Chronicles of Pelenor Trilogy Collection

by Meg Cowley

  “I would wager it’s an old feud between elves of the royal line, too, since Saradon seems to be very much alive again. We take no part in that, either. We need to get Ragnar mended, then get out of here. Maybe it’s time for us to try lands to the east, across the mountains, for a while.”

  When his glance caught on Harper, he swallowed, quickly looking away.

  She raised an eyebrow. She still felt reluctant to speak to him, despite their cooperation during the rescue in Afnirheim. It had been easier to distract herself when faced with a horde of goblins. She suppressed a shudder at the thought of that.

  “You’re worried my...connection to him will jeopardize us all.”

  His lack of a reply was all she needed. Her lip curled. What if I am evil? What if it is innate in my nature? What if I...

  It didn’t bear thinking about now she had seen the company Saradon kept and what they did for fun with their prisoners. To her surprise, Erika stepped in before she had a chance to retort, even though she was not entirely convinced he was wrong.

  “That’s dragon turd and you know it, Aedon.” Erika folded her arms. “She’s not suddenly going to turn into a bad apple one day on account of her blood. I’d know. I haven’t turned into a blade-wielding savage despite my poor stock, have I?” She narrowed her eyes, as if daring him to reply. He did not. She smirked and flashed Harper a wink. “Exactly. She’ll fail or succeed, and it won’t have a damn jot to do with who she’s related to.”

  Harper blinked. Since when has Erika been that amiable? She caught Brand’s quickly hidden smile.

  “Well, since we’re going to agree to give her the benefit of the doubt, can we eat? I’m famished,” the big Aerian complained.

  I think I’m one of them now. All it took was a horde of goblins and an evil elf for a great-grandfather.

  It sounded so ridiculous, she could have laughed. Life had changed so much in such a short span of time – mere months – since the Dragonheart had spirited her away from Caledan.

  Ragnar moaned faintly. All their attention turned to him, even Brand, stomach forgotten.

  Slowly, he twitched. His lips moved soundlessly. His eyes fluttered open, blinking once, twice, thrice, before he opened them fully and gazed around.

  “Welcome back, old friend,” Aedon said softly. Harper placed her hand upon the coverlet.

  Ragnar’s smile widened as he beheld them all. “I’m alive? Free?” he croaked.

  “You are indeed, master dwarf,” Brand said. Harper could have sworn she saw a tear in the big Aerian’s eye before he blinked it away.

  Ragnar lifted his hand to grasp Harper’s, but his face fell as he beheld his bandaged digits. He swallowed.

  “It’s all right, Ragnar. Everything will be fine,” Aedon said, his tone low and soothing. “Don’t worry about that just yet. You’re healing well. That’s all that matters.”

  Ragnar swallowed and nodded. He lowered his hand back to the coverlet. But he did not tear his gaze away from the bandage. “What happened?”

  Aedon, ever the storyteller, recounted their escapades since the moment Ragnar had been taken, including Harper’s visit to Vanir and the visions at the Mother’s wellspring. When he finished, the question hung on everyone’s lips, but no one asked.

  What had happened to Ragnar?

  “Thank you, friends,” Ragnar said heavily. “But for you, I would be certainly dead...once they had no more use for me. I can hardly believe what has passed – for all of us.” He glanced at Harper as he said it, but his imperturbable expression became kind when he saw her worry at how he would perceive her.

  “What was it like?” Erika’s eyes burned with emotion.

  Ragnar swallowed. “I cannot speak of it. It is too much. But the elf, Saradon, is alive!” Ragnar tried to sit up, but he was so weak that he could barely lift himself off the bed.

  “The könig knows,” Aedon said, pressing Ragnar down, sending glowing magic into him as he groaned in pain and paled. “Korrin is determined to retake Afnirheim eventually. I am sure this will make him all the more determined, but perhaps, knowing who his enemy is, he will be careful.”

  “If I were him, I would send envoys to Toroth,” Brand said.

  “Certainly,” Aedon acknowledged. “Saradon is not an enemy I would want to face alone.”

