Chronicles of Pelenor Trilogy Collection

by Meg Cowley

  Harper quieted. She thought of Betta, who somehow managed, despite her age and infirmities, and the people back on Caledan, who thrived with far worse issues to deal with. She longed to challenge him.

  What on earth will you do? Waste away here day after day? You have to make the best of what you've got!

  Instead, she said, "I'm sorry to hear you feel that way. We'll do our best to care for you all and...and get the cure," she finished, though she was loathe to promise it.

  Do we really not have enough, even for this small village?

  "Thank you," Ralkan said, clasping her hand in both of his with all the strength he could muster.

  Before she left, she turned back to the bed and cocked her head. "If you don't mind me asking, how are you magical? Are... Are you a half-elf?"

  Ralkan gave a rasping laugh. "No, I'm quarter-elf, on my mother's side."

  An elf... “Rest up now, Ralkan. I'll check back later.”

  HARPER SPENT THE REST of that day tending the afflicted. All told similar tales of how abhorrent life without magic would be. It made Harper simultaneously more indignant and sad that a non-magical life was seen as such a burden.

  That evening, she sat around the campfire with the rest of them, aching from a day of labour and activity, longing to cleanse the smell of smoke and sickness from her.

  "You did a good job today, Harper," Ragnar said, smiling as he offered her slightly stale bread. A luxury.

  "Thank you," Harper said softly, ducking her head and hiding behind a curtain of tangled hair.

  "She has a knack for putting people at ease.” Brand took his share, giving her a tired smile.

  "That she does," Ragnar replied. "Mighty glad was I for her help today."

  "You did us out of a job! By the time we'd gotten around half the village, you'd already seen the other half. They didn't need us at all." Aedon winked.

  Harper coloured. "I just did what felt right."

  "Good judge of character," Ragnar said around a mouthful of crumbs and smoked meat.

  They ate as night fell around them, but the forest was still and silent.

  Brand broke the silence first. "I don't like it here. Too quiet."

  "It's like the forest knows," Erika said, glancing warily around her. Harper noticed how neither of them had settled down, each alert.

  "It does,” said Aedon softly. "The magic of the plants and animals is tainted here. It makes me feel nauseous, like there is disease on the air."

  "Is that what happened when Saradon cursed Pelenor?" Harper asked.

  "Yes. The earth, the plants, the creatures were left untainted, but even so, such darkness resonates. Magic is as much a part of this land as the people are.”

  "What could cause it?" Erika asked. There was a bite of another unsaid question to her tone that Harper could not fathom.

  Aedon gave Erika a long, slow look. "I do not believe it to be Saradon, if that is your meaning. He's long dead, as you said. Nothing more than a tale to scare children at night. This is but a pale imitation of the blight he left upon the land."

  He shrugged and spread his arms wide. "We have no idea what brings this sickness, but we will do our best to contain it." He glanced at the tiny vial. Harper knew what he was thinking. That it could not be done with such a limited quantity of the cure.

  "What can be done?" Ragnar asked, stroking his beard. The beads holding together his plaited braids clinked together gently.

  "Can we not get more of the cure? Or even make more?" Harper asked, desperately wishing she had a solution.

  Aedon shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not. Perhaps the elves of Tir-na-Alathea have a way, but if they do, they have not shared it, and are not likely to. Everything comes at a price with them. My peoples—"

  "The elves?"

  He smiled sadly. "Yes, the elves. I suspect it would take far too long to travel to my homelands to find out. If this has spread so fast already..." He trailed off. “There might be a cure deep within their knowledge, or perhaps some way to concoct one. But we would not be permitted to enter Auraria to seek the cure. Not ourselves anyway." Harper knew he alluded to their outlaw status.

  "Is there nowhere else closer one could be obtained?"

  Aedon shared a glance with the rest of them. "I suppose there might be one place that would hold answers. It’s closer, but almost as impossible to enter."

  "Where?" Harper pressed.

