Trouble in the North

Peter, Edmund and the others arrived back at the Cair without misfortune. The army's spirits collectively rose as soon as the white turrets became visible above the treetops, but their hearts were weighed down by the realisation that so many of their comrades were not there to witness the sight. The two brothers exchanged sad smiles. Susan and Lucy awaited them on the front steps and Ivy arrived with her healers soon after they had all spilled into the courtyard.

Edmund waved away Ivy's concern. "Don't worry about me - there are others with far more serious injuries." Even as he spoke a jolt of pain made him wince – the journey on horseback hadn't been good for his leg at all.

"Are you sure, sire? You look ever so pale."

"Quite sure," said Edmund, though he almost collapsed attempting to climb down from Philip's saddle. Peter caught him and lowered him down onto the cobbled stones, pillowing his head with his cloak.

"Always the martyr," Peter grumbled as Lucy rushed to their brother's aid. Lucy took Peter's place by Edmund's side whilst the older King moved off to assist some of the wounded soldiers.

Ivy ignored Edmund's protests as she peeled away the bloodstained bandage to examine the wound. It was wide and deep enough to need stitches, and the recent strain of dismounting had caused blood to well up again.

"Mr Tumnus has just been telling me what happened." Lucy's eyes were full of sympathy as she uncapped the crystal bottle she always carried in a pouch on her belt. Its bittersweet contents were familiar to Edmund, as was the slight burn in the back of his throat as he swallowed a single drop of the liquid. Ivy's eyes grew round as she watched the torn edges of his skin knit together. The fuzziness cleared from his head and he felt warmth return to his face. He slowly bent his leg. There was not a single prickle of pain.

"I can't take my eyes off her for a second," Edmund laughed, trying to make light of Lucy's last comment. He was more than a little anxious about the idea of Zia being inside that place, Tigran or no Tigran.

"Where's Peter?" he asked, glancing around and discovering the courtyard to be almost empty and his brother nowhere in sight.

"He had to attend an emergency council meeting." It was Mr Tumnus that answered his question as he appeared beside Lucy. He looked rather pale and shaky but was still in one piece. Ivy began to wipe away the blood that had dried and crusted on Edmund's skin. "He requested that you be taken to the hospital wing to get some rest."

Edmund raised one eyebrow. "Did he? Hm, I thought he knew me better than that. I'm perfectly fine thanks to Lucy." He smiled warmly at his sister and she squeezed his hand. "All I need is some clean clothes."

He changed into the fresh tunic and breeches that were brought to him and made sure to put an extra bounce in his step as he left to convince Ivy he really was cured. Jogging along the corridors brought him to the council chambers in less than four minutes. The amount of scuffling behind the door told him the session was already over. He stepped out of the way just as Peter emerged.

"Ed!" he exclaimed, taking him by the shoulders and checking him over. "You're up and about already. I thought I told Tumnus to take you to the hospital wing? I suppose I shouldn't have expected you to listen." His voice and face were cheerful but Edmund didn't miss the worry in his eyes.

"Once again we have Father Christmas to thank," he said lightly. "What was that about, then?"

"Apparently whilst we were gone the Giant situation has gotten worse. A group of Marsh-Wiggles have told us that the enemy have been crossing the border into the Wild Lands and trying to recruit them as servants. When they refused there was a bit of a skirmish and now the Giants are threatening war. I have to ride out immediately."

"Are you sure? You haven't yet rested."

"One of Ivy's nurses gave me the all-clear. I'll be fine."

"Do you need me to go with you?"

Peter shook his head. "It shouldn't take more than a few chests of gold to calm them down. You know how Giants are."

Edmund smiled and nodded. As Peter turned to leave, Edmund grabbed his arm. "I'm glad we're friends again."

"Me too, brother." Peter ruffled his hair with a chuckle that turned into a hearty laugh when Edmund punched his chest. "See you when I get back. And stay out of trouble!"

The messenger stood before the General was an ugly fellow, but then again every creature in this thrice-accursed place belonged in the realm of nightmares. This one had the head of a hawk that looked as though it had been sewn onto a tiger's body by a seamstress with only one hand and no eyes. Its tail was a writhing snake patterned garishly with red and yellow. The snake-tail hissed suspiciously at Tigran where he stood on the General's right hand side. His left leg had gone to sleep and his back ached from standing. He had been making military plans with the General when the horrendous creature had been let in by Tezrac.