  “I will have to attend Korrin.” Ragnar sounded reluctant.

  “We can afford to delay. You must heal first,” Brand said. “Korrin and your duties can wait. He has what is needed in hand, and that is what matters for your kin at present.”

  “Yes. We must get you fighting fit once more, friend. Ragnar Three-Fingers is a fearsome nickname, in any case. You’ll certainly earn some ales with that battle scar.” Aedon grinned at him, trying to cheer him up.

  Ragnar smiled weakly, unconvinced, but he had smiled. They knew he would be healed in time.

  Thirty-Three

  The königshalle was deathly silent as all heads turned to look at them as they entered. Or, rather, look at Harper. She would have quailed before the collected attention of the stern dwarven jarls, still clad in their intimidating armours, had she not been flanked by Erika and Brand. Aedon led them. Ragnar still lay in the infirmary.

  “My cousin does not join you?” König Korrin greeted them, raising his bushy eyebrows.

  They placed their fists to their chests and bowed as one.

  “No, König,” replied Aedon. “At present, he is still too infirm, but grows stronger by the day.”

  Korrin nodded and gestured to his jarls. “I summon you to stand with mine own kin. I doubt ever a couple of elves, a mortal, and an Aerian have ever been thusly welcomed to one of our councils. Yet I must express my gratitude for your help within Afnirheim, for without you, I suspect many more of us might not have returned.”

  His face grew stern. “Now, we have seen the truth of the horrors that have passed there.” His glance hesitated on Harper. “The Mother’s vision was correct. My concern is her other vision.” Korrin stared at her pointedly.

  He knows. A thrill of fear rushed through her. Vanir told him? Of course. Her allegiance was bound to the dwarves, not her. She is one of their gods, after all. Harper swallowed.

  “Did you know of this before you entered our halls?” he asked her quietly.

  “No, König.” She met his gaze and tried not to flinch.

  He shook his head and frowned. “I see no resemblance, yet Vanir would not show us falsehoods. How can we trust you, blood of his blood?”

  “I have nothing to do with him, König. I hail from lands far away, where I have lived as long as my memory recalls. I know nothing of this land or its history, and nothing of my kin. I have been an orphan all my life. This changes nothing.” My mother is still dead.

  “So you say, yet I do not know that I can trust the word of an elf related to him. You saw as well as we did what he has done.”

  “And I was just as horrified as you all were,” insisted Harper. “I came to tell you of the Mother’s vision of Afnirheim the moment I saw it. If I were somehow involved in his thrall, or following him, would I have done that?”

  Korrin narrowed his eyes at her, unconvinced. “Spies can bluff as many times as they need to in order to gain trust.”

  “I will vouch for her.” Brand’s quiet, even voice rang through the space.

  “And I,” Erika said, stepping forward.

  “And I,” said Aedon.

  Harper bit down a flash of annoyance that he had spoken up last. Korrin surveyed them.

  “The words of Aerians, mortals, and elves do not count for much here, but I will let your good faith stand. Her actions are on your hands. If there is any hint, any at all, of something untoward, I shall see that Keldheim is protected at any cost.” His stern voice left nothing to the imagination as to his intentions.

  “We shall see it done, König,” replied Brand, bowing. “Our friend is trustworthy. You have nothing to fear.”

  “I do not fear her,” Korrin sneer
ed, uncharacteristically arrogant for a moment. “I only do whatever it takes to protect Valtivar.”

  The jarls raised their fists to their hearts at his words.

  “Then there is the matter of Ragnar Dúrnir.” Korrin’s sour tone showed his feelings on that. “With my cousin’s return, his affairs in Keldheim must once more be raised.”

  “With respect, König,” Aedon interjected quickly, “Ragnar does not wish to stay. His affairs may remain as they were before his arrival. We shall leave as soon as we may.”

  Korrin scowled. “He cannot outrun his fate for all eternity.”

  “We cannot speak on that, König.” Aedon bowed.

