Chronicles of Pelenor Trilogy Collection

by Meg Cowley

  It seemed like she found herself on some kind of exciting adventure. On the run with a Dragonheart and a rag-tag band of outlaws, who were each more curious than the last.

  She could tell they had secrets. From the shared glances, so laden with things she did not know, to the way they cut each other off mid-sentence and glared at her, as if she might unravel their mysteries.

  Compared to this, it was hard to yearn for serving loud, ungrateful customers until the small hours of the night in a dark, oppressive, smelly inn. She glanced around. It was a beauty worlds apart from the woods she knew. Here, even the colours of early autumn were so much brighter, the full beauty of the landscape undiminished. Not the faded, grey, dull woods she knew, where darkness and shadow seemed to leech the color and life from the world.

  If there's no way home, for now, I guess it wouldn't be so bad to stay. I mean, I'm a very little person on a big adventure. I’ve always been resilient and independent, despite being so very out of my depths at times. I’ve always survived. This is no different.

  Her mouth twitched into a small smile. Perhaps it had been the game of chatura the previous night that had persuaded her they were not so bad after all, or perhaps she was a fool. She had not quite decided.

  I'll have to make the best of it. I have a quest, it seems. To journey to the royal city, to plead my case, to return home. That's rather thrilling. I'm not missing anything back home, that's for sure. So until I wake up from this crazy dream or find a way to get back, I'll make the most of this adventure.

  The more she thought, the more she realised how thrilling it was. It’s not like I left anything behind. Just her books, her small amount of coin, and an assortment of natural knicknacks. And Betta, she thought with no small twinge of guilt, but she pushed it aside. Betta is sensible. When I don’t return, she’ll take my coin and use it to feed herself over the winter. She’ll get by.

  It was hard to lose what little she had, but with a bubble of excitement, she realised it also meant she was free from the other parts of her life, namely her job and perhaps even starving. As part of this group, she hoped the latter wasn’t too much to desire.

  "You all right, Harper?" asked Aedon, tugging the pot from her grasp to have some tea. "You look lost."

  "I'm good." Harper grinned, the first true smile she had in a good, long while.

  Aedon looked at her quizzically, but she only smiled happily at him, her eyes twinkling, and went back to finishing off the rest of her breakfast, her body filled with a warm buzz of excitement and curiosity of the unknown.

  Nineteen

  Dimitri glided through the fabric of the world, easily keeping pace with the dragon-riders flying above him. They had offered him, albeit reluctantly, passage with them, but Dimitri had refused. He was not partial to heights, and his own means of travelling worked just as well. He had sunk his being into the river of magical energy that flowed alongside the living world and slipped from one point to another as he wished.

  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. Ha
rper 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."