Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.

For those of you who like long chapters, here's one.

Chapter Fifteen

"Susan!" Peter cried out again.

"Brothers," she said, a cool smile on her full lips as she took Zeier's arm. "How good of you to come. And you, good General Orieus."

"Queen Susan," I said, my voice sounding thin to my own ears.

Still she smiled. "But, as my King says, there is no need for a show of force."

The shock on her brothers' faces was no doubt mirrored on my own. She was alive. The Gentle Queen was alive. And yet she was this renegade's willing consort?

Edmund only stared up at her, lips trembling as he fought to speak. To comprehend. His breath came so quickly, I thought he might lose consciousness.

Peter shook his head in bewildered disbelief. "Su. We thought– What are you doing?"

"What do you think, my brother? One quarter of this kingdom is my own. My King wishes to have this quarter, and I wish you to give it to him. A dowery, if you like."

"Susan–"

"But, no, I will come down to the gate and let you in. And we shall discuss it, and you shall see the true worth of my King."

Zeier grinned down on them and then turned to Susan. "No, My Queen. Gatekeeping is the task of peasants and slaves. We shall greet your brothers as befits the meeting of monarchs. In our throne room. If you will be so good as to wait, High King, I shall order the gates opened and you and all yours shall be welcomed in."

Before Peter could answer, Susan clasped her hands in a desperate plea. "No, Peter, no! They're waiting for you! Don't come in! Don't come in!"

She broke free from the Calormene and ran along the top of the wall. Cursing her by all the gods of Calormen, he chased her up into one of the turrets,.

"Let her go!" Peter shouted. "Let her go! Sher!"

The Gryphon leapt into the air just as Queen Susan's death-white face appeared at the very top. The High King pointed to the Beast with his sword, and with a faint smile of comprehension, Susan nodded. Then, glancing back, she gave a convincing and very piercing shriek and leapt.

Zeier was only a few seconds behind her, but when he reached the top of the turret, his prize was gone. He had not seen the Gryphon spirit her away.

"Two-faced harlot!" Zeier screamed looking down into the chasm at the base of the castle. "So you would wed death rather than your King? The curse of Tash upon you! Open the gates!" His howls echoed as he ran back down and out onto the wall once more. "Open the gates!"

Already the gates were swinging open. Already Zeier's men were coming out. But, with the High King in the lead and his brother at his right hand, we charged in on them, driving them back inside. Then I saw our mistake. This was not just the twenty or so men we knew Zeier had with him. We knew from the Wolf that others had joined him, but this was twenty times the men we expected and scores of the Fell besides. Dwarfs and Ogres, Trolls and Werewolves, a pair of Minotaurs and a Minoboar, Goblins, Wolves and other creatures for which I had no name poured out into the courtyard.

We fought our way to the tower where we had last seen Zeier, and Peter and Edmund leapt off their mounts.

"Go," Phillip urged the younger colt, and then he turned back into the fray, hooves and teeth cutting a swath through a half-dozen Goblins before he disappeared into the throng.

Edmund gave him no more than a worried glance before following his brother into the castle's great hall. I barely had time to notice that Zeier had set up another throne where the White Witch's had once stood before the renegade made his appearance at the foot of the stairs.

"Bring me the High King!" he cried, and a pack of Wolves, lean and vicious, leapt forward, snarling.

Peter charged into their midst, no doubt determined to get to Zeier himself, and Edmund and I were behind him. But more of the Calormene's men and creatures swarmed into the great hall, surrounding us. Our own soldiers swept in from the courtyard, driving them back, courageous against the bitter odds.

"Turn and fight, Centaur."

I spun to my left and saw an Ogre lumbering towards me, beady eyes glinting in the torchlight. I swung my blade, meaning to take off his head, but he turned just in time, his spiked club clashing with my sword, throwing it and me backwards. Edmund scurried to my side, and we both rushed towards the creature, our weapons flashing, but he ducked and swung his club again, low this time, sweeping us both off our feet like pawns off a chessboard.

I tumbled against the dark colt, pinning him against the floor and the wall, driving the air from his lungs.

"Majesty!"

I tried to move, but my forelegs would not support my weight. The right was twisted and bloodied and burned with pain. The left was merely numb. Useless.

"Edmund, get up! Get out!"

He struggled against me. I could feel his legs churning under me, but he could not free himself. I reached for my weapon, but the Ogre merely shoved it further out of my grasp with his misshapen foot, a gurgle of laughter low in his throat. Edmund gripped his sword more tightly, but that, too, was useless, and the Ogre knew it.

He leered down on us, bouncing his club against his leathery palm. I could feel Edmund's chest against my side, rising and falling with his rapid breathing, but his jaw was set and he did not look away from the Ogre's tiny, murderous eyes as the creature lumbered closer.

I turned my body, doing the best I could to put myself between my King and death, and abruptly the Ogre stopped. For a moment he looked puzzled, and then he toppled forward, landing heavily on me, sending another wave of pain through my body and forcing another groaning gasp from the colt still trapped next to me.

"Edmund!" The High King ripped his sword out of the creature's back and then tried to push him off of us. "Oreius, are you hurt? Is Edmund?"

"Behind you!"

At my shout, Peter whirled and leapt aside, and the battleaxe a Dwarf had thrown at him landed deep into the back of the already dead Ogre. With a flash of Rhindon, Peter made quick work of the Dwarf and then of the three Wolves who leapt snarling at him.

