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: A sorcerer challenged by Aslan. Love and friendship alike are tested by his presence. And the Gentle Queen faces her own challenge when the sorcerer's true colors are unveiled.
A/N: If you have not read the first eight stories in the A Light in the Darkness main story arc (Awakened, Shadowed, Revealed, Concealed, Rekindled, Refracted, Reflected, and Veiled), I highly recommend you do so for the full experience. However, I have included a quick summary of the previous stories so if you want to give this one a whirl on its own, you can.
Chapter Fifty-One: Time's Out
"Susan! Markus!"
She staggered back a step, avoiding a Ghoul's spear, and then stabbed it in the eye with an arrow before she yanked it free and loosed it into an Ogre's open maw. Markus appeared beside her, providing cover as they slowly made their way to where Edmund sat atop Philip.
Her brother gazed down at them. "I just got word that Kat and Oreius are at the nearest village, the one still burning. Go get them. We need our General at the very least. We need to hold the Fell off until Peter returns with his forces."
Susan nodded then she swung up on a horse behind Markus. They galloped toward the orange light just beyond the woods. She hoped Oreius and Kat hadn't found more trouble. The horse reared, screaming and pawing the air in fright as a burning beam fell directly in their path. Susan looked over Markus' shoulder and gasped.
Werewolves and Succubae surrounded Oreius . . . and he wasn't fighting. Instead, he cradled Kat. Then Susan spied a cloaked figure. Markus tensed. "That is the Fell's sorcerer."
"It's Markus."
"What?"
"Merry had twins. A daughter and a son whom she named after you."
"Then I must stop him all the more."
The horse reared again, nearly tossing her off. As soon as its hooves touched the ground, Susan slid down and drew an arrow. The arrow struck true, toppling a Werewolf who was creeping up behind Oreius. Markus landed beside her and drew his katana.
They worked as a team, shooting and slicing their way to Oreius. Susan bit back a cry of dismay as she glimpsed Kat. An arrowhead protruding just above her cuirass and blood painting Oreius' front.
"Go!" Markus shouted. "Go! Take her to the healers. Hurry!"
Oreius nodded once then wheeled around and galloped away. Susan prayed he would reach the healers in time. She did not wish to think of Kat dying.
A cruel laugh pierced the air as the figure dropped his hood. His skin was dark as any Calormene's and his green eyes glittered with hate. "The prodigal returns!"
Markus stepped close to her and whispered, "Do not engage him. It is too dangerous for you." Then he raised his katana and moved toward the sorcerer. "Surrender, young Markus. It is not too late for you to surrender."
"I will scourge Narnia with fire and blood!"
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"Hang on, just hang on. Almost there, Chéadsearc, I promise. Be strong, Sweetheart." Oreius looked anxiously down at his beloved but still she lingered only a breath away from leaving him forever. No. He would not think like that and he would not give up. He lengthened his stride, galloping faster, pushing himself harder. He had to get her to the healers. If he reached the healers and Queen Lucy, they would save her.
Alambiel remained limp, her lifeblood staining his hands, his arms, and his chest. He prayed to Aslan, begging Him not to take her. He could not lose his wife. He could not lose her. There were soldiers scattering before him as he galloped into the camp but not as many as there ought to have been. Nevertheless, he did not stop to inquire. He had to reach the healers. Bursting into the healers' tent, Oreius barked, "A healer! Now!"
Two healers came running. The Centaur's face paling above his beard as he took in the arrow but a determined glint shone in his and the Dwarf's eyes as that one called to a Nymph and a Lemur. The Centaur held out his arms. "We will take care of her, General."
But Oreius did not relinquish his precious burden. Not yet. "Show me where to put her."
The other Centaur nodded once and then pointed to the sectioned off portion of the tent. Oreius carried Alambiel through the curtain. He glanced around. The wounded female soldiers filled that section. Oreius gently lowered Alambiel onto one of the empty cots, taking care to put her down so she was laying on her side. She never stirred. She never opened her eyes. Oreius' heart clenched as he touched his wife's face, trailing his fingers down her cheek, hardly registering the fact that he was leaving a bloody trail.
