Authoress's Note: At long last, dear readers, the climactic battle you've so patiently awaited. I hope you enjoy it. It is a monster at over 7,000 words, so I doubly appreciate your patience. I also apologize in advance if a few typos have straggled through. It's safe to say I've been staring at it a while. After this chapter, only a few remain until we reach our journey's end!
A quick refresher on applicable nautical terminology: the binnacle is the stand of navigational instruments on the ship's quarterdeck, and a lee shore is a stretch of land where the wind is blowing from the sea towards land.
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter the Fiftieth: Serpent and Lily
15 Frostmoon 2076
Lyra's hand rested on the handle of the heavy castle door. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"Aslan, give me strength," she murmured. Her other hand grasping her sword hilt, she slowly turned the doorknob and pushed the door inward. A black corridor yawned before her, apparently empty. Far beyond, a torch flickered faintly. Keeping a hand on her sword hilt, Lyra stepped into the dark corridor. Taking care to step quietly, she proceeded into the fortress. Her pendant gave a little light to see by; otherwise, dark gloom pervaded the place. Despair crept with the darkness like a tangible thing, and Lyra kept Galen's tune in her mind to stave it off. Presently the corridor opened into a foyer lit with eerie, pale green light. Two staircases, one on each side of the room, curved up to connect in a balcony that led into a second-floor corridor, whence the green light came. A third set of stairs descended into darkness below. The Archen princess paused a moment to consider: up or down. She chose down.
Cautiously, she approached the wide, shallow staircase leading down into the bowels of the fortress. As silently as she could, the Archen princess drew her sword, then began to descend. The air grew darker and warmer as she went deeper, and an acrid tang lingered in it. Soon, the pale green light above faded, leaving only the wan, blue light of her pendant. The stairs ended in a low, uneven corridor. Lyra reached out a hand to touch the rough wall nearest her.
"The fortress must be built into the rock," she thought to herself. "It does not go as deeply as I expected."
As she proceeded, the deep uneasiness grew within her. She could hear something rustling behind her, a whisper in the mist. A tunnel veered off sharply to the right, and she took it, pressing herself against the wall and watching for whatever followed her to pass. But nothing came. Then, she gradually became aware of a faint, sinister laugh that made her skin crawl. A voice she knew far too well.
"Something the matter, delight-of-my-eyes?" Her one-time abductor's chuckle slithered on the dark mist.
Lyra's heart pounded, and she began to see a spectral green hand reach cold fingers to touch her cheek. The leering face of the Calormene prince solidified in front of her, just as it had in nightmare after nightmare in the months since she had slain him and escaped from Calormen. She shuddered. It could not be real, she tried to assure herself, but it felt so very real. She ducked under the reaching hand, which managed to seize her shoulder. She cried out at the piercing cold of its touch and wrenched away.
"Such discourtesy to run from your husband," it taunted, smiling dangerously. "Come now, my wife."
"You mean your widow," Lyra snarled in return, slashing her sword viciously through the apparition. It dissolved in hideous laughter, and she ran further down the passage. The tunnel ended into another corridor, which ran perpendicularly. She took the left-hand passage, then turned into one on the right. It grew darker and colder, and her shoulder began to throb. She shuddered as a low growl echoed against the tunnel walls, and the scars on her shoulder prickled as she remembered the wolves that attacked her after the Telmarine siege. The pain sharpened as though the old wounds felt the ghosts of the claws that made them, and the wolf's malevolent gold eyes materialized before her. She stopped short, transfixed, as it stalked towards her. It crouched, snarling. Her breath caught, but she stood her ground.
"This. Isn't. Real." She insisted through gritted teeth.
"I am as real as you make me," the fell Narnian wolf growled, and in a bounding leap, it threw her to the ground. Her sword fell from her grasp. She struggled against the heavy, snarling animal and could feel its hot breath on her face. Pain from the wolf's sharp claws seared through her shoulder anew. Lyra managed to reach the knife in her boot, and the wolf's yelp echoed sharply against the tunnel's uneven walls. She did not tarry to make sense of it, but scooped up her sword and ran. The corridor twisted and turned. After a while she stopped, panting. She pressed a hand to her throbbing shoulder, but to her surprise she felt no blood. Indeed, her clothing was not even torn. The Archen princess straightened, perplexed, then looked around. She found herself back at the base of the staircase, where pale green light filtered down from above. Silence pervaded, as before.
Lyra wheeled around and faced the tunnel, her countenance stern.
"Aslan, please go before me," she prayed determinedly.
Suddenly, her pendant's light glowed brilliantly in the darkness. She strode into the tunnel once more, and the nightmares fled before the light. For a moment, she thought she heard her brother's voice cry out for her, but she pressed forward and paid it no heed. This time, the tunnel ran straight, without turning to the left or right, and she followed it until it opened into a larger cave. Two Calormene soldiers stood guard there, and she could see instantly that these were no ghostly nightmares. Their faces carried too much fear. Without hesitation, she engaged them fiercely. Unprepared, they fell quickly, and their bodies did not dissolve into the mist of dream.
