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NARNIA-ARCHENLAND BORDER. EARLY SUMMER 1008
The summer sun was bright overhead, but its warmth was fleeting. The mountain range that built the southern border between Narnia and Archenland was snow-capped still, and despite the distance the Narnian guard had put between themselves and the slippery peaks, the chill had followed.
Or so Susan told herself. Something gnawed at her as they reached the edge of the rocky terrain at the base of the mountains, and this was the best she could to do persuade herself not to worry.
“Peridan?”
“Yes, your majesty?”
“How long would you say it would take to cross these lands?”
The Black Woods stood at the other side of an open stretch of land, calling to her. It wasn’t far, and she yearned to be back on Narnian soil, but the stretch of land that stood before them now was murky territory.
According to ancient laws from the time of King Frank V, the first king of Archenland, the land belonged to neither kingdom, but also both. A monarch from either country could exercise their own judgement within these lands, as they would within the official boundaries of their kingdom’s jurisdiction. However, because King Lune rarely sent his men north across the mountains and because Narnians rarely had reason to venture south beyond the Black Woods, there was danger here simply in the unknown.
“At a hard ride, perhaps we could cross the edge just after nightfall.”
Susan glanced up at the sky, noting that there were perhaps a few hours left before the sun would set. Then, she looked around at the Narnians with her. Her own guard of six, and three of Edmund’s soldiers.
When she’d told Edmund she intended to return to Narnia by land, through the mountain pass, he insisted she take half of his guard with her. She nearly refused, declaring that she would be fine with her own soldiers—it was what they were meant for, after all—but King Lune had agreed and even offered a few of his own men to supplement the party.
In the end, she’d taken Ed’s men and politely declined Lune’s hospitality to avoid further discussion.
Each stood tall or sat attentively in their saddle, awaiting her command. But where her own knew her, the others were used to Edmund’s direction. She tried to look at them as if she were Edmund, searching for what opinion they might have but would not share with her.
The only conclusion that came was of Susan’s own weariness. “Let’s camp here for the night and start again in the morning.”
She woke before the sun was up, but long after their fire dwindled. A soft glow in the darkness was all that was left, but the night stretched further than the edges of their camp and she shivered in the silence.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, for her ears to pick out the sound of what woke her. Then, in the dark shadows of the dwindling fire, a figure took shape, just to the left of her cot. It was small and crouched, watching her. She wished, vaguely, for Lucy’s dagger. Not to brandish herself, but just to hold. She felt the option alone would be a comfort.
When she reached for her quiver of arrows, the figure shifted with her, the movements immediate.
“Please.”
The girl’s voice came in a hoarse whisper, a swirl of pain folded into the simple plea.
“It’s alright,” Susan whispered back, pausing as she wished for a brighter light, anything to see this girl’s face more clearly. “Who are you?”
“Please,” came the reply. “We are only leaving.”
Susan frowned, unsure who else could be with this girl, and where they wished to go that they were stumbling across her camp. In the dark, it could be nowhere good.
“It’s late, if you wait until morning, my men and I would be happy to escort you wherever you need to go.” It would lengthen their journey, but there was no true rush beyond her own desire to go home.
“No. He sleeps now.”
The girl shifted, and suddenly, Susan felt rather than saw the others behind her crouched form.
“Please. We must go now. North, to Narnia.”
“Wait!”
But it was too late. She and the others were already shuffling through the camp.
Susan counted a group of six, including the girl in front, catching their dim shadows as they passed the last flickers of the dying fires and picked their way between sprawling soldiers. The men were all asleep, she realized with a start, including the faun Tarion, posted at the far edge of their camp, who was meant to be on guard.
The group of girls crossed the camp in what seemed to be a foolproof trail, save for the last in their group. She was smaller and lingered a bit in her steps, as if hindered by something Susan could not see in the dark.
Her foot caught, and she tumbled not into any one of the others, but into Peridan.