  "Pelenor’s capital city, Tournai. The royal archives are famed for their comprehensiveness. Combine the two...” Aedon shrugged. “Perhaps something of use is lurking there."

  "Well, there's no chance of getting it overnight,” said Brand. "What's to be done about this village? We must stop the sickness spreading amongst the people. Can anything be done?"

  "Not that I would know," said Aedon, dragging his hands through his already messy hair. "We don't have enough cure to make everyone immune. We're going to have to choose, or let the villagers choose, who to save immediately and who...who must wait until such time as we can help them."

  "I agree," said Brand. "If there's a chance of some kind of cure, even if it'll be nigh on impossible to get, we have to try. If we don't, there'll be a lot more in the same position. We promised these people we would help.”

  "Let it be done then," Aedon said with a heavy sigh. "At first light, we'll wake everyone and the decision shall be made, then we'll leave for the capital. We need the knowledge of the archives."

  Aedon almost wished they had found the elves of Tir-na-Alathea waiting for them. It could not have been worse than what they had found, and it would not be worse than what he feared they would discover.

  "We're going to the royal city?" asked Harper. Despite the gravity of the situation, she could not help but feel a tingle of excitement at the prospect.

  Aedon nodded. "It looks like you got your wish after all. We're going to Tournai."

  Tournai! A frisson flickered through Harper, leaving her tingling with the thrill of such a thought. I can sell the Dragonheart, or give it back to the king, and return home.

  AS HARPER BEDDED DOWN that night, unable to wipe the grin from her face, Aedon remained too unsettled to rest. He looked over at her slumbering form, peaceful, her torso rising gently with each soft breath.

  Are we doing the right thing, not telling her? It was too risky. She might flee with the Dragonheart they so desperately needed. Then again, she might not. If she does, we will be forced to steal it from her. And somehow, despite his nefarious reputation, that rankled.

  Thirty-Three

  The next morning, the hushed villagers assembled, and Aedon dealt them their predicament. Too many for a limited cure, and nothing to be done there and then about it.

  "You must choose, I'm afraid. I'm sorry it has come to this. We did our best, but alas, we did not realise this would spread so quickly. We'll leave at once to obtain more elixir, whether we have to beg, borrow, make, or steal it. I promise, we will return. We will not forsake you in your hour of need."

  Ralkan stepped forward. He stood tall and proud, but Harper saw the wobble in his step and the sweat beading upon his brow as he strained to hold himself up. Harper saw how the others deferred to him. Perhaps he was their leader, or at least well respected.

  "If that is what it takes, so be it. We are grateful for your assistance. We know the risks you have placed yourselves in to even procure such a small amount for us. Others need it more than I. I shall wait until you return."

  "It may be a while," warned Aedon. "We have no idea how easy it will be to find more, make it, or find an alternative."

  "We place our faith in you," Ralkan said in an even voice. Even though he put on a brave face, Harper saw how his shoulders sagged. "You did not fail us once, and I’m sure you will not fail us now.”

  "Who shall take the cure?" Aedon asked, casting his gaze about those assembled. They glanced at each other. No one immediately spoke up, as if each didn’t want to appear selfish.

  Ralkan pointed at a c
hild. "Him. Children first." The villagers nodded, muttering and pushing their young forward.

  "Form a line," Aedon called. "One at a time."

  They trudged forward, each offering their upturned faces to him as he carefully dripped one drop of the cure on each of their tongues. The women stepped forward next, youngest to oldest, until the vial was empty save for one, last drop. That which they could not afford to give, for it would be the only way to secure more.

  "No more," he said, slipping the vial inside his breast pocket once more. "I'm sorry."

  But no one glared at him. With wondrous expressions and a light in their eyes, the villagers surrounded their young, who already seemed to have a little more spring in their step.

  "I can feel it. Magic," Ralkan said hoarsely.

  "It'll take a little while, but they will recover. Now, keep to yourselves. Do not stray from the village. Woe betide that this should spread," Aedon warned. "We'll return as soon as we may."

