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Edmund and Peter circled each other like vultures. Peter's grip twisted on his sword as they walked, readying himself. Edmund's face bore a look of intense concentration—he could not yet clear his mind as effortlessly as the other 'Poets, and he did want to prove that they'd done well in training him. Sybella and Tabbarack sat on the sidelines, watching with deceptive placidity. Orieus was beside them, arms crossed over his chest, a somber frown on his face.

It had been a month and a week since Edmund had begun a 'Poet's training. Now, for the first time since then, he and Peter were sparring.

Their steps were equally measured—that was something that had never happened before. Usually Peter's were so much larger than his brother's. He shifted his grip on the hilt again.

So did Edmund, glancing swiftly down at his feet. He was following his teachers' advice and devising a tactic he hadn't been taught. Follow his steps, he thought to himself. Mimic his movements. Copy every shift. Watch every motion. When he tenses, tense; when he relaxes, relax. Maybe it will tell me what he'll do first.

Peter moved his sword up. Edmund followed. His finger twitched instinctively; Edmund twitch his as well. His brother tripped on a small stone in the ring and Edmund added a small hop to his own circling rather than take advantage of the fumble.

Off to the side, Sybella suddenly chuckled. "Good show, Edmund," she muttered. "Excellent, excellent."

"He hasn't done anything yet," Orieus said.

"No, and that's the point," she said back. "Have you spotted it yet, Tabbarack?"

"No, I…ah," he said as Edmund dipped his blade a second after Peter had. "Interesting."

"Wait a moment… is he mirroring Peter?"

"You catch on quick."

The voices buzzed like mosquitoes. Edmund turned towards his teachers and smiled as he realized they'd seen what he was doing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peter's muscles bunch. A second later, he sprang. Edmund leaped backwards and Peter sliced at open air. The 'Poet jumped forward and the King's sword met his. The air rang with the sound of steel striking steel and Peter came in for another attack.

"Watch your footing, Peter!" Orieus drilled. "Left, right, swing!"

"Edmund!" Sybella barked. "I saw that! I thought we broke that habit!"

The younger king had fallen into Orieus' drill. He shook his head as Peter stepped backward.

"I didn't see any bad habits," Orieus said to the other centaur.

"Neither did I," she answered.

"Look, here it comes!" Tabbarack cried, clapping his paws together.

Edmund and Peter had launched into another series of swift counters and attacks, their blades blurring with motion. Peter managed to knock Edmund's sword away and send him sprawling, leaving him open for any attack.

A month ago, Peter would have won right then. Now, Edmund rose up on his arms and, pivoting with his elbows, spun his legs into Peter's and dropping him as well. Peter shouted in surprise as he fell, dropping his sword and throwing one arm out to catch himself. Edmund calmly grabbed his own sword.

"Hey!" the High King said from the ground, reaching for his lost weapon. "That's cheating!"

"Foul on Edmund," Orieus yelled. "Really, Majesties, that's despicable—"

"No foul," Tabbarack yelled back. "Stand up and keep fighting."

"But he tripped me!" Peter called.

"Orieus, there was no foul," Sybella said, laying on hand on his elbow.

"But—"

"He's not a soldier, remember?" the bear said. "There are no rules.

The centaur frowned. "Stand and continue."

"But Orieus—"

"Stand and continue."

Peter growled and stood, shooting a look at his brother.

"Sorry," Edmund mumbled, eyes smiling. "If you like, we can pretend you slipped instead."

Rather than respond, Peter slashed at his brother's chest. Edmund's eyes widened and he blocked the attack rather clumsily.

"Quit holding back, Edmund," Tabbarack yelled. "No holds barred."

Edmund nodded and fell with Peter's next attack, sliding between his legs and coming up on the other side. When Peter turned, he got a face full of dirt. He swung wildly, blinking his stinging eyes. Edmund blocked each pass carefully before backing up and going back to mirroring. Peter circled left and Edmund turned right. Peter slashed at Edmund's right. Edmund blocked and stabbed at Peter's left.

"Wait a moment. Are you copying me?" Peter asked, exasperated and breathless.

"Are you copying me?" Edmund answered with a weary smirk.

"How babyish."

"How babyish."

"Edmund!" He raised his sword.

"Edmund!" Edmund mimicked the movement.

