by Meg Cowley
She shuffled, unable to get comfy on the rocks, and retreated farther into the cave, almost tripping over her pack. She walked around it carefully. Its contents would be her daughter’s salvation. Outside, cool moonlight filtered in, as the stars twinkled coldly overhead. They watched her, but no longer watched over her. That time had passed. Now they would see as she met her demise.
“But they will watch over you, and I with them, daughter,” she promised, and her voice caught. “W-We both will. I-I will miss you with all my heart as I watch you grow.”
She was afraid, as much as she tried not to admit it to herself. Long had she known the day might come, but it did not mean she embraced death, or walked to it willingly. She rebelled. Why else had she tried to escape? But there was nowhere else to run. Only beyond the realms of life, across the border into the unknown. She hoped death would not be painful.
“You will meet him again,” she said to herself, infusing her voice with as much strength as possible. “You will pass into his arms.” She still felt them around her, strong, warm, protective. Just as hers were now around their child.
The thundering drew closer as the wind battered the trees and mountains. She knew she was surrounded. It was time. She swallowed.
“I will not die in a cave, cowering like a beast,” she said with a juddering sob, as tears spilled from her eyes. “I am a daughter of Ravakian.” With one last, loving gaze, taking in every detail of her sleeping baby – the wisps of dark hair, the round, peaceful face, the tiny hands – she kissed her forehead, savouring the tiny body’s warmth.
She forced herself to lift her chin and put one foot in front of the other, going to meet her death with a brave heart, no matter the fact that she trembled like a leaf and would sooner turn tail and run as far and fast as she could.
They waited outside as she emerged from the trees and into the clearing. She had never been so close to a dragon before, let alone so many. Her breath caught in her chest as she stopped. She forced her feet forward and craned her neck up at them.
“Ilrune, daughter of Arven of the line of Ravakian, you are charged with high treason against the realm and sovereignty of Pelenor,” said the rider atop the largest dragon in the centre of the ring around her.
Her lip instinctively curled at the sight of him in his grand armour and plumed helmet. “It matters not to you that I am innocent, Raedon?” she sneered, despite her fear. She held her ground as his dragon rumbled at her.
“You have been found guilty on al–”
“I am not guilty for my grandfather’s sins,” she shouted. “My blood is not a measure of my ilk, rider.”
“I do not come to bandy words with a criminal,” he snarled back. “Our orders are clear, and retribution will be sought.”
His dragon’s throat glowed as molten fire brewed within it.
She trembled, struggling to maintain herself. She glanced down at the baby, the comforting warmth in her arms. “I do this for you, my sweet princess,” she murmured.
“I beg your pardon?”
She looked up again with hate-filled eyes. “You took him from me, but I will see him across the border in death. She will not die with us this day. You will never find her!”
Ilrune closed her eyes and sucked all her power into her core. She had drained every Dragonheart she had collected on her meticulous travels, every magical artefact with any remnant of power. She glowed from within, until the riders before her shielded their eyes.
She pushed it all into the babe, then thrust her as far away as she possibly could, sending the child into the unseen plane where magic flowed like an endless, rippling ocean. She wished for warmth, love, and care, seeking it out for her daughter, but she only had a moment to act. There was no time to think about the coldness of her empty arms. No time to fear what would happen a moment later. She only hoped that she sent her daughter to a safer place and loving arms.
“No!” thundered Raedon as the babe vanished.
His dragon’s maw opened and a jet of white-hot fire arced toward Ilrune. But with a smile upon her face, her life’s energy utterly spent on the salvation of her daughter, Ilrune had already crumpled to the ground.
By the time the dragon’s flame consumed her body, her soul was already gone.
Twenty-Six
Harper awoke with tears flowing down her face. She blinked the world into focus once more. She was Harper, yet still Ilrune. Was the pain she felt her own? Her heart seemed shattered. She was certain she could smell burning flesh, hear the roar of dragonfire.
“Interesting,” muttered Vanir.
