Free

Susan breathed a sigh of relief. Cair Paravel faded into just another dark shadow in the night and the forest welcomed them like an old friend, swallowing them from sight of the alert sentries patrolling the battlements. Susan rode a few feet ahead of the others, guiding her mount carefully through the network of trees, a flaming torch in her hand and a full quiver of arrows on her back. She had found and memorised the location of the beasts' hideout using the numerous maps in Peter's study and the various creatures that had turned up at Cair Paravel to report sightings of them. The fortress lay a few miles east of the Great River and about half a day's ride south of the border between Narnia and the Wild Lands of the North. It would take at least a day for them to reach it from the Cair.

Susan wasn't taking any chances with the dangers of their mission. Until now she had been too preoccupied with helping Edmund escape from the castle without being caught to think over the odds of them actually succeeding with what they planned to do. Now that she thought about it, the chance seemed dauntingly slim.

In the end, their escape from Cair Paravel had all been down to Lucy and Ivy. There was a secret door near the hospital wing that none of the Pevensies had known about. Luckily Ivy was only too happy to help them use it. If it had been Alexandra they would have received a flat refusal and Peter would probably have been notified of their plans.

Behind Susan, Edmund and Lucy rode side by side. "Are you afraid, Ed?" Lucy asked in a hushed voice.

He did his best to smile convincingly. "Of course not. Don't worry Lu. Susan knows what she's doing. I daresay she's come up with a complete plan of action without either of us knowing."

Despite his bravado, doubts were starting to rake back his confidence. What were they thinking, attempting to break into a fortress in the dead of night with only the three of them? Plus they had no idea where in the fortress Zia was being held, or even if she was still alive…

No, he mustn't think like that. Of course she was alive. Even if they didn't manage to rescue her – which they would – at least they would have tried. It had almost driven Edmund mad to think about her waiting all alone amongst those godforsaken creatures for a rescue that would never come. Even if Peter locked him in his room for the rest of his life afterwards, at least he hadn't sat back and done nothing.

He nudged Philip with his heels – the Horse wasn't too pleased about being woken up in the middle of the night. Edmund had offered to take a non-Talking horse instead to let him sleep, but Philip had insisted that he was already awake. He trotted forward until they were level with Susan's horse. Her keen blue eyes searched the shadows, following some path that Edmund couldn't see.

"Ed?"

"Yes, Su?"

"Do you really think we can do this?" Her voice was riddled with uncertainty. "I just don't think we've thought this through at all. We should gather a rescue party -"

"And risk Peter sending his own search party after us before we rescue Zia? C'mon, Su, I think Peter would notice if some of his soldiers suddenly went missing."

"We could at least get some of the forest creatures to come with us. We would stand more of a chance against the guards at the fort."

"I don't want to risk any more Narnian lives tonight," Edmund replied patiently. "Zia and Breejit are already in danger. I think it's best that we leave the creatures to their beds."

Susan shook her head slightly. The amount her brother was prepared to put at stake for one Dryad was almost frightening. However Susan still had a logical head on her shoulders and she knew they simply couldn't do it alone.

"It's this way," she said, halting her dark mare and gesturing to their left with her torch. Trusting her judgement completely, Edmund obediently turned Philip and Lucy followed without question. Susan didn't usually act on a whim, but she'd make an exception for a whim that would save them all from her brother's insanity.

Tigran led the way through the fort, cutting down monsters and whooping in delight the entire way. Zia couldn't understand the enormous joy he seemed to find in battle but he was an unstoppable force. He cleared their path of the beasts that charged towards them in ones and twos, hoping to prevent their escape. Davlon swished his own sword from side to side, taking down the bravest brutes that managed to get past Tigran's exhilarated charge. He did his best not to jostle Pelerine; the Nymph's hold on his waist was far too delicate for his liking.

It suddenly dawned on Zia that they were forgetting something very important. She skidded to a halt just as Tigran drove his sword deep into the belly of a harpy.

"Wait!" Zia cried. The corridor in which they found themselves was now empty. Tigran yanked his sword from the harpy's body and grimaced at the dark sludge coating the blade. "Where's Breejit?" She half-turned in Pelerine's direction but didn't meet the Nymph's dull eyes. "Well? Where is he?"

"I heard one of them mention something about – about torturing him for information," Pelerine said through gritted teeth. "If we're lucky they might still be holding him in the chamber."

"What are you waiting for? Show us where it is!"

None of them had a chance to move before a thunderous echo preceded a swarm of enemies. Zia, vulnerable and useless without her bow, dashed to a small alcove. She hid in the shadows, utterly helpless.

Davlon and Tigran were heavily outnumbered. They were slowly being forced further and further back the way they had come. Pelerine appeared to be barely conscious. With a jolt, Zia realised they had greatly overestimated Pelerine's ability to cope with stress after being kept in such a small, silent place for so long. The Nymph's limp form was becoming a hindrance to Davlon; he couldn't keep her astride him and defend them both at the same time. If help didn't arrive soon they were all as good as dead.

An enormous, shaggy, humanoid warthog with devilish yellow tusks and tiny beetle-like eyes raised its wicked double-edged sword as Tigran stumbled backwards, reeling from a blow to the shoulder. The warthog let out a bellow of triumph and Zia hid her face in her hands, waiting for a yell of agony or maybe just a sickening crunch as the weapon chopped into the bold Dryad warrior. But none of it came.

Instead, the sound of frantic running caused everyone to stop what they were doing and look around in confusion. That moment of stillness was all it took for Tigran to scramble up and deliver a fatal strike to the warthog before it had time to recover its wits. The approaching rabble was finally explained as a horde of familiar faces rounded a corner and leaped upon the enemy. Zia could have wept for joy; her beloved Dryads were here and they were still holding strong, fighting as though they had emerged into spring after a winter of peaceful slumber. They unleashed a torrent of arrows and cut and hacked with their swords, joining Tigran in a fierce but joyous war song that was made solely of whoops and shouts mixed with the screams of the dying.

