Moro looked on as the soldiers let Reza out of the chambers. As the door boomed shut, the Assembly turned to him with eyes wide and mouths agape. Moro didn't seem to notice them; instead, his face lifted in a sunny smile, and he swiveled his head toward Salman.

"Well, then," said the cheetah. "Now that we've settled the problem of Reza, we must turn our attention to another important matter. Tell me, human: Would it be possible to make a crown for me?"

Salman glowered at him.

"Oh, I don't mean one of those heavy, unwieldy things. (It's a wonder a man's head doesn't sink into his chest.) No, I would like a little circlet of gold, with rubies embedded in the cusps. Do you suppose our artisans could make it in time—or will I have to content myself with a mere necklace?"

Murmurs rippled through the Councils, and one head turned toward another. Salman kept glaring at him. "With respect, mehan, do you not appreciate the seriousness of our situation?"

"Of course I do," said Moro. "A Sarazen needs his symbols of authority. How else will people know to bow before him?"

"We are in an emergency. People are blaspheming the Man Aslan, and the Order of Aslan is out of control. If there is anything that needs to be attended to, it is that and that alone."

Moro rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right," he said. "I can't stand it when you speak the language of reason." With that, he turned to the Assembly and aimed his cold gaze at them.

"Half of you lacked the sense to vote for me, and those of you who refused to do so should be ashamed. Were I more inclined toward it, I would relieve you of your heads. However, as I am in no mood to dispose of half the most powerful men and beasts of Erizad, I will weed out those who are most likely to oppose me. Therefore I will ask this only once: Who among you is a follower of this…Lion?"

Moro did not even need to blink. At once, the cheetah Kalil and Dr. Sharaz rose from their tables. Another man, and another, and a tiger and another cheetah rose to their feet.

Moro's glare grew hotter at the sight of them. "If there is one thing I will not tolerate, it is traitors and blasphemers. If you value your lives, you will renounce your lies here and now."

"No," said Ali. "I will not deny what I have seen."

"Nor will I," said Kalil. "By the Lion's mane, here we stand."

The men and beasts who had risen to their feet grunted and bellowed their affirmations. At that, Moro drew in a breath and threw back his head.

"GUARDS!"

The iron bars swung shut with a deafening slam, and the guards marched down the dusty corridor. Kalil sighed and sat on his haunches. Ali sat next to Reza on the stone bench, and he loosed a mournful sigh.

"So it begins."

Reza shook his head. "My friend, I cannot tell you how sorry I am—"

"You asked me to do something I should have done five years ago." Ali leaned against the wall. A hint of a smile lifted his beard. "Now that I have completed my task, I can die at ease."

Kalil slapped a paw against the floor. "That insufferable beast. If he wants to kill all of us, why is he not doing it now?"

Reza shrugged. "He might wait until his coronation—to make an example of us with the whole country watching. Besides, there might be hundreds of us across the country. He might want to find as many as he can—so the Man Aslan doesn't punish him for negligence."

"It's out of our hands now," said Ali. "We did our part. Now we can hope your men will do theirs."

Kalil tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"Reza and I visited his men just after we arrived in Palár. We gave them all our research—all my reports on the Red Death, all his work on the history of Narnia."

"Good." A note of optimism lifted the cheetah's voice. "Then we may be able to rest easily, with the confidence that they will do their job."

Reza was still for a moment. "I hope so."

Yassir lowered the parchment onto the table and leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh. "I don't want to hear it, Esmail. We have our orders."

"Don't you understand, my friend?" The soldier's closely cut beard hid the furrows in his angry face. "Reza is not in command. You don't have to act on this information."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Confound it, man! Don't you hear what you're saying? Everyone was taught the Red Death is the wrath of the Man Aslan. Are you saying all our teachers were wrong?"

"They might be," said Yassir. "But we won't know for sure if we don't investigate."

"We might not know, even if we do investigate," said a cheetah. "And if we do, it's only a matter of time before Moro finds out."

"We have to take the chance, Behrooz. Faraji was convinced enough to warn us of the threat, and Reza was convinced enough to warn the Assembly. And I am convinced enough to risk my career and my life for this. Gentlemen and beasts, think this through. If Calormenes are not in this country, all we have done is reached a dead end. If they are, we might be able to save thousands of lives. This is worth investigating, even risking our careers, if only so that we pursue the truth. If any of you feels differently, I will ask you to resign right now."

No one said a word.

"Very well," said Yassir. "Esmail, I want you and your men to meet with every merchant in town. I want a citywide prohibition on the balik to go into effect immediately. If any merchant refuses to cooperate, take him into custody."

