The sun peaked its head over the hills and tossed its mane of golden rays across the sky. The waving sands scrolled beneath Philip's hooves as the horse charged with all his strength, and Faraji's claws dug into the horse's muscled sides, guiding him with every painful nudge.

I suppose I owe him something for this, Faraji thought. Something other than his life.

Philip galloped over a dune, and the sands sloped down toward a cluster of palms in the distance. Further back, along the horizon, hills rose up with shadows cast across their slopes.

"There it is!" Faraji said. "Faster, horse, faster!"

Foam clouded Philip's muzzle and lips. His sides squeezed harder and harder to take in breath.

"HOO—OW!"

Faraji's head cocked to the side. "What?!"

Two big gasps. "HOO—OWK!"

Faraji batted the horse's side. "Speak up, you stupid—AAAAGH!"

Pain burst up and down his shoulder as an arrow plunged into a ball of muscle. The force knocked him off the saddle and sent him plummeting to the scrolling ground. Sand and sky spun around his head as the arrow's shaft snapped, and the sand rushed up to meet him as Philip screamed—

"—ARA—EE!"

A burst of stars filled his eyes as pain seared his shoulder, and the whole world fell into darkness.

A splash of water across his face, and Faraji flinched awake. He gasped and coughed, blinking water away as the dark rock walls sharpened into focus. At once a lance of pain shot up from his shoulder, and he let out a cry. Stars danced around his blurry eyes, and his humming ears felt as if they were stuffed with cloth. His back and side rested on a bed of rocks; every twitch made his joints ache in protest. The voices of men echoed, as if in a great palace. He knew they had carried him and guided Philip into the shade of the cavern.

The sound of boots crunching against dirt and rock made his ears swivel, and a groan fell from his chest as he stared at the clean-shaven man in a blue uniform. A tremble rippled through his breath. "Mehan..."

Philip let out an angry snort. His eyes glared at the Mareshah. "It is a good thing you are a man of the law, Sir, because I cannot imagine that you would pardon a man who attacks an animal. Whoever it was, Sir, I hope that you arrest him and leave his body to rot in the sun."

Faraji grunted, flicking his eyes toward the horse. "Do you not understand, Narnian?" The cheetah's voice rasped like two rocks rubbing together. "They were not...they were not Calormenes. The Mareshah...and his men...they followed us out of Palár."

Philip's jaw fell. He aimed his glassy eyes at the uniformed man. "You?" The horse let out a soft neigh. "You attacked your own animal?"

"He tortured you to get out of his mission," said Reza, staring at Faraji. "It is only proper that he pay for his crimes. By the laws of Erizad, he will die—after I make him feel the pain you felt at his hand."

"What?!" Philip whinnied and reared up on his hind legs, but two pikemen held their blades at the horse's breast. Philip landed on all fours, snorting and flaring his nostrils at the uniformed men. "Confound it, Sir! What about your son?"

"Don't bring him into this. My only concern is that Faraji is punished."

"And who will go to Narnia? Who else will be summoned to fetch the medicine? You know he was summoned by the Lord of Narnia himself. You cannot just execute him—not as long as your son's life depends on him."

"I don't have a choice. If I don't obey him and put Faraji to death, Aslan will kill me."

"What good will come of killing your own animal? Your son will die if he doesn't get help. What do you expect Aslan to do—raise your son back to life because you struck your animal dead?"

The man's mouth began to tremble. A quavering breath fell from his chest, and he gnashed his teeth. "If that is the will of Aslan, then so be it. But I cannot do what I think is practical—only what I know is right."

He looked down at Faraji. The cheetah whimpered and sobbed in pain. "Was it not enough that my son is dying? How long has he lain in bed, waiting for a cure?"

Faraji shuddered and blinked more tears out of his eyes.

"HOW LONG?!"

The cheetah winced. "Two years."

The man let out a sharp breath. "Is that how you want the last two years of our lives to end?"

"Mehan, I would rather die than go North!"

"I would grant you that, if only for your sake. But my son still needs you, and if Philip has the ear of the thrones of Cair Paravel, we can only hope Aslan will be merciful to us all. You will go to Narnia, and you will fetch the medicine. Then, when you return to Palár, we will talk about your life."

Faraji's voice trembled. "But mehan—"

"If you disobey me again, Faraji, I will ask Aslan to kill you."

Faraji's eyes furrowed, and he broke down sobbing, but Reza paid him no attention. He walked toward Philip and glanced at the soldiers.

"Bind his wounds," he said to the pikemen. "After that, we will leave."

Philip glowered at him. "Will you not even soothe his pain? Have you no ointment for his wounds? By the Lion's mane, he is your servant."

"After what he has done, he does not deserve to be called my servant. If you want to find shelter by nightfall, head northeast."

"But Sir—"

"If you are so concerned about time, run faster."

Philip snorted. "You are a heartless people."

Reza gave it no reply. He slipped past Philip and out the cavern's mouth, and the rest of his men followed him into the broiling noon.

Faraji lay like a rag in Philip's saddle as the horse trudged his way northeast. The afternoon sun stifled their breath like the heat from an oven; the water in Philip's saddle bags was lukewarm and tasted of metal. The canteens that hung from the leather straps on Faraji's sides were empty before noon, and Faraji had to tumble off Philip's back and drink from the stream. Every pawfall lit a flame of pain—pain from the wounds his master's men had loosely bound.

