Heart of Dragons

by Meg Cowley

  It was a skill few knew he had and even fewer could master. Not even the king knew of it. It was an art lost long ago that he had only discovered through extensive research and more than a little arcane instruction.

  The dragon-riders of the Winged Kingsguard had openly mocked him, but Dimitri shrugged it off. Let them, he thought, and let them wonder and be afraid when I arrive before they with not a hair on my head disturbed.

  As they circled into a descent, he marked their destination – a craggy outcrop on a ridge of hills to the south of Tournai. He picked his own stopping point, the summit of the tallest rocky escarpment, and settled himself on a rock, the picture of relaxed and unspent calm. He wore no cloak, only his usual impeccably fine, tailored, immaculate dark suit, but a small charm warded off the biting wind that nipped at his reddening cheeks. They did not need to see him shiver.

  When the three-dozen dragon-riders landed to find him idly leaning on one hand and staring out over the valley before him, their surprise was evident. Yet, they did not ask him how it was possible. No, they would not show him they were curious. They would not admit they did not understand something he could do, that lay outside their abilities.

  “You found it all right, I see,” their leader called to him as he dismounted, more than a little annoyed.

  “Of course,” Dimitri said. He met his gaze and gave him a sly smile, but offered him no more explanation. Let it unnerve them and their egos.

  “Well, don’t get in our way. What are you even here for, spymaster?” Raedon was far older and wiser than Dimitri, and far outranked him. His long, dark golden hair was braided neatly under his helm, and royal blue surcoat and shining silver armour covered a muscled, heroic figure. Raedon was everything Dimitri was not. Everything he had once sought to be.

  Dimitri shoved off the rock and strolled toward him, his hands in his pockets. “I’m here at the orders of the king, not you. I shall go where I please, do what I please, and see what I please, Raedon Lindhir Riel of House Felrian.” His use of Raedon’s formal title – above his own in rank – was a warning, not a mark of respect.

  Raedon knew it, and his jaw clenched. Dimitri could see the infuriation at such insubordination – and overrule by the king.

  Dimitri smiled casually with a flicker of smugness, just enough to annoy Raedon even further. “The king will be most pleased to hear you offer me every assistance.”

  Raedon was forced to defer. “The Winged Kingsguard are at your service, Dimitrius Vaeri Mortris of House Ellarian.” Every word was forced through clenched teeth.

  Dimitri knew Raedon would sooner see him shredded by dragon talons than help, but luckily, they were all still bound by the king’s orders...for now. Raedon did not bow, and Dimitri did not expect him to. He could have forced the issue, but there was more than one way to get what he desired.

  “Excellent. You will immediately tell me your exact movements that have been planned in advance, and unplanned movements as soon after the fact as is possible. I will conduct my own searches. You need not be concerned with me treading on your claws.” He threw a look of disdain at the closest dragon, who rumbled in warning at him.

  Raedon nodded. Dimitri sauntered off without another word, as if he were out for a walk in the fragrant palace gardens on a summer’s eve, not standing on an increasingly blustery peak without a cloak on.

  “Lyros. Caren.” Raedon summoned his deputies with a snap in his tone, to Dimitri’s great satisfaction. “Gather everyone.”

  DIMITRI FOLLOWED THEM all day and night, slipping through the folds of the world as they flew far above him, feeling with every ounce of his perception for that telltale signature of magic, to no avail. By that night, Dimitri was in as foul a mood as Raedon as they camped at the foot of the crags, sheltered by the tall pines that grew there and the caves under the cliffs.

  Unable to bear their less than welcoming company, he slipped away to the top of the crags just as the sun slipped below the horizon. If nothing else, he enjoyed the solitude and the gusts of wind that seemed to chase all the shadows from his soul, though the wind held no answers.

  How far away have I sent the Dragonheart?

  Twenty

  Harper strode alongside Aedon, who looked at her appraisingly as she admired the new outfit she wore, courtesy of him. It was a mismatch of garments, and clearly not brand new, but Harper didn't care.

