by Meg Cowley
“I promise you, it’s not like that. That’s not who I am. That’s not what I want.”
Why am I explaining myself to her? Whether she’s a commoner or of House Ravakian, I owe her nothing.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then sighed.
At his slumped shoulders, the stiff resistance in her limbs melted away. For once, and he was glad of it, she held her tongue. When he opened his eyes, he saw her hard expression, but she was listening.
He shook his head. “I’m not sure I can stop him now,” he said, acknowledging his worst fear for the first time. “It’s like a river tumbling over a waterfall, picking up speed. I just... I had to warn you.” Whoever you are.
“If you stay, you’ll all be caught in the middle.” He tried not to think about her companions, especially the elf he hated most of all, whom she seemed so overly familiar with. “I cannot protect you from what is coming.”
Her face slackened at his words, her gaze probing him. He knew she wondered at his choice of words.
“Why do you care?” she asked quietly, the stinging vehemence gone from her voice.
He opened his mouth, then shut it again. Good question.
The wind lulled once more, revealing the clattering footsteps heading their way.
“Harper?” Aedon’s voice carried across the bridge. “Is that you?” He emerged into the light, stopping suddenly at the sight of them.
Annoyance spiked in Dimitri at the unwelcome interruption by the most unwelcome person he knew. Curse you! He would say no more in front of anyone else – least of all him.
“Get away from her!” Aedon surged forward, magic lighting his palms, as he saw how Dimitri still gripped Harper by her upper arms.
Dimitri looked at Harper and released her, stepping back.
To his surprise, she moved in front of him, holding up her hands.
“Stop!” she ordered Aedon. “It’s all right.”
Aedon halted, but the magic in his palms kept flickering. Suspicion darkened his face.
Harper turned to Dimitri, examining him with an inscrutable face.
“Heed my words, Harper. Please,” he murmured to her, too soft for Aedon to hear.
She narrowed her eyes, stared at him for a few seconds more, then turned on her heel and strode away.
Dimitri took a deep breath. Have I done enough? He hoped so. Whatever her true identity – and the more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his notion had been, for she could not possibly be of Saradon’s line – she did not deserve Saradon’s scrutiny...and worse.
“You ought not to have come here alone,” he heard Aedon say to her as she strode past.
“I don’t take orders from you, Aedon.”
The way she spat his name with such annoyance and coldness made Dimitri’s insides radiate with glee.
Dimitri watched. The distance she put between them. The way she stormed off. The troubled scowl as the elf watched her go. Oh, something had indeed changed between them. He smiled with satisfaction at Aedon’s frown, then slipped into the ether once more to race back to Afnirheim.
Thirty-Five
As she walked, Aedon pestered her with the same questions she had. What did Dimitrius want? Why had he come? How had he managed to penetrate so far into the dwarven stronghold? How had he found her?
Then his tone became more suspicious. Such an isolated spot... Had she perhaps conspired to meet him?
At that musing, Harper stopped. Aedon almost ran into her at her abrupt halt. She whirled around, shaking with anger, and slapped him across the face as hard as she could.
“Still your tongue, Aedon!” she snarled. “For once, be quiet! I don’t know any more than you do.” Without another word, she stormed off again to find Brand and Erika.
She eventually found them in the great hall, drinking and laughing with a table of raucous dwarves, but at her arrival – and her thunderous expression – they set down their tankards and slipped away from the mirth.
She told them what had transpired, ignoring Aedon, who still dithered behind her. His cheek, she was viciously pleased to note, was red. Somehow, it felt good to vent her frustrations when he had been so cold to her. He had not remarked upon it, so she did not apologise.
“So he wants us to leave?” asked Brand. His gaze repeatedly strayed to Aedon’s scarlet cheek, but he did not remark upon it.
“It seems so. He wanted to warn me – genuinely, I think – that if we stay, we will be involved in the battles to come.”
“Then let’s go.” said Aedon. “Once Ragnar is healed, let’s travel as far from here as we can. Maybe across the mountains to the lands beyond.”
