sallowpad flared his wings slightly for balance and then refolded them complacently—it was not the time to reflect on his more annoying habits. "There are ships in the harbor," he informed them sonorously. "But none sailing for Narrowhaven within the fortnight—due to the fact that there is a blockade of Calormene warships surrounding the Islands. It seems you have set your foot, not in a trap, but upon a hornet's nest." Sallowpad chuckled at his own cleverness, and Edmund chose not to point out that the Calormene blockade had been established before he even set foot in Calormen.

Blast! If Calormen was willing to reveal their involvement so quickly than it meant Obridesh's plans were progressing at an alarming rate. First the blockade to isolate them, next the letters revealing my past treachery to shake the people's faith in us, and then…but that is not currently relevant, he reminded himself sharply. Obridesh's plans would be stopped, must be stopped, or much more than the Islands might be lost.

"What now?" Peridan asked bluntly, for once seeming to abandon all insistence on formality, and Edmund was immeasurably relieved by that. The persistent headache was becoming nearly unbearable and the decrepit street spun blurrily around him. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, for all the good it did, and forced himself to focus.

What now? It was a fair enough question, but Edmund was forced to admit he had no real plan. We still have to get to Narrowhaven, regardless of the blockade, and there's Lucy to consider—she may not have reached the Islands before the circle was closed.

"There is little in Calormen that cannot be bought for the right price," he began, forcing more confidence than he felt. "Now we—"

"Ho there!"

Edmund felt his spirits sink even further as the harshly shouted challenge interrupted his words. Of course, it's simply too much to ask that we are not intercepted by soldiers at least once. Sallowpad tightened the grip of his clawed feet slightly to keep his balance, and Edmund gritted his teeth in mingled pain and annoyance. Their chances of continuing on their way unharmed would have been immensely higher had the Raven not been visible to the speaker—who was some little distance behind them, but approaching very rapidly.

To his left Peridan froze, mid step, and stared at him in almost comical panic. "Be silent," Edmund warned him in a whisper he hoped was barely audible, as he turned to face the Calormen.

There were, in fact, three Calormene soldiers, all wearing shirts of mail—with the spikes of helmets protruding from their snowy turbans—and carrying long spears in their right hands, with curved scimitars hanging at their belts. and little round shields on their left forearms.

"What mean you by "ho there"?" Edmund demanded sharply of the leader, forcing his voice into the haughty approximation of a high borne Calormene accent. His voice seemed to give the guards a moment of consternation—they had obviously not expected to hear a Northerner speak with the voice of a Tarkaan—but they were too clever to simply let the two humans (and one large raven) pass.

The leader, whose beard was streaked with grey and whose nose was alarmingly crooked, stepped forward half a pace—gripping his spear in a white knuckled hand. "What strange demon is this, who travels cloaked in the garb of a raven, and perches so forebodingly upon your shoulder?" He added no honourific title, but his uncertainty about Edmund's identity also seemed enough to prevent him from being openly insulting.

Sallowpad croaked indignantly at being called a demon, and Edmund resisted the urge to shake the Bird until his feathers came loose. The soldiers' dark eyes widened at this evidence that the "demon" understood human speech, and the spear heads—previously pointed at the darkening sky—were lowered marginally towards the Northerners.

Susan, I will have words with you when I return. Sending Sallowpad after him had been a characteristically caring gesture, but just then more likely than anything else to be the cause of his death. He risked a quick glance to his left, found Peridan looking terrified and nearly ready to bolt, and briefly entertained the idea of doing just that. The narrow alleyway that branched off to the right seemed promisingly clear of soldiers and led through a maze of dark, twisting streets—it also led past a guard house, three taverns frequented by vicious cutthroats, and eventually ran full into the city wall. The street behind, and in the direction they had previously been traveling, led straight to the house of Lemesh—Edmund's most trusted agent in Tashbaan. Despite its more appealing aspects, running would have to be considered a last resort.

When Edmund returned his gaze to the leader of the guards, it was to find Calormene steel leveled at his heart. That fact did not improve his temper, or lessen the nauseating, dizzying pain in his head.

"Speak!" the fellow demanded, obviously deciding he was not willing to risk falling under a curse on the off chance that the strange figures before him were people of importance, and Edmund glared at him—though the expression took much more effort than he wanted to admit.