She cringed at the noise and commotion that followed. A clatter of metal and shifting bodies, gruff voices and harried whispers, but surprisingly, no screams.
“Peridan, stay your sword! All of you,” Susan demanded, careful not to call out too loudly, though she feared whatever advantage they had held in the silence of the night was now long gone.
“Are you hurt, y—?”
“No,” she answered curtly. “No, I’m fine. Just… They’re only girls.”
“Girls?”
“Yes.” Susan peered into the waning night in search of them. “Six of them, I think. Oh, I wish it was brighter.”
The fire crackled as someone set another log to the embers, but the sparks only drifted into the air—the light would not catch so soon. Dawn was not so far away that there would be much longer to wait before they were all exposed, but between the dying fire and the sudden, thundering shout cutting through the night, Susan found time was against her. Against them all.
“Asena!”
It was a deep and gravelly voice that rang out, bringing the hair at the base of Susan’s neck to stand on end. The man to whom the voice belonged came through the low brush they had passed through the evening before. It was likely that he and the girls—for clearly this was the man they had been evading—had come from Archenland, or perhaps from beyond the mountainous country.
“Who in the sands are you?”
“You dar-”
“We are Narnians, sir,” Susan cut in. Her voice was clear and loud, but it was not for the stranger that she spoke. She was not sure where the other girls had ended up in the short disarray that awoke her men, but she wanted, first, to let them know who they were and, second, to buy what time she could before the morning sun peeked over the horizon.
“On our way home from a long and arduous trip,” she continued. “And you?”
He spat, before begrudgingly answering. “I am Dasam, merchant of the deserts to the south.”
“You are a long distance from the deserts,” she commented calmly.
“I’ve lost some precious cargo,” he explained, just as the first true flames caught along the bark of the wood tossed to the glowing embers not moments before. It illuminated the man in front of them, and Peridan bristled beside her at the reality of their situation.
He was a large man, broad in the shoulder all the way down to his gut. The cut of shadows across his face matched the sniveling tone of his voice which revealed enough for Susan to confirm that Dasam was exactly the type of man she’d expected. Demanding, arrogant, and ill-tempered.
But where Susan finally got a look at him in the sudden spot of light, Dasam also found their numbers exposed, including, it seemed, the whereabouts of his cargo.
“You!” He shouted, pointing a fat finger past her. Susan didn’t have to turn to know he had singled out the girl she’d spoken to.
Indignant, Dasam whistled, high and shrill, and out of the shrubbery beyond him came a group of men—no more than eight by Susan’s quick count—with sun-dark skin, dressed in frayed linens.
Susan could only see traces of exhaustion in their faces, shifting quickly into anger at being awoken at such a time.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Dasam ordered. “Get them!”
Peridan gripped her arm and pulled her back before kicking the newly flaming log from the fire. It disrupted the spray of light, and soon the pre-dawn shadows swallowed them whole.
For a moment, Susan thought to find her bow and arrows, but there was no need. The sounds of the scuffle were over by the time the first rays of sunlight came dancing hesitantly across the open horizon. For the first time since waking, Susan could see the entire scene around her without aid.
The Narnians with her had made quick work of the desert men, each of them sprawled unkindly across the ground. The girls were nowhere in sight, and Dasam himself had Peridan’s blade pressed to his throat, though it didn’t seem to keep him quiet.
“Unhand me and my men! We demand justice. This is not the way of the desert!”
Peridan looked to her. They all did, and Susan stepped forward, lifting her head as she regarded Dasam.
“Merchant of the desert you may be, but these are unclaimed lands, Dasam.” She spoke calmly and leveled her gaze at him. “Should you seek justice, know that we are between Archenland and Narnia. Whose court would you prefer to handle your grievances?”
“This isn’t a matter of court, girl.”
“You demanded justice. I am merely listing your options.”