Esmail paused, then withdrew a breath. "Yes, mehan."

"Bashir, I want you and your men to meet with every doctor and herbalist in this city. I want you to discuss the consequences of a nationwide outbreak. I want evacuation scenarios, death rates—and I want to know the most likely means by which the disease might be spread."

The mustached man nodded.

"The rest of you are with me. Our priority is the Order of Aslan. Reza thinks Calormenes might be leading the Order; from this moment on, we will proceed under that assumption. We must take these people alive by any means necessary and get any information from them. No exceptions."

Behrooz lifted a paw. "What about these reports? Surely we cannot just keep them here."

Yassir paused. "I will take care of that."

"Why won't you tell us where to hide them?"

"Because I don't want to task any of you with this. If you don't know where the reports are hidden, you have nothing to deny."

Unease fell across the cheetah's face.

Yassir withdrew a heavy sigh. "I know this is difficult for you all to accept. If you'll forgive my candor, I find the whole thing to be unsettling. But as far as I'm concerned, we have to investigate. I know that I am asking you to put your careers on the line, but something strange is happening in Erizad—everything from the outbreak in Rasul to the appointment of Moro as our supreme commander—and until we get to the bottom of it, we have to assume the worst. We have to find these people and stop them, no matter the cost. Are there any objections?"

A pause. A few men and beasts fidgeted. Some looked ready to say something, and one man opened his mouth to form the words—but all that came out was a pent-up breath.

Yassir nodded. "Very well," he said. "Let's get to work—"

Without warning, the door burst in and hit the wall with a mighty slam. Soldiers streamed into the foyer and spread out, like a wave from a broken dam, and Moro burst through the fray, his necklace swinging left and right.

"Hamid, search every office and cabinet. Walid, confiscate those papers. The rest of you, guard these traitors. YOU!" Moro rose up on his hind paws and shoved Yassir against the wall. "Where are the rest of your men?"

Yassir gritted his teeth. "On duty."

"Doing what?"

"Their jobs."

Moro smirked at him, then turned to one of the soldiers. "Take him to Andur."

Anger broke across Yassir's face. "On what charges?"

"Sedition and treason. I know what you're doing, human: You're telling your men to investigate Reza's absurd claims."

"That is not sedition, and it is not treason. We are investigating a threat by Calormenes. You cannot arrest someone for doing that!"

"Do you believe that Aslan is a Lion?"

A pause. "I do."

Moro nodded. "Now I have a charge. Yassir Abadi, I place you under arrest for treason and blasphemy against the Man Aslan."

"He is not a Man, and you know it! Damn it, if Calormenes are in this country and you don't stop them, thousands of people will die!"

"How frightening," said Moro. He rolled his eyes and fell back onto all four paws. "Gentlemen?"

Moro ducked away as two soldiers grasped Yassir by the arms, leading him step for step out of the foyer as the royal guard bustled to and fro.

Rameesh glared at the soldier. "Are you certain of this?"

"I saw it with my own eyes," said the young man. "Corrath took his own life before he could infiltrate Reza's army. And now the Erizadi know that we're in this country."

Rameesh stared flatly at him. "What is your point?"

"My lord, we have to abandon this mission. If we stay here, they will find us!"

"No," said Rameesh. "This mission will go on as planned. Compose yourself, and be grateful that I haven't killed you for your cowardice. Our employer has given us our final instructions—"

"But my lord, we have an even bigger problem. Moro is now the Sarazen."

Rameesh stood in place. His eyes had grown wide. "So this is what our beneficent and nameless employer has done? Help the Assembly appoint a beast?"

Ganesh spread his hands apart. "Now do you understand the seriousness of our situation? Moro is too concerned about his reputation. Any threat to his leadership will be quelled. We cannot continue this mission—not with Moro in power!"

Rameesh paused. He had lifted a finger to make some sort of remark, but a thought landed into his head—and at once, he smiled. "Oh, yes, we can." He strode from behind the desk and laid a hand on Ganesh's shoulder. "What you call a problem, my friend, I call a solution. Now that Moro is in power, we can still use him to our advantage."

"By Tash, how could we do that?"

"I am trying to tell you, so don't interrupt me again. In two days, a fishing vessel will pull into port. It will be carrying a shipment of balik. Without Reza or his army to stop us, we can bring it into Erizad unimpeded. Once in our control, it will be distributed across the country. Half of it will stay here in Palár for the coronation feasts, and the other half will be sent to the rest of the towns."

"And how will Moro help us?"

"Think about it: Moro will need someone to lead Palár. What better army to do that than the Order of Aslan? Once we replace Reza's army, we will dispose of Moro and our nameless employer."