"Just attack, Peter!" Orieus yelled. "Don't bother to talking!"

With a roar, Peter jumped at the Just King. Edmund, not ready for the fierce attack and startled by the roar, was disarmed with little struggle. He fell to his knees in defeat with Peter's sword at his throat.

"High King Peter wins!" Orieus said as the teachers stepped onto the field. "Very well played, Peter."

"Yes, very well played, Peter," Sybella answered in the same inflection as the other centaur, with a smirk similar to her pupil's.

Orieus shot her a deadly look and Tabbarack laughed. Edmund beamed from the ground. That was as good as highest praise, coming from a 'Poet. To the younger king, it said very clearly Peter may have won, but you were incredible.

"What are you smiling at?" Peter said with a frown. "You lost again. I am sorry…you just…"

"I'm not going to be beating you any time soon, Pete," the Just King said cheerfully. "I play too nice."

"I wouldn't call that nice. What'd you trip me for?"

"I was losing," he answered simply. "It's nothing personal. Just training."

Peter frowned, curiosity instantly in flames. "What do you do, anyway?"

"Can't tell. Secret."

The High King pouted and marched out of the training ring.


From the Annals

Edmund's first great military victory came in the form of the Six-Minute Siege that started and ended about a two months after his secret training had begun. The trolls, led by a vicious general named Blood-Drinker, had come for a second pass at taking Cair Paravel, moving through Owlwood so as to sneak up on their Majesties. A passing gryphon saw the amassing army and quickly sent word to the castle, spoiling the surprise attack. While Peter's forces assembled on the field before Cair Paravel, Edmund took a group of soldiers, both from his 8th and 22nd unit and from Peter's men, and took them into the woods before the trolls could get there. No one is certain what happened in Owlwood that day, for Edmund's band never said a word. Whatever occurred, it cut Blood-Drinker's army by nearly half with only one fatality. With the numbers depleted, Peter had no trouble leading his troops to victory.

It would become the first of a long line of good judgments Edmund made.

Bells rang and whistles sounded; the entire Cair was buzzing with terrified activity. The gryphon's report had come not half and hour ago—the trolls are on the march!—and everywhere you looked, the army was stirring.

Everywhere except the more private halls, where Peter, Edmund, and Getta the gryphon walked toward Lucy's and Susan's chambers.

"Are they using any familiar paths, Getta?" Peter demanded, dodging a faun who was arming and running at the same time.

"None that I recognized, King Peter," she answered.

"Describe it. Edmund knows the forest."

"They were headed into the forest through the northwestern passage, but I don't think they were going to take it all the way. They were beginning to spread out when I saw them—"

"Getta, you're bleeding," Edmund cried, tapping her broad brown shoulder gingerly.

She winced. "They took some shots at me. I guess that was the only one that hit me. It's just a graze; I'll be fine."

"Susan!" Peter yelled, knocking on her door as they arrived. "Susan, wake up!"

"Just a—ahhhhhhhhh—moment, Pete," she said sleepily from inside. Peter grinned despite his worries. Susan always did have the most unladylike yawns. She opened the door, dressed in a nightgown and robe, and blinked at her brothers. "What's the fuss?"

"The trolls are on the march, Su," Peter said grimly. "I need you up with the archers. I'm sorry—"

"Not a bit," Susan said, almost instantly transforming into the formidable Queen that all of Narnia adored. "Give me two minutes to get dressed." The door closed.

"Peter…" Edmund said, biting his lip.

"What's the matter?"

"The Southern Watch isn't here right now."

Peter didn't answer.

"The 32nd regiment is dealing with a warewolf in the Western Woods."

Still no response.

"You let Galma borrow the 18th, and the Ettinsmoor Division is doing the annual sweep of the Witch's castle."

Peter turned away.

"Pete, where's our army coming from?"

"The reserves," the High King said brusquely. "The palace guard, the Eastern Watch, the Archen District, and the Havela Quarter. Susan has her Archers, and Orieus' unit, and my Riders and Lucy's Fighting Heralds."

"…How many trolls did you say there were, Getta?"

"At least three thousand, Majesty."

"Peter—"

"Don't, Ed," he said sharply as the door opened again. Susan exited her room, stringing her bow and dressed for battle.

"What are our chances?" she asked as they resumed the march to Lucy's rooms.

