Chronicles of Pelenor Trilogy Collection

by Meg Cowley

  Harper tried to surge forward, but Saradon’s bond held her in place. Slowly, despite her strangled screams of anger, her body sat on her chair once more. Saradon’s magic forced her to sit, back straight, even raising her chin so she glared imperiously at her friends below her.

  Furious tears streamed down her cheeks, and she raged against the magic that held her there, to no avail. Harper gaped at her friends. They were almost unrecognisable – beaten, bruised, and dirty. Erika’s furs were crusted with dirt and blood, and Brand’s wings were tattered and covered in gore.

  The goblins did not dare get too close, it seemed, for they kept Brand and Erika in their center and at bay with the pointed ends of the various weapons they held. Brand and Erika had nothing but the clothes on their backs, but it did not stop them from standing back to back, as though they could protect each other from their captors.

  Her friends’ gazes darted between the goblins. They looked like prey. They had a hunted, wary, vulnerable look, and as much as Brand swung at any goblin who came too close and Erika ducked and wove between their feinting attacks, Harper knew they could not succeed.

  The cruel scenario reminded her of the caged bears that had visited Glymouth with the travelling shows that rarely came to Denholme County. She recalled how the animals had been much the same – doggedly tired, malnourished, and battered, yet still dangerous enough to kill...and provide good entertainment. She hated the spectacle before her now as much as she had hated that. Brand’s and Erika’s bodies were peppered with small cuts and nicks that were meant to draw out suffering, rather than kill.

  How can anyone bear to watch or enjoy such cruel sport?

  Her friends lashed out at the goblins who harried them, though they were in no fit state to defend themselves. Their chests rose and fell raggedly with each uneven breath, and their lowered stances and delayed reflexes only allowed the goblins further successes, until they shrieked with glee at their torment of the Aerian and the nomad. Their cacophony drilled into Harper’s already tired mind until her head pounded, but she thought nothing of it, so preoccupied with her efforts to throw off Saradon’s control upon her body so she could help them.

  “Please, stop this,” she implored, but Saradon only waved his hand, sealing her mouth so she could not defy him further. Before her, Dimitri gazed at the spectacle before him. She knew he could not help, for it would damn them all.

  It seemed Brand and Erika had resigned themselves to their fate, though they would not give up, their defences growing slower and more laboured. Eventually, one goblin got too close.

  Brand lunged forward to grab the goblin from amidst his cohort with his giant arms. They bulged as he crushed the goblin into his chest, snarling, teeth bared. The goblin stopped moving, and as Brand released it, Harper could see the goblin’s patched armour was dented and crumpled, the body twisted out of proportion.

  Brand lifted the goblin by its neck and ankles. With an almighty roar, he flung it toward the goblins surrounding them. They were knocked over and scattered by the assault, and Brand lunged forward to try his luck again, managing to stomp on the helmed head of another goblin, who did not rise, before he and Erika were once more hemmed in by the now vengeful horde that bristled with even more blades than before.

  They were repaid tenfold for their rebellion. They set upon Brand and Erika like wild beasts, hacking and slashing with cruel serrated blades, along with their teeth and claws. Brand crushed Erika close to his body and hunched over, closing his wings around them both and bowing before the onslaught. His wings were rent, slashed and marred, as he bellowed in pain but did not yield as the goblins’ blades bit deep, rivulets of blood running down him to pool onto the floor.

  Harper refused to shut her eyes, refused to let Saradon win, but tears streamed down her face at her friends’ plight. Her strength ran thin against Saradon’s seemingly endless reserves. She could not help, no matter how much she wanted to. Saradon seemed to sense her submission, for the shackles upon her loosened – though not enough for her to move or use her magic. But now she had enough room to twitch and to breathe fully, though she did not want to take in the air from the tainted hall.

  She flung herself from her chair with all her might, the most she could manage with hardly any control over her limbs. She crashed to the floor before Saradon, on her belly and at his mercy.