Ganesh gave an uneasy smile. "But what do we do until then?"

Rameesh smiled. "Nothing," he said. "Now that the Erizadi have a Sarazen worthy of the name, it has to look as if Moro has brought order and justice to Erizad. Until we become the new army of Palár, the Order of Aslan will not go about. Remember—our employer created us for the sake of causing unrest. We will do that only when necessary."

Ganesh paused, then worked up the strength for a nod. "Very well, my lord."

THE NEXT DAY…

Reza let out a sigh. "I have never seen this prison so full," he said, "not even during Mustafa's reign." So it was. Every cell as far as the eye could see was filled with men and beasts. Another cluster of them had just been pushed through the corridor, clamoring and protesting with every step.

Kalil loosed a low growl. "What fools they were, half the Assembly voting for him," said the cheetah. "Did they not even imagine that something like this would happen? Yesterday, he purged the Assembly and arrested your men. Today, he is bringing in traitors from the rest of Erizad. What is he going to do tomorrow—pull people out of their homes?"

Reza shook his head. "No doubt," he said softly. "When Mustafa was still in power, it almost came to that. Moro might be finishing what Mustafa tried to start."

Ali scoffed. "Is the courtyard of the jail even big enough for so many people? Or will they take us outside the city and kill us there?"

Just as the words left Ali's mouth, a distant voice made his ears swivel. Keys rattled in the someone's hand. Kalil turned to Reza, aiming a look of worry. Reza looked just as worried as the soft pawfalls drew closer. Moro stepped into view, his necklace bobbing against his muscular chest. At once, jeers and boos and insults (far too crude to be translated into English) filled the jail cell. It seemed only Reza and Kalil and Ali had the sense to keep quiet.

Moro waited for the noise to die down. "As you all know, you have been arrested for capital crimes against me and against the Man Aslan. Between your calling Aslan a 'Lion' and investigating the Red Death without good reason, I have grown impatient with you all. In three days, I will hold my coronation, during which every last one of you will be placed against the wall of Andur and executed like the traitors you are. Now I—"

Another wave of jeers and taunts rose up, making Moro's ears swivel behind his head. With a bored sigh, Moro lifted his head up to a guard, who brought the butt of his pike down like a judge's gavel. The hall fell silent again.

"I see no reason to spill blood without due cause. That is why I am making you an offer: If you are willing to renounce your lies and swear fealty to me and to the Man Aslan, I will set you free."

Murmurs filled the hall, but fell away into silence.

"Fine, if you insist on being stubborn," said Moro dully. He turned to one of his guards. "Open the cell."

The guard nodded and reached for his jangling keys. The door groaned open, and Reza rose to attention—

"Not you," said Moro. "The other one—Ali."

Reza shook his head. "No. Take me instead."

Moro paused. "I might just do that," he said. "Ali? Come forth."

Reza laid a hand on Ali's shoulder. "Don't do this. You don't have to—"

But Ali gave it no reply. He strode forward, following the guard out of the cell. At Moro's command, Ali stopped, and the cheetah turned to face him.

"I don't care what you do to me," said Ali. "I know what is true, and nothing you do will change that. The balik carry the Red Death—this disease is preventable. The Lion is the true Aslan, no matter what you say—"

But that was all he spoke. Without warning, Moro roared and leapt into the air, and he brought a pawful of claws across the old man's throat.

Everything shifted into slow motion after that. Ali's face went blank and pale. A spray of blood splattered against the wall. Ali's legs buckled, and he toppled backward with a crash. At once, the corridor burst with shouts and cries. Kalil roared at Moro and screamed, "TRAITOR! MURDERER!" Reza's eyes brimmed with tears, and he leaned his head against the bars of the door.

Moro paid none of it any attention, but waited for the noise to settle. "I did not hesitate to kill the old man, and I will not hesitate to put the rest of you all to death. If you have any value over your lives, you will reconsider your position. You can either inform the guards that you have changed your mind—or wait until tomorrow, and we will do this all over again."

At that, Moro swung to Reza. "I will take you up on your offer."

Kalil crouched and let out a hiss. "You won't take him. You'll have to go through me."

"Kalil, no!" said Reza. With a sob, he stood up from the bench. "I will go."

Once again, the cell door swung open, and two guards choked Reza's arms. Behind him, the cell door swung inward with a loud clang. Everything around Reza was a bleary spinning mess; he didn't care to blink away the tears. He felt himself being led down one hall and up another flight of stairs; before he realized it, he and the guards stood at the threshold of an empty conference room.