"The Kings have reached Cair Paravel unharmed, sir."

"And?" the General prompted.

"King Peter is already riding north," added the creature, somehow twisting its beak into a malicious grin. "Your plan is working splendidly."

Actually, Tigran wanted to interrupt, most of this was my idea. He was far from proud of it, though. But what choice did he have? The General looked to him for ideas now, including ones that involved the Kings and Queens.

The idea to use the Giants had come to him when the General had received word that his soldiers' attempts to recruit them had been unsuccessful yet again, and the Giants were growing ever more enraged. They had already threatened to attack Narnia if they weren't left alone, but the threats fell on deaf ears. It had been Tigran's idea to send word to the castle of the impending danger, knowing that either one or both of the Kings would make the journey to the border immediately. This would leave the siblings separated and the Cair more vulnerable to attack, which was what the General wanted, and Tigran's neck was safe as a result. What the General didn't know was that Tigran planned to reverse the effects of his treason (for treason it was, he thought bitterly) and bring the General and the rest of his nasty lot to a considerably sticky end.

The only problem was he had no idea how to do it.

As the General and the messenger continued to talk, Tigran examined his hand. A thin white scar as long as his little finger was all that remained of the wound whose ice-cold burning had almost driven him mad for two days and nights. The pain had disappeared, but he found that the scar still tingled whenever he thought about how he was going to escape. It was as if it knew that he had not truly chosen the side of evil – that his heart still despised the very thought of the Witch even after his tongue had sworn loyalty to her.

He kept hearing whispers a reincarnation that was to take place somewhere in the fortress, though no one seemed to know when. Some said the General planned to capture the Kings and Queens so that their blood could be the first Jadis spilled when she returned.

At least he was in a position to put himself to good use. He was allowed anywhere he pleased without question, since the guards that crawled all over the place like ants were under his command. He would find the place where they planned to bring the Witch back from the dead and he would put a stop to it. Then he would leave this place (after killing the General, of course) and find Zia. Hopefully when she heard what he'd done she wouldn't be angry at him for betraying them. At least Brook was with her and Brook trusted him. Maybe he could convince her that Tigran had done what he'd done for her sake – and for the sake of Narnia.

The General's voice called him from his daydreams and deposited him back in the throne room that the General had had built specially for himself, even though he was far from royalty. Arrogant pig, Tigran thought venomously as he plastered a sickly smile on his lips.

"Apologies, my lord." He ground out the title as though speaking it caused him physical pain. "I was somewhere else."

"Thinking up more clever plans to rid us of the brats who call this their kingdom, I hope?"

"Of course."

The General's satisfied smile twisted his stomach. "Excellent. I ought to think of a new name for you. I do enjoy thinking of new names for my loyal subjects. Don't I, Razorbeak?"

The hawk-tiger creature inclined its head. "Indeed, my lord. And may I say how marvellous the names you think of are, too."

Tigran didn't think Razorbeak was a particularly imaginative name, nor did he like the way the creature was sucking up to the General, but the Minotaur loved to be flattered. The compliments intoxicated him like wine, leaving him in a good enough mood to be more lenient if things weren't done in precisely the way he wanted.

He was little more than a spoilt child.

Tigran did his best not to squirm as the General looked him over and stroked the long hair on his chin in thought. "I have seen you on the training field. Your skill with a sword is truly remarkable. Most of my men fear you, and are afraid to fight you even in practise. They obey you without question simply because of what you can do with a piece of forged metal." He snapped his fingers. "I shall call you Slasher."

Once again, Tigran was less than impressed with the General's creativity and much preferred his own name, but he stooped into a low bow all the same. Besides, he was a little flattered by the analogy.

"A most wonderful name, my lord. I shall bear it with the utmost pride."

"Good, good!" The General clapped his hands like a gleeful child. "Now, where were we? Ah yes! The one who calls himself The Magnificent will reach the northern border in less than a day, but his wretch of a brother remains at Cair Paravel. The castle will be too heavily defended as long as he remains. I'm sure you can think of something to lure him away?"

He certainly could. The only reason Edmund would have to leave the castle would be if his family was in danger. Oh, but wait…

Zia.