"Princess Lyra?" A confused voice called out as the light from her pendant reduced in intensity. She looked up and realized that several smaller caves adjoined the central cave in which she stood. Heavy iron bars closed their entrances, and from behind one such prison the haggard face of the Huntress's second officer stared back at her, his hand grasping one of the bars.
"It's just another dream," a sailor behind him moaned.
"Lieutenant Hariman?" She lowered her sword and stepped forward. The prison caves contained about thirty of the Huntress's sailors. Lyra grasped his hand and found it warm, not cold like the touch of the nightmarish specters.
"My lady," the lieutenant's pale face broke into a relieved smile, equally reassured. "It is you."
The sailors around him began to murmur excitedly, some waking others from uneasy sleep.
"What happened, lieutenant?" Their sovereign demanded while she searched the dead Calormenes for keys. "Are these all the survivors of Huntress?"
"Most of them, my lady," he answered as she seized the keys and opened the barred door.
"Quickly—release the others," she handed the keys to one of the sailors.
"In the weeks we've been here, the Calormenes took men away one by one," the second officer explained. "They took the captain yesterday, even though he's still weak from a wound."
"Do you know what became of those men? Did any of them return?"
"One or two were returned, but in a state of mad terror. They can tell us nothing useful," Hariman answered. "As for the rest," he trailed off, shrugging.
"This place is evil, my lady," a sailor beside them breathed. "The darkness carries terrible dreams."
"I noticed," Lyra nodded grimly, then raised her voice to address the group. "Gather up the wounded and follow me. Keep your eyes fixed ahead and stay silent until we reach the surface. Ignore anything else you see."
Turning on her heel, the Archen princess faced the tunnel. She bowed her head slightly, closing her eyes and praying earnestly. The pendant brightened again, filling the caves and the tunnel with clear, clean light. She hurried forward, the lieutenant and his men at her heels.
"As soon as we leave the castle, hasten to the Huntress," Lyra instructed the ship's second officer as they went.
"My lady?" He puzzled.
"You must lead your men away from this place, lieutenant, and quickly. The enchantress at work here can bewitch even the most loyal of men to betray his countrymen," she explained grimly. "We inspected the Huntress when we landed, and our master carpenter seemed to believe the ship could be salvaged."
They reached the staircase now and ascended as quickly and quietly as they dared.
"Aye, perhaps, your highness," Hariman agreed uncertainly.
Lyra led them down the corridor and to the keep's heavy door, which still stood ajar. They hurried out into the grey, cold courtyard.
"Go," she urged them. "Go quickly."
"But, my lady!" The officer and several of the sailors protested.
"Mutiny at your peril, lieutenant, for I've had my fill of it today." Their sovereign fixed them with a commanding glare. "Now, return to your ship and either float her or scuttle her. Whatever happens, the witch must not be allowed access to a ship. Even now, the fleet should be sinking her galleon. Do not let so much as a dinghy remain on this shore," Lyra ordered. Turning back to the dark corridor, she brandished her sword with a grim smile. "I have unfinished business here."
Galen gradually awoke, blinking blearily in the gloomy twilight. He shifted on the comfortable bunk and looked around, recognizing his cabin aboard the Jewel. The ship rolled aggressively as he sat up, and his head swam a little. Apparently the sea was running high, and he could hear the muffled shouts of the officers and crewmen as they managed the sails. As he shook his head to clear it, one of the medics stood from a chair in the corner.
"Ah, Sir Galen, I'm glad you're awake. How do you feel?" The medic asked solicitously.
"A bit groggy, but otherwise fine," the young knight responded, confused. "What happened? Where are we?"
"We are off the coast of the witch's island, my lord. Commodore Torin requested you join him on deck as soon as you feel up to it."
"Thank you," Galen answered, standing. "Please tell the commodore I'll be up in a moment."
The medic nodded and left. The young knight hastened to dress, pulling on his gambeson and hauberk before buckling on his vambraces. He paused a moment, then opened a drawer beneath the bunk and removed his grandfather's tabard from its plain linen wrapping. The silver lion glistened on the blue cloth even in the fading grey light. His thoughts wandered briefly to his father as he donned the colors of his order. After buckling his sword firmly around his waist, he hastened from the cabin.
"Good afternoon, Sir Galen," the Jewel's commander greeted, glancing up from the weathered book he read by the light of the binnacle lantern. "You are well, I trust?"
"I am well, thank you, commodore," the Narnian nodded in return. "What news?"
"We're about half-way between the Huntress's grave and the castle," Torin answered. "Valiant sighted the Calormene ship past the point, and we make to join her."
"And the princess?"
"She remained on the island alone when she sent you back with her escort, along with orders for us to find the enemy ship and sink her. We've had no word from the princess since," the Archen officer answered grimly. "She sent Huntress's log back as well. It sheds a little light, but not much. And the sea grows rougher every hour."
