Author's Note: I know, I promised to be more prompt in the last chapter, but I have failed. Once again, apologies for the wait. The inspiration for this story seems to come in short bursts, and the only thing I have to say in my defence is that if I had forced myself to write this when the inspiration wasn't there, it would have been much worse.

Having said that, I am rather satisfied with this chapter, and I'm bereft at losing some of the interesting relationships I had to play with. And this time, I'll make a promise I can keep: while updates may not be frequent, I WILL finish this story if it takes me a year.

Disclaimer: Narnia and its characters are owned by C.S. Lewis, not by me.


Chapter Four - Betrayal

"Land ahoy!"

The call from the crow's nest roused the six lords from their idle pursuits on deck, and they all hurried to the prow. Since they had left the Lone Islands, the mood onboard ship had been markedly subdued. Argoz had stormed about in a towering temper; Revilian had closeted himself in the parlour with only salted pork for company; and the other lords had spent their time largely in idleness and inconsequential tasks (Octesian and Mavramorn had now helped clean the scullery a total of seven times in two weeks). So land sighted meant purpose, diversion and, hopefully, adventure.

Beneath the feathery clouds on the horizon, a tall peak emerged, stark and magnificent against the featureless sea. It was a long way off, but as the only thing in sight it dominated the scenery. Argoz instructed the crew to make for the island, which involved a shift to the southeast.

For a further two days, the lords sailed towards the island, which grew larger and larger until it was positively awe-inspiring. The mountain that encompassed most of the land must have been at least three thousand feet high. Gulls circled about its sheer cliffs, and the sound of birds came from its wooded slopes.

The lords dropped anchor in a small, natural harbour and the six of them rowed ashore, landing on a sandy beach. Tall, fjord-like cliffs rose on either side of them, and a steep incline, leading to the mountain, was before them.

"Will we find savages, do you think?" asked Rhoop uneasily, glancing up at the mountain.

"Savages? Use your eyes!" exclaimed Argoz, whose mood had improved marvellously since the island had been sighted. "Do you see any smoke? Any sign of humanity on this beach?"

Mavramorn cleared his throat. "There's some smoke," he said, pointing. And indeed, there was a thin wisp twisting elegantly up towards the mountain's summit. It appeared to be coming from a valley away on their right.

"Oh," Argoz mumbled.

"May I suggest," said Rhoop, "that we split. The crew can stay here and prepare the ship; I have no doubt that it is in need of some attention. We'll leave Proteus in charge. Meanwhile, we can explore the island."

The other lords made varying noises of assent.

"Well –" began Rhoop, but he was interrupted by Octesian.

"Mavramorn and I would like to take the right side of the island," he said. "We have some experience dealing with savages, as you may recall from our northern expedition some years ago."

"Very well," said Rhoop, who seemed to have assumed Argoz's usual commanding position, as the latter continued to stare at the column of smoke. "You two take the right. Argoz and I will attempt the mountain. Restimar and Revilian can take the left side."

There being no objections to this, Restimar rowed back to the ship to obtain supplies. No one knew what might be found on this mysteriously abandoned island, and, if truth be told, they were all rather looking forward to finding out.

Argoz and Rhoop were the first to be gone, disappearing into the tangled-looking foothills of the mountain. Restimar dragged a puffing and protesting Revilian to explore the western valleys, leaving Mavramorn and Octesian alone on the beach.

"Let's go, shall we?" said Octesian, after the last complaints of Revilian had faded out of hearing. With a terse nod, Mavramorn led the way.

It was fairly easy going at first; the foothills only sloped gently and the valleys were largely composed of pretty little streams or gloomy but unthreatening gullies. Octesian and Mavramorn, however, kept their eyes fixed on the column of smoke ahead of them, and made directly for it.

At last, they came to the source of the smoke. The valley was very narrow and very deep, with sheer walls surrounding it. The smoke wafted promisingly from a cave at the base of the cliffs, and the two noticed, with some excitement, a promising glint of gold.

"Well, it seems we fall at the last hurdle," said Mavramorn, with a dubious glance at the precipitous drop before them. "Of all the cruel twists of fate …"

"Such determination, my lord Mavramorn!" said Octesian, with mock horror. "Such stoicism! You can't be suggesting that we turn around and go back!"

