Chronicles of Pelenor Trilogy Collection

by Meg Cowley

  A screaming she-elf was dragged from the arms of her partner. Her body, covered with gem-embellished fine silks, glittered as she threw herself this way and that, but their grip was iron upon her. Her partner stepped forward, gripping one of their arms, but magic blasted him backwards, sending him crashing into a stone column. With a crunch, he crumpled to the floor, gasping and moaning in pain.

  “Unhand me at once, you cretins! Guards!” the she-elf cried out desperately.

  But none assisted her. None dared move, though many a gaze flicked to Saradon, who nodded approvingly and motioned for them to take her.

  “She will be a fitting tribute.”

  “We thank you, Brother Ravakian.” Their voices were a united whisper that hissed around the hall. As one, they turned and left, their cloaks swishing across the floor.

  Dimitri saw Harper’s wide eyes. He squeezed her arm momentarily, a reminder not to drop the mask. Her attention flicked to him, and he felt her apprehension.

  “I will explain later.”

  At their departure, Saradon motioned to the musicians, who struck up a tune, after a shaky start, then turned to Dimitri and Harper.

  “Unexpected allies can be found everywhere, Lord Ellarian.” His smile was wolfishly smug.

  Dimitri inclined his head. “Indeed. They will serve?” he asked, but the question had already been answered. Saradon had clearly knelt before the Order previously. Did they know he already concealed the very spirit of their founding master?

  “Oh yes. Come. Let us go to them now. They have their tribute, and I will show them how powerful a master I will be to them.”

  Dimitri held back a shudder at Saradon’s words. The she-elf would be dead by dawn. But he could not deny Saradon. Dimitri tucked Harper’s arm closer into his side and followed Saradon through the ether, to the dark halls he still had nightmares of.

  HARPER WORE THE MASK well, standing poised beside him, glaring disdainfully at those around them, but Dimitri knew it was just that–a veil over her own true feelings. He could feel the shaking terror Harper held deep inside.

  The cold, dark halls did nothing to ease his own coiling apprehension. Faint brands burned along the walls but seemed to cast little light. What warmth they threw out was quickly absorbed by the sea of dark cloaks and hoods surrounding them–and the sobbing she-elf as they restrained her with hands and magic.

  Saradon prowled to the position of power before them all. The figure standing there drew up in indignance, but recoiled and subsided when Saradon fixed him in an unrelenting, steel gaze.

  “Your tributes have been symbolic for so very long.” His voice seemed to take on a deeper cadence, as though another spoke through his mouth, layering the two voices atop one another. Saradon raised his hands, cupping them in the air, then spread them wide. “Now I stand before you, your master reborn.”

  Whispers of confusion and disbelief flowed around the space. Saradon ignored them.

  “I will show you the truth.”

  He advanced upon the she-elf, who had been forced to kneel before him. Her feet were bare, her hair ruffled and braids untwining, her dress torn. Blackened tears, from the kohl about her eyes, trailed down her cheeks as she raised her gaze to him, her eyes wide in terror, and immediately looked away.

  Saradon halted before her, grasped her chin between his finger and thumb, forcing her to meet his eyes, and began to speak in a language Dimitri had tried to forget–a blackened speech, corrupted from the pure Eldartongue it had been born of.

  She shook before him, trembling with fear and cold...and something else. Hairs prickled on the back of Dimitri’s neck as he pulled Harper closer in unspoken solidarity.

  “Do not turn aside, no matter what,” he said into her mind, though he wished he could spirit them both away.

  As Saradon’s voice undulated, those around him took up the same dirge, intoning word for word with him. Dimitri clamped his mouth shut. He would not utter those words again. He hoped to never sink to such desperation as to have to break that oath to himself in order to survive.

  The voices around them chanted to a frenzy, and magic rustled through the dark hall, crescendoing, Saradon and the she-elf at the centre. She screamed, a high, keening wail that drove right into his core, and judging by Harper’s trembling, hers, too.