"This is a dark, fell place," Randolph grumbled beside his commanding officer. "The wind feels unnatural, and night falls far too early." A timely spray of water splattered over them as a wave struck the hull, emphasizing the first officer's point.
"Captain Anderson and Lieutenant Cormoran ofValiant gave me their reports when they returned with you," the commodore continued. "Perhaps you will do me the courtesy of adding your story to theirs? I should like to know why the captain of a ship we parted from several months ago is lying dead in my sickbay wearing enemy colors."
At once, Galen related the tale, much to the astonishment of the Archen officers around him.
"How is that possible?" The commodore's eyes narrowed in response to Galen's description of Juliana's newfound skills. "Did she show such powers in your previous dealings with her?"
"None whatsoever," the Narnian answered. "She must be consorting with some dark power. And she sets her sights high indeed if she thinks she can lay claim to the Stone Knife, the White Witch's erstwhile weapon," he scoffed at her presumption, but Commodore Torin looked thoughtful.
"Indeed," he mused gravely, "perhaps we should not dismiss that thought, Sir Galen."
The ship rolled on another wave, sending spray high into the air.
"Come three degrees to port!" Randolph shouted to the sailing master.
"Light the lanterns, commander," Torin ordered to his first officer. Then he turned back to the Narnian.
"If the princess should fail," the commodore asked gravely, "and the traitoress-witch renew her demand for ransom, will you give her the Stone Knife?"
Galen clenched his hand at the question. Everything in him longed to say yes.
"No." The young knight met Torin's gaze at last. "She would have me do my duty."
"Very well." The weathered Archenlander nodded. His tone neither agreed nor disagreed; it simply acknowledged that the Narnian had made a decision on a matter solely within his authority.
"I believe we can best support the princess's efforts by sinking the enemy ship, as she instructed," Galen continued. "I stand ready to do whatever is necessary, consistent with my oath, towards that end. I have faith that she will succeed, Aslan willing."
"As pray we all."
Lyra stood again at the base of the double staircase. She stared up at the balcony, from which eerie green light flooded. She could hear voices echo dimly from the corridor beyond. Slowly, her hand gripping her sword, she ascended the left-hand stair. At the top, the corridor opposite the balcony opened into a moderately sized great hall. Standing out of sight, she listened to the voices from within.
"Let us begin again," a woman's harsh voice rasped. "What is this power the princess wields?"
With a fleeting smirk, Lyra noted Juliana's panic and admired the damage Galen had done to her voice.
"For the hundredth time," a weary Archenlander's voice panted a stubborn answer, "I don't know."
"I think you do," the witch snarled, and her victim cried out in pain.
"Really, madam," a deep Calormene voice interrupted, and the Archenlander's outcry subsided as her concentration broke. "What do you hope to gain from this?"
"The same thing you hope to gain, my lord," she snapped. "Power. Revenge."
"This petty torture savors strongly of desperation, my dear," the Calormene warned. "We both know you have more elegant means of persuasion."
"Means I will turn on you again, if you do not cease to bedevil me," Juliana hissed. "When the Stone Knife is mine again, we will return to rule the world. I trust that will satisfy you."
Hidden at the top of the stairs, Lyra puzzled at her enemy's words. The Stone Knife had never been Juliana's. As far as anyone knew, that knife had only ever belonged to the White Witch and to the Narnian government.
"Aslan's mane," the Archen princess breathed, horror flooding through her as she began to realize what unthinkable possibility would explain Juliana's sudden magical proficiency.
"Hold him!" Juliana ordered harshly, and Lyra could hear scuffling.
The Archen princess took the opportunity. She stepped into the great hall, her sword at the ready. Between her and her enemy, two Calormene sailors roughly handled the Huntress's pale, disheveled captain. Lyra did not hesitate, slaying the nearest of them immediately. The other let go his captive and drew his scimitar. She parried his blow and returned it lethally. Captain Scott lay senseless beside the dead Calormenes, and his sovereign placed herself between him and the two enemies remaining in the hall. Juliana stared at her.
"I trust now that we can enjoy a private conversation," Lyra spoke evenly, her voice hard.
"Brave of you to face me," the enchantress retorted venomously. "I didn't think you had the audacity."
"Surely you know me better than that," Lyra answered evenly and, to her enemy's surprise, sheathed her sword. "You won't hurt me, Juliana. I'm now the only person who can get you what you want."
Her enemy laughed, her injured voice producing a ragged, alien cackle.
"Hurting you bit by painful bit may be exactly what compels your gallant knight to return the Stone Knife," she snarled. The poison green of her dress shimmered like scales in the half-light of the hazy lanterns. Behind her, the tarkaan remained silent, observing.
"And how exactly did you plan to communicate your demands to him?" Lyra chuckled. "Both your ship and mine are at sea."
Juliana narrowed her eyes in annoyance, and Lyra exulted internally. In one expression, her enemy confirmed what Lyra had hoped—that she had no other means of leaving the island.