“Options, you say. The court of a broken king, or one run by children,” he dared to sneer—a risky move with a steel edge pressed against his skin. Susan didn’t blame the new waves of tension that rippled through the men around her, but the subtle turn of her head kept Peridan from pressing his sword further.
“The choice is yours,” she stated.
Eyes darting around, Dasam took a moment to consider his options before he drawled, “To Narnia. I’d take a week’s journey over the mountain pass once more.”
“Not keen on hard travel, Dasam?”
He rolled his eyes, as if it were obvious, and Susan smiled politely.
“You’re in luck, then. It shouldn’t be a week before justice is served here.”
“I know the distance we have to travel, girl. We’d be lucky to make it before any of those children in less than that.”
He was laughing, and in the pale but harsh light of the early morning, Susan could see the strain in Peridan’s arm and the clench of his jaw. There was a similar rigidity in the Narnians that stood around her.
Then, beyond the low brush, back toward the mountain pass, Susan saw where the girls had gone.
They were more varied in age than she had expected, but the three youngest looked younger than Lucy, wearing nothing but strips of battered and torn canvas that barely covered their sun-kissed skin. Dirt and grime wore away at the sharp angles of their faces, but their wide, doe eyes watched Dasam, unspeaking and unmoving.
It was their leader Asena, the young woman who’d shared such simple and terse words with Susan during the night, who truly struck a chord. She was clearly the eldest of them. Her hair was long, frayed and dry from the sun, but there was nothing else about her that stood loose. Her jaw was sharp and tense, the angles of her face just shy of gaunt, and her eyes—golden brown—they seemed to glow with the flickering flame reflected in them. Or perhaps it was just the intensity of her glare that gave them such fire.
She was not watching Dasam, but looking at Susan with deep, haunting eyes. Saying more than should ever have been known.
“You should count yourself lucky, Dasam,” Susan said, bringing her attention back to the merchant. Her voice was no louder or softer than it had been before, but there was an edge to it that mirrored the blade against his throat. “You stand before a queen of Narnia.”
Understanding dawned slowly, rippling across his face in between stuttering breaths before he managed an incredulous, “You?”
“I am Susan, Queen of Narnia,” she stated clearly. “Do you, or do you not, have a grievance to raise with our court?”
“I… I, yes, I do.”
“Very well then, state your name and business, and the court shall deliver judgement as deemed fair and right.”
“I… well,” he cleared his throat and shot a glance at Peridan before giving Susan a pleading look of sorts. When neither of them moved, he scowled. “I am Dasam, a merchant from the deserts south of Archenland. My men and I come this way in search of cargo that I had lost, some several days back, and determine it to be with you and your men. ”
It was a simple enough story, in congruence with his earlier claims. But that was hardly anything to commend, and there was still so much that went unsaid.
“Your request, I take it, would be to see your cargo returned?”
“Of course.”
“And you’re certain that the cargo is here, among my camp and that it was taken by my people?”
“As certain as I can see you standing in front of me here.” The shock of her status was beginning to fade—replaced, instead, by a level of impertinence Susan itched to slap from his face.
Cooly, Susan hummed and then cast a look to one of Edmund’s men. “Sir Torienne.”
“Yes, your majesty?”
“Do you see any additional supplies among our belongings, beyond that which we brought from Anvard for our journey home?”
“Supplies?”
“Yes. Supplies. Cargo. Any material that is not ours.”
The knight held her gaze for a moment before making a show of turning about, looking among their cots and belongings. “No, your majesty.”
“Thank you.” She nodded to him, before shifting her gaze back. “Well, you heard as well as I. We have not knowingly or unknowingly acquired any additional cargo since beginning our journey. I am afraid that I cannot return that which is not in our possession, nor ca—”
“Not in your possession?” Dasam shouted, having regained his indignance. “Are you blind, gi—”
Susan stepped forward to bring herself as close to him as she dared, prompting Peridan to shift his stance just so. The bite of his sword interrupted Dasam.
