Genocide

Time passed in a blur. Down below, at the base of the hill and across the plain, all hell was breaking loose. The enemy was tough. They came at the Narnians with hoarse battle cries and huge brutal weapons. The air filled with agonised cries as soldiers were struck down, the squeals of horses as their riders slipped from the saddle and the deafening clang of sword on armour. Zia wanted so badly to be down there with the Dryads who flanked the Narnian army. She felt practically useless being so far away. Nina had probably put her with Susan to keep her as safe as possible - she was the youngest Dryad soldier on the battlefield - but her own security was at the bottom of her list of priorities.

She glanced sideways. Beside her, Queen Susan's eyes were fixed on the charging infantry on the far side of the field. She did not appear horrified or disgusted by their mutant bodies; she merely waited for the right time to strike. Her slender eyebrows met over her eyes, which burned with something fierce. The Gentle Queen did not look so gentle now.

Swallowing, Zia turned her gaze downward. She couldn't see the other Dryads; their position was obscured by the brow of the hill. However, she could see the creatures that had met the enemy halfway. Centaurs wielded their weapons with deadly accuracy, occasionally rearing up on to their hind legs and striking out with their hooves. Fauns seemed to be less cautious, less controlled - they threw themselves at whatever foe happened to be the closest and slashed at it until it thudded to the ground, twitching as it died. Leopards and Cheetahs scratched and pounced with beautiful, fluid movements. Gryphons circled overhead as though awaiting some kind of order - presumably from the Kings.

Nina was right: Battles were hideous affairs. In no time at all the green grass was dyed red and dead or dying bodies littered the field, obstructing the movement of both armies. Zia couldn't tell whether the majority of the lifeless forms belonged to their side or the enemy's. She preferred not to find out.

"Archers, take your aim!"

The cry snapped Zia out of examining the carnage. Moving as one, the archers lifted their bows, pointing the arrows towards the sky. The tension in the string hummed against Zia's fingers and the tip of her arrow quivered slightly. What had Sayalla said on her first day of training? It seemed like three lifetimes ago.

The first rule of archery - never lose focus on your target. You lose focus, you miss.

"Fire!"

The missiles rained down. A few of them embedded uselessly in the ground but most pierced some part of an enemy soldier. Some fell down dead, others screamed and grabbed for the shaft where it protruded from a shoulder or thigh. Zia had lost sight of her arrow but she hoped it had done some considerable damage.

There was barely a pause before Susan barked, "Again!"

So it went on - round after round of deadly rain with no time to breathe. Zia's arms ached and she was panting. Surely they must have accidentally hit one of their own soldiers but the frenzy made it impossible to tell. There was no time to check.

An unheard command suddenly sent the wheeling gryphons into action. They swooped low, screeching like demented bats. Each held a sizeable rock in its talons. The rocks dropped from the sky onto the enemy ranks with thundering crashes. The aerial attack seemed to take the monsters by surprise. Those armed with bows tried to bring the mighty creatures down with arrows, but were sprung upon by the Narnians as soon as they lost concentration. Clearly the brutes had underestimated them. Now they were paying the price of their ignorance.

Susan held up her hand and the archers ceased fire. Some allowed their weary shoulders to sag, despite being repeatedly told that 'archers should always appear respectful and proud'. In her state of fatigue, Zia aimlessly wondered whether any of Sayalla's other pupils had debated violence whilst having commands flung at them. Sayalla was bossy by anyone's standards.

Behind Zia, someone cried, "Look! The enemy is retreating!"

Sure enough, the Narnians seemed to be pushing across the field with considerable speed now. A flash of white alerted Zia to the High King's position. He was in the front line, driving the tired Narnians forward with renewed vigour. The Dryads in their midst kept up an unbreakable rhythm, shooting arrow after arrow at the ghastly creatures' hearts.

The enemy exceeded the archers' range now, even from their vantage point. Zia watched in satisfaction as the cowards ran from the pursuing Narnians. Strangely, a group of them seemed to have broken off from the rest and, instead of retreating directly north (the direction from which they came), were moving purposefully into the forest to the east, the direction from which the Dryads had come. The direction of…

Keep your eyes open, Daughter. They know.

Her gasp was so loud and sudden that Susan threw her a sharp look. Zia staggered, feeling as though all the strength had suddenly been sucked out of her. The Queen promptly stepped over and held her elbow to keep her from losing her balance. Zia fought the dizziness, trying to wrap her thoughts around the situation. They knew about the Dryads' one weakness and were heading towards the Grove.

Several of the Dryads' hands flew to their open mouths. Their beautiful faces were masks of upmost shock, but not one of them moved.

"Zia, what is it?" Susan demanded next to her ear.

Zia shook her head to clear the ringing and gasped out, "They know. They know about us. They're heading towards the Grove. We h-have to stop them…"

The light of realisation sparked in Susan's eyes. "Can you stand on your own?"

