Faraji growled at Saheeb. "Well, this all makes sense now. You knew what Beresh was doing, and you knew I could stop him if I were still in Erizad. You had to get me out of the way, so you wrote a letter in the High King's name. But you were afraid I would not go willingly, so you sent Philip to Erizad, to make it look as though Aslan had sent him. All this just so you could let my dear brother run loose in my country."

"We did not do it for him alone," said Zareenah. "We did it for your sake."

"For my sake?"

"We knew what the illness does, Haroshta. We did not want you to die that way."

Faraji scoffed. "Forgive me if I don't say 'Thank you.'" And he turned to his brother. "What do you stand to gain?"

"Everything," said Moro (or Beresh, for that was his true name). "Our country is a ship of fools, and the Tisroc is the biggest fool of all. He knows nothing except invasion and conquest. Whenever he wants to take a distant land, he sends an army, and whenever that fails, all he does is send more armies. We have had enough of this waste. The Red Death is what will bring Erizad and the North to their knees. We will take these lands once and for all. The flag of Tash, the inexorable, the incomparable, will fly over every kingdom. The Tisroc and his Tarkaans will be overthrown, and the world will tremble at the sound of my name: Beresh, the rightful heir to my father's throne, and the Tisroc of Calormen (may I live forever)."

Faraji shook his head. "You tried to kill me twelve years ago. If you knew I was alive, why didn't you try again?"

"Because I did not know," said Beresh. "For ten years, I too was enslaved. After I tried to kill you in Tehishbaan, the Erizadi almost killed me. The Tarkaan of that city rescued me, if you can call it that. He was the one who told my parents I was dead. He made me his pet under pain of death. When I recovered from my injuries, I overheard something about him selling me into slavery, so three years ago I killed him and hid in Erizad. When I was in Arkanaz, I had heard reports of an illness that was killing the Erizadi. Imagine it: a weapon that not even they could stand against. After that, I met a cheetah named Moro, who shared my mannerisms and speech. Once the true Moro was killed, I started impersonating him. A few weeks later, the Sarazen brought me into his army, and I helped him command the men while I studied the Red Death."

"Even then, you didn't know I was alive."

"Not until I found out that Mirradin had died. Imagine my surprise to learn that his killer was the great Faraji, formerly known as Haroshta. But there was no point in sending an army after you. By then, you were too far away from Erizad to threaten me, and too far from Narnia to make any difference. Once you arrived in Anvard, I supposed the balik would kill you or all your fears of the Man Aslan would drive you mad."

"And the necklace? Did the Witch put you in her will?"

Beresh smirked. "No, brother, she had no will and testament. However, she thought I was an exceptional student."

"And now you want to use that on me."

"Haroshta, he has no choice," said Saheeb. The old cheetah blinked his lone eye. "You are guilty of treason against Calormen. Your mother and I hoped you would come to your senses, but you defied Calormen and fell in with our enemies. If you go on, you will destroy everything we have worked for. I beg you to give up the medicine—"

"Or what? I know the true Aslan. My brother is not a terror to me."

"Do not test me," said Beresh. "You have no idea what I can do to you."

"Try me. You have taken away everything I care about. You killed my best friend. You killed our parents' daughter. You are killing the only allies I have. You have unleashed the Red Death in Erizad, and you have left me powerless to do anything about it. All I have are my convictions and my loyalty. If I gave those up, I would have nothing left. So do what you want to me. Torture me, set me on fire, turn me to stone—I don't care. I have endured the Red Death. I have confronted my worst fears. After everything I have been through, I am not afraid of you or any man."

Beresh did not scoff. Instead, a bitter scowl deepened. "You sound just like a Narnian. Your allegiance to Aslan has made you pious and long-winded like the rest of them. Well, since you are now an expert on the Lion, what did he ever do for you? You are loyal to a Lion that has been cruel to you. He did nothing to stop Reza from taking you to Erizad or from poisoning your stupid head with lies. He did nothing to save your people from me; he stood by as I unleashed the Red Death in Rasul and conspired to become the Sarazen of your country. So tell me: Why would you fall in with Aslan?"

