Throne of the High King Chapter 2: Chapters 11 through 20, a chronicles of narnia fanfic

Chapter Eleven

CAPTAIN Penelope sounded the retreat. There was no other choice. The attack came swiftly and brutally. And it left no question in Pete's mind: the White Witch knew of the rebellion, and she meant to see it destroyed. Her chosen method of destruction: a flock of harpies, armed with bows, and flying well above the reach of any missiles launched from the ground. Like hideous, wrinkled women they were, but with beaked faces, scaly bodies, and dirty, ragged wings of mottled brown and gray. The talons they had in place of their feet held the bows and drew the strings.

The company fled. Over the open, hilly country—rocky and rising though it was—they ran for their very lives. Arrows rained down, and all too often they found their mark—a testament to the eagle-eyed aim of the foul bird-women. Fauns and centaurs, pierced through the head and through the back, dropped and fell away as the company made its escape into the foothills.

All around, Pete heard cries of terror and alarm. Never before had he seen these troops so disoriented and afraid. Penelope galloped past, and Pete saw that she had scooped up Lumpkin en route. He was thankful for that—the dwarf could never have kept up with the others on his own. Still, that meant that now Pete was the slowest of the company, for the centaurs were as swift as the ponies they resembled, and even the most sluggish faun could outrun a human.

"Come on!" cried Phineas, motioning for Pete to hurry. "Follow the captain and the dwarf—they'll know where to lead us!"

And so Pete ran, though Phineas soon greatly outdistanced him. As the human was being overtaken by the rest of the harried rebels, he saw the nymph Cynthia pushing her way towards him. Amidst the cries of injury and death, her voice rang out. "Lord Peter!"

Soon, the human and the nymph were dashing headlong over the hills together, though they made up the rear of the fleeing mass. Overhead, screeches and squawks grated on the nerves and sent shivers down Pete's spine. The harpies were staying high, and still they winged missiles down to pick off straggling rebels. Occasionally, one of the fauns or centauresses would put an arrow to a bowstring and shoot back, but this did nothing at all: the missile would arc high, but it would never reach its target, and the unfortunate shooter who lagged behind the group to aim would inevitably be targeted and slain.

Pete supposed that a dozen and more of his comrades had already been killed, when at last he saw their goal ahead: a cave in the mountainside, carved into the shape of a door, with runes and sigils etched along the rim. The opening yawned like a black hole, and Penelope and the centaurs were already dashing inside, soon to be followed by Phineas and the fauns. Cynthia reached the doorway next, and then so did Pete. He looked up… and saw that the harpies were circling overhead. Like vultures waiting for a carcass. But they were no longer shooting, nor did they swoop down to follow…

"Come on!" said Cynthia, tugging Pete by the arm and dragging him inside.

In the dark of the cave, there was much fumbling and confusion. The groans of hurt and despair were many, but above it all, Penelope's voice rang out with a question. "How many did we lose?"

"At least a baker's dozen," said Pete. "Where are you? I can't see a damned thing!"

"Somebody strike a blasted torch!" commanded Phineas.

"I can see with perfect ease," said Lumpkin. "We are in a vast hall. Several tunnels lead out from here, all worked into the stone by dwarvish hands. But there are no dwarves here. There's nobody. We are quite alone."

There was a snap and a sputtering hiss, and torch came to light in the hands of one of the fauns. Then another was lit, and another, and soon the cavern became visible. As Lumpkin had said, it was vast, a vaulted dome high overhead, with many side-tunnels. And it was empty.

Penelope and Phineas conducted a quick head-count and agreed that their losses totaled no fewer than sixteen of their number. And their attackers had carried out this slaughter and rout without a single casualty of their own. The soldiers were disheveled and terrified, and now, to make matters worse, they were trapped beneath a mountain—bereft of the open air and the warmth of the sun.

Pete looked at each of the tunnels in turn. "Which way, Lumpkin? If we can find the Red Dwarves, they'll probably join up with us."

"I would not count on that," said Penelope. "The dwarves might claim to oppose the Witch, but they have hidden in their tunnels all these long years, mining and hoarding. Rarely do they venture onto the surface."

"Lumpkin?" asked Pete.

The dwarf frowned and shook his head. "I have been away for a long time. I cannot say what my kin will choose to do. They may do as they have always done and keep to their own, 'the dwarves for the dwarves.' Or, they may recognize the Son of Adam and follow him into battle. We do not know what kind of welcome we shall receive… until we have received it."

"Then let us move on," said Phineas. "Which way, friend Lumpkin?"

The dwarf pointed at the central tunnel, the largest of the lot. "There," he said. "That way lies a stair which will take us to the under-city, and the palace of King Dorin."

The rebels formed a narrow column and marched slowly into the tunnel, the fauns before and the centaurs after. Fauns possessed the natural balance of mountain-goats, and so they had little to fear from climbing stairs or negotiating rough tunnels. But centaurs were meant to run over the open plains, and none among them relished a prolonged journey under the ground. They would have to pick their way carefully through each cavern, for a simple chasm or rock-fall could prove a formidable barrier indeed to these knights. But the work of the dwarves was skillful, and the tunnels seemed to be smoothed and well-cleared, and the stairs were cut low, so as to be comfortable for dwarves to climb. For now, the journey would be an easy one.

And then they reached the top of the climb, and the tunnel opened into another cavern, and here Lumpkin let out a howl of despair like none present had ever heard. Here was a cave, smaller than the entryway, with another tunnel—this one sloping back down—on the other side. It was a landing or way-station of sorts. And strewn about were corpses, axe-hacked and arrow-pierced, and all of them desiccated and covered with cobwebs. The battle which had taken place here was decades old, at least.

"Not good," said Pete. "I'm having a real 'Mines of Moria' flashback moment over here."

Phineas, who had been walking at the head of the column with Pete, Cynthia, and Lumpkin, looked to the remains. "Dwarves… and goblins. More than half a century past, I ween, if only from the thickness of the dust that lies upon the cave-floor."

"Fifty years," growled Lumpkin. "Fifty years or more have my kin-folk rested here, slain but unavenged! And I never knew, because of my exile!" The dwarf leaned back and let out a roar of murderous rage.

"Quiet!" hissed Phineas. "Stay your echoes! If the dwarves had won this battle, would there still be corpses here?"

"No," said Lumpkin. "Of course not. They would rest in tombs, with honors. Only goblins are so crass as to leave their own dead to corrupt in the open air."

Cynthia looked upward, to the cavern ceiling which hung low over their heads. "I would hardly call this place 'open' anything."

"To a dwarf, my lady, it is exactly that," said Lumpkin. He took a steadying breath and said, "There is work to be done here, but it must wait for another day. Our mission is more urgent, and the souls of the fallen can have patience in eternity. But this, I do swear: someday, Mount Pire will again be a home of dwarves, and a mighty stronghold. And then, every goblin in the Red Mountains will quake to hear its name uttered!"

By now, Penelope had pushed her way through the ranks of the fauns and come to the top of the stair. "Why have we stopped?" she asked. Then she saw the remains of the battle and growled in frustration. "Goblins…"

"Yeah," said Pete. "Goblins. So, can we step it up here? I've seen how this movie ends, and it isn't happy." As he looked around at all of the dead bodies, Pete rued for the first time in his life that he was a detective and not a forensic scientist. He dealt with the living. He could read people, judge people, tell when they were lying or hiding something… but cadavers couldn't tell him much of anything. There were no clues to be found here—just a whole lot of mystery.

The company marched down the next tunnel, and this time they emerged in a natural rift in the stone. They were on a ledge overlooking a great cleft that descended into darkness at a steep slope, an angle of fifty or maybe sixty degrees. Both the ridge and cleft continued ahead for a hundred yards and more, smooth and passable—but the ridge itself was less than twenty yards wide, and under ten in places. They proceeded with the utmost care, Lumpkin going first to spot any weakness in the stone.

They traveled in silence. Only rarely did anybody dare to speak, and even then, words were kept short. Only the clanking of armor and the clip of hooves on stone echoed in the rift. Then there came a twang, the buzz of a missile taking flight, and a heavy crossbow bolt clacked off the cliffside and bounced down the slope. "There!" shouted Penelope from the center of the column. "Goblins! Archers, ready!"

Across the cleft, on the far wall of the cavern, a small opening sat in the stone. It was partially blocked by boulders and stalagmites, and a small party of goblins had taken cover behind these obstructions. Two more crossbows loosed their quarrels, and these overshot their mark and clattered against the rock-wall above the heads of the company.

Fauns set arrows to their bows, as did the centauresses in the group, and soon a hail of missiles flew over the chasm. The goblins ducked behind the stone; none found their mark. "Loose at will!" Penelope ordered.

Cynthia, too, had taken up her bow, and she was about to shoot at a goblin, when one peeked out from around a column of rock and lined up a target in the sights of his weapon. The crossbow twanged, and a dart came flying… straight at Pete. "NO!" cried the nymph, dropping her weapon and diving for the human.

"What the…?"

The crossbow bolt sailed by, narrowly missing both Pete and Cynthia. But she collided into Pete, and then he lost his footing. The two of them, human and nymph, were now tumbling down a slide, rolling and skidding, abraded and battered by the rock. Pete hit his head and slipped into unconsciousness, but not before he remembered hearing the voices of Lumpkin and Penelope shouting his name in horror.

The man who would be king had just been pushed off a cliff—and now he was lost from their sight.

Chapter Twelve

LUMPKIN and Penelope both howled in surprise as Pete and Cynthia plummeted down the chasm together. Archers sent more and more darts flying over the gap, and one goblin—the very sniper who had drawn a bead on Pete—was punctured through the middle and sent falling down into the darkness. Another of his fellows took an arrow in the head, and then the dull "blat" of a ram's horn sounded, and the goblin archers retreated from their position. But for the nymph and their human leader, none had been harmed by the harrying of the goblins.

Phineas strode over to the edge and said to Penelope, "She did it to save his life. He would have been shot if she hadn't acted."

The centauress scowled and said, "That hardly matters now! Death by quarrel or death by fall is still death! The stupid nymph has… has… she has taken our hope from us!" A lump was caught in Penelope's throat. Dead… Pete was gone, and with him, so was any chance of dethroning Queen Jadis.

"I think," said Lumpkin, "that this rift has a bottom we might reach by other means. Oh, it's much too far to cast a rope down, but there ought to be another way. A tunnel, or another stair perhaps. I cannot be sure… it has been so very long… but we must try. We must find out what has become of Lord Peter."

"Could either of them have survived that fall?" asked Phineas. "Cynthia, perhaps, for nymphs are not as frail as they look. But I fear I know next to nothing of the human constitution."

"They didn't exactly fall," said Lumpkin. "Rather… they slid. They may yet be alive, but they are certainly injured and in need of swiftest aid. We must hurry! Come, follow me!"

Since arriving in Narnia, Pete had been knocked out once or twice before. It was never a pleasant thing, waking up from that. Especially when one had been battered, bruised, and bashed on the noggin. "Maybe this time I'll get lucky," mumbled Pete. "Maybe this time I have a fatal concussion, and I won't have to put up with anymore bullshit."

Slowly, he opened his eyes. It was too dark to see, but he could feel that his eyes were definitely open. And he could feel his head throbbing. And every inch of the rest of him ached like a sonofabitch. Which meant that he was alive. Well, that was something. "Cynthia?" he groaned. "You there?"

He tried to prop himself up on one arm, but he didn't have the strength. And it hurt too much to move. "Ow… Christ!" Hissing with pain, he collapsed back onto the stone floor. "Anybody?"

Footsteps. Voices. Grunts and growls. The flicker of firelight.

Pete didn't know how much time had passed, or whether he had been dreaming or not, but he was slipping in and out of awareness. Then came rough laughter and a deep voice: "Look at this, boss! The pasty fink is wakin' up!"

An even lower voice was present. It gave a throaty growl and then said, "I can see that, you miserable maggot. What have we found here? A lost elf, perhaps?"

"Don't rightly know. S'pose it might be good for eatables?"

Slurping. Sniffing. Then the low voice rumbled, "Perhaps. But this intruder might know something about the others. The Master will want to question him."

"Aw, bollocks. He's never any fun."

"Yaw," said a third voice. "Gives me the right shivers, that one does. You don't mean to tell us we have to go see him, do ya boss?"

"Yes I do," said the voice of the one who seemed to be in charge. He roared something unintelligible and said, "Do you have a problem with my decision?"

He was answered by a chorus of "No!" and "Of course not!" and "You're the boss, boss!"

Pete blacked out again.

The human woke up to prodding fingers. There was a fire in the cave, and he could see. The creature standing over him was hideous: dwarf-sized, green skinned, with a pointed nose and jutting fangs. A goblin! Pete screamed and rolled away. The goblin screamed back.

Three more goblins came into the chamber, and behind them strode a tall figure, roughly of human height, with coal-black skin, reddish eyes, and an upturned, piggish nose. "Quiet that noise!" the large creature rumbled.

So this, then, was "boss," reasoned Pete. "You—" Pete's voice cracked. He coughed. "You're… not a goblin."

The big monster laughed deeply and said, "Well, aren't you just as sharp as a dull knife? No, up-dweller, I am a hobgoblin. You would do well not to mistake the likes of me for one of these pathetic little snots." To emphasize his point, the hobgoblin kicked one of the little green goblins with an iron-shod foot. The creature gave a yowl and scurried off to sulk in another part of the cave.

"What do you want with me?" asked Pete.

"I? Were I to have my say, you would be dinner," said the hobgoblin. The goblins laughed in wicked glee and jumped up and down, clapping their gnarled hands. "But the Master has lately arrived, and he will want to know everything about you. So you must be taken to him, alive and undamaged." The hobgoblin knelt down and snarled into Pete's face. "It is a disappointment I will not soon recover from. Please, give me an excuse to cut something off."

