Author's Note: Here we go again! Another chapter for you, loyal readers. I am so sorry this was not posted sooner…it's been in my writing binder that I take to work with me to use at lunch for almost a week, but I've been so busy in the evenings that I haven't had time to sit down and type it up. My apologies, and with luck the next chapter should be out soon. Don't forget to review!

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Danger From All Sides

Thump-thump…thump-thump…thump-thump…

Aislynn clung tightly to Destrier's reins as the massive stallion raced along among the trees. Her aunt clung to her waist just as tightly in order to stay on as they left the How further behind with every stride. Although most of her attention was focused on their path and guiding their mount through the forested ravine, part of her mind was back at the How with the rest of her family. Father must be in combat with Miraz by now. I hope his skill with the sword is as good as everyone claims. I don't want to lose him before I really get to know him. Mighty Aslan, keep my family safe, please.

Other than giving her somewhat terse directions, Lucy had been silent. Aislynn was fairly certain that the young Queen was praying as fervently for her brother's safety as she was. After all, Lucy stood to lose as much as Aislynn, just in a different way, if they failed. She only hoped that neither of them lost anything in this horrible conflict.

They had been riding for almost a half hour now, as close as she could figure, and thus far she had seen no sign of the Lion, but Lucy had seen him near the Dancing Lawn, and they were still some distance from there. She only hoped that they wouldn't have to go all the way there before Aslan showed himself.

A horn blast shattered the forest – not a Narnian horn either. Aislynn felt Lucy stiffen as shouts followed the horn. "They've seen us!" the youngest Queen cried.

Aislynn glanced around quickly and spotted Telmarine riders on the ridge above them. She released the reins with one hand and used it to slap Destrier's neck. "Yah! Ride on!" she cried to the stallion as she gave him more rein. They had to lose that patrol!

Destrier responded to the encouragement and the free rein with a snort before quickening his pace, lunging into the extra rein with each stride. Now was the moment when the two girls would find the true value of Caspian's prized stallion. It would be his speed and endurance that would see them safely through. Caspian had told them that Destrier was one of the swiftest and strongest horses in the stables, so with luck and Aslan's blessing, the black stallion would be able to gain enough distance on their pursuers that they could lose them among the trees.

Branches whipped past them as Destrier's long strides powered them forward, following a small stream that would eventually feed into the river Lucy and her siblings had crossed at the great gorge where she had seen Aslan. Aislynn kept her eyes ahead, not glancing back to see if they had lost the Telmarines. She could only hope that Destrier was swifter and fresher, or that there was no way down from that ridge. They needed more time! Aslan, please!

Whuff ….whuff …whuff …came the horse's steady breaths as he ran.

"Come on Destrier!" she called, trying to encourage the stallion further. The stallion's ears were swept back, listening to his rider's commands.

"They're still there!" Lucy yelled into Aislynn's ear. "They're having no trouble keeping up! They have a clearer path!"

"We have to get out of this ravine!" Aislynn called back. She started scanning the sloping sides, looking for some place where they could ride to the top – a path, a game trail, even an easing of the slope – she would take anything at this point.

Whuff…whuff…whuff…

Destrier's snorted breaths seemed louder in her ears as the shouts and horns from the riders up on the ridge sounded again. They had to get up to the ridge! Aslan!

Thump-thump…thump-thump…thump-thump…her heartbeat was as loud in her ears as Destrier's hoofbeats, and part of her fancied that her heartbeat was beginning to match the rhythm of his strides.

But there was no path, no way out…

Aslan, help us!

Aslan's How…

As the High King and his brother headed up the ramp into the afternoon sunlight, Caspian mounted the horse that was waiting for him. It would be difficult, having to wait for the signal that might not come. All he wanted was to stand ready to assist the High King in whatever way he could. He understood why they had said that he couldn't stand as a marshal or as the High King's squire – tradition and matters of honor and such – but that didn't stop him from wanting to be there.

I've got an important job, Caspian reminded himself. If the Lords or my uncle violate the terms of the challenge, I have to be ready to lead the charge.

It was an important job, one that Caspian would have expected the Kings to assign to General Oreius, and it showed a high level of trust in him, especially given his mistakes to date – but it didn't ease the frustration. I've messed up already, at the raid and then again with Nikabrik. Unless the Kings ask me to help, I have to be ready to perform my task. This is my chance to redeem myself.

The Narnians were cheering wildly as King Peter and King Edmund reached the top of ramp for the walk to the ruins that would be the battlefield. Caspian couldn't help but wonder if his people –whether they ended up being Narnians or Telmarines – would ever cheer for him like that. He wanted to think so, but he wasn't sure if they would ever trust him enough, or care about him enough.

