by Meg Cowley
I'm a nobody. How did I get wrapped up in this?!
Silence descended as her campmates drifted into slumber. Before long, Harper’s eyes slipped shut, despite the chaos of her mind. She fell asleep snuggled in the warmth of the cloak, the fire before her burning itself to glowing embers.
Brand sat up and silently motioned to the rest of the group. They rose like wraiths and stalked away in silence, leaving Harper slumbering by the fire, alone and unaware.
Seventeen
She was a jewel in the darkness, the fire’s light making her glow amber against the stark obsidian of the trees behind her. Her worried face was slack and peaceful in slumber, as though she were relieved from the many cares she seemed to carry, and her dark hair draped across her face and shoulders like a shroud.
Harper was pretty when she did not have her back up for one reason or another, though she did not compare to the elven ladies at the court. Mind, Aedon thought, she also has plentiful more attitude. Which he rather preferred.
He wondered fleetingly what her cares were. If it were anything more than the day’s events, which were hard enough to comprehend. Aedon turned toward the rest of the group, who huddled around him.
“She doesn’t appear to be lying, however impossible it seems that she has travelled from Caledan in a heartbeat,” Ragnar said, frowning. Aedon could barely see him in the gloom. They carried no lights with them, just in case she awoke.
“No indeed,” he mused. “Yet what is a half-elf doing in the midst of Caledan, the kingdom where no elves live?” The wind whistled around them, scattering their words into the trees.
“I do not trust her.” Erika’s voice was as cold as the night.
“You do not trust anyone.” Brand’s statement was both criticism and praise. She glowered at him, and he smiled at her with predatory glee.
“I think she is as lost as us all,” Ragnar uttered, gazing at her.
“It matters not. She has what we seek,” Erika said.
“More than we ever hoped possible,” Ragnar whispered.
The Heart of Dragons lay in the crook of Harper’s arm, and it was more than they could have hoped for. The powdered and old remnants lying in a lordling’s hoard somewhere. Or not, for Aedon had not been successful in his venture earlier that day in that regard, despite the fact he had accidentally discovered an intact Dragonheart upon his return.
“We should take it and leave her,” said Erika.
Aedon glanced at her, eyebrow raised. “That’s a little harsh.”
Erika shrugged and met his stare unabashed. “So? She has what we need. We should take it. We were going to anyway...for the greater good. We have no need of her. She seems like a dead weight, so we leave her. Win-win.”
Ragnar shifted his weight. Aedon could see the dwarf’s discomfort. “That might be somewhat too extreme, Erika.”
“I’ll do it if you are too timid.” Erika made as if to stride toward the sleeping girl, but Aedon stepped into her path, blocking the nomad. He was not sure why the impulse arose.
“It’s not a case of nerve. It’s a case of decency. It seems this girl has nothing, just like us. Why should we take from her without giving something back?” And he was curious about her, though he would not admit it. She must be someone for her to come to Pelenor in such circumstances. He was certain of it, though he had nothing with which to back up his hunch.
“What do you suggest, elf? We ask her nicely?” Erika mocked, but he held his ground, drawing himself up to his full height to tower over her. It did not intimidate her in the slightest, but that was not his intention. She subsided when she realised he was resolute.
“We could ask her,” said Aedon, “but seeing as we cannot be quite sure of her motivations, perhaps we ought to let her stay with us for a while. Find out more about her. Where she truly comes from...it cannot originally be Caledan, whether she knows it or not...and more about this Dragonheart.”
“There’s no need to be so hasty indeed,” said Ragnar, standing beside Aedon.
Erika glared at him until the dwarf dropped his gaze, then turned her attention to Brand. He refused to be cowed.
“I agree with the elf.”
“Let’s draw out her tale,” Aedon said in his most persuasive voice, softening his stance. “Play it to our advantage however we can. One way or another, she will travel with us, so the Dragonheart will, too. We can use it to our own ends then. Remember, we don’t yet know how to best use it. We also need to buy more time for ourselves.”
