Ettinsmoor.
2352.
49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Sapphyre.
The rough and stony moor fell away before her, the many streams, and rivers of Ettinsmoor glinted in the half-light of the sun, trying in vain to reach through the clouds that rolled overhead. Sapphyre's steps were as silent as the deer that she stalked.
It was lost, its herd over the next reach, far beyond its sight. It would never survive the night alone, but it would feed her for the week to come after she skinned and dried the meat.
Her soft-soled boots fell upon the earth as she crept behind the large stone. Those large black eyes would not see her. Those ears, ever alert, would not hear her.
The feather of her arrow brushed her lip as she drew the string back, using the soft curve of her mouth as an anchor; an action she could perhaps do in her sleep.
A soft exhalation, her heartbeat steady and even.
The deer's ears pricked upwards, its eyes widening in fright, every muscle in that slender body tensed. And its head turned towards the west a moment before it bolted.
Sapphyre's bright eyes narrowed.
A scowl on her face and a curse on her lips as the brilliant white mare trotted over the hill. She ducked down. And always on-guard, she kept her arrow knocked as she glanced around the boulder, hidden from view by the sparse bushes. And her breath left her as she took in the form atop that mare. It was a knight, one of the Narnian King's – for the face of the Lion was upon his chest.
Her grip upon her bow tightened, her gloved fingers aching.
Searching for the lost prince, she was sure. There was no other reason he would be so far north. The Narnians had no love for the witches or the Giants that roamed the lands.
And the Giants had a little too much love for the Narnians.
And the witches, persecuted by Narnians for simply existing, had fled to the West.
The knight was vigilant, his eyes searching. Alert.
But he did not see her.
They never did.
And so she followed him silently.
Once more she was the hunter, her body hidden by the rocks, her dull leathers blending into the patchwork around her, her cloak shifting colour to match the surrounds. And her prey never suspected that she was there.
Marshes spread as far as she could see, with patches of tall grass. The river had lessened to a slow trickle. The air was heavy, thick with the feel of death and decay. Goosebumps rippled across her skin. Fog weaved throughout the sparse trees which stood stooped over with little sign of life.
She had never liked the marshes.
The knight would press on, he would not go around she saw, as he began to weave his mare through the barely-visible path.
She placed her arrow back in the quiver, laying it and her bow upon the ground gently. And with a breath she started to shift. Arms became soft feathered wings; her body shrinking, changing and became less than a hand-span tall.
And her leather armour lay behind the rocks and bushes as she took flight, nothing shifting with her save for her cloak. A bluebird.
She whistled, a merry song she thought. One she'd heard the Harfang giants sing while working. A song about a Dark King and a Queen of Ice, a love story that went in and out of fashion every few years.
The knight smiled, and as he turned, he lifted a hand for her to land upon.
"You're a pretty little thing," he smiled as she chirped.
Chirped. She would have gagged if she'd been in her true form. But as a bird…She chirped again.
His finger stroked her feathers in that strange-but-pleasing way; but she would rather rip her own tongue out than utter such words aloud. "You know I fear this may be a lost cause. We never find anything, no matter how many times our King bids us to search." He sighed. Solemn. Perhaps he would leave.
She hoped he would leave.
He seemed nice for a bloodthirsty Narnian.
"But all our knights disappear every time he sends us up here. Caspian thinks that a sure sign he is being held prisoner by the giants."
His fingers were so gentle, but her she felt her tiny heart fall.
He would not turn back.
Damn Narnian knights and their vows.
But that…that she understood.
"You know you have strange eyes for a bird." He had stopped the mare and raised his finger to view her small form properly. So gentle. So kind.
Nothing like the other knights she'd fought.
Nothing like the other knights she'd killed.
"By Aslan," his indrawn breath was ragged and Sapphyre knew it that moment what he had noticed.
The moment she always dreaded.
When they saw her eyes, the same eyes that she saw each morning in the mirror when she brushed out and plaited her auburn curls. In her bird-form they were not wide and thickly-lashed, they were not set beneath perfect arched brows. But no matter what form she took the colour remained the same – the brilliant blue that she was named for. The colour than none other would have.
That no animal should ever have.
