A/N: This is not Golden Age. I apologise. I'll leave it to you to figure out what book it's from. :)

So...tis a rather dark chapter. If you'll pardon the pun. *snicker* I'm not really sure what brought this on...just a vague idea about Eustace going through the stable door, and wondering how some Calormene managed to get him weaponless. But I had to post something, so here you are.

5.

Pain.

He folds over, screaming wordlessly as the searing blaze of agony shreds thought and reason. Through the fog, he wonders why it took so long to hit him.

He's tired of fighting in the dark. He fought with his own fear the first time, staring blindly out into the darkness of Nightmare and remaining only about a footstep from yanking his sword from his sheath. The second time was worse—the blackness was all around them for an age, closing in while they wandered and wandered and struggled with their minds until at last the serpent's head flopped to the floor.

But this time. Not only is there darkness around them, as the night closes in, held back by the satanic red glow of the fire, but another darkness hangs over the land, weighs his soul down, seeps into his very mind even as he clashes swords with the scimitar of a man. His face is dark too.

They're all dark. The night is full of dark figures whirling to and fro, stabbing and skittering away. Flashes of red come from their armor. Come from the wounds they hold as they stagger backward, retreating, retreating.

The drums seem to herald the darkness. As they pound and pound and pound he wants to drop his sword and turn and cover his ears with his hands like a child. Because he hates it. Hates the dark. He always has and he always will.

The scimitar sweeps by him, catching him in the knee in the moment of hesitation as he listens to the drums. They're everywhere—swarming around him. Not only these warriors from the dark, but the cries of the dead—the scream of a Unicorn—the howl of a wolf. He feels himself jerk backward and looks down to see a scimitar sticking out of him.

He falls to his knees, slowly. There seems to be some commotion around him, someone shouting at him even though he hasn'thasn't done anything. Then the pain hits and his scream joins that of the Unicorn and wolf, ringing in the air like bells of death.

The man before him jerks the scimitar out of him and begins to drag him. An animal reflex lunges up in Eustace, who suddenly knows that even death, even this closing in of the dark around the corners of his vision—anything is better than the Stable. He fights the man. He thrashes, curses, ignores the steadily growing splotch of wetness under his torn coat of mail.

But it's no good. He hears someone else scream and just before the Calormene flings him through the doorway, Eustace turns and sees Jill, although it's a wonder he can see anything now that everything's gotten so dark. Then he's through and the door slams behind him and he wonders how long it will take him to die.

Voices. He hears voices and the sound of footsteps on cool turf. To his utter astonishment, the pain subsides, then vanishes, along with the darkness that had poisoned his mind. He feels fresh. Cool. Light.

Light is what he sees when he opens his eyes—the light of a sunny meadow with flowers—a light that's reflected in the eyes of his cousins as they bend over him and help him to his feet.

And suddenly, Eustace isn't afraid of the dark anymore.