  “Please! I beg you, stop this!” She looked up at him, her cheeks wet and eyes brimming with fresh, angry tears, willing for some ounce of compassion in him, but as she searched his cold, hard gaze, she found none. “I’ll do anything to make it stop. Please!”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Anything?”

  “Yes. Please, make them stop!”

  “It will be so.” With a sharp slash of his hand and a crack of magic, the goblins fell back, shrieking, though they still cavorted around their prisoners, albeit now at a distance, as though they wished to continue their sport rather than obey their master’s command. Saradon rose from his throne, slowly and with relish. Harper scrambled to her hands and knees, caught in the folds of the dress, and her heart palpitated with relief at the sight of Brand and Erika, now unharried by their tormentors.

  The cold stone seeped into her hands and knees, numbing them, but Harper did not miss the unmistakeable twist of magic writhing around her.

  “You offered me anything, so I shall take what I will of you, daughter. I choose your obedience. You shall follow me in all I command, until you learn that my way is the righteous one and follow me of your own will. It is for your own good. Your willfulness has no place in my court.”

  Harper felt the magic bite sharply into her as he bound her to his will. Her own was suppressed, forced down within her until she felt like she was trapped helplessly at the bottom of a well, yet she could do nothing to defy him.

  Horror filled her. She knew she was entirely under his thrall, and she had delivered herself there without even securing her friends’ releases.

  What have I done?

  True to Saradon’s word, he called the goblins off, banishing them from the hall and sending them away with a touch of his own malign cruelty so they shrieked in pain for his pleasure.

  “Detestable creatures.” His lips curled as he turned away to reposition himself on his grand throne.

  Harper rose, by his will, dipped into a graceful curtsey, which she would never have been able to execute without him, her puppeteer, then slipped into her own seat beside him. Dimitri refused to catch her eye, but his clenched fist was not lost on her.

  Her friends still cowered on the floor, beaten and broken, but their will was not so entirely sapped that they were defeated. Brand still hunched over Erika, though now they half-lay upon the stone. His eyes caught Harper’s. She tried to fill her gaze with urgency and hope, but he stared at her impassively, dazed after their ordeal, and no doubt confused by her position.

  Please believe the best of me, she begged, knowing her message would not reach him. I tried to help. Even if, in the end, she had accomplished little but prolonging their torture. Her stomach churned with nausea at the thought of all their suffering and her uselessness.

  “Who are your dear friends, daughter?” Saradon’s fingers, steepled under his chin, rubbed together as he contemplated the sorry prisoners before him.

  She could not deny him. “Brand of the Aerians and Erika of the Indis.”

  “Ah, the Indis. Of course. I have just returned from your lands,” he said to Erika, who glared at him through the crack in Brand’s wings, as though wishing she could rip him limb from limb. Saradon, without magic, would have been no match for a fit and healthy Erika. A pang of anger rippled through Harper.

  One day, she will get her vengeance upon him. Somehow, I will see it so.

  Erika bared her teeth and spat at him. The bloody globule fell far short of the dais, splattering upon the already sullied stone.

  His lip curled. “Your kin were far more welcoming and respectful. You will be most pleased to know that th
ey once more join my banners.”

  No! Worry chased through Harper.

  “I shall give you the chance, of course, to stand with your kin under my rule.”

  Erika spat at him again.

  Using his magic, he pressed her to the floor, crushing her face against it as he made her bow in submission. “Foolish,” he snarled. “You shall not receive a second offer. Die in the darkness with your defender instead.” Saradon sneered at Brand, who had collapsed beside Erika, slowly weakening as his lifeblood left him through the great gashes in his wings.

  “Be the sport of the goblins for the rest of your miserable lives. I care not.” Saradon summoned the goblins once more, and Brand and Erika were hauled away, leaving trails of scuffed dirt and blood in their wake – and then nothing but silence.

  “The Indis agreed to ally with you, Lord?” Dimitri’s quiet voice broke through the deafening silence.

