Complete after 13 years: The Mirror Crack'd

EveningStar

EveningStar

Mage Scribe
Staff member
Knight of the Noble Order
Royal Guard
This is an alternate history of Narnia that asks the simple question -- what would have happened if the Pevensies had NOT returned to Earth at all?

It is, in my own judgment, a very thought provoking look that takes its time and draws conclusions carefully. Feel free to agree or disagree in the comments. And please do remember to comment if it was worth your time.

This story was started in February of 2013 and, for reasons best left unsaid, was abandoned 2/3 of the way to the finish line. I have gone through and repaired massive problems with the existing text and finally completed it in what I feel is a very satisfactory way. I hope it was worth the 13 year wait.

What makes this story odd among my works is that I started writing it not knowing how it would end. In fact, I only decided yesterday how it would end and sprinted to a conclusion.

I hope you'll enjoy it.
 
- 1 -

THE WHITE STAG​


Out flew the web and floated wide
The mirror crack'd from side to side
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott

-- Alfred, Lord Tennyson


It was a fine Autumn day that came in the summer of King Peter's life; dry, crisp and clear with a foretaste of fiery leaves on the oak and ash. In short, a perfect day for a quest, had there been a quest at all.

Peter sighed, Lucy drummed her fingers, and Susan silently counted the malachite green tiles in the floor and found yet again that there were exactly 68. What Edmund thought we'll never know because just as he was about to say something, in burst old Tumnus in a state of happy agitation. "Your Majesties! Wonderful news! The White Stag is once more upon us!"

"The White Stag?" Edmund asked. "Is he one of our loyal subjects?"

"Yes and no. But he's a very special sort of creature. He has powers and to those lucky enough to catch him, he will grant wishes!"

Lucy’s eyebrows raised. "Are you saying we should hold him for ransom?" She certainly did not look kindly upon the mistreatment of any beast, talking or no.

Tumnus smiled coyly at Peter. "He runs to test you. He grants wishes for those who are worthy. Feeling worthy, Sire?"

“Worthy to try!” Peter brought his fist down on the arm of his throne with resolve. "By Jove, we'll take the test! Tell the groom to saddle our mounts and we’ll have a jolly lark!"

***​

Robert Burns once said that the best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry. That certainly happened in the reckless pursuit of the white stag.

In the royal stables the stallion Phillip whinnied softly, more in shame than in pain. His long face was pillowed in Peter's lap as the High King stroked him gently. "There's my brave old soldier. Lucy should be back with the cordial presently and we'll mend that shattered leg."

"Brave old soldier," Phillip said with a snort. "Hah! That's a laugh. I saw a snake and upsie-daisy! I'm just glad I didn't break your neck."

"You were startled," Peter said softly. "I think I'm a brave warrior, worthy of his spurs. Still when someone touches me on the back and I'm not expecting it..."

"I've noticed," Phillip said, gently nickering. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For making an old dobbin feel needed."

It wasn’t the first time the serpent in a garden changed the world.
 
- 2 -

THE MISSING FOUR​



Back in England, Chief Inspector Reede did not come across as the imaginative sort, so Professor Digory Kirke did not dare to speculate on why his young charges were missing. He stuck with the facts, careful to correct that "Pevensie" did not end in "ey".

"The Lads" had been out in the miserable rain searching the surrounding woods with the help of local townsfolk. Rain at Badger's Drift was miserable enough without Constables slogging through mud and vines in search of children who would not be found. And indeed, they would not be found since Lucy left a brooch in the floor of the wardrobe in the spare room and did not come back at once to reclaim it. That wardrobe, the one he had made from the wood of a magical tree, still had ties to the far-off land of Narnia, and no doubt had swept them away part and parcel. Alas, a piece of furniture he prized became the instrument of his loneliness. Gone, gone, all gone! What would he tell Chris and Helen? Sorry, all four of your children were lost on some otherworld that I never talked about? Only Jill Pole would have believed him, and her word would do no good whatever since she was not there.

Of course he could not tell the Chief Inspector about Narnia, and so he allowed the pointless search to go on and saved his tears...and the pocketed brooch...until he could have some time alone. Not even Mrs. Macreedy could share in his loss…she had even less imagination than the Chief Inspector. And so he absent-mindedly felt in his jacket pocket, tracing Lucy's brooch with a fingertip and quietly mouthing, "Aslan, old friend, give them a good life and an easy death."

Aslan, it appears, heard him....

***​

Many decades had passed. Peter had bounced a fair-haired son upon his knee until that child was old enough to bounce upon the saddle of a younger horse than Philip. That son named Arthur—for he deserved a fairytale name—was swift as the wind, strong as an ox, curious as a cat, and bold as an eagle. And he scaled Mount Morrah where the mountain loved the handsome man and resolved to keep him forever. He still sleeps in her silent arms.

After Arthur came Roland, Lionheart, Vandar, and finally Roderick the Wise. To understand his name is to understand the story that is about to unfold.