Faraji paused. He had been asking himself this question for the last day, and no answer came. But now, as Beresh stood before him, glaring at him with that bored and haughty smile, the words began to flow.

"Indeed, my life has not turned out the way I planned. Because of what you did, I was a captive in a foreign land. For the last twelve years, I have been feeling sorry for myself. But not anymore. I would not trade it for anything else. Before Reza took me from Calormen, I was foolish and spoiled. I thought my world was unshakable. When Reza took me to Erizad, I learned how to respect authority, and I learned to love people whom I once regarded as my enemies. And while I wish they had never taught me anything about the Man Aslan, I can help them overcome their fear, because I had the same fear. And when I fell ill with the Red Death, I cared for the sick and dying—enough to carry on with my mission. And I will tell you something else, Beresh: Even your attacks on Erizad can be used for greater good than any of us ever imagined. Erizad has been stubborn and foolish—I will grant you that. Not even the Lion has been able to shake us out of our ignorance. As terrible as your attacks have been, they might be the only thing that can set us right. What happened in Rasul could be a warning, that our doom is imminent unless we act. Don't you see, brother? He is just using you to accomplish something bigger and better than what has gone on before. That is why I am falling in with Aslan—because though I do not understand all that is happening, for the first time in my life I am beginning to trust him. After all that has happened, Aslan has put me in a position to rescue three countries from you. He will rescue me from you. And if he doesn't, I will still refuse to pay you homage. You can kill me, torture me, expose me to the Red Death—you can hurt me any way you like—but I will not do your bidding."

Beresh growled, and the crystal in his necklace began to glow again.

All Faraji had time to do was widen his eyes. The crystal flashed red, and Faraji collapsed to the floor. His whole body felt as though it had been lit on fire. The pain made his ears beat so loudly, he was deaf to his own screaming. He never knew how much time had passed, but just as he had lost his voice, the pain went away. Sweat covered him from head to paw, and he writhed and trembled in shock as he whimpered.

"You fool," said Beresh. "You cannot hope to challenge me. You tried to save Erizad, and you failed. And now, brother, you will never trouble me again—"

And without warning, he fell silent.

Faraji waited for Beresh to do something, but nothing happened. The crystal in Beresh's necklace dimmed and went dark, and he started to pant and his legs went all wobbly.

In an instant, Faraji knew what was happening. He bounded to all fours, and his stomach leapt into his throat. Two lines of blood started to ooze out of Beresh's nose. Drops started beading down his chin. His eyes were wide with terror, and his forehead was matted with sweat.

"Help me!"

But Saheeb and Zareenah said nothing. With horror and sorrow on their faces, they backed away, then spun about and broke into a run.

"No!" said Beresh. "Don't leave me!"

"Brother, it's all right," said Faraji. "I can find the medicine. I can help you—"

Beresh scowled at him and shoved him to the floor. After that, it was as though the two had been dropped into a tumble dryer. It was a twirling, spinning knot of tails and legs and spotted heads with their fangs out, and blood from Beresh's nose and mouth flew through the air, when all of a sudden the doors swung open and hit the wall with a mighty crash as four men charged into the corridor.

Saheeb and Zareenah burst into a run, leaping at the men's faces. The soldiers nocked their arrows, and Saheeb, then Zareenah, went limp and toppled to the floor as arrows plunged into their chests. And all was once again still, save for the sound of Beresh groaning and giving a wet cough.

"We heard you up here," said Darin. In his hand was the medicine from Faraji's saddle. "Are you all right?"

"I am, but he's not. Mehan, he needs help!"

"So do those who deserve to live," said Darin. He knelt down and brought the necklace around Faraji's head. "I will take him to the dungeon. Take this to the infirmary. Regan and the herbalists are waiting."

Faraji nodded and started to leave. Beresh glared at him before curling inward and coughing into the floor. Darin whipped the necklace off Beresh's neck and brought down his boot. The crystal gave a loud crack and a flash of blue light, and then it was no more. At that, Faraji turned around and descended the stairs.