"Come, let us negotiate," the Archen princess spoke diplomatically. "We need not be friends to come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement."
The green witch paced slowly, her venomous gaze fixed on her rival. Then she stood opposite and crossed her arms.
"I'm listening," said the Green Lady.
The darkness crept around the ship now, almost tangible against the hull and spars. The Narnian knight could not glimpse a star above, and the lanterns at the binnacle and each mast provided only just enough light to work by. In the distance, other lights bobbed up and down where the Valiant labored against the waves.
"We should be coming up on the point soon, commodore," Lieutenant Commander Barstowe announced.
"Signal the Valiant to report," Torin commanded. An ensign promptly picked up a lantern and hastened to the bow, where he opened and closed the lantern shutters to make the correct signal. A few moments passed before flashes from the stern of their fleet-mate answered.
"Valiant reports approaching the castle promontory at forty degrees, relative. She reports the Calormene galleon rounded the point some ten minutes ago. The enemy vessel pursued Valiant until she saw she was not alone."
"Very well," the weathered naval officer answered, taking a moment to judge the wind. "Signal Captain Williams to engage the enemy at his earliest opportunity and hold her until we can join battle."
"Aye, sir." The ensign promptly answered and then was gone.
"Commander Randolph," Torin turned to his first officer. "Adjust our course to round the point widely and increase speed. If we are fortunate, we may pin the enemy between us."
"Aye aye, commodore," the tall officer acknowledged, then turned to the deck and began barking orders. "Adjust the helm to course 285! All hands make sail!"
Men bustled aloft to trim the sails, and Galen watched asValiant's lanterns faded into the gloom. The ship continued to labor over the waves, and the Narnian found his gaze drifting towards the castle, or rather, towards the darkness where he guessed the castle lay. Every now and again, he fancied he could see a faint flash of pale light. For a while, he stared harder into the night, but eventually he rubbed his eyes and turned back to the officers clustered around the binnacle. Presently, the ship's navigational officer, whom Commodore Torin had sent to the fighting top to confirm his navigation, returned with a report.
"We should pass the point in the next few minutes, sir," Lieutenant Durand kept his voice even though he was still a little out of breath from the quick climb up the ropes.
"Good," his commanding officer acknowledged. After ten minutes' time, he gave the order to change course. "Come to a heading of 002, commander," Torin addressed his first officer evenly. "All hands to battle stations."
As the sailors bustled aloft once more, Galen turned to the rail and gripped it firmly. He could feel the crew's rising tension and heard the porthole covers slamming open as they prepared the heavy crossbows for action. He wondered where Lyra was and worried for her, when, suddenly, strange and desperate thoughts assailed him. He envisioned her trapped alone in that fortress surrounded by coiling serpents, poison dripping from their fangs. After a moment, he imagined he could hear the serpents slithering against the hull. A distant but distinct thundering crash echoed across the waves and startled him from his reverie. Looking up, he caught sight of Valiant's lanterns and could hear the waves crashing against the rocky shore beyond them. In the distance, the pale blue flames licked the water's edge. Another thundering crash echoed through the air, and the wind blew chill on Galen's face.
"'Tis well the wind is in the west," Randolph remarked as the Narnian rejoined the officers. "We'll have to watch it carefully." Murmurs of agreement rippled among the others.
"Where is the Calormene ship, commodore?" the young knight inquired.
"She's running dark, butValiant is firing upon her," the seasoned ship captain responded. "Can you hear the lead bolts impacting her hull?" Another timely crash echoed across the waves, and Torin concentrated on pinpointing the sound. "Sounds like the enemy is bearing sixty degrees. Commander?"
"Concur," Randolph answered promptly.
At that moment, a streaking flame lit the sky to the starboard. The commodore hasten to the starboard rail.
"Take aim sixty-five degrees, demasting configuration," he bellowed. "All bowmen open fire."
A few breathless moments passed, and then the massive twang and hum of bowstrings reverberated through the ship. The Jewel rocked a little to port as the bows released. Galen could hear several splashes as the bolts fell short of their mark, but one at least shot true. Splintering sounds gave way to a sickening crash, and the wind carried snatches of unintelligible shouting. The Valiant's three lanterns remained undisturbed.
"Valiant fired a fire-bolt past to light our target," Randolph admired. "Another volley!" the first officer ordered, and the crew obeyed.
"I wish we could see," Galen muttered impatiently as the crossbows twanged a second time. The blue flames licking the shoreline gave only the feeblest light. But as he stared, he realized that two dark shapes blocked portions of the flames from view. One he knew to be the Valiant from her three mast lanterns; the other must be the enemy.
"We took part of the enemy's topmasts, I'm sure of it," Torin observed, pacing the deck. "Between the two of us, we should have her."
At that moment, a bolt whistled past the stern and another sliced cleanly through the mizzen topsail.