The guards opened the door, and at once Reza felt his muscles tensing. Salman had been standing in the room. At once, the man put on a stunned look, but his true feelings shone through. Reza thought it looked like guilt. Salman and Moro shared an uneasy look before the man gave a curt bow and hurried out of the room.

Reza glared at him and blinked tears out of his eyes. "What was he doing here?"

Moro ignored it. "If you want to stop me from shedding more blood, you will tell me what I want to know. Two weeks ago, you and your army tried to rescue forty children from their lawful execution."

"It was not lawful. You bent the law to suit your whims."

"And after that, you helped take those children into hiding. Where have you hidden them?"

Reza said nothing.

"You should also know that your delusions have spread far and wide," he said. "It seems this so-called Lion—this giant cat who calls himself the true Aslan—is still causing a stir among our cities. Hundreds of people are following him, and yet we have found only a handful. Where are the rest of them, Reza?"

He gave no reply.

Moro glared up at him. "We'll see how stubborn you are. Naji? Hamid? Take him downstairs."

The guards nodded and said, "Yes, mehan."

As if it were an afterthought, he tossed his head over his shoulder. "Oh, and do let me know when he talks."

The doors hung open for a moment—and on the other side of one was Salman.

As soon as Reza and his captors were out of sight, the Marehafa ducked back into the room. He stared after them with narrowing eyes, then pulled the door shut and turned to Moro. "We have a problem."

Moro glared at him. "I do not recall giving you permission to speak."

"Forget about formalities, mehan. Lest you forget, I cast the vote for you. Without me, you would not be in power."

Moro gave a soft growl. Salman stared at his paws, but no claws came out. "Fine," said the cheetah. "Speak your mind, but be quick."

"What you are proposing is madness. You are asking your army to go into people's homes and arrest followers of the Lion. We do not have the manpower to rein in all these people, and we do not have enough space for them here in Andur."

"What are you suggesting, Salman—that we let the followers of the Lion go unchallenged?"

"I am only suggesting that you replace Reza's army as soon as possible—and that you employ them to arrest the followers of the Lion."

Moro paused. "But whom would we hire to accomplish that?"

"The Order of Aslan."

"Rioters and ruffians?" Moro scoffed. "Surely you must be joking."

"Rioters and ruffians they may be, but they are loyal to the Man Aslan, and they will fight for truth and justice in Erizad. Besides, there are hundreds of them. How long will it take for us to amass such an army with anyone else?"

Moro tilted his head. "What is your interest in this, human?" he said. "What do you have to gain from proffering these suggestions?"

Salman showed a nervous smile. "I am simply doing what I think is best for Erizad, mehan."

"Perhaps," said Moro. "Still, I can't help but wonder if you voted for me with all your heart."

Salman gave no reply.

TWO DAYS LATER…

The night was moonless and cloudless as Rameesh and his men marched down the pier. The silhouette of a ship and its two masts drew closer, blotting out the stars, until half the sky seemed to be covered by the ship. A sailor tossed a length of rope over the starboard side, and it landed with a wet and heavy thud. The smell of fish filled the air, and two great nets hovering over the sides bulged with their cargo.

Sailors whispered amongst each other, and a strip of the ship's side began to fall. The sailors tugged at the ropes, lowering the gangplank arm by arm. The bridge landed with a heavy thud, and the captain (or so Rameesh gathered, by the black and gold uniform adorned with two chevrons on each arm) stepped onto the pier. The man held a lantern up to his face, so Rameesh could see his puzzled look.

"Hikmat?" said the captain. "Confound it, I thought you had returned to Barát."

Rameesh nodded, flattening his voice into an Erizadi accent. "No, Mehmet—not yet. Duty compels me to stay in Palár."

Mehmet tilted his head. "Are you quite all right, Hikmat? Your face seems…different, somehow."

Rameesh sighed. "Alas, the work has been difficult, and I have suffered my share of injuries. Nor have I had the opportunity to shave. But no matter. You will take this delivery to—"

Mehmet lifted a hand. "It won't be quite that easy, my friend. I need a senior official in Andur to approve this order."

Rameesh felt a pang of fear rush up his chest. "We were expecting this delivery."

"It is only routine. I am sorry that we had to arrive at such a late hour as this, and to inconvenience you as we are, but I still need someone to approve the shipment. If you could wake Reza or someone in Andur with enough seniority—"

Just then, a voice carried over the pier. "It's all right, Mehmet. I will approve it."

At once, all turned to the speaker. Salman was dressed in a soldier's uniform, blue and gold trim with a silver pip along the collar. He reached into his coat and pulled out a pen and inkwell, and with a few quick strokes the nib of the feather dashed along the parchment.