***​

King Roderick had a habit of walking among the royal dead when he had a big decision to make. This was not an ordinary decision and hanging about dear Grandpa's statue was not enough. This time he went right to the top, crossing the bridge from the bank of Whispering Creek to the small island where the Pevensie Crypt stood like a silent sentinel. This monument to the founders of the Pevensie Dynasty was not the least bit morbid to Roderick Pevensie. Indeed, it brought him a deep inner peace. He ruled the rest of Narnia, but there in that one spot by ancient custom Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy not only rested but perpetually ruled. Also, by ancient custom, Roderick took off his boots and walked barefoot to Peter's crypt where his marble likeness lay in repose, hands clasped in prayer.

"What am I going to do about those Telmarines?" he said with a sigh.

Peter, as expected, did not stir himself to respond.

“I too am speechless,” Roderick said, laying a white rose on the tomb and turning to go.

***​

Had Roderick ever heard of Charles Dickens, he might have remembered a telling quote: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

Indeed it was both. War had been expected at any moment when the Hadrusians and several small northwestern provinces of Calormen left the Peacock Kingdom without the leave of the Tisroc (May He Live Forever). After the breathless week of silence, the Tisroc told his Privy Council to carefully study these "new developments". Thus far, like most students, they studied quietly.

The fragile status quo had stood through what people were already calling the "Summer of Tension" and just as folk in Narnia were about ready to redraw the world map to include "Greater Hadrusia", something happened to bring the world to the brink of war once again. The Hadrusians and the Kingdom of Telmar were in talks to move their alliance from an understanding to an imperial union. All that really seemed in dispute was whether to call the nation the Hadrusian Empire or the Telmarine Empire. Both were ancient, proud races. Both underestimated the resolve of another ancient, proud race.

The Tisroc, as might be imagined, was absolutely livid. Such an empire would not only place the Hadrusians beyond his grasp, it would become the second largest military unit in the world and a genuine threat.

Members of all stakeholders were planning to meet for talks to avoid a world war. The talks, to have any chance at all, had to be in a neutral location. And that's where Roderick came in, or more precisely the Moot of Beruna where one misstep, one knife in the ribs of a high-ranking dignitary, one show of weakness could drag Narnia into the maelstrom.
 
- 3 -

CAPITAL OF THE WORLD​


Beruna was one of those places that folk think they want to visit. It practically reeked of history and there were indeed places where it was a spiritual experience to stand and watch the sunrise and imagine the gleam of enemy lances and swords along Jadis' Ridge. Orieus' Cairn was built on the place where Narnians who gave their last full measure of devotion were interred in a mass grave. Nearby was Ogre's Field with its ugly trimmed granite boulder marking the place where someone thought the enemy dead were burned. Of course, with nearly two centuries intervening, the locals were not quite sure that was the exact spot....

Folks think they want to visit Beruna until they've been there a while and realize it's long on history and short on hospitality. The only ones that can bear it for long are the locals. And speaking of the locals, there were very few native Berunans. The stony ground was no place to grow crops and the unchecked wind that characterized much of the rolling year made conversation difficult at times. Those who held on were mainly in the tourist trade, leading groups of pilgrims, furnishing them overpriced grub and keeping some semblance of a trails system in passable order.

That's why a steady uptick in visitors really attracted notice in the small village of Beruna Ford. These folk looked like pilgrims and merchants but they were very close with their personal business, not at all chatty like the usual sightseer far from home. They gave no gossip and listened to none. And when the townsfolk woke one morning to see that the visitors were now wearing military uniforms and living in canvas pavilions they kept in their "cargo" wagons it was hardly a shock. Something was indeed up--the only question about Beruna was precisely what.

With no tree stands growing there to boast of, these new occupiers brought in logs which they sharpened and threw up into a defensive palisade and high wall in a thrice. Before the view was completely cut off, a couple of the local talking hares spotted large ornate tents with purple and green and azure panels embroidered with gold and silver lions rampant. This was no ordinary military camp, not at all.

And lest anyone have ideas of having a sneak peek by moonlight, a strict and rather irksome curfew kept curious folk off the streets and out of the fields from sundown to sunrise. No one stated what the penalty would be for violators. No one dared to ask.

***​

An elderly hare came out and asked one of the “merchants” to see the garrison commander.

“The garrison commander? Who says there is a garrison, father?”

“My sons,” said the hare, obviously tears swimming in his eyes. “Sometimes in the night they talk to me. Last night was awful…just awful!”

The man was about to dismiss the aged longshanks as a pitiable jest, until he saw the ornamental gold key around the hare’s neck.

“You’re the Vicar of Beruna, aren’t you?”

The hare nodded. “They talk to me. Really they do. And they said this would be the capital of the world. Imagine that, this desolate and holy place!”