"The enemy must have its broadside to Valiant. It can't send many bolts our way," Lieutenant Finnegan speculated. He seemed correct. They could hear more hull impacts, but it was not clear which ship bore the brunt of the encounter. Galen continued his own pacing, glancing up every now and then at the cliff where the castle stood, swathed in darkness. The wind blew cold against his face again, but not quite from the same direction.
"Serpents," one of the nearby ensigns murmured vacantly. "They're climbing the masts."
The Narnian started and whirled to look up the mizzenmast, but he could see nothing.
"Steady," the first officer growled, and the ensign shook himself from the reverie. "The wind is backing northerly, commodore," Randolph warned.
"Let's get this done before it backs anymore," Torin responded grimly.
"Open fire," his first officer bellowed. "Bearing," he paused, "seventy degrees."
More volleys of bolts winged their way to the battle.
"Hold fire! All quiet!" Commodore Torin ordered abruptly, and the bows came to a stop. As the crew held their breaths, their commanding officer listened intently. The wind brought the faint but clear sound of ringing steel.
"They're fighting hand to hand," Galen concluded.
"Bring us in closer," the commodore ordered.
"All hands make sail, bearing 08—," but as Randolph began to order the course change, Torin cut him off.
"Belay that!" the commodore's voice echoed harshly. "Bring us about bearing 285."
"What's wrong?" Galen asked, perplexed.
"The wind," Torin answered gravely. "We can't help Valiant now."
The Narnian looked out towards the battle in the darkness. The wind had backed again and now blew firmly out of the North. It took the one-time landsman a little while to understand the grimness upon the sailors' faces. And then he understood far too well. With the wind changed, the promontory that the castle sat atop became a dangerous lee shore. If Valiant did not move quickly, the wind would blow her onto the rocks. Torin's shrewd maneuvering brought the Jewel to hold position beyond the promontory, so she would not run the same risk.
"With any luck we can keep the enemy from escaping, if she's of a mind to," Randolph observed.
With a growing knot in the pit of his stomach, Galen watched the shadows helplessly. They could still hear the ringing sound of swords clashing. As the wind blew steadily, the shadows and Valiant's lanterns drifted further south towards the rocky shore. Suddenly, the dull, cracking sound of wood striking wood echoed over the water. One of Valiant's lanterns fell and erupted into flames. In the sudden blaze of light, Galen could see the enemy galleon, its serpent-banner hanging at an odd angle from the broken fore topmast, entangled with the Archen warship, whose main topmast likewise hung in a limp mass of wooden wreckage. The enemy ship listed to the port, clearly damaged below the waterline and taking on water. Valiant's lantern had fallen on the Calormene ship's deck, and the flames licked eagerly up the dry wood of the nearest mast.
"Aslan's mane," Barstowe exclaimed in horror as they watched the fire spread. "It'll consume them both if Valiant doesn't break free."
Panicked shouts reached them in snatches of sound, the wind stealing away the voices. Galen found himself gripping the rail anxiously and praying silently as he and all the others on board the Jewel watched helplessly. With a sickening crunch, the Valiant struck hard on the sharp rocks and stuck fast. Hard waves pounded against her, and the blue flames along the shoreline flickered up the hull, slowly and steadily growing as they found new fuel in the ship's timbers. Tangled tightly together with the doomed Valiant, the Calormene galleon foundered too as the rocks tore great gashes in the ship's already-damaged hull. Unashamed tears wet many a grim face aboard the Jewel as they watched the ruinous conflagration consume both ships.
"So tell me, princess," Juliana sneered. "What would make you betray your precious knight?"
"What would make you leave Archenland untouched?" Lyra responded evenly.
"What, indeed?" The enchantress smiled venomously. "Is that it? If I agree to leave Archenland alone, you'll deliver the Stone Knife to me?" she laughed. "And pray tell how would you convince your gallant knight to agree to that?"
"My first concern is for my country," Lyra answered coldly. "I owe no other duty. And it is a simple fact that the several hundred Archenlanders in these waters answer to me, not to him."
"For now," Juliana retorted. "But my, my, this is a surprise," she laughed, "And here I thought you cared for him. Princess, I salute your pragmatism."
"Pragmatism is the heart of negotiation," the Archenlander answered with her diplomacy tutor's favorite maxim. "And on that point, it seems that you have gone to a lot of trouble for something that you cannot touch," Lyra prodded. "Since Aslan's blood hallowed the Stone Knife, no evil-minded thing can use it. I can offer you more useful things, such as restoration of your citizenship, your title, and your fortune. You could return home to your parents, to your life."
"Fatal presumption on both counts," Juliana hissed. "That life is over. I do not wish to return to Archenland except in conquest. And the Stone Knife will still know my touch, whatever it has become since it was mine."
"If you can prove your claim," the Archen princess spoke calculatingly, angling her chin slightly upwards in an expression of haughty doubt. "Though I don't think you can. You may have grown powerful in a short space of time, but that does not entitle you to the one-time weapon of history's most formidable enchantress."
