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: There's danger in the north. Giants hunt for Narnia's Kings and General. Who will survive when hope is eclipsed?
A/N: If you have not read the first nine stories in the A Light in the Darkness main story arc (Awakened, Shadowed, Revealed, Concealed, Rekindled, Refracted, Reflected, Veiled, and Unveiled), 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 Seventeen: Divisions
Dusk was falling again by the time the Kentauri rejoined them. Alambiel kept her mouth shut about the fresh bruise along his ribs just below his shoulder. There was a more concerning matter for the moment. "Thalia never checked back in with us."
Oreius' dark eyes were shuttered behind immovable impassiveness. He flicked his tail once then rumbled, "Where do you think she has gone?"
"She's staying with Peter. The problem is I don't know if she's going to be able to keep from interfering." Alambiel glanced at him. "Neither of us would be able to, after all. And you saw how upsetting this has been for her whenever she reports back." Gathering Pepin's reins, Alambiel swung herself up into the saddle and called over her shoulder, "Come on, Lucy, they've rested enough."
"You do not intend to stop."
It was not a question but she treated it as though it was as she murmured, "That feeling of dread you mentioned last night. I can feel it too. We must press on. Thalia said we were only a day and a half away from their camp. If we press on, we can attack in the hour or so before dawn."
She stared at Pepin's neck in gathering gloom then glanced at Oreius. He was adjusting his swords again, probably the closest thing to a nervous tic he had. He still refused to let go of his plan. It was part of the reason he had left as soon as Thalia reported her attempt to slow the Giants and the success in forcing them to separate in small search parties. She hated the distance between them but, in her heart, she could not bear the idea of giving her blessing or her support to Oreius' plan. It would be tantamount to agreeing with him that his suicide was necessary. Sacrifice is how he saw it, part of his job as the General, but she could not see it that way. She would never be able to see it that way.
The bitter whisper slipped free before she could stop it, "Are you even going to try to come back to me?"
She startled a little when his hand covered hers. Pepin whickered but didn't stop, after so many years the gelding was unperturbed by most of the antics his mistress might get up to while in the saddle. Of course, he always acted unperturbed . . . unless there were apples involved, then he was a pest until he got some too. She would leave him behind and turn him toward home when they went into battle. She had no desire for the faithful animal to end up on a Giant's menu. Alambiel forced her mind back to Oreius. He squeezed her hands and then leaned in close and breathed in her ear, "I will try, my sweet. I will always try."
He might intend to try but when the heat of battle caught him up, when he threw himself wholeheartedly into his quest to save the Kings and duty was at the forefront of his mind, he would not try so very hard because he would concentrate on taking whatever steps were necessary to draw the Giants away from them. Even if it meant his life. Alambiel met his eyes for a moment and then turned away. "I love you but I will not be able to forgive you for this one."
She nudged Pepin with her heels and the gelding obediently picked up his pace, putting distance between her and her heart before she gave into wretched tears. Oreius wanted her to distance herself and he wanted her to be cold and professional when it came to the plan. If that was what he wanted, she would give it to him.
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Edmund fumed as he paced around the little alcove. Peter hadn't regained consciousness and as far as he was concerned that was a good thing right now. Morfran had laughed at his offer and made a crude remark regarding Fea's likelihood of sharing him with Nemain. Then he had simply sent him back to the alcove, loudly proclaiming he would let Fea and Nemain choose whether to accept his offer. Clenching his fists, Edmund resisted the idiotic impulse to run out there and pummel Morfran until he agreed to let Peter go. He had to think. He had to bide his time. He had to figure out what Morfran's game was now.
Morfran wanted Fea, that much was clear. Fea controlled who would succeed Bork as king and the current queen plotted with her to infuse the Harfanger line with human blood, elevating them above the other Northern Giants. If Morfran married her, he would be king. Bork was always a threat but Edmund had long suspected that there was a puppet master pulling the Harfanger king's strings. Now he knew. This Morrigan controlled the king and no doubt she was responsible for plotting the attacks that had led Peter and him to the northern border, making easy targets for this foul scheme.
But Morfran was the weak link. He had to be. Edmund remembered the references to Bork made by the Ettin leader, Culhwch, and how much plotting had mixed with the frustrated sullenness in Morfran's eyes as a result of such taunts. If he could persuade Morfran that he would rather have Nemain (of all the revolting ideas), then perhaps the Giant would agree to let Peter go if he was able to claim Fea as he wanted. Edmund glared at the Harfanger.
"Morfran! Where are my kin?" Culhwch lumbered into camp, trailed by the other Ettins, although they looked to be missing two more of their number. The two-headed Ettin stopped in front of Morfran. "What'd you do? Murder 'em too? Like Mork?"
Morfran's beard split as he sneered in response. "If you lost your kin, I had no hand in it."
"You murdered 'em."
The dark Harfanger guffawed with feigned delight and slapped his knee before rising from his impromptu throne of boulders. "Not I. Maybe it was the ghosts." His gaze hardened into a dangerous glint as he stared at the two Ettins from before. "If I were to murder some of your kin, it would be the ones who allowed the prizes to escape and then damaged one of them. I should take it out of their hides."
Culhwch shoved him then puffed his chest out. "You won't kill more or I will kill three of yours to make up for the three I lost."
Morfran shoved him back. "Only one of your kin had his blood spilled by Harfang. There is Grawk, kill him if you want. If you kill another, the ghosts will come for you and your kin. Maybe they already have."
The Ettin who had complained of the bug bite earlier in the day suddenly swayed and then he collapsed, landing facedown between the two feuding Giants. Culhwch stared and even Mofran looked taken aback before he recovered with an alacrity that Edmund had to admire grudgingly. He pointed to the fallen Ettin. "See? The ghosts have turned on you, Culhwch, and your kin."
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Standing in the shadows, Thalia could not help the faint sense of satisfaction that arced through her when the Ettin who had so cruelly abused her Peter at last succumbed to the toxins. She bit her lip then whispered a soundless prayer begging for forgiveness for her hard heart in this matter. Still, she raised her dartpipe once more. But this time when she examined her kit holding the darts all tipped with mixtures of various poisons from plants, her fingers did not draw out the slow poison that felled that first Giant. They went to the swiftest and most potent of poisons, the ones that were achieved by combining two or three plants together whose toxins complemented each other. The skill in combining them was one taught to her by her mother and by the Princess Royal when Peter had asked Alambiel to teach her how to defend herself. As a Beech Nymph, as a Dryad, she knew the plants of Narnia and under the tutelage of the two older Nymphs she had learned to harness their defenses into her own for she not an adept at archery (though she was far better than the Princess Royal . . . although most of the seedlings were as well) nor did she wield a blade as skillfully as Lucy or Alambiel. In truth, the plants were her best defense. Never had she imagined that she would need to use them as an offense. Nevertheless, for Peter, she would do so. She would defend her brave oak from those who would cut him down at the roots.
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A/N: Please Read and Review! And yes, the dartpipe is the same as a blowgun/blowpipe but I tried to give it a name more suited to Narnia. Leave a review and let me know what y'all thought about this one.