King Peter lurched forward and retched, and thick blood fell out of his nose and mouth. His trembling hand lifted the cloth to his face, but every move of his boil-covered arm made his arm scream in pain. The feeling of fire had filled every muscle and bone. His hand opened up on its own, dropping the blood-covered towel to the floor, and he hunched over and groaned in agony.

Peter was the closest to death, but no one else was far behind. Boils had erupted on everyone, and the blood that ran out their noses was thick and almost black. The beards of the men were red, and their clothes were stained.

A loud slam filled the room, and all eyes turned to the doorway. The door banged against the wall, and Faraji burst through with a necklace bobbing to and fro. "I have it! Regan, the formula is two parts goldenrod and two parts yarrow with three parts of my medicine—"

"No," said the black-haired man. "That's too much. It has to be one part of each."

"That's not enough! If you do that, the Queen's cordial will neutralize it."

"This formula has been handed down for three generations. It works on wounds."

"Not on a disease!" said Faraji. "If you go ahead with your recipe, everyone will start bleeding again. My medicine will strengthen the effects of the goldenrod and the yarrow and it will stop the disease."

Regan turned to King Lune. "Your Highness!"

Lune grunted in pain, then looked Regan in the face. "Do what he says."

Regan stared slack-jawed at him for a moment, then gathered himself and spun back to Faraji. "If this doesn't work—"

"Then we can refine it. Now I count eighty people in this room except for us. Pour out twenty-four drops of goldenrod, twenty-four drops of yarrow, thirty-six drops of my medicine, and one drop of the cordial."

Regan turned to the other herbalists. "Do it."

And at once, the herbalists reached for the droppers, filling them up to the cap. Drop by drop, the potions landed in the little cups as Faraji counted in silence. Everyone's lips were moving as the cups grew full, and then, as Peter cried out and held his hand to his chest, Faraji watched five drops of the Queen's cordial fall into their own cup.

"That's it! Hurry!"

Regan mixed the medicines in a single cup. He squeezed the bulb of the dropper until the pipe was full with rose-colored potion, and he spun around and rushed to Peter. Regan held the dropper in his quaking fingers, and a bead of potion broke free and landed on a boil in Peter's arm.

There was a cry of pain, and nothing happened.

The herbalists started squeezing the medicine into the droppers and spread about the room, but everyone else's eyes were on Peter. He sat hunched over with a hand still clutching his belly. His breath was ragged and shallow, and blood still pattered onto the floor.

And then it stopped.

Without warning, Peter's eyes lit up. The boils on his arm began to fade. He wiped a hand across his nose; no more blood came. His forehead stopped glistening with sweat, and his breath grew stronger and his chest swelled. And when he sat upright, he lifted his hand from his belly and looked about the room. Like stars coming out in the darkening sky, faces began to light up as murmurs filled the room. And as more faces flushed with color and the smiles turned to laughs, the whole room was filled with noise. And when the last man had stopped bleeding and rose from the floor, Faraji caught himself smiling.

By the Lion, he said to himself. It worked.

And as his ears swiveled amid the laughter and the sighs of relief, Faraji's ears tilted. The heavy clopping of hooves came from outside. Standing in the doorway were a horse and a cheetah, and she hopped down from Philip's back and said, "Dear, dear brother!"

"Whinny-inny!" said Philip. "Hurrah!"

Faraji drew in a shaky breath and bowed his head in relief, and the room was filled with the sound of Faraji's name. The cheetah turned to Aslan and looked the cat in the face; no words were shared, but Aslan knew what was meant.

Beresh sulked as blood oozed out his nose. All four legs were clapped in shackles. As the heavy dungeon doors groaned open, Faraji and King Peter (who had changed into fresh clothes) and Aslan padded inside. Beresh licked the blood away from his face but refused to give them a glance.

"We found a cure," said Faraji. "We want to give it to you."

Beresh gave no indication that he had heard.