Erika glared at him. “I’m not going anywhere yet. I have a score to settle.”
Brand’s gaze flicked to her, but he held his tongue. Harper saw how he pursed his lips, as though he wanted to appeal she not do anything foolish, but she knew he had already said such things and been rebuked for it. “If you will not go, I will also stay.”
“It seems this is the only place I can find answers,” Harper added softly. “I’ll stay, too.” She tried to shut out what that might mean.
Keldheim will not go the same way as Afnirheim, she reassured herself.
Aedon sighed. “We’re not fighters. We don’t have any part to play in this.”
Brand gestured at the door. “Then go.” He sighed, his voice softening. “We have followed you far over the years, Aedon, even when you have led us into folly. We ask you, this time, to follow us.”
Aedon squirmed, but he had no choice. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’m still not happy, though,” he added rebelliously. “Dimitrius has never been selfless. No doubt this is one of his schemes. He’s always plotting something, and whatever he wants is not to our benefit.”
“I’m sure,” said Harper, surprising herself with the sureness of her tone. “But something in me is certain, completely convinced, that he means me...us no harm...”
She had not told them of the open doubt she had sensed in Dimitrius, seen written on his face. Dimitrius is changing, she thought. I don’t think he’s as bad as they make out. Not anymore. He’s realised what folly he has gotten himself into. What trouble he has unleashed.
“I think you might be surprised to find us working alongside each other in the future. I think our aims might be aligned.” Aedon scoffed at that, and the others murmured their doubts, but Harper only shrugged. “I just have a hunch. You’ll see.”
OVER THE COMING DAYS, Keldheim’s fortifications grew. Dwarves poured in from across Valtivar until the city was full to bursting and every bed was occupied. Harper, Aedon, Brand, and Erika had been moved to the könig’s own halls...where Harper and Erika shared, as did Brand and Aedon...for their old abode now housed ten dwarven warriors from Himmelheim.
Brand and Erika seemed alive with the hum of war. They held a new energy, a vibrancy, that had not been there before, and spent every spare hour training in hand-to-hand combat with the dwarves, amongst whom they were starting to earn quite the reputation.
In the fighting hall, which rang with the clash of blades, Harper and Aedon partnered. He had said no more of the slap she had dealt him – she suspected it had stung his pride – and she conversed no more than she had to.
Instead, they sparred in near silence, dancing and whirling in a kaleidoscope of light and colour as they attacked and defended against magical assaults. Harper’s blood thrummed with the force of magic rushing through her, setting her afire in energy. Finally, Aedon called a halt.
“That’s enough for now,” he said, wiping a glistening brow on his sleeve. “I’m going to spar with one of Jarl Halvar’s men to keep my blade true. I suggest you do the same.” He nodded to her and turned away.
“Wait,” she blurted, stepping toward him.
He halted, turned back to her, and raised an eyebrow.
She could have laughed, though mirthlessly, at how their relationship had changed. At first, she, nothing more than a mortal nobody chas
ing after the handsome, light-hearted elf. Then discovering her own magical talents, set afire with lust for him, daring to pursue it. Now she felt they were on an equal plane, perhaps at long last, and found herself utterly indifferent toward him, now he had shown his true heart.
We will be friends again, in time, she knew, for she had no intention of leaving the companionship she had found with the rest of them, but I will never seek him again.
“Yes?” he prompted, still waiting.
She wiped the small smirk from her face. “I have a question. About Dimitrius.” I couldn’t ask him when you arrived, she thought with no small amount of irritation. How much else was left unsaid? She would never know.
His own expression became closed, guarded.
“I don’t know how he found me in particular, but how did he reach Keldheim? Where I was... It was impregnable. I mean, elves can’t fly, but if he could, I would have seen him come from either end of the bridge. He just seemed to appear out of nowhere.” She frowned, recalling his scent washing over her. “I can’t fathom it.”
Aedon shifted. They seemed to be alone, despite being amid an entire hall of weapon-smashing dwarves.
