Chronicles of Pelenor Trilogy Collection

by Meg Cowley

  "Almost there!" he called cheerfully. "Never let it be said that I didn't help a damsel in distress...and her Dragonheart."

  Harper scowled. This man...elf...whatever...was starting to grate on her, or perhaps it was the frustrations of a long, hard day. No matter. She had just about had it with whatever was happening. Her mysterious companion tugged her in another direction, altering their course slightly.

  The gaps between the trees widened. Harper could see the flash of blue ahead and forested mountains behind it. A lake!

  The elf did not slow as he approached the edge of the trees. Harper tried to tug him back, but he pulled her forward inexorably. She couldn't see the edge of the lake, which meant...

  The trees ended abruptly, and the cliff edge loomed. Before she could protest, he sped up, tugging her with him, and leapt off the cliff with her in tow.

  Harper screamed as the ground fell away beneath her. There was barely a moment to take a gulp of air before they plunged into the blue depths.

  The frigid water forced the air from Harper's lungs and she flailed, panicking, as her mouth instinctively opened to draw breath where there was only water. Her cloak bloomed around her, tangling and folding in upon her. She clutched the stone tighter, the weight dragging her down.

  His hand tightened around hers and he pulled her upward. When they broke the surface, she gulped in great shuddering breaths, letting out a sob of belated shock. Panic flooded her, leaving her unable to take a full breath as she kicked her legs and thrashed her arms, trying to stay afloat.

  "No time for that. Swim, quickly.”

  “I can’t swim!” she shrieked.

  He pulled her alongside him and broke into a fast stroke that sliced through the frigid water. Above them, the cliff face soared, limestone pockmarked by weather and crushed by the roots of the trees that clung precariously to the top.

  Panic overcame Harper once more. She struggled for a moment in the elf's grasp as the cloak wrapped around her legs before she kicked it loose, pulled forward by him.

  Shouts sounded above them as the mob gathered at the edge of the cliff, but no one followed them into the water. The elf angled for a small, rocky cove at the base of the cliff, the perfect escape where no one could follow unless they jumped into the lake. She shot a glance at the elf as he swam toward it, his brows drawn down in grim determination.

  Who is he?

  "Welcome to your getaway."

  She looked around, wondering what on earth he was on about. The cove was tiny and a dead end. No caves or tunnels. No way up the cliff. The only way out lay across the huge stretch of water.

  I don't have a better plan. Might as well trust this maniac. She resigned herself to the fact nothing made sense anymore.

  They scrambled from the shallows, water streaming from them. Compared to the cold water, the air felt warm. Harper's teeth chattered all the same, chilled to her very bones. On all fours, she clambered through the shallows, the sharp rocks cutting her hands, her cloak catching on every sharp edge, yanking her backwards.

  "Here," the elf called to her.

  She sloshed over to him. Behind a rock, she saw a tiny coracle big enough for one.

  "Get in.” She looked at him, dumbfounded. “Get in!" he repeated. "The cliff won't hold them back forever. There are Kingsguard alongside those peasants. Believe me, they don't want to be denied of their prize catch. Me.”

  Harper fleetingly wondered what was worse than allegedly stealing a Dragonheart, but she obeyed, giving him an incredulous look as she clambered into the coracle. This tiny, frail thing would bear a person's weight – or two? It looked like nothing more than a few scraps of leather bound around a twig-like frame.

  As she settled into it, her legs crossed, she held the Dragonheart close. Somehow, it was already dry. Through the sodden cloak, it pulsed with warmth, as if burning with an inner fire. She clung to that as shivers wracked her.

  The elf tugged the small vessel out onto the lake. In the centre of the bobbing coracle, Harper wrapped her arms around herself and squealed as it tipped when the elf got in. He squeezed awkwardly around her, and she ended up sitting between his bent legs at the front of the vessel, the Dragonheart clutched tightly in her hands.

  By some unseen magic, for he had no paddles, the coracle bobbed away from the shore, over each lapping wave, accelerating until it zoomed across the surface of the water, somehow not tipping them out as it crested each wave. With one hand, Harper clung to the rim of the coracle, leaning back into the elf's warm chest as he leaned into her for balance.