Pete was scared out of his wits, but his detective's instinct hadn't quite left him yet. And he could tell one thing about this creature: it was really, truly scared of its "Master," whoever that was. "Alive and undamaged" meant exactly that, for now.

"Get him up," commanded the hobgoblin. The other goblins now roughly pulled Pete off the ground and stood him on his feet. Pete looked down. He was cut and bruised, and his clothes were torn. The goblins had taken his sword and tied his hands. Nothing seemed sprained or broken, which was something. But the goblins hadn't mentioned Cynthia, and there was no sign of her in the cave. That was either very bad, or very good.

"It's a long road to the Master's place," said the hobgoblin. "March!"

Pete was pushed, prodded, and shoved through tunnel after tunnel. Many hours passed, until, at long last, they emerged in a great cavern. On the far side, a sheer rock-face was carved to resemble the façade of a temple, with great columns and tall statues of humanlike knights and lords. Dwarves hadn't made this place, Pete figured, or the statues would have been shorter. And more of them would be bearded.

"Where are we?" asked Pete.

"An elvish tomb," replied his hobgoblin captor. "The Master likes it here."

That didn't bode well. What kind of sick loony-toon could possibly enjoy living in an underground crypt? And then Pete got his answer: the Master appeared in the doorway. Armored head to toe in cast-iron plate and mail, Pete had seen him before—and this was one Black Knight that he would never forget meeting.

"You!" cried Pete. "But… it can't be… how?"

Count Serpens laughed—a wheezing hiss that turned Pete's stomach. "Sss-sss-sss. You truly thought that you left me—me, the champion of my beloved mistressss—trapped in the Western Woods? We have ways, Peter Pevensssie. We have the means to travel wherever we wish to go, so long as it is beneath the ground. In tunnels, in caves, the cursed sssun never touches my children or me."

The count removed his helmet, revealing his pallid skin and jet-black beard, the dull and unseeing eyes gazing straight through Pete. He approached and sneered. "I admit, this is a fortunate turn of events. I did not expect to find the likes of you, human—not here of all places, and ssseparated from your friends! Tell me, what happened to your 'army?' Were they slain by my lady's gremlins? Or by her harpies? Or were the found by the troll that haunts the dwarf-tunnels above?"

Pete met the vampire's stare. "Why don't you go sit on a wooden stake?"

Serpens smiled. "Brave to the last. Good. Breaking you will be more fun that way." Now he turned to the monsters who had delivered Pete. The goblins were shaking so badly that their knees knocked together. Even the hobgoblin couldn't hide the look of terror on his face. "You have done well," said the count. "Consider yourselves in my favor. Now, leave quickly… and see that you do not disappoint me."

"Yes… yes, Master!" croaked the hobgoblin. Then he and his diminutive henchmen made themselves scarce with all possible haste.

A squad of armed zombies marched forth from the tomb and surrounded Pete. These mindless walking corpses had blank looks on their faces, and the only noises they could make were inarticulate moans. But they were able to point spears, and so they made an effective guard. Pete was forced to go where they drove him.

"Take him to the torture-chamber," said Count Serpens. "Then the amusement will begin."

"This place," said Count Serpens, "is called the Tomb of the Ancient Kings. It was built by King Olvin, an elf-lord of Archenland, many centuries ago. Is that where you were bound, Peter? Archenland? To ally with the elves, perhaps?"

Pete was tied to a stone column, in some dark room somewhere, deep within the Tomb. His body was covered in fresh cuts and burns. He was barely lucid enough to speak. "Gh," he mumbled. "Go… to hell."

"You firssst," said Serpens. He looked Pete up and down. On a nearby platform sat a bloody dagger, and a glowing brand rested within a brazier of hot coals. So far, the human had proven unbreakable… but this was only their first session, and Serpens was taking it easy. "Your ssstrength is considerable, Peter. I might have underestimated you. We shall resume this discussion… sssoon."

Pete didn't know what time of day it was. He didn't know how long he had been underground, how long he had spent knocked out in a goblin cave, or how long he had been tortured by his vampiric nemesis. But he knew that it was over for the time being, because the zombie guards had tossed him unceremoniously onto a stone-cold floor and left him. He heard their footfalls tramp away and the slam of a dungeon-cell door being shut.

"What is it?" mumbled a soft voice. "What have they brought?"

Pete started. There was somebody else with him in the cell! "Who's there?"

"It talks! It talks, it talks, it talks… haven't had that in a long time. Long, long, long, long, long, long time. Time."

Pete rolled over and tried to sit up. But everything hurt. He opened his eyes. The face he saw was startling. At first, Pete thought that he had been imprisoned with another hobgoblin. The man in the cell with him certainly had the same height, the same build, and the same porcine nose. But he lacked the hobgoblin's red eyes, coal-colored skin, and clawed fingers. In fact, the rest of him looked almost human… except for the ears. Those were pointed. "Who're you?" asked Pete.

"Who? Who. Falon. I was called Falon, once. Or twice. Perhaps more than that. Because it was my name. Falon. Yes, Falon… Falon…"

"Great," Pete grumbled. "I get locked in a dungeon by a vampire, and my cellmate is even battier. Tell me, Falon, why does ol' Mr. Walking Super-Villain Cliché have you rotting here in the slammer with me?"

The strange creature called Falon crawled over to the wall of the cell and pressed his cheek to it. "He found me in the Tomb of Kings. I was here… because I was here. I was… he found me and decided to keep me. Yes, he keeps me because I am unique. The only one of my kind. Mad, yes, but the only one." The mumbling creature then suddenly lowered his voice, and his words took on an aspect of sanity. "Sooner or later, he will take us into Narnia and give us over to the White Queen."

"Yeah, I pretty much figured that out for myself," said Pete. "I don't suppose you have any brilliant escape plans, do you? A tunnel dug with a spoon, or something?"

"Tunnel? Escape? No, no, no escape. No plans. I'm mad, remember? Insane." Falon crawled back over to Pete and ran his hands along the human's torn clothes. "They don't feel it if you try to fight them. They don't care if you pretend to be sick. I am sick, and they don't care. I always fight, and it never works. How about you? Any dug plans or brilliant spoons?"

Pete rolled over and groaned. He was a dead man.

Chapter Thirteen

DAYS had passed. Surely, it must have been days? Pete couldn't be sure. Sometimes they took Falon away. Sometimes they took him. Count Serpens was a very effective torturer. And Pete was only human. Sometimes, he let things slip. Yes, they were going to Archenland. Yes, to see the elves. Yes, the army had been in the dwarf tunnels. Every time Serpens learned something, every time he gleaned a piece of the story from Pete, the human felt like worthless trash. Like a traitor. He was now deep in the enemy's power. Serpens was in control. The Count held all the cards.

"You wish to depose my mistress," hissed the vampire harshly. "You mean to sit on the throne at Cair Paravel, and become King of Narnia, in place of its lawful queen!"

"Don't want to be king… never did… never asked for this…"

"Of course you didn't," said Serpens, his voice becoming soothing. Oily. Slick. "What do you want, Peter?"

"To go home," said the human. He was dazed… stunned, incapacitated by hours of torture. "Back to my world. To… humans."

"I can arrange it," said Serpens. "My mistress is a mighty witch. She could send you home… all you would have to do is kneel before her, and swear that you will never oppose her rule…"

Pete looked up and met Count Serpens's eyes for the first time in days. "Wooden stake through the heart…" he mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Beheading with a silver sword… Stuff your mouth full of garlic… Plunge you into running water… Direct sunlight, and you without your tanning lotion!" Pete giggled like a madman.

"Very good," said the count evenly. "You know all the proper methods for slaying a vampire. All of my weaknesses. Are you so learned in the dark art of necromancy, then?"

"Nope," said Pete. "I've just… seen all the Dracula movies. You pick up on these things, you know?"

He was rewarded with a punch to the face from Serpens's bare fist, unholy with strength. "I don't sssuppose you'd like for me to list all the ways I could think of killing you?" sneered the count.

Pete didn't speak. He was spitting up blood and trying to move his bruised jaw.

"Very well then," said Count Serpens. "This has gone on long enough. Tomorrow, we shall return to Narnia, and I shall bring you before Queen Jadis personally. I warn you, Peter, she might not be as gentle with you as I have been."

Pete was tossed into the dungeon cell once again. One way or another, he knew, this would be the last time. When next the Count came, it would be to deliver him back into Narnia, and into the grasp of Queen Jadis, the White Witch he was supposed to defeat. Was it day or night now? There was no way to tell. Not down here, in the perpetual darkness. Pete's memory… all fuzzy, full of blank spots. Falon, gibbering and fawning. Zombie guards, moaning, prodding with rusty spears. Count Serpens, baring his fangs and inching closer and closer to Pete's throat…

Pete screamed and sat up. A nightmare… it had to have been. Was it all some twisted dream? No… he smelled the musty air and felt the dank stone on his back. And it was dark, almost too dark to see anything. He was still in the dungeon. And there was Falon, huddled in the corner, hugging his knees to his chin and rocking back and forth. Pete was almost too tired to move. He groaned. "I feel like crap."

"Crap," mumbled Falon, testing the new word on his tongue. "Crap… crap, crap…"

In spite of everything, Pete laughed. It was a pitiful laugh, almost a sob really, but for this place it was practically a fit of hysterics. "You said it, pal. 'Cause this time, we're knee-deep in it!" Pete sat up and looked around the cell that he'd been forced to call home for probably a week now. It wasn't exactly a small room, but it was bare and windowless—except for a barred opening in the iron door—and Falon had been the only other occupant. "What are you, Falon? What's your deal?"

The creature crawled over to Pete on his hands and knees. "Deal? Can't. No cards left in the pack. You tell first, what are you? Questions! Questions! Always questions, you first! Grrr, damn you, you first!" His low-pitched, gentle voice slowly transformed into a frenzied shriek as he rambled on.

"Okay, okay!" shouted Pete. He sighed. Locked in a cell with Falon for who only knew how many days, he'd tried to talk to the crazy creature before. In fact, Pete had already told his own story several times, but apparently it hadn't sunk into the other prisoner's skull yet. "Jeez… like I said before. About a million times. I'm human. From another world. You remember that?"

Falon suddenly appeared stricken, as if he were shocked at his out outburst. "Yes, I remember," he said contritely. "I apologize. I am not always myself. No, not myself." Bringing his fingers up to his mouth, he whispered to himself for several moments. At length, he went back to speaking aloud. "My mother was an elf," he said slowly. Once again, his voice changed. It took on a more lucid aspect, and he spoke as if reciting something from distant memory. "She was a soldier. She rode to the defense of Archenland. Against Queen Jadis and the Narnians. Against her goblins. But she was captured. Captured in battle. Given to a hobgoblin, kept for a slave. When I was born, I was kept as well. We were slaves together. She told me stories, my mother did. Until she died. And then I was alone." Then Falon buried his head between his knees and went back to whispering.

Pete gaped. Falon was part elf, part hobgoblin? It certainly explained why Falon looked the way he did. It also explained why he was nuttier than a fruitcake—especially given the circumstances of his conception, which were all too obvious to Pete, even if Falon hadn't been able to say it aloud. Not that Pete could blame the poor man, of course. He'd certainly seen worse in his time, back on the streets of New York—but not much worse.

Pete tried to stand up. It took every ounce of effort he had. All his muscles were sore, and he felt… drained. Exhausted. But he managed to rise, even though it made his stomach queasy. "Look, Falon, I uh… I don't know how to say this, but… Count Serpens. He's done playing with us. Sooner or later, we're going to get dragged out of here, and they're going to march us all the way back to Narnia. To the White Witch."

Falon looked up at Pete and howled in despair. All the color drained away from his face and he said, "The Enemy of Everything. She is neither foul nor fair, good nor evil, but nothing! Just nothing! Chaos, void, nothing, nothing!" The half-breed broke down and started crying.

Pete didn't know what to do. He didn't understand what Falon was gibbering on about, and he didn't really think that he could comfort a madman. It might even be dangerous to try. He had never seen Falon grow violent exactly, but there was definitely some underlying anger there.

"Psst!" hissed a voice. "Psst! Lord Peter, is that you?"

"What the?" Pete whirled around and looked at the cell door. There was a face peeking through the bars in the tiny windows. It was Cynthia! Pete ran to the door and gripped the bars. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to free you," said the nymph. "After we fell, you were hurt. I couldn't wake you. Then goblins came, and I had to hide, and… oh, Peter, I'm so sorry! I've been trying to find you for days and days, and even once I knew where you'd been taken, I couldn't get close to you until now, because the guards, they're dead things, and they don't need to eat or sleep, and they just wouldn't go away!"

Pete tried to peek out into the hallway, but the little window was too small. "Then… where did the guards go this time?"

"I don't know! They just… vanished!" Cynthia shrugged her shoulders and said, "I didn't wait around to ask questions. I just came straight here. Now, get back from the door—we haven't much time!"

Pete backed away, and Falon hobbled forward and crouched behind Pete's legs. There was a scraping sound, followed by a series of snaps and clicks, and finally the lock on the door gave a turn and Cynthia pushed it open. Pete saw the nymph standing on the other side of the door, a couple of lockpicks in her hand and a grin of triumph on her face.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Pete asked. He rushed out of the cell with Falon close on his heels.

Cynthia just shrugged again and said, "When you've been alive as long as I have, you learn a little bit of everything. Even burglary." Then, throwing her arms around Pete's neck, she kissed him full on the lips.

Pete was surprised, to say the least. Cynthia was… for crying out loud, her tongue was… and after days on end in a dungeon cell with no hope! It was a head-rush. Intoxicating. And then the kiss was over. Pete stared at the nymph, who only smiled back. "Uh… thanks? I'm… really happy to see you too."

"Later," said Cynthia. "Let's get out of here!"

