A/n: Of all the chapters in this story, this one has been the hardest to write so far. Even though I knew what would happen, I spent days and days agonizing over it. Between drafting scenes, editing others, erasing a few, and moving a few others to a future chapter, I've had to make some tough choices. Events in Erizad are about to go from bad to worse, and writing a good watershed chapter is no easy feat. Plus, I've never written scenes like some of these before, so that's a whole new learning curve I've had to overcome.

All that said, I give you the next chapter. As always, I hope you enjoy it.

By the way: Violent content, brief language, and a rather crass remark.

TEN DAYS AGO...

The Calormene took his stand at the looking glass. A razor sat in the basin of hot water. To look like one of them—a turbanless man with a naked face—was an insult. No Calormene of age would dare to let himself be seen like that. But he picked up the wet blade from the basin and lifted it to his face. He had his orders, and they would not be disobeyed.

The man drew the blade across his chin. With one scrape, and another, his goatee had fallen away, and another few scrapes left the skin bare and smooth. A dip into the water and out again, and the knife set to work on the mustache. When it was over, he laid the razor into the basin and wiped a towel across his face.

As he lifted his head again, a sad look came over him. A man in a black cloak stood in the doorway; over his face, a black cloth covered everything but his eyes.

"Be strong, Corrath," said the masked man. "It is by Tash that we go to war, and it is by Tash that we will prevail. If you must treat me as a stranger, even as an enemy, do not hesitate."

Corrath paused. He pulled his blue coat off the hook on the wall, and he pulled his arms through the sleeves. "Do not say such things, Rameesh," he said. "If you say them often enough, they may come true."

"So be it," said Rameesh. His voice was softened slightly by the mask, but his melodious voice carried through. "Even if one must kill the other, we will receive our reward. We will stand before Tash in his great and hallowed hall. And with Ilsombreh Tisroc, his son Ardeeb Tisroc, and all who have descended from the right line, we will lift a toast to Tash, the inimitable, the incomparable."

Corrath nodded. "Until the day."

A smile lifted the folds of Rameesh's mask. "Now be off with you."

Corrath sighed, then reached for his hat and laid it atop his head, and he marched down the hall. With that, Rameesh turned on his heel and marched to the back door, taking care to lift the latch with hardly a noise. He slid through the opening and nudged the door shut until it sat snugly in the jamb. A mournful sigh fell, muffled by the cloak over his face, but he gathered himself and fell into a lively stride down the alley.

The cold of the morning had fallen over Palár as blue dawn cast the buildings in silhouette. The men and beasts who had awoken and started about their business were few and far away. A cheetah guard and a soldier crossed the street ahead of him, and both carried on without paying him a glance. Another turn to the left, and Rameesh stood before a pair of mighty doors framed in a towering arch.

Rameesh nodded, and as the guards pulled the doors open, a wall of noise filled his ears. The hall was jammed with fifty rows of men covered in cloaks and holding torches in their hands, and all clamored for him to speak. The air was hot and thick and smelled like burning cloth. All eyes watched him as he marched down the aisle and took his stand on the step. Two tigers rose up from their haunches and flanked him, and a man handed him a pike-mounted torch. Rameesh brought the tip of the pike down with a loud bang; all fell silent like a court coming to order.

"My name is Hikmat al-Baráti," said Rameesh. "For seven years, I was in the service of our Mareshah. He was my master, my commander, and my friend. As of now, those days are ended. It matters not what uniform he wears or how many baubles you pin to his chest. He is not fit to be called our Mareshah!"

Shouts of affirmation echoed in the great hall. One man cried, "Speak the truth, brother!" and the room was filled with noise.

"Three weeks ago, the Red Death was unleashed in Rasul—not by any Calormene or by any plot, but by the Man Aslan. He did this to judge the guilty for their crimes against him. It was done so that we would be warned, that we would quicken ourselves to obey the Man with greater fervor. But our Mareshah has been deaf and blind to the Man's ways. Forty children were convicted of treason against the Man, and it was Reza's duty to put them to death. Instead, he and his men set them free. Then, after the so-called 'Lion' appeared, Reza began to say Aslan is a Lion, and he appealed to the Assembly to abolish the death penalty for treason. Now, the fury of Aslan is at the door. What happened in Rasul will happen to all of us unless we appease him now. As our Mareshah will not do his job, it is time that we do it for him. It is time to rise up against the believers of the Lion—the men and beasts who swear by this false Aslan. By the Man's Sword and Shield, I summon my fellow Erizadi to war!"

