Chronicles of Pelenor Trilogy Collection

by Meg Cowley

  “Then why does he dally?” asked Erika with a sneer. “I thought these dwarves were supposed to be strong and decisive.”

  “Because to muster any response at all means he acknowledges the threat,” said Harper. The others looked at her, surprised. “I’ve seen it before. When I was young, pirates raided our coast. The lord would not intervene because he did not want to admit he had any weakness in the first place.”

  Aedon flashed her a grin. “Quite.”

  Brand narrowed his eyes at Aedon’s flippancy. “Precisely, Harper. And even his own kin’s peril may not sway that.”

  “Who is Ragnar?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

  The others shared glances that were not lost on her.

  She snorted impatiently. “Oh, come on. There’s clearly something everyone, except I, knows. Ragnar isn’t here to answer for himself, so you might as well just tell me. There’s little use keeping me in the dark now.” She felt bad speaking with such irritation, but being the only one who did not know what everyone else spoke of infuriated her.

  Brand pursed his lips. “She’s right,” he said to Aedon.

  Aedon shrugged. “Fine. But don’t let it change how you think of him. He’s still the kind-hearted, generous, level-headed Ragnar you’ve come to know.” His words sounded more like a warning to Harper.

  Nineteen

  “Ragnar Dúrnir is König Korrin’s first cousin. Their fathers were twins, pulled from the womb at the same moment.”

  Harper raised her eyebrows, her mouth falling open. “Wait... You mean...”

  “Yes. For a time, it was considered that Ragnar would contend with Korrin for the throne. Korrin, being the eldest child of the eldest dwarf, took the throne once his father passed on. Ragnar was happy to see him do it, for he had never wanted that life, nor the life of any dwarf here in Keldheim.”

  Ragnar could have been king? It was so ludicrously far from anything Harper had thought possible. Yet he travels with us as a veritable pauper? A cook? Who would choose that life? She voiced her question aloud.

  Erika laughed, a short bark. “Not everything is about money and power, girl.”

  Harper rankled at the derision in her tone.

  Brand stepped in to placate Erika. “I’m sure she well knows it. Ragnar was not made for this life.” He gestured at the halls around them. The stone cut into precise vertical and horizontal lines, the perfectly flat surfaces. “It might be hard to believe it, but in some ways, he prefers the life he leads with us. We ask and expect nothing of him but himself.”

  Harper thought on that for a moment. “He said that he did not fit in here. What did he mean?”

  Brand stayed with her as Aedon and Erika flitted about their temporary abode, pulling out blankets here, earthenware bowls and utensils there, delving into every nook and cranny they could under the unwavering light of the small, faelight-filled alcoves that passed for windows in the main room.

  “Dwarven culture is very particular. There are expectations. The higher your class, the more there are. The same is true for all societies I have seen. Ragnar did not conform to those expectations.”

  “Which are?” Harper was not sure whether she had been too bold. To her surprise, Brand sighed.

  “As you might expect, dwarven culture is very different to your culture, or mine. You might be expected to wed or bear children, yes?”

  Harper scowled, but nodded.

  Brand chuckled darkly. “I know. That’s how I felt about my lot, too. Ragnar was expected, even not as the king, to uphold their values. To war with them, mine with them. It is not his way, as you well know. He fights when needed, but would prefer not to. Whilst he loves to craft, and perhaps might be suited to turning the products of the mines into priceless pieces that would surely be unrivalled amongst his people, as the cousin of the king, he is forbidden to follow such a lowly profession. Several of the mines in Valtivar, and one here in Keldheim, fell into his possession. He could mine the minerals, the metals, and the gems, but never enjoy and enhance their beauty.”

  Harper could understand that. She had never wanted to work her fingers to the bone at Tam’s inn, or scratch for any food she could to survive. Her sympathy for Ragnar diminished.

  We all must do things we don’t want to. At least he could have had a life of privilege to make up for it.