Sallowpad chose that moment to drive his wings down in a rush of air and leap skyward, disappearing in a surprisingly short time. The Raven was nothing if not clever, and he had realised that if he remained there was likely to be bloodshed—and not all of it Calormene.

Edmund spread his hands—palms up—in what he hoped would be a placating gesture. "Yon raven was no demon, oh misguided soldier. He was a messenger of Tash, the Inexorable, the Irresistible, and doubtless now bears tidings of your foolishness to his glorious master."

The words left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach—that had nothing to do with his headache—however necessary they were. Forgive me, Aslan, for acknowledging another in Your place, he prayed silently, as he always did when it was necessary to speak the name of the Calormene god in a sufficiently devout fashion.

The words, for all they were voiced in the Calormene manner, and with the accent of a Tarkaan, seemed to have little effect. The soldiers shifted uneasily, mail clinking as it was jostled by weapons, and Edmund heard Peridan take a nervous step back.

Don't run, whatever you do don't run. But he couldn't risk speaking the words aloud, and Peridan did not possess Peter's skill at guessing his thoughts. The Archenlander, unaware of Edmund's silent order took another step back—boots scuffing against the dusty street. Edmund did not dare to turn towards him again in warning, despite the undeniable fact that if they ran they would either die or lead the Calormenes to the heart of Narnia's spy network in Tashbaan. Neither of those options were particularly appealing, and he drew in a deep breath, resolving that he must again try to escape their current predicament by talking.

"You would do well to let us pass—else I will be tempted to ignore the grace our Lord Tash has granted you for your age and will surely do you grave harm." Threats scarcely ever worked when the threatening party was outnumbered, but any chance, however slim, was one Edmund was currently willing to take—especially considering he was presently having difficulty deciding which of the blurry, spinning shapes before him he ought to be addressing.

For a moment, it seemed to work—the leader returned his spear to its previous position and stepped back half a pace, motioning for his fellows to do the same. He appeared uneasy, his resolve was wavering in the face of the peculiar strangers who faced him, and in another moment he, and his fellows, might have turned and gone on their way. Then Peridan took another step back, tripped on an uneven stone and fell, sprawling in the street. The hood of his cloak fell back as he picked himself up clumsily, and before either he or Edmund could react the last rays of the evening sun cut through the light clouds and fell, slanting across his fair hair.

The soldiers froze, staring—their eyes flicking between Edmund and Peridan, and the leader seemed to come to a decision. He lowered his spear, hand shaking slightly, and stepped closer.

"Two accursed barbarians accompanied by a demon in the shape of an animal," he remarked, nearly seeming to speak the words to himself. "One who speaks like one of our own—one who holds his tongue and hangs his head like a dog and whose hair is the colour of yellow silk."

Wonderful, simply marvelous—must he be poetic before killing us? The tendency of the Calormene people to pause for flowery speech—often even in the midst of battle—had always been one of the more puzzling aspects of their culture as far as Edmund was concerned.

Peridan was picking himself up clumsily and readjusting the canvas pack on his back—looking very shamefaced, not that it would do any good—and Edmund spared a moment to wonder if he had fallen on purpose. Peridan was still a largely unknown variable, and his trustworthiness was very much up for debate in Edmund's mind. It may be best to get him as far from here as possible—trustworthy or not.

"Praise be to Tash, the Inexorable, the Irresistible, that we, oh brothers, have captured the Barbarian Kings!" The lead soldier's voice rose to a high pitch as he addressed his fellows, who waved their spears in a thoroughly ridiculous display of victory—made especially ridiculous by the fact that their leader's statement was categorically incorrect.

Edmund might have laughed, had the situation not been far too serious for that, but he did allow himself a quiet smile—which seemed to lessen the soldiers' jubilant spirits somewhat.

They seem to think he's Peter. That was ridiculous enough, but it should be noted that these particular soldiers had never seen the High King and generally thought most Northerners very alike in any case. And as for captured…

The spears would pose a significant threat in combat, but Edmund suspected they would be under orders to capture any supposed Narnian Kings—not to kill them. As long as Peridan did not reveal his true identity there was a chance that at least one of them might escape. It would have to be Peridan, he had no doubts about that. The Archenlander, by his own admission was nearly useless when it came to fighting, and would not stand a chance of holding the soldiers back long enough for Edmund to slip away—even had it not been his duty as king to ensure the safety of those under his protection.

