13. ROYAL BLOOD

In the tower, the coldness of the wind blew about in the cell. The hours were slow as he waited for the warmth of the sun as Edmund found it next to impossible to sleep. His military training forbade him to fall asleep completely, so that there was always a part of him that urged him to stay awake in case someone came. Although he had agreed to civilian’s treatment when it had come to training in war, Edmund now wondered what good it was how he had been trained by Orieus for little good did any of the tactics he had learned by the Centaur help him now. He sighed, rubbing his groggy eyes with the hand that wasn’t attached to the injured shoulder.

“So, the Son of Adam is still awake?” asked a voice past the bars that kept him a captive.

Edmund said nothing, and when the speaker realized that he would not reply, he continued. “I will not offer you comfort, Son of Adam-“

“I need none,” snapped Edmund, and stood up to prove himself right. Standing now, he could just make out the figure of a soldier. He could not tell if it had been the leader of his captors, but the voice sounded dangerously familiar to him. The man, for he was a man that Edmund could tell, stared at him and Edmund noticed when his eyes flicked towards his wound that the girl had bound earlier that night. The king let out a small breath that he had been keeping inside of him when his captor let his observation by.

“Good. You’ll be like this for several for days- get used to it, Your Majesty.”

“I shall.”

The man lips twitched into what Edmund thought was a smile, “Good. Until later-sleep well!” The dark haired figure turned, and his heavy feet stepping onto the stone floor as he walked to the door. One soft knock, and the previously locked door opened. Edmund was alone again as soon as he heard it close with a thud.

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Aboard the Fire-stone

Dane sprinted up the latter onto the ship’s main deck. He blinked at the sudden daylight as sailors brushed past him. He could just make out the captain yelling orders. Ignoring the heat of the wood that seemed to scorch his bare feet, Dane joined join the captain of the Fire-stone.

“What’s happening?!?” bellowed Dane as the captain lurched forward to pull a sailor to his feet. Something hit the side of the ship’s deck, causing Dane himself to lurch forward. The balcony just saved him from falling to the main level. As he caught his balance, he stared in disbelief as he observed a swift, Calormene warship firing at them. It bore no flag, but from its build, the Archenlander could easily tell its’ originality.

Having no clear understanding upon the reason of the attack, the smaller ship tried to stay clear of the ships’ range. Dane and the Fire-stone’s captain had lost sight of Lune’s own ship. The uneasiness between the brothers earlier that day had caused the brothers to board separate vessels. Fire-stone had been named after the special, hard stone that was combined with lava from the various, extinct valcanoes amongst the mountains that bordered Archenland. It had nothing to do with the speed of the ship, which could not match the ship of war for the wind had died down considerably during the early hours of the night.

Finally, Dane ordered that a white flag be flown for each sailor was spent, and the mast was a pitiful sight to behold. As this was done, the Calormene warship moved forward, and a gangplank was placed between the two ships so that one could walk across the two. A man in gallant attire walked across it, flanked by two slaves walking backwards, which showed the man’s high ranking in Calormen. After him, came five officials and a woman, heavily veiled. She did not look at him. She only looked at her feet for she did not raise her eyes.

The man walked towards Dane, who could smell the richness of the Calormenes’ perfumes. There was silence as the Calormenes boarded the Fire-stone, and Dane gripped the pommel of his sword more then once.

“O Babarians,” began the Calormens’ leader in the formal speech that Dane had long ago laughed at when the Tisroc had once visited Archenland. Now he simply stared. Did the man not recognize him? It was then that Dane caught the captain’s eye, who rigidly looked at him, and Dane could tell by his eyes that he did not think it best for Dane to speak. His lips pressed into a firm line as the Calormen explained that the inhabitants of the vessel were now theirs slaves, unless the person in charge agreed to their terms.

There was silence after the Calormen spoke, but before the captain could announce his occupation, Dane interrupted him.

“I am Dane son of King Lane of Archenland. I am in charge of this vessel.”The Tarkaan, for Dane realized that he must indeed be one, nodded as if he knew all along, who he was, and stepped aside as the slaves dragged him into a the nearest cabin. Dane mutely watched as his captain was bound and gagged, and the sailors tied to the mast as he was taken away.

“Perhaps you would like a demonstration of our power, O Barbaric Prince?” smiled the Tarkaan as he sat on the wooden chair in front of the Prince. Dane could only grimace at the sight of his yellow teeth.

“Very well,” said the Calormene when he received no reply, “you shall be demonstrated upon.”The Tarkaan snapped his fingers, and instantly the slaves yanked him up where he had been sitting, and yanked his already loose shirt off his tanned, upper body. The next few minutes were cruelly real to him, causing him to shamefully accept the Tarkaan’s terms of surrender.

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The sun had risen without him realizing it had. Blinking in the sudden daylight, Edmund realized with surprise that had dozed off after all. Sitting up, the king realized with relief that the pain in his shoulder had ebbed away though his head felt like it had been pounded by hundreds of Dwarven hammers. He sighed, closing his eyes again.