No! Tigran shook the idea away before it could entice him. He would not risk Zia's life for the sake of the General. He would rather drive the blade of ice right through his own heart.

"It's simple," he found himself saying. "If the Just King found out his brother needed his help he would not hesitate and ride straight to him."

Great job, Tigran. Zia will never forgive you if anything happens to him and it's your fault.

Stop thinking about Zia!

"Ah, of course! We shall send him a nice letter from his dear brother. Tezrac! Fetch the scribe. We shall begin at once."

The scribe was the only one in the entire fortress who could write. He was nowhere near as hideous as all the creatures Tigran had encountered so far – in fact he looked familiar. He was a Black Dwarf with a useless leg that meant he was no use on the battlefield or in a forgery, so he had learned to put his hands to good use in a very different way. He took pride in his craft despite the mocking comments he received from the soldiers, for he knew something they didn't. Words, if used in the right way, could be more dangerous than any weapon of war.

The little Dwarf made a wobbly bow once he had limped up to the General's high chair. The Minotaur addressed him as Clubfoot – Tigran had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning – and beckoned him up the steps until the creature's neatly combed beard almost brushed the General's knee. He then waved Tigran forwards so he could put his sharp tongue to good use. It was a struggle to find the right words, but the parchment that Clubfoot held out to him when he had finished would have to do.

Edmund, it read, I have reached the northern border to discover the situation is worse than we anticipated. You must set out to meet me as soon as you can. Bring with you as many men as you see fit. Give the girls my love. Tell them not to worry. Peter.

"Fine words indeed!" the General exclaimed as he studied the parchment. He glanced up at Tigran with something close to admiration. He called to Tezrac and handed him the parchment. "Have this sent to Cair Paravel immediately. Use one of the inconspicuous messengers, mind! Send one of the Ravens; they're fairly reliable, though they demand much too high a price. Off you go!"

Tezrac bowed his way out of the room, the precious parchment clutched between his grubby fingers. Clubfoot was sent hobbling back to his study. He shot Tigran a sympathetic glance as he closed the door, leaving Tigran alone with the General again. That happened far too often for his liking, and he hadn't even been there for three days. He excused himself as politely as possible, bowing so much on his way out that he felt nauseous. Better to seem like a suck-up than risk his head on a chopping block. As soon as he was out of the door he broke into a run.

His feet carried him towards the training ground without any instruction from his brain. He missed the reassuring weight of the sword. Practising helped him to think; he needed to work out what he was going to do next before time ran out. Most of all, he just needed to stab something.

Loud footsteps and booming voices stopped him in his tracks. He slid into an alcove just as two guards rounded the corner. One was unnaturally tall and so thin that it was easy to count his ribs. The other was too short for his skin; it hung off his frame in rolls from his head to his squat legs.

"You sure that's what they said?" asked the first, squinting doubtfully down at his companion.

"Positive," the second replied. He lifted what should have been his chin and puffed out his saggy chest, making all the skin on his torso wobble alarmingly.

"You sure it's tomorrow?"

"Yep - once the brat brothers are both out of the way it will be easy for her to lead a raid on the castle and kill the two Queens. Then she will take care of the Kings herself."

Tigran's heart had begun to pound. The sound echoed around the cramped space so loudly that his whole body tensed with fear of being discovered. It didn't matter that he was above the guards in rank; he had a feeling he wasn't meant to hear this conversation and if the General found out he had been eavesdropping it would all be over.

"About time," the skinny creature grumbled. His dark skin was stretched so tight over the bones that it had become translucent. Tigran's eyes grew wide with horror as the guards drew close enough to his hiding spot for him to see the creature's heart beating inside his ribcage. "The General doesn't have a clue what he's doing. We've been shut inside this hellhole for months. When she comes back we'll get to have lots of fun." The first guard cackled devilishly and the second joined in, creating such a noise as they passed that Tigran cringed further into the corner. He strained to hear more, but the guards were too far away and their voices had receded to murmurs. He briefly thought about following them, but decided against it.

His head was reeling, replaying snippets of the conversation over and over. Who was 'she'? What was going to happen in two days' time? They couldn't have been talking about bringing the Witch back already, could they? Tomorrow? What could he do in twenty four hours?

He took a deep breath and slid down the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees and feeling helpless. He needed a plan. And fast.

The shadows hid him well, and for that he was grateful. He knew he would be there for a while.