Peter will be cross, he thought as he narrowed his eyes, swiftly recalling Orieus' training regarding fighting a superior number of enemies bearing spears—while nearly unarmed. The leader favoured his left leg slightly, the man to his right had let his shield drop slightly in his gleeful contemplation of the reward likely being offered for the capture of Northern spies, and a nasty scar twisted across the third man's face from the bridge of his nose to just beneath his left earlobe, leaving his left eye cloudy and sightless.

Three. The lead soldier took another step forward and Edmund blinked, forcing his eyes back into focus and pushing back the relentless pounding of his head. His chance for survival lay solely in his ability to ignore whatever pain he might feel and focus entirely on the current situation.

Two. He risked a glance in Peridan's direction, saw his terrified expression and the apology in his eyes, and nodded. Run, he mouthed silently—hoping Peridan would understand. If he did, he gave no indication of it, and that complicated matters immensely. Edmund found himself missing his brother desperately—Peter would have understood immediately from his expression alone. Not that he would have obeyed, of course, but if Peter had been there neither of them would have needed to run.

One. He ducked as the leader swung the haft of his spear at his head—aiming to stun him but not to do any lasting damage—and kicked him sharply in the left shin. The fellow shrieked, hopped precariously on one foot and lost his balance to fall in a crash of armour. The next man, the one who handled his shield so incautiously sprang forward allowing his shield to swing wide, away from his body as he moved, and by that time Edmund had his knife in his hand. He threw it and it flashed through the air, flipping end over end before burying itself to the hilt in the man's right shoulder.

He cursed under his breath when he realised how far off his aim had been—there was a reason he generally left knife throwing to Lucy and his current dizziness had not improved his accuracy. That however, proved to be the least of his problems as the half-blind soldier advanced on him and Edmund reached for his sword—only to find that he did not currently have one.

Idiot! Orieus will have my head—provided I still have one after tonight. In the daze brought on by dizziness and the thoughtless action and reaction of battle he had forgotten the knife was his only weapon—though in truth his chances would scarcely have been better had he retained the blade. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Peridan had shown some presence of mind at least and seemed to have made good on the chance provided for his escape. Good.

The lead soldier had regained his feet by this time, limping heavily and cursing as he abandoned his spear in favour of drawing the curved scimitar that hung from his belt. "King or no, you will pay!"

Poetics seemed to have been abandoned for straightforward threats, which was something of a relief. His head ached, his vision blurred and pulsed with spinning, multi-coloured flashes of light, and now that he was unarmed there was little to be done save to attempt reasoning with his captors.

"I don't suppose you would consider a considerable sum of money to be sufficient payment?" That may not have been the best thing to say, Edmund realised belatedly when the leader's furious scowl did not lessen.

The third soldier, who had succeeded in pulling the knife from his shoulder, swung the haft of his spear sharply at Edmund's legs—catching him across the back of the knees and causing him to stumble forward clumsily as his legs buckled. He supposed that meant no.

"I believe I gave orders that he was not to be harmed." He could not see the man who had spoken, but knew it was not one of the soldiers—the voice held too much command to belong to anyone save a Tarkaan and it sounded far too familiar.

Obridesh. The Tarkaan stepped forward from the gathering shadows of twilight to tower above the wounded man, and Edmund noted with a feeling of dread that the Tarkaan seemed far too alert for someone who should have only regained consciousness moments before. Something had gone terribly wrong with the drug in his wine.

"Your pardon, oh my master," the soldier begged, stumbling back before the furious—and obviously not disgraced Tarkaan—as Obridesh took a threatening step towards him. "I seek only to serve Tash, the Inexorable, The Irresistible, by my actions towards this accursed Northerner."

"It is not for one such as you to make such decisions." The Tarkaan's face appeared as little more than a distant blur hovering some feet above the ground, but Edmund could not mistake the sneer in his voice. "And you; do you seek only to serve Tash by your presence in his city?"

He supposed Obridesh must be addressing him, but was far less interested in answering the Tarkaan's question than Obridesh seemed to suppose he would be. "You poisoned me." And I should have realised it sooner. The headache and dizziness were far too convenient to be considered coincidence—especially taking into consideration the gash across his hand from the Tarkaan's blade. Edmund blinked, squinting his eyes and struggling to bring the Calormene's face into focus, and when he managed it at last Obridesh was smiling.