"Thank you, my friend," he said flatly. "Now if you will pass the cargo to these gentlemen, they will take it from here."

Mehmet stared with an uneasy look on his face, then nodded. "Right away, mehan."

Rameesh started to duck away, but Salman grabbed him by the arm and looked him in the face.

"What is this?"

"Oh, I think you know," said Salman. "You will deliver them to my house before dawn…and you will keep your life."

Rameesh wrestled his arm away. "Don't ever touch me again."

Salman gripped Rameesh's collar and shoved him against the side of the ship. "You know what is at stake," he said. "I kept you alive because it suited both our purposes, but if you so much as defy the terms of our agreement, then by Tash, it will cost you your head—and not even the Sarazen will protect you from what happens next."

Ganesh glanced at Salman, then at Rameesh. "What is he talking about, my master? What does he mean?"

Rameesh shuddered and glared at Ganesh. "Go make the delivery. We can handle the balik."

Ganesh's mouth fell in confusion. "What delivery?"

"Just make it!"

Ganesh stared at him for a moment, then seemed to understand. He spun on his heel and shouted something in Calormene, then he and a unit of men marched up the pier.

Rameesh turned to Salman. "There," he muttered. "You have your wish. If it would not trouble you to unhand me..."

Salman let a moment pass, then let go of the man and stepped back. Rameesh grunted and straightened his coat, then turned and led his men up the pier, and the sailors carried the bulging nets between them as Salman looked on.

Reza sat unconscious in a chair. His hands were tied behind its back and his ankles tied to its legs. Beside him sat a knife and a glowing poker in a pit of coals. His shirtless torso was marred by wounds, and a trickle of blood ran out of his nose.

Moro let out a scoff, then turned to Naji and Hamid. "You subjected him to that for two days, and he gave you nothing."

Naji shook his head. "You gave the order, mehan."

Hamid paused. "What do you want us to do with him?"

Moro let out a breath. "Well, if he won't tell us where the followers of the Lion are, then we have no use for him. Besides, my coronation is in less than an hour." The cheetah bobbed his head. "Wake him up."

Hamid nodded and pulled open the cell door. His boots crunched against the dirt and grit of the stone floor. With a lazy sigh, he took a half-empty bucket of water and tossed it across Reza. The Mareshah jolted awake and gasped, wincing in pain, water dripping down his head and face.

Moro smirked. "I underestimated you," said the cheetah. "It seems that you will do anything to keep your secrets—even believing in this so-called Lion. Not that it will matter, of course: You will die along with the rest of your men, and the followers of the Lion whom we've discovered in our cities. I hope it comforts you to know you will be in plenty of company."

Reza said nothing.

"Does it not trouble you?" said the cheetah. "Your precious Lion couldn't stop me from becoming the Sarazen."

Reza's eyes filled with tears. "No," he said, his weary voice quavering. "Though I do not know the means or the reasons, the ways of the true Aslan will always work."

"How pious of you. But those words will be your undoing. It is the Man before whom we bow. It is the Man who sends the Red Death upon his enemies. If only I had the ear of the Man, I would beseech him to pour out the Red Death on you and your fellow traitors. However…it seems I will have to settle with an execution."

Reza scoffed. "Of how many?"

Moro twitched his tail. "Five hundred. In my view, it isn't enough." The cheetah turned away and lifted his head to the guards. "Dress him back up—and bring him and the rest of these traitors to the wall."

"Yes, mehan."

The sun rose between two billowing clouds and cast Palár's buildings in hues of gold. Through the streets stood crowds of people and beasts, from the quiet towns of the Far South to the palaces of Arkanaz and Barát—all waiting for the moment when the new Sarazen would stride through the northern gates. Of course, the whole of Erizad knew what had happened—messengers had gone out the very day of the vote—but the crowd was still tense and anxious. Many longed to see their new Sarazen, beast though he was; others were angry and dejected that someone such as he could be appointed.

At long last, a long, low call of a great horn blared across the morning sky. Birds scattered, beasts rose to their feet, and the men and women and children turned to attention. The Marehafa, adorned in his white and gold uniform, shouted with as much gusto as he could:

"Gentlemen of Erizad! Beasts of the Great South! Just as the dark night of evil fell upon this land…the golden dawn of peace has come. By the Man Aslan, by the Man's sword and shield, I present to you our new sovereign, our new supreme commander, and a dear friend—Moro, the Sarazen of Erizad!"

The waves of cheers and applause broke over Palár like a tsunami, with such noise and raucour that the whole world might stop to wonder what had happened. On cue, two soldiers pulled open the city wall's northern gates, and in their yawning gap stood Moro, standing majestic and tall, his spotted tail flicking from one side to the other. Atop his small spotted head sat a crown of gold studded with rubies, and between the muscles of his chest sat his necklace—a new necklace, with a white gem held in place by the thin wire.