The evening sun hovered over the horizon by the time Philip and Faraji loped to the shore. The Great Eastern Ocean glimmered and flickered like a sheet of bronze. A salty breeze chilled their limbs and ruffled the horse's mane. Up and down the shore, Erizadi men, women and children meandered in their wind-whipped tunics, their faces wiped of all emotion. Only a few dared to wade in the water until their husbands and fathers called them back.

Philip let out a curious whinny. "Upon my honor, I did not realize that such a beautiful sight would go so unappreciated. Must your people suppress every ounce of joy? Or do they choose to be miserable?"

Faraji gave no indication that he had heard. He sat with his back turned to Philip, his face hidden from view. The horse knelt upon spindly legs and lay upon the sand, his heavy belly making a soft thud upon the ground. "I saved your life, spotted one," he said. "The least you could do is converse with me in a proper manner."

There was no reply.

Philip gave a restless nicker. "What have I done to you, that you should hate me?"

"Aslan is your king. I should wonder why the whole world doesn't hate Narnia." Faraji lifted himself to the side and lay on his belly. A wayward paw drew loops in the sand. "I have no hostility toward you. All I have is pity."

Philip scoffed. " 'Pity'? You're the one who ought to be pitied. Your master attacked you, he wants Aslan to kill you if you fail—and you pity me? Is the whole nation of Narnia so stupid that you deign to pity us?"

"Indeed, you cannot hope to match my education. We are a proud and intelligent nation, and we offer no apology." Faraji let out a sigh. With a swipe, he erased the sketch in the sand, and he turned his gaze back to the ocean. "Your lack of education does not deserve my pity—not when there are better reasons."

Philip snorted. "At the risk of insulting me again, I suppose you should tell me what they are."

Faraji paused. His paw hovered over the sand, as if it were also lost in thought. "I know the stories from your country, Narnian," he said. His voice was low and soft. "Living under Aslan is no better than a curse."

Philip gave a light whinny. "I daresay I am the happiest creature in all the world, living and breathing in Aslan's kingdom."

"I can't imagine why, as his leadership and sense of justice are so incomprehensibly stupid." After a pause, Faraji turned to face the ocean. "Try to imagine that you committed a murder. Suppose you crushed me under your hoof, killing me for no reason."

Philip let out a whinny. "I could think of a reason."

Faraji ignored that remark. "If Aslan is so good, he would have to punish you. He would have every right to tear you to ribbons. Would you not be afraid of him? Would you not wake up every day and wonder if he would kill you today?"

Philip snorted. A puff of sand rose and fell beneath his face. "The very idea that Aslan would want his people to cower like mice before a starving cat—upon my honor, I have never heard of anything so appalling. Aslan is not this monster you think him to be."

Faraji scoffed. "No?"

"No. By the Lion's mane, you will not just deliver the medicine back to your boy, but you will bid farewell to Erizad for the last time and live as a friend of mine in Narnia."

"What do you think I am—a fool? I know the stories of your king. That Calormene brat, Aravis—she drugged the slave of her stepmother, and that slave was whipped. And Aslan repaid her by attacking her and ripping her back open with his own claws."

Philip was silent. His mouth had hung open to prepare his reply, but his mouth closed of its own accord.

"Oh, yes," Faraji said with a cold laugh. "I know. Everyone in Erizad knows. And you wonder why we live on this waterless beach—as far away from Aslan as possible."

Philip nickered. "He is still good. He is the King, I tell you."

"Confound it, Narnian," said Faraji. "You are too stupid to understand just how stupid you are. Your own King hunts and attacks his own subjects. He terrifies the innocent, threatens young children, and lets half his enemies run free while he tortures and attacks the rest. He sentenced his own country to a hundred-year winter and allowed his own nemesis to rule with impunity. And not a single one of you would even think to demand an explanation. Instead, all you think to do is fawn over him. That, Narnian, is why your people have my pity. You deserve nothing less."

The cheetah swung around and marched away.

"Faraji!" Philip shouted. "I saved your life! The least you can do is save your master's son!"

The cheetah paid him no heed. His ears swiveled to hear Philip say, "What incomparable—!" before muttering something the cheetah couldn't hear. The cheetah stopped at the embankment, a ten-foot dune of sand guarded by palms and littered by outcroppings of rocks. Water burbled down an outcropping and puddled onto the sand. Faraji lapped it up to soothe his sore voice. A strange taste lingered on his tongue after each swallow, but he drank deeper and deeper until he could hold no more.

Stars began to flicker in the sky above his head as he sloshed with a stomach full of water away from the shore. The taste on his tongue lingered with every dry swallow. A wave of worry threatened to crash over him, but the sight of stars in the night sky lulled him to a shallow sleep.

Faraji kicked the sand away and scrambled onto his haunches. He swiveled his head in all directions. Something had shrieked at him in a dream, but nothing was there. A thick ringing filled his ears, and sweat soaked the fur of his forehead. His meal of fish threatened to pour out of his stomach, and he gulped in air to keep it down.

The cheetah kneaded the sand with his forepaws and sprawled along the sand. He wriggled and squirmed, kicking out a rut beneath his body. No matter which way he tossed, mounds of sand poked his sides and neck, making his spine ache in protest.

The dome of stars went a quarter-turn in the sky as a wave of sleepiness overtook him at long last. He dozed off, drifting in and out of sleep. Whether it was a dream or a waking moment, he did not know, but he noted to himself that he felt worse than before.

Faraji started awake. The sun blazed in his eyes, his eyes stung with sweat, and his cheek lay in a puddle of blood.