"I was told you valued accuracy in judging a man's character, King Edmund, and yet you are so mistaken about mine. I am not one to coat my blades in poison and seek to fell my enemies through such underhanded means. It is more accurate to say that I have drugged you—you can scarcely fault me for doing so when you sought to do the same to me." He turned away, calling out rough orders to the three soldiers, but Edmund was beyond hearing him as the world spun once.

Think! Peridan must have run, which means he has a chance. He'll go to Cair Paravel. But that was not a particularly comforting thought, considering that Peridan might well be a traitor, and even if he was not he was ill equipped to navigate Tashbaan on his own.

Aslan guard me, for I am in your keeping—now as always. He thought he heard a distant roar, but darkness was pressing against his sight now and seemed to fill the air with a stifling presence as if it were a living being. He did not know when the Calormenes bound his hands, or when he was dragged to his feet—all he knew was the stifling darkness and the sudden fear that swept over him. Fear that gripped all living things in the presence of Tash.


Two years passed after the death of Obresh Tarkaan and his Tarkheena and little seemed to change within the great city of Tashbaan. Little, save that Obridesh their son became grimmer, crueler, and ever more withdrawn from those he had once deemed his friends—and from Emreth his brother. Well it has been written that "he who tastes of power must crave its increase until he is consumed".

The change in his once kind brother troubled Emreth greatly, and, though he sought only to help, he found that he was no longer the most trusted friend and confidant of his brother. Where before Obridesh had sought his counsel and his aid he now scorned it, and also brushed aside all queries concerning his health and the heaviness that seemed to weigh upon his spirit.

But, though he was wise and yet stood by his brother in all things, Emreth could not have known the true reason for Obridesh's altered ways—indeed, had he known much that followed might have been greatly changed. However, the course of fate is set in rigid form and cannot be altered by mere mortals, and so Emreth knew nothing and Obridesh turned from him, and from his past kindness until he seemed to be utterly lost.

Known to all or to none, the truth does not change, and this is the truth of Obridesh Tarkaan's fall into darkness.

In the summer following his beloved mother's death, Obridesh visited the temple of Tash, as it was his custom to do every year, and knelt before the altar to make entreaties unto the Dread god so that the souls of his parents might find peace in the World Beyond.

Emreth his brother could not accompany him, for being of Northern blood he was barred from worshiping the god of the Calormenes. And so it was, that when Tash, once more in the form of a great Vulture, appeared and spoke unto Obridesh there was no other present to hear his words.

"Oh worthy son," spoke Tash, as the Tarkaan fell to his face before him. "At last, here is one worthy of accomplishing this, my greatest work." And the Vulture once more threw down the great knife he held, and it fell at the Tarkaan's feet.

Obridesh saw at once that the blade was fearful thing. There was writing upon the blade—which seemed to be fashioned from a dark, volcanic glass—and the words were ancient runes whose meaning had been lost to all save the most learned of scholars. The hilt was of some dark, heavy metal that leeched the warmth from the hand of the Tarkaan when he held it and filled him with such a sense of dread that he wished nothing more than to cast the weapon from him.

Tash continued speaking to him then, and told him—as he had told his mother before him—of the plan which was constructed against the land of Narnia. Though the same instructions were given to Obridesh as had been given to the Tarkheena before him, the son proved more clever than the mother and Obridesh did not openly defy the orders of his god.

He did not cast the knife from him, but wrapped it securely and tucked it into his robes. He bowed once more before the Vulture and spoke thus.

"Oh Tash, great and mighty, in your wisdom you have taken from me the lives of my parents and I dare not deny you anything you ask of me, but I beg you answer the question of your loyal servant. I have lost much and will give yet more in your service, but what have I left that you would claim should I fail? For my own life I care little and would willingly die in your service, and as for my power it is a gift from you, oh exalted one, and does not truly belong to me. I have nothing to offer you, oh Dreaded Lord, should I fail in the task you have appointed me."

Witty though the Tarkaan was, Tash was far wiser and saw clearly the true reluctance in the words of his servant. He laughed at his daring in questioning and answered. "Oh fleeting mortal, have you so easily forgotten that I know what is in the hearts of all? You seek to escape the doom of your family and the duty you owe to me, but you cannot do so for I hold your soul in my keeping. You think to save yourself, but hear me now—there is no salvation save in obedience to me."