  “No, you cannot,” replied Korrin flatly. “He shirks his duties as my kin, especially when the pascha and his horde plagues us all. He shames the line of Dúrnir.”

  “He shames nothing!” Harper said before she could stop herself, stepping forward in her indignation. She froze as all eyes turned to her.

  “You dare to speak against me?” Korrin glared at her.

  Harper straightened, quite sure she had made an enormous mistake, but not willing to back down. I held my own in Afnirheim, just like everyone else in here. I helped light the way, she reminded herself.

  “Ragnar Dúrnir–” the word felt strange on her tongue, “–is a good dwarf, one of the best people I know. He seeks only to do what is right, and he knows that his place is not here.”

  She knew she had struck a nerve when Korrin scowled. “I will not speak to the likes of you on such matters, elf girl.”

  Jarl Halvar and another arrived then, distracting the König. “Reinforcements from Himmelheim have arrived, König,” the jarl said.

  Korrin’s scowl split into a wide grin. “Praise the gods,” he said, banging his own fist to his chest. His jarls copied. “This will be the first stage of our attack whilst we await the rest of our brethren. I will not suffer those scum in our city a moment longer than we must.”

  “You seek to retake Afnirheim, König?” Aedon asked.

  “Yes,” Korrin said grimly. “Can we count upon your arms?” He knew guests could not be called upon to fight, even for as much use as the four of them had already been in Afnirheim.

  “Yes,” said Erika with grim determination. “You could not keep me away from that foe.”

  Judging by his curious frown, Korrin wondered at her words, but nodded and thanked them before turning back to his jarls to discuss the finer points of their strategy. Harper and her companions drifted closer to listen to talk of war. All the while, anxiety built within her.

  To speak of a return to Afnirheim was bad enough, but now she knew what awaited – goblins...Saradon...and Dimitrius.

  Thirty-Four

  Harper had had enough talk of war, goblins, and Saradon. Her head echoed with it, jarring her already overwhelming headache.

  I need fresh air.

  Jarl Halvar had pointed her to the way out – after a fashion. There was no true outside space in Keldheim, but it would do. Harper had trekked up the winding stairs until the balcony appeared. Spanning the void between two jutting peaks, joining obscure parts of the rear of Keldheim, it was utterly open to the elements, yet so isolated as to be impregnable by outside forces.

  Harper recognised the area. She was near where they had left Keldheim through the Thirl Door. She stepped onto the stone bridge, immediately buffeted by a cool gust of late afternoon wind. Already, the sun slowly fell toward the horizon. Even so, she leaned on the waist-high stone wall, grateful for the fresh air that seemed to banish the staleness from her mind...and all talk of fighting and goblins.

  The wind receded, leaving her in a pocket of stillness, though she still wrapped herself in the warmth her magic afforded. Harper admired the view, not thinking about anything for just a few moments. Below her, rushing water was all she could hear.

  It must be Vanir’s wellspring, she realised.

  A familiar, sharp, fruity aroma hit her. She frowned. Where have I smelled that before?

  Eyes wide, she whirled around to see a figure looming in the shadows.

  DIMITRI DESPERATELY sought Harper, pulling himself through the shadows of the world. Saradon would not notice his absence for such a short time... He hoped. He reached out to anything he could of Harper, for he no longer had the Dragonheart’s essence to follow. He tried to remember the silken fall of her hair, her sweet smell, her sharp eyes, the teasing smirk when she allowed herself to smile. Anything he could grasp to find her.

  As he neared Keldheim – predictably, she was there – Dimitri slowed. Caution was needed. Wards as old as the dwarven race guarded their cities, and he did not even know the half of them. He prayed she was not deep within the mountain, where he would probably never reach her.

  There she is.

  He sensed her before he saw her, standing alone above the void, shrouded in her cloak, her braided hair whipping across her back with the raging wind. Just as the breeze stopped, he stepped from the void behind her.

  He paused, barely breathing.

  What do I say?