The High King stepped forward and knelt down, and he pulled a little glass cup from his coat. A drop of medicine beaded in the bottom of the cup.

"Here," said Peter. But that was all he had time to say.

Beresh snarled and batted the cup out of his hand. The glass shattered against a stone pillar, and the medicine disappeared into the dirt.

Peter stared in alarm at Beresh, and the cheetah glared at him. "Do you think I am a fool? If you healed me, you would execute me. Mark my words, barbarian: You will not have that honor. It is Tash, the irresistible, the inimitable—he will bring me to health. He will break these chains. He will reward me for my suffering. When his power falls upon me, I will destroy Erizad and Narnia once and for all. I am Beresh, the Tisroc of Calormen (may I live forever), and the world will—"

But he said nothing more. Without warning, his face went all miserable, and he turned away and gave a wet cough. Peter turned his face away he heard blood drip onto the floor.

"Brother, please," said Faraji.

But Beresh said nothing else. He hung his head and grunted in pain.

Faraji swung around to face Aslan, but the Lion shook his head. "There is nothing we can do for him," he said. "Even if we heal him and pardon him for his crimes, it would not change his heart. He has chosen evil for so long that if King Lune set him free, your brother would go back to his old ways."

Faraji turned back to Beresh. "I can't accept that."

"Had I been a younger man when all this was happening, I wouldn't have, either," said Peter. "But this seems to be the way of things. We have magic that heals wounds and a Lion who brings statues back to life, but we have nothing for a heart like the heart of your brother."

Faraji sighed. The longer he stared at Beresh, the more he realized Peter was right. But a slight smile lifted his whiskers. "By trying to kill me twelve years ago, my brother set into motion a story—one that, despite all the evil and suffering that have happened, might be doing us all some good. And in that story, a spoiled cheetah prince was taken to Erizad, and he became someone better because of it. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . the prince's brother could have changed, as well, if someone had given him the chance."

For a moment, the dungeon was silent, and then a noise from afar made Faraji's ears swivel. Far away, a gate groaned open, and birds flapped their wings from on high.

At that, Peter turned to Faraji. "It's time."

Faraji nodded and started to turn about. But he paused, taking one last look at Beresh. There was no sign of acknowledgement, not even a glance in Faraji's direction. Faraji wanted to say something, but every word that started to form in his mouth seemed empty now. With a sigh, he turned about and broke his gaze away, and he followed Peter and Aslan out of the dungeon.

Faraji and Peter flanked Aslan as the Lion turned left toward the courtyard. As it spun into view, Faraji saw that a crowd had gathered. Philip, Nazeen, Aravis, Lasaraleen, the Kings and Queens of the North, and Prince Cor had all gathered around a table where a map had been unrolled. A dozen eagles stood on the face of the table, and the largest one (who even Faraji could tell was their leader) spread his large wings and landed in front of him. "I am Adler, captain of the First Convocation of Narnia. One of my kings told me what has happened: that the monster who tried to kill all the nobles of the North is now trying to spread the disease across your country."

"Yes, mehan."

"Then my men and I are at your service. But before we depart, we will need your help. None of our maps show Erizad in the detail we need."

Faraji jumped atop the table as Adler flew up to the edge. As Faraji reached for the inkwell and grabbed a quill between two clawed fingers, he turned to Philip and Nazeen. "Are you both well?"

Philip snorted. He looked as though he had been crying, but he did not show it. "Well, I got turned to stone," he said with a light whinny. "And it was rather boring."

But Nazeen blinked tears away. "Is it true? Is Beresh really alive?"

Faraji nodded.

"How could they do this to us?"

"I have a better idea of it now. Beresh thinks he is in the service of Tash. When King Peter tried to give him the medicine, he refused it. He said Tash would deliver him from this illness and make him the next Tisroc. Everything they have done has been for their own gain, dear sister; they tasted power and never had enough of it. And I suppose that was what would have happened if I had never been taken to Erizad. I might never have learned that lesson."

And no more was said of the matter as Faraji turned to the map on the table.