  "Dragon’s speed to you," Ralkan said.

  "Thank you."

  Without much ado, they left. Harper resigned herself to more trudging on her still sore, throbbing feet, but now she marched to dragons, the king, and her way home. That was enough distraction.

  “YOU’RE IN A GOOD MOOD today, aren't you?" Aedon grinned. He had also noticeably lightened in spirits since they had left the village earlier, as though he had left his sorrow behind. Harper was glad. It had been a draining experience to see such hopelessness.

  He had regained some of the spring in his step and twinkle in his eye. She knew he would be distracted by the thought of a new adventure, though she suspected mostly because of the illicit nature of it.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing Tournai. Dragons, and magic, and the king.”

  Aedon shot her a sideways glance. “You might not see the king, you know. He’s not the type to wander around the streets of Tournai. I don’t know any king who does.”

  “Well, then, I’ll go to him.”

  “And what? Receive his blessing and his help to return to Caledan?”

  “Yes.”

  She could see it now. Kneeling in a grand hall before a throne. The king would sit upon it, regally benevolent. His face shadowed, but perhaps he would have a beard. A kind smile, too, and a grace beyond anything she had seen.

  She frowned. Somehow, the image of the noble king blurred into the image of the greedy Lord Denholme, anger marring his stern visage. She banished it from her mind.

  “What then? You’ll return to your old life?”

  Harper stilled. She had only thought about returning, not what may pass after it.

  I don’t want to go back to that life, not really, but what else is there?

  “What is it?” Aedon pressed, raising his hand to touch her arm.

  “I don’t want to go back to that life,” she said dully. “I have to return, though. At least to Caledan. What else do I know?”

  “What if you didn’t have to return? What would you do?”

  Harper met his eyes. He stood closer now, and his hand on her arm fell to her hand, lacing their fingers together loosely. She fought down a rush of anticipation at his overfamiliarity. “I’d adventure.”

  Aedon cocked an eyebrow at her. “Oh really? What kind of adventure?”

  Emboldened, she continued. “Ever since I was a little girl, I've loved reading about and hearing tales of dragons, knights, and epic quests. I dreamed about riding them, about being like the heroes in the stories. Wouldn't it be amazing?”

  “I suppose.” He gestured around. “Is this adventure not grand enough for you?” His hand slipped from hers. The warmth of his fingers faded, but he did not seem truly offended.

  Harper laughed. “I suppose this is an adventure of sorts. I’ve always imagined becoming a dragon-rider or something grand, like the old tales of Ulric and the Dragon.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s not impossible,” Aedon said, though she could see his suppressed smile.

  “Really?” she burst out, unable to help herself. I wonder if I could trade my Dragonheart for a place with the king’s dragon-riders, she thought, all ideas of returning to her dreary life in Caledan lost for a moment.

  “Not to burst your bubble, but you do realise it's not that simple, right?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "He means that you can't just stroll up to the capital city...or the king, for that matter...and decide to be a dragon-rider," Brand said from behind them, making her turn to look at him. "It's a lot more complex than that."

  "Go on."

  "Well, for starters, to become one of the Winged Kingsguard, you must have trained with the Kingsguard for many years, starting your apprenticeship young. It's not unheard of for someone to be taken on at your age, but it's certainly unusual." Brand quickened his pace to draw level with her and Aedon. "Then there's the matter of being accepted for the training. You already have to be proficient in a number of physical and magical combats and arts, as well as rounded in your education."

  "I can read and write," Harper replied. Just about. Thanks to Betta.

  "Hmm. I don't know what education is like in Caledan, but for starters, I'm going to wager you haven't studied philosophy, magic, or the healing arts. Nor can you read and write Pelenori, and that is what matters here.”

  Harper gave him a blank look.

  "Then there's the small matter of your breed." Brand scrunched up his face. "It's as crude as the Aerians. If you have the wrong type of blood, well, they simply won't look at you twice. You can't be a mere mortal, that's for sure."