The man’s face went nearly as white as the old hare’s unruly fur. “Tell no one what you heard, father! Name your request and I’ll make sure it’s passed on to my superiors.”

“An honor guard at the Orius’ Cairn. Please don’t let foreign boots tread on that holy ground! My sons, my precious sons! I’d rather die than see them troubled! Rather die, I would! They sold their youth for your freedom!”

The man gave the old hare’s shoulder a comforting pat. “Rest easy, father. Calm yourself. By Aslan’s whiskers, it shall be so.”

“Then I shall pray for your undertaking, Major.”

“How did you know I was a Major??”

“Your ring.”

Flustered, the man took off the ring and pocketed it. “One can’t be too careful…”

“They told me, Son of Adam. They talk to me when all is still and the moonlight paints the crest of the ridge.”

In the murmurs of the unchecked wind, the Major thought he too could make out their cries of anguish, and he shuddered.

***​

That evening a very surreal and troubling sight met the townsfolks' eyes. On the tall poles in the center of the palisade that were high enough to be spied over the wall were flying several flags...the Narnian Lion, the Tisroc's triple-headed Eagle, the Archenese Gold Crown on azure and the Telmarian crossed lightning bolts and fist. It was clear that for a few awful moments, for some unknown reason, that spot would become capital of the world.
 
- 4 -

THE DRUM​



Long before the present crisis a solemn and sad sacrament played out in the Azure Room of Cair Paravel. There beneath a deep blue ceiling spangled with gold stars lay old King Edmund the Just. His eyes still shone brightly beneath the shock of white hair that stole his ebony locks, but his face was weary. There was no doubt that another Narnia--the eternal Narnia--was calling him.

His servants and personal physician had withdrawn to allow him a bit of rest. "Not too much rest," Ed whispered, his wit undulled by age. "I shall rest soon enough with Susan and Peter."

And it was well that Edmund was untroubled by well-wishers for he was expecting a very important visitor, one who emerged from the shadows and crept to his bedside on velvet paws.

"Aslan, old friend. You come for me at last."

The lion half-smiled, his reply coming in a soft, deep rumble. "Not yet, not yet. I am here on some unfinished business."

"My prayer?" Edmund said, extending a trembling timeworn hand.

"Yes," Aslan said, taking the hand gently in his mouth, pressing it gingerly and giving it a rough lion kiss. "It is a reasonable request, and doubly so because you want it for others and not for yourself." He shook his mane, which seemed to dazzle with a brilliance that was not exactly light and crackle with a tinkling that was not exactly sound. "Behold."

In a bright flash with sparks something appeared. It was a small drum. Not an ordinary drum, but a splendid teak drum with a painted leather face surrounded by gold gilded rivets.

"Is this what I think it is?" Edmund asked, his voice trembling with emotion.

"Happy belated Christmas," Aslan said. He stroked the sobbing king's face with his paw. "This is your legacy, one of the Treasures of Narnia. It will take its place with the Cordial, the Horn and the Sword."

***​

King Roderick held the self-same drum gently, in awe of its great power. He had been loathe to use it before. Indeed, he was not quite ready to use it. He would only get one wish, one request to be granted that could not cause harm to another living soul, even one of evil and treachery, and then the drum would sleep until its new owner inherited it, and inherit the drum they must, for it could not be struck again during an owner's lifetime. There were a lot of wishes one could ask without causing harm, but knowing which one was the most important one, the all important one that would let its owner go to the grave without regrets for a wish hastily made. It seemed quite possible that the wish would be made in the very near future.

***​

Peter was a masterful ruler and he had brought a degree of peace and stability to Narnia that had lasted for a couple of centuries. The world had been stitched together into a series of entangling alliances that ensured anyone would be a fool to conquer another country simply because it was smaller and less well defended. And while there was nothing whatever like a League of Nations to formally hear grievances, there was the threat of all-out world war to keep most petty squabbles in perspective.

Yes, it had worked for a couple of centuries, yet it had also become a well-practiced game. Nations tested other nations, diplomats gathered embarrassing revelations and a certain amount of backroom cloak and dagger talk wrung concessions from even the most principled of players. Without Peter's charismatic presence the luster of his cherished peace was beginning to turn green like an imitation gold locket.

The Hadrusians were the spark that finally threatened to make the piles of tinder burst into open flame. Not because they were people of bad character. No, quite the opposite, the Hadrusian Religion stressed personal piety and the importance of honor, sacrifice and service. They did not play the game of politics well and with the Tisroc threatening their religion with his Cult of Tash they resolved to do what they had to do, even if it might lead to the death of every man, woman and child.

***​

It started with a single valiant cry, the shout of a young man who climbed to the pinnacle of the Calormene Rajah’s palace and cut the banner of oppression from its flagstaff, waving it in the golden morning sun. “Death to the Cally Tyrant!”

A dozen arrows from ground troops found their mark and the young man fell both famous and nameless to the sad embrace of the pavement.

