Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the wait. I hope it's mildly entertaining.

Lucy's large brown eyes opened on a world of barren whiteness. Except for the faint shadows of a few far-off snow-laden trees and outstanding snow clumps, there was nothing but white in the landscape as far as they could see.

The blizzard that had lasted through most of the night had given way to complete calm by the morning, but the clouds remained low and menacing. It was astonishingly dark, though clearly day.

Orieus laboriously stood, shaking the snow off his back. His winter coat of fur and hot horse blood were usually enough to keep him warm, but the night before's weather, doubtless sent by the queen in order to hinder their progress, had nearly been the death of him. If he had not had such a pressing reason for staying alive…he wasn't sure. Lucy proved exceedingly resilient, however. She had recovered splendidly. Orieus saw no reason why they couldn't continue their flight. "But we must be careful," he cautioned. "Though our trail is cold, we will be completely obvious if anyone spots us – even from a great distance away."

Lucy found her feet. She was glad that she had dressed warmly on her foray into Narnia, though she now extremely regretted having come at all. She shivered involuntarily as her breath emerged in a wisp of mist.

Orieus stamped. "Come, my queen. We must hurry."

Lucy felt as though an icy shadow lay on her heart. Would she ever get home again? If she did manage to escape from Narnia, what then? There was no way back. "Why does the queen want to kill me?" she finally asked, dolefully.

"Because she is a tyrant and pretender to the throne and fears deposal by the true sovereigns. But no more time for questions, I'm afraid. I don't think we are safe here." Orieus knelt down so Lucy could mount. "Now, I am not certain of our exact location, but—"

"Where are we heading? You said something about Archenland?"

"Not to Archenland in due course, no," replied Orieus, testing the slickness of the compacted snow beneath the fresh snow with his hand. After judging it to his satisfaction, he stood up. "I will not endanger them. Colormen and the lands beyond are our only hope for escaping the witch. Now, traversing the pass into Archenland, that way—" he indicated a range of snowcapped mountains far beyond that Lucy had not noticed before. "—will be dangerous, but I'm afraid there is no other path that would avail us. If we are fortunate, we will be in Archenland by sunset."

Orieus gradually broke into a smooth canter. There was no way to cover up the signs that they had spent the night there, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. The scent would remain unless it began to storm again and the wind scattered it. Lucy held on tightly as they steadily neared the foothills.

They had gone on for some time, as quietly as possible, when Orieus suddenly stopped.

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A small but dense grove of snow-covered cedar saplings stood in the shade of a hillock. Behind, concealed in the shadow, Lucy sat on Orieus' back. The centaur listened intently for the sounds he had heard earlier – a snarling and scuffling, very faint and far off. At length, he said, "There is someone coming."

"What do you think it is?"

"Whatever it is, there's more than one. Keep silent."

At length, Orieus peered around the furthest sapling, then quickly darted back behind. "Centaurs," he whispered. "Five or six. I can't see them well enough to tell who they are." He sighed. "They're following my tracks. We have to make a run for it. Hold tight." He drew a deep breath, a determined gleam in his eyes, and shot off at a crisp gallop over the hill, throwing up a shower of snow in his wake. He didn't glance behind, but he knew that the other centaurs had marked them and were giving chase.

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"Your Highness," the frozen-haired wolf panted gruffly at the canvas door of the ornate blue and white pavilion.

Rising from where she had been reclining on her mink fur-upholstered divan, the queen silently stole across the pavilion and threw open the door. "Vardan. What news?" she asked coldly, fingering the silver handle of her wand.

"Well, Excellency," began Vardan, grappling for words. He shuddered and looked behind him, then looked back. "To tell you the truth…. We…our wolf-pack…. We were attacked."

"By whom?" The queen's grip on her wand tightened and her expression hardened.

"A—a party of centaurs, Your Worshipful Majesty."

"A party of centaurs? Who?"

"There were perhaps fifteen, My Queen. Andore and Naron were among them."

The witch narrowed her eyes. "The very centaurs I sent out," she said distantly, but with veiled disdain and rage.

"We fought well, but they—"

The witch cut him to the point. "How many wolves does Maugrim have yet?"

"Well, Majesty…." The wolf trembled noticeably. "He…he was…. Maugrim is no more. I alone escaped from the slaughter to tell you."

The queen cursed, instinctively raising her wand toward Vardan. After a moment, however, she thought better of it. She had another use for him in mind.

Vardan was visibly relieved.

"Now, wolf-scum," the witch snarled, "your next task bears the weight of your life. If you fail in carrying out its completion, you know the consequence. You are to make haste to the castle. Enter quietly and call all the remaining Minotaurs together. Give them the following orders from their queen: they are to kill every centaur in my employ. Go."

Vardan kicked up a powder of snow in his haste to leave.