Cheers burst out of the crowd. One man lifted his torch high above his head and shouted, "In the name of Aslan!" and more cheers rang across the hall.

"Go forth!" said Rameesh. "Go forth into the streets of Palár and the palaces of Arkanaz. Go forth into the ruins of Barát and the shores of Ansar. Go forth into the Dunes of the West and the Five Towns of the South. Find the followers of the Lion. Destroy their homes and everything in them. Don't even put them before a judge and demand their execution—put them to death! Show these desecrators the might and wrath of Aslan!"

At once, the crowd gave a mighty shout. They pointed their torches skyward and chanted, "ASLAN! ASLAN! ASLAN!"

"GO FORTH, BROTHERS! GO FORTH, IN THE NAME OF ASLAN!"

PRESENT DAY...

A burst of arrows streaked across the sunrise. Like a crashing wave, the black-masked men crumpled and fell, and Reza and the soldiers swarmed across the street, loosing volley after volley of arrows. Around them, men and women and beasts had scattered across the neighborhood, women holding crying children in their arms, and men shouting at one another to keep fighting the attackers. As a swarm of masked men poured in from all around, Reza and the army charged into the fray, fighting by hand and blade.

Reza ducked as the point of a dagger swung through the air, and he felt a pinch in his face and a wet warmth blossom in his cheek. A line of blood formed and dripped down his face, and he swerved and ducked around sword and fist as he kept the attacker in sight. He shoved two men aside with a grunt and passed between them, and he nocked his arrow. The attacker had just flung his head over his shoulder—his face was covered except for the eyes, which bulged with horror. He leapt to one side, but Reza caught it and fired the arrow, hurtling it into the man's ankle. The man collapsed in a heap as Reza stood over him. With a grunt, Reza knelt down and ripped the cloth off the attacker's face, and an agonized smile filled with gritted teeth was aimed up at him.

Reza nocked another arrow. "Who's your employer?"

The man scoffed. "Kiss the hand of the White Witch, you bastard. I'll tell you nothing."

Reza scowled, then laid a boot next to the arrow in the man's leg. The man howled with pain, his face turning red and glistening with sweat.

"WHO'S YOUR EMPLOYER?!"

A voice from afar cried, "MEHAN, LOOK OUT!"

Reza swung around to see a brick rush to meet him. A loud crack burst in his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an arrow go into the unmasked man, and stars danced around his eyes as everything plunged into black.

"...think he's coming to," said the cheetah. "Mehan, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

Reza let out a groan of pain, and the cheetah's angular face slipped into focus. A wave of pain crashed through Reza's head and left behind a dizzy wake. As his ears stopped ringing and he felt a measure of breath in his lungs, he let out a voiceless grunt. Five men, all in the gold-trimmed blue coats of Erizadi soldiers, joined Kalil in their vigil over the Mareshah.

Reza's words were voiceless and soft. "What...What happened?"

"Someone threw a brick at you," said the cheetah. "Even when knives and arrows are knocked out of their hands, these people know how to put up a fight."

"I meant..." Reza grunted in pain and gritted his teeth, then took in a trembly breath. "I...I meant...to the families."

The cheetah bowed his head. "Six homes were destroyed, all belonging to followers of the Lion."

Reza winced, and he waited for his ears to stop ringing again. "How many casualties?"

"Forty-one men in the dissent were killed. Your men are all alive and accounted for, but two were seriously injured. Among the followers of the Lion, there were nine fatalities, and most everyone else has some kind of injury."

With a pained grimace, Reza lifted himself upright, and he laid his forehead in his hand. "What cowards they are, to attack the poor and defenseless," he said softly. "I want jamiras and soldiers to be installed in those neighborhoods day and night—just so these people have some protection at all hours of the day."

"We can only hope the Assembly has enough sense to carry the motion. But with Moro in charge, we might not even be able to put it up for a vote."

Nothing more was said of the matter, and Reza rose to his feet. His legs quaked and threatened to give underneath him, and he paused to make sure they were steady before he looked the soldiers in their faces. "I will see to it that all of you get recognition—not only for saving my life, but for jobs well done today. Unfortunately, I will need you all to remain at your posts. If another riot breaks out, I want you to be ready."