He glanced back at Queen Krisalyn and saw that she was slowly being helped to her feet by Faun Tumnus. She still looked pale, but she seemed steady enough on her feet. Satisfied that the High Queen was in good hands, Caspian flipped the reins and urged the stallion to follow the two Kings out into the sunlight.

He blinked as the late afternoon sunlight reached his eyes. The two Kings had reached the ruins, and King Peter had taken a seat on a stool that had been brought out of the How for just that purpose as King Edmund helped him with his gauntlets and double-checked the rest of his armor. Caspian raised his eyes to look across at his uncle's side of the ring as he rode his horse close enough that he could clearly hear what was being said on King Peter's side, but far enough away that he couldn't be confused with one of the marshals.

Miraz was seated on a folding chair as General Glozelle helped him with the last of his armor. Lord Sopespian was also there, along with a Telmarines soldier Caspian didn't recognize. His uncle was fixing the two Kings with an intense glare, probably designed to intimidate them. Whether or not it was having any effect, Caspian couldn't tell, since he couldn't see Peter or Edmund's faces. He suspected not, however, imagining that both Kings must have faced things much more frightening than his uncle throughout the years of their reign.

As King Edmund finished securing his brother's helm, Peter stood up. Caspian was just close enough to hear when the High King looked at his brother and spoke. "Let's settle this. Ed?"

The Just King picked Rhindon up from where it was leaning against a pillar. He offered the sword, hilt-first. Peter grasped the lion-headed hilt in his right hand and drew it from the sheath before he turned to face Miraz. Both combatants stepped onto the paved floor of the ruins. Caspian tried to stay relaxed as he glanced at King Edmund, who had turned so that he was in profile to Caspian. The younger King's gaze was fastened on his brother. Aslan, protect the High King this day.

When Krisalyn had collapsed, Peter had been frantic. The fear for her, especially given what she had told him about her health, held him in a stranglehold. He didn't even acknowledge the cheers of the Narnians as he walked out to the appointed battlefield. If he didn't trust Tumnus implicitly, he wouldn't have been leaving her. But Tumnus would take good care of her. His job was to survive this duel so he could see her again.

Glenstorm was facing them as he and Edmund approached, his sword held aloft. As they passed him, the Centaur lifted his feet with neat, precise steps, turning in place to face Miraz's side of the ring – a more difficult thing for a Centaur than many people realized, but Glenstorm made it look elegant. For a moment, Peter was taken back to the last tournament he had fought. That time, it had been Oreius standing in the same position, sword aloft and face calm, but stern.

A short, wooden, three-legged stool had been brought out, and Peter took a seat, staring at Miraz while Edmund set Rhindon down and began checking the fastenings on Peter's armor. If any of them were loose, or improperly fastened before, the walk up here might have caused them to come undone, and they would need to be rechecked. Across the way, one of the Telmarines was doing the same for the usurper.

Finished with his checks, Edmund didn't try to speak as he offered one of Peter's gauntlets, knowing his brother's mood would not be conducive to conversation of any kind at the moment. Peter raised his right hand and slid it into the gauntlet as Edmund held it out. He was grateful for Edmund's supportive presence as the second gauntlet was slid onto his left hand, followed by the shield that he had put down when he sat down.

The weight of his armor was comfortable and familiar. This particular suit of armor had seen many battles and carried him through each one in the first year that he had been High King. Peter had no doubt that it would see him through this battle too, especially given the care and attention that Edmund and Krisalyn had put into making sure it had been properly put on. This was the second suit of armor that he'd owned – the first had been the suit he'd worn at Beruna, which had been damaged in the fight in a few places, although it had done it's job in protecting him. The only place where the damage had actually been severe enough to not prevent a wound had been his right shoulder, which had been pierced by a sword wielded by the Witch. So after Beruna, the dwarven-smiths of Cair Paravel had taken it upon themselves to make new armor for both he and Edmund, since Edmund's armor had also been damaged beyond repair when the Witch had stabbed him.

Peter studied his opponent while Edmund adjusted the mail coif he wore over his blonde hair. Miraz was perhaps a foot taller than Peter, but most definitely outweighed him. On their own, neither of those facts were particularly problematic – after all, Peter had faced Giants and Ogres, both species of which were taller and heavier than he was. He'd trained daily with a Centaur who was also taller and heavier, so size alone wasn't enough to intimidate the High King of Narnia. What Peter did note was that despite the bulk around his midsection, Miraz's arms showed a great deal of muscle, and he seemed to be wearing his armor easily, which meant that he was probably stronger than he appeared – and Peter's greatest concern still lay in the fact that he was no longer in the peak physical condition he'd been in before they'd been sent back to England. Miraz was currently glaring at Peter, in a attempt to intimidate or unnerve him. However, Peter had been glared at, roared at, and threatened by Giants, Ogres, all manner of Fell Creatures, and even a few Calormen raiders – Miraz's best glare didn't even rate among the top ten most intimidating. It certainly didn't rate with the cold, perpetual sneer the White Witch had worn every time Peter had seen her.