At Zia's nod, Susan let go of her elbow and strode away - presumably to send a messenger to warn Peter of the Dryads' vulnerable position. That would take too long. By the time Peter had assessed the danger and sent his army after them it would be too late. Something had to be done now.

Zia didn't even pause to think her plan through. Aslan, she didn't even have a plan. Her brain handed her body over to her instincts and she took off down the hill. The slope was steep but she managed to keep her balance, only stumbling slightly when the ground suddenly levelled out. There was quite a gap between the archers' stand and the rest of the Narnians now. Zia didn't pause to take it in; her feet carried her swiftly over the blood-stained battlefield. The mangled bodies and rivers of blood didn't even register in her panicked mind. The smell - the metallic, salty, sickening smell - reached her nose and took the direct path to her stomach. She fought the bile rising in her throat and spurred her feet on.

She caught sight of Davlon at the back of the group. Oh, thank Aslan!Drawing a deep breath, she bellowed his name with all her might. The single word scraped up her throat like a knife. She coughed painfully and prayed that the Centaur had heard her cry. Miraculously, he turned around.

Davlon trotted over to her. "What are you doing, Daughter of Aslan?" he asked as she bent over, bracing her hands on her knees. "Shouldn't you be with Queen Susan and the other archers?"

Zia opened her mouth but all that came out were choked retches. The stench of blood and sweat was overpowering. Joyful cheers from the Narnians could be heard over the erratic pounding in her ears but she knew it was far from over.

"They're… h-headed for the… the Gr-Grove…" she wheezed. Running didn't usually affect her so much, but the frenzied hysteria and crushing reality of how many had lost their lives (monsters or not) was almost too much for her fragile disposition to cope with.

Understanding dawned in Davlon's dark eyes. A second later his hand had grasped her forearm and she was being swung onto his back.

Riding Davlon was distinctly contrastive to riding Seren. His lean, muscular torso acted as a shield, protecting her from the winds that would have forced her to screw up her eyes. His stride was consciously even and smooth. The ride would have been comfortable had it not been for the rolling in her stomach and the agitation eating away at her patience. Her bow was still in her fist, her fingers gripping it so tightly they had grown numb. There was no need to hold on even at the speed they were travelling, so she focused her mind on gently unbending each of her fingers and flexing the stiffness out of them.

A gruff yell caught her attention and her head instantly jerked upwards; they were getting close now. It seemed as though the grotesque enemy force was not far ahead. Zia squinted into the blurred trees, trying to catch a glimpse of them. Something metallic glinted in the dappled sunlight; her gut twisted and flip-flopped.

"Hurry, Davlon," she whispered.

Through a break in the vegetation, they caught sight of a huge beast. It was lumbering along behind the others, and no wonder. It carried an enormous axe over its shoulder – an axe that could take down a tree with one hefty blow.

Without thinking about what she was doing, Zia reached for her quiver. She trained it on the great furry back, leaning sideways to see around Davlon's torso. The arrow shot from her bow thudded into the beast's shoulder blade. A bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. Zia pressed her hands over her ears as Davlon leaped over the fallen body. Zia chanced a glance behind her and immediately wished she hadn't.

By the time they reached the Great River, the shouts were louder and clearer. Thankfully the crossing was shallow; Davlon's stride barely altered as he pushed through the swirling water.

Davlon bunched like a spring and soared over a log and then they were there. The Centaur galloped straight past the shocked creatures, turned and skidded to a halt just a few feet from the edge of the Grove. Zia leaped from his back and grabbed an arrow, barely aiming before letting it fly. It hit the nearest creature – what looked to be a strange cross between an ape and a warthog – straight in the chest. It didn't even have time to scream before its life was snuffed out like a candle.

The rest of them stopped in surprise, staring down at their fallen comrade. Zia already had another arrow ready for whichever beast decided to step forward first. It didn't look like that would happen any time soon – they were all now looking around at each other in complete confusion. Zia bit her lip to keep back a hysterical giggle, barely noticing the look Davlon shot her.

Several shuffles and grunts disturbed the silence as one of them shoved his way through to stand at the front of the crowd. This one must have been the largest of the lot; seven feet tall at least and with tremendous rolls of muscle clearly visible beneath its thick hide. Devilish horns protruded from its head, curving round and ending in wickedly sharp points. Zia recognised this one as a Minotaur; they had been one of the first races to side with the White Witch. It was dressed in a leather tunic, which looked very out of place wrapped around its broad chest, and a double-bladed axe was strapped across its back. The weapon was almost as big as Zia. The curved twin blades were almost as wide as her arm was long. The weapon was not easy to ignore even though Zia tried her very best to do so.

The Minotaur's beady black eyes travelled down the length of Zia's body and back up again. It seemed to be assessing whether she was a true threat. Zia tried to appear as menacing as possible to show it she wasn't afraid. The beast's terrible mouth curved up in a crude smile and its vast chest reverberated with booming laughter.

