Title: The Taste of Murder
Author: Rolletti
This story takes place during the Golden Age.

Ages: Peter 18. Susan: 17, Edmund 15, Lucy 13

No Slash What So Ever

Disclaimer: Yep, I do not own any part of C.S. Lewis' works, and I'm still regrettably poor.

The Taste of Murder Chapter VII

"What have you done?" screamed Galenor, hostility etched in every word as he saw his men…dead.

"I did warn them," said Edmund as he quickly ripped the bottom of his tunic. The cloth was used to wipe the spray of blood off the girl's hands and hurt faces. He wanted to take care of all three men himself, but after the five seconds it took to kill the one, the others were falling to the ground dead and the girls were replacing their weapons. It was comforting to know his sisters knew how to protect themselves, but he hated the unseen blood that stained their hands.

Galenor was stunned beyond all reason as he stared at the slaughtered bodies of his three men. He couldn't believe he was actually staring at three dead men and three calm children. He was beginning to believe the children delved into the practices of the dark art. There was no other explanation. For years kidnapped children were his easy meal ticket. It took little to draw them away from their families; a piece of sweet here, a cute little puppy there, and frightening the older ones with a story to kill their parents if they didn't come along. Galenor had been in the business for years and never had he seen children, not just children, but deadly children who looked deceptively pure and innocent.

Had he been there, Galenor would have seen the three men charging with the intent to kill against his wishes. He would have been just as surprised as Dananal to see a sharp protruding blade spring from the toe of Edmund's boot as he spun and sliced Dananal's shins through the bone. When the man fell screaming like a child, the same blade found itself thrust into his right temple and his throat neatly cut.

Galenor didn't see the sorrow in the eyes of the gentle queen when she realized she would have to kill the man who charged at her with a horrific knife. With a twitch of her hand out dropped the second arrow she secretly made earlier, and hid it up her sleeve. The man dropped expecting some trickery, but he didn't see the third arrow as it was plunged with great force into the back of his neck. His body lay twitching on the ground as his eyes went dark.

The man at Lucy's feet clutched a clean knife, but blood seeped from his missing right eye and his chest lay wide open. Once again, had Galenor been keen enough to spot it, Lucy had a hidden sheath in her very stylish upturned hair that housed a thin yet strong blade. Like Edmund, she knew it was always best to be prepared for the unexpected.

Galenor and his men were left with the thought of just how did the children kill the three. So well trained were the Kings and Queens of Narnia that every weapon was quickly returned to their hidden places, and they stood before their captors as regal as ever.

The room was quiet except for the heavy breathing of their captors. Whether it was from shock, fear, or their short sprint, no one knew…if they bothered to care.

"Why you…you…" stuttered Galenor.

Edmund stepped in front of the girls possessively and whispered, "Careful."

The men looked at each other with mixed emotions of fear and rage. "Release us, Galenor. Do you believe my brother is looking to rescue us only? He's hunting you and your people," said Edmund, never breaking eye contact as he slowly took a threatening step forward. "I can guarantee you that he is bathing in the blood of those that left, seeking to escape their sentencing. Once he finds us here, there will be no stopping him."

The blood drained from the men's faces as they fell on top of each other as they tried to run. "Get back here you mangy mongrels! Get those bodies out of here!" shouted Galenor as he shoved three men back into the room and left; too angry—and scared to discuss anything.

The men wouldn't get too close to the children. Only close enough to pull the bodies near before they could get a good grip on them and dragged them out, leaving a horrific crimson trail. The last man to leave, with his back to the hall and eyes on the children, slipped on the crimson mess as he tried to close the door. He quickly rolled to his feet and froze crouched low with his hands up in defense towards Edmund and the girls. He slowly backed away and closed the door quietly as possible despite the rusty hinges.

Edmund released a sigh and turned to assess his sisters. Are you alright," he asked with concern.

"Susan, you're bleeding!" shouted Lucy as she saw the blood dripping on the floor.

Edmund gasped when he rolled up his sister's torn sleeve and found a jagged gash. Stinging prickles from head to toe covered his entire body when he saw the amount of blood flow.

"It's not quite as bad as all that, really," said Susan as she was gently led to a crate. Lucy took a closer look as she heard another rip from Edmund's tunic. All three stood defensively and faced the door when once again it slowly creaked opened.