  "That ought to do it. They're scuppered for now," he said with a grim smile. "They're at least half a day's walk away from where we'll land on the far shore. Well...unless they have a dragon. In that case, we're damned, but I'd wager not. I'm pretty sure if they did, I'd already be dead."

  "R-Right," Harper stammered through her still chattering teeth. She was entirely unsure how to process that. Dragons had not been seen in Caledan for hundreds of years, but it very much appeared she was no longer in Caledan.

  Shudders wracked her entire body. Wind whipped against her, sending wet tendrils of hair slapping into her face, evaporating what little warmth she had. Spray drenched them with every juddering impact across the lake. The water was sweet, just as sweet as the stream she drank from, but even though she was thirsty, it was too cold to enjoy a mouthful and a shower at the same time.

  She twisted to look behind them. The crowd at the top of the cliff had faded into the distance, their faces indistinguishable blobs, though snatches of their voices followed Harper and the elf across the lake. The elf grinned, as though utterly satisfied with events.

  "Sorry for the tight squeeze. Didn't plan on having any, er...company," he said. "Don't worry. Just a little while more and we'll get you dried off before we figure out what on earth to do with you."

  "We?"

  He chuckled. "One doesn't plan heists of this nature by himself, you know."

  What have I gotten myself into? Harper wondered.

  The coracle slowed as it approached the shallows on the other side of the lake. The water lapped gently against the sandy shore that receded into coniferous forests stretching up towering foothills as far as the eye could see.

  Harper held the Dragonheart tighter. She was exhausted, wet, freezing, starving, thirsty, and in shock. There was no fire left in her. When the vessel bumped into the shore, she held back an angry sob.

  The elf helped her clamber out of the tipping coracle, and she strode through the freezing shallows onto dry land, where she fell onto her knees.

  He rushed to her side. "Are you all right?”

  "No! No, I'm not! What in Caledan’s name is happening? I've no idea where I am or how I got here. I'm hungry, tired, cold, and wet, and I've no idea why all those people were hell-bent on chasing me. I'm not going another damn step until someone explains something!"

  Fourteen

  "Aedon? Who's this?" a deep, gravelly voice asked. "Why are you speaking Common Tongue?"

  Harper raised her head. Large, booted feet. Muscled legs twice as thick as her companion’s, whose name was obviously Aedon. A chest so broad that the armour upon it would have fallen right off a human. Bare, scarred arms with leather bracers. A weather-worn, craggy face. And...Wings? Wings rested on his back, just like the woman she had seen in the village. Except his were far bigger and tawny in colour. She gaped.

  "Er...I have no idea," Aedon replied. His voice was almost sheepish. He turned to Harper. "Who are you?"

  The man-bird groaned. "Not a dead weight. Please tell me you have not picked up another useless mouth to feed. We already have the dwarf, and he's hard enough to put up with."

  "Hey, you'd starve if it wasn't for his cooking. You’re just grumpy you can’t beat him at chatura. She won't be a weight at all," Aedon said, waving at the bird-man dismissively. "Will you?"

  Harper froze, not moving. She had no idea what he spoke of or how she ought to reply.

  "Se
e. We're fine. Our band of merry men and women grew one larger, at least for now. Brand, she seems to have had a terrible day of it. I'll wager she has a story that will entertain us as we sup tonight. Surely she can stay for a night?”

  Brand huffed and turned, stalking away. "Fine," he muttered. "She's all yours."

  "Don't mind him," said Aedon, winking at Harper and offering a hand to her. She took it mutely and stood. "He's as soft as a dwarf's backside when you get to know him.”

  The elf drew himself up. "My name is Aedon. The Aedon." He smiled at her, as if expecting her to know who he was. She stared at him blankly. His face fell slightly. "Er, right. Not from around these parts. I guess there is a limit to how far my reputation precedes me, and that's wherever you're from, which would be where, Miss..."

  "Harper. I’m from a village outside Glymouth," she replied quietly. "In County Denholme.” She looked around. “Where am I? This isn't Denholme, or even Caledan.”

