Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't... I also don't own the Narnian Calendar. It belongs to Elecktrum who was kind enough to let me borrow it for my story. Her own stories are awesome and you should go read them too.
Summary: When disaster strikes, sometimes even the most conventional warrior must resort to unorthodox measures.
A/N: This is part of my A Light in the Darkness universe. Enjoy!
Unorthodox Measures
Part Two
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Cutting through the bandits, my focus was solely on reaching my colts before they were lost to the ravenous filth. I could see others from our troops attempting to fight their way to the Kings as well, but they were still too far to be of help. I leapt over one bandit, being sure to kick him when I landed behind him, then swung my claymore to block the blow from one fiend's attempt to attack my golden colt from behind. Cutting him down, I turned my attention to clearing a larger area around where the High King yet stood protectively over his fallen brother. My dark colt was far too pale and a growing stain of blood darkened his red tunic. Aslan, let the colt live.
I continued to fight with sword, fists, and hooves. Peter in his golden fury attacked whenever some fool of a bandit made a short-lived attempt to finish off Edmund. Watching him in this battle-rage, when he became one with Rhindon and was truly the Sword of Narnia, was a magnificent sight, even when I merely spied it out the corner of my eye. My hard gaze swept over the bandits. Fools they were to have unleashed the full fury of the High King upon those dared render harm to his brother…and now, they were realizing it.
Though their reinforcements had more than doubled their numbers, they knew fear and were not so disciplined as to withstand our rally. I reared, raising my voice in a loud war cry, and more than a score other voices echoed in answer. Our troops were fast recovering from the surprise attack by the bandits' reinforcements. The bandits who were out of reach of our blades now cast desperate, searching gazes around, attempting to find some dark hole where they might flee.
With twin roars came Peter's Tiger guards, claws outstretched and fangs flashing as they charged into the line of bandits. Behind them were others, all with claws and steel bared as they raced to push the bandits back from where Peter and I guarded Edmund. I glanced to where I had last left Alambiel. She was still fighting alone and unaided but twice as many bandits struggled to flee the deadly kiss of her knives as strove to attack her.
"Oreius!"
My attention snapped back to the High King who was kneeling next to Edmund, his gloved hands awash with blood as he pressed against his brother's wound. No. I met my golden colt's gaze and recognized the fear of losing his brother within their depths. "Oreius, his wound is too deep. He can't stay out here, not if he is to…to survive." Peter's gaze was fraught with stress as he warred over his decision. I knew it too well: if he were to take his brother off the field, it could dishearten our troops and give courage to the enemy, ending the rout too soon. If he did not take his brother off the field, Edmund could bleed to death before someone could go back to fetch the healers. His blue gaze turned icy and determined and I knew he had reached a decision. "You must take him back."
I nodded, "It will be faster." I assessed the battle raging on around us. There were enough soldiers here to guard Wolfsbane's back and prevent him from being overwhelmed (provided he did not find a way to run out too far ahead of them…again) in my absence. I could not see Alambiel, but the roiling knot of bodies where she'd been proved she was still in the middle of the fight.
Peter clasped my forearm, his brother's blood transferring to stain my vambrace, as urgency slipped into his voice as he ordered, "You must stay with him, Oreius. Please. Stay with my brother since I cannot."
I bowed my head solemnly. "I will do so. Send relief to Dame Sepphora. She fights alone."
"Not for long."
It was not the promise I had given her, but I knew what my Alambiel would say and I knew what she would throw at me if I even considered putting her above my wounded colt's more pressing need. As tenderly as I could, I lifted my dark colt. He made no sound, not even a whimper, but the pool of blood where he'd been lying was larger than I had expected or wanted to see. He was in sore need of the healers. Wheeling around, I raced away from the battlefield, carrying my dark colt and praying that I would reach the camp fast enough.