“I don’t know,” he said eventually. “I’m an elf. Magic is innate, but that doesn’t mean I can do or know everything. There’s much I do not know of magic, and darker magics beyond that. He has skills I am not privy to.”
By the way he gritted his teeth, the confession seemed to annoy him, but it only intrigued her. Dimitrius was more powerful than any other she had met. Perhaps it stood to reason that he possessed more powerful, different magics. She had no doubt she would see him again. When she did... I will ask him myself. One way or another, she was determined to find an answer.
At that moment, Jarl Halvar strode through the melee to their side. “Harper of Caledan.” He bowed to her. She replied in kind, raising a fist to her chest in the dwarven sign of respect. He was pleased by that, judging by the little upturn of the corner of his mouth, but his face remained grim.
“Jarl Halvar.”
“You are to speak with the Mother. At once. She commands it.”
Harper frowned, but nodded. What could Vanir want with me again? She could not refuse, but part of her wanted to. She had discovered life-shattering revelations in the white caves. She didn’t know if she could take any more.
Thirty-Six
The white-haired crone awaited her. Seemingly agitated, Vanir paced beside the wellspring, her shoulders bowed and hunched with age.
“Oh, child. Come. Sit. Sit!”
Harper bowed and did as she was bidden, kneeling on the hard, rocky ground. Vanir scooped up a cup of the icy water and pressed it into her hands.
“Drink it now. Girl, the fates tell me more is yet to be known, and if you do not know now, you shall never know!”
Harper drained the cup, dribbling water down her chin in her haste. Vanir’s firm, knobby hands caught her as she sank into dreams.
DEEP VOICES DRONED around her, a choir singing, but their song was a lifeless dirge. Before her, she saw greenery wither and livestock crumple to the ground in death, all burning. The sky was dark and a wind rose, whipping about her. Magic sparked in the distance and a fire arose, its smoke casting over her with the wind, forcing itself up her nostrils to choke her.
A light in the darkness, a pinprick against the onslaught of death and despair, tugged her closer. In the maelstrom, the tiniest thread of life pulsed, bright and clear. She fought to reach it, kneeling in the scorched, blood-soaked earth to pluck it from the ground.
As she touched it, the light flickered before brightening around her, thrusting outward, beating back the dark. Harper’s eyes widened. In her palms, she held a Dragonheart radiating all hues. Its iridescent surfaces shimmered as they reflected its own light in fractured beams.
Suddenly, she felt a gentle hand upon the top of her head. She glanced up to see the ghostly form of an impossibly tall, ethereal woman towering over her. Her golden hair flowed over an elegant gown of pure, white light, her face too bright to behold.
“Fated one, thou hast chosen well. Thou shalt seek the fulfilment of my vision. Half a millenia have I waited for this moment. Valxiron’s legion spreads anew...in Saradon, his disciple. It was spoken. The Heart of a Dragon shall resurrect Him, and the Heart of a Dragon shall cast Him down. Thou shalt come into the midst of a storm thou cannot seek to comprehend. As it was before, so it will be again. Thrice as hard willst He attack, and thrice as deadly will the toll be. Thou art a pinprick of fading light against the onslaught, yet if thou standest true and with faith unwavering, thou shalt triumph over Valxiron’s servant. Beware the Tainted Star, and heed the Shadow.”
The voice faded, the ghostly touch leaving her. Harper opened her mouth to ask for more, for none of the words made sense, but no sound emerged. Then she was flying herself, up and away, the Dragonheart clutched in her hands. She passed out of the storm and into the dark of night, where the veil of stars glittered above her, clean and pure.
ALL BLURRED. SHE SAT in Vanir’s cave once more. Her first instinct was to look to her hands.
Empty. No hint of anything having lain in them.
“What did you see, girl? Let me see!” Vanir demanded impatiently. The crone grasped Harper’s face between her own hard palms and stared into her grey eyes with her milky ones. Harper suddenly knew she could do as the elves did – see into another’s mind. Vanir’s sightless eyes widened as she beheld what Harper had seen.