A wave of rage, slow but unstoppable, spread through the crowd. Pitchforks and brooms smote archers and swordsmen with such ardor and speed that some guards threw off their helmets, cut loose their cloaks, and fled stateless into the countryside. A fire had been lit, and there was no rain in sight. Independence or death!

***​

During the breathless pause that followed the Tisroc sought to exercise other forms of control over the breakaway province, a job that proved harder because many influential and wealthy Hadrusians lived across the border in Telmar and they had the ear of the Telmarine King. And voices on both sides of the border whispered at first, but the conversation grew louder by bits and pieces until there was outright talk that a merger was inevitable. A new and more powerful Telmarine Empire.

That left three options, all of them potentially disastrous. First, the Hadrusians could continue to live in their small, landlocked country, always feeling the heavy thumb of the Tisroc on them. Second, the Tisroc could move to retake Hadrusia and trigger a war with Telmar. Third, the Telmarines could merge with Hadrusia and pressure the Tisroc into a face-saving war.

King Roderick was working on a fourth option. What it was to be, he was not sure.
 
- 5 -

UNDER WRAPS​



During the night's camp, the Hadrusian Foreign Minister had brought back an ancient custom of absolute secrecy. As he spoke with the Captain of the Guard in his small tent, three guards marched around and around it far enough from the tent that nothing could be overheard. If any of the three should approach the tent or stop even for an instant (even if it appeared to be an accident) the other two were required to kill him immediately.

Safe in their cocoon of silence, the two spoke in hushed tones.

"What do you think are our chances?" the Foreign Minister asked.

"If we had brought a division as I had requested..."

"Out of the question," Minister Harlass snapped. "We all agreed to a small personal guard. We cannot afford to look like cowards in front of the Tisroc's men."

"Well then, Minister, the good news is that you have as much of a chance of coming home alive as you do of returning in a box."

Harlass frowned but he also nodded gravely. "That's better than things were a month ago."

"It's also worse than they could have been a week ago. I told the King that our small forces would seem like thousands if we covered the mountain passes. We don't need the Telmarines."

"Captain, too much of the wine of victory makes a man drunk." The Foreign Minister sighed. "The Telmarines need us as badly as we need them. Not to keep the status quo but to open those new trade routes. They've had a small taste of wealth and comfort. They want more."

"Your Excellency....Harlass...we've known each other quite a while. Those people are not to be trusted. Their assurances are like water in a canvas cup."

"You fight with your sword, I with diplomacy. I know people as only a diplomat knows them."

"I am also a captain hardened in the forge of battle. I argue questions of life and death as only a soldier knows them."

"You are here to guard me, Captain, not to command me."

"I am here to keep you safe, and I shall. Safe from yourself if need be. And remember the King was quite insistent."

The Foreign Minister nodded and patted the Captain on the shoulder. "All that aside, I fight for my country just as you do. This is a battle and there are no guarantees in war."

"Then I suppose we've nothing further to discuss." The Captain of the Guard looked out the tent door, clapping his hands at the guard detail. "Dismissed!"

***​

That same night. Yannik, the youthful Calormene Crown Prince, was pacing about his own tent in his pajamas. "I just don't understand it, Raum! I'm sure Tash in his Infinite Wisdom has something in mind for all this, but why did Father (may he live forever) have to get so ill at a time like this? By all that is right he should be here to negotiate!"

Raum, the Court Counselor, raised his bushy eyebrows a bit. "He is here, Your Highness. You are flesh of his flesh, and I (with all due humility) was by his side during most of his great challenges, even as I am here for Your Highness."

"They will think me a mere boy."

"No son of the Peacock Throne is a mere boy. I dare to venture that any Calormene soldier in the palace guard could defeat a Hadrusian dog and a kisser of mythical lions. You are a great man like your father was."

"Save your propaganda for the speeches," Yannik said. "And you'd be wise to remember that my father (may he live forever) has not died yet."

Raum bent a bit at the waist. "I did not mean to offend, Your Highness. And yet if that unfortunate day happened to come sooner rather than later, it was wise of your Father to send you into the crucible that your gold may be refined in the heat of conflict. These are the people you must face when it is time for you to take the throne. It would be best for them to fear you now, and it would be best for you to know their strengths and--more importantly--their weaknesses."

Yannik glanced at him with large dark eyes tinged a bit with fear. "I wish to be alone now. Good night, Raum."

"Good night, Your Highness," Raum said, bending at the waist before leaving.

As soon as the counselor was outside, he took out his pipe, lit it from his lantern, then puffed a bit. "The young colt is away from his mother," he murmured. "He thinks himself a stallion."

***​

Raum’s private opinion of Yannik was shared by many of the upper echelons of the Calormene Empire. Not because he was physically weak—he wasn’t—and not because he was uneducated—quite the contrary. Indeed, Yannik was seen as the victim of too much reading, too much philosophy, and too little ambition.

