Chronicles of Pelenor Trilogy Collection

by Meg Cowley

  Dimitri allowed himself to chuckle. “Yes, quite. Not under the current paradigm. I will give you that.” He shrugged, fingering the rose and letting it drop. “All I’ll say is, with the current troubles in the city, which my reports tell me are spreading across the realm, and the illness that seems to be striking down half the court, including our own queen, I do not think Pelenor will hold much longer without some hope. We need a strong, fair leader to navigate us through this mire. To see Pelenor through to the other side, intact. I do not think Toroth is that elf.”

  Dimitri slyly examined Raedon under the pretence of admiring their surroundings. He could not miss the slight straightening of Raedon’s shoulders. The spark of inspiration in his eyes. The general had always wanted to be powerful, and there was only one position more powerful than the leader of the Winged Kingsguard.

  “What would you have happen?” Raedon asked cautiously. They both knew what Dimitri suggested was tantamount to treason. But Raedon was cautious enough not to voice it.

  “Just think on it, General,” he said. “Who are you bound to and what is your duty?”

  He turned and left, his smile hidden. This is child’s play, manipulating egos. King Raedon. He stifled a chuckle. I think not, but I have no doubt he will make his move one way or another.

  WHEN DIMITRI RETURNED to his quarters, he saw a note sitting on his table. It was written in a charcoal stick, partly smeared by the hand that wrote it, upon a rough, dirty parchment scrap that had been torn from a bigger sheet. This had come from a smithy.

  Dimitri held up the crumpled paper.

  We will stand.

  He smiled.

  The guilds were his.

  Seventeen

  Faces pale, they stood in the overwhelming silence. Nothing stirred but the fire. Each spun slowly, taking in the clearing. It looked like a battlefield. It was a battlefield. Dead littered the ground, and blood pooled upon the dirt and grass. The bodies of the horses were most forlorn of all. The goblins had brought the beasts a cruel death they did not deserve. Harper turned away as she tried not to vomit at the sight.

  Now they have Ragnar.

  Aedon voiced their worst fears. “We cannot hope to rescue him, can we?” he asked dully.

  Brand shook his head. “If we found our way in, we would not find him...or our way out.”

  “What will happen to him?” Harper asked. It emerged as a whispered croak, for she had gone hoarse with shouting during the fight.

  Aedon’s eyes darkened. “I dare not imagine. At the very least, they will torture him for sport. I doubt they will give him a swift death.”

  “We need help to hunt them, before the worst happens.” Erika was more grim than usual. She stared up at the rift in the rocks, as if she could will Ragnar from the mountain’s bowels.

  “Yes,” said Aedon heavily. “Now we have ever more need of the dwarves. And no horses.”

  “How far away are we from Keldheim?” Harper looked between them all, hoping someone knew.

  “A few hours from the road, then less than a day of hard travelling.”

  “I could fly there quicker,” Brand said, ruffling his wings. “Forewarn them.”

  Aedon nodded jerkily. “Yes. They will act. Goblin uprising or not, their pride will suffer for it, regardless of his position.”

  Position? Harper wondered. There was more to Ragnar’s story than she knew, but their cryptic clues made no sense.

  “I’ll leave at once. You, too?” He looked to the rest of the group.

  Aedon nodded.

  “They will return,” said Erika darkly. “If we want to live through the night, we must go. We must be far from here by the time they return.”

  Harper glanced up at the dark fissure apprehensively as shivers crawled down her spine. She did not want to meet a goblin ever again. That was certain. Could she still hear their chattering, or did it simply still ring in her ears?

  She grabbed her pack from where it lay, the contents spilling out, re-packed it, and hoisted it onto her back. Her companions followed suit, then Brand, with a short nod and a glance at them all, launched himself into the air.

  “Fair winds to you, my friend!” Aedon called.

  Brand raised his hand in salute and wheeled into the sky.

  “Come,” said Erika, striding away from the destruction. Her hard voice held a sense of urgency, and Harper followed at a jog. The woods felt darker and more menacing with only the three of them. Harper already missed Ragnar’s steady, reassuring presence and Brand’s protective bulk.