"Slim to none, at the moment," Edmund said dryly.

"I said don't, Ed."

"Our forces are too scattered, Peter, and you know it!"

"We still have eighteen hundred soldiers."

"They have three thousand."

"Boys!" Susan snapped. "Enough! I know trolls are difficult to kill, but the Gentle Archers can still manage at least three hundred. That drops their numbers some."

"Not enough."

"There's still the 8th and 22nd…"

"That'll give us another five hundred, won't it?" Susan asked.

"The 8th and 22nd is one unit, Su," Edmund said wearily as if tired of explaining that particular joke. "And it's only got a hundred and I'm not qualified to lead them yet, and my teachers are away."

"What?"

"Sybella's with the Ettinsmoor Division, Tabbarack took the week to visit his mother, and Groul's ill. It's not serious, but it's enough."

"There's still Cotton." They had reached Lucy's chambers and Peter knocked on the door as they spoke.

"Cotton won't lead full force without another leader with him. That's not how rabbits work."

"Lucy, wake up! We need you!"

"Yes?" Lucy said. Mr. Tumnus, Mrs. Beaver, and a Boa Constrictor named Impera were seated around a table behind her. She'd apparently been awake and talking to them when her brother knocked.

"Trolls on the march, Lu," Susan said before anyone could say anything. "Better get the infirmary ready."

Lucy went pale. "Mr. Tumnus, you're with me. Mrs. Beaver, better tell your husband to rally the Coast Guard. Impera—"

"Impera, come with me," Edmund said, recognizing him from the 8th and 22nd the last time he'd spoken with them.

"Why?" Peter asked as the snake slipped silently out of the chamber. Lucy headed toward the infirmary and Susan went to find her Archers.

"Because I have an idea," the Just King said as they started walking again. "You're not going to like it, Pete, but…you said so yourself…I know the woods…"

Peter frowned, then paled. "No. Whatever it is, the answer is no."

"I wasn't asking your permission yet," Edmund said crossly. "Give me eighty good men, Peter. Cotton will let me take thirty of the 8th and 22nd if he's one of them. Just fifty out of your troops."

"No."

"I can lead them then, Pete. Straight into the woods. I know what to do. We'll lay traps, snares, anything we can manage. Ambushes, guerilla warfare—the 'Poets will show the rest of them what to do."

"Edmund, that's suicide!" Peter yelled, shocking a group of already-rushing Animals to sprint by the angry monarch. "I can't let you lead that party. Eighty men against three thousand?"

"We'd only have to cut the troopssss," Impera said. "It isssss a good plan, Sssssire."

"Half the men don't know the woods like you two do."

"They wouldn't have to," he answered. "All they would have to do isssss what we would ssssay. If there'sssss one thing ssssoldiersssss are good at, it'ssss—"

"—Following orders," Edmund said with a grin, sharing the inside joke.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's not an insult, I swear. Please."

"It's too dangerous. You'll all be killed instantly."

"The trolls will never see us. Without this chance, we're through."

"It does seem like a decent idea, King Peter," Getta said quietly. "If Edmund knows Owlwood half as well as you all seem to think he does…"

"I don't like it."

Edmund threw up his hands and in a hysterical voice said, "You don't have to like it, you just have to authorize it. For Aslan, Brother, please."

Peter frowned. "…You will be careful, won't you?"

Edmund grinned and hugged him, making the High King's ears turn pink. "What will you give me?"

"Fifty of the Havela Quarter."

"Perfect. Impera, go find Cotton. Tell him I need him and twenty-eight 'Poets, Quills and Staves blazing, to meet me at the edge of the wood. Peter, this is important—keep your men inside the gates until you get my signal."

"And if I don't get your signal?"

"Give me ten minutes tops once the trolls breach the wood. If you don't have it by then, go anyway."

"And if I don't get your signal?"

"Well, that means you'll probably have to find yourself a new Just King.


You know, I think this might actually be my very first cliffhanger. It will not be the last.

Thank you very much to the reviewers of the last chapter—Shizuku, Eavis, GoldSilverLionFox, and BabyBeaver. Speaking of which, I haven't seen GoldSilverLionFox around here before. Welcome to My Narnia, home of the Warrior Poets, the Graced of Aslan, and the all-around craziness that isn't entirely canon. I like your username.