  Her sourness must have shown, for Brand ruffled his wings and cleared his throat. “I know. Perhaps it sounds wanton to you. There was one thing he objected to above all else.”

  Harper waited, not expecting that he would change her mind.

  “The dwarves keep slaves. Tikrit. They’re a small breed of goblins, as dimwitted and feral as they come, but they make excellent workers. They’re the creatures who do the dwarves’ mining, in return for meagre food and working conditions.”

  Harper gaped. The dwarves keep goblins? She shuddered as thoughts of bared, pointed teeth dripping gore flashed into her mind again, then shoved the memory as far down as she could.

  Brand smiled grimly. “Yes, quite. They’re not very tasteful creatures, even the tikrit, which are the most miserable excuse of a goblin I’ve ever seen. I cannot say I agree with the practice, but it is what it is. Ragnar despises the tikrit, and could think of nothing worse than dealing with them daily, of having them in his mines.”

  “What did he do?” Harper hardly dared ask.

  “That, I do not know. But to say that he is welcome in Keldheim is not the best way to put it. They owe him a duty of respect through his rank, so they will give him that, but nothing more.”

  Harper chewed her lip. “Does that respect extend to rescuing him?” Or trying to. She dared not think about Ragnar, imagine in what state he would be, if even alive, faced by the monsters that had taken him.

  “That’s what we will find out,” Brand said heavily. “For Ragnar’s sake, I hope Korrin decides swiftly, and in his favour. We do not have time to dally.”

  Harper’s stomach swooped with sickness at his words, as the constant undercurrent of worry rose in her once more. No matter his value to these people, his kin, Ragnar was their...her friend.

  It was into the next day – not that they could see the night sky far above them – when they at last sat to eat a small meal, courtesy of the dwarves. The sweet breads and unknown meats with a hint of strange spices and sweetness were foreign to Harper’s tongue, but a welcome change from the repetitive food of the road or, worse, nothing.

  After eating, all still felt too worried to sleep. The silence was somehow oppressive, as if the mountain would slip down and crush them whilst they slept. Harper wondered again how thick the stone above their heads was.

  They sat in silence around the empty, cold hearth in the centre of the room. No wood had been left for them, but Harper did not mind. Despite the hole in the roof that Aedon told her was the ventilation system that circulated good air into the caves, she did not trust that they would not be smothered in their sleep.

  Slowly, Brand and Erika stood. There were five rooms to choose from, each with twinned beds, some pushed together and some parted. They bade Aedon and Harper good night and strode down the hall. Harper pulled her cloak tighter and rested her chin on her drawn knees.

  “Copper hex for your thoughts?”

  She glanced at Aedon sitting across from her. He twirled an octagonal copper coin between his fingers.

  “I’m just worried about Ragnar.”

  He did not reply, but nodded gravely.

  “If the dwarves don’t agree to help us, can we find him ourselves? Can we save him?”

  He seemed to know what the end of her unspoken thoughts were. Before it’s too late?

  “I mean... You used your magic, Brand and Erika used all their skills, yet we still just managed to fend off those goblins. How can we stand a chance against more of them in their own domain?”

  “It’s a difficult one. Honestly, Harper? I’m not sure.” It was the first time she had ever seen the cocksure, carefree Aedon
at a genuine loss. The great Aedon, filled with the magic of dragons. Brand, the legendary Aerian warrior. Erika, the nomad who refused to be stopped. If they did not stand a chance... Her own paltry magic was worthless.

  Power isn’t everything. She found her thoughts echoing Erika’s own words.

  For the first time, Harper allowed herself to imagine the worst. Every moment Ragnar was away from them was a moment that made it all the more likely he would be dead long before they found him...if he even were alive anymore.

  Harper swallowed past the lump in her throat. “What if we’re too late? What if our power isn’t enough? What if we find him and...and...” She could not finish the sentence.

  Aedon rose from his own chair and walked over, sinking down beside her and cradling her in a reassuring hug.