"Wait, hold on!" said Pete, looking the nymph up and down. Her dress was in tatters, barely hanging on in places, and she looked pale and wan, as if she hadn't eaten in a week. There were no cuts or bruises, indeed no sign of injury at all. But, all things considered, she actually looked worse for the wear than Pete did. "What in God's name happened to you?"

Cynthia looked down at herself and said, "Oh. This is just what happens to dryads when we don't get enough sunshine. I'm kind of… wilted. I'll be all right when we get out in the open air again."

Pete nodded. "Okay. Falon… you said that when Serpens found you, you were wandering around in these caves?"

"Yes," said the hybrid. "Yes, the Tomb of Kings, place of my ancestors. Place of elven kings. I knew this place well. Came often."

"Great," said Pete. "Then you're going to lead us out of here. Hopefully, we can make our way into Archenland and meet up with the others." The human walked over to a wall, where a couple of torches were set into sconces. He took one for himself and gave the other to Cynthia. He turned to Falon and said, "After you."

The hybrid nodded and crept ahead in the tunnel. Cynthia looked after the creature and then said to Pete, "Are you sure we can trust that… man?"

"Nope," said Pete, "but I'm pretty sure he's not one of the bad guys. So we're talking him with us, at least until we can find the others." Then, his body coursing with adrenaline and a newfound strength rooted in hope, Pete followed after Falon. Cynthia stayed close to his side.

Pete, Cynthia, and Falon emerged from a small cave on the southern slope of the Red Mountains. There was sunshine. And fresh air. Pete took a breath and closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his face. It was good to be alive. It was good to be free. The spectre of the vile Count Serpens seemed a million miles away. Did the Count know that they had escaped? Would he follow? It didn't matter. Pete was standing in the sun. Serpens couldn't get to him out here. He had no power in the daylight. For the first time in too many days, there was no reason to be afraid.

Pete looked over at Cynthia and grinned. She smiled back. Then something happened all at once that caused Pete to start and rub his eyes. The dryad… she was changing, before his very eyes. Yes, the color was coming back to her skin, a rose-red blush forming on her cheeks. But more than that, her hair… where it used to be a shock of snow-white locks, now it was turning green. Bright green, like maple leaves. "Cynthia… uh, did you take up using Green No. 9, or what?"

Confused, the nymph only said, "Huh?" Then she looked at the tresses that curled down over her shoulders and noticed the color-change for herself. "Oh. Oh my… Lord Peter, do you know what this means?"

"Uh… you've decided to become a groupie for a punk rock band?"

Cynthia giggled. She didn't quite understand the joke, but she recognized that Pete had said something witty, and it made her heart flutter. "No, silly. It means that springtime is here! Spring has come at last, for the first time in a thousand years!"

"No," said Falon. "Spring has not come to you. You have come to the spring. You have left Narnia. Now we are in Archenland, where the winter Witch has no power. We are free, free, free, free, teaspoon and biscuits, free, free…" Falon's voice trailed off into an inarticulate muttering.

Pete rolled his eyes and said, "I think what Falon means is, we're finally out of that stinking hole! So let's go find our friends!" Pete gave a whoop of celebration and embraced Cynthia. She hugged him back tightly and buried her head in the crook of his neck. That was when Pete remembered the kiss from earlier. "Uh, Cythina, that reminds me. We should… probably talk about…"

Before either Pete or Cynthia could say another word, Falon gave a cry of alarm and pointed down the hillside. Pete looked over Cynthia's shoulder and down to the countryside below. It was green… with growing grass and blooming trees… a most beautiful sight for sorest eyes. But then Pete followed Falon's pointing hand, and he saw the figure striding calmly toward them up the slope.

It was a man. Or rather, it looked like a man, middle-aged and blond-haired, with a long yellow beard that covered only his chin and fell to his waist. He was robed in gold and carried a staff of gnarled wood. His face was somewhat wrinkled, which added to his aura of sternness and wisdom. In fact, there was a presence about this man that undeniably belied power and goodness. None of the three escapees needed to ask to know that they were now being approached by a wizard of some sort.

"Greetings, Peter Pevensie of New York, Son of Adam" said the man in yellow. "Greetings, Cynthia of Narnia, Sprit of Trees. Greetings, Falon of the Red Mountains, Child of Light and Darkness. I bring you tidings from my father, the Emperor in the East. For I am Aslan."

Chapter Fourteen

"ASLAN?" said Pete. "You're Aslan? You're the guy that everybody's always talking about, the one with all the prophecies?"

The man in yellow gave a paternal smile and said, "Yes. I am he. And I come to you now with guidance for the path ahead. Your road is yet a long one, Peter, and it will not be easy. But with courage and a bit of faith, you will succeed in your mission."

"Um, no disrespect or anything," said Pete, "but is this the part where you offer up a bunch of vague metaphors and cryptic riddles, stuff that I won't understand until it's after-the-fact and too late to be of any use?" The human heard a pair of startled gasps from behind him. He looked back to see that Cynthia and Falon were both standing before Aslan with their eyes averted and their heads respectfully bowed. They weren't prostrated on the ground or anything, but they did clearly revere this Aslan person more than Pete had understood.

Aslan, though, didn't seem at all put off by the human's glibness. He just laughed, a deep and booming sound that reminded Pete of… of… a lion's roar, of all things. "No, my dear friend, I'll not speak to you in riddles! I'm sure that you have questions, and if you ask them, I shall answer. But I, too, have an errand of some import, and I cannot tarry all day long. We shall sit, and I shall speak plainly, until I must take my leave of you." Motioning to Cynthia and Falon, and indicating a pleasant spot of grass on the hillside, he said, "Come. Sit, and be not afraid. Peter, you have questions?"

"Only about a million of 'em," said Pete. "Where to begin? Uh… why me? And how did I get into Narnia, anyway? Can I ever go home?"

Aslan stroked his golden yellow beard and said at length, "You, Peter Pevensie, were chosen by providence. You were the right person in the right place at the right time. For just a moment, your world and this one were properly aligned, and a doorway opened between them. Such doors are rare, however. Even I dare not predict when you will be allowed to return home."

Pete sighed at that. "Okay. But could you, I don't know, send me home? If I asked? Someday, after we save Narnia?"

"Assuming you succeed, that is something you will have to ask me again, after you save Narnia," said Aslan. "You may not wish to request the same favor then."

"Well… okay. If that's the way things have to be for now." But Pete was pretty sure that he would still want to go back to his own world when all was said and done. "But, I have to ask… where are you going to be through all of this? Are you going to help us?"

"In some things, Peter, you are simply going to have to help yourself. But you have your friends to rely upon. And soon, you will have some allies. I have only lately come from Anvard, the great palace of Archenland. The elves know that you are coming, and they mean to welcome you with open arms. Though it did take some convincing on my part." Aslan sighed. "It is not my place to save you from all of your troubles, or to prevent all people's suffering. Would that I could, but it is not the Emperor's will, nor is it truly mine. You shall see me again, when you return to Narnia, but not as you see me now. Look to find me there in a different form."

"A different… form?" Pete looked off to the side and saw that Cynthia was nodding gravely. Falon was staring at Aslan, utterly transfixed. Both had remained quite silent this entire time. Turning his attention back to Aslan, Pete asked, "So… this form you have now. Human. It's not what you really are, is it?"

"Here in Archenland, it is how I reveal myself to the elves. They have come to expect a golden wizard, and so I go among them thus. But, no, I am not human." Aslan glanced up at the sky. The sun was high overhead. "Well, then. I must be off."

"Already?" said Pete. "But… one more question, okay?"

Aslan nodded, but he was already rising to stand.

"The White Witch. Jadis. Am I really the only person who can defeat her? I mean, we just escaped from the clutches of Count Creepshow, and I almost wound up dead! I need to know that I'm not Narnia's only hope!"

Aslan looked Pete in the eye and pronounced, "This I can foresee with certainty, Peter. You will not defeat the White Witch, for that is not your part in this story. Play your given role, sit upon the throne at Cair Paravel and break her spell of eternal winter, and you will pave the way for her eventual defeat. But you would not be able to destroy Jadis on your own, and I would not ask it of you." Alsan regally raised up his wooden staff and said, "I bless you, Peter, in the name of my father, the Emperor-over-the-Sea. Your friends await you in the glen below. Go and meet them. Then you must go forth into Archenland, to Anvard, and there you will find your allies. After that, let your path carry you eastward, into Calormen, and beyond, to the Lone Isles. Your destiny awaits you there, Peter Pevensie. Goodbye, my friend, for now." With that, Aslan placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, smiled, and turned away, walking up the mountain and out of sight.

Peter stared after the yellow-robed figure. Aslan's touch had done… something. Somehow, it had lifted away the hurt, the fatigue, the pain of a week's torture and imprisonment. The ordeal in the Tomb of Kings seemed years distant now. Pete smiled. He felt better.

Then, up the mountain, in the distance, he saw a flash of yellow and heard a lion roar.

Penelope reclined on a flat slab of earth, her four legs tucked under her body. Phineas carefully applied a bandage to a gash that ran along the centauress's flank. Lumpkin stood nearby, tears of anger and mourning rolling down his cheeks. All around, fauns and centaurs stood, but so many fewer in number than had entered the dwarven tunnels on the north side of the mountain. Nearly half… that was how many had been slain by the creature—the terror of Mt. Pire—the troll.

After seeing Pete and Cynthia fall away into the chasm, the rebels had decided to trust to fate. They could only pray that Pete was alive, and that they could find him. And so they had followed Lumpkin, and the dwarf had led them down into the depths of the mountain. But in the lower tunnels, they had encountered goblins, the green-skinned foot-soldiers of Jadis, hated foes of the dwarves. Among these, leading them like officers, had been the hobgoblins—creatures of man-height and gray-black skin, they carried long swords and long bows, weapons too big for goblins to wield. Fearless fighters who felt no pain, hobgoblins were a dire foe indeed.

The rebels had met the goblin-folk in skirmish after skirmish, and often they emerged from battle with nary a casualty to show for it. Each victory had led them deeper and deeper underground, down to the roots of the mountain, to the limits of the Red Dwarves' explorations… and then Phineas, in one of his scouting forays, had come to a tunnel with great gashes in the stone, as if made by giant claws. Lumpkin had immediately recognized them for what they were: evidence of a troll, a terror of the deep, a ten-foot tall monster with skin like flint and diamond, a mass of muscle and berserk fury. One troll could destroy a small army, and this one had nearly done just that.

Penelope had been in the thick of it, hacking away with her twin sabres, hopeless though it was. Her swords were of the finest steel, but even they had not been able to dent the troll-hide. On either side of her, one after another, centaurs had been slain by a single slash of the monster's claws. Fauns had been ended with a snap of its jaws. Penelope had been gashed by one of the troll's fingers and then thrown clear away from the mêlée by the sheer force of the blow. She had been one of the lucky ones.

In full retreat, the rebels had made their way out of the troll-tunnel, dogged and pressed all the while by the mindless force of destruction that they had so unwittingly awakened. And then, in the midst of it all, with centaurs hurling javelins and fauns shooting darts from their short-limbed bows, Phineas had scored a lucky shot: he chanced to put a shaft into the troll's left eye. Feeling pain for what could have been the first time in its wretched life, the creature had doubled its fury, swiping its claws left and right, crashing them into the stone walls of the cave. That had been when Lumpkin stepped forth. With uncharacteristic bravery, he took up an axe that he had found some days earlier, in the hands of a long-slain dwarf up in the tunnels above. Hurling the weapon with all his might, Lumpkin had caught the troll squarely in the mouth, cutting off its terrible roars—and its life.

The price to defeat that single troll had been nearly seventy faun and centaur lives.

The memory of this carnage still sat fresh in everybody's mind, when down from the mountainside came Peter, Cynthia, and Falon. Until that moment, Penelope had thought that the slaughter had been in vain. She had thought that the rebels had failed; that Pete had been lost for good; that he was dead, and their quest, now hopeless, was over. But when the human strode into view, injured and disheveled though he was, a tear came to the eye of the centauress captain. He was alive. He was alive! "Peter!" she cried. "Lord Peter!"

All at once, the surviving rebels turned and witnessed in awe the return of their leader and savior. Lumpkin jumped up and ran to the human, embracing him around the legs. "Peter… you're alive!" he laughed. Looking up at the human, he made an indignant face and said, "It took you long enough to catch up with us!"

Phineas, too, came forward to greet his friend. "It's good that you made it, my 'buddy.' And you as well, Lady," he said to Cynthia.

The nymph only blushed and nodded.

"But," asked Phineas, "who is this… person?" He looked over Falon with a critical eye.

"This is Falon," said Pete. "He's a friend. Falon is from Archenland… sort of. And he helped Cynthia and me escape from Count Serpens."

A cry of surprise arose from Pete's comrades. Count Serpens? Under the mountain? They demanded that Pete tell his story. And so he did. And when this business was finished, Penelope recounted the story of the troll, and how it had been wounded by Phineas, and slain by Lumpkin.

Reunited at last, Pete and the Narnians made camp on the south side of Mt. Pire. And the next day, they set out for Anvard, capital of Archenland.

Ten days later, after an easy march through a fair country of sparse woodlands and rolling fields, the rebels came at last to Anvard. A delegation of elves had ridden out from the palace to meet them, and they stood waiting on the open plains before the city. Tall and graceful they were, like slender and beautiful humans, but with gently pointed ears. Some were fair, and others were dark, but all were lovely in face and noble in mien. "Okay," whispered Pete to himself. "Definitely not the Keebler variety."

An armed officer came forward and called out, "Hail, Lord Peter and the Rebel Alliance from Narnia. I am Rashiel, Captain of Anvard. I have been sent to escort you to the house of our queen, the Lady Taraiel. You are all most welcome in Archenland."

A cheer of applause rang out among the rebels. They had passed through frost, stone, and death to come at last into the elf-kingdom, and now they were here. They were welcome, and they were safe. And if all went well, the rebels would soon have a powerful ally. At long last, freedom for Narnia seemed within reach.