“Wake up!” whispered a voice quite different from the night before. Wearily, he did so, and saw in front of him the blond figure, who had visited him when he had first been brought into prison. She opened the door, and it swung open by itself, letting her walk into the room to sit beside him.

“Did they harm you?” she asked, unwrapping the cloth that bound his wound. Edmund noted that she carried the same brown bag across her shoulders. Her shook his head.

“Good, now hold still. This ointment may sting.” She pressed a vial’s tip onto a pad of cloth, and then pressed it onto Edmund’s bare flesh. The king flinched at the sudden touch, but made more sound.

“It’s not infected, but that may change sooner or later. I don’t know if I can come back.”

Edmund looked at her. Her brown eyes were deep in thought as she examined his wound. Her skin was not dark like the man, who seemed in charge, but lighter like those from the Lone Islands or Archenland. Her blond hair that was currently braided seemed Terebinthian at most.

“Are you from Terebinthia?”Edmund managed to ask as the young female placed everything back into her bag. She stopped suddenly and looked at him, setting her jaw firmly. She said nothing, only nodded. Edmund, however, wasn’t willing to stop

“What are you doing here?” he persisted. He needed answers to questions, and he doubted anyone else would so easily or willingly talk to him. The girl shook her head as if to brush him off.

“Look,” she said, standing and looking at him in the eye, “My siblings and I were sold as slaves in Terebinthia in the black market. My sister died on the journey here. I’m not sure, who you are exactly, but you seem to be from that part of this world, or perhaps Archenland. I don’t know where, and I honestly don’t want to know. If I’m caught, I could die.”

The girl turned swiftly, and closed the jail door with a click.

“Wait!”

She stopped.

“Why-” he stopped, fumbling for the right words.

“Why do they do this?” she asked, flipping her braid away from her shoulder. “They do this…they do this, because they can.”

He never saw her again.

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

A few months later, the new Queen Lehzan lips brushed against Cor’s soft forehead as the baby slept in arms. She envied the child for it seemed oblivious to the hubbub and surrounding them. It had been only a few days since the twins’ birth, and still there was much rejoicing throughout Archenland. ‘Even the usurper of Narnia must have heard of you,’ thought the queen gently as she handed her firstborn to the great Centaur.

The ancient Prophet stared at the child adoringly, and then with closed eyes stood still in the marble courtyard. Her husband, Lune was there beside her as was Dane. The nobles stood to one side. It was as if the whole world as at a standstill. Suddenly, with a loud clear voice, the Prophet declared:

‘A day may come when that boy will save Archenland from the deadliest danger in which ever she lay.‘

A great cheer rose from the crowd, but Lehzan could only clench her child in uncertainty for a great fear fell upon her. She felt a hard touch upon her arm, and she saw Dane smile at her.

“The stars shine greatly with such gifts as these,” he murmured, and he bent down to kiss his royal nephew. The nobles came to and fro, offering gifts to their monarchs. To Lehzan’s surprise, a heavily veiled woman approached them led by one of her husband’s advisors.

“Lehzan, this is a great friend of mine, who has only just arrived at Anvard,” murmured Dane in her ear. Lehzan tried not to easily frown at the veil thought it must have showed for the woman lifted it, and Lehzan was greeted with a glowing smile.

“O great Queen! Surely all the deities of this world have blessed you!” The woman curtsied in the Calormene style, and as she raised herself, her fingers gently brushed a lock of thin hair from Cor’s face. Lehzan almost unconsciously brushed the woman’s fingers off her child, but as their fingers touched, Lehzan was struck by the coldness of the other female’s skin. The Calormene’s face froze as Lehzan’s gaze met hers.

“Thou has not yet given thy name, my lady,” declared Lune smiling at Corin, who he cradled, and at the nobles before him. The Calormene graced him with a smile, which Lehzan noted did not reach her eyes.

“My name is Dariel of Calavar, O King.”

Dane led her away, and Lehzan was glad that he did for the lady had seemed cold to her, and the overgrowing threat of danger did not leave her. As they walked away, Dane pulled the once again veiled woman away from the crowded rooms, and into the gardens where there were no Centaurs about. He loosened his grip on her until all was well.

“You here now. Do not expect any help from me,” he hissed.

Dariel smirked.

“Really, Dane? Do you think those that have the mark of Tash walk away that easily?” The female turned and as she neared an arch, she looked back at him. “You’ll never be completely free, not until she’s in the way. Besides,” here she even smiled at him out of pure amusement, “Lord Bar’s plan has just begun!”

Oi. So this chapter turned out longer then expected. As you can see, Moonless Nights is related to this fic after all. Who exactly is Dariel? Is she truly from where she says she’s from? For those interested, Fire-stone was what the Stone Table was made out of. It's mentioned in LWW. By the way, constructive reviews are appreciated :)

SpicyRosesx