serendipity - narnia [EDITING]

chapter 10

Chapter 10
To War

Dahlia instructed the dryads to wake the troops and inform them of Aslan's death. Soon the entire camp crawled with Narnians preparing for battle. The morning sun beat down on Dahlia's neck as she floated Aslan's table out of his tent. She stared at the burnt edge of the map. It should have been the Witch who went ablaze.

The mage now donned the armor that had been specially crafted for her. Thin crimson fabric was sewn into a breathable dress that Dahlia had woven with protective enchantments. Sheets of chainmail hung about her hips and shoulders. Her arms were wrapped in steel. The chest plate reached as far up as her chin. It forced her gaze forward and up. Perhaps they were designed that way for a reason–to give their wearer an air of confidence, however false.

Oreius joined Dahlia and the young kings by the table of battle plans. The freshly knighted, yet uncrowned High King was still in a cotton shirt and trousers. Only the sword around his waist indicated his status. He rubbed his thumb over the lion hilt in a soothing gesture. "I don't know what to do. I can't lead an army."

His brother stepped forward. "Aslan believed you could, and so do I." This did little to bolster him. Though Dahlia knew better than to admit it, she was also unsure. The fate of her world was resting on the shoulders of a child. She liked Peter well enough, but his good character would not win them this war.

Saying this, of course, would only make matters worse. Dahlia opted for compassion instead. "You won't be alone in this, Peter. It's my job to protect your family. I intend to do that and more." The smile she got in return was forced, but he loosened his grip on his sword.

General Oreius cleared his throat. "The Witch's army is nearing, sire. What are your orders?" Peter leaned over the marked-up map. Edmund and Dahlia waited at his back, staring at the knots of tension in his shoulders. Against the Witch's army, they were outnumbered and sorely inexperienced. They would need a remarkable plan. Dahlia wished she could conjure up a miracle.

***

A griffin's shadow drifted over Dahlia's head. She overlooked the battlefield with Edmund and Mr. Beaver, each clad in armor. A regiment of archers waited behind them for the bidding of their future king. He sat astride his unicorn below their cliff with the rest of the army. General Oreius was stationed on his right. The griffin landed beside Peter and bowed. He whispered something Dahlia could not hear, but the bellow of horns soon told her. The Witch's army was approaching.

Her troops crested the horizon in numbers Dahlia had been right to fear. Thousands of beasts, brutes, and bastards salivated at the notion of spilled blood. Some hoisted weapons. Others bore naught but fists and fury. Dahlia braced for the arrival of their leader. She tucked her glowing pendant under her chest plate. She did not need its warning. To her left, Edmund shuffled uncomfortably in his armor. An icy gust broke across Dahlia's face. The Witch was here.

She rode a silver chariot pulled by two massive polar bears. Her crystalline wand was hoisted high above her head. She bore no armor and her gown had been replaced by a simple brown dress. It was meant to escape attention. The focus was meant to go to her headdress–it was made of Aslan's mane.

Her foul army continued their advance. They gnashed their teeth and whooped with bloodlust. Behind and below Dahlia, their troops remained silent. A collective breath was being held. They feared that if they dared a breath it would be the last one they ever took. The future king drew his sword. His troops quivered on its raised point, awaiting his signal.

Dahlia opened her hand. Silver energy wove through her fingers into a pulsing ball of light. It floated above her head. Far behind the archers, a battalion of griffins watched the orb, waiting for her command. It all rested on the High King. Down in the valley, he brought down his sword. Dahlia's silver orb exploded in tendrils of light.