  The loose-sleeved shirt billowed on her arms, the long hem tucked into the well-worn leather breeches, which were slightly too long. The leather boots seemed molded to her feet, thanks to a few whispered words of magic that Aedon would not reveal to her.

  Aedon would also not reveal to her where or how he had procured the clothes. Harper had a sinking feeling they were the product of thievery, but she was so comfortable and warm, she did not dare complain.

  A gentle breeze lifted the scent of lavender water off the tunic and cloak, far sweeter than the stale sweat and ale that had seemed ingrained in her former cloak, and it had no holes or patches. Harper gathered they were freshly washed, though dried dirt crusted the hems of the pants and bottoms of the boots.

  She pulled the cloak closer, her fingers seeking out the soft wool, fingering the dull metal clasp that seemed rudimentary compared to Aedon's, but a thing of beauty and craft to Harper. More than that, the cloak was thick and warm. It made her old one seem like a thin, tatty rag in comparison.

  "We'll have to get you a weapon, of course," mused Aedon.

  Harper snorted. "A weapon? You haven't seen how dangerous I am when faced with my own feet." She mimed stumbling. A hunting knife was one thing. A sword or some such item seemed ludicrous.

  He chuckled. "Your first lesson in swordsmanship will be—"

  "Stab them with the sharp end,” Harper said, raising an eyebrow. I might not be a fighter, but I’m not stupid...

  He shrugged. “Well, I wasn't going to say that, but I suppose that is as good a first rule as any." He grinned. She coloured slightly, pushing away the small swoop in her stomach. This close, his charming personality was overwhelming and she could not help but be attracted to him, though she was entirely certain he would not return her embarrassing crush.

  She mentally chastised herself. He's a criminal, you fool, whether charming or not. She stared at Brand’s back as they followed him and Erika. Ragnar, at his own trundling pace, followed a distance down the path.

  Harper's eyes traveled over Brand's broad, muscled shoulders, then the length of his sweeping, eagle-like wings. They were huge, and she had an inkling of curiousness to see what they looked like fully spread. Imposing, she was sure.

  "Don't worry about those two." Aedon leaned closer to whisper. She jumped as his hand brushed hers. "They're not the best with strangers. They have good cause to be wary, but when you get to know them, well... They're as protective and loyal as anyone I've ever met. You just have to bear with them. It'll take a while to earn their trust."

  "What is he?" Harper whispered back.

  Aedon eyed Brand. "He's an Aerian.” At her blank expression, he elaborated. “A winged warrior of the skies.”

  She shook her head slightly, even further nonplussed.

  Brand turned at the noise, eyes narrowed, and Erika tutted at Aedon. "Focus. We have a crucial mission."

  Aedon bowed his head in mock contriteness, but he slid Harper a wink, which seemed to be his customary cue for mischief. She suppressed a smile.

  "Where are we going?" Harper asked.

  The group shared a look. As Aedon opened his mouth, Erika glared at him.

  "What?" He frowned. "She can't be kept in the dark forever."

  "It's none of her business," Erika snarled, and Harper’s steps faltered at her open hostility.

  "She's with us now. Perhaps she can help," Aedon said stubbornly. Why did Erika not realise they needed Harper – and her Dragonheart – to remain if they were to have any chance of success.

  All trace of his mischief vanished, and the look he gave Harper was full
of determination. "In fact, I know she can." He lifted his chin and glared at Erika, as if daring her to disagree.

  Harper looked between the two of them. More secrets. And I seem to be a part of one.

  To Harper's surprise, even though Erika's mouth was set in a thin line and her disapproval was clear, she relented. "Fine. Only the particulars. No more."

  Brand continued walking without a word. Erika huffed and stalked after him.

  "What was that about?" Ragnar asked as he caught up.

  "They're being difficult, as per usual," called Aedon after their retreating backs. Brand raised his hand in an obscene gesture.

  "Rude!” Brand made the gesture again. Aedon tutted, but his customary carefree twinkle had returned.

  "So, where are we going?"

  Aedon sighed. "We travel south at present. We're returning to a small village where a sickness spreads. We carry the cure."

