A/N: Terribly sorry about the long wait – I've been so busy with other stories, etc. Enjoy!
Chapter V
The Queen of Narnia was pacing back and forth in her private chambers.
From the lofty ceiling hung four smaller chandeliers, whose icy glare revealed a room of harsh whiteness, its walls festooned with lavish, ice blue draperies. The far wall had a large multi-paned window with dark blue curtains on either side. On another wall, a large fireplace separated a section of the draperies. Dry, unburned wood lay on the spotless grate. The queen's massive bed stood in Gothic splendor against the third wall, beneath a canopy of rich blue gossamer. Its elaborate trappings, which included cushions of imperial grandeur and a richly embroidered sheer white coverlet, suggested an object of imposition rather than of invitation. On either side of it were ornate bed stands, each crowned by a crystal candleholder containing a tall, tapered candle—unused.
As she paced, the loud tap of the queen's footsteps echoed throughout the room. Above one of the bed stands, a silken rope hung from a silver-ringed opening in the ceiling. The queen paused, glanced over at the rope, turned, and strode purposefully toward it. She took the golden handle of the bell-rope, and gave it one firm pull. In less than a minute, there was a soft knock on her door.
"Open," she said distinctly.
The bolt rattled softly, and the door swung inward. The gnarled dwarf stood silently, beholding his ruler with a look of humble expectancy.
"My snow chariot?"
"Ready, your highness!" The dwarf lowered his eyes, turned briskly, and disappeared down the dimly lit corridor, closely followed by the queen. The icy lights brightened and the ceiling arched upward as they approached the throne room. The queen firmly gripped the handle of the large double door. She tugged impatiently, then grimaced upon realizing it was bolted.
The dwarf grunted in confusion, concerned that the queen's anger could fall upon him.
"Fool! Go around!" she hissed at him. "And take my wand."
The dwarf hurried without a word to do her bidding, disappearing down a side passage leading to the imperial courtyard.
The queen paced rapidly back and forth, murmuring to herself. Eventually, she heard a click and turned on her heel in time to observe the huge door moving slowly outward. Ginnarbrik pushed the door open as far as he could, then pressed his rotund body against it to allow the fuming empress access. She rushed by, soon joined by the dwarf, pulling the door closed with a heavy clank. Ginnarbrik returned her wand.
"Traitorous centaur!" the queen snarled. "To the chariot! We will find them."
"Your Majesty!" the dwarf protested. "We'll never overtake them! Centaurs are far swifter than bears or reindeer!"
"We will find them if it takes a thousand years. We will search every inch of this wretched country! Do I not have my spies to bring me word?"
"But, Excellency, please! You know where Orieus will take her! Out of Narnia - to Archenland or Colormene! We cannot—"
"Ah, but you underestimate me, dwarf. We will find some pretext for following them if need be. Or – we will offer their harborers a choice. They will surrender the fugitives, or their entire nation will fall to me. And—" the queen smiled fiendishly, "—what will stop me from destroying them afterwards? Who will prevent me from ruling the world? I have before." She paused in reflection. "Ah, Ginnarbrik, your first objection gives me an idea. You say bears and reindeer cannot catch a centaur. Well, you are right. But cannot a stag catch another stag, or a horse another horse? We shall send another party of loyal Centaurs after them. They are swift, and adept at tracking, I have heard. See to it, and then meet me at the chariot."
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Lucy shook off the snowflakes that had settled on her head and shoulders. It was so penetratingly and unpleasantly cold, it chilled her to the core. Her frozen brown hair whipped wildly in the howling bitterness of the wind. The whirling snowflakes stung her cheek harshly and froze on her eyelashes. And to make matters worse, she had lost her stocking cap in the wind. Orieus had instructed her to keep her hands tightly around his middle, lest she fall off, but they were so cold she didn't know how much longer she could hold on. She kept her head down, trying to keep breathing, though it was hard.
Orieus was on the right side, once more. His true allegiance, he said, was to Aslan, and the real Narnia – not the witch's perverted vision of Narnia: a frozen dominion where all obey a tyrant's evil will. As such, he was going to do all in his power to save his true queen, Lucy's, life, but he didn't know how much of a chance they had.
