Daughter of Nowhere || A Narnia (Prince Caspian) Story

12: Saving the Enemy

The caravan driver had had a long day. Three bloody carts of goods in one afternoon, he cursed in his head, from Telmar to—wherever exactly this was. Morale was low amongst the soldiers; the king had been working them in a near obsessive fashion. First it was the bridge—which had cost the lives of several men to build—and now this attack in the middle of the forest, on a people who were few and strange, but dangerous.

Oh, yes. Dangerous. the men were afraid of them, he could tell. The Narnians were unnerving as much as they were fascinating. And the fact that their young prince, descended from the royal bloodline, sided with these people made the Telmarine soldiers all the more skeptical.

Not to mention the men still doubted their newly-elected king. Or rather, self-appointed king.

The caravan jostled with every rock and root on the forest floor. Inside, the grains had long since scattered from their originally neat piles, forming a large pool of mixed lentils. But the men will not complain; they will eat what has been delivered, and they rarely checked the supplies, so desperate they were for food in this isolated camp. They would never notice that inside the wagon, hidden carefully behind the canvas covering, two young souls crouched, keen-eyed and heavily-armed.

Not daring to speak aloud, Caspian made a series of complicated hand gestures to Ina, which she did not appreciate.

What? she mouthed.

"We're going to reach the checkpoint," he whispered. "Hide."

But they needn't have bothered, really. The guards gave a grunt, and waved the caravan through without even a glance at its contents. The wagon continued its rattling until it came to a stop.

Quickly, they lifted the canvas flap and hopped out, scuttling behind a nearby shrub to take cover. Mere seconds after they did, the driver appeared and began unloading his goods.

Their surroundings were quiet for now; the soldiers did not gather at the goods storage area, especially not after supper. Ina and Caspian were lucky to have caught this caravan; it was likely the last one that entered the camp for the night.

"Where would the prisoners be kept?" she murmured.

Caspian squinted from behind the bush, trying to make sense of his whereabouts. "I don't know. We've never kept prisoners at camps before."

The training grounds lay before them, while the soldiers' quarters were to the south. She saw that most of them had already retired to their tents, and allowed herself a small breath of relief.

"Then where would you have kept them?" she prodded. Ina saw that Caspian's dark eyes were constantly darting; she felt the same nervous energy herself. The shadows seemed to wash the colour from his tan skin; either that, or he was pale from anxiety.

"I wouldn't have kept prisoners."

"Caspian, I swear—"

"But I'm guessing they're there." He jerked his chin towards the training grounds. No torches were lit there; they would have to trust moonlight to pave their way.

"Alright, then. Let's go."

As soon as the driver turned his back, they moved out of the shrub, crossed a short plain and sneaked behind a weapons tent. From here, they could hear the sound of a few swords clanging, and fear prickled their skin.

Not everyone was asleep, it seemed.

Ina chanced a peek around the corner.

In a small clearing, two men were duelling, though their movements were lazy and lacked finesse—they were probably just trying to pass time. And beyond them—her heart gave a hopeful lurch—was a crude wooden cage, its bars visible across the distance. Ina shuddered at the thought of such barbarism. She imagined Miraz would be above keeping women and children in cages. She was wrong.