Moro basked in the applause and cheers and smiled at the waving flags and hands. A few jeers and taunts burst out, enough to make his ears twitch, but he seemed to smile all the more.

The soldiers who flanked him stepped forward, and Moro padded between them. Before him, the empty thoroughfare stretched all the way from there to Andur, and the gates closed behind them. On cue, the army's trumpeters and drummers struck up a tune. The ruffling of snares, the thundering of heavy kettle drums, and the chanting of trumpets filled the sky as a choir of men—all soldiers in the regiment—started to sing in Erizadi.

Behold the mighty Sarazen
Who comes to rule this land!
The strength of Aslan and his wrath
Be with him evermore!
Our traitors he will execute,
Our enemies he'll rout;
The strength of Aslan and his wrath
Go forward evermore!

Moro paid little attention after that, for it was all a glorious blur. From the houses and rooftops and open windows, the country's eyes were all on him. Children waved hands and flags and gave big grins, while every other parent glared at him. Some beasts in the crowd snarled and snapped their jaws. Others cheered for him, while a few stood there and waited for this event to just be over with.

Before he knew it, his whiskers fell. It had all blurred by, and now the great face of the royal house Andur stood before him like a sheer cliff. Another horn blew once, then twice, and all fell still. The weight of the whole country seemed to be pressing in upon them. Along the wall, like a great chain, stood hundreds of prisoners, all in dirty white robes, all with their faces heavy and solemn. Moro disappeared inside a two-story building, then emerged a moment later on the roof. Two guards flanked him as he took his stand. All eyes were back on him.

"These men and beasts who stand before you here at Andur are guilty of capital offenses. Their crimes are numerous, and their crimes are vile. These people have desecrated our traditions by saying that Narnia is led by four children from another world. They have insulted our heritage by calling our previous Sarazen a liar and a deceiver. And now, some of these desecrators have further insulted the Man Aslan by making the most shocking and disgusting of claims: that Aslan is a Lion, and that the Red Death—the final judgment of Aslan upon his most vile enemies—is simply a preventable disease."

Waves of taunts filled the air, some at Moro. One tiger stepped into view and roared, "YOU'RE A RIGHT BLOODY LIAR, YOU BEAST!"

Moro paid it no heed. "As the Sarazen, I will bring justice to this country by disposing of these traitors and liars. Their crimes are worse than murder, and the sentence is death. The filth of this country will be purged, and this country will be brought to right in the name of Aslan!"

Roars and cheers went up anew, deafening the crowd and making Moro's ears spin backward. As the noise died down, Moro drew in a breath. "PRESENT ARMS!"

Like an orchestra entering its finale, a row of soldiers stepped forward. Their blue tunics stretched from one side of Andur to another. The sound of their boots falling in unison was like a gunshot.

"PREPARE ARMS!"

Like a troupe in the ballet, the soldiers nocked their arrows.

"And now, O faithful followers of the Man Aslan: Behold the execution of justice upon the evildoers of this country! Behold the wrath of Aslan! GENTLEMEN—"

Without warning a shrill voice screamed: "Help!"

The crowd fell quiet. The executioners lowered their arrows, and their heads spun about.

"What is this?!" said Moro. "Who dares to interrupt this execution?!"

Murmurs rustled across the crowd, and men and beasts swung every which way. A cluster of screams grew into gasps and cries of horror. Waves of people poured every which way, as if they were running from an enemy. As Moro trotted to the northern edge of the roof, a knot of spectators broke away, and Moro's face fell.

A woman in the crowd held a cloth to her bleeding nose. Her long black hair was matted with sweat, and faint as a whisper came her sobs.

Reza didn't wait. He burst out of the row and charged across the street. "Everyone who is within three heads of her, go to the mail office across the way."

"What?!" said Moro. "How dare you refuse to be executed. Get back there!"

But Reza pushed the soldiers out of the way. He wove through the crowd and laid a hand on her shoulder. "My lady, be still. I'm here to help."

The woman nodded. Reza took her by the arm and led her through the now open street. All of a sudden, another commotion and another filled his ears on both sides. Across the way came another burst of cries. Reza swung his head over his shoulder and saw the spectators parting all around. A man bled from the nose and mouth; his breath came and went in trembly bursts. To his left, a tiger had repelled a large crowd all around him, as the cat had started bleeding and panting.

"Yassir!" said Reza. "Tend to the people in proximity. Make sure everyone within three heads of him is taken to the old prison. Everyone who is sick, follow me. A Sarazen needs some sense spoken to him."