It was Yori. He carried two buckets filled to the brim with water. One, he lay at Edmund's feet. The second, he washed away the dead men's blood off the floor, making sure to swoosh it outside the door. He vanished only to return a few times more to complete the job. Satisfied the gory mess was gone, Yori stood close, but not to close, to the royal family. He knew Edmund was wound up tight enough to kill anyone with a glance. For the first time he saw the gash in Susan's arm and became alarmed. "Is she alright?" he stammered. Neither Lucy nor Edmund acknowledged him as they continued to work on their sister.

"Hold it Lu while I tie," directed Edmund, his hands shook. Susan bit her bottom lip, refusing to cry out. That did not go unnoticed by Edmund as he made eye contact with her. He kissed her injured arm and cheek before returning to the task. Once he was satisfied with his work, he looked both girls over thoroughly and quickly drew them up into a much-relieved hug. Yori flushed, not used to the affectionate display as he saw Edmund's fingers turn white clutching the girls, his expression fierce, hurtful, deadly.

"Yori, I believe you should leave. Once Peter sees my sister's condition, I promise you he won't be satisfied until every man is dead," he said as he rubbed his cheek on top of Susan's head; pain in his voice. "I would have lost my mind and killed everyone myself had I not seen the man fall to his death. My brother is going to destroy all in his path," said Edmund quietly, prophetically. "And I won't be able to protect you."

"Oh no, Ed, you must try! Yori is dead if he tries to escape," cried Lucy from Edmund's chest.

Edmund only watched Yori with suspicion. He didn't trust anyone.

NnNnNnN

Peter's hair was plastered to his head as rivulets of sweat continued to run down his neck into his tunic. His tongue felt rough, as if he'd licked dry, hot sand for the past hour. Everyone was busy at their tasks setting up camp as he looked around. He was extremely thirsty. The trickling stream enticed him as he saw it glittering through the trees. Darkness would soon be upon them and he didn't want to disrupt anyone from their duty. The stream wasn't far enough to alarm his company if he took a trek through the woods, so he left for a cool refreshing drink without his guard; despite Oreius' past warnings. As the minutes passed, his thirst became unbearable. He nearly ran to the smooth flowing temptation, as he contemplated jumping in instead to kill two birds with one stone. Boy was he hot.

The cool wind blew on his hot face as he took refuge in the shade of the trees leading a path towards the bank. The heat was quite dizzying as he focused on the cool refreshing water ahead. A twig snapped from behind. He froze. All thoughts of quenching the desert inside his mouth were lost. Peter slowly took in his surroundings as he pulled Rhindon from its sheath. His instinct told him he was being watched as his muscles rippled under his tunic.

The occasional breeze moved branches and leaves while squirrels chased each other back and forth from tree to tree. But the insects were quiet and the tweeting of nearby birds were quiet. There was a sudden eruption of squawks in the trees as birds flew away in protest. Three men jumped out of hiding and ran towards Peter bellowing their death cry. All three had one purpose…kill the pale faced menace. Within Peter a firestorm ignited as he stood waiting for his enemies to come to him. He couldn't wait to rip their screaming souls from their bodies. It never occurred to him to question the whereabouts of his guards, nor did the thought cross his mind to signal for them. Peter attacked. After disarming the man that reached him first, Peter grabbed him by the tunic and stared into his eyes. The man never saw anything so frightening. Standing nose to nose, Peter slit his throat and tossed him away like foul rubbish. The second man was stabbed between the eyes, but he did not fall before he felt the warm release of his own urine.

The last waited his turn. He was a tall, mighty oak of a man. Impressively thick and solid, cords of muscles rivaled all in his company. His eyes followed Peter as he wore a casual smirk. Eyes of steel fully dilated, intent and focused on the king who he knew was destined to die by his sword. But like all mighty trees they fall…hard. As he lay in shock and disbelief, he felt the hot breath of the insane king in his ear. "Where. Are. They?" Peter ground out.

Too busy whimpering, the man nick named, the Destroyer, couldn't answer Peter's question. A sudden shift happened within the king that it was almost audible; he smiled. "I'm going to ask you a question and you're going to answer." Peter wiped the sweat off the man's forehead with the sleeve of his tunic. "All right?" he said calmly. "My siblings, no doubt you know who they are, or you wouldn't be out here trying to kill me. Where are they? A fair skinned, handsome boy and two of the most beautiful girls you have ever seen. Where, where would you say they are?"