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My dark colt looked too thin and too vulnerable as he slept. His skin was so leached of color in contrast to his dark hair that it was as though death had already stolen his final breath. The only break in that dread illusion was the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of the blankets covering him. His blood still stained my armor, but it was merely another reminder of how close I had come to losing one of my colts. There had been too many incidents already since that ill-fated journey to treacherous Telmar had nearly killed my golden colt.
The sound of running feet caused me to reflexively wrap my hands around the hilts of my swords, ready to draw them in defense of my colt, as I wheeled to face the entrance of the tent as a body hurtled inside. Disheveled, covered in blood, sweat, and dirt, and with some bruises, Peter looked most disreputable as he charged toward his brother. Fearing he would wake the dark colt too soon, I caught him before he could reach the cot. I spoke quickly before Peter assumed the worst and struggled. "He sleeps, my King." My golden colt stilled and lowered his head, releasing a deep sigh of relief. I continued in a soft whisper, "The healers want him to be allowed to sleep until he wakes on his own. The wound was grave, but the filth's sword was deflected off your brother's ribs and did not pierce anything vital. He probably has a concussion from the blow to his head, but the helmet took the brunt of it."
The High King nodded once and I released him, watching as he crossed to his brother's side. As he unfolded a camp stool and sat upon it, taking up his vigil, I knew this was not the High King keeping watch over his fellow injured king, but the elder brother not daring to turn away from his wounded brother until such time as the younger woke. I quietly exited the tent and whispered instructions to the guards that they were to summon the healers to tend to the High King but all other non-urgent business should be redirected to myself or my captains and lieutenants for the time being. The camp was inundated with soldiers and healers and even a few prisoners, and still more were returning. It would not be long before Alambiel returned, most likely grumbling about her Murphy and how he'd plagued us with his law.
As the hours passed, a feeling of anxiety began to creep over me. I had not seen nor heard from Alambiel yet and one of my lieutenants had just reported that the last of our wounded (no lives had been lost in spite of the ambush, Aslan be praised) had been gathered from the battlefield. After finalizing the perimeter guards, I left my tent intent upon finding Alambiel. I passed her tent, which still had its flaps tied back confirming that she was not there and I did not see her armor cast rather haphazardly across the foot of the cot, and set out for the healing ward. Perhaps she was injured or had simply thrown herself into aiding with the care of the wounded. It was not uncommon for her to do so. Surely, I would find her there.
Entering the tent designated as the healing ward, I surveyed both wounded and healers. We had not brought any of the Nymphs in the army with us. I knew in a glance that Alambiel was not here. Where was she? Searching out one of my lieutenants, I barely kept my concern to a minimum as I asked the question that was haunting me, "Has Dame Sepphora returned to the camp?"
He shook his head. The dread in my heart multiplied even before he spoke, "None have seen her, General."
A messenger ran up to us, carrying news that the Kings were requesting my presence. Would that I could be in two places at once. I gave the messenger a curt nod then turned back to my lieutenant. "Take some of the Great Cats and the Wolves and other Animals who've the best noses back to the battlefield and search for any sign of Dame Sepphora. She may have chosen to trail the bandits in hopes of finding their base of operations. Send a messenger back if you find anything of note."
"Yes, General." If they found nothing by the time I finished speaking with the Kings, I would go out there myself. She had to be out there somewhere.
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"General, Your Majesties!" One of the Swallows who scouted for the army flitted into the tent, her voice breathless, and circled our heads before settling on top of the weapons stand. "Lieutenant Dalibor has returned with an emissary!"
My colts exchanged puzzled looks then the High King wondered aloud, "An emissary, Celandine? Are you certain?"
The Swallow bobbed her entire body as she answered, "Yes, Your Majesty, I saw that he bore no weapons and carried the branch to signal his role of emissary. Lieutenant Dalibor and the others under his command have returned to the camp and await your word to bring the emissary to you."
My dark colt groaned as he attempted to get out of the hammock, "Great, that's just what we need."
The High King immediately placed a restraining hand to his shoulder. "The healers said you shouldn't go gallivanting about just yet. You haven't even been awake for a full hour, Ed. Oreius and I can see what this emissary wants, while you-"
Edmund glowered at him and snapped, "So he can take a report back to whoever is behind this assault on our borders that one of the kings of Narnia was too wounded to even leave his tent? No. Help me up."