Yassir broke out of line and charged into the crowd, and Behrooz leapt onto all fours and swerved between pairs of rushing legs.

By now, Moro had left the roof of the building and now stood on the street. He shouted at his men to keep Reza's army in line, but he quickly fell silent. The men had already blended into the crowd, guiding the sick away. By the time Moro descended the stairs and padded onto the street, eight people stood before him, all bleeding.

"What is this?!" said Moro. "How dare you expose me to these people!"

"What are you afraid of?" said Reza. "If the Red Death is the judgment of Aslan, why should you worry about falling ill?"

Moro turned to his soldiers. "Guards, get me away from these people. NOW!"

"No," said Reza. "You have run away from the truth long enough, Moro. It is time for you to face it." He turned to the crowd. "I have reason to believe the Red Death is not the wrath of Aslan. Two weeks ago, Faraji and his Narnian compatriot discovered a connection between the balik and the Red Death. It seems that the balik carry the disease and pass it on to us. Our own meals become our own undoing."

At once, horror and alarm fell upon their faces. Men and women faced each other and exchanged words of shock, while beasts exchanged similar words amongst themselves. One panther stepped forward (but not too close), and he looked the eight in the face.

"Is that true?" he said. "Did you all eat the balik within the last day?"

Silence fell over the crowd. All eight of the people who stood in the center of the street nodded their heads.

More murmurs filled the air. The soldiers surrounding Moro looked at Reza in shock. Even Moro stood in alarm, his mouth hanging open.

"Mehan," said one of the soldiers, "there was a ship that pulled into port yesterday. It carried the balik on it. If this is true, we need to confiscate it now—before more of it is sold."

Now all eyes turned to Moro. The cheetah's breath was somewhere between a huff and a growl. His eyes were wide and dashing side to side.

At last, the cheetah turned to the soldiers. "DON'T JUST STAND THERE, YOU FOOLS! FIND IT! FIND IT—AAAAGH!"

An arrow charged from on high and grazed Moro's tail. The cat screeched and burst into a run. Half the soldiers in Moro's charge followed him out of the street, and the rest spread hither and thither. The crowd of onlookers burst every which way, and Reza swung away as his eyes caught something in the corner. A masked man had burst into a run down another street, dropping his bow and arrow. Reza charged with all his might, following the man down every turn. The street had grown empty and desolate when the man tripped on his robes and tumbled along the sett stones. Reza snatched him by the collar of his shirt and ripped the black cloth off his face.

"You tried to assassinate the Sarazen! WHY?!"

The man gritted his teeth in a mix of pride and pain.

Reza shoved him against the wall. "You just tried to murder our sovereign. If you don't want me to strike you dead, you will tell me why you did this."

The man kept shuddering. A line of blood trickled out of his mouth from where a tooth had been. "Go ahead," he said. "Kill me."

Reza stared for a moment, his face wiped of all emotion. With a grunt he snatched the man by the neck and started to twist—

"NO! NO! STOP! I'LL TELL YOU! I'LL TELL YOU...I'll tell you!"

Reza loosed his grip and held the man by the collar of his shirt. "Under what terms?"

"Spare my life..." The man paused, gasping for breath. "And I will tell you...what you want to know..."

A pause. "Anything less than the truth, and your life is mine."

The man jerked his head up and down. "Fine."

He shoved him against the wall again. "Why did you try to kill him?"

"Moro was no use to us anymore," said the man. "Our employers...bribed the Councils to appoint him Sarazen...and my master was angry. He wanted to be Sarazen instead."

"Who brought the balik into Erizad?"

"Salman."

"Is Salman behind everything that's happened?"

A haughty and trembly smile lifted the man's face. "It's not Salman..." He gulped in a breath. "We have his family...Our employer thought Salman would be useful...so we held them hostage...to bring the balik to Erizad...and to turn the vote...the way our employer wanted it."

"Who's your employer?" said Reza. "If Salman isn't behind all this, then who?"

The man kept gathering his breath.

"Who's doing this?"

"I DON'T KNOW! I swear it!"

But the man didn't need to say another word. Reza had started to speak, and just as the words left his mouth, he stepped back. At once, all the dots were connected. He glanced away, and his mouth fell open of its own accord.

Salman gritted his teeth and bunched a hand into a fist. All around him in the dungeon of Andur, their faces covered in black cloths, stood the leaders of the Order of Aslan.

"I did everything you said," he growled. "I voted for Moro to be the Sarazen—I had to bribe them just to vote for him. Then I brought the ship in to Erizad. We had a deal: I would do my part in exchange for my family. When I returned home, all I saw were stones and dust. Tell me where they are, Rameesh. I want them back now!"