“I am a queen of Narnia. You will refrain from addressing me as anything other.”
He blinked and then grit his teeth, grumbling an agreement.
“As I was saying, I cannot return what my men have not taken, just as I cannot ignore a slight against my royal siblings or our ally the good King Lune, and you, Merchant Dasam, have slandered all four.”
He balked, staring at her with his mouth agape as though he couldn’t follow the shift in persecution.
Susan did not wait for him to understand.
Instead, she nodded at Peridan, who kicked in the back of Dasam’s legs and pushed him down to his knees while she turned and crossed over to pick up her bow and a single arrow from her quiver.
When she turned back, it was to the brush, where Asena’s face was the only one she saw. She could see the hesitation in her gaze and the tentative gratitude buried behind it, but Susan continued to wait until finally, Asena nodded.
“Sir Torienne. How soon can we depart for Narnia?”
“Just as soon as we’ve cleared camp, my lady. It should not be but a moment.”
“Good. Do it now, but leave some rope for Peridan, please. And as soon as all is ready, please escort the six ladies near the brush, there, across to the edge of the Black Wood. Peridan and I will join you shortly.”
“You dare take from me?” Dasam growled.
Susan turned, carefully, back around to face him as the others worked swiftly to depart.
“You dare take what is mine?” he repeated. Clearly, he no longer had any care for whose presence he was in, nor the precarious state of his life.
“Their lives are no longer your concern, Dasam,” she declared. “You have slighted the name of my brothers and sister and of my good friend and fellow ruler, and you have shown blatant disregard for our customs. For that alone, you could be found guilty of treason by either of our courts.”
“We aren’t in Narnia or Archenland, though are we? Unclaimed lands, didn’t you say?” he snarled, testing how far he could push not only her patience, but Peridan’s as well.
“Yes, but you chose the laws by which you wished to be judged. Laws I have every right to enforce.”
Behind them, she could hear the steady shifting of hooves against the ground and the sound of men mounting their horses. They did not ride hard, not with the brush still so thick, but it was not long before only the sound of quiet breathing reached her from those still present. Her own thoughts echoed loudly in the quiet.
Susan drew her bow, leveling the point of her arrow directly at his chest before her eyes flickered to Peridan’s. It was enough, and he withdrew carefully, taking up the rope Sir Torienne had provided while Susan kept her hands steady.
Dasam was a pitiful man with no fortitude. At even the smallest threat of harm, he remained as he was, knelt to the ground. But still, he jested.
“Will you kill me then?” he laughed while Peridan bound him.
She considered it, her bow still drawn. She knew what her brothers and sister would advise and weighed it against her own morality. Then, when Peridan stood, she noticed the surprise in his face and followed the line of his gaze slowly to her left.
There, Asena stood, silent and waiting.
Susan dropped her arm slightly and regarded her, trying to determine what she might feel on the matter. But the girl revealed nothing in the amber swirl of her eyes, and Susan knew she was waiting, specifically, to see what sort of justice a Narnian queen could deliver on her own.
Turning back to a sneering Dasam, Susan knew a part of her wanted him dead. He was not worth the air he breathed if the darkness in Asena’s eyes were anything to go by. Beyond that, Susan knew her lands, Lune’s, and all the world would never benefit from his existence.
However, she knew that there were better ways to lay waste to a man like him. A merchant, a traveler, a man of the world used to carving a path for himself amid, above, and below the laws of the lands he traveled.
“No, I will not see you dead by my hand.”
“I thought so. You’re only a child. Hardly older than Asena here, but much prettier, I suppose.”
She grit her teeth, forcing herself to hold true to her decision. “Keep your life, but keep it here. For your malice against the crowns of Narnia and Archenland, you are never to set foot in either kingdom. Venture beyond the boundaries of these lands into one or the other, and know that you do so upon pain of death.”
