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CALORMEN PORT. SUMMER 1010
Edmund had an ongoing list of all the sounds he would forever recognize in his sleep. It consisted of simple sounds, such as birdsong outside his window in the mornings and quiet chatter from the hallway beyond his chambers—as well as more complicated ones, like the snap of a tent flap being pushed through in the middle of the night, or the scrape of blades leaving their scabbards.
As he paced up and down the docks in the dusty Calormen port, he wondered how he would rank the growing sound of angry men and heavy footfalls against the packed sand that made up the city’s pathways. The noise was soft to start, but it built with such urgency, Edmund thought the adrenaline he felt in his chest gave it some importance. Enough that he’d rank the sound to be more alarming than the warning bells at Cair Paravel, but certainly less concerning than the sound of any of his siblings shouting his name.
Particularly not if it was Peter.
“Ed! Get on the ship!”
In the desert heat, Peter’s voice, which was already rather annoyingly commanding, was heavier as it cut through the din of the harbor. It was oppressively sharp, not unlike the sun overhead, still bearing down on them all despite its downward trek for the early evening.
Whipping around, Edmund caught sight of his brother easily. Peter was making a beeline straight for him and the Splendour Hyaline. Edmund himself come down here earlier in the afternoon, hoping to get Haifa and the rest of the ship’s crew in gear to have them ready to depart at a moment’s notice. And while Peter hadn’t thought it wise when Edmund told him earlier, it was clear now that he had been right to have such foresight to prepare.
Behind the High King, a concentrated group of Calormene nobles—the port city’s Tarkaan and his men—were in hot pursuit.
“What did you do?” Edmund muttered under his breath, quickly scanning the rest of the docks. They weren’t particularly crowded, but what people there were had remained on the far side of the harbor, opposite from where the Splendour Hyaline was docked. As a Narnian ship, they had been made to anchor at the southern end of the harbor. Furthest from the open waters. Getting free and clear of the Calormene would be tricky.
Ignoring Peter’s demand, Edmund cut back to eye the distance between Peter, the men chasing him, and the length of the harbor—both along the docks and through the port. It would be close, and success would mean facing Mrs. Beaver’s disappointment at the state of their clothes, but there was no other choice.
And if they failed… well better the pair of them stuck here than the entire Narnian envoy.
Edmund craned his neck up to the Narnian knight standing at the stern above him. “Lift anchor and drift out. Do not stop until you’re outside the harbor. I want this ship and all it carries out of harm’s way before anything else.”
“But sire—”
“That’s an order, Sir Torienne.”
He wasted no more time in seeing that the man followed through. Edmund trusted him to do it, even if he didn’t care to, and it was that trust that let him devote his full attention to Peter.
They were close enough now for him to see not only Peter’s expression, but that of the Tarkaan behind him.
Tarkaan Lirasi was a short-tempered man, from all that Edmund had seen of him. Narnia’s visit to Calormen had been preliminary. Exploratory, even, if he were to be honest. They had made little progress in terms of brokering peace and camaraderie with the Tisroc over the last several years, and it had taken the better part of the last year to convince even just Tarkaan Lirasi to meet with them and initiate discussions on their terms. But the talks held over the past few days had been… disappointing at best. It was why Edmund had excused himself and the rest of their guard that morning. It seemed prudent that they be ready to leave as soon as possible.
And while Edmund wasn’t surprised to find that the rest of Peter’s discussion with Tarkaan Lirasi had proven unfruitful after he had excused himself, he certainly hadn’t anticipated this extreme a disagreement. The party chasing Peter looked particularly enraged.
Deciding to sort through the details of their negotiations later, Edmund ran up to meet his brother. It was a short distance to the edge of the dock where the dirt path ended, and Peter began to slow at the sight of him approaching.
“What are you doing?” Edmund shouted, grabbing hold of his brother’s arm to propel him forward, down along the wooden boardwalk. “Run now, talk after!”
In his periphery, he could just make out the bright red of the pennant flying atop the mainmast. A full turn of his head and Edmund learned that the ship was close, still—but they’d picked up enough wind in the foremast’s sail to be pushed far enough along that the proximity wasn’t nearly what he’d hoped it to be.