Edmund touched his cheek, drawing his attention off of Miraz. Peter looked at his brother, seeing the fear in those dark brown orbs, although Edmund's voice was steady when he spoke. "Are you ready, Pete?"

Peter nodded and Edmund carefully placed Peter's helm on his head, fitting it over the collar and coif so as to provide extra protection to his neck. He left the visor up, and then finally stepped away. Peter was as ready as Krisalyn and Edmund could make him. Now it was on him to see this day through.

"Be careful, Peter," Edmund breathed.

"Let's settle this." Peter rose to his feet. "Ed?"

Edmund picked up Rhindon in its red leather sheath and offered the hilt to him. Peter reached out and wrapped his right hand around the hilt, feeling the grip mold perfectly to his hand. Perhaps, like Susan's bow and horn, and Lucy's cordial, Rhindon had some magic to it. It was the only way that Peter could explain how Rhindon had always remained the perfect weight and balance for him, even as his strength and stamina had increased over fifteen years of wielding this sword. Edmund had gone through several swords over the years, but Peter had only ever needed Rhindon. With a tug, he pulled the shining steel blade out of the sheath before turning to face Miraz.

They met in the middle of the ring and began cautiously moving from side to side, looking for an opening in the other's defenses. Peter didn't fail to notice that despite his bulk, Miraz was moving with a fluid ease in his stride.

"There is still time to surrender," Miraz said quietly.

Peter tightened his lips, but otherwise showed no reaction to the provoking comment. "Well feel free." There was no way he would surrender, not with the future of his family, his people, and Narnia herself on his shoulders.

Miraz shook his head. "How many more must die for the throne?"

"Just…one," Peter replied, reaching up with his right hand and lowering his face plate. He rocked back into a fighting stance, assessed his opponent's stance, and decided on an attack. Stepping forward, and to his right, he used a piece of tumbled stone as a stepping block, planting his foot, raising his sword, and then pushing off, all in one smooth motion. With a yell, he swung Rhindon down as he leapt, aiming for Miraz's head. This was where one of his strengths lay in combat, as Edmund and Oreius had pointed out. Although he could stand his ground and exchange blows, he had been trained by Fauns, Centaurs, Dwarves, and assorted Beasts. Each Narnian race fought with their own style and level of aggressiveness, and Peter had learned to incorporate all of their moves into his own style. He knew more techniques than a traditional fighter and could change directions fluidly, swiftly, and without warning.

Miraz was quicker than Peter had anticipated however, and got his shield up to deflect the blow. Peter landed behind him, bending his knees and ankles to absorb the shock of impact. Even as he pulled Rhindon in and prepared to attack again, Miraz was spinning around and thrusting – not his sword, but his shield – into Peter's face.

Whuff…whuff…whuff…

Aislynn was trying to throttle down her fear as Destrier labored beneath them, his long strides driving steadily forward, even as his sweat-soaked mane whipped back into her face repeatedly. The stallion was giving everything he had, but he was beginning to tire. Although he was strong, he was carrying a double burden, where the Telmarine soldiers pursuing them were not.

They'd found a way out of the ravine, finally, which had eased their path somewhat, since they didn't have to dodge around the trees, but it was making it easier for the Telmarines to see them now, and impossible to lose them.

Thump-thump…thump-thump…thump-thump…

Aislynn glanced back and realized that their pursuers had gained on them. They were almost upon them now. In fact, one of them had spurred his horse forward, to try to overtake them.

"Aislynn!" Lucy cried. "They're on us!"

Aislynn closed her eyes for a moment against the tears that welled up as she realized what she would have to do. At least one of them had to make it through safely, and of the two of them, the better choice was Lucy. She had failed to get her Aunt to Aslan safely, but perhaps she could still protect Lucy – and give her a chance. I'm sorry, Mother. I did my best. But it looks like I won't be coming back.

Her mind made up, she yanked back on Destrier's reins, pulling the stallion up. "Whoa, boy!"

"What are you doing?" Lucy cried.

Destrier was slowing and Aislynn wheeled him to the side to avoid the horses racing up behind them. It was a narrow miss, but the lessons that she had had in riding from Bree, one of the Talking Horses who was a friend of Cor's, stood her in good stead as she avoided the Telmarine riders and circled Destrier back around so that he was facing in the direction that they had been going.

"Trust me! I'm going to try something." Aislynn called back, pulling Destrier – hot and blowing hard – to a full halt as the Telmarines turned their horses and came back to surround them. "Just be ready."

"Stop there!" one of the Telmarines ordered. The soldiers raised their crossbows as they pulled their horses to a stop. "Identify yourselves!"