No one seemed to mind. At Reza's dismissal, they filed toward the doors, and the Mareshah let out a shaky breath as another pang filled his head. He grunted and lowered himself back onto the sofa, waiting for the wave of pain to pass. When a warm dizziness was left in its wake, he turned to the cheetah. "Do we know what sort of people these are, to destroy their neighbors' homes?"

"We do," said Kalil. "They call themselves the Order of Aslan. Their mission is to promote the worship of the Man Aslan; to that end, they have vowed to punish everyone who calls him a Lion. Their leader is a man named Hikmat al-Baráti, who has—"

"Wait." Reza pushed a hand forward. "What did you say?"

Kalil paused. "Hikmat al-Baráti. He resigned his commission two weeks ago."

Reza's eyes drifted about the room. "Yes, and he told me he was leaving for Barát."

"Perhaps he never left. That, or someone else happens to share the name."

Just then, the doors swung open, and what Reza saw made all his pain fade away and his heart leap. Nazira and the boys burst through the doorway, and all his strength came back to him as he sprung to his feet again.

"Reza, what happened?"

"It is all right, darling," he said, putting on a smile. "We had trouble in the Bahára Quarter, and we took care of it."

A look of dread fell over her as she looked him in the face. "Those cuts...and those bruises—"

"All superficial," he said. "It looks worse than it is." There was a pause, and his eyes flicked to Rafik. At once, a look of worry fell over Reza's face; a dark bruise circled around the boy's eye. "What happened?"

At once, Rafik's teary eyes widened. He paused, his mouth hanging open. "Papa, shouldn't you rest?"

"Rafik...what happened at school?"

There was a pause, and Rafik fidgeted in place. He waited for Nazira or Navid to say something, but it was clear he had to speak for himself. As he collected his breath, he blinked and shed a pair of tears. "I was in a fight with Salim."

As Reza lowered himself onto the sofa again, he turned to Navid. "And you joined in the fight, didn't you?"

"He was saying things about Aslan—and he was making fun of Rafik!"

Reza stared for a moment, then glanced back to Rafik. "Salim called you a ghost, didn't he?"

Rafik nodded.

"And so you hit him, to prove you weren't a ghost."

Rafik nodded again, and he started to bite his lip. "Are...Are you going to hit me, Papa?"

Reza sighed. "Oh, my son...did I not tell you when Aslan came, that there would be a new order of things?"

The boy nodded yet again, but his eyes were still full of fear.

Reza paused, then laid his hands on their shoulders. "Look at me," he said. "This will never again be a house where my sons or any animals are hit. But do you know why it was wrong to hit Salim?"

"Because it's not Aslan's way." With each word, a sob started to bubble in his throat. "But Papa, he didn't believe me!"

Reza showed a sad smile. "I know," he said. "It hurts when someone you love is mocked and ignored. But I want you to remember what Aslan has done. He has been shouted at and disbelieved, and never once has he argued or fought. It is that kind of Lion strength we ought to have when these things happen—to overlook insults, to keep the peace, and to love others who hate us—and I know you have that in you. Both of you do. But you need to act on it, because it will always be Aslan's way."

There was another pause, as Rafik seemed to get an idea. "I want to apologize to Salim."

"So do I," said Navid.

Reza showed a full smile. "Good. And remember: If anyone gives you trouble, tell your teachers, or come to us. And if you must, walk away."

"Yes, Papa," said the boys.

A pause. "Now, then, why don't you both study with Kalil."

Nothing more was said of the matter. The boys turned to leave, and Kalil padded between them and led them around the corner to the study. Reza waited for the door to close, then stood up again and let out a sigh.

His tired eyes flicked to Nazira, who smiled and took him by the arm. "Last week, you wondered how you could ever be like Aslan," she said. "You sound more like him than you think."

Pain twisted his mouth into a frown. "What I had done before...to think that I once used a whip on my own children..." His face grimaced in the way that yours would if a sob were imminent, but he composed himself and blinked back his tears. "I want to do better," he said. "My family, my people...they deserve a better man than the one I was before."

Reza had drawn in a breath to say more, but his words were cut short by the front door groaning open. A soldier stepped through and lifted his hat from his head. His face was somber, his lips as flat as his mustache.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, mehan, but Moro is here to see you."

At once, their faces fell, and the bored-looking cheetah padded into the room. Two soldiers stood guard on either side of Moro, barely able to hide their disdain for him. A long silence filled the room; Reza had wanted to say something of choice but thought better of it.