“Wh-What was that?” Harper asked, but she did not need Vanir’s answer. She knew she had just witnessed her own mother’s death, and her own salvation.
Vanir did not answer as she regarded her with a kind, sad smile, her milky eyes filled with tears.
“It’s true?” Harper choked out. Her throat seemed stripped raw, as if she had been shouting, just like Ilrune.
Ilrune. My mother. The word felt strange.
“That was proof, girl. The truth indeed. I told you your past was as interesting as your future.” Vanir cackled, but she patted Harper on the knee with a sympathetic smile.
“You do not have to decide what that means for you right this instant. It is a lot to learn. It is certainly interesting.” Her hands continued rubbing the stones from finger to finger.
“I did not see that past for your bracelet. My, my... She is long dead, but perhaps you may yet meet your great-grandfather. He is so very close in Afnirheim, and your friend is there, as well.”
Harper’s attention sharpened. “Ragnar is there?”
“Yes, child. Ragnar Dúrnir is deep beneath Afnirheim. The water tells me all.”
He had been taken much farther than any of them could have anticipated, but he was alive? Hope soared in her heart, even as much as it felt shaken by her vision’s revelations.
“How can we save him?”
Vanir’s face was grave. “Rescue may not be possible, child. But drink of the river. It may show you the answer. Focus on Ragnar Dúrnir to see what you will.”
Even though the thought of another vision churned her already nauseated belly, Harper did as Vanir bade her. She hurried to use the chalice to scoop more bitingly cold water up and take a gulp, sloshing it down her chin and onto her chest in her haste. This time, she sat and braced herself against the rocks, ready for the swooping darkness.
DARKNESS CRUSHED HER. Harper could perceive nothing and no one. Her eyes hurt with the strain of looking for anything to mark her location. The vision tumbled through the shadowed, shattered halls of Afnirheim once more.
Ruins and bodies loomed in the murk as she passed. Her gaze did not waver, and she set her lips against the whimper of fear that sought to escape, clenching her fists to stop them from shaking. The prickles travelling up her spine did nothing to ease her anxiety.
Shadows and light cast by the sickly red glare of fires danced in the distance as she crossed voids and offshoots to the tunnels. Down she went, farther into the dark.
The smell of decay, festering wounds, and excrement found her first.
Next, she heard the moans and shrieks. Those are not all goblins. She feared what she would find.
In the depths of the mines, dwarves huddled in pits, some covered with iron grates. Goblins crowded around each open pit, shrieking with excitement and amusement as they threw rocks at their captives, whipped them, or tormented them in some other way. Harper did not want to look too closely.
Panic rose in her, stealing her breath. The goblins’ filed teeth and fetid claws were within inches of her. They cannot perceive me, she reassured herself, but all the same, she kept a keen eye on them.
Harper floated over the pits. There were hundreds in a grid pattern. Most contained dwarves. This is where the dwarves keep...kept their goblin slaves, she realised, remembering what scant knowledge she had learned.
She searched each pit as she passed, squinting in the
poor light. It was hard not to stop and stare. Each dwarf seemed in a terrible state and barely passable as a living being, for they had been tortured beyond all recognition. She held in a retch as she passed a pit where dwarves lay, obviously dead.
Please, let him be alive. It seemed too much to hope that Ragnar was unharmed. How many days has he been gone now? It did not bear thinking about.
Then she saw him. It was only by chance, for her gaze had passed over the pit twice already. He huddled in a deep, dark corner under a slight overhang, head on his knees and eyes shut. Close by, other dwarves huddled or lay in piles of their own bodily fluids.
Her heart leapt. Is he alive?
The vision wavered, then moved her along, past the pits, until she could no longer see him, even by craning her neck.
No! she longed to say. Stop! Go back!
It was fruitless. The vision carried her where it willed. On she passed, beyond the reach of the flames and into the darkness, where only the stale air fingered her.