Mavramorn turned an amused eye on Octesian. "And what do you suggest we do, O intrepid explorer? Perhaps you have a convenient parachute in your provisions?"

Octesian grinned. "Alas, no," he said, "but I don't suggest giving up at one difficult-looking situation. Come, we should explore."

Mavramorn gave an exaggerated sigh and followed Octesian as he crashed fearlessly into the undergrowth. He thought back to the first time he had met Octesian, when they were both around fourteen years old. He had been a shy, withdrawn child, and had grown into a quiet, introverted adolescent. He had been sent to the Fortress, as it was universally known, by his concerned parents, who had been exasperated by his lack of interest in warfare. He had quickly discovered a place of his own: a hidden corner of a quiet courtyard, rarely visited, with ivy-covered walls and a carpet of soft bluebells. Mavramorn had no idea how it had escaped the vigilance of the gardeners, but it soon became his own corner of the Fortress.

One day, after a particularly humiliating practice session, in which his swordmaster had berated him loudly and mercilessly to the amusement of ten other boys, Mavramorn had hardly been able to resist running to his own quiet courtyard. But he resisted; it was important that he alone knew where it was, and he always hated to attract attention. He gave a great sigh of relief as he turned the corner, and then caught his breath. There was already someone there.

"Hello," said the boy. He was about Mavramorn's own age, but where Mavramorn was weedy and pale, this boy was brown and sturdy.

Mavramorn went to sit next to the boy, who was lying on the ground, staring up at the sky. "Hello," he said.

"I never knew this was here," said the boy. "How long have you known about it?"

"About a year," said Mavramorn, trying not to sound sulky. After all, it was his courtyard.

"I'm not surprised you told no one," said the boy. "It's lovely. I hope you don't mind me being here – is it your special place?" The boy turned a shrewd eye on Mavramorn. "I'm Octesian, by the way."

"I don't mind," said Mavramorn, surprising himself. "As long as you don't tell anyone else. I'm Mavramorn."

"The boy from Beaversdam?" asked Octesian, sitting up to face the other boy. "I'm surprised we haven't already met. But I'm probably in a higher class. I can even beat Master Borasin. I'm glad to meet you." He extended his hand.

Mavramorn took it. "What were you looking at?" he asked.

"The clouds," said Octesian. "They form such beautiful shapes. I saw an eagle, a dragon, a unicorn and even a lion! Look!"

He pulled Mavramorn down so that they were lying side by side. "See?" Octesian pointed at a fluffy conglomeration of cloud directly overhead.

Mavramorn looked. "It looks more like a dog," he said, squinting. "With a collar."

"A dog? Rubbish. It's nothing like a dog. Can't you see its mane?"

"You don't think that's a collar?"

"Far too big. Don't you think?"

"Yes, I suppose so. It could be a lion."

They spent a very happy afternoon on their backs, pointing out shapes to each other and arguing good-naturedly about the difference between tortoises and turtles. After that, Mavramorn and Octesian had met every day in the little courtyard, and soon started seeing each other elsewhere as well. People began to notice. "They could be brothers," they said, and it was true – they quickly became inseparable. Octesian taught Mavramorn proper swordplay and Mavramorn found he was rather good at it – either that, or Octesian was a good teacher.

"I told you so!" Octesian's shout shook Mavramorn out of his memories. He pushed aside a prickly bush and found himself on a steep downward slope, at the bottom of which stood Octesian, a triumphant laugh in his face.

"What did you tell me?" asked Mavramorn as he reached him.

Octesian gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "Don't play games with me, Mavramorn! Now we can go and meet these savages!" The light of adventure was shining in his eyes, and Mavramorn grinned back at him.

Together they strode into the valley, making for the swirling column. The valley was a dreary place, full of a strange haziness that they attributed to the smoke. Finally, the mouth of the cave came into sight.

They both stopped dead.

Inside the cave was a large pile of treasure – gold cups, bracelets, all manner of precious jewels. This would have been impressive enough, but their eyes were drawn to the top of the pile, where a monstrous shape curled in slumber. The smoke was issuing from its nostrils in short puffs, as it exhaled in its sleep. Its leathery wings were folded awkwardly on its back. It was a dragon.

Mavramorn seized Octesian's hand. "Now we really should go," he whispered.