“We can keep an eye on her, as well,” Brand said, throwing a troubled glance between Erika and Harper. “If she means to harm us, we have plenty of eyes to keep a watch on her.”
Erika scowled. “Well, we’re done here then.” She stalked back to the fire, threw herself down on the furs, and said no more.
Brand shrugged and ambled after her, lying down on the furs next to her, but her back remained firmly turned to him.
Ragnar followed, placing some more boughs gently on the fire so it kept them warm through the night, being careful to be quiet, as always, so as not to disturb anyone.
Aedon whispered his thanks and arranged his furs in a soft pile. The wind fingered past him, a cold edge on the breeze. He looked at Harper’s small form just outside the warm glow of the fire and sighed. With a small mutter under his breath, he blew in her direction, sending warm air tumbling around her. At a second thought, he gathered up one of his softest furs and, checking the others were sleeping – they all faced away so he could hardly tell – placed it gingerly over her shoulders. She shifted slightly but did not wake.
Aedon stayed kneeling beside her for a long moment. Slowly, his hand rose. He hooked her silken curtain of hair in his finger and gently tucked it behind her slightly pointed ear.
She appeared entirely innocent in sleep. The jutting curve of her slightly gaunt cheek, the shadows under her eyes, the curve of her lips as the faintest flutter of breath escaped. Who are you? What is your story? he wondered, frowning. Why did you come to us? It seemed strange chance, or good fortune, that right when they needed a Dragonheart, a bounty should appear, but the girl was an anomoly.
He examined every inch of her, but there was hardly naught to be seen. She had tucked herself within the confines of his cloak in a futile attempt to break the wind that relentlessly slipped between the trees and through the canopy to batter at them. Only her hand had slipped free, resting under her head, though it made a poor pillow on the hard ground.
Aedon sighed and started to rise, but froze as the charm upon her wrist glinted in the firelight. He cocked his head, bending closer for a better look. Worn leather. A roughly shaped silver disc stamped with...
Aedon gaped.
A circle split by a line. The riven circle. The broken wheel. Saradon’s Mark. His stomach dropped, and an icy chill that had nothing to do with the wind flooded through him.
He scanned her again. Nothing untoward, but she carried Saradon’s Mark upon her, and she had clearly shown how precious it was to her.
Does she know what it is? he wondered. Does she hide darkness within her? If so, she hid it well. He could sense nothing. Did that reassure or trouble him? Aedon could not be sure.
Troubled, he rose and backed away, lowering himself slowly onto his pile of furs between her and the rest of the group. His eyes lingered upon her, then her charm bracelet, then Erika.
AFTER AEDON’S BREATHING slowed, Erika stirred. She rose in complete silence, remaining still for a long moment as she regarded each of her companions to ensure they truly slumbered before she moved toward Harper’s sleeping form, her dagger drawn.
She examined her as Aedon had, but with no tenderness. Only the hard, calculating gaze of a well-trained hunter. Gaze catching on the silver charm, she stilled. Her breath escaped in a hiss when she espied the emblem upon it. An emblem she knew only too well for it had haunted Erika her entire life. The riven circle prowled her nightmares. She subconsciously pressed a hand to her fringe, fla
ttening it across her forehead.
Harper stirred and mumbled, and Erika slunk back to her furs, never taking her eyes away from the girl as she turned over in her sleep.
Long into the night, she watched and waited, until her eyes no longer felt heavy, so tired was she. Harper did not stir again, but Erika did not give up her vigil.
Who is this girl?
Eighteen
Harper's first night in Pelenor was miserable. It was surprisingly cold, despite the warmth of Aedon's cloak. Between her teeth chattering, the screech of wildlife far too close for comfort, and Brand's thunderous snores waking her seemingly every minute, Harper awoke the next morning feeling almost as tired as when she had lain down, and ten times as achy from the tree roots and rocks that had stabbed into her back all night.
She groaned and sat up, rolling her neck and shoulders to try and ease the ache, as Aedon bounded into camp with a grin on his face and something dangling between his fingers. Harper raised an eyebrow. A young boar. Perhaps as close to bacon and sausages as she was likely to get, but it beat nothing.