Earlier, Lucy had asked why the centaur couldn't just take her back to the Wardrobe. He told her that the witch had ordered at least a thousand creatures to comb the area surrounding the lamppost and there would be no possible way to get through. Their only option was to flee Narnia.
Lucy loathed inhaling the icy air inside her chilled body, to chill it further. Finally, she could stand it no more. "O-Orieus!" she rasped, and the words were nearly lost to the wind.
But the centaur heard and understood. He brought himself to an abrupt, but decidedly gentle stop, catching Lucy just as she began to fall. He realized that she was succumbing. They had to find shelter; they were nowhere near the border of Archenland, and night was already well established. There was nothing to be done but the most lamentable. They would have to halt until Lucy was warmed. Orieus stepped forward, looking for a suitable tree. Nearby was a broad-branched evergreen, its benevolent branches offering some shelter from the intensity of the storm. Once they had reached it, the centaur cleared away a measure of the snow near the base of the tree and tenderly placed her on the cleared spot. Then, he lay down beside her, hoping his chestnut sides would offer her extra warmth.
The snow crystals along the ground slithered in endless serpentine formations, hissing, gliding to cover the tracks from sight. The world of white grew whiter still, as veritable piles of whiteness cascaded from the heavens, blanketing the fugitives from view and rendering the trail for any nearby wolves cold. Soon, the darkness set in, hoping to veil them further from unfriendly eyes.
"Oh, Aslan. Protect her from the witch's winter. Do not let her give in."
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The enormous wolf pack raised a cloud of snow and mist as they spread out over the dusky, wintry landscape. Soon, the center of the pack sighted a woodman's hut in the distance. Six of the burly creatures broke forward and arrived at the unprotected shelter, breathing hard and growling in savage anticipation. They quickly circled, and sniffed along each wall, searching for windows and doorways. The windows were small, and the door in front the only access. Maugrim pounced up on the doorstep and gave a howl of challenge. His huge mouth closed over the door handle and bit, in an attempt to unlatch it. It would not budge. With a guttural yelp of frustration, he turned and motioned for Vardan, his second in command, to come and break the door in. Then, a heavy brute, eyes glowing green, licked his chops and charged. His heavy front paws smashed against the upper part of the door, causing it to bend inward. Leaping agilely to one side, he allowed a third wolf to drive its paws violently through the upper panel. The door, now hanging by a single hinge, was immediately driven inward and flattened to the earthen floor by a fourth wolf's assault. Maugrim immediately entered, looking from side to side in the extremely dim light admitted by the open door and narrow windows. The emptiness of the long-abandoned structure elicited a dull grunt from the leader, who bounded quickly out the doorway to lead his immediate followers in pursuit of the pack.
Ingmar Gruffin, a young wolf, running smoothly along the pack's right flank, glanced briefly to one side and glimpsed a red object caught in a barren bush. With a gruff bark, he signaled to the nearby wolves before shearing off laterally. He quickly reached the bush and jumped up high to grasp the object in his teeth. It proved a long stocking cap—and it smelled strongly of Humans. Ingmar growled ominously and moved swiftly back to the pack. Maugrim took one look at the long, red object streaming from Ingmar's jaw as he loped along beside him, gave a bark of surprise and came to an abrupt halt, impelling the rest of the pack to collide with each other in sudden upheaval. Sniffing and snarling at the cap, the lead beasts discussed the situation.
"This belonged to the little interloper," Maugrim growled assertively. "Good find, Ingmar."
Suddenly, there was a high-pitched squawk, similar to that of a bird of prey, and then a flurry of bat-like wings. The wolves looked up, surprised.
A pair of Harpies had arrived. "The she-human has escaped!" panted one with a crackly sort of voice, endeavoring to land in the deep snow. "And—the centaur, Orieus, taken her!"
The wolf pack growled viciously.
"The queen orders you to make for the borders of Archenland as swiftly as you may, and scour the area. They must be found!"
Maugrim's chilling howl rose, as the snow-clouds obscured the moon. "You heard the Harpy! Haste! Smell them out!"
To Be Continued…