As if that were the cue, the rest of the group followed the Minotaur's lead. Zia found herself on the receiving end of mocking jeers and cruel, snide cackles. Some even pointed their claws, hooves, wings (or whatever sort of limb they happened to possess) at her. She felt her cheeks flush as she glared at them all. They may be terrifying but that didn't mean they could scoff at her.

"What do we have here?" the Minotaur (who Zia had now decided must be some kind of authority figure) demanded, still smirking down at her. "Why, I do believe that King Peter has sent a little girl to defend his precious Dryads."

Zia puffed up with anger at this. "I'm here under no one's orders," she said vehemently.

The Minotaur seemed to find this hilarious. The ground vibrated with his deep, gravelly laughter and Zia had to fight to keep her stance steady and unwavering.

"My my, what a pretty little thing you are," he leered.

He took several steps towards her with his huge heavy feet, causing Davlon to clench his fists and paw at the grass in warning. The great beast stopped and reached out one large, leathery hand to grab Zia's chin. Zia shook her head but couldn't free herself from the vicelike grip of his meaty fingers. Up close he stank of putrid breath and raw meat. Her stomach heaved in disgust.

"Get your filthy hands off me," she growled again whilst trying unsuccessfully to escape his grasp.

"Fiery, too." He smirked at the gathering behind him. "It will almost be a shame to kill her."

"Let her go!" Davlon demanded. His voice struck almost as much fear into Zia than the stinking beast that held her.

The Minotaur paused to give Davlon a once over and his ugly face broke out into an even wider grin, exposing yellow, cracked teeth. The stench that washed over Zia made her head spin.

"I don't see any of your pathetic Narnian army rushing to aid you, Centaur," he spat. "Or are you contemptuous enough to think that you could overpower my men alone?"

"I seem to recall that it was your army who ran from the Narnians," Davlon returned savagely.

"Ah, but that was all part of the plan, you see."

Zia's face was finally released. She rubbed her jaw, glaring up at the Minotaur. "What plan?" she demanded.

The Minotaur spread his shaggy arms. His black eyes were like shiny beetles and they glinted with malice. "It really isn't that hard to figure out. My army feigned retreat to distract your little High King. Whilst he chased them into the forest, I brought these guys here to get rid of your charming nature beauties. They're pretty handy with their bows, I'll give you that. Couldn't have them getting in the way of us. We're going to wipe every last one of your inferior soldiers. Count on that."

Zia dug her fingernails into her palms. The topic of wiping out so many lives was as easy to discuss as the weather. Although it frightened her to admit it, this Minotaur could snap her in half without any effort. Davlon could defend himself better than she could, but he wouldn't last very long against half an army.

Despite herself, Zia had to ask, "Why? Why would you do something like that?"

Raucous guffaws abused her ears as the Minotaur gazed around at his cronies, sharing a joke at Zia's expense. "The answer to that question is simple, my pretty. It's fun."

Realisation pushed its way into her clouded thoughts; she and Davlon were a hopeless cause. Their death was being prolonged for entertainment. Their only hope was that they'd stalled the attack long enough for Peter to realise his mistake and come running to protect the Dryads.

Even when Zia squeezed her eyes shut, that horrible, hairy face loomed at her. She sensed the scrutiny of his piggy eyes, silently mocking of her anguish. Desperately trying to distract herself, Zia pictured Nina. She focused all her mental strength on reconstructing every detail of her sister's face. The final blow would come soon, so she pictured safety, warmth and love to mask the inescapable pain.

Suddenly, the pounding of a thousand feet shattered the tense air. The group of monsters all turned in confusion and immediately met their end. Peter blazed through on his white unicorn, followed by an animated crowd of Narnian soldiers. They cut down the bewildered beasts before they could work out what was happening. The Minotaur roared in rage.

"Zia, the Grove!"

Davlon's shout snapped her to attention. He galloped after the Minotaur as it lumbered away, with Zia in hot pursuit. As soon as the Minotaur crossed the Grove's boundaries, the whole of Nina's clan was in even greater peril. Zia's stomach undulated so violently that she had to stop. Bent double, she clamped her teeth together against the vomit surging up her throat. The ground vibrated as several Fauns bounded past, howling with exuberance.

Just as Zia straightened, a wicked crunch echoed through the forest.

"No!" she screamed, lurching into the familiar cluster of trees. She was just in time to see a surge of Fauns dive at the Minotaur, who collapsed under their combined wrath. Zia only had eyes for the axe; its blade was embedded in the trunk of the tree growing at the very heart of the Grove. The majestic tree creaked, shivered and groaned as it suffered the agony of almost complete dimidiation.

No. Please Aslan, no…

Her head whipped up in a dizzying hurricane. She stumbled and was encased by strong arms as darkness claimed her.