Her stomach grumbled. "Morning."
"Good morning, Harper. Ready for breakfast, I hope.” He held up the boar. “Do you want to skin it?"
Harper's eyes widened. "Uh... Um..."
"You don't do that back home?"
“Well... Yes, but I'm a terrible cook," she admitted, chewing on her lip.
Aedon batted a hand through the air. "Pfft. Any skill can be learned. You obviously haven't had a good teacher. Apprentice yourself to Ragnar. He’s a master of the campfire."
Harper stood and tried to smooth out the creases in her tunic, though they seemed set in stone. She gave up and ambled over to Ragnar, who had already started to rebuild the fire, blowing on the smoldering embers and caressing them with fresh old man's beard – the lichen she used in Caledan to start fires – and kindling sticks to breathe new life into it.
As she watched, scooting closer, Ragnar quietly pulled over a flat-topped rock and set to work. He skinned the small animal, extracted the innards, and cut the joints of meat precisely and cleanly with a small knife, just as Harper would have. It was nothing she did not already know, had not already done a thousand times, though rarely on an animal as fine and meaty as that. The knife had so much wear. Its handle was worn and partly replaced, much like her own, but the tiny blade was razor sharp and precise in his rough, knobbly fingers.
Once Ragnar had finished, she helped him skewer the steaks upon sticks, then sank them into the earth to hover over the fire.
Ragnar nodded in approval. "Good. Come with me. Time to find some tea and berries."
He led her up the hill, browsing beneath the trees, though there was little growing under the dense canopy, until they chanced upon a clearing.
"Aha! Here we are."
The morning sunlight trickled down in beams laden with dust motes, giving the clearing an ethereal feel. Dew hung upon every leaf and blade of grass, and small mammals rattled the bushes as they went back and forth, not frightened by their presence.
Birds watched them with bright, glossy eyes from the branches of the trees, some carving through the air to soar over their heads. Harper could not help but smile. There was something in the air here. So much more life and colour than there seemed to be in her small village in the rainy mountains.
Ragnar pointed to a plant that looked very similar to a raspberry bush, though the fruits were a bright, vibrant orange.
"Pick those fruits, carefully, and I'll collect the leaves.” He gathered up the folds of his cloak, and Harper turned up her shirt to hold the fruit. She bent to pick the fruits one by one, surprised to find them large, juicy, and tender.
"Try one," Ragnar said. She looked up to see him grinning at her as she examined one closely, a wrinkle of suspicion across her nose.
She glared at the fruit, then bit into the tiniest corner of it. Flavour exploded over her tongue, a sweet, nectar-like juice the likes of which she had never tasted in County Denholme’s sour and shrivelled fruits.
"Oh!" She gobbled the rest of the fruit in a hurry. "Mmm. That's... Wow."
They continued picking the fruits and leaves. Harper watched how carefully he snicked off each leaf, avoiding the thorny vines, his fingers slow and deliberate. Her cloak grew heavier as it collected more and more of the morning dew, but the quickly rising sun was already warm, easing the stiffness and chill of her limbs.
"Where are you from, Ragnar?" she plucked up the courage to ask, seeing as he had been kindest to her so far.
He didn't glance up as he continued working. "Keldheim. It's a city in the mountains of Valtivar, the dwarven kingdom far to the south of here."
He is a dwarf! Harper thought excitedly. She had heard of them in the tales from travelling bards. Now she had met one in the flesh. She realised that the stout man she had seen in the village the day before must also have been a dwarf.
She tried to observe Ragnar without staring, taking in every detail of his wiry beard that was plaited and adorned with beads and ornaments, the likes of which she had never seen before.
"What's a dwarven city like?" Harper’s mind already exploded with ideas born of the snatches of stories she recalled.
Ragnar stopped to consider. "I suppose much like any other city, but ours are deceptively large – part underground and part overground. Keldheim was founded upon one of the oldest springs in the country. It wells up from deep under the earth, with the sweetest, most pure water you have ever tasted.