Suddenly, a cold tendril of air caressed her cheek, pulling her onward. Forward and upward it went, and she with it, breathing in the gift of the clear, crisp air that stripped the stench from her lungs. Stronger it grew, but the caves became narrower, until she squeezed into a tight fissure.
In the distance, a crack of daylight was her only clue that the end was nigh. Through the stone, she passed into blinding light. As her eyes adjusted to the clear, cold day and the weak sun shining down upon her, she turned in a circle. She stood outside the mountain, a sheer, stone cliff behind her, yet no hint of a cave or fissure.
Harper frowned and drew closer to it. With ethereal fingers, she traced upon the moss-covered rock until she found the almost invisible crack. It was only the thickness of a hair, but she traced it up, where it bent horizontally to form the top of a doorway.
A door into the mountain.
Excitement fluttered in her stomach, as well as hope. Hope that she knew where Ragnar and the remainder of his kin were kept. Hope that the secret door would allow them safe passage.
With a shudder, she recalled the goblin-filled halls and the carnage within. It would be suicidal to try to fight through the dwarven city.
THE MOUNTAINS GREW hazy and faded as Harper surfaced from the vision. She looked at Vanir with wide eyes, gasping a deep breath.
“Do not delay, child,” Vanir said. “You have seen the way. Go. They depend on you.”
Harper stood, but swallowed as she hesitated.
“I am here when your questions seek answers,” said Vanir simply.
“Thank you.” Harper now had a pressing task, but it only just held back the tide of uncertainty within her. She bowed to Vanir, turned, and ran.
Twenty-Seven
The jarl looked disgruntled when she returned to him, but he brightened when she told him, between short, gasping breaths, what she had seen of Ragnar and his kin.
“Thank the gods!” he said, turning his eyes skyward. “You describe the Thirl Door.”
“What’s the Thirl Door?”
The jarl frowned at her. “We don’t have time to dally. Come!” He set off at a jog, and she hastened after him.
“It is a secret door, built into every dwarven city, that allows for escape if the city is lost,” he said as they ran back to the königshalle to speak with Korrin. “Our kin from Afnirheim should have used it to escape, but maybe they did not concede defeat until too late, or perhaps they were cut off. We cannot know. To my knowledge, a Thirl Door has never been used for entry, but perhaps there is nothing to stop it.”
With that, he hurried them both back to the königshalle, summoning her companions to join them.
“THE THIRL DOOR...” König Korrin paced the hall, his brows furrowed. “You are certain?”
Halvar nodded. “From what the girl describes, it can only be the Thirl Door.”
“How many of our kin did you see there?” Korrin asked Harper.
She bowed hurriedly, surprised by his attention, to give herself a moment of composure. “Hundreds, König. All in a terrible state. They would not be fit to travel through all of Afnirheim to escape, but perhaps by the secret door...”
“We cannot abandon our kin,” Korrin said decisively. “I thank the Mother for her vision. Now we are armed with knowledge.”
“What will you have us do, König?” the jarl asked.
“For now, Jarl Halvar, I will muster Keldheim’s forces. We will rescue our kin and determine the true scale of the rot in our once fair city.” He glared at them all balefully. “Then I will muster every dwarf in Valtivar, and we will retake Afnirheim. The goblin scum will pay for their sins, and we will defeat them once and for all. The pascha’s domain will be no more in my mountains.”
Harper took a step back at the vehement hate and determination in Korrin’s voice.
“When will you have us ready, König?” Halvar asked, his own visage grim.
“At once. Call every dwarf to arms. Those we do not take will defend Keldheim in our absence. We leave three days hence, by the tunnels and our own Thirl Door. None but our own kin will know of our passing. The goblin scum will not know until our blades fall on their necks. I will lead us to victory.” Korrin gripped the head of the ceremonial axe belted to his waist until his knuckles whitened.
“WE COULD NOT HAVE ASKED for a better outcome.” Brand heaved a sigh of relief.