  "Right you are, Miss Harper.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Um... Your lips are turning a little blue, and we could do with finishing off our rather spectacular escape. How about we get somewhere safer and get you dried off, then I'll explain things to you. Trust me. You’re safe for now."

  Harper suppressed a yawn, too tired to fight. More walking. She was certain her body could not take it, yet she had no choice but to go forward. Backwards seemed absolutely out of the question.

  "All right.”

  Aedon nodded. "That settles it then. Tonight, you can sing for your supper.” He smirked. “Not literally, if you're a terrible singer. Singing is not mandatory. Then we'll give you a bed for the night.”

  He gave her an encouraging grin. “Smile, Miss Harper. There's no need for that wan face. After a hot meal and a good night's sleep, you'll feel far more chirpy tomorrow. Come on. I'll introduce you to the rest of them.”

  Harper was too tired to even wonder about who that might be as she trudged after him, utterly dispirited. Clearly, her day wasn't getting back on track anytime soon.

  UP AHEAD, “THE REST of them” awaited. She could tell they were eager to be off from the way they shuffled their feet, their packs on their backs, looking down the path. Averting her eyes from Brand’s burning glare, Harper glanced at the two others. A stern-faced woman, who looked reassuringly human, and a mysterious cloaked and hooded stranger, who Harper could tell nothing about save for having a medium build and unusually short stature.

  "Harper, meet the rabble. Erika, Ragnar, this is Harper. Brand you’ve already met. We'll do better introductions later, but I'm afraid we need to hurry now."

  Erika gave him a reproving glare. "We've been waiting for you all day, Aedon. It's you being tardy keeping us now." She shoved a cloak at him.

  "Say no more!" With a gleaming smile, Aedon breezed past her, relieved her of the cloak, and marched off down the track. Brand, Erika, and Ragnar strode after him. Harper, with a heaving sigh, stumbled at the rear.

  They walked until they were high into the foothills and the ache in Harper’s legs became a relentless burn. Her head hung so low, she stumbled into Brand, so exhausted that she did not realise they had stopped before her.

  "Sorry," she stammered as he turned and stared at her. He turned away.

  "We'll make camp here," Aedon said. "Erika, can you do your magic?"

  She nodded and strode away.

  "She's going to make sure we can't be tracked," Aedon explained to Harper with a wink. "We don't want to receive any unwanted guests now, do we?"

  In quick order, Brand laid a fire that Aedon lit with a single word, while the cloaked stranger rolled out what paltry bedding they had. Harper realised it was growing dark, and cool, and her cloak was still wet.

  Now that they had stopped moving, her shivers had returned, though she had dried off somewhat during the walk. Aedon ushered her closer to the fire, confiscating her sodden cloak and placing his own around her shoulders. She slumped onto a large rock, grateful to be off her feet.

  She looked around. This forest, at least, looked familiar. The pines could have belonged to her own forests.

  Perhaps I’m not as far away as I think. She clutched hopelessly at the thought.

  "So, who's the precious flower?" asked Erika as she returned, casting a critical eye over Harper. "She's not from round here, is she?"

  Harper tried not to stare. Standing this close, she noticed that under Erika’s rough-hewn fringe lurked a huge scar on her forehead, one that still looked angry and red, though she could not tell how it had been caused. Erika glared at her, so she looked away quickly.

  "Caledan," Aedon replied. The others shared troubled glances.

  "Well, she can't stay with us," Brand said.

  "And where else is she going to go?" Aedon fired back. "She cannot return to Caledan. We’re thousands of miles away."

  "What?" Harper asked, stilling. No... No, that can’t be true.

  "Nothing," Aedon said a little too quickly. "All in good time." She could tell his smile was forced. "Get the stew cooking, Ragnar. I'm starving. It's been a hard day's work, you know! Whilst you lot lazed around, I was out grafting away for us all."

  The hooded figure shed his cloak, and Harper stifled a gasp. The man was not at all what she had expected. Shorter than all of them, he was muscled, with a shock of wiry, dark hair and a beard to match, all of which had been neatly braided, bunched, and tied together with cords and beads of metals and glass. He was older in appearance than the rest of them, deep-set wrinkles lining his face.