This was partly due to the influence of his personal valet Darshan. Despite the title, an Imperial valet was more than just someone who pressed trousers and pulled up stockings. He was well educated and, more importantly, well versed in philosophy.

Only it wasn’t the philosophy of war that Darshan embraced. He was teeming with dangerous precepts on the equality of all men, the premiere importance of love, and the need to temper justice with mercy. Darshan ran the gauntlet on a few occasions to bring Yannik scrolls on subjects like theodicy and eschatology that were thought to be inappropriate for the smiting hand of Tash.

Yet even with him, or perhaps most strictly with him, Yannik was aware of his vulnerability and kept a close eye. As his father said, a Tisroc has no friends, only acquaintances. That is the sacrifice one makes to lead, to stand solo in that high and lonely destiny. A phrase that, ironically, was once uttered by the White Witch and has assured long histories of despots that their despicable acts were done in the public good and excusable under the circumstances.

And so their relationship existed in this fragile state, eternal tension between the impossibility of close friendship and the undeniability of kindred souls. Darshan accepted his tenuous relationship with a tenacious grip, being a true Jonathan to Yannik’s David.

That friendship, as will soon become evident, was a hinge upon which the fate of the world turned.
 
- 6 -

CAMP BERUNA​



The Telmarine king Karrin and his coterie arrived at Camp Beruna, as the stockade was now openly called. Their flag, white above blue with a double-headed eagle clutching swords and arrows, flew next to the Lion Jack.

The first Telmarines to visit Narnia had arrived in the summer of King Peter's 60th year. They were seeking a treaty of mutual defense and trade to protect themselves from the Calormene threat. And while they smiled and said many flattering things, they were clearly put off by the presence of talking beasts and earned Queen Lucy's undying enmity when they referred to the talking badger who waited on tables as "it" rather than "he".

With sometime mention of the "master race" achieving a "great destiny" to "unite the world" in peace and prosperity, the ambassador did not engender himself to Edmund who had known his fill of ambitious rulers and did not like them whether they had magic or not.

The resulting treaty was more of a memorandum of understanding without any hard and fast guarantees. It resulted in a period lasting nearly a century called the "slow war" in which the occasional border violation or embargo never quite loosed the arrows. There was, however, an understanding that the Tisroc and his minions were the real and present danger against which all people "like us" (Telmarine words, not Narnian) should be prepared to fight side by side.

Then came the great thawing of relations, and all because of a disease. Corragic Fever to be precise. A wet spring and cool summer one year turned the old resentments out as a new threat worse than Calormen swept through the towns like an angry blaze. It was into this catastrophe that Narnian doctors and nurses skilled in sanitation treated the dying and ordered changes in the disposal of garbage, preparation of food and protection of water supplies. Suddenly Narnians...even talking beasts...were seen as guardian angels. Differences remained, but old enmities were forgotten and the border incursions ceased entirely.

These were the reformed Telmarines that showed up at Camp Beruna. And yet they had a powerful ally ready to join them. Would they still be so humble, so grateful, when they had the world's largest professional army?
 
- 7 -

IN A BARREL​



At Camp Beruna no expense was spared to ensure the delegates would not only be safe but comfortable. After all, it was hard enough to be patient with political wrangling without a stiff back, thin soup and a cold shower.

The pavilions were good enough for royalty (and some would need to be!) and every staffer was fully trained in the customs of all the countries represented.

High on the list of comforts was the galley staff who all had to be trustworthy as a badger, swift as a cheetah and courteous as an owl. The lives of the delegates were literally in their hands. Despite the thorough screening every creature that touched food had to endure, there were still food tasters supplied by each of the delegates to ensure their loyalty. It was their fate to eat cuisine good enough to die for or bad enough to die by.

Food was purchased anonymously and shipped to various locations where it was in turn picked up by others and brought to the camp. Still every provision was checked carefully upon arrival.

Even with this caution, there was a frightening incident where a wagonload of wine casks was stopped at the main gate. The teamster looked unfamiliar and as he was being questioned by the Captain of the Guard a red spot on the back of the wagon looked a bit too brownish red to be spilled wine. A wolf came and sniffed it. "It's blood alright."

The unfortunate driver was "put to the question" with methods that paled in comparison to the torture of the Calormenes. He was tied to a hard wooden chair with itchy sisal rope and left in the sun for several hours. Late that evening one of the talking badgers brought him a cup of wine under the pretext of feeling sorry for him. The prisoner drank it quickly, only to be told that it was taken from one of his barrels. It wasn't, but the teamster did not know that and he reacted with such terror that the whole lot ended up in a landfill. What happened to the driver was never revealed...indeed the delegates themselves were never told and the whole matter was handled with the height of discretion.

***​

King Roderick of Narnia did not report directly to Camp Beruna nor did he ride in a procession down the main street (if you could call it that). Instead he went directly to Orieus' Cairn and, dressed humbly in a pilgrim's cloak, laid a wreath of golden saphrodels at the foot of the monument to the slain.