However, his face was impassive as he looked up at the healers. "Save her."
They bowed their heads. Oreius glanced once more at Alambiel. So fragile. Then he resolutely left the tent. Now he could hear the sound of battle and the horns sounding the call to the troops. Without pausing to clean up or even to put his armor back on, Oreius galloped toward the battle.
His dark face was filled with a terrible wrath that struck fear into the Fell who lived long enough to see his expression before they fell beneath his claymore and hooves. Oreius let out a war cry as he cleared a Fell Bear and then he landed, swiveling around to cut down a Minotaur and two Ogres. Alambiel's face, the shock and pain in her eyes when she raised her bloody fingers from the arrowhead, appeared again as Oreius kicked a Werewolf in the head, caving in its skull. His wife crumpling, her vitality, her strength stolen from her by a coward who shot her in the back. He charged one of the few Ettins who had survived the initial battle, screaming a wordless challenge as he slammed into the Giant. They fell but it was the General who emerged victorious.
He saw again his star, his Alambiel, being struck down. Dying, she was dying. Oreius tightened his grip on his claymore and threw himself into the Fell attempting to surround the High King. They fell by the dozens to his wrath. There would be no escape for the Fell creatures this time.
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The air crackled with scent of burnt flesh. Magic flashed, a green fireball hurtling toward him. Markus dodged. Susan was out of easy range as she continued raining arrows down on Werewolves and Succubae and even a few Ghouls on the other side of the village center. He looked again into the eyes of a younger version of him. Not blood relatives but they bore the same scars upon their spirits. Only Markus' had been healed by the Great Lion. He charged toward the younger man. A fireball slammed into his chest.
Markus scrambled to rid himself of the blazing overtunic then snatched up his katana once more. The younger sorcerer laughed, madness in his eyes. "I shall avenge my sister's death! But do not fear. She told me all about you, how you knew the woman who birthed twins and named her son after you. How you caused her death. Then you turn your back on us to join with the Great Cat? Traitor! Traitor! Murderer and Traitor!" An evil grin curled the man's lips. "But you shall die knowing that I will kill your precious Gentle Queen last."
He barked a spell and Markus slammed into the side of one of the few buildings not yet completely consumed by fire. He fell heavily and all breath left his lungs. Dazed and ears ringing, he could hear Susan screaming his name. Opening his eyes, he spied a familiar figure in the midst of the smoke to his right. Oberon. The crazy elder bowed his head once then pointed.
Markus turned his head. He could see the younger sorcerer cackling as he waved his hands in gestures that bespoke of some type of spell. He had to stop him somehow but his katana was useless against magic, especially magic he could not sense. There was only one way. Only one way to keep the younger Markus from bathing all Narnia in fire and blood.
Aslan, I am Your servant. Show mercy on Your children. Give me the strength to defeat this foe so that all might see Your glory.
A roar shook the air and his very soul. The younger sorcerer shuddered and fell back a step, his spell weaving interrupted. But Markus felt the hot spark of his magic and flames leapt at his command. He faltered slightly as he realized the flames had changed from red to blue. He caught a glimpse of blue glowing around his eyes in the other sorcerer's polished breastplate. It seemed Aslan had cleansed his magic as well as restored it.
Rising to his feet, Markus sensed the spell his namesake now wove as he cursed the Great Lion. A destroying spell. One that would flatten armies and all life save the caster's ten miles in each direction. Aslan give me strength.
Markus charged. Any spell he flung would only be absorbed into the destroying spell, lending it a greater range. His namesake shrieked the final words just as Markus slammed into him. He stared into green, cruel eyes and whispered a single word, "Sylthyll."
He tightened his grip on his namesake, preventing the younger sorcerer from breaking free as the destroying spell was forced to turn back on its creator. He felt a searing heat and a flash of light blinded him. He felt the body he clung to disintegrate just before heat flung him backwards. And then he knew no more.
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A/N: Please Read and Review! O.o