Clearing my throat, I interceded before the argument brewing between my colts could fully erupt. "I believe the Just King is correct in this instant, Your Majesty. If he does not at least make a token appearance, it could embolden those who escaped. However, you are correct that it is too soon for your brother to be exerting himself to any great extent." I raised a hand to stave off the protest I knew had just sprung to King Edmund's lips as I continued, "May I suggest we construct an air of seeming indifference? If your majesties were both seated when the emissary is brought before you, this man is unlikely to assume that King Edmund's wounds are too severe."
Edmund responded by reaching up and ripping off the bandage that had been wrapped around his head.
"Ed!"
My dark colt merely shot his brother a challenging look. "Having a bandage around my head would ruin the image that I'm not badly wounded, which I'm not. You and the healers are just being worriers again."
He managed to get to his feet, but would have collapsed had his brother not caught him. "Oh right, Ed, we're just worrying over nothing. If you pull your stitches, you'll stay in here even if I have to wrap you up in the hammock and tie it together."
I turned to the Swallow. "Celandine, inform Lieutenant Dalibor that he is to keep this so-called emissary at the edge of the camp for twenty minutes." The Swallow once again bobbed her entire body then flitted back out the tent.
Twenty minutes later, both Kings were seated on folding stools, I stood to their right, and the High King's Tigers bracketed us with other soldiers forming an obvious yet not too overbearing honor guard. Folding my arms over my chest, I kept my face impassive even as I scanned the soldiers approaching us. There was no sign of Alambiel. The feeling of unease was growing in leaps and bounds, but I strove to reason with my fear concerning her continued absence. If the emissary approached before the search was well underway, perhaps Lieutenant Dalibor had had to call off the search since it would have depleted his numbers too much to proceed safely.
The emissary looked as though he were more comfortable pillaging an undefended village than participating in any facsimile of diplomacy. I narrowed my eyes at him and he flinched, his hand reaching to his belt, searching for a weapon that was not there. Then he cleared his throat and turned his attention to the Kings. "I bring a message from the Lord of the West for the boy kings."
My Kings exchanged a look and I could tell they were amused that even now eight years after they began their reign, the insults remained unchanged and were rather inaccurate by the standards of the Sons of Adam. The Just King nodded, "We will hear this message from your ambitious master."
His tone was cool and uninterested. This so-called emissary did not yet realize that my dark colt was most dangerous when he did not show his temper. The man dared to sneer at the Kings. "He wishes to conduct an exchange. Our men for information."
"And, what information does your master hold that it should be worth the release of men who may very well be used to immediately attack that which is under Our protection?" King Edmund narrowed his eyes at the man as he coolly demanded, "Well, what say you or did your master give you no reply?"
A glint of contempt and something else, something more sinister, appeared in the so-called emissary's eyes. I casually lowered my arms, lightly gripping the hilts of my swords. The man curled his lip in an ugly sneer then tossed the lumpy package he'd been carrying under one arm to the ground. There was a faint metallic ring when it landed. The bandit emissary stepped back and spat, "Open the package and you will know."
I nodded to Lieutenant Dalibor and the Satyr came forward, untying the bindings. He tensed and took a single step back, revealing the contents. My breath caught in my throat and I struggled to maintain my composure. No, this could not be true. In the center of the unwrapped package was a tangle of armor and knives…armor and knives I recognized all too well. The silver chain mail, leather cuirass, twin knives and several daggers. Alambiel's armor. Alambiel's knives. My eyes were drawn to one of the smaller daggers, her boot knife; the blade was completely covered in blood. The dread thought took ahold of me that it was Alambiel's blood. If it was, would we even find her alive? Oh Aslan…
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A/N: Please Read and Review! Dun dun duuuuuuuun! Leave a review and let me know what y'all thought about this one and what your theories are for what you think happens next.