Aedon bounced on the balls of his feet with impatience as they made their way back to their quarters. “I wish we could leave now.”
Erika nodded in agreement, her mouth set in a grim line, but she did not speak.
“These things take time. Three days is quick for an entire city to arm.”
“Not quick enough,” grumbled Aedon. “Will you share your vision with us, Harper?”
“W-What?” Harper stammered as he disrupted her thoughts, which had once more strayed to her vision of Ilrune.
Aedon frowned at her. “Are you all right? You seem...quiet.”
“I... Yes, I’m fine,” she said, willing the heat from her cheeks, unsuccessfully.
Aedon’s frown deepened. “Will you show me your vision of Ragnar?” he asked again.
“Yes,” Harper said with relief. Calm down. They don’t know anything about the other vision. But ought she tell them? Once upon a time, she would have found it far-fetched to claim, but she was slowly beginning to accept that in Pelenor, the ridiculous was true more often than not.
Yet... It could create such a rift between them. Already, a gulf had begun to grow between her and Aedon. She had no idea how Brand felt. It was clear Erika hated all Saradon stood for, though Harper still had no idea why.
I don’t need her to like me any less, Harper thought, suppressing a snort. As if that’s even possible.
“Let’s not delay then,” said Brand. “Let’s see this vision, then go train. We’ll need every ounce of strength we have to survive a horde of goblins.”
IN THE PRIVACY OF THEIR quarters, they sat on the floor, cross-legged, hands interlaced. Aedon’s magic mingled with Harper’s and teased out the vision – but she kept the other vision tightly locked away.
“I will be glad when he is with us once more,” Brand said heavily after the vision faded. “Let’s go. Ragnar needs us to be as strong as we can for him.”
Erika and Aedon jumped up to fetch their weapons, but Brand grasped Harper’s wrist as she rose, halting her.
“You’re not yourself. What’s wrong?” he asked in a low voice. His gaze searched hers, but she dropped her eyes.
“Nothing,” she said.
“I will not ask again, Harper. You can trust me. Whatever it is. You are one of us now. To compromise you is to compromise all of us.”
Harper squirmed in his grasp.
“Distraction could mean failure. Ragnar is counting on us.”
She swallowed. “I saw another vision.”
“What was it? It must have been grave to disturb you so.”
Harper nodded, p
leading eyes raising to Brand’s. “You musn’t tell anyone else. Please.”
“I swear it, unless it will harm any of them.”
“It won’t,” she said quickly. “I... I found out who my mother is...was.”
Brand waited expectantly.
“My mother was Ilrune of the House Ravakian. Saradon’s own granddaughter.”
Brand’s hand slipped from her wrist as his jaw dropped. “It cannot be.”
Hot tears pricked Harper’s eyes. “It is. I saw her die. I saw her send me to Caledan.” She shook her head, trying to shake away the memory of the dragonfire as it obliterated all.
“Skies above,” swore Brand quietly, as the others returned noisily from their rooms. His lips thinned. “Speak no more of this now. Later.”
Relief bloomed in her. Head low, she raced off for her own knife and sword, not meeting Aedon’s or Erika’s gaze.
I hope I am right to trust him.
FOR THE REST OF THE day, they trained at full pelt in the training pit near the armoury. Harper was glad for the distraction. They trained until every muscle screamed, her mind dull with fatigue. She had reluctantly partnered with Aedon that day, and to her disappointment, he showed no trace of intimacy toward her, other than his usual friendliness, which he gave to all of them.
Yet she pushed all thoughts of Aedon, and his kiss, to the back of her mind, as difficult as it was with the heat of his body so close as they locked in mock battle time and again. Instead, she relished practising, using magic with her blade, charging the dead metal with speed and accuracy, even flames and lightning...much to the delight of the watching dwarves.
She now realised the truth of Aedon’s insistence that magic was instinctive. It was like a warm river flowing through her. She only had to will it to harness it. The only limit was her own strength, dictating how much or how long she could channel it.