Aislynn released Destrier's reins, signaling the stallion to stand with her knees as she raised her hands to shoulder height. "Do not shoot! We mean no harm!" She was grateful that her accent was of Archenland, not Narnia. She eyed their pursuers, counting eight in all. She swallowed nervously. Oreius had taught her self-defense and how to take on multiple opponents, but her skills had never been tested outside the training grounds in Anvard. She wasn't sure if she could take on eight opponents unless she could get the jump on them, and even then she didn't know if she could handle eight.

Aslan, protect me please. There was a good chance that her plan would end up getting her killed – but her father, uncle, and sisters were willing to put their lives on the line for their country. She could do no less. Aslan, whatever happens, I am yours. If this day is to be my last, welcome me into your Country.

"Who are you?" the lead Telmarine growled.

Time to see if everything I learned at Court pays off. "I am Lady Aislynn of King Cor's Court at Anvard. I was sent here to serve as King Cor's ambassador to the Telmarine court," Aislynn told him, trying to project the aura of a frightened, yet haughty young woman of rank. Although subterfuge had not been part of her "official" lessons, Aislynn had been raised in the Court of Anvard, and there was always some intrigue or political maneuvering going on, and she had learned a great deal simply by observing the other courtiers and the various ambassadors.

"Who is she?" the man barked, indicating Lucy.

"My maid," Aislynn replied after a moment, somewhat dismissively, thankful that Lucy had left her crown at the How and only wore her hair pulled back slightly. "You must help us!" she demanded, exactly as a spoiled young woman would. "We were captured by the Narnians, the foul beasts." It went against her every impulse to refer to her people in that fashion, and she could feel Lucy tense against her, but she had to act and speak the way these men would expect of a noble woman.

The soldier gestured for the others to lower their weapons. "How did you get here?"

Aislynn fixed him with a cool look. "What does that matter?" she asked, haughtily.

The soldiers immediately raised their weapons again. "It matters because there are Narnian spies in the woods. I have no way of knowing you are not one, and no one would argue with me if I had my men shoot you where you stand," the soldier in charge said.

"We crossed the border about two weeks ago," Aislynn replied, casting a glare of aggravation in his direction. "One of the border guards was ordered to escort us to the Court, but when we stopped to camp for the night, the Narnians raided the camp, drugged or killed the guard, and took us prisoner. They accused us of being Telmarine spies and would not believe me when I told them I was merely the ambassador. They've been holding us all this time, forcing us to assist them in their battle preparations. But today, with the battle drawing so close, they were not watching us carefully. I managed to get free and reclaim my dagger," she indicated the dagger her mother had given her, which was still belted at her waist. "We stole a horse and snuck out one of the back tunnels. When you chased us, I believed it was because the Narnians had discovered our escape and were chasing us."

The soldier narrowed his gaze at her, but seemed to have no reason to disbelieve her at the moment. "Get down. Both of you." He waved to two of the others to dismount and confiscate their weapons.

Aislynn nodded and slowly dismounted, covertly slipping the reins into Lucy's hands as she noticed a gap between the horses straight ahead of Destrier. "Take the reins and hold on," Aislynn whispered softly. As her feet touched the ground, she shrugged the short bow that she had strung and carried under her cloak free, quietly thanking Oreius for his advice.

"General, may I ask a few moments of your time?" Aislynn spotted the tall Centaur moving down the hall alone, and assumed that he had finished his discussion with her father.

"Of course, Your Highness. What may I assist you with?"

"My mother told me that you could assist me in making the preparations for my journey with Queen Lucy to find Aslan. We must leave soon, and I wished to see if you had any advice for me."

Oreius nodded and studied her for a moment. Aislynn had already taken the time to change into the plainest of her riding gowns, this one made of dark brown wool with a divided skirt for ease of mounting and riding and no trim. She was wearing a sturdy pair of leather boots rather than court slippers, and had fastened her mother's dagger to a matching leather belt, and her brown wool hooded cloak.

"Do you have any armor?" Oreius asked after a moment's silence while he considered her attire.

Aislynn nodded. "Yes, in the room I've been sleeping in. Cor insisted that I bring a short leather hauberk to protect my chest."

"Wear it," Oreius ordered. "What weapons do you have?"

"My mother gave me this dagger. Do I need any other weapons?" Aislynn asked, curiously. "I thought the whole objective of our quest was to get through without drawing attention to ourselves."

"A sword would draw attention, especially if worn by a lady," Oreius agreed. "Come and we'll find a short bow and a quiver of arrows." He led the way through the tunnels towards the makeshift armory. Aislynn hurried to keep up with the long-legged Centaur as they wound their way through the caverns.

"Princess, you are undertaking a dangerous mission. Once you mount your horse, do not stop or dismount for anything save your horse coming up lame. Speed is going to be your ally in this mission, and you and Queen Lucy cannot run as fast as a horse. You must stay mounted as long as you can. Trust Aslan to find you before your horse tires."

