A Pagan Place (sequel to Carpetbaggers)

Prologue: What Unseen Hand

One month before the vernal equinox, Narnian Year 1002

The late winter snow was hard, sharp-edged where it had melted and refrozen thrice over in the unsettled weather. After four days of travel, even in the flat eastern valleys where winter could not keep all Narnians in their homes, Rhea's feet were sore and her joints ached.

So it was with a feeling shamefully close to relief that she led the way around the last great curve of the road and into the open country outside Cair Paravel. Not home: the castle was too stony and human to ever be that, but it was her responsibility now, the same as the wooded slopes of the western hills had always been. And it was reassuring to see lights in the tower windows, bright against the night sky, and smell the woodsmoke on the breeze.

Beside her, Talma sniffed, hair stiffening along her spine. "Is that it, Mother? It smells so strange!"

"So many humans!" agreed Marna, wrinkling her nose. "And Dwarfs and Dogs, too..." She sounded uncertain: she had never been comfortable outside the world of her litter, and then her Pack. This would have to change.

"And Centaurs and Fauns and Dryads, as well," confirmed Rhea, picking up her pace. She thought she could smell the remains of dinner, and if they were not too late, there might still be some pork-and-rosemary stew left. The mountains had been good, and restful in many ways, but life at Cair Paravel had perhaps spoiled her for cooking. It was, she considered, a great improvement from the days of charred rabbits and raw greens.

The guard at the castle gates was someone she knew, and Ilexus admitted the three Wolves with a bow. "Welcome back to Cair Paravel, Sir Rhea. Good travel?"

"Well enough," she said. "Are they in?"

Ilexus grinned, the expression twisting the great scar on his face so that Marna shrank back against her mother's flank. "Oh, aye, they've been hunting this last week, and Queen Lucy decided to fish on the Great River and near drowned during the thaw. Herself was not pleased at all!"

Rhea snorted, imagining the look on Queen Susan's face. "She took no harm?"

"None at all, but for a few sneezes. Shewas more worried about the dagger she lost in the water!" laughed the Faun.

"Naught has changed, then," said Rhea, with a sweep of her tail. "I've to present these two now, but I'll see you tomorrow, no doubt." Ilexus nodded and waved them on, before turning back to his duty.

The courtyard was empty at this hour, although there were voices in the barracks and the gate to the stable yard was open. Rhea ignored both of those, however, and led her daughters up the stairs to the keep proper. At the doorway they met another guard, this one a Red Dwarf with a short beard that didn't even reach his collar. He lifted his axe, and then relaxed again as Rhea paced under the torch overhead.

"Bindle," acknowledged Rhea. "Are they abed? I have news that should not wait."

"They were supping late," replied the Dwarf readily, "and might still be in the winter parlor. They were there when I came on duty, at moonrise."

Without more than a word of thanks, Rhea pressed on, taking a path that led up two flights of stairs, down a short hallway, and into a room that was lit only by a small fire and the shine of moonlight through the south-facing windows. Four Humans and a Faun were in the room, two of them on chairs and the others on cushions or rugs scattered on the floor.

As the Wolves entered, one of the Humans leapt to his feet, and then relaxed immediately. "Rhea!" he cried, and went down on one knee to greet her.

"My King," said Rhea, and bowed, lowering her nose to the floor. When she lifted her head, King Peter put his arms around her in the show of affection she permitted almost no one else. "It is good to see you well, all of you." She twitched an ear slyly. "Although somewhat damp, I understand."

Queen Lucy's laugh was sudden and joyous, and she scrambled to her feet to join her brother. The girl had grown again, Rhea thought, and stepped forward to touch her nose to the young queen's hand.

They had allgrown, Rhea decided, as her other two monarchs stood to greet her. Or perhaps her time away had made her see them with new eyes. For they were not the children they had been when first she had entered this castle, muddy and lost, looking for the hope Aslan had promised.

Peter was tall now: the height of a man, though still gangling like a yearling Wolf, all legs and arms, his full growth still to come. His hair had recently been shorn, for his ears and cheekbones jutted out, showing the privations of the past two years still stark on his face.

By contrast, his sister Susan had put on little height, but her hair was glossy and long, her body now fully a woman's shape; and her face had lost the uncertainty that had haunted it for so long.

Edmund, perhaps, had changed the most, shooting up now taller than his older sister, changing from child to youth. His movements were neater than his brother's, as much from hard practice as from any natural grace. It had been a long time since Rhea had had any reason to mistrust him, and in some ways she understood him best of all.

But Lucy was still Lucy: brimming with joy, and ever eager to make a new friend. While Rhea had been wool-gathering (a turn of phrase that always made her snort), Lucy had crossed to greet Talma and Marna, crouching down so as not to threaten the young Wolves.

"These are my daughters, my kings and queens," said Rhea, recalled to her courtesies. "Talma, there, with the white notch in her ear, and Marna, her sister. They are three years of age, and have come to study, and to serve you, if you will have them."

Susan curtseyed, and at a low growl from Rhea, the two pups bowed awkwardly in return. "You are most welcome to Cair Paravel, Talma and Marna," said Queen Susan warmly. "I'm sure we will be very lucky to have you in our service."

"But you've been traveling all day," said Edmund, his eyes narrowed as he looked at Rhea. "You could have come to us tomorrow, after you slept and ate. Why have you come now?"

Peter, who was still on one knee, frowned. "Do you bear news?"

"Indeed I do, my King," Rhea admitted, and let her ears go back. This was the word she carried, that had pushed them so hard and long on the journey, which should have been an easy return to duty. Word that had weighed her down for every step on the snow, and had brought her to her feet after only snatched naps in the lee of a rotted log or tumbled boulder.

They had done well, these past two years. Narnia had rebuilt: had planted and harvested, fished and mined. No one next winter would starve before the spring salmon runs began, and no Giants had been spotted across the northern borders for a twelve-month. Peace they had needed, desperately, and by the grace of Aslan they had mostly had it.

But the news Rhea carried had a stench of blood, and she was loathe to disquiet this quiet family gathering with it.

And yet, such was her duty. "My kings and queens," she said, her voice as clear as she could make it, "Bruno has come back. He has raised an army in the Western Wild, and by summertime, Narnia shall be at war."