It took only minutes for Faraji to draw in the features of Erizad—the river that flowed south out of Calormen; the northern towns (including Rasul); the great city of Palar, and the old fortress outside it; the great cities of Arkanaz and Barát and Ansar, and the dunes and the Five Towns in the far south (which were just off the map, so Faraji drew them in the margins); and old ruins and great dunes and oases and dried-up rivers, and dozens of other features that turned the blank southern third of the map into something that Adler and his eagles could use. And when they had seen the landmarks they needed, Faraji laid the pen back into the inkwell.

There was a pause, and the bright green robe of King Lune caught the corner of his eyes. "Before you leave," said Lune, "I want to thank you for saving our lives. Were it not for you and your wits, I'm sure every one of us would be dead by now."

Faraji bowed his head. "You almost died because of me. If I had left my parents in Calormen, the balik might never have arrived. Or if I had just stood my ground when my parents accused me, I might have been able to stop them."

"That is more than any of us know," said Lune. "Your brother and your parents were resourceful. I am certain they would have found another way to dispose of us. What matters is that you were here to save our lives. I speak for all of us when I say Narnia and Archenland are in your debt."

"So am I," said Lasaraleen. By now, Aravis was beside her. "You saved my life . . . and I get to see my best friend again."

"You all are kind," said Faraji, "but it is I who am in your debt. Without the Queen's cordial, none of this would be possible. Upon my honor, I will see to it that the cordial is replenished. However difficult it is to find those fireflowers, I will find them . . ."

Faraji was about to add a promise, but he heard something thick and wet land in the grass. It could not have been rain; the sky was filled with stars. And when he heard something like a whinny and a sniffle, Faraji felt his heart sink.

"Philip?" he said gently. "What's wrong?"

The horse sniffled. "Oh, bother it all. I have been trying to hide my feelings, but I must speak my mind. Spotted one, I will miss you. We have known each other a short time, and in that time I have grown fond of you. Whenever your sister and I will cross paths, I will think of how you saved our lives in Tashbaan. Whenever I see the soldiers of Anvard and the Kings and Queens in their health, I will think about how you saved their lives. And whenever I see someone who speaks as though he swallowed a book, the first cheetah I will think of is you."

Faraji chuckled. It was all he could do to keep from crying. "Philip, I have never met anyone like you. After everything we have been through, I will never be able to put you out of my mind. I have lived in Erizad for twelve years, among people who prided themselves on their courage and wisdom, but when I go back there, I will look for your courage and wisdom in the faces of everyone I see. And even though we had met because of my father's treachery, I am convinced that your arrival in Erizad was the work of Aslan himself. I could not have survived this journey without you, and I am better for meeting you. And though this will sound like a play on words, I will say it: You are the best example of horse sense that I have ever met."

Philip let out a soft nicker and padded the ground with his hoof. "You are too kind, spotted one. And I just want you to know that you will always be a friend of Narnia and the North."

A pause, and Faraji smiled and blinked tears away. "Thank you, mehan."

Philip's eyes filled with awe, and he raised his angular head. The silence around them grew even more profound. No one in the North had ever heard a word of Erizadi before, but everyone knew what it meant, and Philip would later say it was the grandest thing he had ever been called.

After a pause, Faraji sniffled and took in a breath. "It's time." And he crouched down upon Adler's back. The great bird unfolded his wings and leapt off the ground, and the rest of the eagles followed behind. A great V formed in the moonlit sky, drifting south beneath the stars, and the Kings and Queens of Narnia and the North, and their friends and visitors beside, watched in silence.

Philip blinked away big tears that plashed on the ground in front of his hooves. With a quavering breath, he said something so quietly that only Aslan could hear it.

"Farewell, mehan."

Faraji fell asleep to the sound of the eagles' wings. When he awoke, the sun had risen and cast long shadows over the streets of Palár. Adler said, "This is it. Go!" and the rest of the eagles scattered. Faraji did not need to get his bearings to know where they were headed—south, to Arkanaz and the Five Towns, southeast to Barát and Ansar, and west to the cities that sat upon the riverbank.