  Harper looked away as he caught her staring, just as she examined the tattooed skin of his face and hands.

  Is he a...dwarf? Harper wondered, not daring to ask. She noticed how very differently they all dressed, as though they came from differing cultures.

  Aedon wore more refined clothes, whilst Brand seemed kitted for war in practical, hard-wearing attire. Erika wore the mismatched clothes of a nomad. Garments patched with fabrics of many textures and colours, fur on her breast, shoulders, and boots. Ragnar seemed a mixture of all three. Rich fabrics, tired though they were, under robust leathers with hints of fur embellishments.

  Brand snorted with derision as Ragnar unstrapped the small pot from his pack and set to skinning a small mammal, then peeled some strange looking root vegetables. Soon, a stew bubbled away on the fire, and Harper could not help but blush when her stomach rumbled. Whatever time of day her body thought it was, perhaps it no longer cared now that food was on offer.

  The pot was too small to feed them all with Harper there, but Aedon insisted on giving her the first bowl. Though she tried to refuse, he would hear none of it, wearing her down with a winning smile and friendly glint in his eyes. She mumbled her thanks and accepted the small serving, along with a hunk of hard bread to dunk into it.

  He served himself last, then sat next to her, his crossed legs bumping hers as they all huddled around the fire. She tried not to think about it. He was easily one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, and his kindness left her slightly flustered and tongue-tied in his presence.

  They ate in silence, each ravenously tearing into their portions until the food disappeared in short order. Much to her relief, Harper’s stomach felt full and warm again.

  Brand sat back with a satisfied sigh. "Excellent as always, Ragnar."

  Ragnar dipped his head in thanks, still eating, his attention on his food. The rest of them turned theirs to Harper, who squirmed under their scrutiny.

  "So..." Brand said.

  Aedon shot him a glare. "Be kind," he muttered. He turned back to Harper. "So..." His voice was light and his head tilted. "You're not from Pelenor. Tell us how you journeyed here."

  "I'm not exactly sure," Harper admitted. She recounted finding the Dragonheart and what had happened when she touched it.

  “You have a Dragonheart?” Erika’s hard gaze bored into Harper, who flinched under it. Everyone’s attention on her, she tentatively brought it out of her cloak.

  The group
collectively sucked in a breath before they all leaned closer.

  “It is a Heart of Dragons, really and truly?” Ragnar looked to Aedon, who nodded slowly. The dwarf raised a hand to his chest and shook his head. Harper thought he seemed filled with emotion, but she did not understand why. “Twelve blessings,” he whispered.

  "I've never heard of that happening,” Brand said. His gaze flicked between Aedon and the Dragonheart. “Is it dangerous?”

  "I haven’t, either," said Aedon. "Dragonhearts, being gateways to other lands? That's something you don't hear every day. Dangerous, though? No, I don’t think so. But there are clearly greater magics at play here than what I understand. What happened next, Harper?"

  "Well, then I found myself here... Not here, but over by that village. When they saw me, they seemed to think I'd stolen the Dragonheart. I ran, and that's when I bumped into you."

  "Quite literally," Aedon said with a rueful grin. "So you really didn't take the Dragonheart?”

  "No, I didn't."

  "It’s beautiful." Aedon leaned closer, and she could see a strange yearning in him. “May I?” This close, she saw his green eyes held flecks of blue and gold in them.

  “O-Of course,” she stammered.

  His fingers brushed hers as he gently cupped the stone, examining it as though it were the most precious thing he had ever seen. She cleared her throat. With a smile, he handed it back to her, his hands lingering for just a second as she took it.

  “Now, I have a question. Where am I?” she asked.

  "You're currently in the kingdom of Pelenor, to the southeast of the living forest of Tir-na-Alathea," Brand said, as though that explained everything.

  Pelenor? "I beg your pardon?" Somehow, it sounded worse for others to voice that she was definitely in a different land. "Kingdom of Pelenor?" She had never even heard of that land. She knew of Caledan. To the south was Roher. To the east, the steel-grey waves of the ocean. To the north, the biting cold of the ever-winter lands. She knew even less about what lay to the west.