  The she-elf’s shaking increased, until she shuddered back and forth, only Saradon’s iron grip upon her chin keeping her upright. Dimitri gritted his teeth as he saw the life flow from her, a warm, honey glow rising to Saradon, who inhaled it greedily, his eyes fixed upon her.

  Dimitri tightened his grip on Harper as the she-elf shrivelled before them, her fair skin withering into old age, then to dust. Finally, she crumpled upon the floor, face down, before Saradon, nothing more than a shrunken corpse that seemed centuries old.

  Silence descended as the incantation concluded. Saradon smiled lazily as he surveyed them all. As one, they dropped to their knees, raising their cupped palms to him.

  “A new age dawns for Altarea, and it begins here in Pelenor. My dominion will spread from north to south, east to west, until all Altarea falls into my realm. You will serve.” It was not a request. He glared around at the bowed heads.

  “We will serve,” they murmured to him, their heads lowered and hands still raised.

  Saradon met Dimitri’s gaze, his smile curling wider in triumph. Dimitri nodded, hiding his own troubled feelings behind a stern visage. Saradon turned upon his heel and left, the crowd parting to let him through, though he completely vanished a few steps later. Dimitri took no more time before whisking Harper away.

  BACK IN THE WARM, COMFORTING dimness of his entrance hall, Dimitri stood with Harper still in his arms, both hollow-eyed.

  “What was that?” she whispered, pushing out of his grasp and stepping back. She clutched herself as chills crawled over her bare arms. The warm, fuzzy glow of drink, the heady bravado of the daring act they had put on, had faded. Now she could not shake the pervasive cold or pounding headache.

  Dimitri closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “What was that?” she asked again, more insistently.

  “Dimi?” Emyria’s voice warbled up the corridor, which seemed to break Dimitri’s reverie.

  “Not here,” Dimitri said, but he did not so much as look at Harper as he swept them off toward the library, in the opposite direction of Emyria.

  When they entered, he shut the door behind them with a quiet click, then swept around the space. Harper felt his magic ruffle through it, too, as though checking they were alone. The dark space was watchfully silent, shadows yawning in every corner and up into the heights. At last, he leaned his hands upon the back of an armchair and let out a loud exhale, shaking his head again.

  “It seems the Order of Valxiron has returned–or, rather, still endures.”

  Harper ground her teeth. “Will you stop speaking in riddles and tell me what’s going on?” She stormed forward angrily, but her heel caught on the edge of a rug and she toppled. In an instant, Dimitri grasped her, steadying her, but not in an embrace, though they stood close. When she raised her gaze to his, his eyes were cold and hard.

  “It is clear Saradon is Valxiron, or at least his voice. Valxiron has always had a following. Always small. Always secret. Always following his dark ways. I had hoped the rot of his rhetoric had been exterminated from Pelenor, but apparently not. They must have gone further underground than I could reach.”

  Harper narrowed her eyes at him. He only gives me more questions, yet no answers.

  “They number far greater than I thought. And now he has the perfect legion of followers to spread his word, to enforce his rule.” Dimitri shuddered.

  “How do you know so much about them?” She frowned when he blanched and made to step away, but she fisted her hand in his shirt, stopping his retreat. “Tell me,” she said, her voice firm.

  He vanished from her grasp. She gasped and wobbled, clutching onto the back of a nearby chair to steady herself a
s he re-appeared across the room, lurking in the shadows. She growled at him.

  “Don’t keep secrets from me,” she snarled. “What compromises you compromises us.” Brand had told her much the same under the mountain. Now she realised why. What was Dimitri keeping from her? If he would not speak of it, it had to be big enough to endanger them both.

  Dimitri glared at her as he drifted forward. “I don’t want to talk about it. You don’t need to know.”

  Harper ripped the shoes from her feet and stormed over to him, barefoot, with one in her hand, squaring up to him and jabbing a finger into his chest. “Tell me, or I’ll shove this where the sun doesn’t shine.”