“Twelve blessings,” she whispered in awe, her hands slipping away from Harper’s cheeks. “She has gifted you. I knew it must be of significance when I felt the summons for you. Valxiron... I have not heard that name uttered in an age, and ever should it remain unspoken.” She then muttered to herself in Dwarvish.
Harper did not understand, but Vanir had already creaked to her feet and shuffled deeper into the cave, muttering to herself. “Mother have mercy upon us all, if She is involved.” Vanir turned to Harper. “It seems you are racking up quite the clutch of titles, girl. Harper of Caledan, of Pelenor, of House Ravakian, Mother Blessed, and Fated One. I ought to call you Frelsa, not girl.”
“Frelsa?”
“Saviour. You will save us all from Valxiron’s disciple.”
“I... What? Nonsense. I cannot. I don’t even know...anything!” Harper spluttered.
Vanir cackled and moved close to clasp Harper’s hands and draw her to her feet. “It matters not, Frelsa. Don’t you see? It does not matter. It will come to pass as long as you heed Her words.”
“But I don’t even know what they mean! Who is she?” Harper protested.
Vanir laughed, rich and throaty. “Oh, I did not say they would make sense. But nonetheless, heed them as best you can, for Erendriel’s words will save us all. You may not wield the blade that severs the serpent's head, but you are a puppet of greater powers. Trust them to move you as they will.”
Erendriel? Valxiron? Chills crawled down Harper’s back at Vanir’s words, and for a moment, she felt an icy sheet of panic drench her. No. This isn’t a game of chatura. I’m in charge of my own actions.
In the dark, eerie cave, with only the babble of the wellspring – which seemed to talk to her in its strange, burbling, hissing voice – it was easy to see wraiths and threats. Hastily, she bid Vanir farewell, rushed past the curious Halvar, and strode to the balcony above the cleft.
In solitude, she breathed in the cold air as she sat and leaned against the wall that guarded the abyss. Below, Vanir’s waterfall tumbled. Harper closed her eyes, reliving the vision over and over, trying to recall every last detail, each word the strange woman had said, and Vanir’s own cryptic offerings.
She could not help but wonder whether Dimitrius would appear again, or decipher whether she sought or dreaded that. It was almost dark when she rose on stiff, aching, chilled limbs...still with no answers.
SHE COULD TELL THE others thought her vision almost silly, but the dwarves – for the könig was t
old all of the Mother’s prophecies – took it far more seriously.
“We cannot allow you to come with us.” König Korrin glared at Harper, who stood before him, outfitted in one of his smith’s own fine mail shirts.
“With respect, König, I am not one of your subjects. Thus, you cannot command me,” said Harper. She stood tall, but her heart hammered, and she had to lock her knees to stop them from shaking.
To speak to a king thusly!
Toroth would have struck her down where she stood, but she had taken the measure of Korrin and knew he was not the same.
He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “The Mother’s visions do not lie. If fated She says, fated you are. If you are the one who will save us all, it is too much to risk you.”
“You would lock me up to prevent harm coming to me?” Harper’s lips curled in derision. What a load of tripe. “Vanir–” Gasps rang out at her disrespect, so she checked herself. “The Mother told me to trust where the visions willed me to go.”
She had no idea who they were, but it served her own ends to use Vanir’s words to buy her freedom. Korrin wouldn’t imprison me, would he? It did not seem like the kind of deed the dwarves would commit, but she could not be certain. Not after she had seen how they treated their slaves, the tikrit. The pits in Afnirheim had been their true home, after all.
Korrin ground his teeth together. “No,” he admitted. “We would not do that. You have committed no crime. You are free to come and go as you will, as a guest of Keldheim and my hall.”
“Then with respect, König, I will go to Afnirheim. I have a vested interest in what is there, as we all do, as the Mother has seen,” she added pointedly, bringing her fist to her chest to show him respect in her defiance.