Aislynn nodded. "What if we are seen by the Telmarines?"

"Ride. Ride with everything you have and try to lose them in the woods. The Telmarines fear the woods and will not venture too deeply, except in great numbers. From the rear passage, follow the stream that runs through the ravine as far as you can. The stream will feed into the Great River, which you can follow to the Dancing Lawn," Oreius told her as they reached the armory where the Narnians were getting their weapons and their instructions for the battle.

He led her over to a rack of short bows and quivers of arrows. He picked up a bow and had her draw it in a clear area to test her pulling power. The first bow was too tightly strung, so he had her test several others until they found a bow that she could pull easily, yet was powerful enough to launch an arrow with incredible speed and penetration if necessary.

"No, Your Highness," Oreius stopped her as she started to sling the bow over her shoulder, over her cloak. He reached over and removed her cloak, then took the bow and slipped it over her shoulder, before fastening the cloak back over the top of the bow. "Worn like this, no one will suspect you carry it. If you must draw it, simply shrug it free and into your hand in one smooth motion."

"You too," the commanding Telmarine ordered Lucy, who had slid forward in the saddle as if she was merely trying to reach the stirrup leathers so she could dismount.

Aislynn pretended to reach up to help her down, then without warning slapped Destrier's flank as hard as she could. "Go!" Simultaneously she tore her quiver free of where it was hung on the saddle pommel.

Startled, Destrier snorted in alarm and bolted, with Lucy clinging on for dear life. "Aislynn!" she called back. The stallion shot through the gap left in the Telmarine horses, making them rear and shy and forcing the Telmarines to wrestle their heads down to get them under control.

"Ride, Lucy! Ride my Queen!" Aislynn yelled back, even as she whipped an arrow out of the quiver and nocked it to the string of her bow as she raised it. Taking aim, she fired, hitting one of the Telmarines whose horse hadn't been startled by the confusion and was turning to pursue the Valiant Queen.

The Telmarine fell from the saddle and hit the ground hard as his horse shied and careened towards two others. Aislynn had already seized another arrow and taken aim at a second Telmarine, who took the shot in his leg this time and also fell, overbalanced when he instinctively reached for the place where the pain was coming from.

"After her!" the commander yelled, and two of the soldiers turned their horses and shot after Destrier, back into the woods.

Aislynn was still moving. The Telmarines were beginning to organize after the initial chaos, but she still had time to string two more arrows and shoot them after the soldiers pursuing Lucy. One arrow missed, but the second hit one of the riders' horses and the horse bucked, tossing his rider to the ground, where he narrowly avoided being trampled by his frantic mount.

"Get her!" the commander yelled to the men who were still mounted, indicating Aislynn. The men got their horses under control and moved towards her, too close for bow work. But Aislynn had no intention of going down without a fight.

She dropped her bow and unsheathed her dagger. The blade was wickedly sharp and she lunged at the guard closest to her, who had dismounted so that she couldn't attack his horse. She brought the dagger down in a sweep, cutting across the top of his forearm and wrist. He cried out in pain and she used the backstroke of the attack to come back across his arm, cutting into his elbow. Most of the force was absorbed by his armor, but she managed to cut another deep gash into his arm.

She turned after her first attack and lunged at a second guard. A quick, short thrust allowed her to bury the dagger in his right shoulder, piercing the leather armor he was wearing in place of mail or steel plate. He reeled back, yelling in pain as she tore the dagger free.

Spinning again, she glared defiantly at the remaining soldiers. Of the eight who had been chasing them, five had been disabled or killed, and one had gotten away to pursue Lucy, which left two – the commander and one other. Although she had not expected to survive this encounter, her actions had taken the Telmarines completely off-guard and she had been able to eliminate them faster and more precisely than she had hoped. Now she was beginning to think – with only two opponents remaining – that she might be able to get out of this, and possibly ride in pursuit of Lucy, since the horses that had thrown their riders had stopped nearby.

Aislynn watched the two soldiers closely, waiting for them to attack her, and praying that with his lighter burden Destrier would make it through. Aslan, put wings on his feet and give him the strength to see Lucy safely to you.

She was so intent on watching the mounted officers, she didn't notice the soldier whom she'd stabbed in the shoulder getting back to his feet and coming up behind her. When something impacted with the back of her head, blackness immediately filled her vision and she dropped to the leaf-strewn earth.

Despite the blackness, she tried desperately to hang on to consciousness. "Should we eliminate her?" she heard someone ask faintly.

"No. Take her to the encampment. His Majesty will deal with her later," a second voice said. "Go…other…don't…escape…" was the last thing she heard before the world faded away.