“But the sh—”
Snapping back to Peter, whose face was still clouded in confusion, Edmund shook his head. “Move. Come on! We’ve got to reach the end of the harbor.”
Peter’s strides were longer than his—his legs were longer—but Edmund hadn’t spent the last nine years training with him at the crack of dawn each day to let something like a slight difference in height to cause him to fall behind now. Not when they had plenty further to go, and the angry shouts of the men behind them for encouragement.
“The end of the dock? Ed, you can’t be serious!”
“I wouldn’t have to be, if you had just listened to me!”
“So this is my fault?” Peter exclaimed.
“It’s not anyone’s fault, I just wish you’d listened to me when I said we should go!”
“We came all this way to— Watch it!”
He ducked in time to miss the barrel thrown overhead, considering—briefly—the possibility that it hadn’t actually been meant to hit them, but rather that the shoremen were simply continuing on with their work unaware of the current chase unfolding.
“I don’t care about the negotiations, Pete! I care about getting home!” Edmund retorted, swerving out of the way of the first dockworker to notice them. He didn’t linger long enough to see what he planned to do next.
“So you sent the ship ahead?” Peter asked, jumping over a lone crate in his path.
“They’d have never let us go otherwise. At least this way our people get out safe.”
“Yeah, and what about us?”
“Just focus on getting out to the harbor wall. We’re nearly there already.” They weren’t—with a little less than half the boardwalk left, they still had to climb the towers up to the harbor wall. And from there…
Well, from there it was still a longshot. But it was a nice thought regardless, and certainly better than the alternative.
“Look. It know it wasn’t smart, but it was the only option, alright?” he huffed. This certainly was not the time for this conversation. “I don’t know what happened with the rest of your negotiations, but I wasn’t about to give him the chance to climb aboard our ship, so he could talk down to our people. You know how they are about the Narnians, and you know how defensive Morwen gets. We’re lucky it’s only the three of them with us, and that Glassfeather’s so understanding about staying onboard. Imagine if Orieus came—”
“Alright, alright! ” Peter gave in, casting a sidelong glance at him, just as they passed the last of the Calormene dockers.
The tower and the harbor wall looked far taller from this close up, and Edmund’s legs burned already at the thought of all the stairs they’d find inside, but the view was reassuring nonetheless. Better still, with the Splendour Hyaline passing through the gates, ahead of them.
Behind them, however, he could hear the frustrated yells of Tarkaan Lirasi suddenly much louder than before. Risking a glance back, he saw why.
“Watch out!”
The blade cut into his shoulder just as Peter fell forward, out of reach from Edmund’s quick shove. It wasn’t ideal, and he wished they had thought to bring their armor on this trip. Diplomatic negotiations be damned. Talks with the Calormene were likely to prove difficult regardless of their endeavor to maintain peace and cordiality.
“Edmund!”
Distracted, momentarily, by the pain shooting through his left shoulder, Edmund found himself moving forward a bit sluggishly, focusing on the hollow archway that made for the entrance into the tower. Peter’s clothes hung a bit off-kilter now, likely from his roll off the edge of the wooden planking into the dirt, but nothing more seemed amiss as he stood there, waiting for Edmund.
“Keep moving, you idiot,” he grumbled, forcing his legs to move quicker as he held tight to his wound, just around the blade. It was stuck fast, and deeper than he would have liked. Better left inside if he could help it, at least until he could tend to the bleeding. There wasn’t time now. He could hear the change in their footfalls after he stepped off the wood and into the soft dirt. First one, then another.
There were only two of them now—three less than Edmund had counted earlier. Good. The fewer they had to deal with, the better.
“What are you waiting for? Go!” he ordered as he stumbled to the tower. He reached out awkwardly to usher Peter ahead, and the pair of them started up the stairs together, slower than Edmund wanted, but forward nonetheless.
“Ed, your shoulder.”
“I know, Peter.”