He read the inscription in a halting voice:

"Their spring was brief ere winter's hand
Untimely snatched them from the field
The blood of this courageous band
The bleeding of their country healed

"The years do not enfeeble them,
Decaying not as we grow old,
Forever young these martyrs sleep
To wait the roll call of the bold!"

"Here lie six hundred thirty and four
Sons of Narnia known only unto Aslan.
Do not forget the price they paid."

Roderick humbled himself with more than customary ardor. This was clearly no ceremonial display. After an uncomfortably long silence, he murmured, "You knew your duty and you did it. I'm not afraid of death...no more than most, anyhow...but failure frightens me far more than death. I wish...I wish..."

An aged faun who stood beside him knelt down and put an arm around the King's shoulder. "Your Majesty, they too were more frightened of failure than death. That's why they threw themselves into battle."

Roderick looked around, his eyes bright with tears but a half smile on his face. "Lord Mellius, you're a good advisor. I think I'll keep you."

"Well won't I sleep better tonight," the faun said, flashing a grin. "Come, Sire, your public awaits."
 
- 8 -

BANNERS AND ANTHEMS​



King Roderick was just settling in when the Hadrusian Foreign Minister Harlass brusquely approached him with the merest pretense of a bow and thrust a large tricolor flag in his face. "The colors of my country, Your Majesty. Red for the blood of our martyrs, gold for incorruptibility and green for prosperity. For two centuries it has been death to own such cloth, much less hoist it to the heavens. It is time to fly it once more, but my distinguished Telmarine liege is having issues with the..."

King Karrin of Telmar came alongside Harlass. "Roderick, surely you can appreciate how sensitive this situation is without throwing pitch on the fire. If we fly their revolutionary flag..."

"Our NATIONAL flag," Harlass interrupted.

"...Their FLAG," Karrin continued. "It will send a clear message to the Calormenes that this talk is a mere formality and we've already made up our minds."

"Gentlemen, please!" Roderick said with a half-smile. "One war at a time."

"Don't you understand?" Harlass asked indignantly. "We are on the verge of uniting with the Telmarines. The flag must fly during the negotiations. We are a sovereign nation, at least for now, and we will be treated as such."

There was a long moment of silence while Roderick was deep in thought. "If I were King Peter, I would say fly it. We Narnians knew the sting of occupation. You are surrounded by the monuments to the brave lads that overthrew it. He was there...he never forgot."

"But you're not Peter," Harlass said with a bit of a scowl.

"No, I'm not. But I'd be a fool not to listen to his advice. I think we care too much what the Calormenes think and they care too little what the rest of the world thinks. I think they are in for an attitude adjustment." Roderick idly rested his right hand on the pommel of his sword. "Fly your flag, Harlass."

"But Sire..." Karrin interjected.

Roderick held up a finger sternly. "Two centuries is a long time. They've waited long enough. We only waited a century." It was clear he saw the Tisroc and the White Witch as two of a kind.

***​

The hoisting of the Hadrusian flag almost immediately earned a response from the neighboring Calormenes. While there were only six guards accompanying the Crown Prince and Advisor, four of them had long trumpets with silk banners and the other two had drums. They blew the Royal Anthem with ruffles and flourishes. Then they hoisted their own Calormene banner and—to add insult to injury—the flag of the captive Hadrusian state, defaced in one corner by the three-headed eagle of Calormen.

Harlass was rankled. He looked over at King Karrin and none too quietly whispered to the Telmarine that it was typically bad taste for them to play "that garbage" at a peace talk.

The garbage referred to by the Hadrusian was appropriate in one way to the entry of a man thought a living god, but it had a poor choice of lyrics, expressed none too subtly:

Granite crag, thou never-changing
'Gainst the waves of stormy seas
Though a thousand years of breakers
Dash in vain against thy knees

Son of Heaven smite the foolish
Infidels before thy sword
Fall and tremble soon before thee
Favorite son of Tash the Lord

No sooner had the awkwardness of the fanfare ceased to echo than the Advisor glanced up at the poles and saw the Hadrusian flag fluttering in the breeze.

"What is yonder striped cloth?" Raum spat.

"It's called a 'flag', Your Excellency" Harlass answered with a half bow.

Crown Prince Yannik stifled a laugh. Raum shot him an icy glance but at the look he got back, he made a most insincere smile and said quietly, "Perhaps we can amuse him with our Calormene humor before the day is done."

Before things could get worse, King Roderick came forward with open arms. "Your Royal Highness, the hospitality of Narnia is laid before you." In the embrace that followed, Yannik found a moment of peace to savor before the struggles that lay ahead.

***​

Roderick went to his pavilion and retrieved something wrapped in a silken shawl. He took the bundle out of Camp Beruna and went into town to seek out the vicarage.

When he found it, he was surprised after but two knocks to have the door opened by an elderly hare.