“What life is that?” Dasam questioned, seeming to finally understand his circumstances as Peridan stepped away. “Confined to this place?
“It’s more than you deserve, Dasam,” she stated. “But the punishment for your ill-intent against these ladies is not mine to give.”
Watching his arms and shoulders jerked as he tested his bindings, Susan wished briefly that she could be the one to take his life. Instead, she settled for the satisfaction in knowing that his was an anger that would burn hot and bright at first, and then dwindle to nothing, smothered by his own cowardice long before the day was done.
Peridan slipped away to fetch their horses from around the brush, and Susan found herself turned toward Asena.
Her stony expression had not changed, and within the depth of her stare, Susan was further comforted by the knowledge that if Dasam did not die by his own foolishness or by nature’s design out here in the wasteland, then he would die by Asena’s own doing.
Susan did not know when or how, exactly, but the truth of it was seated deep in Asena’s eyes—almost as though it were a challenge.
She accepted the decision as Peridan returned—Susan had no desire to stand in the way of justice of that nature, though she did hope the rage in the young woman’s eyes faded before she acted. For no other reason than to ensure clarity.
Peridan extended his hand to Asena after mounting his own horse, and Susan watched her, curious to see if she would act now or later.
When the girl took his hand, Susan’s heart settled. She might not have cared for Dasam’s life, but that did not mean she cared to be responsible for his death.
They made it no more than a few paces before Dasam called out.
“Do you think you are not doing the same to them?” he shouted. “That you are not also stripping them of their freedom as you take them into your wretched, barbaric land?”
Susan’s fingers tightened around her reins. But it was Peridan who answered, his horse still half turned between Dasam and Susan herself.
“Believe what you will of our kingdom, but know there are no slaves in Narnia. If these ladies choose to stay, they will have to answer to the laws and customs set by our kings and queens. And if they wish to leave, they are free to do so.”
Susan tried to see Dasan, but her attention fell solely on Peridan. It was hard, at times, to know what her men thought of her. Of her siblings, she spent the least amount of time afield with them, and rarely did she venture from Cair Paravel without at least one of the others. In truth, she felt that their relations with the Narnian soldiers were more like that of companions and friends than her own.
She cared deeply for her men, for all her people, but of the four Narnian monarchs, the lines she drew between royal and other were better defined. To her mind, it helped her keep from slipping into informal tones during various matters of court—something of more use to her, perhaps than for her siblings.
The price, of course, was a sharp distance between her and her subjects. It was not far, but it was present, and she was ever aware of the difference between herself and her siblings in that regard. But Peridan spoke now with a confidence and reverence she had only heard used of her brothers and sister as of yet, at least outside the walls of Cair Paravel. A level of loyalty she hadn’t anticipated, particularly from someone who had not been raised in the kingdom.
“Regardless of whether they stay or go, they will be better off, for that choice will be their own. And it is by Queen Susan’s grace that they will have the freedom you've taken from them.”
“Her grace,” Dasam scoffed. “Is it her grace that leaves a man to rot?”
“No,” Peridan answered sternly, before drawing even with Susan. “It’s only by her grace that you still breathe at all.”
He turned to her then, awaiting her orders.
She nodded, and Peridan bowed his head, briefly. Behind him, Asena looked at her with a solemn and sincere expression before she too dipped her head.
Susan hadn’t expected it, but there was more than gratitude in her shallow bow. Subtle, but fervent, the shine in the girl’s eyes made Susan think Asena believed she would live up to Peridan’s words.
It made Susan feel, more confidently than ever before, that hers were decisions worth trusting—just as much as Peter’s or Edmund’s or Lucy’s—further cemented by the fact that Asena and Peridan were among those in the kingdom who had come from beyond Narnia’s borders. They were not native to the authority she held, but they still held some level of conviction in her judgement.
They had no innate obligation toward her queendom, and yet Susan knew they were the kind who would help it grow.