  Harper frowned. She had not expected that. "Wait... Did you steal the cure?"

  "Of course," he replied, as if it was obvious. "Not even all the assets in the village could have bartered for it, and people are suffering. Those who hold...held the cure were unwilling to part with it for anything less than a king's ransom. The villagers asked for our help. Naturally, we agreed."

  "Who had the cure?"

  Aedon grimaced. "The elves of the living forest, Tir-na-Alathea. Stuck-up bunch. Can't stand them. Far too full of their own self-importance, if you ask me. They don't have an ounce of compassion and wouldn't have agreed to trade for anything I could give them, so I took it. But it's for the greater good. The sickness is like nothing we have ever seen before, and it's spreading fast.” Perhaps faster than we thought. “Many lives are at stake."

  "What is the sickness?" Harper asked, her eyes wide. A frisson of anxiety fluttered through her.

  Careful now, Harper. You're in a land where magic seems to be normal. You have no idea what you're dealing with.

  Aedon shook his head, frowning. "It's a tricky one. It saps strength – both physical and magical."

  "Is it so bad that it saps magic?"

  "It's different here in Pelenor. Magic is everywhere. It’s in the fabric of the very air. Our land and people depend on it. It's like your Caledan without rivers or air. There's hardly any magic in Caledan. You have so few with magical blood there. Frankly, I don't know how you all make do without it."

  “I'm mortal and make do without it. I can't believe it's as bad as being without air."

  Aedon gave her a strange look. "You’re not mortal, and yes, it is. You wait and see when we get there."

  Harper’s eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Who are your parents?" he asked. The question caught her off guard.

  "What? I don't know."

  "I'll wager not, because they were from Pelenor. Or at least one of them was."

  Harper stopped dead. "I’m sorry?”

  Aedon halted and looked at her, sighing. "I didn't want to tell you this, but I suppose the sooner you know, the better. Like plenty of folks here in Pelenor, you're only part-mortal.”

  "And part what?" Harper was pretty sure she'd stopped breathing.

  "Elf.”

  "What?" she whispered. "That's impossible."

  "It's true," he said simply. His customary cheeky glimmer was gone, and he looked at her with such open sincerity, she almost believed him. Almost.

  "It can't be. I'm from Caledan. I'm mortal, like everyone else there." She swallowed.

  She really doesn’t know, Aedon realised. That, or she is the best liar I’ve ever seen.

  "Surely you feel it flowing through you. Don't you feel more alive? I can feel it from here. Your blood sings of magic. You even have a little point on your ears already!"

  "Well, I caught up on some sleep and got some food in my stomach. Of course I'm going to feel better." She resisted the urge to feel her ears. He jested, surely. She had never noticed it before.

  "Yes," he said, a touch of impatience in his tone. "But don't you feel far better than that ought to make you? Like you have a spring in your step? Like your muscles don't ache as badly as they did before? Like your head is clearer than it's ever been, despite the fact you ought to be asleep on your feet given the day you had yesterday?"

  "Well, I suppose so, but that doesn't mean I have magic. I mean, half-elf? Really?" she scoffed. Her hands rose and she fingered the tips of her ears, then pulled her hair away so he could see. "For starters, explain these. Human ears. Nothing like yours."

  "You wait," he said stubbornly. "You've lived for what? Twenty or so years in Caledan where there's a dearth of magic, what with their ridiculous pact.”

  Harper had no idea what he spoke of, but she was too surprised to ask.

  “You've been starved of it. No wonder you couldn't perform any magic, accidental or not. Now you're here. Wait for it to fill that void again. You watch your ears. In a month, they won't be the same."

  Harper raised an eyebrow. "You mean my ears are suddenly going to go all pointy?" Her voice oozed disbelief.

  "Suddenly is the wrong word, but yes. Gradually, you'll develop more of a tip. If your elven blood is strong, from a parent, it'll be quite pronounced, your magic nice and powerful. If it comes from a little further down the line, a great-grandparent or beyond, perhaps your ears won’t change at all, but you'll sure be able to feel that magic."