“My sons told me to expect you.”

Unlike the Major, King Roderick knew at once what the hare meant. “Did they also tell you about this?”

He opened the bundle and revealed Edmund’s drum.

“By the Lion, that’s a bonny thing!”

“Indeed, it is. And you know what it is?”

“Yes.” The hare poured a cup of tea for the king. “Have you used it?”

“So many things to wish for, and all of the lacking in some regard. Yet I feel if ever it was time to use it, time is now.”

“I can tell you what I’d wish for,” the vicar said, sipping his tea. “Aslan, do as you will.”

The king was so startled by the simplicity of the suggestion that he spilled his tea on his vest. “And I have agonized over this for my entire reign.”

“That Aslan’s will be done is the only good wish, Your Majesty. You can only use the drum once, but you should wish this prayer every day. Naught but grace comes from the Lion, and naught but pain is stayed.”

Roderick nodded gravely, then took the stick and gave the drum a resounding boom. It was much louder than he expected.
 
- 9 -

DIRKS AND DAGGERS​



The Royal Advisor to the Tisroc, went over to the Hadrusian pavilion, kettle in hand, and announced himself to the guards not as a high office holder but as Raum. "I should like to drink tea with my counterpart. With all due respect to Kings, Emperors and Princes, sometimes a man wants an equal to pass the time."

An equal…now there was a thought. Was this a subtle nod toward recognizing independence? Probably not, yet it sounded nice.

Foreign minister Harlass found Raum affable and polite, not at all the stuffy sort one pictured from the Court of Tashbaan. Raum did not resist at all when one of the guards was invited in to test the tea first.

"Harlass, the world is becoming a dangerous place," Raum said, taking a careful sip of the hot brew. "I slept not a wink last night, worried about what we would say, what we would do."

"How about the truth? How about the right thing?" Harlass countered.

"The right thing..." Raum shrugged. "Problem is, we belong to different faiths and have different points of view. What seems right to me and what seems right to you are two different things. If the world as we know it is to survive, one viewpoint must match the other."

"Even if we fight to the last man?"

Raum sighed. "That's one of the things I admire about the Hadrusian people. You have such unity, such accord. It reminds me of the early days of the Empire when every campaign was a holy quest. Now it is a power struggle, a competition amongst the upper classes to please the Tisroc. Toadies, grovelers, yes men all of them."

"You didn't do so badly in that contest yourself," Harlass jibed.

Raum laughed. "That I didn't. Well come what may my lad, you pray to your God for my soul, I'll pray to mine for yours. Maybe in that great banquet hall we'll drink our health together."

"Why not?" Harlass said with a guarded smile, holding out his cup. Raum clinked cups with him and they drank.

And all in all it was a very pleasant social occasion with only one flaw; namely that Raum had deftly removed Harlass' dirk from its scabbard and replaced it with Yannik's dagger.
 
- 10 -

UNEASY SLUMBER​



That night in Camp Beruna was very problematic. The tension was so great that one could almost cut it with a knife. This was especially true since the Calormenes and Hadrusians were in neighboring sites with only a few stakes and some thin twine marking the boundary.

As the host nation, Narnia was ultimately responsible for keeping the peace during the deliberations, and its most dedicated and well-trained soldiers were stationed around each of the pavilions to head off trouble before it started.

Mind you, those soldiers were Black Diamonds, a crack outfit of otters with sharp spears and swords. The human that felt like pushing past a Black Diamond--and few ever could--ended up with a trophy scar or two as a memento.

The presence of these otters around the Calormene tent would have been laughable and offensive had the memory of their assault at Risem Ford in the Second Calormene War not been fresh. Prince Yannik and Raum may have felt indignant, but at least they felt safe.

As the moon drew upward to midnight, Raum emerged from the tent with a scroll and started toward the center of the compound. The Tent Corporal came alongside and ventured, "Your Excellency, it's a bit late to be out and about."

"I must pray for the success of our mission," Raum said. "I want to be under the moon and stars. Our lands are far apart but we share a common sky."

"So we do," the otter clucked. "Over there if you don't mind. I have orders to keep my eyes on you."

"But of course," Raum said, stalking out to the flagpoles and sitting cross-legged directly under the Tisroc's banner.

He unrolled the scroll which was indeed a prayer to Tash on the front, then turned it over. By the light of the moon he could make out a different script that did not show up in sunlight. He avoided even mouthing the words quietly as he read it:

"Raum, we are pleased by your faithfulness and delighted by your wisdom. And so we are moved to ask an extraordinary thing. By the holy name of Tash, I adjure you to make sure my son does not affix the Royal Seal to any document placing the Hadrusian dogs beyond our reach. Use the most effective means at your disposal. The blame must fall upon the Hadrusian ambassador to compel the Telmarines to abandon the talks.

I the Tisroc have spoken."

It was clear what needed to happen. Exactly how was another matter. Raum headed back to the tent, stopping at the guard post fire and dumping the scroll into the flames.