The cheetah blinked up at him with bored eyes. "For a man who died and came back to life, you don't look as youthful as I expected." Moro smirked and twitched his tail. "Perhaps you are a ghost. Tell me: If someone threw a brick at you, would it bounce off you or pass through?"

Reza scoffed. "I invite you to find out."

"Well, I should hope I get the chance, seeing as how you tried to have me killed two weeks ago."

"You tried to execute children. I was acting within my rights."

"Oh, but trying to kill me was in such poor taste," said Moro. "I am our late Sarazen's jamira. I am not simply fired upon. Besides, it was within my rights to inform on you. We would have executed all those children if you hadn't interfered."

"He had every right to interfere," said Nazira. "The Sarazen had no right to overturn the decree without a majority vote in the Assembly. So why would he overturn the decree, if you hadn't encouraged it?"

Moro turned his gaze away. "I don't discuss political matters with women," he said. "I have a schedule to keep, Reza, so let me get to the point: The Assembly has placed you on notice."

Reza's heart leapt into his throat. "What?"

"Why?" said Nazira.

Moro ignored her and turned to one of his guards. On cue, the man passed Reza a folded piece of paper. Reza peeled the seal away and unfolded the letter; at once, his face grew dark and solemn.

In the Name of the Man Aslan, and by the Man's Sword and Shield:

This memorandum is to notify Mareshah Reza Munir that he has been put on notice by a majority vote of the Assembly. This motion has been made in regards to the recent violence in Palár and the accusations of blasphemy against the Man Aslan. In light of recent events, the Assembly is invoking the Code of Aslan, Chapter XI, Section 14: The Mareshah is forbidden to conduct any business outside Palár until further notice, and he and his men are to submit a copy of their reports to the Council. Violation of these terms is punishable by dishonorable discharge, two months in solitary confinement, and death, at the discretion of the Assembly.

By the Man's Sword and Shield, and by the power and wrath and terror of the Man Aslan, etc., etc.

A list of signatures followed after the conclusion. Moro's name was at the top of the list.

Reza lifted his head and glared at the cheetah. "You have no grounds for this. You have not charged me with a crime."

"We don't need to," said Moro. "You are a Mareshah. It is your duty to maintain order. Part of maintaining order is executing capital criminals, and since you refuse to do that—"

"The Assembly agreed: It is no longer my duty to punish people without cause. We now know what the true Aslan is, and he is the same Aslan who arranged it so that traitors are to be redeemed, not carted off to be executed."

Moro smirked again. "We can discuss the finer points of your delusions, but not on my time. Tomorrow, you will report to the Assembly to be questioned."

"We don't have time! We're still trying to appoint a new Sarazen. My men and I are in the middle of an investigation."

"Tomorrow, Reza. It's not an option—it's an order. Meanwhile, the Assembly wants to discourage you from making any further claims of Aslan being a Lion. Even though these claims are not considered blasphemous—at least for now—they have still caused a significant amount of unrest, and we are concerned about any further unrest that will result if you persist in these absurdities."

"I have no intention of causing unrest. But when it comes to matters of the truth, I cannot and will not keep silent. Granted, the truth is unfamiliar to those who have heard lies, in the way that the sun is unthinkable to a man who has spent his entire life living in darkness. But I cannot deny the Lion any more than I can deny the rising of the sun. Until the day my heart fails me, I will make it my mission to let the Lion be known far and wide, from the Five Towns of the South, to the palaces of Palár and Arkanaz. And if I were to be discharged from my commission, I would sing his praises. If my tongue were to dry up, I would write. If my hands were to fall off, I would dance. If my legs were to break, I would crawl along the ground, ask a horse to kneel for me, pull myself into the saddle, travel to the farthest towns in Erizad, and present my broken body to every man and woman and child and beast in the town square, so that they could look me in the face and know the truth: that in the fullest sense of the words, I was dead, and now I am alive."

Moro seemed to grow even more bored at that. "Well, then, Reza, you would do well to consider yourself warned: Should the Councils reinstate the punishments for treason, you will receive the full penalty of your crime. If I were you, I would proceed carefully. Anything less might be your undoing."

With a flick of his tail, he swung around and padded away. On cue, his guards pulled open the double doors; once Moro had strode through, they filed out of the house.

Nazira turned to Reza. "This has to be Moro's doing."

"We can't rush to conclusions. No matter how insolent he is, he is only a cheetah who answers to men." A pause, and Reza let out a breath. "Aslan told me there would be a price to pay for my allegiance to him. This may be only the start of it."