"What are you talking about?" Without taking his eyes off the terrible vision before them, Octesian wrenched his hand out of Mavramorn's grip. "We've fought monsters before. Come on." He began to march confidently towards the cave.

"Are you mad?" hissed Mavramorn, following rather more cautiously. "This is more than just a monster – look at the size of it! Just leave it!"

But Octesian would not listen. He drew his sword with a loud ring. The beast did not stir.

"Awake, foul dragon!" shouted Octesian. "I challenge you!" Again, there was no movement from the dragon.

Abandoning caution, Mavramorn darted forward and seized Octesian's hand. "Come on! At least let us get the others!"

Octesian turned to face him, and Mavramorn noticed a strange light in his eyes. They seemed to be alive, brighter than they had ever been before, but somehow less human.

Octesian and Mavramorn stared at each other for a few moments, although it seemed much longer, before Octesian pulled away and charged into the cave. The dragon still did not stir.

"Perhaps it's ill," said Mavramorn, following warily.

"If so, all the better," said Octesian, in a strange voice. He raised his sword over the slumbering beast.

"Octesian!" Mavramorn was horrified. Dragon or no, killing an utterly defenceless opponent in cold blood was in complete transgression of the chivalric code. The king's huntsmen never even killed a sleeping boar (although the discovery of a sleeping boar, as opposed to one that was aggressive and very much awake, was rather a rare occurrence).

Octesian ignored his friend, and drove the sword down into the dragon's hide. It passed through, with surprising ease. Octesian turned a triumphant face to Mavramorn.

"There!" he exclaimed. "Now we can share the spoils. Three quarters to me, since I killed the beast."

"You didn't kill it," whispered Mavramorn, still appalled. "You murdered it."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Octesian, removing his armlet and comparing it to one of the bejewelled rings in the hoard. "It was a beast. You can't murder a beast."

"I think we should go. Now." Mavramorn held out his hand.

"I am not going anywhere," said Octesian, still fingering the jewels. "Isn't this magnificent?"

"No. Octesian, please. Come!" Mavramorn reached out and grasped Octesian's hand. "Let's go."

A sharp ring of steel pierced the smoky air. Mavramorn felt the cold metal of Octesian's sword touch his throat. He stepped back, but Octesian kept his sword drawn.

"Go, then," murmured Octesian, and his eyes brightened. "Like the coward you are. You were always weak, Mavramorn. Always."

The last rays of the setting sun vanished beyond the ridge of the valley as the two men stared at each other, one on the cold floor of the cave with a blade to his throat, the other atop a mound of treasure with madness in his eyes.

"Octesian," Mavramorn began, "please –"

"Go!" shouted Octesian suddenly; his blade nicked Mavramorn's neck. "Go! Coward!"

Mavramorn put his hand to his neck and felt the warm trickle of blood. It was not a deep cut, but that wasn't what was bothering him. He stepped out of the cave, still not taking his eyes from Octesian's.

"I will wait at the mouth of the valley," he said. "Think, Octesian. Please. For the sake of our friendship."

"Go!" shrieked Octesian, and turned his back to Mavramorn. Mavramorn made his way slowly out of the valley.

He waited all night, huddled under a shuddering palm. He did not close his eyes, and kept them fixed on the mouth of the valley. Every now and then there was a sudden sound, the crack of a twig or the sleepy call of a gull, but each time Mavramorn sat up a little straighter, hoping to see Octesian come striding out of the valley with friendship and hope in his eyes. But he never came.

In the morning, Mavramorn forced himself to tackle the steep slope back to the ridge, thinking all the time of his companion. He remembered Octesian's lust for adventure, and his wonder at the beauty of the world. Beauty. Perhaps that was what had captivated him about the hoard.

At last, he reached the spot where he had suggested giving up the previous day. He remembered Octesian's playful admonitions and blinked rapidly. He looked down into the valley, to the cave they had seen the smoke rise from, before the dragon had been killed.

And he stopped. For smoke still rose from that cave, twisting and turning like steam from a kettle. Suddenly Mavramorn realised that he could still smell it on the air. And so the dreadful truth settled upon him like a cloud on a mountain. A strange noise, almost a choked sob. And then silence, as Mavramorn watched the smoke curl towards the brightening sky.

At last, he sighed. "Goodbye, Octesian," he said, and then turned from the valley and began the long trek back to the beach.