Rameesh smiled at him. "What a shame," he said. "I cannot return them to you."

"Why not?"

"Because you failed. Your people are confiscating the balik."

"Damn it, Rameesh, that was not my problem! I did what I was told. I brought the balik into Erizad. It was your responsibility to do with it as you pleased. Now uphold your end of the bargain, or I will send my men into this place, and they will show this country what sort of traitors are in their midst!"

"No, my friend," he said in a smooth, low voice. "Your men are dead. Your family is dead. And what a pity—so are you."

Quick as a wink, he pulled the dagger from his coat.

Salman's face turned white and slack with terror as the knife sank beneath his coat. A voiceless rasp broke from his lips. As the knife came out, Salman crumpled backward and landed on the stone floor with a heavy thud.

With a breath, Rameesh wiped the blade with a towel and hid it in its sheath once more. "Ganesh?"

The young man emerged from the shadows. Rameesh started to turn to him, but did a double take as he saw the young man trembling. "W-What is it, my lord?"

"Gather yourself, and act like a man. It is time to finish what we started."

"How?"

"Whether or not we can use the Red Death, this country is ours. Assemble the men. We are disposing of our nameless employer, and we are relieving Moro of his post and his head."

Ganesh fidgeted in place.

"What is the matter with you? Lead these men out of here. We are disposing of our nameless employer—now!"

Just then, something spoke that made Rameesh's face fall. It was a Calormene voice, low and melodious and strong. "You would kill me? Really?"

Rameesh spun around, and his eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. Out of the shadows, with the white crystal dangling in his necklace, was Moro.

"I am disappointed in you, Rameesh," said the cheetah. "When I created the Order of Aslan, I had hoped that you would carry out your duties. You were responsible to execute the followers of the Lion and get Reza out of my way. Instead, you kill a handful of Erizadi, and you conspire to kill me."

Rameesh shuddered. "So you have been our nameless employer," he hissed. "All this time…we have been answering to a beast. If Mirradin were still alive—"

"He is not, and if Faraji ever returns to this country, I will make him pay for Mirradin's death." He took another step forward for every step Rameesh took backward. "Despite your incompetence, I have what I want. The Erizadi are in my control, and the Order of Aslan will now answer to me."

"Is that all you wanted, you little demon?"

Moro chuckled. "No, Rameesh, I am not put by power alone. This is personal."

"Then let me redeem myself so I can help you in your quest!"

Moro's eyes flicked away for a moment. "Pity," he said. "I cannot seem to trust you now. Then again, that is what happens when one's employees threaten to assassinate their employer. Those who threaten death upon others, usually face death themselves." At that, the white crystal in his necklace began to glow.

"Damn it, Ganesh!" said Rameesh. "Kill him!"

Ganesh backed away, and the rest of the men followed suit.

"What are you all? Women?!" roared Rameesh. "Kill this demon! NOW!"

No one made a move.

Moro smiled up at Rameesh. "Unlike you, they know what magic I can wield. You see, when I was in Narnia during the everlasting winter, Jadis taught me some rather powerful spells. But, of course, any magic could do with a few advancements. Allow me to demonstrate."

"What—NO!"

The gem flashed like a burst of lightning, and Rameesh screamed and froze in place. His skin grew pale, then deep gray, and his voice sank from a shrill cry to the scraping of rocks against each other…and then he was still. Moro turned around and flicked his tail again, and veins of light coursed through the stone. Without warning, the statue burst into a thousand flying fragments as a mighty report thundered in their ears. The men ducked and Moro tilted his head as shards and chunks of rock hurtled past—and when they turned around, all that had stood in Rameesh's footprints was a clump of stone and a flurry of dust.

Moro turned to face the men, who stared at him with terrified eyes and their limbs going all wobbly.

"Well, then," said the cheetah. "We will have to do this another way."

Ganesh shuddered. "H-How, my lord?"

"There is a weapon of great power in this country's arsenal—one that was used in the irrigation projects of yesteryear. With the help of the weapon, we might rain the Red Death upon this land. But, by Tash, do yourselves a favor and don't repeat Rameesh's mistake. I don't think being turned into stone would suit any of you. Now be off with you."

One by one, the men pulled their masks over their faces and, with trembling legs, filed out of the room.

Moro waited until the door was closed until he bowed his head. The rush of magic from him left his head swimming and his legs threatening to quake beneath him. But just as quickly as it vanished, his strength came back, and with his head held high and his tail flicking to and fro, he trotted out of the dungeon.