Aslan's How…

Hidden within the trees around the How, Cor kept his seeing glass trained on the duel as he waited for Caspian's signal. All around him, his men held their positions like the well-disciplined army they were. They were cheering the High King on silently, since they could not risk revealing their location. Of all of them, however, only Cor could actually see the duel. But he knew his men, and he knew that they all understood that what they were fighting for this day was the preservation of Narnia. Archenlanders they might be, but Narnia was a long-time ally, and the seat of Aslan's grace. These men served Aslan with their service to Cor's army, and they knew how important Narnia was to Aslan.

By now his twin, the Mice, and the rest of the men under his brother's command should be in position to begin quietly sabotaging the Telmarine war machines, if necessary. Cor didn't know exactly what his brother had in mind, but he knew Corin would do his best to fulfill his mission. Like the rest of the army, Corin was doing this for Aslan as much as for Narnia – but even more, he had been a friend to the Four ever since he was a small child. He would fight to his last breath for that friendship.

Cor turned his attention back to the duel and winced. Miraz was coming after King Peter like a bull, throwing his weight around rather than meeting Peter equally, man to man. The High King had taken multiple blows to his face and head from Miraz's shield already, and the duel had barely begun. Such a tactic was considered mildly underhanded, at least by the customs and traditions of honorable, formal combat such as this. Yet King Peter was returning every blow, not allowing the usurper to rattle him. Despite Miraz's fierceness, the High King was standing proud. Until today, Cor had only heard of Peter's battle prowess, but he'd never witnessed it for himself.

Frankly, if this was what the High King was capable of at the age of sixteen, how extraordinary must he have been at the height of his rule?

Cor hid a wince as Miraz swung his sword in a slash at Peter's armored legs. Peter dodged, but the sword still glanced off the dwarf-made steel greaves with a shockingly loud CLANG! Fortunately, the steel held up and the blow was only glancing, otherwise the High King might very well have had a chunk of flesh taken out of his leg.

But Peter wasn't giving Miraz time to react. As soon as the sword bounced off his legs, Peter dropped to one knee and thrust his sword upwards, at Miraz's heart, trying to come in underneath his opponent's guard and shield and end the match with a decisive blow.

Unfortunately, all the High King got for his efforts was another crack across the face from Miraz's shield. The High King's helm was the only thing that prevented the edge of the shield from slicing open his face, he was hit so hard.

King Peter fell to the ground, rolled a few feet away, and didn't move for a moment.

"Get up, Your Majesty! Get up!" Cor murmured.

Oh Aslan, Pete! Get up!

Edmund had to clench his teeth together to keep from screaming his brother's name. He fisted his hands at his side. "Get up!" he hissed through his tightly clenched teeth, feeling his heart leap up from his chest to lodge in his throat. His brother had taken some awful knock from Miraz's sword, but had still managed to strike back…but this time he wasn't moving, and Edmund had to wonder if that last blow had been enough to actually daze Peter or knock him unconscious.

Peter, on your feet! You promised Krisalyn, Aislynn, Lucy, Susan, and me that you'd be coming back from this fight! Get up!

Miraz had paused for a moment, surprised by his opponent's collapse, but he seemed to have recovered himself and was now moving towards Peter. It took all of Edmund's control not to order a volley of arrows at the usurper's heart, if it meant protecting his brother. But then, suddenly, Edmund felt a calm settle over him as he suddenly realized what Peter was doing.

There was no evidence to support the fact that Peter was conscious, as Edmund couldn't see his eyes or his face from the position he was lying in, but Edmund simply knew what Peter was up to. It was actually one of Edmund's favorite tricks in single combat, but it was a risky maneuver, so he didn't use it often.

Next to him, Glenstorm stomped one hoof as the only sign of his agitation and his own difficulty in racing to the High King's defense. Edmund didn't blame him – after all, Glenstorm didn't know Peter that well. Edmund couldn't have even said how he knew what Peter was doing, he just knew…and he wondered for a moment if it was Aslan's doing – trying to reassure him that he was watching out for Peter and would protect him.

For all the weight that Peter gave to fighting with honor, fairness, and dignity – concepts that Oreius had drilled into their heads from the moment he had begun instructing them – the High King also understood that subtlety and misdirection were valid tactics as well, even in a duel of honor. Edmund had been the first to embrace what Lucy had called the "sneaky" tactics, mainly because of his smaller stature at the time he'd begun learning the sword. When his opponents constantly outweighed him, were taller than he was, and had a longer reach, Oreius had been challenged to find techniques that the younger King could use to his advantage.

After a few close shaves and narrow escapes that had been made possible only because of Edmund's "sneaky" attacks – stomping on an opponent's instep, knocking heads together, jabbing an elbow into the gut, for instance – even Peter had begun to see their value. Neither of them ever stooped to the level of "assassin's tactics", like concealing poison, or sneaking up behind an opponent to strangle them, but the use of unorthodox maneuvers, such as using one's whole body as a weapon, using unusual objects as weapons, or even a bit of playacting were part of both of their repertoire of techniques now.