"Oy!" the Corporal exclaimed, "What's all this??"

"The prayer will fly into the heavens on the rising smoke," Raum said, touching his forehead respectfully before disappearing back into his tent.

***​

A very different prayer was happening in Roderick’s tent. The King sat cross-legged on the ornate carpet, a silver bowl of water in his lap and a towel draped over his arm.

He sat so as to look the otters of the Black Diamond Brigade in the eye. They bowed a bit yet locked eyes with him, a gesture of mutual respect. As far as they were concerned, Roderick’s presence there was every bit as reckless as charging full-voiced into battle.

“You have volunteered for this,” Roderick said quietly. “It is not as your King but as your father that I offer you ablution and absolution. Blessed are those who live for Aslan and blessed are those who die for him.”

Starting with the Colonel, the otters came in an orderly circle, each dipping his paws in the bowl and drying them on the towel. Finally, to the last of the otters, a new recruit looking at his King for the first and perhaps last time, Roderick handed him the bowl and towel. He then washed his own hands and dried them carefully.

“I am glad of your company tonight, Private…”

“Remmin, Sire.”

“Do you know how to play Skollers, Remmin?”

“Yes, Sire.”

The King glanced at the Colonel who nodded his assent. “He’s all yours, Sire. As are we all.”

***​

Fatigue finally dominated the tension and folk began to settle down for an uneasy rest. Even Roderick’s last sleepy game of Skollers came to an end. Only one pair of restless eyes remained alert, glancing about as the secret panel sewn into Yannik’s tent was opened with a hidden drawstring.

Raum crept in, Harlass’ dagger in his sweaty hand. He felt the weight of destiny on his shoulders and the breathless thrill of absolute peril.

He walked quietly to the cot where his prey conveniently lay facing the wall. “To thee O Tash,” he thought to himself. “I shall not allow the Calormene crown to rest on a weak brow!”

He slowly fell to his knees, the knife in his hand trembling slightly despite the clarity of his motives. With Yannik dead and the crime blamed on Harlass, a shameful peace would not sully the glittering ambition of the Peacock Throne.

Raum quickly slapped one hand over his victim’s mouth and grabbed his mouth and with the other stabbed him. “So much for your philosophy, you babbling fool! And don’t worry, I swore not to raise my weapon against you. I never said I wouldn’t raise Harlass’ weapon…”

He gave the knife a cruel twist and pulled it out. The victim ceased to struggle and went to join his fathers. Harlass dagger was laid on the floor where it was sure to be found.

As Raum sat there exultant, taking a precious moment of his escape window to savor the moment, he thought of the small scroll he had in his pack of diplomatic missives. There in his red box was a parchment the Tisroc had signed not knowing what it was, giving Raum the throne in the event his son predeceased him. Now he would use his grand ideas to enrich and empower himself rather than propping up an old fool.

He came to his senses and realized his window to escape was growing smaller. He went out the cloth panel, tugged slightly on the drawstring, and left the tent looking intact and inviolate. It was the perfect crime…
 
- 11 -

COME TO THE TABLE

​

Yannik shows up. What’s wrong Raum, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost!

King Roderick said, “It looks more to me like he’s wondering who he stabbed to death last night…”

“It was my one true friend, the friend my father warned me did not exist and whom I did not deserve. He was called a valet, but he was ten times the advisor you were!”

“But Your Highness, I…I…”

Roderick shook his head. “You can evade Narnian justice and we can turn you over for a fair trial among your people. I believe the form of execution for regicide is most unpleasant… and lingering. On the other hand, in the interest of world peace, we would be satisfied with your confinement in the Palace of Justice in reasonable comfort.”

“I plead guilty and throw myself on the mercy of your court.”

“How do we know he won’t appeal the verdict?” Yannik asked.

“A signed confession should do the trick.” Roderick reached into his robe and took out a small writing kit and a piece of parchment. “I always carry a spare one in case of emergencies. And as for your friend Darshan, give the word and I shall bury him in holy ground by Orius’ Cairn, not as a Calormene hero but as a hero for the whole world.”

“The word is given.”

***​

The otters of the black diamond brigade were passed up on the honor of escorting the prisoner to his fate. Not because they were incapable or unworthy, but to avoid making a scene. Two solemn centaurs walked with Raum who was allowed, for appearances sake, to walk freely with his hands unbound and head unbowed.

Just then, a remarkable thing happened. A breathless Calormene messenger showed up. “Your Serene Majesty, news from Tashbaan…”

Yannik knew from the tone of his address what the news was and bowed his head. “Tash’s will…and no doubt Aslan’s… A new day dawns in more ways than one. Let us do what must be done and achieve a just and lasting peace.”

Roderick half smiled. “But what is a Calormene Tisroc who is not conquering?”

“I have conquered, brother King. No one forces my hand, not even Calormene tradition.”



THE END​
 
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