Chapter Fifteen

WHILE the Narnian soldiers were moved into quarters all over Anvard Town, Pete and his closest companions were invited to stay in the palace proper. "Palace" was certainly a better word to use than "castle," for it was indeed a great mansion built to house royalty, but hardly a fortified structure. As the small party approached the gates, following the escort of Captain Rashiel, even Pete marveled at how sparse the elves' defenses seemed to be. The main villa was an open and airy contrivance of columns and domes, decorated everywhere with metalwork and filigree, all finely wrought to resemble leaves and vines. A hedge-wall separated the mansion from the town, and between the wall and the house itself was a veritable expanse of well-tended garden. The villa in the center of all this contained an open courtyard within, and here a throne sat beneath the open sky. It was in this lovely place that Pete and the others first beheld the Lady Taraiel, Queen of Archenland.

Fair she was, and beautiful, with ringlets of chestnut-colored hair that cascaded down her white shoulders. She wore a low-cut gown of crystal blue that depended from her arms and bust, and the fabric shimmered in the sunlight. The queen's eyes were of this same blue, and they peered intently at Pete—scrutinizing, boring through to his very soul. "We bid thee welcome, Peter, Son of Adam. And to you, his friends, greetings as well. We are Taraiel, Queen of Elves."

Pete was actually struck speechless. The queen's formal dialect, her stately bearing, and her transcendent beauty were enough to render the human dumb. Simply put, she was the most unbelievably attractive woman that Pete had ever laid eyes on. He was smitten in that instant, and the fact was not lost on his friends. Lumpkin and Phineas exchanged knowing smirks. Cynthia felt her cheeks grow hot, and she looked away, not daring to cast her eyes on either Pete or the elf-queen.

Queen Taraiel smiled at Pete and rose from the throne. She strode across the short span between them and held a hand out to the human. He took the hand and kissed it, hoping to God that this was in line with courtly manners, and not some criminal faux pas. "My Lady," said Pete.

"There now," said Taraiel. "Now that the formalities are out of the way, let us converse like ordinary people. I know who you are, Peter Pevensie, for Aslan came in person to announce your arrival, and this was only a short time ago. I have not met your companions, though."

At the mention of Aslan appearing in person, the eyes of the Narnians widened, and Penelope and Phineas gasped aloud. Pete then realized that he hadn't mentioned his meeting with Aslan to his friends, and apparently, neither had Cynthia or Falon. It had seemed like a personal matter, something between only the three of them and the yellow wizard with a laugh like a lion's roar. Nevertheless, Pete composed himself and went around the room, introducing each of his companions in turn: Lumpkin, Penelope, Phineas, Cytnhia, and finally Falon.

When Pete came to this last individual, Taraiel narrowed her eyes at the half-breed and said, "Sir, I sense that you are partly of elvish blood. Is this not so?"

Falon cast his eyes down to the floor and said softly, "It is so. I get it from my mother's side. But it wars constantly with the blood of my father, who was a hobgoblin, and a very cruel man. My two natures do not mingle well. It often drives me mad."

Taraiel placed a gentle hand on Falon's chin and drew him up to look her in the eyes. "Be at peace, child of Archenland. You are in your mother's homeland now, and far from the reach of hobgoblin hands. Tell me, if you would, what was your mother's name?"

"Aravaniel, my Lady."

The queen gave a cry of surprise. Her skin, already fair, turned sheet-white. Then she spoke, slowly and nearly whispering: "That was my mother's name. Nearly fifty years ago, Queen Aravaniel rode to battle in the Red Mountains, at the head of a column of cavalry, and she was reported slain by goblin-folk. As my father was dead, and I had no brothers or sisters, I became queen in her place."

Falon stared dumbly at Taraiel, trying to process all that she had said. "My mother told me many stories of Archenland when I was a boy. But she never talked about her family. She never spoke of other children, or of royalty."

"Nevertheless, Falon, I do believe that you are our royal brother," said Taraiel with tears forming in her eyes. All around, Pete and his companions reacted with shock. They stared at Falon, who gripped his sides uncomfortably and looked as if he wished to disappear. The elf-queen turned to Pete and said, "Thank you. Thank you for finding him and bringing him here."

Pete finally found his voice, though it was thick with emotion. "Thank Cynthia, Your Majesty. She's the one who busted us out of Count Serpens's dungeon."

The Queen favored Cynthia with a nod and smile. The nymph smiled back and bowed her head, though it galled her to do so. "I had to rescue Lord Peter," she said. "Finding Falon was… a fortunate coincidence."

The Queen returned her attention to Pete. She wiped the tears away with the back of her wrist and steadied her voice. "Lord Peter, you say that you were imprisoned by Count Serpens?"

"Yeah. Why, have you heard of him?"

"Yes indeed. The Black Knight of Narnia, Champion of Queen Jadis. He has many lairs under the surface of that country, from the Lantern Wastes to the Western Woods to the Red Mountains. But he makes Cair Paravel his especial home."

"What?" cried Pete. "I thought… I thought that was where the White Witch lived!"

"No," interjected Captain Penelope. "The White Witch has a palace of ice in the far north of Narnia. Cair Paravel is a ruin, abandoned and haunted."

"Haunted by the Black Knight and his cursed legions," said Taraiel. "And the High King's Throne rests within."

"You're telling me," said Pete, his voice a fearful stutter, "that-that-that the place I've got to go, the place we're trying to get to, is Count Serpens's favorite vacation spot? I don't believe this…"

Penelope looked at Pete sympathetically and rested a hand on his arm. "My Lord, I know—"

"No," said Peter, "you don't know. That bastard had me locked up for a week. He tortured me. I'm just lucky that Cynthia pulled a jailbreak when she did, 'cause any longer down there, and I'd be in the same shape as Falon here."

"It's true," said Falon, nodding vigorously. "I'm completely insane now, but before Serpens got me, I was only a little bit wrong in the head. Well, maybe a lot wrong…"

Taraiel gave Falon a pained look, the kind of expression one only sees on those who empathize with their suffering loved ones. "Nevertheless," she said, addressing everybody, "Cair Paravel is your destination. You must sit upon the High King's Throne to break Jadis's curse. And though it brings great risk to Archenland, we will help you in any way that we can. Archenland hereby joins your Rebel Alliance."

In the days and weeks that followed, the Narnians prepared for war. Pete continued his training with Penelope and Phineas, learning the sword and the bow and the art of commanding an army in battle. This time, he had a further advantage: the help of the elves, who were wise in all crafts. Most of the time, the elves went about their lives peacefully, participating in all the ordinary trades and professions necessary to support a nation. But the elves were a long-lived and ageless people, and none of them kept one job for very long at a time. Variety kept their endless lives interesting. And so most of the elves were learned as soldiers, and some were clever generals as well. Between these sometime commanders and the great library in Anvard, Pete studied and learned all that he could.

He also garnered something about the lands and peoples surrounding Narnia. The elves of Archenland, it seemed, were known as the Children of Air, and they were one of five great Peoples mentioned in the hand-written texts of the elvish library. The other races were the dwarves, Children of Earth and native to Narnia; the jinn, Children of Fire, who populated the deserts of Calormen; and the merrows, Children of Water, who lived in the Eastern Ocean and ruled a kingdom from the Lone Isles. The fifth and final race, greater than the other four, were human beings, Children of Adam and Eve. Very little was said about humans in the histories that Pete read, except that they once ruled Narnia and all the other surrounding kingdoms, once upon a time, so very long ago that history had almost forgotten it. As for the other thinking and speaking peoples of this world, Pete learned, they were classified as spirits, or as beasts, or as monsters—and they were all held to be lesser than the Five Peoples. Nymphs like Cynthia were spirits, as were the river-gods, and the sprites, and all other fairies. Fauns and centaurs were held to be beasts, and they were grouped with the talking animals. All other creatures, from giants and goblins to gremlins and harpies, were called monsters and enemies.

The elvish writers confirmed what Cynthia had once told Pete: that this hierarchy of races had come down from Aslan's father, the Emperor-over-the-Sea, and that it was an immutable fact of nature. Pete couldn't help but think, though, that it was divisive and wrong. He remembered meeting Phineas for the first time, and how the faun had spoken of the divisions in Narnia that kept its many peoples from uniting against the White Witch. Pete had had no idea how deeply the separation ran. And he began to wonder how long the Alliance could hold.

One day, more than a month after the rebels' arrival in Anvard, Cynthia spotted Pete walking in the palace gardens. Boldly, she approached and stopped him. "My Lord," she said, "I wish to apologize to you. I believe that I was a bit… forward… with you before. When I freed you from the Count's dungeons, you'll remember. And I'm sorry for having offended you."

Cynthia's cold tone and blunt words had their desired effect: Pete felt like an ungrateful schmuck. But the fact remained that he wasn't in love with Cynthia, and he probably never would be. It was the sort of thing that he just knew. "Look, kid…" Pete winced at his own stupidity and corrected himself. "I mean, Cynthia. Whatever that was, I wasn't offended—just surprised. I'm sorry that I don't… I mean, I don't feel for—"

"I understand," said the nymph, her voice choked and raspy. "You don't feel anything for me. And I won't trouble you any further." She moved to brush past the human, but he stopped her.

"Wait," said Peter. "I'm really sorry. I am! But… it's for the best, right? I mean, you're going to live forever, but I'm only human. I'll be dead in another forty years or so, if not way sooner than that."

"I wonder," said Cynthia, "if such practicality will keep you from pursuing Queen Taraiel?"

Pete frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? Everybody else does." Red-eyed and puffy-cheeked, the nymph once again tried to leave.

"Hey, Cynthia," said Pete, "one more thing."

"What?"

"Have you seen Phineas lately?"

"No," said the nymph, shaking her head. "Why do you ask me this?"

"Oh, uh… no reason. Just hoped you'd know where he is."

"I'm sorry," said Cynthia. "So very sorry to have bothered you." And then she left.

Time passed, and the longer Pete spent in Anvard, the more he found himself drawn—inexorably, and against all common sense or good judgment—to the company of Queen Taraiel. They would often walk together in the courtyard, and they spoke of many things. The Queen would talk of ruling Archenland, matters of politics and grand import, for these were the matters that consumed her life. Pete didn't mind. He treated it as another opportunity, a chance to learn from a ruler who seemed to be doing a really good job of it. And he talked as well, of his life back in New York, of his family, of growing up in Brooklyn, of his onetime occupation as a detective. He talked about his parents, his brother and sisters, his old girlfriends. In short, Pete and Taraiel—or "Tara," as he came to call her—got to know each other in record time.

And eventually, even Pete came to realize that he was falling for her. Which was problematic, for reasons that he was already all too familiar with: his own lifespan was human and finite, whereas the Queen's was elven and eternal.

"Your Majesty," he said one day, as they sat together under an ash-tree in the courtyard, "…Tara. I can't thank you enough for letting us stay here. This place… is incredible. And it's the first time I've felt peace—true peace—since I came into Narnia. But Aslan said that my road would carry me farther east, into Calormen and beyond, and I'm thinking… I'm thinking that it might be time to move on."

Tara nodded solemnly and replied, "I agree. You have rested here long enough, and you have recovered somewhat from your ordeal underneath Mount Pire. I can't begin to imagine what you were put through, Pete, but if I've been able to help you in any way, I'm glad for it."

"You have helped," said Pete. "Hanging out with you is better than therapy. And without the hourly charge."

"I, too, enjoy the 'hanging out' we share," said Tara. "But now that you mean to leave, what will you do?"

"Head east, like Aslan said," answered Peter. "Of course… I don't know too much about the Calormene Empire. Only what I could read in your library. It wasn't as much as I'd hoped."

"Then you'll probably need a guide," said Tara.

"Probably," said Pete.

"I've been to Calormen more than once," said the elf. "That settles it. I'm going with you."

"Huh?" Pete looked at Tara, who smiled wickedly. She had just talked him into a corner, leaving the human none the wiser! Pete grinned back. It wasn't often that he was bested with words. "If you come along with us, who'll rule Archenland while you're gone?"

"I can place a steward on the throne to rule in my stead. Face it, human: whether you like it or not, I'm going."

Pete didn't have to say anything. He liked it.

Chapter Sixteen

A council of war convened the next day in the courtyard of Anvard Palace. Taraiel and a number of elvish nobles took seats in court, while Peter, Lumpkin, and Penelope were seated to represent the rebels. "Aslan is on the move," announced Queen Taraiel. "He has gone forth into Narnia, alone, to gather all those that oppose the White Witch, the False Queen Jadis. Until now, we of Archenland have done nothing to provoke Jadis's wrath. She tolerates no opposition, no affront, and no suggestion of the truth: that she is a usurper, and an evil spirit in mortal guise. But the time for caution is over. Soon, wide war will come to all the kingdoms, and the Four Peoples will have to unite behind the Fifth—human—if we are to cast down this evil."

"No," said Pete, standing up. Whispers rippled through the elven court, but the human ignored them and spoke up. "Not just the Four or the Five. Elves and dwarves and whoever else, sure. But we'll need everybody. Everybody who cares about the future of this world, who wants a better life for all the people who live here—and when I say 'people,' I don't just mean a few of the races. Everybody."

Pete stared icily at each of the courtiers in turn. None spoke, but Tara smiled with approval. "It seems that no one here would disagree with thy sentiment, Lord Peter. That brings us, therefore, to the first matter at hand: our neighbors to the east. The Calormene Empire is an ally of Jadis, but only in trade and commerce."

"Makes sense," offered Peter. "If the Witch keeps Narnia in winter all the time, food's got to come from somewhere. But what does she trade to the Calormenes?"

"Narnian slaves," said Penelope. "They are the only 'commodity' that Jadis possesses and the Calormenes value."

"Son of a bitch," swore Pete, shaking his head.