And that was exactly what his brother was doing now, as Miraz continued to draw closer. No doubt that last shield blow had rattled Peter, for it had been a vicious hit, but he was keeping his cool and trying to turn it to his advantage. Despite the calm certainty of what Peter was doing, Edmund couldn't keep himself from biting his lip with worry. Come on Peter…

Then he noticed Peter's hand was still clenched tightly around Rhindon's grip. Had Miraz been paying attention, he would have noticed it as well, and realized the High King was attempting to deceive him.

Miraz stood over Peter's (apparently) prone form, sword raised for the killing stroke. "And thus Narnia is mine, High King." With a cry of satisfaction, the usurper drove his sword down towards Peter's chest.

Peter's eyes, which he had closed to feign being dazed or unconscious, snapped open and he rolled away from the incoming blade. The force with which Miraz's sword came down was unchecked by Peter's body and instead impacted the stone. And since it had been a stabbing motion rather than a cut, as the tip struck the stone the force transferred back to Miraz, jamming his wrist in a way that would make itself known more and more as the fight continued.

Peter rolled away, and then rose to his knees, again putting himself in a position to come in under Miraz's guard, but instead he continued to rise until he was back on his feet. Miraz had recovered enough to cit at his head, but Rhindon intercepted the blade. Leaning in, so that he could look Miraz in the eye (and not so incidentally put painful pressure on Miraz's injured wrist) Peter hissed, "Narnia will never be yours. Not today, nor any day. This I swear in Aslan's name."

Miraz snarled and shoved back, forcing Peter away. Almost immediately he swung his shield at Peter's head again, but Peter ducked and got his own shield up to thwart the attack.

Peter backpedaled to give himself room, and then swung Rhindon full force. Miraz countered and they settled into a rhythm of blows and counters.

Clang…clang…clang…

Back and forth they went – Peter was trying to force a steady pace, to force Miraz to use the wrist he had jammed enough that the constant blows would make it ache and weaken the longer the fight went on. The more it hurt, the more the usurper would begin to feel it, and that would give Peter an opening to finish the duel. Assuming, of course, that Lucy, Aislynn, and Aslan didn't arrive first.

Clang…clang…clang…

Thrust, parry, cut, dodge…Each move was instinctual as Peter read his opponent, giving him a second to act or react in response. Upswing, downswing, high block, shield block, spin, cut…It was a dance – beautiful, intricate, and potentially lethal, but a dance nonetheless. Peter stared into his opponent's dark eyes – eyes that gleamed with anger and the first hints of madness, madness brought on by the lust for power and control. The usurper's mouth – what Peter could see anyway – was twisted into a feral grimace of hatred.

By contrast, Peter was calm. His anger at what Miraz had done was carefully locked away, and a cool façade had settled over him, allowing him to react and analyze. The time in this duel would come when he would need to unleash that anger and become Narnia's Sword, the honed and purified blade of Aslan's might.

But not now.

Now was the time to simply wear Miraz down. Then he would show Miraz what it meant to face Narnia's High King in battle.

Peter dodged another stoke of Miraz's sword, and the battle went on.

Clang…clang…clang…

Behind the Telmarine lines…

Corin peered out from the trees that were concealing his position. The first of the Telmarine war catapults was fifty feet away, manned by five men. Had it been only those five men, he would have already ordered his scouts to strike. But less than twenty feet away to the right was a second catapult, also manned by five. If these five went down the others would notice and raise the alert. And since there were eight of the large catapults in all, and another five spear-throwing ballistae, his mission was more difficult than he had hoped.

Ideally, he would have to take out every man assigned to the war machines simultaneously, then set the Mice to disabling each one in turn while he and his men guarded them. But even with the regiment his brother had sent – an extra thirty-five men – he still did not have enough. Corin frowned, frustrated. He had to think of a way to carry out his mission.

He turned his attention instead to the ballistae. With their wicked spears, they could prove to be a great danger to the gryphons, especially when the gryphons were burdened with the boulders and archers. The gryphons were extremely agile fliers and could dodge arrows with ease under normal situations, even with their burdens. But those ballista spears…

"Peepiceek," he breathed softly to the Mouse Reepicheep had placed in charge, "can your forces disable those ballistae without being seen? We cannot take out the guards first without causing an alert, but we can defend you if you are seen."

The Mouse – not so bold or flamboyant as Reepicheep, but still valiant – considered the task. "It would depend on if there are ropes and cord or metal and wood. If rope, it would take one Mouse per weapon. If wood and metal, it would take more," he replied in his softest voice, so that Corin had to strain to hear him.

"Will one of your Mice venture forth?" Corin asked.

"I shall go myself, Highness," Peepiceek responded.

"Aslan be with you," Corin whispered.