  “They did indeed, without any real need for coercion. Their hate runs deep, as I knew it would.” Saradon sounded confident. “When the time comes, they will join me. Already, they travel west over the tundra and the mountains to join us upon the low plains.”

  “Excellent,” said Dimitri, but Harper could hear how devoid of emotion his voice was. She wondered if he felt as scared as her.

  “More than excellent. The Indis were some of the strongest fighters under my banners. If they are any remnant of their former selves, they will serve us well, though their numbers have dwindled. With the fury of the Indis, the disarray of the goblins, and the righteousness of the common peoples of Pelenor, all united against the crumbling court that dies from within, our victory shall be swift and certain.”

  Saradon turned to Harper with a half-smile. “I have already seen it, like your own visions. Come. Look.” He waved his hand, palm down, before him, and a great, flat mirror coalesced and hovered by his hips.

  Harper rose and padded over to join him, though her very body wanted to shy away from being so close to his presence. She gasped as she beheld the scene within the mirror.

  “The old and much forgotten Eldarkind gift of scrying, daughter, of my own foresight. Behold what will come to pass.”

  It was disturbingly similar to her visions from Erendriel. Saradon smiled, as though he knew what she likened it to. Eyes wide and mouth open, she advanced, resting the tips of her fingers upon the edge of the mirror, as though she could reach into the vision underneath the smooth, silvered glass.

  The blasted earth passed beneath her, as though from a bird’s view. Burning and charred piles were partly obscured by still rising pillars of smoke that twisted in the winds to cover almost all. The dead were a flood upon the earth.

  “What is this?” she breathed.

  Beside her, Dimitri also stood, watching silently. As he moved, the smooth fabric of his sleeve touched her arm. A minor reassurance.

  “Victory,” Saradon hissed. “Victory at last. Five hundred years have I been denied, but no more. The wheel shall be riven, and I shall build a new Pelenor from the ashes. Pelenor will fall, with Valtivar soon to follow. Slowly but surely, my dominion will spread as far as the land passes east and west and north and south, until it can go no farther. All will fall under my banners and obey my rule. No more will there be war and strife. All will serve.”

  “The land is barren,” said Dimitri, his voice hollow.

  “War has a cost, Lord Ellarian, as you well know.” Saradon glanced at him sharply. “The land will recover, as always. The peoples, as well.”

  Gripped by his will, Harper felt a giddy swoop of excitement that was not her own pass through her, though she was horrified by his intent, despairing by the second that there was any hope. His excitement mixed with the nauseating fear that would not leave her belly, making it all worse.

  “I could not be more pleased with how all progresses,” Saradon said, drawing up with a satisfied smile. “It will not be long now before the sword will strike and I will be king of all.”

  Saradon turned to Harper, smiling with a cruel glint in his eyes. “And you, daughter, shall be first by my side in all things.”

  Harper had no choice as his will forced her to curtsy before him deeply and remain low, with her head bowed and her gaze on the floor. “I will serve,” she intoned, fighting every word he made her speak.

  Forty-Nine

  Dimitri escorted Harper to her chamber in silence. She tried to take note of the twists and turns, the many levels they climbed until her legs burned, but was quickly lost.

  She glanced at him as they strode, their steps echoing down the dark and deserted halls, but he stared resolutely ahead, jaw set. She did not dare speak. Not with the darkness nipping at their heels beyond the glow of the faelight he cast to illuminate the way. Not with their master close by and sure to know all their thoughts and words.

  They had to be in the jarl’s quarters, high in the mountain fortress. There, the air was not marred by war. Fine tapestries still hung from the walls, containing some sparse warmth in the space, and nothing was damaged, desecrated, or looted. Harper was most thankful there was no sign of death. She had seen enough and could bear no more.

  She was surprised to see she had not just one room, but a suite of her own, with a living space, a dining space, and a bathing room, much like the rooms she, Aedon, Brand, and Erika had first shared in Keldheim. It felt comfortingly familiar, though far too large and empty for her liking.

  Dimitri sank onto a cushioned armchair. His entire body seemed to slump into it, as if he were a sail that had lost all its wind. He looked depleted, which concerned her.