"I am history's most formidable enchantress," the Green Lady spat. She was easily provoked, as Lyra had expected. Swallowing the growing fear that her speculation about the source of the witch's power was correct, the princess managed a derisive laugh as she continued to probe for information.
"And how do you figure that, my lady?"
"The spirit of Jadis, the White Witch herself, is part of me now," Juliana gloated. "The Grand Vizier," she nodded towards her ally, who maintained an inscrutable, almost vacant look, "hardly knew what power he unleashed by sacrificing my blood—Traitor's Blood—to the ghost that has endured these long centuries."
Lyra fought against a rising dread to keep her countenance unmoved. Her suspicions were, indeed, confirmed, and the witch's heightened emotion indicated that their parley would soon come to an end. The princess grasped her sword hilt more tightly.
"Her spirit reclaimed me from death, and now I have her knowledge and skills blended with my own. Her empire was small compared to what I will rule," Juliana continued, malevolence glittering in her green eyes.
"Turn Calormen's sands to snow, if you wish," Lyra answered, steel in her voice. "But you will not touch Archenland."
"I think we're done bargaining, your highness," the Green Lady laughed with deadly mirth. "I am heiress to the White Witch, and I will have my due."
"Boats to port!" A voice rang out from the fighting top, and the first of the Valiant's survivors began to be brought on board. An officer was among the first group, and he hastened to the quarterdeck.
"Commodore Torin!" he shouted. "Lieutenant Drake of Valiant, beg permission to make a report."
"Go ahead, lieutenant," Torin answered promptly.
"Captain Williams and many volunteers stayed behind to make sure the Calormene galleon does not escape. The captain bade me relay the following message: We have persevered in our duty."
A pang pierced Galen's heart as he recalled Coriakin's admonition, derived from his own order's motto, to the ill-fated ship's captain.
"Very well, lieutenant," Torin answered, his voice solemn. "See to your men."
"Secure from battlestations!" Randolph ordered. "Aid the wounded."
After a while, the far-off flames of the Valiant and the enemy ship flickered low. With hisses of steam, the wreckage disintegrated into the sea. Darkness descended again, and this time it felt tangible and full of despair. The lantern light seemed wan against the air's oppressive blackness. The ship maintained its position and lit more lanterns to guide any more boats of survivors. A few of Valiant's longboats approached and the survivors continued to come aboard.
But the Archenlanders were not the only survivors of the wreck. Three scores of Calormenes, packed closely into their ships' longboats, came quietly alongside the stern. While the sailors on the main deck were preoccupied with rescuing Archen survivors, the Calormenes secured ropes to the aft bowports and began to climb aboard into the middecks, slaying any Archenlanders they encountered.
On the quarterdeck, Galen became aware of muffled noise belowdecks. He thought he heard a shout and a crash. As he looked up, perplexed, he saw as a stealthy Calormene sailor, having managed to hook onto one of the mizzenmast ropes, leaped over the rail to the quarterdeck and charged at the Jewel's commanding officer.
"Joshua!" the first officer's startled voice shouted warning to his captain and friend before leaping upon the Calormene assailant with his long sailor's knife. Randolph's knife found its mark, but so did the scimitar. The Calormene fell dead on the quarterdeck, and the Jewel's first officer was not far behind him.
"All hands, repel boarders!" Barstowe, the second officer, bellowed, keeping nearby and watchful while Torin kneeled at his friend's side. Shouts from below told of the Calormene inflitration within the interior of the ship, and Galen hastened, sword drawn, to the main deck. Calormenes fought fiercely with Archenlanders for control of the access hatches, and Galen pushed to the front of the fray. Felling several, the Narnian knight led a charge below deck. As he reached the second deck, he saw a group of Calormene sailors leaving his cabin. To the Narnian's horror, their officer held the Stone Knife's wooden case in his hands.
"Stop!" Galen shouted.
The Calormene laughed. "I believe this belongs to my lady."
"I think not," the Narnian knight growled, bringing his sword to bear and running after the Calormene. The sailor fled down the stairs to the third deck, Galen hot upon his heels. The knight slipped down the stairs, which were slick with blood. The Calormene was about to duck through the aft-most bow port when Galen's airborne dirk caught the Calormene between the shoulder blades. The man stiffened, and then crumpled. The Narnian hastened to pry the ancient wooden box from the enemy sailor's hands. He frantically checked to ensure the relic was safe inside, and, with a sigh of relief, Galen tucked the box into the bag on his belt.
The young knight took a moment to catch his breath, realizing with horror how many Archenlanders lay dead around him. Quickly, he stood and hurried back to the main battle, striking hard and savage blows alongside the desperate Archen sailors. But as they fought, the Archenlanders began to falter. Galen felt himself struggling more against wild fears than against the real enemy in front of him, and the yells of his comrades suggested they struggled similarly. More than one voice shrieked a warning about serpents as the darkness pressed closely around them. In a flash, the Narnian realized what was happening and pushed his way closer to the quarterdeck.