Peepiceek scurried down from the tree branch he'd been standing on. His dark brown fur blended in beautifully with the long grass, and he scuttled to the tree line, where he paused to study the situation.

There were fifty feet between the trees and the first ballista, but within that fifty feet were more than a dozen Telmarines and little cover. It would be a challenge, no doubt. Corin watched tensely as Peepiceek made his move. Darting towards the ballista, he took shelter near the feet of one of the Telmarines, careful to remain in the man's shadow as he walked closer to the ballista. When the man veered away, the Mouse moved towards a second Telmarine who was closer to his goal. In this fashion, without being seen, Peepiceek made his way to the ballista and slid beneath it to study its inner workings and hopefully disable it.

Corin had to admit that it was extraordinary how few people noticed a Mouse that was anywhere between a foot to sixteen inches high, even when it was standing at your feet. The Narnians and the Archenlanders knew to watch for the Mice, but even they could still miss seeing the valiant little Beasts from time to time. With all the Telmarines around, however, Corin would have expected at least one of them to notice the Mouse. He was hoping that the ballistae used twisted ropes and cords for tension-firing the spears. If so, the Mice could gnaw or cut through them, thus disabling them and rendering them useless. He waited tensely for Peepiceek to return.

After what felt like a small eternity, he spotted the Mouse creeping out from under the ballista. He held his breath as the valiant Beast made his way back to where Corin was waiting. Yet again, he marveled that no one noticed the Mouse.

"The ballistae are armed with tightly twisted ropes, Highness," Peepiceek said quietly once he had scurried back up into the tree to perch on a branch near Corin's head. "One Mouse can cut most of the way through the ropes so that if the enemy tries to use them, the spears will jam when the ropes snap."

A fierce light came into Corin's eyes. "Gather your Mice and brief them, good Peepiceek. They're about to get their chance to do something that could turn the tide of this war."

"Are you certain that you are well, Majesty?"

"I'm fine, Tumnus," Krisalyn assured him, although it was only partially true. The dizziness and light-headedness had passed, thankfully, but they had been replaced by nausea born of the dark dread and worry for Peter's safety. She understood why he was fighting, but the sick feeling inside her made her wonder if she would see him alive again. She wanted to know how the duel was going, but she couldn't bring herself to go look. To hear that Peter had died would be horrible, but to watch it happen would destroy her.

Resolutely she moved through the main chamber where half their forces were waiting to charge, to the anteroom where the healers were waiting for casualties. If the battle began, some of the Horses – mainly the older ones who were not as swift or nimble enough to fight – a few of Corin's scouts who had some healer-training, and three of the Fauns would be responsible for getting out to the field and bringing the wounded back inside the How for treatment. From there, she, Tumnus, and Cornelius would work with the healers to save as many lives as they possibly could.

Tumnus trailed her at a respectful distance as she reported to the healer she had been asked to assist, an elderly female Centaur named Tati. She sighed, somewhat annoyed with the Faun's hovering, although she knew that after thirty-four years of being a part of the Narnian Court she should be used to it. "Master Tumnus, I assure you that I am fine. Please, report to your place."

"I pledged High King Peter that I would stay with you, my Queen," the Faun replied, with an anxious tone in his voice as he reached up and grasped his stubby horns with his hands, as he often did when he was excited or anxious.

"I release you from your pledge Tumnus. Please, go to your duty station," Krisalyn told him gently. It took everything she had to hold her own anxiety and frustration in. Tumnus had served the Narnian royalty well over the years, and he was only trying to do what he had promised Peter he would do. The last thing she wanted was to snap at the Faun in anger.

Tumnus continued to look anxious and didn't leave. Taking a deep breath, Krisalyn reached out and touched his shoulder. "Tumnus, dear friend, everything will be fine, but everyone is needed at their assigned places. Please, go. Peter will not blame you for leaving to serve your fellow Narnians, and if he is angry, I will take his anger on myself, because I am the one asking you to leave."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Tumnus finally said, although he didn't sound particularly reassured. But he turned and trotted over to the healer he had been assigned to assist.

As soon as the Faun was out of sight and hearing, Krisalyn let out her breath in a slow sigh of relief. Much as she cared for Tumnus and valued his input as one of her advisors, at times he could be much too high-strung and anxious. With the general level of unease and worry she was already feeling for Peter, the last thing she needed was a high-strung Faun to deal with.

Tati was watching her closely when she turned back. "Your Majesty, you do not look well, if it is not presumptuous for me to say so."

"I am worried for the High King, that is all," Krisalyn replied.

Tati seemed skeptical, but only nodded her head. "As you say, Majesty."

Now all they could do was wait and pray that somehow the Telmarines would keep their promise if Peter won the duel. Krisalyn doubted that their enemies would be so honorable, but it never hurt to hope.

Just like she hoped, with a desperation that she could not deny, that Peter would return from the battle whole and hale.