"The fact remains," said Taraiel, "that Calormen and Narnia have neither a defense treaty, nor any sort of military alliance. They could be persuaded to our cause."

Lumpkin now rose and addressed the council. "The Calormenes are known to be fanatically loyal to their emperor, the Tisroc. But it will not be enough to convince the Tisroc alone. If he shows any sign of weakness, one of the Tarkaans—the noblemen—might plot to seize power for himself. In fact, it's almost certain that our arrival in Calormen will present many of the Tarkaans with just such an opportunity."

"Byzantine politics," grumbled Pete. "Okay. Is there some way we could turn that to our advantage? Back a friendly Tarkin?"

"Tarkaan," corrected Lumpkin. "I don't suppose there's any way to tell, until we go there and see for ourselves."

"Which brings us to the second matter," said Taraiel, rising from the throne. "The Narnian rebels require a guide through Calormene territory, and we have offered to lead them ourselves."

Pete smiled at Tara's use of the royal "we" in courtly speech, and at the horror painted on the faces of the other elves. "And we graciously accept Your Majesty's generous offer," answered Pete.

Penelope shot the human a sidelong glance and frowned. She had a really bad feeling about this idea…

"Our mission will be aided by stealth and swiftness," said the Queen. "Therefore, only a few of us can resolve to undertake it. In the meanwhile, your soldiers can remain safely in Anvard. When the time comes, this town can be the base from which we strike out at Jadis."

"All right," said Pete, "so you're in, and obviously so am I—"

"And us," said Lumpkin, pointing to himself and Penelope. "You wouldn't leave either of us behind, would you?"

"Course not," said Pete. "And we'll also want… uh… has anybody seen Finny or the hippie-chick?"

"What are you on about?" asked Penelope.

Lumpkin cleared his throat. "Erm. I believe he means to ask us of the whereabouts of Marchwarden Phineas and the Lady Cynthia."

"Then why don't you just say so?" said Penelope to Pete.

"Sorry. Force of habit again. So, anybody know where they are?"

Half a mile or so outside of the town, Cynthia walked alone through a small grove of oaks and ashes. It calmed her nerves and raised her spirits to once again be among living, blooming trees. They were like family to her. And right now, she needed to be with family.

Leaves crunched behind her. The nymph gave a started cry and whirled about. Her eyes fell upon Phineas.

The faun appeared embarrassed. "Forgive me, Lady. I'm not normally so… careless… as to make noise when I walk in the woods."

"Where did you come from?" she asked.

"The palace. I had wished to be alone in a forest for a while, but now that I've run into you—"

"I also wish to be alone," said the nymph quickly.

"Very well then," said Phineas. "I shan't disturb you any longer." The faun was pained by Cynthia's words, but he turned to leave her in peace.

"Wait," she said. "Have you seen Lord Peter recently?"

Still facing away from Cynthia, Phineas closed his eyes tightly and fought to keep his voice even. "Very little of him, I am afraid. He spends all of his time in the company of Her Majesty."

"I had noticed," scoffed Cynthia. She tilted her head to one side and regarded the faun curiously. "I kissed him," she said. "When we escaped from Mount Pire."

"Indeed?" said Phineas through gritted teeth.

"Yes. And do know what he told me? He said that his lifespan was so short, and mine so long, that nothing could ever happen between us. So tell me, Marchwarden, why does he now spend all of his time with an elf-maid, and one yet young for her kind?"

"Perhaps," said the faun, "you and Lord Peter were simply never meant to be."

"Perhaps," said Cynthia.

She sounded so crestfallen that Phineas couldn't take it anymore. If she wanted to stay out here and pine alone, that was her business and none of his. He began to walk away.

"I'm not a young dryad, you know," she called out after him.

Phineas stopped and turned to face her. "I know."

Cynthia examined the faun's face: his curly black hair, his short beard, his gray eyes, his tiny horns. He was rather handsome, for a faun. And male fauns had long been the favored companions of dryads. "I have fewer than three-hundred years, perhaps only two-hundred, before this stage of my life comes to an end," she admitted.

Phineas was started by such a revelation. So soon? Cynthia really must have been at least one millennium old, then. "And then you will transform, and you will become one of the hamadryads," said the faun. "The talking trees."

"Yes," said Cynthia, tears rimming her eyes. "I had thought… that I would finally come to know love before my time came. And now... now, I don't know…"

Phineas coughed uncomfortably. "A lot can happen in two-hundred years. Can't it?"

Cynthia laughed through her tears and nodded. "Yes," she said, giggling between choked breaths. "Yes it can."

One week later, all the preparations were done. They had mounts and supplies. Queen Taraiel placed Captain Rashiel on the throne as her steward, and he vowed to rule with wisdom and defend Archenland with his very life. Now a Fellowship of Six stood waiting at the gates of Anvard, saying their goodbyes.

Pete, Phineas, and Cynthia sat astride three of the small, sleek horses bred by the elves. Lumpkin was mounted also, the dwarf on the back of a stout pony. Penelope obviously needed no mount, but proportionally speaking, she looked rather like a dwarf atop a pony!

Only Queen Taraiel had yet to mount a steed. She stood before her lately discovered half-brother, Falon, exchanging a tearful goodbye. "Are you certain you won't come with us?" she asked.

"I mustn't," said the hybrid. "No. No, not a good idea. I mustn't. I think more clearly here. I used to wander the goblin-caves, and now I can wander the open paths of Archenland. And besides, I think more clearly here."

Taraiel nodded and embraced Falon. "Then wander where you will, my brother, and may peace find your troubled mind at last."

Then the elf-queen put her foot to the stirrup and leapt gracefully into the saddle of her gray-dappled mare. "Let us be off," she said to the others.

"You heard the lady," said Pete, snapping the reins. "Yah!" A born New Yorker, Pete might have been a city-slicker through and through, but time in Anvard had taught him many new skills, horseback riding among them. Taraiel rode alongside Pete, and behind them, Phineas and Cynthia rode side-by-side. The faun gave the nymph an encouraging smile, and she smiled back with no trace of her earlier bitterness. Behind them, Lumpkin spurred his pony, and Penelope kept pace at an easy trot. The centauress carried a flagpole with the banners of Archenland and Narnia, and as the Six Companions rode away, crowds of elves on either side of the road raised a cheer for their Queen and for the rebel leaders.

They were off on the road to Calormen.

Pete called over his shoulder, to Phineas, "Hey, I've seen this movie too! I'm the funny one, so I get to be Bob Hope. If you can sing, you can be Bing Crosby."

Taraiel looked sideways at Pete. "I frequently fail to understand you, human."

"To use a human saying," said Cynthia from behind her, "that puts us… 'all in the same boat.' Am I right, Lord Peter?"

"You sure are, kiddo," said the human. Spurring his horse to a gallop, he shouted, "Hi-ho, Silver! Away!" and dashed ahead of his companions down the road.

Chapter Seventeen

FAR to the south of Anvard, five riders and one centaur made camp on the semi-arid borderlands between Archenland and Calormen. As the night deepened, Pete laid back and watched the stars come out in the clear night sky—the unfamiliar stars of this strange world, and all the constellations that Pete knew nothing about. When at last he drifted off to sleep, the stars faded, and the sky overhead changed into something else: a dome of rock, so high overhead that its nooks and crevices were lost in inky shadow. Low moans echoed throughout the cavern, and Pete knew the sound all too well: zombies. Count Serpens's undead guards. The human tried to move, but he couldn't. He looked down at himself and saw that he was chained to a horizontal slab of stone, something like an altar.

"You thought that you could essscape," said a familiar voice, "but you'll never be free of me. You were in my power once, and now you are mine forever!"

Pete finally managed to turn his head. Count Serpens stood at hand, his eyes blood-red and hungry. "Bite me," sneered Pete.

The vampire hissed and revealed his fangs. "If you insssist."

"Lord Peter!"

Pete gave a yell and started awake. Penelope was shaking him, trying to rouse him from sleep. Pete looked around and felt relief set in. He was back outside, in the dusty brushlands on the edge of Archen territory. Around the embers of last night's campfire, the other travelers slept soundly on heavy blankets. Penelope had been assigned the first watch. "Wha… what is it?" asked Pete.

"You were talking in your sleep, my Lord. Then you screamed."

Pete looked down at his forearms. He was sweating bullets. Then, on a whim, he reached up and felt his neck. "Hey, do you see anything here? Any marks or scars?"

"No, of course not," said Penelope. "Nothing. Why do you ask?"

"Uh, no reason. Just a nightmare, I guess."

Penelope adjusted the bulk of her hindquarters so that she could sit more comfortably next to Pete. "Why don't you tell me about it? You're the one who always insists on talking about everything."

Pete shook his head. "It was… something about Count Serpens. But, what he did to me, I can't… I would if I could, but I don't remember everything. Just bits and pieces…"

"Perhaps that's for the best," said Penelope. "Sometimes we don't want to remember the truly terrible things."

Pete sat up and peered at Penelope. There was no moon tonight, and the dying embers cast only a weak orange glow, but he could see that the centaur-woman was hugging her arms to her sides.

"You sound like you know from experience," said Pete. "Maybe… you're the one who needs to talk right now?"

Penelope replied, a little too quickly, "Don't let it concern you. You have enough of a burden, my Lord, without my—"

"Aw, for crying out… why is everyone still so stuck on the formality?" Pete interrupted. "Haven't we been through enough thrilling, chilling excitement together that you can just call me 'Pete?' Maybe as a personal favor to me?"

"As you wish… Peter."

He sighed. "Close enough. Now, spill. Better out than in, I always say."

Pete waited patiently. Nearly a full minute passed before Penelope answered. "Cyrus," she said. That one name meant a lot to both of them.

"You miss him," said Pete. Penelope only nodded. Another uncomfortable silence passed. Then Pete asked, "Were you two… close? As in, more than friends?"

"You are asking whether Cyrus and I were lovers?"

"Uh, well… I didn't exactly use that word. Lovers. But…"

"No," said Penelope. "We could have been, but I never took the chance." She smiled ruefully, thinking back. "Cyrus wanted us to become something more. He once asked me to run away from the garrison with him. Defect from the Narnian army and return to our homeland. But I couldn't…"

"Why not?"

Penelope swallowed. "I could never go back and face my family… not after… not after the things I'd done in the service of Queen Jadis. Do not forget, Peter, that I was a soldier for our Enemy. My actions—"

"Don't mean a damned thing to me," said Pete. "But if you ever want to get something off your chest—"

"I do hope that doesn't mean what it sounds like!"

"Huh? Oh. No, it's just… it means that if you've ever got something you want to talk about, whatever it is, I'm here to listen."

"Oh. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. It's what friends are for." Pete then stood up and stretched. "No way I'm getting back to sleep anytime soon. Why don't you go turn in? I'd rather stay up and take the next watch."

"All right," said Penelope, rising to leave. "Good night, my Lo—Peter."

"Good night, Cap'n Penny."

Penelope looked at Pete questioningly. Then she just shook her head and smiled. Humans.

Over the next several days, the six companions entered and trekked across the great Desert of Calormen, the stretch of sandy wasteland that separated the vast empire of the south from both Archenland and Narnia. They made straight for Tashbaan, the capital of the empire, a great city on the banks of the Calormene River and still in the roughly northernmost part of the country. Calormen was vast, larger than Narnia and Archenland put together, with a patchwork of provinces and tributary states that reached as far south and west as the edge of the continent. Thankfully, the Narnians would only have to travel a short distance into Calormen, comparatively speaking, in order to cross the desert and reach the capital.

The route chosen by Taraiel was a well-traveled road, frequented by traders' caravans and lone merchants alike. Unfortunately, that also meant that bandits and robbers were apt to ply their trade along this road. The danger was small to such a small party, since they obviously carried few goods of any value; but if a band of thieves were especially desperate, the six of them would make relatively easy pickings. It was a necessary risk to take if they wanted to reach Tashbaan as quickly as possible.

At a large and lush oasis in the desert, where date palms grew around a sparkling blue pond, the travelers encountered a caravan from the city of Azim Balda which was on its way to Tashbaan as well. The caravan master, a rotund and bearded man in a garish blue robe and turban, rode out from his camp with an armed escort to meet the Narnians. Now Pete got his first good look at some of the jinn, the people of Calormen. They looked somewhat similar to human beings, but they were a bit taller and heavier of build, with skin that ranged in color from bronze to red. Their ears had long points, more exaggerated than those of elves or nymphs, and the men all seemed to keep their beards and moustaches intricately combed and curled. They wore shoes with curled tips, and the soldiers had white robes and scimitars. These, then, were the Sons of Fire, another of the Greater Peoples of this world.

"Well met," said the caravan master. "I am Zal Ibin, trader from Azim Balda. Who might you be, O strangers from the north?"

Pete tugged on the reins of his steed and drew to the fore of the group. "My name is Peter Pevensie. These are my friends," he said, introducing each in turn. "Tara, Phineas, Cynthia, Lumpkin, and Penelope. We're on our way to the capital."

"Ah, yes," said Ibin, "but why? You are not merchants, and Tashbaan is not known to be friendly to barbarian visitors."

"We're just… simple travelers," said Pete. "We want to tour the world, see the sights, and I heard that Tashbaan was a heck of a place to vacation."

Ibin laughed deeply and said, "It is indeed the most remarkable city in the world! The Tisroc (may he live forever) would not live there if it were anything less than the seat of all that is wonderful and glorious in the eyes of the gods. For as the poet says, 'the city of the Tisroc is to the world as the sun is to the day, and the moon to the night.'"

"Yeah, and what happens in Tashbaan stays in Tashbaan," said Pete. "Or so I heard. So, anyway, since we're all heading in the same direction…"

"Yes, yes," chuckled Ibin. "You may ride with our group. Greater safety in greater numbers, eh? And, strange though all of you look, I deem that you are warriors of some experience, yes?"

"You could say that," said Pete.