"If you fail me, oh proud Tarkaan, I will take that which is more precious to you than your own life, than your power—I will take the last of your kin, the life of your brother Emreth. He shall find no rest in my lands, for he is not of my people and moreover has denied my power. At a mere thought from me he could be turned to dust even now, but do I as I have bid you and he will be spared—worthless though he is."

Obridesh bowed once more and would not beg as his mother had done, for in his heart he knew his god had well earned the title of Inexorable. No pleas, entreaties, or promises of other power or services to be given would sway the heart of Tash, and Obridesh was wise enough not to waste his effort.

He left the temple with a heavy heart and embarked upon a ship bound for the great castle of Cair Paravel—to fulfill at once the orders of his god. But he found the castle empty of all save nobles and servants, for the four rulers he had been sent to seek had ridden to the court of King Lune in Archenland and were beyond his reach.

Often in the two years which followed he visited Narnia, but each time he found the High King and King Edmund both absent and his plots, and the orders of his Lord, came to nothing. In that time he grew distant from Emreth his brother and sought to protect him from the wrath of Tash by lessening the affection he felt for him. But Tash knew the cause for the distance between the brothers and saw easily that Obridesh cared as much for Emreth as he ever had—despite his harsh words and the denials he offered.

And so it was, that after three years of failed attempts to cause the land of Narnia grave harm Tash had utterly lost patience with his servant, and determined that he should be punished in accordance with his failures. In the midst of summer, a great Vulture rose to circle the skies above Tashbaan and in his shadow all were filled with fear. The Vulture turned then to the South and flew on wings swift and Inexorable as the approach of death, until he came upon the Tarkaan's brother, Emreth who had ridden out alone.

The son of Obresh did not fear the Vulture who circled above him, for he held no dread of Tash, but his horse was filled with terror as the Creature's shadow fell upon him and he bolted—even as the Vulture swooped from the sky to slash with cruel talons at the rider upon his back.

When his brother's horse returned to the stables of his palace, rider less and bloodied, fear gripped the heart of the Tarkaan and he rode out at once with the best of his trackers to seek his brother. They came upon Emreth some leagues to the south of Tashbaan's towering walls and he lay as one dead—bleeding and broken upon the rocks at the foot of a great cliff.

Obridesh wept to see his beloved brother thus stricken and bore him back to the city in mourning—for though Emreth yet breathed it was clear to all who saw him that he must surely die of his wounds before a day had passed. Great was the grief of Obridesh Tarkaan and terrible was his fury at Tash who had exacted such punishment upon him at his failing.

He returned to the Great Temple of Tash and did not now bow before the altar, but stood to face his god and threw down the knife that Tash had given him.

"Oh terrible and bloody god," chided the Tarkaan. "You have done me great disservice, you who I have striven to serve. It was not by any will of mine that my plots against the Kings of Narnia have been foiled these three years. They are protected by strong magics and it may be that their god, the demon Lion they call Aslan, has himself been set in opposition against me. You have wronged me Tash, and in so doing have lost my service—for you have taken from me the last of those I value, and I have no will now to live or to serve you."

Tash laughed once more at the daring of the Tarkaan who stood so proudly before him, but answered his accusations with cunning cruelty. "Obridesh Tarkaan, son of Obresh Tarkaan, hear me now, oh foolish child. You chide at me and think to set yourself above me, but have you forgotten that your brother yet lives? If you will but swear yourself to me once more I will tell you how you may accomplish all I have asked and save your brother from death before he has passed beyond your reach forever."

With a cry Obridesh's pride fled from him and he dropped to his knees before the altar. "Oh my kind lord, forgive the words of your servant spoken in anguish. I beg you, tell me how I may serve you, and how my brother may yet be saved."

And Tash spoke, bidding him take up the knife once more and instructing him in all he must do if he wished his brother saved.

Originally Lucy's chapter was scheduled to be posted instead of this one, but this one was closer to being finished and easier for my dizzy brain to deal with, so Lucy's chapter will follow on Wednesday (hopefully). Leave me a review if you can! Thank you all for readding and being enormously supportive.

Cheers,

A