  They travelled as swiftly as their aching, tired bodies would allow. The rush of battle had started fading, and Harper hurt from head to toe. She did not complain, but pushed harder, chased by the vision of goblins snapping at her ankles. Erika led, sword drawn, guided by Aedon’s tiny faelight. He kept it dim, for they wished to pass unseen, as he brought up the rear, his long strides following Harper, who jogged, her dagger in hand, staring into the night for the first hint of any trouble.

  Travelling in the dark was painstakingly slow, for they had little light to go by, only a tiny game trail to travel, and Aedon’s and Erika’s memories of the way. It was impossible to journey silently as they stumbled through bushes and over roots. Even their quiet passage sounded like they wantonly crashed through the night. On high alert, her senses scanning their surroundings, Harper was certain they would be found by the goblins. She strained her ears in order to hear the first sound of their chattering or approach.

  With relief, they espied the pale ribbon of stone winding through the trees. A few minutes later, they emerged onto the road. Lined with pale, flat, octagonal stones, it was a road the likes of which Harper had never seen before.

  “Dwarven craftsmanship,” Aedon said with a tired smile that was more of a grimace. “It’ll make our passage easier. Come.” He set off at a jog, followed by Erika.

  Harper groaned and followed them, but her legs were so stiff that she grew farther and farther behind. Aedon turned and noticed her falling back. He stopped, waiting for her to catch up, whilst Erika continued forging ahead.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I can’t push myself any harder.”

  “It’s all right,” he murmured.

  He grasped her hand. Through his warm palm, she felt his magic travel to her. It filled her with a warming glow that pushed aside the least of the aches and banished a little of the tiredness. She groaned with relief.

  “Come on,” he said, tugging her with him.

  They broke into a jog. She was relieved to realise that it was easier to keep pace with him now. They jogged behind Erika, who did not slow. Trees passed as the steady thud, thud, thud of their boots on the stones ate up the distance.

  Harper had lost track of time by the sun’s rising, having no idea how long they had been going. With the sun finally clear of the horizon, Aedon stopped and stretched. Erika halted at his bidding, though she seemed reluctant.

  “We must halt for a brief respite. The sun is up. The goblins will not assail us now. We can afford to rest for a couple hours,” said Aedon.

  Harper needed no encouragement, for she was hollow with weariness. They left the road, found a cleft free of damp and rocks, and fell asleep against the trunk of a great tree, leaning against each other.

  THE RHYTHMIC DRUM OF traffic on the road woke them not long later. Aedon jumped to his feet.

  “Dwarves! I’d know that sound anywhere!” He rushed to the side of the road, followed by Erika and Harper, who still rubbed sleep from their eyes.

  They approached in lines of four dwarves abreast, all running in formation. They wore leather armor from head to toe, covered with metal plates and dye embellishments, and all had double-headed axes strapped to their backs, a mace and knife at their waists. Helmets capped their heads, leaving their faces clear, apart from a simple nose guard, and braided beards bounced on their chests with each stride.

  “Hail and well met, friends,” said Aedon, stepping forward. “I bear urge
nt news and seek your assistance for one of your own.”

  Their captain stopped and gave them a once-over with no small measure of suspicion. His company came to a halt and readied themselves behind him, placing hands on weapon handles. “And you are?”

  “Aedon Lindhir Riel of House Felrian. My companions are Erika of the Indis and Harper of Caledan. We were travelling with Brand of the Aerians, who even now flies to Keldheim, and Ragnar Dúrnir.”

  The dwarf’s brows furrowed. “Dúrnir? Ragnar Dúrnir?”

  “Yes. He was taken in an ambush by goblins to the north of here last night.”

  The dwarf bared his teeth. “The scum are getting more bold, I fear. You are fortunate to meet us indeed. We also travel to Keldheim. Join us. We will see you safely there.”

  “I thank you, ah...” Aedon bowed, then raised his eyebrow expectantly at the dwarf.

  “Jarl Halvar.”

  Harper’s eyes widened. He was a dwarven lord.

  “My thanks, Jarl Halvar. We shall not delay you any longer. Our own news requires the swiftest passage we can bear.”

  “Fall in,” the jarl ordered.