The stairwell was tight and winding, but thankfully there were fewer of them than Edmund had anticipated. When they came out the top, however, he realized he’d missed something. Or someone, rather. A harbor worker, perhaps, or more likely a guard, given the scabbard at his hip. Luckily, he was out on the wall, not far out, and, as he was turned the other way, Edmund and Peter were, for the moment, safe.
He exchanged a quick look with Peter, mind racing to sort out their next move. They had only seconds. He could already hear the sound of heavy boots climbing the stairs, and while the parapet wasn’t crowded by any means, it opened on either end, giving them no hope for a natural barricade.
“Alright,” Peter said, clearly having thought of something himself. “Wait here.”
Edmund caught his eye before he turned to the guard out over the harbor wall. Eyeing the distance against the echo behind him, he reached weakly after Peter’s already retreating form. “Wait, don’t!”
But it was too late. Once decided, it was hard to turn the High King around, and Edmund, alone on the parapet, tucked in along the wall, just to the side of the doorway. There was no other choice.
“I’m going to kill him…” he muttered quietly as he waited, listening for the stomping on the stairs. It was easy enough to anticipate when they would reach the top, and just after the first of them passed through, Edmund slipped his foot out to catch the other.
The Tarkaan tripped forward, tumbling into his fellow Calormene with a surprised yell until both men went sprawling. With them out of the way, Edmund could, briefly, see beyond them to where Peter had caught up to the guard. They were too far away for him to make out what transpired between them, exactly, but he hoped for the best regardless as he turned his attention back to his opponents.
As it was, only the Tarkaan got back to his feet, with the other man still lying flat on his front. Edmund didn’t think he’d be down for too long, but he was grateful not to have to face both at once.
“You!”
He grimaced. He hated this part… the declaration of intent. There had been plenty of time earlier to talk. And yet now, now, the Tarkaan wanted to speak freely.
“You and your brother will pay for the disrespect shown today toward the Tisroc, may he live forever.”
Edmund held his tongue, keeping an eye on the man as he moved slowly around the edge of the parapet. He wanted to get closer to the walkway.
“Have you nothing to say? Young Prince?”
“No.” He spoke through clenched teeth, bristling. “The time to talk ended when you threatened the well-being of my family.”
“I see. We shall do as you wish, then.”
Edmund was lucky to be quick on his feet, stepping deftly out of the way of the Tarkaan’s wide and open swing. There was great strength in the attack, at least. He would have to watch for it. But he managed a hair better than just evading the first attack, and then the second. Cognizant of his surroundings, Edmund circled around to the other Calormene and scooped up the scimitar that lay unclaimed just beyond the man’s reach.
It was heavier than he anticipated, its balance too different from what he was used to, especially as he rarely held a sword in his right hand without one in his left. But Edmund had little other choice. It was all he could to to kept his left arm tucked in close.
With his disadvantage, the Tarkaan and his wild strength kept Edmund on his toes, blocking as often as he attacked, until eventually, the two locked blades. As close as they were, Edmund could see how tired the nobleman was. What fire he’d held was beginning to burn out, a sure sign that their fight was near its end.
But Edmund’s own focus and energy were fading, because despite intentions to minimize any damage he’d already suffered, the weight and heft of the Tarkaan’s sword against his had forced his hand. It was only now, backed up against one of the alternating openings, with both hands now wrapped firmly around the hilt of his own scimitar that he held the Calormene off.
Then, between one tired breath and then another, Edmund tracked his gaze as it slipped down to his shoulder and back again. The movement was quick, and the follow-up, somehow, was even quicker.
There was no stopping it.
The pain was sudden and hot, lancing through his arm as the knife was first pulled free and then shoved roughly back into his skin. It set his left shoulder on fire, disrupting Edmund’s remaining focus enough for Tarkaan Lirasi to knock the sword from his hands, back over the stone wall.
“This is the end, Young Prince,” he said snidely, raising his own blade up slowly, as though he had all the time in the world to deliver this last blow.
As it was, he did not.
“Edmund!”