“The city is full of water. Fountains and aquaducts everywhere. Every house has running water, something you don't see in many of the overground cities in Pelenor. It's an architectural and engineering masterpiece. Keldheim delves deep beneath the earth, and its highest heights are at the summit of the mountain, Keldberg, which is given its name by the spring."
Harper paused picking berries, drawn by the rapture on his face. He spoke of it with love and awe, as though he longed to be there. It sounded far more grand than she had envisioned.
"Why did you leave?"
His face clouded over and he dropped back to his task, his motions more brusque.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
"It's all right.”
"It sounds like a beautiful place. Do you miss it?"
"It is, and I do." His shoulders hunched, closed to her as he turned away.
Harper went back to her task, kicking herself for offending her new teacher when he had been so instrumental in giving her a meal for the night and a place to stay – nomadic though it was.
"I am not welcome there any longer," Ragnar eventually said in a low voice. "I do not belong amongst the people. We are too different, and that is not tolerated."
Harper nodded past the lump in her throat. He sounded so desolate. "I'm sorry to hear that," she murmured, wishing she could say something to cheer him up.
He grunted. "It's been a long time since I set foot there. I'm as at peace with it as I can be.”
Harper wondered how old he was, but she did not ask. I've caused enough offense today.
"Come on now. That should be enough."
She followed him back through the forest to the camp, where the smell of roasting boar made Harper's mouth water.
At Ragnar’s instruction, Harper ground up most of the berries and smeared them onto the cooking meat to make a sweet glaze, whilst he boiled some water in the cooking pot, adding the leaves and remaining berries to it and setting it aside to steep.
Whilst they worked, Brand and Erika danced around them, practising their fighting skills. Erika wielded her twin blades like lightning, whilst Brand's gigantic two-handed sword sliced through the air.
Harper watched them with her mouth agape, wincing as Brand brought down his giant blade, which looked unstoppable and as if it would shatter every bone in Erika's body, but he could not seem to catch her. She was a blur as she slid away, like water parting before him. There one moment, gone the next.
After
a while, they tossed the blades aside and engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Despite the size difference, Erika held her own against the giant winged man, and from the way he grunted and growled, Brand did not seem to be going easy on her.
"All right, all right. Call it a draw, you two," Aedon drawled as he strolled into camp. He ran a hand through his tousled hair as he dropped his sword and scabbard by the fire before tumbling into a heap next to Harper.
"Where have you been?" Brand turned to address him with a grumble, his chest heaving. Erika wiped her shining brow on her sleeve and sat to clean her weapons.
"Scouting the area. Why do you always make it sound like I'm lazing about?" Aedon complained, a hurt edge to his voice, but Harper saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes that told her he was used to this jesting.
"Because you normally are," Brand growled.
"Hey, I resent that. Whilst you two were playing war games, I was keeping you all safe. Can you two keep the racket down, by the way? I could hear you a mile off. Luckily, there doesn't seem to be anyone else about."
"We need to move on, though." Erika's quiet voice was filled with authority. Brand and Ragnar nodded.
"Of course," Aedon said. "It's unwise to linger now that we...have what we came for."
"Then we'll be off after breakfast." Erika stared at Ragnar.
The dwarf waved his spoon, pausing from stirring the tea. "It'll be done momentarily."
Silence fell as they tucked into the hearty breakfast. The tender meat melted on Harper's tongue. It was a strange feeling to eat fresh meat – not dried, salted strips of whatever she had – with a sweet, rich taste she had not expected. She savoured it, not caring that juice dripped down her chin.
The tea had a tangy, surprisingly bitter, yet refreshing taste, and she sipped at the pot as they passed it around. She enjoyed the sweetness of the glaze and the sourness of the tea as they mingled upon her taste buds.
As she took her turn sipping at the tea, she looked into the flickering tongues of the fire, her eyes glazed over in thought. There's really no way home. Harper wasn't sure how she felt about that.