  “Are you all right?” she asked hesitantly, dithering by the arched entrance.

  Dimitri waved her to a chair adjacent to his own. “No,” he said dully, running a hand through his hair, ruining his coiffed look.

  Harper sat, arranging her dress around her, and waited, staring at him expectantly.

  He stared at her, taking in her unusual appearance for a long moment, before his eyes flicked to hers, then dipped away. “We are bound to this runaway stallion now, and I fear we cannot untie ourselves.”

  “The mirror...” Harper twisted the fine fabric of her dress between her fingers.

  “Yes. If that were truly foresight, then it does not bode well. I would go so far as to say it is quite hopeless.” Dimitri shook his head and stroked his lips pensively with his forefinger and thumb as he stared into nothingness.

  “But what of Erendriel’s vision?” Harper leaned forward. “She said there was hope – if only we could remain faithful and follow the way.”

  Dimitri laughed. “How do you propose we do that, Harper? Hmm? Because you just as good as gave yourself away!”

  “You’re angry at me?” she asked incredulously. “I’m trying to get us out of this mess!”

  “Yes, I’m angry... No. I’m furious at your idiocy!” He stood, unable to contain his energy, and stormed to the opposite side of the chamber before turning to stride back. “You gave your freedom for nothing, and without it, we are as good as damned, Erendriel or not!”

  “I gave it to save my friends!” Harper stood, too, squaring up to him, though she had to look up to meet his stormy gaze.

  “Yet you did not save them! They live merely to die another day,” he said, scowling. “If anything, you only prolonged their suffering.”

  Tears pricked Harper’s eyes at the thought. “Then how can I help them?”

  “You cannot,” snapped Dimitri. “You gave your word to him. You don’t realise what you’ve done, do you? You have condemned all just for the chance, ill-used, to save two.” He threw his hands into the air, punched the wall, and leaned heavily against it.

  “You condemned us all by raising him!”

  “Argh!” He wheeled on her with a snarl. “And it was a mistake that cannot be taken back! I know now that power does not lead me to my desires. When will you cease putting me through the wringer for it? Must I be reminded of it at every turn? We are where we are. We must
react, adapt, survive...then maybe we can undo this. You cannot be mad at me for wanting a better life.”

  “For yourself, or for others?” She glared at him.

  “Who says it cannot be both?” he muttered rebelliously, glowering at her under lowered brows.

  She stared at him, impassively, trying to fathom him. He did not seem evil. Misguided? She felt like that fit him more. He was trying to do what he thought was right, in a way, though selfish in his aims and how he went about it. Or he was just plain selfish.

  Her silence, her lack of retort, seemed to calm him and he huffed. “I’m sorry, Harper. I ought not express my anger to you. It won’t get us anywhere.”

  Harper sank into her chair, looking into her lap, where her hands unclenched. “What will?” she asked in a hollow voice. If he was right, what hope was there? What small chance she may have believed they had was surely gone if she had given herself to Saradon without thought.

  “We are alive, for one,” Dimitri said, but she could hear the bluffed confidence in his tone, the attempt to rally her.

  “If this were chatura, we would be out of moves.”

  “It might seem that way, but whilst we still draw breath, we might find a way out of this.”

  “But you don’t have any ideas?”

  “No,” he admitted, sinking back into the chair beside her. “I don’t. Not yet.”

  “We are safe by his side for now, though, are we not?”

  “I believe so. As long as we dance to his tune, we will remain outside his scrutiny.”

  “Then that’s what we will have to do to survive, isn’t it?” She used his own word against him.

  “Yes,” he said heavily. “That’s how I’ve felt since...since I raised him. All the while, I’ve been trying to discover a way out, a way to stop it all. I just haven’t found one yet.”

  “Then we must find one together,” Harper said, straightening, a curl of fire within her. Some hope that all was not yet lost. “If we are perhaps the only two close enough to him to know what he plans, yet are below his regard, we are best placed of all to stop him.”