Nazira nodded in acknowledgement. "What do we do next?"

"We go about our business, doing what Aslan has called us to do. I need to go to the station and write the reports about today's incidents. If the Assembly wants copies of our reports, I might as well start them now."

"Are you certain you should be on duty? You were attacked. You need to rest—"

"I'll sleep better tonight knowing these reports are done," said Reza. "Just make sure the boys finish their studies with Kalil, and don't tell them about what happened here. I don't want them to worry."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

Reza leaned back and dropped the pen into the inkwell. With a grimace, he clenched his trembling hand into a fist. It was six hours since he and the men started copying their reports, and Reza's hand had started to cramp. The shaft of sunlight that streamed through the windows had stretched and drifted away; the end of the day was near, and there was still more to do than any of them wished.

He started to put the pen to the page again when he heard footsteps approach. He lifted his head and saw Yassir, a young man with a freshly shaven face and sharp eyes, standing over him. "Mehan, I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm afraid we need to rewrite part of the report."

Reza cocked his head. "Which part?"

Yassir sighed. "I must be candid with you, mehan: I am confused by it. The men we interrogated said Hikmat al-Baráti was their leader."

Reza's mouth opened a little. "Has that changed?"

Yassir reached into his coat and pulled out a letter. "This just arrived from the Mareshah of Barát," he said heavily. "Hikmat was killed."

At once, a flash of grief filled his face, but then a look of worry and confusion set in. "When did this happen?"

"Ten days ago. After he returned to Barát, he was en route to the palace when someone ambushed him in the street. Someone reported it to the Mareshah and is now in his protection, and the killer is still on the loose."

"And you're certain that this is the same Hikmat we all knew?"

Yassir nodded. "The Mareshah confirmed it."

Reza leaned back in the chair, and all the breath fell out of his lungs. His eyes glanced to and fro again, his mind racing with worry as fear grew on his face. "If Hikmat is dead...then who's leading the Order of Aslan?"

Just then, the door swung open, and a tall man in blue uniform lowered his hat. He was tall and sturdily built, with a friendly and intelligent face, but Reza looked at him with a wary gaze. The man seemed out of place, like a grand brass instrument out of tune in the orchestra.

"Good evening, mehan," he said. "You must be Mareshah Reza Munir. I hope that I haven't arrived too late to report for duty; I was meeting with the Assembly after hours to officiate my transfer."

"Understood. What is your name?"

The man reached into his coat and pulled out a folded paper. "Samir Burhan. I was transferred here from Barát."

Reza heard nothing else after that. Once again, his pulse started to deafen his ears, and his hands began to tense. The quiver of arrows was leaning against the leg of the table, and the bow sat beside.

Quick as a blink, he nocked an arrow and aimed the tip at the man's forehead. "Put your hands in the air."

The man's mouth fell as his hands rose above his head. "I beg your pardon?"

"I know Samir. I met him two days ago. Oh, he was very polite and courteous—enough to arrive two days early and introduce himself. I don't know what happened to the real Samir, nor who's leading the Order of Aslan, and I doubt I will get a reply from you. Now slowly...get on your knees."

But the man stood in place. All pretense of fear fell from his eyes. His face fell flat and somber, and a sigh of resignation fell from his lips.

He reached for a cordial in his pocket and lifted it to his face.

At once, Reza charged and reached for the glass vial, knocking it out of the man's mouth. Yassir kicked at the man and sent him toppling into the wall. The man pulled a dagger from his hilt and charged; Reza swerved and kicked the blade out of the man's hand; the man kicked back and sent Reza crashing against the table. Reza leapt to his feet and started to charge, but the man staggered back and held a hand to his chest.

The man's face had gone pale. His breaths turned into dry gasps, and he staggered back and stared at Reza. The man's triumphant eyes began to go blank and dead, and a smile started to flick up his face. With a grunt, then a gasp, the man crumpled to the floor, and his chest rose and fell for the last time.

All was still and quiet as Reza stared at the man's pale face and Yassir gathered his trembling breath. "Mehan," he panted, "what happened?"

Reza scowled at the man on the floor. "I don't know...but I think we have an even greater problem than the Order of Aslan."

Without warning, the front door swung open and a pair of soldiers filed into the room, and the cheetah Kalil wove between the men and stood in the middle of the room. "Who was he?"

"I don't know yet," said Reza, "but I know who he isn't."

He turned to Yassir. "I want all my men to fall in. If we have another impostor in our ranks, I want to know it now."