She left his body in the marshes to feed the animals, his throat slit with the blade she had taken from his belt. She did not stay to look into those hazel eyes, directed towards the solemn sky but unseeing. She rid his body of the shiny armour he wore, pushing it into pool of mud and water where it would sink.
How many knights' bodies had she disposed of thusly?
She slapped the mare on its rump, hoping that the fortunate soul that found it would treat it kindly.
Her clothes and weapons were where she had left them and were donned quickly, her hair braided just as fast.
She almost sighed.
She would return home empty handed.
But she had to report to the Lady. To her Queen.
….
Underland. The Pale Beaches and the Sunless Sea.
Sapphyre.
She watched the Pale Beaches become a speck behind her, the seaport – the only link to Narnia above – was gone. She faced the south, trailing her hands in the water as the earthman pushed the boat.
"Careful there lass, yer don't want anything biting off yer fingers," he said in his deep, gravelly voice. Laughing.
But though it was meant in jest, she withdrew her fingers and watched as a frill-like crest rose from the water, a little to the right of her small boat. Creatures of the dark and deep, with teeth the size of her fore-arm.
But they preferred the colder bodies of those that dwelt in the water.
Sapphyre looked up at the eternal darkness of the cavern, so high that she could only ever image that she could see the ceiling.
It would take hours to reach the other side of the lake, perhaps five or six. But so much faster than travelling over the land above. For there were no canyons or rivers to cross, no forests to traipse through. Just the vast expanse of water between the Pale Beaches and the City. The Sunless Sea.
It had once been called the Shallow Lands – the gnomish name for the lands beneath Narnia. Renamed Underland by Emerylda upon their arrival.
Sapphyre knew that they were directly beneath Ettinsmoor and the Wild Lands of the North. In a few hours they would be beneath the rest of Narnia. But there was no life and laughter as there was in joyous Narnia. Underland was darkness and shadows, with the fiery lands of Bism even farther beneath.
But it was not up or down that she went. She travelled south, to where the lake ended in a rocky mountain that rose up into the cave. Whereupon Emerylda had built her Dark Castle and the city surrounding it.
So lost in her thoughts, Sapphyre did not notice when the first of the city's lights appeared on the horizon. White and dull, it was a cold unfeeling light, it could not rival the beauty of the world above.
She gazed upon the city as the earthman drew them closer. A perfect copy of the home that they had left so long ago.
The home that they had left deep beneath the waves with the rest of their people.
….
Underland. The Dark Castle.
Emerylda.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Her perfect nails drummed against the arm of her throne. With her other hand she held the polished silver goblet which showed her oh-so-perfect reflection.
She smiled, stroking her own soft cheek with the back of her hand, ceasing the restless drumming that belied her impatience. The perfect creamy skin, wide emerald eyes, lined with kohl to darken her already dark lashes. Her dark auburn hair was held off her face by a circlet of silver, inlaid with emeralds and diamonds, the perfect match to her eyes.
She would make the perfect queen.
A soft sigh escaped her lips.
She already was the perfect queen.
She had been for years.
She was so close. So so close. But not ready. Her control over the boy was not secure; the spell did not settle at it should; she'd resorted to using objects to keep the enchantment over him.
She needed more time.
She stroked her face once more. She had all the time in the world.
A horn blew in the distance, a boat approaching from across the Sunless Sea. A smile curled upon her full plum lips.
Finally.
Her sister had returned.
Her Knight.
Her Champion.
Who would once more stand by her side and help her defeat another world.
….
Cair Paravel.
Caspian.
Caspian paced in his chambers, restless.
Another knight missing. Gone to search for the prince who had been gone for the past eight years. Many had gone searching for him at their King's bequest. And yet none had returned.
Not one.
He had thought that it had been a sign that he was surely in the Wildlands of the North. But his knights could have been taken and eaten by the Giants of Harfang who had grown restless of late. They could have been kidnapped by the witches of the north, lured in by promises of riches and love. Or they could have simply given up and not returned.
A cry tore from his mouth. Despair.
He missed his son as much as he missed his wife – both beautiful, brilliant souls that had been taken from him. Far too soon.
He had no wife and no Heir.
What would happen to Narnia once he had gone?