  Before he could compose himself, consider exactly why he had rushed all the way there, she spun. His heart stuttered for a moment when he saw the familiar stern expression, as though she concentrated on something important, before her eyes widened and her mouth opened in surprise.

  “H-How did you...” Her voice trailed off.

  “Miss me?” He smirked at her, cocking his head. He couldn’t resist.

  Her gape turned into an indignant scowl as she drew herself up. “Never!”

  “The lady doth protest too much,” he said, grinning widely.

  She did not rise to his bait. “Why did you come here now? How did you find me?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Are you alone?” He looked both ways across the bridge and cast out his senses, finding nothing as the wind rose again.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  He felt magic flickering into life inside her. Much stronger than before, he noted appreciatively.

  “I mean you no harm. You needn’t do that.” Besides which, I could crush you in a second. When will you learn? He almost rolled his eyes.

  She narrowed her eyes and ignored him, continuing to draw on her reserves. He could not blame her for that.

  He did roll his eyes then. “Fine. Have it your way.” But his amusement faded. “I came to warn you, Harper.” His throat felt dry, too parched to talk. He cleared it. What had he come to say again? Her grey eyes seemed to see right through him.

  She watched him warily, as though he were a threat. It was an odd feeling. He was a threat, after all, yet they had to work so closely previously, it felt strange to fall back into such distrust and animosity.

  “You need to leave Keldheim, Valtivar. Go far from here.”

  “Why?”

  He gritted his teeth. Why won’t she just do as I tell her? But that was precisely why he found her more tolerable than most others. She wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I saw you in Afnirheim. You know what’s happening.”

  Despite all the dots he had connected, he still had some wild hope that it was all too neat, that he was entirely mistaken, that she really was nothing more than an orphan from the wildest reaches of a foreign country.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”

  “You know enough to understand Valtivar is not safe for you.”

  “Why? What’s happening that I need to be so worried about?” she challenged, stepping closer and jutting her chin out in defiance as she looked up at him.

  “I know you saw him.”

  He did not want to utter Saradon’s name, not even think it, lest it alert him.

  This isn’t betrayal. He does things you disagree with. You’re entitled to do the same. Partners.

  “This isn’t just a goblin uprising. It spreads beyond that.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “War is coming, Harper. Do you know what his mark means?”

 
“The Riven Circle?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a broken wheel.”

  “It’s so much more than that,” he said impatiently. “He’s returned, Harper. I won’t lie... I played my part in it–” she stilled at his words, “–but you know the sinful court I seek to topple. Surely you can imagine the better Pelenor I desire to build. The time fast approaches, Harper, when there will be little choice in the matter. Soon, he will be the master of Pelenor, and a new age of peace and prosperity will dawn–”

  “Are you insane?” she shouted. “This is your doing?”

  “Well, I–”

  She jabbed her finger at the mountain behind her. “My friend is in there. He suffered unimaginably at the hands of those...those...monsters. I saw inside the mountain, Dimitrius.”

  A thrill chased across him as she said his name, even in anger.

  “I saw what they did to all those dwarves.” Now she looked nauseous. She swallowed, and her tongue darted out to moisten her lip. “Please tell me you didn’t take part in that. That is no better than Toroth. In fact, that is worse.”

  “It’s not like that,” he said desperately. “There are always casualties of wa–”

  “No! I won’t hear it. I thought... I thought you might be different. Decent. You were so kind to me. You saved me.” She looked at him as though he were a stranger. “But you’re just like the rest of them. Greedy and self-serving. Willing to do whatever it takes, hurt whomever you need to, in your race to the top.”

  Dimitri bristled at her words, frustrated. Somehow, she touched on precisely his own worries in all of this. That he would end up no better than any of them as he slipped down the path of compromising his values to Saradon.

  “I’m not like that!” he snarled, then grabbed both her upper arms and pushed her back against the wall. “For heaven’s sake, Harper, listen.”

  This close, he could see defiance and anger in her glinting eyes, the determined set of her face. The heat of her magic seemed to burn him, even though the cold wind stole every shred of real warmth it could from the pair of them.