  “I don’t know, Harper. I’m sorry. I just don’t know.”

  For the first time, she heard grief in his voice, and pitied him even more than she worried for Ragnar at that moment.

  Harper pulled away and dared put a hand to his cheek in silent solidarity, and he rested his forehead against hers. Despite her exhaustion and grief, her stomach fluttered with excitement that he was so close.

  Aedon brought up his hand to cup her neck, and his lips met hers. Harper stilled with surprise as he kissed her gently, then deepened it.

  It pushed away all thoughts of sleep and Ragnar as she yielded to him. He leaned into her, tipping her back on the chair cushions. She sighed as his hand slipped down her side, whilst her own fingers idly curled his hair.

  It was all too easy to press her body into his, to feel the way he seemed to mould to her. They had travelled together for so long, but never had she thought he wanted her in the same way she desired him. Maybe she was wrong? Judging by the gentle, yet passionate way he kissed her and stroked her thigh, his other hand holding her close, she had to be.

  Just as she was about to give in to the moment and banish her misgivings, a door thudded loudly.

  “Ahem.”

  Twenty

  Harper and Aedon scrambled apart to find Brand, wings slightly flared and muscled arms crossed, towering over them. He did not need to say anything. His glare conveyed it all. Harper did not know whether to be frustrated that he had disturbed them, ashamed for letting her guard down, or indignant that he treated them like a couple of lovesick adolescents.

  To her surprise, Aedon rose, then offered a hand to Harper. She took it hesitantly. He pulled her to her feet, but did not draw closer, and let her hand drop. He stared at Brand, but Aedon’s face was as unreadable as the Aerian’s.

  Brand turned and retreated back down the hall and into his room, his wings scraping on the doorframe with a ssshhh. His door closed with a snap.

  Aedon turned back to Harper. She was surprised to see complete indifference in his gaze, not the passion that had ignited her just moments earlier.

  “Sleep well, Harper,” he said, giving her a small smile that did not reach his eyes. He turned and disappeared into his bedroom, shutting the door.

  What just happened?

  Harper glanced between Brand’s closed door and Aedon’s. She swallowed. The ghost of his touch lingered on her skin. She was certain she could still taste his lips upon hers, feel the heat of his body.

  She slunk to her room, her pack already lying on the bed, and shut her own door as quietly as she could. She had no energy to take note of her surroundings. Confusion added to her exhaustion and anxiety. She pushed the pack to the floor, slid off her boots, and tumbled onto the bed fully clothed.

  THAT NIGHT, SHE WAS haunted by nightmares of Aedon, Ragnar, and the goblins, twisting and mutating into each other. Her rest was fitful, and in the morning, she woke bleary-eyed and with a throbbing head.

  The sound of running water woke her. The faelight in the alcove above her head glowed brighter, as if daytime. Harper sat up with a groan, both at her tiredness and her aching body.

  She stumbled to the other room in her suite to find a bathing room similar to the one she had used in Dimitrius’s quarters at Tournai. Here, a small trough had continuously running water flowing from one side to the other, then out through a pipe. She washed her hands and face gratefully. The cold water was a sharp relief that banished some of the haziness.

  It was silent outside her room, as though the others had not yet roused, so she stripped off her clothes, peeling away the last layer that stuck to her skin with sweat and grime, and dumped them unceremoniously onto the floor. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of having to put them back on, but there was no other option.

  She ran the taps until the bathing hollow filled with hot, steaming water, and eased herself in with a grateful moan, the heat stripping away the worst of the aches. She grabbed her shirt from the floor and dunked it into the water, scrubbing it with the soap and wringing it out. She held it up. It looked slightly cleaner, which was better than nothing.

  The water turned from clear to murky as she scrubbed the dirt from her skin. After she was done, she sat in the water for a few minutes with her knees drawn up to her chest, deep in thought as the previous night washed over her.

  Aedon’s actions played over and over in her mind. His unexpected advance, the heat of that moment, then the cold withdrawal. Harper did not know whether to be hurt, confused, or both.