  He gaped at her for a moment, before swallowing. “You do realise that’s not a weapon and I could crush you in an instant.”

  She shoved her face closer to his and raised the shoe, its sharp heel pointed at him. “Try me,” she growled.

  He suddenly laughed and held up his hands. “All right. I’ll tell you. But I want you to promise something.”

  “What?”

  His amusement faded. “That you won’t judge me. It was a long time ago. I’m not the same as I was then.”

  Harper narrowed her eyes once more, then lowered the shoe and let it fall to the floor with a clunk.

  Dimitri gestured to the chairs. “You might as well sit.”

  “I’ll stand. Stop delaying.”

  Dimitri sighed and ran a hand through his hair, ruining his neat styling. “All right.”

  He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, sighed, and began.

  “The Order of Valxiron, as its name suggests, follows the Dark One. It has existed since the dawn of our nations, when the Eldarkind ruled the world, and Valxiron sought dominion over all. Do you know the tale?” He flicked his attention to her. When she nodded, his gaze fell to the floor once more.

  “When he was vanquished, some of his followers did not wish his time to be over. It is not known whether he truly ended–though it would now seem the answer is no–and they sought, in secret, to bring about the day he would rule again. That their place at his side, as his favoured few, would be restored.

  “In his name, they have practised the arcane arts ever since, keeping alive his tongue, his sorcery, his mission. Spreading it. Practising it. Their work is forbidden. You heard their tongue. It is dark and dangerous. You saw what it can do.”

  Both shuddered at the memory of the young she-elf, full of life one minute, shrivelled and dried the next.

  “Here in Pelenor, they work underground–metaphorically and literally. Their members are indistinguishable from any other peoples you see. They blend in seamlessly. Outside the Order, it is never spoken of.

  “There are signs, if you know where to look and for what, but it is as if it does not exist. It has come close to extermination several times, but the roots always survive, so the weed grows back.” Dimitri scowled.

  “It appears they still endure, flourishing more than I thought possible. Ready to support, now their master is returned,” he finished darkly. “He may rule the court through fear, but if he has the Order, he has true power to hold sway. They will follow him without question.”

  “If they are so secret, how do you know so much about them?” Harper asked, frowning. He was the king’s spymaster. Perhaps it was not so farfetched. Yet he had asked her not to judge him.

  What has he done?

  Dimitri skulked, uncharacteristically meek, avoiding the question.

  Harper glared at him, voicing her question. “What did you do?” she asked flatly.

  “You have to understand. It was a long time ago,” he said quickly. “I was young and foolish. I wanted power and revenge, and they offered it to me it on a pla—”

  “You were one of them?” Harper hissed, horrified. She backed away a step, evaluating him in new light. Deny it. Please.

  Dimitri’s silence was her answer.

  A sick feeling swooped through Harper’s stomach. “How could you?” she breathed.

  “You must understa—”

  “I don’t have to understand anything.”

  Dimitri opened his mouth to retort, but closed it a second later. “You’re right,” he acknowledged. “I made an incredibly poor decision in joining their ranks. I did terrible things, under their orders, in his name...and as much as it felt like it was beyond my control, I chose to follow my masters.

  “I eventually realised the path they would lead me down. I saw them for who they truly were. They had found me in my darkest hours and promised me everything I longed for. Maybe they would have eventually delivered, but in the end, I knew it would not make anything right.”

  Harper watched him expectantly.

  “So... I left.”

  “You just walked out.”

  “Well, it wasn’t quite that easy. It took a lot to get out. I had to become someone they feared too much to try and take a shot at.”

  Understanding dawned on Harper. “That’s why everyone hates and fears you.”

  “Yes. As the king’s spymaster, I was above reproach to all but the king, as long as I played the part.”

  “The king is dead.”