"Commodore Torin!" Galen bellowed. "Order the men to sing!"
"What on earth?" Torin exclaimed as he struck a Calormene sailor with his sword.
"Trust me!" The young knight insisted, parrying his own assailant's blows. "A working shanty; anything!"
After a moment's pause, the Jewel's commander began to sing in a strong, clear voice as he fought:
"From Archenland we're duty bound. Heave ho! The gryphon show!"
The second officer looked up, startled, and then followed his superior's lead.
"Unto a place that can't be found, Heave ho! The paws tiptoe!"
The men nearest their captain took up the song too.
"Past farthest isle and strangest ground, Heave ho! The wings billow!"
Soon every Archen voice joined in resounding song, and Galen added his own, smiling in relief as the pressure of the darkness receded.
"Now far away the depths we'll sound, Heave ho! The tail below!"
The Jewel's defenders continued to sing strongly and brightly as they fought with renewed vigor:
"A serpent dread looks like a mound, Heave ho! The sharp eyes know!
Ready, archers, release a round! Heave ho! The talons throw!
Unfurl the sails; let naught confound! Heave ho! The beak breaks foe!
And this gryphon won't be drowned! Heave ho! The banners flow!
Our bright Jewel, the fairest around! Heave ho! The ship doth glow!
But fairer still when lily-crowned! Heave ho! Such grace to know!"
By this time the battle receded, and the last of their numerous enemy lay dead on the deck.
As Galen returned to the quarterdeck, he looked up to see lights atop the promontory where the castle should be. Pale green light wavered in the cold air, distant and indistinct. Pale blue light fought against it, but the green light strengthened.
"Lyra," he whispered anxiously. He could feel the darkness pressing sharply again, and at once, the Narnian knight knew what he had to do. He hastened up the ropes of the mainmast to the fighting top. Clutching the Stone Knife and his sword together, Galen bowed his head in prayer.
The pale green light from Juliana's pendant intensified, and suddenly, Lyra's vision darkened. Green-tinged light illuminated a knight struggling against the hold of an enormous snake, which wrapped itself around his torso and pinned his arms helplessly at his sides. He struggled to breathe as the snake's coils constricted. He looked up at her pleadingly, and she cried out as she recognized Galen's face.
"Please, my love," he implored, "help me!"
The pain in his voice pierced her heart, and she struggled in vain to aid him. But she was rooted to the spot and could not help. The snake tightened its coils cruelly, and she watched her knight fall limp and still.
The vision faded, and she felt herself transported to a dark battlefield. Countless men lay dead before her, and the mountain eagles wheeled menacingly overhead to feast on the carnage.
"Lyra," a familiar voice called to her, and she looked to see her brother lying wounded at her feet, his hand stretched toward her. "Why didn't you help us?"
The princess's heart shuddered in agony, and she reached out to him. Ayden's hand felt cold and clammy.
"Anvard has fallen," the Archen prince gasped, "they're coming for you. Flee!"
Lyra tore herself away from him in horror. A deep cold pierced her, and she looked up to see snow falling on Anvard's green summer grass. Shivering with cold and fear, she cried out in her mind for Aslan's aid. The vision instantly dissolved, and she opened her eyes to see her pendant radiating blue light, which drove back the malicious green light from Juliana's pendant. At the same time, brilliant light shone through the castle walls, which wavered strangely before Lyra's eyes. With sudden inspiration, Lyra stepped forward and seized her enemy's right arm with her left, pinning the enchantress long enough to draw the knife from her belt and thrust the tip into the enchanted emerald around Juliana's neck. Juliana shrieked as the gem cracked beneath the strong steel blade. The eerie green light leaked from the gem and melted away into the ground. At once, the illusory castle walls vanished, leaving the two women standing on a bare promontory. The wind whipped around them, bringing with it the sound of waves and the salt tang of the sea. White-blue light pierced the darkness from beyond the shore, illuminating the rocky ground and mingling with the matching light of Lyra's pendant. Relief flooded the princess as she looked up towards the light in the distance. She may have had to face the witch alone, but she did not fight alone.
Suddenly, sharp pain stung Lyra's forearm, and she released her enemy, who recoiled from the searing light and fell to the ground. The princess looked down to see a long, shallow slash snaking diagonally from her elbow to her wrist. The enchantress laughed raggedly, one hand shielding her eyes from the piercing light and the other clutching a slender silver blade. Its edge glistened with blood. Lyra drew her sword and put it to her enemy's throat. The witch slumped against the ground and dropped the knife, which skittered away down the uneven rocks.
At once, the Grand Vizier lunged for the Archenlander. Lyra parried the sweeping scimitar and returned his strike. Weary of parrying words with her rival, the princess was in no mood to waste time parrying blows. King Edmund's twist sent the scimitar flying, and a merciless slash sent the second-highest ranking Calormene noble to his grave. Lyra turned her blade back towards the witch, who had not moved.