  Eighteen

  The world faded in and out once they reached the gates to Keldheim. Harper swayed with exhaustion from one step to the next, forcing her sluggish feet to move and pushing her fading mind to stay awake.

  Before her, a sheer rock face soared into the heavens, where low clouds drew in and darkness settled, shrouding the summits. The rock blazed with light, embellished with metal carvings as far as Harper could see. Golden light danced from the stone, making the sea of metal glitter invitingly. Long, slim, octagonal holes punctured the rock at regular intervals, through which more light spilled from the bowels of Keldheim.

  Great stone gates rose before them, complete with the same metal details. They barred the way into the heart of the mountain realm, but opened, to Harper’s surprise, quietly at their arrival, with no sign of any guards.

  The gates thudded open as the company passed. For a moment, the rhythmic tramp of the dwarves’ jogging magnified and echoed as they passed through the tunnel. They followed the dwarves past long, octagonal slits as the gates boomed shut behind them, sealing them into the mountain.

  It was surprisingly light inside. Metal-and-glass lanterns filled with warming lights lined the walls and hung from the high ceilings. Harper gasped as they stepped from the tunnel farther into the mountain. It was as if the entire inside were hollow. Buildings and ways climbed the rock, but none were open to the sky, though far above them all, a great orb of light cast the muted glow of a sunset upon them.

  Ducts – some carrying flowing water, others roads and paths – spanned the space upon giant columns that disappeared into the depths. Harper dared to look over the side of the bridge they had emerged onto, but her stomach swooped as she saw just how far down the dwarven city went.

  Ragnar wasn’t joking, Harper thought as she recalled how he had told her that Keldheim was vast and sprawling, only a little of it above the level of the ground outside the mountain. Jarl Halvar led them across the terrifying abyss, under which the mountain continued down, filled with dwarven dwellings and buildings built into the very mountain itself.

  They took another turn onto a sloping ramp that led down a level, then another, until Harper was entirely lost, and when she looked up, could not see where they had entered the mountain.

  “Dismissed,” he called to his troops. They sped up with an extra spring in their step as they broke formation. “You may follow me,” he added to Aedon, Harper, and Erika, his troubled gaze flicking between them. He removed his helmet, revealing a slightly balding head of wiry hair, turned, and led them to a grand pair of doors.

  “This is the königshalle, the king’s hall,” he added. Aedon nodded, though he already knew Keldheim and its layout, but Harper swallowed nervously, not knowing what to expect.

  At Jarl Halvar’s bidding, guards in uniform much like his own, though with different colours and embellishments woven in, heaved the doors open to reveal a great hall. Tall slits, placed where windows would have been, were filled with what seemed to be a starry night.

  “Elven magic,” Aedon murmured to Harper as he walked with her and Erika. “Our gift to the dwarves in ages gone past. Have you met a dwarven king before?”

  Harper shook her head. What a preposterous question.

  “Dwarves respect strength, not delicate flouncing like the elven courts. Fist to your chest when he greets you. Bow at the waist, sharp and neat. Stand tall.”

  Harper nodded, trying to recall all his instructions.

  Halvar stopped before them. They halted abruptly, their feet crunching the neat mats of woven straw beneath them.

  “König Korrin.” Halvar greeted the king exactly as Aedon had instructed Harper to. The king bowed his head in response, but his attention focused upon the three of them – strangers in his domain.

  Harper, keeping her eyes lowered in respect, tried to perceive him. A full head of thick, black hair. A beard that tumbled down to his knees, but held back in elaborate braids threaded with more treasures than she had ever seen. Tattoos adorned his hands and the edges of his face, hinting at unfamiliar patterns and runes – just like Ragnar’s.

  Fine clothes and leathers adorned him, tooled with patterns that matched the gates of Keldheim in both style and metal embellishments. Thick boots gave him a strong, unshakable stance before them as he rose from his angular, carved stone throne.

  “Jarl Halvar.” The king’s voice was deep and booming, just like the doors to his realm. “Who do you bring before me? The elf, I recognise.” He spoke in Common Tongue with fluency, but Harper could not tell by his tone if he said it with fondness or malice.