Adler tilted downward, and Faraji gripped the bird's muscled sides as the ground rose to meet them. The eagle slowed with three great beats of his wings, and Faraji loped onto the sett stones and turned to face him. Faraji, who had hardly been at a loss for words before, could not find enough words to express his gratitude. But Adler understood and nodded in reply.

Faraji padded away at once. There was no time to waste. All around, he heard people coughing and crying in pain. As he rounded the corner, a crowd of people spun into view. All were bleeding, and some had boils on their faces. And when the Mareshah left the corridor, and his wife and sons bleeding and with boils on their faces, the silence was even thicker.

He felt relief rush through him—Reza had not fallen ill. But the cheetah felt his heart sink. Tears were glistening in Reza's eyes, and his mouth was open in surprise and grief. He did not say the words, but Faraji knew what they meant. I am sorry.

Faraji felt a whole rush of memories rush back to him—how Reza had used a whip on him and the boys, how he had lied to him and threatened him with the wrath of Aslan, how he had sent Faraji north after receiving a fake letter from Narnia—but none of that mattered now.

The cheetah bowed his head (after all, Reza was still his master), then looked in him in the face and said:

"I have the medicine."

Everything after that was a blur. Reza slung the necklace around his neck, and he walked up and down a row of soldiers. Each drop was laid on a boil or dropped into a mouth. After that, he gave the medicine to his wife, then his sons, then a row of civilians. All eyes stared at the soldiers, waiting for something to change. A few people said it was a lie and the medicine was no good—but then, before they realized what was happening, something changed. Boils began to clear, blood stopped oozing out of their noses and mouths, the pale and nauseated faces flushed with color once again, the sweat disappeared from their heads, their eyes grew merry and bright, and the whole courtyard was filled with laughs of delight and wonder. Some started to cry, but the tears showed relief and gratitude beyond words. Others sat with open-mouthed amazement, not knowing if they could believe it.

Reza turned to the soldiers. "Yassir! Go to the base. Get as many canteens as you can find."

"Right away, mehan."

"All of you will help me distribute the medicine. Bashir, how many people are at the university?"

"We counted fifteen thousand."

"Esmail, how many are in the old school?"

"At least four thousand."

"Marwan, how many are at the old palace?"

"We didn't do a thorough count," said the clean-shaven man, "but we counted five thousand in the house, and the courtyard was full."

"All right," said Reza. "Bashir, you and your men will take half of this to the university. Esmail, you and your men will take one fourth to the jail. Marwan, you and your men will take one eighth to the old house. I will keep the rest in reserve."

And just as he said that, Yassir dashed around the corner. A sack full of canteens clattered and clanged as he laid them on the road. Soon, the medicine was poured into them, and the soldiers dispersed as Reza and Yassir went up and down the courtyard. Before Faraji knew it, the crowds had started to file out, and soon the street was bustling again.

An hour had gone by, and the last family left the courtyard. Faraji and Reza started to turn down the thoroughfare, but something caught their attention. It was a crowd of men, all clothed in the black robes of the Order of Aslan, and they had just come from the corner of the plaza. Their faces were covered with boils, and darker blood framed their mouths and chins. They bowed their heads in deference, but their eyes still stared at him, hoping for help. Reza told them to step forward and gave them each a drop of the medicine, and nothing more was said.

And noon came and went.

If you had never been to Erizad before now, you would know that everyone was always grave, that public displays of any strong emotion were improper. But it was not so now. Men and beasts began to trickle out of the university, then the jail and courtyard, and then the old palace, and soon the trickle was a stream. By the middle of the afternoon, the whole city was filled with cheers and cries of joy. Men and beasts smiled and laughed, and hugs were given even among strangers. And as the afternoon passed, the whole city spread out, taking water and rags up and down the streets and pouring out buckets of water to clean every building and road covered in the dust. There was a tense mood threatening to overtake them, as many were thinking about what would happen if they breathed in the dust. But those conversations lasted less than a minute, because someone was always nearby to say, "We have medicine." And that lifted the mood all over again.