  What does he want? she asked herself, not for the first time. She sighed.

  Her thoughts returned to Ragnar and her resolve steeled as she pushed aside her self-pity. Ragnar needs us.

  THERE WAS A PAINFUL awkwardness between Brand, Harper, and Aedon as they ate breakfast in silence. No one remarked upon what had transpired the previous night. Judging by Erika’s silence, Brand had already told her.

  Jarl Halvar’s knock upon the door was a welcome relief.

  “König Korrin will see you now,” he said. It was not a request.

  They made ready and followed him into the city. They passed through long, soaring hallways, vast caverns filled with buildings carved into the rocks, and grand courtyards with skies and trees of stone.

  The bright faelight illuminated all, and Harper gaped at the details she had missed in the gloom of the previous night. Now, Keldheim bustled, dwarves rushing to and fro, all with purpose.

  They were dressed much like Ragnar, though their clothes were far less ragged and patched. Some were clad in the same garb as Halvar, marking themselves as Korrin’s army. Many sported tattoos upon their fingers and foreheads, just like Ragnar and Korrin, with similar patterns and designs. They marched through the streets, double-headed axes strapped to their backs and single-headed axes or maces to either side of their waists.

  Halvar led them through a bustling underground market, where Harper was surprised to see men and elves trading, hawking their wares at the top of their voices. The cacophony echoed around the space as they hurried through, the scent of spices and foods wafting around them.

  They soon stood before the grand doors of the königshalle once more. Self-conscious, Harper smoothed down her still soggy shirt and tugged her cloak around herself to conceal it.

  The warm hall was full of feasting and conversation as the dwarves of his court sat at the several trestle tables and breakfasted at leisure. In the corner, a rowdy bunch of dwarves howled a bawdy drinking song to the merriment of their kin, the words incomprehensible to Harper. They followed the jarl down the center of them all, garnering the interest of all those dining, to the king sitting upon his stone throne at the far end, picking foods from a plate on a table next to him.

  “König.” Aedon greeted Korrin with a clenched fist to his breast and a bow.

  “Elf Felrian.” Korrin nodded. “And your companions... I bid thee welcome.”

  “Call me Aedon, if you please, König. I no longer represent House Felrian.”

  “Very well, Elf Aedon. I have thought long and hard this night past of Ragnar’s predicament. As much as I am loathe to enter into such a foolish venture, I cannot deny that I owe him by blood.”
/>
  “You will save him, König?” Aedon asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Not necessarily,” Korrin corrected. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, so the throng of people filling the hall could not hear him. “Afnirheim, as you may be aware, has fallen silent. No trade enters or leaves. No scouts. Nothing. It is as if they all vanished upon the road. I have no doubt the goblins are to blame. They breed worse than rodents and, once in a while, must be put back into their place. If they have grown so bold as to take my roads, I shall show them where they belong.

  “Their domain is to the east of Afnirheim. Though they may dare to trespass in my territory, they would not dare to remain. If my cousin is still to be found alive, it will be there, in their stronghold. It is not unheard of that they capture dwarfs for their cruel sports.” His lips curled in distaste.

  “I will send you forth with Jarl Halvar and his scouts to discover the truth of what bars the way to Afnirheim, and there we may find some trace clue of my cousin’s fate.”

  Wait... Didn’t he just say no one who ventured there returned? Harper wondered with a tingle of apprehension, but she did not dare speak to the king.

  “Perhaps you may discover my cousin’s fate along the way, but I will not ask my dwarves to put themselves in danger for this mission.” Korrin glared at them under his bushy eyebrows, as if daring them to disagree.

  Aedon bowed again respectfully. “I would be glad of the chance to discover my friend’s fate. He is a dear companion to us all.”

  Korrin harrumphed, as if he could not believe it. “You will leave after midday meal. Prepare yourselves. Our roads are the finest, but they are long and hard, and my dwarves shall not wait for you.”