  “He is. And a much worse power will rule in his stead...with me by his side. I do not think they would dare harm me now, either, though they will probably expect me to fall into their ranks once more, since we share a common master.” Dimitri’s lip curled in distaste.

  Harper shivered, both because of the cold and everything that meant. Dimitri strode to the discarded blanket she had left earlier, unfurled it, and draped it around her shoulders before retreating to his former position.

  “Thank you,” she muttered, still not sure whether she was supposed to be mad, despise him, or be grateful he had spared a thought for her comfort.

  Why does he confuse me so? Just when I think I have him figured out...

  “Will you?” she asked when he remained silent. At his confused expression, she swallowed. “Join them once more, I mean.”

  Dimitri pressed his lips into a thin line. “No. Come. It’s easier to show you.” He beckoned to her, and she padded after him to the opposite end of the library.

  To her surprise, he bent toward a bookcase, grunting as he shoved aside some books that looked as though they had not been disturbed for a decade, if the dust upon them was any indication. He pressed a hidden release mechanism that gave a loud click before a section of shelving, stuffed with books, slid to the side and out of sight. Harper stilled, turning her wide eyes to Dimitri.

  He strode to the wooden door concealed behind the shelving. Harper peered around him. It doesn’t have a handle. Dimitri stroked a finger down it. Without a sound, the door swung open.

  “Come. Quickly.”

  He strode in without waiting for her, and she scrambled to follow. Magic brushed her skin like trailing cobwebs as she stepped inside. Dimitri closed the door, plunging them into pitch black. Dust tickled her nose, the smell of staleness and things long kept hanging heavy upon the air. Then light bloomed in his hand, and Harper also made her own faelight to brighten the space. It was tiny, cramped, an oddly shaped...

  “It runs between the walls,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “No one knows this is here. It’s protected by time’s secrets, and my own magic.”

  They stood practically shoulder to shoulder, and Dimitri had to stoop ever so slightly under the low, stone ceiling. They were surrounded by shelves of scrolls and books, as well as curious artefacts, save for one wall, where various items and notes had been affixed to the wall.

  “What is this place?” Harper whispered.

  Dimitri smirked. “No one can hear you, so don’t worry.”

  Harper was not sure whether that thought was comforting.

  “This is my old works on the Order.” Dimitri spread his hands as wide as the small space allowed. “When I left, I vowed to destroy them and their poisonous work. I almost managed it. But they have grown once more.” He shook his head. “I never sho
uld have stopped.”

  “You did all this?” Harper turned to take in the room.

  “Everything. Painstaking records on every individual I suspected. Their movements, finances, families... Everything you can think of. For years, I watched, recorded, monitored. When the time was right, when I was certain of the involvement, I struck.”

  “You killed them?” Harper’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “They faced the king’s justice. The Order of Valxiron has been outlawed for over a millennia now. Toroth...and his father before him, Menoth...feared and hated them. The Order had no place in their kingdoms. Dangerous people running around unchecked, beyond the scope of the throne.” Dimitri turned back to his records, frowning. “I must have missed something. I thought there were no more left, at least in Tournai.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair again.

  “What will you do now?”

  He turned, looming over her and drenching them both in shadows. “I don’t know. I am Saradon’s second-in-command, and you are his heir. We can do nothing publicly. Before long, I suspect we may have no choice but to ingratiate ourselves into their circles, but perhaps we can use it to our advantage to take them down from the inside.”

  Harper eyed the shelves upon shelves of records Dimitri had meticulously kept. She swallowed and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

  “What is it?” he asked softly.

  “What if they ask you to do terrible things again? Ask me?”

  Dimitri shuffled his feet. “I’m not sure. Perhaps we had best hope we are both too feared by them to want us involved.”

  As he turned back to his records, rifling through a sheath of papers, Harper thought he did not sound so sure.

  She stifled a yawn, her jarring nerves finally beginning to diminish, allowing exhaustion to sweep through her. She had no idea what time of night it was.