Scared witless, Destroyer didn't answer, but it was a mistake that he immediately regretted. With Peter's boot pressing his head into the ground, the man screamed as he felt the sharp tip of Rhindon cut deep into his spine. "Where are my siblings? Tell me! No, wake up!" Peter slapped the man back to full consciousness. "You will not die until you have told me what I want to know," Peter promised as he severed another open nerve. The man screamed for mercy.

"Mercy? Mercy? Did you have mercy on my subjects when you hacked them to pieces? Did you have mercy when you made their children orphans? What of my siblings? Did you harm them? Did you show them any mercy? TELL ME!"

"I didn't touch them!" Destroyer screamed through the excruciating pain.

"You will not rest if you do not tell me what I want to know, I promise to hunt and torment you for eternity. I…I" Peter's vision began to spin out of control as he became incoherent. Searing flames consumed him as his thirst craved water more than blood. Hot, he was so hot. All went dark.

"Go, send for Oreius, the king is regaining consciousness!" said the physician. The Squirrel in his joy ran as fast as he could, shouting the message along the way. Great sighs of relief moved throughout the camp like a wave, reaching Oreius before the messenger could.

"There, there, Your Majesty," said the physician when Peter instantly grabbed him by the throat. "All is well now that you've broken the fever. You gave us quite a scare the past three days," said the Faun.

Peter looked around and found he was in his tent. The royal Narnian colors darkened his room, but he was able to see Rhindon lay nearby. He slowly released the physician, unsure of his own mind.

"Here drink this, it will make you feel better. Wait, now nice and slow. You wouldn't want that to come back up. You've done enough of that all ready."

"The man, what happened to that man? Did he say where they are holding my family? Did he die?"

"What man?" asked the physician looking curiously at the king. "We haven't seen anyone for days. The scouts have been out on patrol but they haven't found any clues yet. I'm sure it was just a dream. Don't you worry Your Majesty, all will be well soon. We'll find them. Now lay back and…" Peter dropped his bowl of medicinal tea when the physician gasped. They both looked at the sword blade that was protruding from the Fauns chest.

Destroyer stood there bloodied with a nasty smile as he pulled his sword out of the Faun. "Remember me?" he said before he grabbed the king by the tunic, raising his blade high above Peter's head and…

"There, there Your Majesty. That's it, wake up. Give me a wet cloth he still burning up," said the Dwarf physician to a Hare. "Tell Oreius he's awake."

"What is going on," Peter croaked as the physician exchanged the cool cloth on his forehead.

The doctor was sympathetic as he shushed the king, delicately pushing him back onto the pillow. He was deeply concerned as he looked at the whites of Peter's eyes. Well, they were supposed to be white. He placed his ear on the king's chest, furrowing his brows even more. The decaying smell that was coming from Peter frightened him. He didn't think he would make it another day. "Everything is fine now that you've awaken. All is well and complete," he gave the king a secretive smile. "If you can remain awake a bit more you'll see a special surprise…" The doctor was interrupted by the lift of the flap of the tent. Peter looked over to see the general enter, but was surprised to see another.

"Edmund!"

Edmund rushed to Peter with unshed tears and an unfulfilled ache to touch his big brother; something they both have been denied for a week. Peter openly cried, and in his weaken state, slowly stretched out his arms to receive his brother, his king. A hairs breath away Edmund frown as he was suddenly snatched away, clawing and digging his fingers into the ground as he was pulled out of the tent. Peter screamed, "Nooooo, Edmund," and fought his way to…

"Please, Your Majesty, wake up!" A stinging slap across Peter's face silenced his cry as his eyes flew open. Breathing out of control, achy eyes and muscles, Peter took in his surroundings with caution. "Are you real?"

The Dwarf looked on in sympathy. "Yes, Your Majesty. I am very real. Please forgive the slap, you left me no choice." His brows drew downward as he placed a cool cloth on Peter's forehead, "I've always wanted to be in the chronicles, but I never thought I'd be known as the Dwarf who slapped the High King. What a legacy," he sighed in disgust.

Just then Oreius stepped in and started when he saw Peter awake. "Don't just stand there, come in. Has that overgrown parakeet come back yet? He's still running a fever and looks like the walking dead, cept he aint walking."