  Harper continued trudging along behind Brand's unrelentingly straight back, her own shoulders slightly bowed. She did not know quite what to make of Aedon's fantastical claim, yet it seemed slightly plausible given his sincerity and the crazy amount of unrealistic changes she found herself having to adapt to.

  Have I even been here a day yet? What a whirlwind it's been.

  "I can teach you, if you’d like," Aedon offered when she did not reply. "Magic, I mean."

  Harper looked at him quickly, but there was no sign of merriment in his expression. She narrowed her eyes.

  He held up his hands in defeat. "Fine, don't believe me. Humour me, though.”

  She wanted to refuse, but dithered. This is so damn ridiculous!

  "Please?" The sincerity in his eyes was her undoing.

  Harper blew out a breath. "Fine. What do you get out of it, though?"

  Aedon grinned. "Another elf-blood to keep company with, which will be a nice change from those two misery guts—" He ignored Brand's rude gesture, "—along with the satisfaction of another member of our merry little band being able to spellcast. It's really rather handy."

  "So Aerians, humans, and dwarves can't spellcast?”

  "Not a dragon dropping, nope. It's proven rather divisive in Pelenor, as you might see. Elves and magic rule. The humans fall to the wayside, and the half-breeds are somewhere in between. Magic means status, power, and wealth. It’s just easier to get along here with it."

  Harper frowned. "That doesn't seem fair."

  "I suppose it's not, but it is what it is, and no amount of disliking will change it.”

  Harper pondered his words as they strode down a rolling hill and the woods gave way to meadows and plains that stretched as far as the eye could see. Rivers glinted in the distance, and settlements were dotted about.

  "How far is it?" she asked.

  "Oh, a few days’ trek yet. Magic can't fly us there, sadly, and Ragnar is a bit too fat for Brand to carry."

  "I heard that, you cheeky little bugger," Ragnar called from behind them.

  "You were meant to!" Aedon trilled.

  Harper chuckled, and her cheeks warmed as he winked at her. They had a strange group here. A friendly, though quiet dwarf, a mischievous elf, and two brooding warriors, all with their own secrets.

  Where do I fit in? she wondered. I'm just a...nobody, part-elf or not. How boring.

  "You're really going to teach me magic?" The thought was overwhelmingly tempting. There were magical beings in all the old tales. If the legends were to be believed, even the elusive Eldarkind, the high elves of Caledan, possessed
the skill to perform great magics, though they had disappeared from the land with the dragons.

  "Yes. Real magic."

  “The Dragonheart also holds magic?”

  Aedon struggled to keep his expression neutral. “Yes, plenty.”

  I wonder if the king, or his mages, could help me return home. She frowned. It seemed logical. If the stone had brought her here, surely it could take her back.

  "Is the village you seek on the way to the royal city?"

  "I suppose, in a fashion. It's not direct, but it's not too much of a detour. Why?"

  "I want to see the king and ask him to send me home."

  Aedon looked at her, an inscrutable, closed expression upon his face. "It’s an impossible task. If you wish to go, you can go, but I think your destiny has called you here for a reason, Harper. It's not every day a Dragonheart crosses into a different land to call someone home."

  "This isn't my home."

  Aedon was silent for a long moment. "Not yet,” he murmured, then strode ahead to join Brand and Erika, leaving Harper to wonder at his words...and where she belonged.

  WHEN THEY HALTED TO make camp for the night, Harper decided she needed a walk through the woods. She had had enough of Erika’s pointed glances and her quips at Harper’s incompetence and naïveté.

  “I’ll catch supper,” she promised them with gritted teeth, borrowing Aedon’s bow and three of his arrows.

  They were too surprised to answer, though she noted Aedon flash her a smile as she turned and stalked into the trees.

  She strode fast and hard for a short distance, almost beyond the noise footprint of the camp, where the animals would still be unaware of their presence, then slowed to a steady walk. Her gaze roved back and forth until she saw the game trail meandering through the woods. She stopped to examine the tracks.

  Deer. A fox-like creature. Perhaps the hint of a bear. I’ll have to be careful. She looked around. If I scream, they are still close enough to hear me.