  “König, allow me to present Aedon Lindhir Riel of House Felrian.”

  Aedon bowed to the king with his fist to his chest, then stood tall again.

  “Harper of Caledan, and Erika of the Indis nomad peoples.”

  Harper and Erika bowed, too. Harper’s heart hammered as she did so.

  Jarl Halvar spoke in a formal tone. “Welcome to our realm, travellers. The realm of Korrin Dúrnir, König of Dwarvenkin and Valtivar, ninth of his name, the Goblin-Cleaver, the Jewel-Blessed, and the Defender of the Mountain. What seek you?”

  Aedon looked to the jarl, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. He cleared his throat. “König, we bring grave news. My companions and I encountered goblins on our journey to Keldheim. One of our companions was taken. We know not where.”

  “Ah, yes,” the könig said, nodding. “Your friend, the Aerian, arrived and gave us news of this. Send for him,” he instructed the jarl, who bowed and left.

  “You will help us, König?”

  Korrin pursed his lips and turned away to pace the hall, his hands clasped behind his back. “No. We can offer no assistance in this.”

  Aedon’s eyes widened. “König, he is your kin. Surely–”

  Korrin turned and glared at Aedon for his insubordination. “The goblins are a nuisance at present, as your own journey has shown you. Our interests do not lie in delving into their midst to rescue one dwarf. There are unfortunate casualties. Our priorities are in the defence of our strongholds and roads.”

  Aedon’s face reddened. Harper could tell he longed to snap back, but to her surprise, he swallowed his anger and pride. “Our friend is Ragnar,” Aedon said delicately. “Ragnar Dúrnir.”

  Korrin stiffened. His head whipped around to fix Aedon in an eagle-like stare. “Him?”

  “Yes, König.”

  “What makes you think that would change my mind?” Korrin’s voice was ice cold as he turned away once more.

  Aedon swallowed. “I had hoped the plight of your own kin might move you, König.”

  Korrin gritted his teeth. “There is more at stake than you are privy to, master elf. Even my own kin does not come before the safety of my people.”

  At that moment, Brand entered through the great doors, shadowed by Jar
l Halvar.

  “Show the guests to comfortable quarters,” Korrin commanded. Halvar beckoned to the three of them, who bowed to the king once more and hastened to Brand.

  “Well met, friend,” Aedon said in hushed tones.

  “This way,” said Halvar.

  Brand gave Aedon a meaningful glance before switching his attention back to Halvar. “Any word from Afnirheim yet, Jarl?” he asked.

  The jarl’s shoulders hunched. “Not that I’ve heard.” His tone was clipped.

  “Dark tidings.”

  “Indeed.”

  “The king will send you to investigate?”

  Halvar narrowed his eyes. “That is none of your business, Aerian.”

  Aedon raised his eyes to Brand, who smiled grimly in return. Harper looked between them, nonplussed. Surely they had failed and Ragnar was doomed. What was there to smile about?

  BRAND WATCHED THE DOOR close before he turned to them all. For a change, he stood tall inside, his wings unscathed by the ceiling, which towered over even him.

  “What have you found?” Aedon asked.

  “It’s worse than we fear. Afnirheim has fallen silent. No news from there in a week. All those who set forth have not returned. It would seem Korrin is fearful, for he musters the dwarves in secret, yet he will not openly see fit to send a garrison to investigate.”

  The faelights bobbing high above them bathed them in warm light, illuminating a dwelling built into the mountain. Solid walls were their only reminder that they were deep in the mountains, but still, somehow, the gentlest hint of a breeze moved the air through the cosy space.

  “It’s impossible,” said Erika as she scouted each room off the corridor with her blade out, just in case, before nodding at them. “Those disorganised savages don’t have the brainpower to conquer a bucket, let alone a dwarven city filled with trained jarls and their commands.”

  “Naturally,” said Brand. “There have been some...unsavoury reports.” He glanced at Harper. “They’re not much fit for anyone’s ears. I believe this has something to do with the goblins, but I doubt they have taken the stronghold. That is preposterous. However, it’s entirely possible they have taken the ways, which is no good for the reputation of safe travelling through Valtivar. You can bet that Korrin worries on it.”