"Then the arrangement is to our mutual benefit, and supremely practical!" said Ibin. "'There is no higher virtue than the practical decision,' as the saying goes."

Pete nodded. "And, as Groucho Marx once said, 'Time flies like an arrow, but fruit flies like a banana.'" The human looked around and saw strange looks on the faces of all the present company, his friends included. "What? Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'When in Calormen, do as the Calormenes do?' …Or something?"

Zal Ibin grinned appreciatively and said, "I like you, Master Pevensie! You are unusually well-spoken for a barbarian!"

"Yes, but which end is he speaking out of?" snarked Phineas. "If your Lordship will permit me to say so."

Pete turned to Phineas and whispered, "My Lordship does permit it. I, on the other hand, will meet you in the parking lot after class if you don't keep this 'Lord' business quiet while we're on the road!"

Behind them, Zal Ibin listened carefully and raised a curious eyebrow at the human's words.

Zal Ibin's caravan brought the travelers closer to Tashbaan with each day. The jinn were a polite and obliging people, but they were not overly warm to the newcomers. Only Ibin treated the northerners as friends, and even then, he did little to disguise the disdain that all the Calormenes seemed to have for "barbarians" from other lands. Nevertheless, the six companions got along well enough with their hosts to make the journey tolerable, and the caravan's well-armed escort proved enough of a deterrent to thwart any would-be highway robbers.

Until, that is, they were yet three days' ride from Tashbaan.

At midday, with the sun high overhead and beating down on the hot yellow sands, the caravan scouts spotted a rider in black on the road ahead. The sand dunes gave way to rocky crags, and the man in black sat atop a Calormene steed, waiting beneath the shadow of a high overhang. Beyond, the rock faces narrowed to form a canyon, cliffs rising up on either side of the road. It was an obvious bottleneck.

Pete and Tara rode together at the head of the column, along with Master Ibin. Pete said, "This… does not look good."

"No indeed," said Ibin. The jinni reined in his horse and came to a stop. Behind him, the rest of the caravan slowly followed suit, each person, animal, and cart rolling to a halt in turn. Ibin scanned the horizon and said, "If there are thieves ahead, they have chosen an excellent point of ambush. We cannot scale the rocks. There is no other road to take us around the canyon."

Tara looked into the sky and squinted at the boiling sun. "There will be no waiting them out. We cannot remain here for very long."

Ibin nodded and said, "In that case, gods help us, our only choice is to make a fight of it and clear the way for the carts and the pack-camels." The caravan master drew forth the great tulwar that he kept tied to a sash around his waist. "Now, my friends, I must ask you to render your services as warriors. We have traveled together; now let us do honorable battle together!"

Behind Ibin, the caravan guards either drew scimitars and raised them into the air, or they pulled long-shafted arrows from quivers tied to their horses' saddles and nocked them to bowstrings.

The rest of the Narnians now caught up to the front of the caravan. "What's happened?" asked Lumpkin. "A blockage on the road?"

"Something like that," said Pete. In the canyon ahead, the lone rider had discreetly become two dozen mounted brigands.

"In that case," said the dwarf, "let us be swift in clearing a path!" To emphasize the point, he took up a short-bow of elven make that he had received from Tara as a gift in Anvard. Phineas and Cynthia also armed themselves with their bows, while Penelope freed her twin sabres from their sheaths. Tara swept aside her cape and withdrew an elven rapier, long-bladed but light and straight. Pete had lost his sabre under Mt. Pire, but he had been given a blade like Tara's in the elf-kingdom, and he drew it now. It was a basket-hilted broadsword, heftier than a rapier and made from finely folded steel that glinted like silver in the desert sun.

Pete had learned something of swordplay in the past several weeks, but right now, facing the prospect of putting those untested skills to use, he didn't relish the thought. "What I wouldn't give right now for an SG 550 and a few mags of 5.56," he griped. Tara was about to ask, and so Pete just explained. "It's… like a bow and arrow, only more kickass."

"Here they come," said Ibin, and indeed, the riders now poured out of the canyon and onto the road. "I suppose they grew tired of waiting for us."

A battle-yell came from the bandits, and the black-clad jinn on horseback loosed a volley of arrows. The caravan guards returned fire, as did the Narnians. Cynthia and Phineas were the best marksmen of the lot, and Lumpkin was no amateur either. More than once did the Narnians' shots find their mark, such that only fifteen of the bandits crashed into the line of guards with scimitars flashing.

It didn't make sense to Pete. Why would thieves throw themselves at a well-armed defense, if the purpose was to make off with loot? "They're assassins," he said to himself. "They're not thieves, they're assassins!" Spurring his horse and pointing his sword, Pete charged.

"Wait… Peter!" Tara cried. She urged her mount to follow closely behind, her own blade ready.

Then, they were in the thick of it. All around, the mêlée surged, jinn in white and black cloaks exchanging blows, scimitars ringing against each other. Zal Ibin swung his great tulwar and gave as good as he got, felling one of the attackers with a slice to the throat. Then his horse was swept out from under him, and Pete never saw what happened to Ibin after that.

"Peter!" shouted Penelope. The centauress tried to cut her way through the confusion, to get next to Pete and Tara and protect them if she could.

And then an arrow pierced the shoulder of Pete's horse, and he was sent flying. A little dazed, and spitting out a mouthful of sand, he rolled over and tried to stand. His sword had flown clear; it sat two feet away. And then a shadow fell across Pete's vision… when one of the bandits appeared, standing over the human with a scimitar raised high.

The sword came down and kicked up sand. Pete rolled and grabbed for his sword. His hands found the hilt and he brought the weapon up just in time to block another strike.

"Die, by Tash!" screamed the killer. "Die!"

Pete crawled backwards on his hands and knees and tried to rise. His attacker was no novice, though, and he pressed his advantage, never letting the human recover from his supine position. Then the bandit pulled back his weapon to strike again… and it was blocked by another straight elven blade.

Tara, on foot, stood between Pete and the bandit. Riposting off of her block, she swiped and thrust, but the assassin parried. Then the two were locked in a furious duel, elf and jinni exchanging wicked strikes, meeting each blow for blow with a metallic ring or a scrape and a spark.

Pete could only stare in awe. Tara was masterful. It was like watching an Olympic fencer at work, but for the wild anger in the elf-queen's eyes. And seconds later, with a twist of her blade, the jinni was disarmed and run through. He collapsed to the ground, holding the wound in his belly, until his eyes rolled back and he felt no more.

Around them, the attack swiftly fell apart, as the last of the black-clad jinn were slain. None survived to flee the scene. Or to answer questions, much to Pete's disappointment.

Zal Ibin appeared, one arm held over a minor cut on his upper arm. "These were not thieves," he said. "Thieves are not so brave, or so reckless. Hired killers, I wager."

"My assessment as well," said Tara.

"The two of you," said Ibin, "are valuable personages, yes? You, Lady, carry yourself like a queen… and you, 'Your Lordship,' are… I don't know what you are, but I can tell that you travel incognito for some secret purpose."

"And we'd like to keep it secret," said Pete.

"I have lost good men today," said Ibin. "I would like to know why."

"When we reach Tashbaan," offered Tara. "Then you will know all."

Zal Ibin nodded. "As you wish, Lady." But he clearly didn't like it.

Chapter Eighteen

THE city of Tashbaan really was an incredible place. In fact, it was the first proper city that Pete had seen in this world. (Pete really didn't know what to call the world, now that they were so far from Narnia, but nobody had ever named it for him. So for now, it was just "This World.") The buildings were tall and brightly decorated, and there seemed to be a palace or a mansion on every city block. Rows of mud-brick houses lined the streets, but these were hung with silks and ribbons. The streets themselves seemed to house a constant bazaar, with throngs of people walking to and from the marketplaces. Traders peddled goods both local and exotic, and the swirl of sights, sounds, and smells was overwhelming to the Narnians, who were used to a quieter, more pastoral pace of life.

To Pete, it felt like coming home.

Granted, everywhere he looked, he saw the fiery-orange skin of the jinn, and unlike the New York he knew, everybody seemed to go out of their way to demonstrate politeness and deference. Peasants made way for merchants and artisans, and these were always quick to clear a path for a Tarkaan. But the busy flow of a real city was something that Pete could appreciate, and for a moment it made him feel especially alive. Not three days ago, he had been in yet another fight to the death, and he had escaped only by the seat of his pants (and the quickness of Tara's blade). Right now, though, all that was forgotten. He looked every which way, taking in everything that he could, with a grin on his face that stretched from ear to ear.

"Tashbaan impresses you," said Zal Ibin. The caravan master was preparing to take his leave of the travelers. Already, the guards and the merchants were ambling into the city, making for the marketplace.

"It's… not so different from my home," said Pete.

"Ah," nodded the jinni. "Three days back, you made a promise to reveal your identities to me. I would consider it a sign of trust and friendship."

Pete gave a nod, and Tara spoke: "We honor that promise, good Master Ibin. I am, in fact, Taraiel of Archenland…"

Ibin's eyes widened. "Your Majesty!" he exclaimed, sweeping into a low bow.

"…And this," she continued, "is Lord Peter of New York, a descendant of Adam and Eve."

Ibin looked at Pete with wonder. "A human? Then… the legends are true! You return to claim rule over the northlands, and cast down the Frozen Queen?"

"That's the plan," said Pete. "Whether we can pull it off… we'll see."

Ibin smiled jovially and took Pete in a tight embrace, much to the human's surprise. "Not all Calormenes think kindly of the Barbarian Witch," he said, "but some do. Thus do I warn you, my friends: the Tisroc (may he live forever) is one of these. He calls Jadis friend and ally. If you mean to meet with him, you must tread carefully and choose your words with the wisdom of the poets."

Then Zal Ibin clasped Pete's hands in a fierce handshake, bowed once again before Queen Taraiel, and made his departure.

"You know they didn't really exist, right?" said Pete. He and his five comrades rode together through the streets of Tashbaan, Pete on a new horse acquired from Zal Ibin.

"Who didn't exist?" asked Tara.

"Adam and Eve. They're not real. Never were."

"Oh?" smiled the elf. "Then who were the first parents of your race?"

Pete just shook his head. "It doesn't work that way. I don't know if I could explain it without DNA and ecology and a bunch of other stuff that won't make any sense to you, but… humans evolved. We descended from an earlier, more primitive species. Evolution… it happens so slowly that there's no real way to draw a line between an ancestor species and its descendants. And since it works on whole populations' gene pools, not individuals, there can't possibly have been a first human man or woman. So Adam and Eve could not have existed as real people, at least not on Earth. They're a myth. A story."

"If that's true, then where did your 'primitive ancestors' come from?" asked Tara.

"From even more primitive animals," said Pete. "All the way back to beginning, maybe three or four billion years ago. Where I come from, every living thing is related to every other living thing. Just the way it is."

"Humans… really believe this?" asked Phineas. He and the others were all curious to learn more of Pete's beliefs, and they listened intently.

"It's not a matter of belief, it's proven fact," said Pete with a sour note in his voice. "But… yeah, most do."

"If it's all the same to you, Lord Peter, I think we shall continue to speak of you as a Son of Adam," said Lumpkin. "'Son of Primitive Ancestors' doesn't have quite the same ring to it."

"No," laughed Pete. "No, it doesn't. But… ah, never mind. I'll… buy you guys a subscription to Scientific American at the next magazine stand we run into."

At last, they came to the palace of the Tisroc. This structure was, in a word, gigantic. It dominated the skyline of Tashbaan, a massive and fortified building of brick and marble, with great spires and minarets and huge domed towers. Ivory, ebony, silver, and gold decorated every wall and statue, while rubies and emeralds were set into ostentatious mosaics and bas-reliefs. Silken banners and velvet draperies lined every hallway. And people were everywhere, slaves who tended the palace and waited on the Tisroc and his visiting Tarkaans and Tarkeenas. Most of these slaves were Calormenes, but more than a few were Narnians of various races.

When word reached the Calormene emperor's ears that Queen Taraiel of Archenland had arrived for a visit, the travelers were at once admitted into the great throne room of the Tisroc, a chamber as lavishly decorated as any in the palace. Tisroc Ardeeb III sat upon a throne of ivory and gold, attended by a court of Tarkaans, advisors, ministers, priests, mathematicians, astrologers, philosophers, and poets. The emperor of the jinn was singularly tall, and powerful of build in a way that reminded Pete of professional wrestlers. Clearly, this man was a warrior as well as a monarch, and he was not to be taken lightly.

"Your Serene and Imperial Majesty," said Taraiel in greeting. She bowed low before the Tisroc, and the others followed her action as best they were able. (Penelope could only bow at the waist so far.) Pete bowed with the others, but he kept his eyes up and fixed on the Tisroc.

"We grant you welcome, Queen of Elves," said Ardeeb, "though we remain curious as to the purpose of your arrival, and of your coming unannounced. Once before, we asked for your hand in marriage, but you refused to become our wife and Tisruka. Have you changed your mind, Your Royal Majesty?" Coming from the Tisroc, even the world "royal" managed to sound condescending, simply because it wasn't "imperial."

Pete looked sidelong at Tara, and the elf's features hardened. "On that matter, my answer remains the same as before," she said sternly. "Among my people, it isn't customary for husbands to take more than one wife."

"Ah, but I have no wives," countered Ardeeb. "Many concubines, but they are all of common blood. None but you, beautiful Taraiel, would be fit to become my Tisruka—my empress."

Pete cleared his throat and fought to recall the courtly manners that he had learned from the elves of Anvard. "With respect, Majesty, that isn't why we've come. This meeting is business, not pleasure."

The Tisroc trained his keen gaze on Pete. "Ah. The Son of Adam brings us straight to the point. Word has reached our ears that a human, Peter by name, does seek to supplant Jadis of Narnia, and to replace her as the rightful High King of that land. Do we speak falsely?"