"No, Gryphon Baor hasn't been seen." Oreius found it hard to walk further in, so overcome with relief and thanksgiving. He slowly approached Peter who looked at him with confusion. Oreius' big hands touched the king's hot cheeks and frowned. "How are you feeling?" The physician wasn't surprised by the open affection Oreius displayed. Everyone knew how the big, rough and tough general felt about the royals. He shows no mercy with the kings on the training grounds and accept no excuses. But let them get sick and his whole world grounds to a halt. Oreius never had any children of his own, but the kings and queens came very close.

"I feel like the giants used me as their favorite toy on Christmas morning." Peter groaned. "What happened to me?"

"Here, drink this. Oreius move out of the way! For someone as big as you, you are always under foot. Now Majesty, sip this slowly. Nasty stuff it is, hopefully it will help some."

Peter grimaced from the smell alone and weakly pushed it away.

"Don't give me reason to apologize later. Sip. It." the physician threatened.

Too weak to fight, and knowing full well Dacor would not feel sorry when he apologized, Peter accepted the medicinal tea. Oreius reached out to hold the bowl steady when Peter began to shake. It was an awkward position for the Centaur because the bed was too low, but no task was too small for Oreius concerning his king.

"This is vile, Doctor! Can't you ever come up with something that tastes decent?" asked Peter as he tried to suck the taste off his tongue.

"The next time you think about doing something foolish that will put your life in danger trust me, you will think about this and reconsider your actions. This will be waiting for you every time. It hasn't worked yet, but I'll keep administering it till it does," said the physician as he took the bowl away and exited the tent.

"When we get back to the Cair," said Peter weakly, "Put him in the dungeon."

Oreius smiled as he shook his head. "Well, your sense of humor has returned.

"I'm not kidding," said Peter. "What happened, Oreius?"

Oreius' expression turned grave. "As we ran for our lives the Hzans were right behind us; to close for comfort. We escaped and did not stop running until our legs couldn't carry us anymore. Larger soldiers picked up their smaller brothers and they ran; no one was left behind. When we were at a safe distance we all stopped to gather our senses. That is when you fell to the ground in a fit of convulsions." Oreius relived the tale as he recounted the days of not knowing if his king will live or die.

*.*.*.*.

"Your Majesty!" A Mongoose screamed. "Dacor come quick!"

Peter's eyes rolled back, his tongue curled towards the back of his throat as his entire body shook uncontrollably. Dacor ran towards Peter with his medical bag and pushed everyone out of his way. "WHAT HAPPENED?" he screamed, accusing no one in particular and yet everyone.

"WHAT IS IT DACOR? WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM?" demanded Oreius.

The physician ignored him as he tried to help Peter. "You, yes you, come here. Hold him. GENTLEY NOW!" he yelled as he held Peter's tongue down with a depressor. "Get me some water, he's burning up! Set up his tent. Oreius get moving, you're in charge here do I have to do everything!" Everyone nerves were on edge to see their king in such an unexpected state. The responsibilities of unpacking the king's tent and setting up camp proved to be quite a task. Every soldier was worried. They would pause within the hustle and bustle of setting up camp and looked to see if the king lived. The convulsions had stopped, but the king was unconscious and his fever spiked higher.

"Oh no," Those close enough who heard stopped in their tracks.

"What is it, Dracor?" asked Oreius, his brows drawn in worry.

"Look here, on his back. There is a half inch cut. He was barely grazed by a Hzan tooth. You know how deadly that is. Help me get him into the tent. I hope he last through the night."

*.*.*.*.

"You've been plagued by nightmares, fighting imaginary enemies for the past three days," Oreius informed.

Peter swallowed weakly and hesitantly asked, "Oreius, is my brother here?"

Oreius looked away. He couldn't bear to look at the king, the indescribable hope in his fevered eyes were unbearable.

"He was just a dream then…again," Peter looked away.

"Baor was sent ahead to find them. We need Queen Lucy's cordial. We are hoping it will fight off the effects of the poison. Because you were infected with so little it might work. Had it been half an inch more or deeper…praise Aslan you are alive.

"I have my own," whispered Peter. "Lucy refused to let Edmund and I out of her sight without a small vial of it since day one."

"What? Peter!" Oreius stood stunned as countless memories flashed before his eyes of Peter or Edmund lay injured. "We will disgust this later. Where is it?"

Before he could answer Peter fainted.

Tbc (^_^)