"Right away, mehan."

At once, the soldiers filed out of the room, following Yassir out the door, and Reza and Kalil stood numbly in the shaft of sunlight. As Kalil shook his head to clear the fog out of his head, Reza noticed the cheetah had a letter hanging by the ring in his necklace. "Mehan, there was a hawk who came to the house."

Reza tilted his head. "A hawk?"

"He said he was a courier of Lasaraleen Tarkheena. He delivered a letter for our eyes only."

Reza paused, his face darkening in bafflement, then reached for the letter and pulled it from the cat's necklace. The seal was red clay, marked by a pawprint with a groove down the center pad. At once, Reza's heart leapt into his throat, and warmth began to blossom in his chest.

Faraji's alive.

He peeled off the seal and laid the parchment on the table, and Kalil hopped onto the table and crouched down over the letter. As their eyes scrolled across each line, their faces grew dark and heavy.

To His Excellency, Reza Munir, Mareshah of Palár:

Much has happened in the last month, and much of it we both know. Suffice it to say that I am confused by much of it; at the risk of confusing either of us any further, allow me to get to the point.

During my stay in Tashbaan, I was fortunate enough to overhear a conversation about an impending attack on Erizad, but I am unfortunate enough to be the one to deliver bad news. Rogue Calormenes are planning another outbreak of the Red Death, and this time, it will be in all our cities. What happened in Rasul was only the first wave of illness, an experiment to see how well the disease is transmitted through our waterways. The men I overheard belonged to an anonymous group operating within our borders, acting with such secrecy that not even the Tisroc nor any Tarkaan is to know of the conspiracy. As of this letter, Mirradin, Rashda, Hadarash, and a dozen of their co-conspirators are dead, but I'm certain their employers are not.

Furthermore, the Narnian who is traveling with me has discovered two things. First: Outbreaks of the Red Death are preceded by a deathly smell in the water and air—a stench that seems to be detectable only to Beasts. Any animal who smells it ought to be taken seriously, as it might mean that the illness has already arrived. Second: We were all taught that the Red Death is Aslan's way of executing traitors of the highest order, but events in Calormen are compelling me to consider a more natural explanation. I have reason to believe the disease is spread not by the wrath of Aslan, but by the balik. During our time in Zalindreh, the Narnian learned that four hundred people all ate the balik and, within a day, started bleeding and spreading the disease. If his theory is correct, we may finally know how to prevent the illness from ravaging us again—provided, of course, that the Assembly will come to its senses and allow you to investigate.

As events in the North are more complicated than I am at liberty to explain, I cannot close this letter with a promise that I will return. All I ask is that you not try to find us, for your sake as well as ours. If Aslan wills it, I will return to Erizad someday and give you a full account of my journey.

In the name of Aslan, whatever he may be,
Faraji

Reza read the letter once over, and he fought back his trembling breath. He glanced up at the dead body on the floor and said, "This man was a Calormene—I'm certain of it."

"Agreed," said Kalil. "Although I am rather surprised that Calormenes are resorting to subterfuge and suicide. Mehan, we need to convene the Assembly for an emergency meeting."

"And tell them what? With Moro wielding his power, they won't hear anything I have to say—not without proof." Reza folded the letter back together and pinned it to the ring in the cat's necklace. "Go to the stables and bring my horse here now. I need to speak with a doctor in Rasul; he's a friend of mine."

"Mehan, as long as you're on notice, you can't leave the city without approval from the Assembly. Let me go to Rasul. I can escort him."

"You don't know Ali," he said. "He's stubborn and irritable, and more importantly, he's mourning the loss of his son. He won't be persuaded unless someone knows how to get through to him."

"What good will that do if Moro places you under arrest when you arrive? You have to bring this before the Assembly first."

"If there are Calormenes in our midst, they may be manipulating the Assembly against us. I'll deal with the consequences, Kalil—just bring me my horse. After that, take the letter to Andur, and guard it with your life. If it falls into the wrong hands, there might be a panic."

Kalil nodded. "Yes, mehan."

The cheetah leapt off the table and burst through the doorway, and he disappeared around the corner. As the door swung shut, Reza let out a heavy sigh, and he leaned his head against his folding hands. Pangs of pain and weariness crashed over him, and the bruises from the attack started to hurt anew. But it was the words that drove him to bow his head—words that gave him a measure of hope.

O Aslan, he said. Were there ever a time when I needed your Lion strength, it is now.