"Of course not," said Pete, hiding well his surprise at the Tisroc's prescience. "I'm Peter Pevensie, and I do mean to take Jadis off the throne of Narnia."

"And you want our reassurance that Calormen will not intervene to aid the Frozen Queen in keeping her stolen throne," continued the Tisroc. It was statement he gave, not question.

Pete narrowed his eyes at the jinni emperor, trying to guess at what game he was playing. "That's it exactly," he said.

The Tisroc smiled like a tiger about to pounce. "Then tell us, pray, how Calormen is advantaged by honoring your supplication. Right now, we are pleased with the arrangement between Jadis and Our August Selves. Will a Narnia under High King Peter be an even better friend to Calormen?"

"Your Majesty," said Peter, "Jadis doesn't have any real friends. She only cares about power, and if she doesn't plan on taking over Calormen right now, it's only because she doesn't think she'll win yet. Or because Archenland, or Galma and the Isles would be easier to take down first. But eventually, she'll turn the tables and make herself an enemy."

"Do you mean to suggest that Narnia is so strong, and Calormen so weak, that the Kingdom might someday conquer the Empire?"

"No, Your Majesty. I just mean that Jadis is very long-lived, and from what I've seen, very patient. The longer she stays on the throne, the more dangerous she will become. Does the phrase, 'playing with fire' mean anything to you?"

"My people the Sons and Daughters of Fire itself," said Ardeeb, "though we of the Tarkaan class, including the Tisroc, know that our other parent is the war-god, Tash. If the Frozen Queen were ever so foolish as to bring war to the Empire, we would melt her, and then she would burn in the fires of battle!"

Pete sucked in a breath and buried his building anger. "Then look at it this way," he said through gritted teeth. "A frozen Narnia isn't any good to anybody. Right now, you guys trade food to Narnia, and they send back slaves, right?"

"Yes indeed," said Ardeeb. "A very beneficial arrangement, if we do say so ourselves."

"Okay, then. Don't your people have another saying? That 'the highest virtue is the practical decision?' Because if we can thaw Narnia and free her people, we'll be buying more than food, and selling…" Pete swallowed, "things that aren't slaves. Both of our nations could prosper. And I," he added, speaking more forcefully, "I am not fond of war. Can you really say the same about Jadis?"

The Tisroc threw his head back and laughed. All at once, the nobles and courtiers arranged behind the throne imitated their emperor, tittering politely. "Oh, well-spoken, Peter! All you humans really do have a way with words!"

"Yeah, we… wait, what do mean by 'all you humans?'"

"Oh. Didn't I mention it?" said the Tisroc, obviously feigning a memory-lapse. "There is another human in Tashbaan. A Daughter of Eve. She is a guest in our very palace."

Pete's jaw dropped. He could literally feel his heart sinking in his chest, like a lead weight plummeting into his stomach. The visitors from Narnia were equally shocked, mostly wondering whether it could be true, or if it might be some sort of trick.

"Another… of your kind?" whispered Taraiel to Pete. Her voice was more than uneasy—it was downright fearful.

He whispered back, "I… I've got to know. I have to see for myself." To the Tirsoc, he said, "Your Majesty, might I… meet this other human?"

"In good time," replied Ardeeb. "Until then, you are all my guests as well. All the delights and entertainments of Tashbaan shall be at your disposal for as long as you should remain with us. Slaves shall be called to show you to your rooms. At four bells, we shall dine together and discuss matters further." With a sweeping gesture of one arm, the Tisroc finished his decree. And in Calormen, the word of the Tisroc (may he live forever) was law.

Chapter Nineteen

THE Tisroc had summoned a dozen jinn to show the members of the Narnian party to their accommodations. One by one, they were ushered to their rooms, suites so luxurious that they truly defied description. The beds alone in each massive chamber were so large that even Penelope could rest comfortably on one without fear of breaking through or falling off, though when Lumpkin saw his own, he remarked that he might become lost in the sheer vastness of it! Phineas was the next to be quartered, and Pete grinned to himself when he saw Cynthia looking up and down the hallway here, carefully committing this location to memory. Well, all's well that ends well, thought Pete.

Each time one of the Narnians was dropped off, two of the jinn would remain behind to help the new guest settle in. Soon enough, Pete and Tara were alone, with only a quartet of jinn remaining in their escort. "Have you noticed?" commented Pete. "All the servants are Calormenes."

"They aren't servants; they're slaves," corrected Tara.

"I know," said Pete. "I'm… trying not to think about that part right now." The human watched the faces of the four jinn. They didn't react to anything: they said nothing, and their expressions remained constantly neutral. "Point is, not a Narnian in the bunch."

"The Tisroc is obviously a man of tremendous foresight."

"Yeah, well, I guess you'd know. Tara, you never mentioned that the two of you had already met, never mind that he popped the question once!"

"It was a long time ago." The elf didn't seem to want to talk about it any further, so Pete let the matter drop when she changed the subject: "Peter, I fear that you were too bold with His Majesty. Were we not warned to speak carefully in the Tisroc's presence?"

"Yeah. But he ticked me off. And besides, he was holding all the cards. I figured, the only way to make him lay his hand on the table was to call every bet." Pete stopped walking and took Tara by the hand to keep her close. The four slaves also stopped, and they kept a respectful distance ahead, though not quite out of earshot. "I wanted to know what we were dealing with: an ally, an enemy, or Switzerland."

The elf-queen tilted her head curiously (Pete loved it when she did that) and said, "And what did you perceive, Peter? Friend, foe, or switter… swizzer… or a neutral party?"

"I can't be sure," said Pete, "but right now, I'd say all signs point to cheese, chocolate, and cuckoo clocks." Pete grinned and shook his head at the confused elf-maiden. "You know, Tara, I'm a detective. It's my job to size people up and guess at what they're thinking. To read all the clues and put together the evidence. The Tisroc… he's cake. Push the right buttons, and he'll wear his heart on his sleeve. You, on the other hand…"

"Me?" said Tara, so surprised that a grin broke out on her face to match Pete's. "What about me?"

"After all this time, I still can't figure you out," said Pete.

Tara snorted. "You can't understand me? You, who habitually speaks in riddles? Who refers to a lore more arcane than the Deep Magic?" The elf crossed her arms and waited for Pete to explain himself, though the good-natured smile never left her face.

"I just wish I knew what we were. Are. Us."

"Close your eyes," said Tara.

"What?"

"I'm trying to be serious, you ridiculous human!" laughed Tara. "Just close them!"

Pete did as he was asked, and suddenly he felt Tara's lips touch his. It was a surprise, to be sure, but nothing like the time that Cynthia had kissed him. That… that had been somewhere between frenzied lust and a confused schoolgirl crush. But this… this felt like passion. This felt right. And Pete almost forgot that they were in a random hallway in the Tisroc's palace, and that they had four Calormene spectators.

Tara broke the kiss and whispered, "Well? Did you get your wish?"

"That's one smokin'-hot birthday candle I'm never blowing out."

Tara giggled. "I hope that's human-speak for 'yes.'"

"Oh yeah," nodded Pete. "Message received and understood." Turning to the jinn, he said, "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking: 'those two should get a room.' Well, that's your job, so lead on, Hadji!" To the other three, he nodded in turn, "Johnny… Race… Bandit."

The silent servants all looked perplexed for a moment, but then they must have decided that the strange human's words weren't important, because they turned down the hall and carried out their charge, leading Tara and Pete to their rooms.

The gong sounded four times, a flatly metallic sound that echoed through the palace halls. Pete followed one of the jinn into the grand banquet hall and found that he was fashionably late: the rest of his friends were already seated at the table. Tara sat at the left hand of the Tisroc, followed by an empty spot for Pete, and then Penelope, Lumpkin, Phineas, and Cynthia. Most of the rest of the seats on both sides of the table were filled by noble jinn—by Tarkaans and Tarkeenas—with one notable exception. This was the seat just to the right of the Tisroc, across the table from Tara. Here sat a raven-haired woman in high-class Calormene dress—soft blue silks that formed a halter and baggy pantaloons, embroidered with tiny gemstones and bits of gold, and a tiara of silver that rested on her brow—but she had none of the features of the jinnyah, the female jinn. Nor did she resemble an elf, or a nymph. Her ears were round, and her skin was tanned, but without the uncannily red-orange hue of the fiery Calormenes. Pete stared, open-mouthed. She looked human!

Pete took his seat at the table. Tisroc Ardeeb half smiled, half sneered. "Lord Peter has seen fit to join us. Welcome, and if it please you, eat your fill!" Sweeping his arm across the table, the Tisroc indicated a spread of exotic foods in bewildering variety. Many of these looked more than appetizing: roasted fowls, cakes and confections, and blows of citrons and other fruits that Pete could never hope to identify. But for every dish that made Pete's mouth water, there was another that made his stomach turn. On the other side of the table, two seats down from the human woman who had so absorbed Pete's attention, a jinnyah Tarkeena was cutting a shell-covered tentacle off of some kind of… squid-crab… thing.

"I swear to God," said the mysterious woman, "if somebody pulls a Temple of Doom moment and starts eating eyeballs, I'm totally gonna hurl."

Almost reflexively, Pete mumbled, "You're thinking of Octopussy. In Temple of Doom, the eyeball was in the soup. It was a Bond villain who actually ate one on-camera."

Now the woman noticed Pete for the first time, and her eyes went as wide as saucers. "Oh my God! It's true! You… you're human! Like, American even!"

"Land of the free and home of the brave," said Pete, flashing a lopsided grin. "I'm Pete Pevensie." He wanted to reach across the table to shake the woman's hand, but the distance was simply too great. So, he settled for a friendly wave. "Hi."

"Hi. I'm Jillian Greene," said the woman, "from Atlantic City. Call me Jill."

Pete rolled his eyes and mockingly groaned. "Oh, that's just great! Freaking wonderful!"

Tara had been watching the both of them very carefully this whole time. She picked up on Pete's sarcasm and said, "I don't understand, Peter. After all this time, aren't you pleased to meet one of your own kind?"

"Normally I would be," joked Pete, "but she's from New Jersey! They don't even have a baseball team."

"Very funny, Brooklyn, but yours got sold to L.A.!" laughed Jill. "Now all you've got are the Mets and the Yankees, and the one kind of cancels the other out."

Pete chuckled. "How did you guess that I was from Brooklyn?"

"The accent is kind of a giveaway," said Jill. "So, Pete… what do you do? I mean, what did you do, back home?"

"I was a cop," said Pete. "A Detective Investigator, for the NYPD. What about you?"

"Software engineer," said Jill, casually popping a slice of some pear-like fruit into her mouth. "Mostly database programming. Some consulting work."

Pete threw his head back and laughed aloud. "Seriously? You're… a computer geek?" Frankly, to Pete's way of thinking, Miss Jillian Greene of Atlantic City looked far too athletic and well-tanned to be a computer anything.

"Hey, that's professional computer geek," she shot back. "I did pretty well for myself. Back home, I mean."

Pete sighed. "Yeah. So… how did you wind up here?"

"In Calormen? Jeez, it's freaky, isn't it? I was in my Aunt Polly's attic, looking through some old stuff, and I came across this weird panting. It was a picture of, like, a desert… with some Arabian kid riding on a horse, or something. And then, I don't know, I was in the painting, and I found myself here. In Tashbaan. It was like something straight out of Alice in Wonderland. Or Wizard of Oz!" Jill blew a heavy sigh and then asked, "What about you, Brooklyn? What's your story?"

"Some old guy whacked himself with sleeping pills. My car was in the area, so I got called to the scene. I was poking around the attic, and there was this… wardrobe. I fell through the back of it and found myself in Narnia."

Jill's eyes widened. "I've seen that on a map! It's… way, way north of here! You can't tell me you walked all the way from there to here!"

"Can and did," said Pete. "What about you? You haven't left Tashbaan since you got here?"

"Nope," said Jill. She indicated the Tisroc and smiled at him. "His Imperial Majesty over here was nice enough to give me a place to stay, until I figured out what to do with myself. That was three weeks ago. I'm still not sure what I'm gonna do."

"My original offer still stands," interjected the Tisroc. "You are welcome to become one of my women and live out your days in the plenty and comfort of my seraglio."

Jill put her tongue through her teeth and made a funny face. "Uh… no. Thanks, but that's just not how we do things back in the United States."

"Come with us, then," said Pete. It was a spur-of-the-moment offer, and one that sent ripples of shock through the Narnian party.

"Oh, please do take her," said the Tarkeena seated across from Lumpkin. "The sooner this odd little creature leaves the sight of our beloved Tisroc (may he live forever), the sooner the rest of us can get on with our business. Namely, convincing His August and Imperial Majesty to choose a proper Tisruka."

"You are too forward, my dear Lasaraleen," said the Tarkaan interposed between the jinnyah and Jillian. "If His Majesty wishes to make a concubine of this lovely Daughter of Eve, that is business between her and His Majesty."

"Hold on!" said Jill. "Nobody is making a concubine of anyone, not while I'm here! Listen, Pete, was it? Tell me what your plans are, and maybe I'll tag along."

"Peter, are you sure that this is wise?" asked Taraiel. "Our path is a dangerous one, and all may not be quite as it seems!"

Pete nodded to Tara and then turned to Jill. "Okay," he said. "If you're really on the level, answer me this: what's forty-two?"

Jill narrowed her eyes at Pete. "What's forty-two? You mean, apart from six times seven?"

Pete nodded.

Jill grinned wickedly and said, "Only the answer to life, the universe, and everything!"

Pete turned to Tara and pronounced, "She's human. She can definitely come with us!"

"Look," said Jill to Taraiel. "I can see that you don't exactly trust me. Maybe it's because of whatever you've got with Petey-boy here. That part's kind of obvious. But whatever it is, I don't care. I just want to figure out how to get out of here, and get back home to Planet Earth. If that means coming with you, then great. If not, I'll take my chances in Tashbaan."