"Hurry back to your knight, princess," Juliana mocked, even though she lay helpless. "You may kill me," she spat, "but you will not long outlive me."
"I'm not going to kill you, Juliana," Lyra answered evenly, withdrawing her sword. "If I did, the White Witch's spirit might be free to wander the world in search of another host."
"My power isn't gone," the Green Witch hissed, panting where she lay. "Even now I can feel it in the very rocks of this island. I can feel your men and all that they fear. I can make all their worst nightmares real."
"Perhaps, Juliana," Lyra answered quietly. "But you cannot carry an island around your neck. Rule this wasteland, if you will."
The Archen princess sheathed her sword and turned away, holding her wounded arm gingerly. The witch could not stir against the piercing light that came, Lyra knew, from the Stone Knife. She found Captain Scott nearby and, after shaking him to his senses and helping him up, the Archen princess began the slow journey back to the shore.
Several hours had passed since they defeated the Calormene attackers and secured the Jewel. Galen's arms ached from stiffness, but he held his position in the fighting top, clutching the Stone Knife and his sword together to maintain their radiating light. The brightness surrounded the ship and penetrated into the darkness, chasing the nightmare monsters back to their rocky shores. The Jewel left the Valiant's grave behind and rounded the promontory, which was now bare and showed no sign of the imposing fortress Galen remembered. Worry for Lyra twinged in his mind, and he was determined to lead a rescue party as soon as they reached a place to land. The Huntress's grave, it seemed, was the best they could do, and it seemed to take forever to reach it. He tried to scrutinize the shore, but the bright light blinded him, and he gave it up and prayed instead.
"Ship to port!" A lookout cried suddenly.
"What ship?" Commodore Torin's surprise colored his voice. "Another Calormene?"
"No, sir," the lookout called down excitedly. "It's—it's the Huntress!" He stammered. "She's running out on the high tide! And she flies the Lily!"
"Huzzah!" A cheer ran up from the sailors.
"Helm, adjust our course to bearing 135," Galen heard Torin order below. "Sir Galen!" The Jewel's commander called up.
"At your service, commodore," Galen called back.
"Keep the light a little while longer, and we will lead the way to safety."
"Aye aye," Galen acknowledged, focusing on keeping the light steady as he exulted internally.
The same wind that had doomed the Valiant proved providential for the Huntress and carried her, with the favorable tide, past the rocks and away from the dark island. Suddenly, the Jewel shot from beyond the oppressive darkness. Above them, stars shone brightly, and the moon threw her silken light wide over the calming sea. Galen turned around in time to see the Huntress emerge from the darkness, and he let go his iron grip. The Stone Knife's bright light faded at last. He secured the Stone Knife in its case and returned his sword to its sheath, and then, with shaking limbs, began to descend to the deck.
"The Huntress is coming alongside, Sir Galen," the second officer informed him when he reached the quarterdeck.
"We'll be sending a boat, if you'd like to join it."
"Thank you, commander," the Narnian answered eagerly and hastened to the main deck. As he waited for the sailors to prepare the boat, Galen looked back towards the island. The darkness surrounded it like a cloak, now, so thickly that the island itself could not be seen. The dark blot against the starry horizon slowly receded in the distance. The quicker the better, he thought. A sailor broke his reverie and presently the boat pushed off from the Jewel's side with the Narnian knight in the stern. Two of the Jewel's medics sat ahead of him, grasping their kits. In a few minutes, Galen climbed aboard the Huntress. The sparse, haggard crew received them warmly and pointed towards the sloop's small quarterdeck when he asked where the princess was. With his heart in his throat, Galen hastened up the steps.
"There she is!" he exclaimed with relief when he saw his lady sitting on the deck, leaning wearily against the side and gazing absentmindedly to the starry horizon. She stirred as the familiar voice reached her ears.
"Lyra, are you alright?" Concern radiated from his voice as he knelt beside her and held her shoulders. Slowly, she looked up at him, her eyes lingering on the blood and grime streaking his face.
"Victory," she spoke the word as both answer and question.
"Victory," her knight confirmed as he grasped her cold hand.
"That is well," his lady murmured, "for I am weary of battle."
"Then a rest is well in order," Galen smiled sympathetically. "Let's get you back to the Jewel. We can exchange stories on the morrow."
She nodded, and he helped her up. They walked slowly across the quarterdeck, past where a medic attended the Huntress's wounded captain. Lieutenant Hariman stood at the wheel.
"Well done, lieutenant," Lyra nodded to the ship's impromptu commander. "Thank you."
"It is I who should thank you, your highness," the officer answered, amazement in his eyes. "You rescued us all."
His sovereign did not answer except to incline her head graciously.
As they returned to the frigate in the boat, Galen noticed the injury on Lyra's arm.
"What happened to you?" He asked, his brow furrowing.
"Just a scratch, my love," she answered, leaning wearily against him. "Just a scratch."
Authoress's Note: Thank you for reading! Only a few chapters to go, now!