"My sword!" I cried, and he shoved the weapon across the floor, back within my reach just in time for me to dispatch another Dwarf. A third swung at me with his pikestaff, hitting me in the throat before I relieved him of his head, but there were too many now.

Peter was hacking through bodies right and left, Harpies and Goblins and Werewolves, men and Dwarfs, but they still came. Our men were falling at his side, at his back, and still the enemy came. Still Peter fought them off. As best I was able, I fought along with him, and then there was a sudden shout.

"Hold!"

It was Zeier. He stood, still in his stolen cloak, surrounded by his soldiers, stained with the blood of good men and Beasts, grinning in triumph.

"See, High King? It is no use. Surrender now and spare what is left of your men. Those who will serve me shall be allowed to live. The rest . . . "

He shrugged, and Peter's eyes narrowed.

"And my brother?"

Zeier smiled faintly. "I fear neither of you can be allowed to remain. You would be a constant rallying point for rebellion, even if you were kept in chains. But I swear upon my honor, you and your brother and your brave General there as well, you will all be given merciful deaths."

I opened my mouth to tell him my opinion of his mercy, but I could do no more than croak. That Dwarf's pikestaff had bruised my throat and taken most of my voice. I glared instead.

"And the Queen Lucy?" Peter asked. "Shall I merely leave her unprotected?"

I felt Edmund go very still beside me and I could hear his strained breathing.

Zeier considered. "She would be a fine replacement for her sister. She, too, would make me a worthy consort. You need not worry about the Valiant Queen. I will console her for your loss, and your line will yet rule here in Narnia."

"I see." Peter nodded, voice and expression mild. "So you will have not only my men and my kingdom and my sister, but my brother's life and mine?"

Zeier only shrugged. "The spoils to the victor, High King. Now what say you? You cannot win here. Will you fight on or surrender and spare the blood of your soldiers?"

Our men looked at Peter, waiting for him to speak, waiting for him to seal their fates and his own. The High King glanced back at me and then at his brother. The dark colt's eyes were fixed on him, but there was nothing of fear in them. Trapped and helpless as he was, he merely tightened his grip on his sword as I did on mine. Neither of us could speak, but there was no need. We were all three of one mind.

Peter turned back to Zeier, shoulders straight, head held high. Despite his hands being bruised and bloody, his face streaked with dirt and his hair plastered to his head with sweat, he drew himself up, golden and magnificent, blue eyes cold fire as he looked on this would-be King.

"You will take nothing more from me. No more of my family. No more of my subjects, nor my soldiers, nor my kingdom. And not–" He pointed Rhindon at Zeier's heart. "–not the place and name of King. Not here in Narnia. Not while Aslan is still her good Lord."

Once more he looked back at me and at his brother. His own eyes burning with resolve, Edmund nodded.

Peter turned to the men, sword now lifted high. "For Narnia! And for Aslan!"

Shouting as one, our soldiers sprang upon the enemy. Peter rushed at Zeier himself, surely thinking that no serpent could live long once its head was off. At first the Calormene laughed, for though the older colt was nearly his height, he was not so broad, and he was not so fresh. Zeier had allowed his men to take the brunt of the battle until now. Not so the High King. It was beginning to tell on him, but still he fought on.

I could do nothing to help him, crippled as I was. But I was determined to defend my other charge as long as I was able. I could still feel Edmund trying to wriggle free. I tried to move, but I could not manage it. In a way, I was glad. Anyone who got to him would have to go through me. I would not live to see any of my Sovereigns die.

Before long I began to feel some hope. Our men were winning. The Fell were dying or being driven back. The High King had forced Zeier into a corner of the chamber and loomed over him, slashing the sword from his hand.

"Call off your men! Call them off and we shall spare you!"

Zeier shrank away from him, shrank farther into the corner snarling like a whipped cur. Then I saw his face change. There was a telling little smirk on his lips, and I followed his line of sight to the Troll who was lumbering towards him and my King, club raised to bash in Peter's head.

I tried to call out a warning, but again my words came out only as a hoarse croak. I flailed my legs, desperate to stand, but that also was futile. I could feel Edmund thrashing against me. He saw it, too. He saw and was helpless to warn his brother.

He beat the hilt of his sword against the wall, but the sound did not carry over the din of battle. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, frustrated tears filling his eyes as the Troll drew closer. I could hear his gasps as he fought to make a sound, any sound.

"Call off your men, High King," Zeier said, his smile growing into a sneer. "Call them off or–"

"PETER!"

I caught a hard breath. Edmund!

Peter whirled at the sound of his brother's voice and then ducked as the Troll swung his club. It whooshed over his head and, before the Troll could swing again, the High King had stabbed Rhindon clean through him. Then Peter pulled the blade free and brought it to Zeier's throat, still dripping the creature's black blood.

"Surrender, Zeier, or before Aslan, I will have your head."

All around us, the Calormene's men were dropping their weapons, raising their hands and pleading for mercy. Others preferred death to surrender. Zeier's eyes darted around the chamber in desperation, and then he lifted his chin in defiance.

"I will be King or I will be nothing. Finish it."

Peter only glared at him, panting with effort and with restraint.

Zeier glared back, eyes blazing. "Strike, man! Strike!"

And Peter did.

Author's Note: "Strike, man! Strike!" was the last thing Sir Walter Raleigh said before he was beheaded. I just happened to like it and wanted to use it here.

Also, if you are the person who made a story suggestion to me a few days ago, and I told you I'd put that on my list, please PM me. I can't remember what you suggested or anything. I just remember I wanted to use that suggestion. Please contact me!