"Wait," said Pete. "You don't exactly know what you'd be getting into with us. You see, we've kind of got a job to do first…" And so Pete recounted to Jill the story of his coming into Narnia, of the White Witch and her curse of endless winter, and of the throne in Cair Paravel. He also spoke of his adventures, of his encounters with the villainous Count Serpens, and of his coming at last into Archenland and Calormen. All the dinner guests listened intently to Pete's story, and even Tisroc Ardeeb seemed enraptured by the tale.

When it was all through, Jill looked pale and a little scared. Laughing through her fear, she said, "Well, look at it this way, Pete: with two humans, that's two chances to break the curse, right? If one of us gets tackled, the other can still dive for the end zone."

"But are you sure that a Daughter of Eve could break the curse as well as a Son of Adam?" asked the Tisroc. "All the legends and prophecies that I have heard foretell that a High King will claim the throne, not a High Queen."

"The prophecy is clear enough," said Lumpkin. "A Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve will free Narnia from the witch. King or Queen, it does not matter."

"In that case," said Jill, "may the best human win. But," she added with a shiver, "all the freaky-deaky stuff you've been through! Giants? Goblins? Vampires! I'm not sure I can do what you've done, Pete!"

"Yeah," said Pete quietly. "It's… a real kick in the nads."

"Yes it is," agreed Penelope. "Especially Count Serpens. He gives me the craps."

All eyes trained on the centauress, but Pete and Jill were especially taken aback. Jill's jaw dropped, and Pete said, "Excuse me?"

Penelope looked at everybody and flushed with embarrassment. "What? 'The craps.' It's human-language. I've heard you say it before, Lord Peter, when you are… scared… or nervous?"

Jillian put her hand over her mouth and stared guffawing shamelessly. Then Pete realized Penelope's mistake and slapped his forehead. "Oh! 'The creeps!' Count Serpens gives you the creeps, Penny. The cra—uh, the other thing, that means something different…"

"Oh, I don't know," giggled Jill. "What she said still works. It's just a little out of context."

At that moment, the Tisroc cleared his throat. "What a fascinating coincidence that you should bring up the subject," he said. "It just so happens that a very special guest is arriving momentarily—one who could not join us precisely on time, because he had to wait for sunset."

Pete looked to the Tisroc and searched his face. The jinni emperor was radiating all the smug satisfaction of a chess-player who saw checkmate in three moves. "What are you talking about?" said Pete.

Then the doors to the banquet hall burst open, and into the room strode the Black Knight of Narnia—the Champion of Jadis—the vampire, Count Serpens. He removed his iron helm and bowed stiffly in the direction of the Tisroc. "Your Imperial Majesty, my Royal Mistress sssends you her greetings. Ssshe wished for me to convey her hope that our alliance is by no means on the wane, and that a clossse relationship between Jadis of Narnia and Ardeeb of Calormen will continue, to your everlasssting benefit. She also asssks that you will sssurrender the traitor known as Peter Pevensie, and all his insssurgent companionsss, into my cussstody at once."

The emperor didn't get a chance to reply. The Narnians quickly leapt to their feet, and Pete joined them. "You just can't leave me alone, can you, you parseltongued bastard? For the last time, you only get to take me over my dead body!"

Count Serpens smiled. "We shall sssee."

Chapter Twenty

"YOU'RE not even a recurring villain anymore!" ranted Pete. "Now you're officially my arch-nemesis! Christ, why did I have to wind up with a nemesis who talks like Voldemort and not James Earl Jones?" Pete lunged for one of the table-knives.

All at once, chaos erupted in the banquet hall. Armed guards rushed in and surrounded the Tisroc, drawing their scimitars and forming a defensive wall. Taraiel and the Narnians followed Pete's example and armed themselves with flatware, their weapons having been taken from them when they first entered the palace. As for Jillian Greene, she shrieked and dove underneath the table, along with the majority of the Tarkeenas. The Tarkaans, by and large, continued to watch in horrified surprise.

Count Serpens's upper lip curled into an irate sneer. The vampire drew his heavy iron sword and stalked calmly toward Pete.

"Enough!" came the commanding voice of the Tisroc. "Cease this madness, at once! Serpens, stay your blade! And you of Narnia, disarm yourselves this instant or be removed to the dungeons! Do we make ourselves clear?" Fire flashed in the emperor's eyes, and even Count Serpens had to hesitate. Ardeeb continued, "We shall say this only once: no guest in our imperial house will be harmed or molested in any way, unless it is by our command! Lord Peter, Queen Taraiel: you tread on shifting sands and may lose your footing at any moment. You would do well to walk more cautiously! And you, Count Serpens, should remember that you are but a guest in a place where the Tisroc's word is the only law! Jadis is not yet so powerful that she can give orders to a Son of Tash!"

"My most sssincere apologies, Augussst Majesty," oozed Serpens, sheathing his sword and bowing low. "The missive I bring from Queen Jadis was but an humble requessst, of course."

"And we will think carefully before we decide whether to honor it," said the Tirsoc. "Until such time, know this: Lord Peter and all his company are the beneficiaries of our generous hospitality, which places them under imperial protection. Now, all of you, be seated!"

As quickly as the scene had escalated, so too was it diffused. Once again, all was calm, and Pete and his companions indeed put down their knives and implements. Jill and all of the jinnyah noblewomen retook their places. Count Serpens crossed the room and seated himself at the foot of the table, opposite the Tisroc. Pete and Serpens stared daggers at each other. If looks could kill, both the human and the vampire would already have burst into flames. Then Jill squeaked, "Hey Pete, is that really him?"

Serpens's gaze snapped over to Jill, and he smiled. "Oh my, but thisss is an unexpected development: a Daughter of Eve, in Tashbaan of all placesss. I do hope, my dear, that Tirsoc Ardeeb has been naught but a gentleman in your presence." Before anybody could reply to this uncouth remark, Serpens turned his attention to the Tisroc and said, "Your Majesty, my journey has been long, and sssome refreshment would be appreciated. But as you know, this food you eat cannot sssustain me."

"Of course," said the Tisroc in a deadpan. "We have anticipated your… special needs. Appropriate measures have been taken." The Tisroc made a miniscule gesture, and a jinni entered the room, bearing a tray laden with goblets. The slave set the goblets before Count Serpens and then bowed and quietly excused himself.

Count Serpens took up one of the cups. It was filled with a bright red liquid. All watched in silence as he sipped it noisily, draining the vessel completely. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "Narnian… Red Dwarf, unless I am mistaken… two-hundred and… forty-four years of age." Serpens narrowed his gaze at Lumpkin and said, "An excellent year for dwarf."

That was it. Lumpkin was so enraged that he could only fume and spit without forming words, but Pete slammed his hands on the table. "You sick, twisted son of a—"

Only, now Count Serpens was staring at Pete, looking him directly in the eyes. And he was whispering something to himself, repeating something, like an incantation or a spell. Slowly, Pete felt reality slipping away. His vision became fuzzy, and sounds echoed as if distant. He heard his friends cry out. He heard Cynthia shouting, "Oh no! What's happening to him?" And he heard Count Serpens's smooth pronouncement, "What a pity. The human ssseems to be feeling faint. It must be… the sssight of blood." And then Pete blacked out.

Pete dreamed that he was being chased through the tunnels beneath Mount Pire. There was a snake behind him—an enormous snake that wanted to sink its fangs into Pete. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there. He heard it, calling out to him, taunting him.

Pete screamed and woke up. He was in a bed. It was the large guest-chamber that the Tisroc had given him. Pete was underneath silken sheets and a blanket of down and velvet. And there were faces overhead: Taraiel, Penelope, Phineas. He sat up. Lumpkin and Cynthia were in the room too, conversing in low tones. And Jillian stood a ways off, watching curiously. Pete felt something cold on his forehead: Taraiel had applied a wet cloth. "What happened?" he asked.

"You… fainted," said Tara. "We brought you to your room. Count Serpens is still at dinner, talking with the Tisroc."

Jill came closer and looked Pete over. "Jesus, Brooklyn, you're white as a sheet. What happened back there?"

"Don't know," said Pete. "Serpens… did something… had to be him." Then Pete's eyes went wide. He saw Count Serpens, behind Jill, creeping up, baring his fangs, reaching out… Pete pointed and let out a yell. "It's him!"

Jill, Tara, and all the others spun around, but there was nothing there. The image vanished from Pete's sight as well.

"There's nobody here but us," said Penelope. "Are you feeling all right now, Lord Peter?"

"I saw him," said Pete. "And what did I tell you guys about calling me a lord?"

"Force of habit," smiled Penelope.

"He must be hallucinating," said Phineas.

"I'm all right!" yelled Pete, sitting up in the bed. His head swam, but he shook it off and swung his legs over the bedside. He looked up at each of his friends in turn. Their eyes met his, and Pete saw the same thing in every one of them: pity. Concern. "I'm not crazy," said Pete.

"Nobody said that you were," said Phineas. "But you're obviously not well. Something has made you ill, my Lord. You should rest."

"Not a chance," said Pete. "Not with the Son of Dracula in the same building as me. We've got to put a stop to this."

"What do you mean?" asked Jill.

"We've got to kill Count Serpens," said Pete. "Now, while he's here in the palace."

"Are you suggesting… assassination?" asked Tara.

"It's not assassination if he's already dead," said Pete.

"What of the Tisroc?" asked Phineas. "He was very clear on the matter of violence among his guests: the consequences will be harsh."

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it," said Pete. "If we don't do this now, he'll just keep coming after me. I just can't take it anymore. So… first off, we need weapons. Swords and bows won't do much of anything to a vampire. And we can't count on cutting his head off or staking him through the heart. Not while he wears that black armor. So our only option is fire. Burn him up, and it's bye-bye bad guy." He looked up at Taraiel and said, "You've been here before. Does the palace have some kind of chemist or apothecary?"

Tara thought for a moment. "Yes… yes, I believe it does."

"Good. Go there. You need to get me some… sulfur. Carbon. Potassium nitrate. The purest you can find." When Pete saw the elf's blank look, he explained to her, "Brimstone. Charcoal. Saltpeter. That's what I need."

Jillian shook her head at Pete. "You're going to make a bomb? You're crazy!"

"Good," said Pete again, "you know what I'm looking for. You go with Tara. Help her out. Penny!"

The centauress came forward. "Yes, Peter?"

"You go too. Keep the girls safe. You… won't be able to fight Serpens if he decides to come after you, so if it happens… just run. Get them away."

Penelope shook her head. "I should stay. It's you that he wants. If he decides to come after anybody, it will be—"

"I'll be fine," said Pete. "Hey Lumpkin, Cynthia!" The dwarf and the nymph looked over at Pete, who said, "If I wanted to find some garlic, you guys think you could help me out?"

"There was garlic in some of the food," said Lumpkin. "I'm quite sure of it. We could look in the palace kitchens."

"Great. You guys go do that. Anybody know anything about cooking?"

Cynthia smiled and raised her hand. "I know—"

"Yeah, yeah," said Pete. "You know a little bit of everything. Okay. If you find the garlic, turn it into a paste or a sauce or something. Anything that I can put in a bottle and throw."

Jillian laughed at that and said, "Weaponized garlic? I like the way you think, Detective!"

Pete grinned. "That's about everything. Oh, wait, something else: Lumpkin, give me your knife."

"My knife, Lord Peter?" asked the dwarf. "The Tisroc ordered us all disarmed when we first arrived in Tashbaan."

"Lumpkin…"

The dwarf sighed and smiled. "Very well," he said, reaching into his boot and handing a spare blade to Pete.

Pete took the knife and said to everybody, "Count Serpens is a vampire. He has the strength of ten men, weird magic powers, and the knowledge of centuries—"

"So do some of us, unless you've already forgotten," said Cynthia.

"Just the same," said Pete, "don't even try to fight him until we're all together and all ready to take him on." He nodded to all of his friends, and then the two groups left: Tara, Jill, and Penelope to go find the apothecary, and Lumpkin and Cynthia to the kitchens.

When Pete was alone with Phineas, the faun asked, "Is there anything you require of me, my friend?"

"Yeah," said Pete. "That table over there. Is it made of wood?"

"I believe so," said Phineas. "Why?"

"Help me smash it," said Pete. "I need some pieces."

"But… what you said before was correct. While Count Serpens wears his armor, wooden stakes won't avail us."

"Never mind that," said Pete, "just give me a hand."

A short while later, one of the Tisroc's decorative tables was in pieces. Pete selected a large piece from the top plank and went to work with Lumpkin's knife, whittling it into a particular shape. When it began to look more and more like a lower-case "t," Phineas grew curious and asked, "What is that for?"

"It's a crucifix," said Pete. "A cross. A holy symbol. They're supposed to repel vampires." The human grinned and said, "I figure, if vampires are real, why stop there? Just maybe, the Big Guy Upstairs has our backs on this one."

Lumpkin and Cynthia were the last to return to Pete's room. When they arrived, they found Pete and Jill carefully measuring quantities of black, white, and yellow powders, pouring them into small clay flasks in more or less equal proportions. Phineas and Taraiel were winding strips of cloth around wooden table-legs in order to make torches. Penelope watched these operations with some interest, until the dwarf and the nymph arrived.

"You have the garlic?" asked the centauress.

"Right here," said Cynthia, holding up several bottles. "Extract of garlic, as requested."

"Groovy," said Pete. "I'm almost finished here…" A short while later, he was the proud owner of half-a-dozen brand-new incendiary bombs. "There are seven of us, and one of him," said Pete. "None of us can take him alone, but two groups will find him faster than if we all stick together. How much time do we have before sunup?"

"Not more than five hours," said Phineas.

"You heard the faun," said Pete. "Five hours to track down the Count and light him up. Penny, Tara, you're with me. Finny, Jill, you're with Lumpkin and Cynthia. It's time to make like Buffy and the Belmonts. We're gonna slay us a vampire."