  "So I'm out," Erika said from behind them with a snort of derision.

  "You cannot be another kind of race, either. So that rules myself out," said Brand.

  "And me," said Ragnar. "Not that I want to ride dragons anyway. They'd as soon roast me as host me!"

  "Nor can you be a half-breed any less pure than a half-elf. They like to keep the magic pure and strong. Half-elves or stronger are the most able-bodied for combat, and their magic runs strongest to bond with their dragons."

  "I don't know about that," said Harper. "But that means there's a small chance, right? I mean, if I am half-elf, and they do take applicants my age, perhaps I can learn all those other things."

  "Sure," agreed Brand affably. "Never say never. Few things are truly impossible. But Aedon is right. It isn't as easy as strolling up to the king's gates and saying 'pretty please'."

  Harper sighed.

  "Why are you so hung up on it?" Erika asked.

  "Like I said, it's like the adventures I've been dreaming of all my life. Perhaps it's not the same here where such adventures are commonplace. Besides, I want to know more about the Dragonheart, how it came to me. I don't know where else to get answers."

  Erika snorted again. "If that’s the case, you have a pretty messed up idea of what's important. Riding dragons and being all grand? Pah!" She strode ahead.

  Harper glared at Erika indignantly, but no one spoke to excuse her. "You... You all agree with her?"

  "‘Fraid so," said Brand.

  Aedon nodded. "It's an easy choice for us. Look at what we're doing. We’re on a noble quest to save lives. We'll make a real difference in the world."

  "But so will the Winged Kingsguard, right? They must do tons of noble deeds far and wide!"

  Brand chuckled.

  Harper narrowed her eyes at him. "What?"

  Aedon cast his friend a glance. "I think what Brand is getting at is that it's not so clear-cut. When you're on the orders of the king, you do what you're told, not what you want to or what you think is right. You may even have to complete tasks you believe are abhorrently wrong with a smile on your face and willingness in your heart because they're your king-given orders. Would you really be happy to do that?"

  "That depends, I suppose. What's the king like?"

  Aedon shrugged. "A king."

  Harper waited for him to elaborate, but Brand spoke up.

  "Rulers often believe they'
re doing the right thing, whether for themselves or for their kingdom. Seldom are those things aligned. A king may often act outside the best interests of his people. A king is but one person, and people are fallible, especially when not held to account."

  "That's treason," Ragnar said cheerfully.

  "Your point being? Join in if you feel like you're missing out," Brand retorted.

  "Gladly. Kings are asses," Ragnar said loudly with relish. "Have you ever really thought it fair that gold gets spent on those grand tournaments and parades when folks out in the country are starving on a bad harvest? There's no way you can justify that. And being a member of the Winged Kingsguard will mean you have to stand by and watch that happen, even actively take part in it.

  “Notice how the king is not rushing to cure this sickness? Why bother? He might not have heard of it, just to give him a fair chance, but if he has, what's one village to him? Hardly worth the effort, to be sure.

  “Now, if it were his own household, I'm sure things would be different. Why, the Winged Kingsguard themselves would be sent the length and breadth of the kingdom to find a cure and retrieve it by any means necessary,” Ragnar scoffed, then muttered unintelligibly to himself.

  Harper turned back to Aedon and Brand.

  "That pretty much covers it," said Aedon with a shrug. "It's hard to join, but if you get in, don't necessarily think you'll be off gallivanting on grand and noble quests. More likely, you'll sit, growing old and fat, until the king sends you out on some selfish behest."

  "You're just bitter," Harper said, sticking her chin up and surprising even herself with her audacity. "Can't be helped that some folks have privilege and others don't. It sucks...believe me, I know...but it doesn't mean those with privilege are all bad. It doesn't mean the king is bad, or that the Winged Kingsguard are all old, fat, lazy, and have no morals. I want to be a dragon-rider, a knight, somebody better than the nobody I’ve been all my life. Plus, I won't be like that. It’s not in my nature. So at least there'll be one good one."