A/N: Chapter 22 is here!

As always, thank you for reading, reacting, reviewing, and walking straight into the mountain pass with these characters.

All rights to the world and characters of Narnia belong to C.S. Lewis and his estate.

Chapter 22 - Into the Mountains

James' POV

The world was a blur of pain and cold.

James' wrists burned where the iron shackles dug into his skin. The rough stone beneath him was damp and uneven, pressing through his torn tunic. His head throbbed, a deep, relentless pounding that made it hard to think. Flashes of memory flickered through his mind—

The ambush. The dwarves turning. The hammer swinging toward his skull—

Then blackness.

Now, he was here.

Wherever here was.

The dim glow of torchlight flickered against jagged cave walls, their edges glistening with moisture. The air was thick with damp earth, sweat, and burning wood. He shifted, trying to sit up, but his muscles ached, stiff from the way he had been thrown onto the ground like a sack of grain.

And then—he realized he wasn't alone.

Across from him, figures sat hunched in the dimness, their faces obscured by shadow. The muffled sound of labored breathing filled the cavern. Narnian soldiers—survivors of the ambush.

Some looked dazed. Others wounded.

A centaur lay near the entrance, his massive form partially collapsed, a crude bandage wrapped around his hind leg. His breaths came slow, pained.

James' stomach twisted. This wasn't just imprisonment. This was slow death.

Before he could process anything further, a voice cut through the cavern.

"So… the young one stirs."

James looked up.

A dwarf loomed before him, clad in heavy blackened iron armor, his warhammer resting at his boot. His thick silver-streaked beard barely concealed the sharp lines of his scarred face, and his dark eyes gleamed with amusement. Gold rings adorned his fingers, but his presence was anything but extravagant.

This was a warlord.

James swallowed hard, forcing steel into his voice. "What do you want?"

The dwarf smirked. "I should be asking you that, boy. You walked into our lands like a lamb to slaughter."

James clenched his fists. Stay calm. Show no fear.

"We came for weapons."

"Aye," the warlord mused, kneeling before him. His presence was suffocating. "And what did you think would happen? That we'd bow to your high kings and queens? That we'd trade like old friends?" He scoffed. "Foolish."

James held his glare, but his stomach churned.

They had known.

The dwarves had played them from the start.

James' jaw tightened. "Then why take us prisoner?"

The warlord's smile never reached his eyes. "Because your people will come for you."

A slow, crawling chill ran down James' spine.

This wasn't just about betrayal.

This was a trap.

A groan to his left made James turn.

One of the soldiers shifted weakly against his bindings—a human, young, no older than James himself. Blood soaked his sleeve, his face pale from pain.

James turned back to the warlord, anger flickering beneath his fear.

"If you wanted a trap, you should've left us alive and unscathed." His voice was sharp. "This isn't how you negotiate."

The dwarf's amusement vanished.

"Don't mistake patience for mercy, boy."

His thick fingers curled around the warhammer, lifting it just enough for the firelight to gleam against the worn steel.

"The only reason you're still breathing is because you're useful to me." His voice lowered. "That usefulness can end at any moment."

James forced himself not to shrink back.

Think. Think.

What would Edmund do?

His lips parted—but before he could speak, another dwarf burst into the cavern.

"My lord," the soldier bowed. "Scouts report movement in the valley. Riders."

James' pulse quickened.

They're coming.

The warlord's gaze flicked to James, considering. Then, slowly, a cruel smile spread across his face.

"Good," he murmured.

Then he turned to his men.

"Prepare the second ambush."

James' stomach turned to ice.

This isn't just a trap. It's a slaughter.

Edmund's POV

The wind howled through the narrow mountain pass.

Edmund tightened his cloak, his gaze locked on the dark valley ahead. The air smelled of wet stone and frost, the weight of the mountains pressing in on all sides.

The trail was getting narrower, the jagged rocks closing around them like teeth.

Behind him, the rescue party rode in tense silence.

Peter was beside him, his face set in stone, his grip on the reins tight. His horse moved with purpose, but the exhaustion in his shoulders was impossible to miss.

Eleanor rode further back, her lips pressed together, her eyes unreadable. But Edmund knew she was barely holding in her fear.

Susan had been silent since they left. She rode with a straight back, her face unreadable—but Edmund knew better. He saw the tension in her grip, the way her fingers clenched around the reins.

Even Lucy, always the light among them, had barely spoken.

They all knew the truth.

They weren't just looking for James.

They were riding into a trap.

Peter pulled his horse alongside him. "We're walking into something."

Edmund nodded. "I know."

Peter exhaled sharply. "Then we make sure it's not our graves."

Ahead, in the shifting darkness—

The trap was already waiting.