By nightfall, every isolation zone was empty, and the streets were full. Torches were lit, food and drink were given out to crowds, songs were sung to the Lion (with the occasional verse about Faraji and Reza and his army), and almost no one could sleep that night. Reza and Faraji had slipped away and slumped against the front doors of the house. It was only for a moment's rest, they said—and before they could warn one another, they had already fallen asleep.

Reza could not help but smile. It all seemed too good to be true. "Am I to understand that no one in Arkanaz died?"

"Indeed, Sir," said Adler. "In Barát, Ansar, the Five Towns, the villages in the Far South—it's all the same. Every one of my men and I are reporting a complete and total reversal of the Red Death. Your soldiers and my men counted thirty-eight thousand cases throughout Erizad, and not one of them ended in death."

Reza shook his head. "Incredible," he said. "Adler, I don't know how to thank you all—"

"There is no need, Sir," said the eagle. "We are friends. Besides, none of this could have been done without Faraji or you. As I understand it, you sent him to us. He was the one who knew what to do. Without him, our leaders would have died, and Calormen might very well have conquered us."

Faraji flushed a little. Two days of constant gratitude and compliments from everyone around, and he still drooped his head in embarrassment.

Adler turned to one of his eagles, and the bird trotted forward with a piece of paper in its bill. "Faraji, this came for you," said Adler. "We met a courier on our way out of Rasul."

Faraji thanked him with a nod and pried the seal away with a claw.

To Faraji, jamira of Reza Munir, recipient of the Red Diamond for excellence in battle, and a friend of Narnia and the North:

Greetings to you from Anvard.

Firstly, allow us to once again extend our gratitude. You saved our lives and rescued Narnia and the North from disaster. Every life that was saved yesterday is in your debt.

Secondly, we want you to know that your brother is finally and truly dead. He changed his mind and accepted the medicine, and after he recovered, he stood trial before our governments. He confessed to the charges against him and pledged allegiance to Tash and Calormen; after his sentencing, he was executed for his crimes.

Thirdly, Philip wanted me to pass along his greetings, and to tell you that no matter what you may think of yourself, you are a better warrior and a braver cheetah than your brother was. Your brother could not withstand the disease for even a few hours; but you endured its torture, you suffered through one of your brother's spells, you overcame your fears of the Man Aslan, and you accomplished a deed that saved two countries. Philip's words are also our own: Never forget who you are and what you have become.

Finally, once you are a friend of Narnia, you are always a friend of Narnia. When you are given leave, please know that you, Reza, and any friend who accompanies you will be welcome at Cair Paravel.

By the Lion,

High King Peter the Magnificent
King Edmund the Just
Queen Susan the Gentle
Queen Lucy the Valiant

Faraji was silent for a long while. He nudged it to Reza, who read the letter several times over and smiled a little more each time.

"It is true," said Reza. "You have changed—more than you realize."

"But the letter is much too kind, mehan. It says nothing about the mistakes I made."

"I think we both have to live with what we did," said Reza. "You and I have been given the opportunity to do great things, but we also made choices that were less than heroic—they were downright terrible, by any measure. But there was something the Lion told me when he came here: He still had a task for me. I was not perfect before, and I have not been perfect since, but he still had good work for me to do. Even now, I think he still does."

With that, he turned and stared down the thoroughfare. At the end of the road sat the ruins of Andur. The royal house looked as though a giant had trampled on it; only a few of the walls and pillars stood, and everything else was rubble and dust.

"When the house was built," said Reza, "it was supposed to be a fortress where the whole country could gather in times of war. But Erizad grew, and the pride of our Sarazens grew; soon, the house became a symbol of power and security. Some had said that as long as Andur stood, Erizad would never fall. And then Moro—er, Beresh—came to Erizad. He used our own fears of the Man Aslan against us. Whenever we look at what is left of Andur, that is what I hope we remember: that we believed in fear and lies, and it almost destroyed our country."

Faraji let out a sigh and kept gazing at the ruins.

"May we never make that mistake again."