Not used to the anger-charged tone of Narnia’s High King, the Tarkaan turned at Peter’s shout. Edmund, however, let the sound of his brother’s voice grant him exactly the strength he needed, before reaching up to his shoulder to grip the knife hilt.
The Calormene had made a mistake, stabbing Edmund a second time. Left with a weapon he saw no more reason to leave embedded, he had everything he needed now to pull the knife free and shove it into the Tarkaan’s gut.
“It’s King Edmund, actually,” he corrected, finally, before shoving him to the side with a grimace against the force of his own movements.
“Ed! You’re alright!” Peter took his (good) arm and pulled him from the wall.
Edmund winced. “I won’t be, if you’re not careful.”
“Right, sorry. Listen, we should hurry. Torienne’s sent Glassfeather for us.”
“Glassfeather? But I…” he frowned and looked out over the wall as they moved further from the tower, but he didn’t have to look very far.
Out in the open waters, quite a safe distance from where they stood at one end of the harbor wall, sat the Splendour Hyaline, main sails unfurled to display Narnia’s crest. Between them, he could see Glassfeather, wings spread wide as he flew back to collect them.
“Oh. Right,” he murmured, grateful that they would not have to swim. He wasn’t quite sure he could manage it with his shoulder. “Well, I suppose he didn’t disobey orders then.”
“About that. Don’t think this means I won’t tell Lucy what you did.”
“What I did?” he asked, incredulous. “What about you? Lucy’s going to be livid when she hears about my shoulder, let alone everything else.”
Peter gawked a moment, before closing his mouth. “You wouldn’t.”
Edmund leveled with him, drawing his lips into a thin line as he considered everything. His arm felt numb, even with his arm hanging limp at his side.
He’d nearly died. They’d almost been left behind. The Calormene would likely never agree to talks again. All in all, the entire trip had been a failure.
But there was something more weighing on him.
“I would,” he confirmed. “None of this would have even happened if you had just listened to me. I wouldn’t have had to send Torienne and the others ahead without us. We could have left without all of that running and fighting.”
Edmund turned to face the wall, bracing his good hand against the stone.
“The fallout is going to be a nightmare, you know. It’s a good thing Susan’s on such good terms with the Tisroc’s family. May he bloody live forever.”
“Ed, look. I…” Peter’s voice, softer now but no less surprised, showed he understood, at least, how serious Edmund was. Just that, and the tension in his chest unfurled a bit.
“No, you listen,” he replied, voice low. “I get it. You’re the High King. There’s… more you have to do, and all that. And I understand. You know I do. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, or for Narnia, if that’s what it came down to. But damn it all, Pete. I knew what kind of man Tarkaan Lirasi was the moment we docked. It was time to go when I mentioned it the first time. And I just…”
He rubbed his palm against the edge of the stone in front of him, watching as Glassfeather came more and more into focus the closer he got. It was lucky he’d even come along on this trip, but Edmund was thinking they should always have at least one Gryphon with them going forward.
“Ed?”
He grit his teeth. It was frustrating, how often a situation like this came down to this… this thing. He still hadn’t quite figured out what it was, exactly—a point of pride, perhaps or a delicate vulnerability he didn’t want to pry into. He knew only that it was the last thing he wanted. The last thing that should stand between them like this.
But it did.
Slowly, to the count of five, Edmund let his hand slip down from the wall ledge and fall to his side—limp and loose as the other. Then, finally, he turned to Peter.
“I need you to trust me every once in a while. Next time I tell you it’s time to go home, just… trust me and go. Alright?”
The emotions flickered across his brother’s face in quick succession. Confusion, worry, and a twinge of guilt all came through in the furrow of his brows and the sharp turn at the corners of his mouth. He’d never been particularly good at hiding his emotions. In the end though, Peter drew his shoulders back and regarded him squarely. Long enough for Edmund to feel the weight of his promise as he nodded.
“Alright.”
He nodded back, and then turned back out to the water again. Glassfeather was just ahead of them. They were nearly free.
“How’s your shoulder?”
Edmund smiled wryly. “Lucy’s going to kill us both, no matter what we tell her.”