As the last of the guards twitched its last twitch amongst a horrific mess of fur and blood the Dryads checked each other for injuries and congratulated each other on a spectacular victory. Tigran wiped his sword on a nearby heap of fur and slid it carefully back into the scabbard at his waist. Zia straightened from her crouch and made her way gingerly around the bodies to join her people. A stronghold of embraces surrounded her and cheery voices filled the chilly air. But there was still one thing missing.

"Breejit!" she exclaimed, panic rising in her throat.

"Calm yourself, child," said a familiar voice. Zia looked up and was overjoyed to see the stern but gentle face of her old tutor, Sayalla. "He's perfectly safe."

The crowd parted and Breejit was revealed. The Fox was draped across the arms of another Dryad. His eyes were closed. Zia immediately rushed to gather her friend into her arms and bury her face in his ruff.

"It's alright, Bree," she whispered, shaking slightly with the weight of her relief. "Everything's alright, you're safe now." Breejit didn't open his eyes but Zia swore she felt a rough tongue poke her hand. "We have to get him out of here," she announced.

She turned, searching for Davlon. The Centaur knelt rather awkwardly on the floor away from the rest of the group. A limp, lifeless form lay like a ragdoll propped up in his arms. Zia's heart skipped a beat; they hadn't made it out unscathed after all.

Within moments the entire army was crowded around Davlon. Struggling with Breejit's cumbersome weight, it was some time before Zia made her way to the front of the crowd and could look down upon their wounded comrade. A sharp gasp got stuck halfway up her dry throat; it was Pelerine.

"What happened?" someone to Zia's left demanded. Zia couldn't find the words to speak; her eyes were wide and disbelieving.

"She was too weak to defend herself and I was not quick enough to defend her," was Davlon's reply. The Centaur's smooth voice wavered and shook with his grief.

Sayalla, who had bent to examine the Nymph, now straightened and turned to them all with a grave expression. "I fear there is little we can do. She was already feeble and the wound is very serious." A number of them craned their necks, attempting to glimpse the wound, but Davlon shielded Pelerine with his body as though offering some the protection he had failed to give before. "The best we can do is stay with her until she passes."

It was then that Zia realised Pelerine was still breathing. Her chest still rose and fell although the movements were minute and barely visible. Zia tenderly manoeuvred Breejit into the arms of the woman next to her and knelt beside the Nymph's shoulder. With a shaky hand she reached out to smooth the auburn hair back from Pelerine's forehead. At Zia's touch, Pelerine's lovely eyes flickered open.

"Zia," she gasped, "I'm so sorry…"

Zia shushed her. "Don't try to talk."

Pelerine half-lifted a frail hand, reaching out to her. Zia automatically clasped it in both of hers, forcing back involuntary tears. Why was she crying for this Nymph? It was thanks to her that Nina was dead. So why was the lining of her throat suddenly thick enough to make her choke?

"I never meant for it to be like this… I only wanted…"

"I know," Zia whispered, "You only wanted Edmund."

"Does he hate me for what I did?"

Zia shook her head despairingly and gripped her hand tighter. "Of course not he - he always speaks fondly of you. He wouldn't want you to worry."

A kind of peaceful smile graced Pelerine's haggard features. Zia felt her hand go slack and a little sigh passed between her pale lips. "I can feel it coming, Zia. It feels nice, not at all like I imagined."

Pelerine seemed to have forgotten the other Dryads standing like a protective wall around them. "Can we call a truce?" she asked.

Zia had to fight the urge to turn away from her gaze; she didn't want to watch the light leave Pelerine's eyes. "Of course."

"I know you and Edmund will be happy together. I can see how much you care about him – your eyes betray all your secrets." She tried to laugh but it came out as a pathetic little cough.

Words had failed Zia completely. She looked desperately up at her clan and her eyes locked with Sayalla's. The sturdy woman crouched beside Zia and gently stroked Pelerine's hair, comforting her as she slipped away.

"Sleep now," she murmured. Her voice remained as steady and strong as always.

Pelerine's eyes fluttered closed.

A tear rolled down Zia's cheek and she harshly wiped it away before anyone noticed.

"We've got to get out of here," she said.

"What about Pelerine?" Davlon still cradled the Nymph close to his body like a fragile doll. The brown eyes that met Zia's were more vulnerable than she had ever seen them.

"We'll take her with us. Give her a funeral when we get back home, but we've got to go now." Zia sniffled as she stood up and turned away from Pelerine's lifeless body. She couldn't bear to look at her anymore. "Come on, we don't want to be anywhere near here when that Minotaur finds out we've gone."

Tigran trotted to her side, leading the way without a word. The others followed in their wake. Their journey out of the fortress went mercifully uninterrupted. Silent prayers of thanks were said to Aslan as they made their way out of that awful place as quickly as they possibly could.

Up on the ramparts, the Minotaur watched the little army of Dryads and the Centaur hurry away into the darkness. Keeping that red-haired girl prisoner was becoming a chore anyway; it had been fun until the fight had left her and she'd become drearily complacent. And that little one – the male soldier – well, he was something else entirely. The General had been hoping he'd live – he could be made very useful in the future. For now, the General had displaced new orders and he – the General's most loyal and trusted Commander – would lay his life on the line to ensure that those pesky humans would pay for his queen's defeat.

With that, the Minotaur followed the Dryad girl and her rescuers with such a quiet swiftness that one would think his footsteps were merely the wind sighing through the trees.