Chronicles of Pelenor Trilogy Collection

by Meg Cowley

  Above her head soared... Dragons.

  Big ones, little ones, blue ones, red ones. They called to each other with roars that echoed around the cave, and as they landed in the caves, the cracking of rock was akin to the snapping of whips.

  One blew a great stream of fire across the inside of the mountain, and a wave of heat rolled down upon them. Harper squeaked as it blasted her face.

  "Keep steady," Aedon murmured. "Nearly there. This is the worst part.”

  "Won't they come after us?" she whispered back.

  "That’s why we have the cloaks. In them, we're friend, not foe. They think we're Kingsguard, and long may it stay that way." He gave her a reassuring smile and encouraged her forward. She struggled not to break into a run, feeling far too conspicuous wandering through a thunder of dragons.

  Don't eat us. Please don't eat us. Don't eat us. Please don't eat us.

  The thoughts reverberated around her head with each roar that seemed to vibrate right to the heart of her.

  "This way," Brand said in a low voice, walking into a wide hallway that plunged steeply down on the other side of the crater. "The egg vaults are down here.”

  There were more guards, too, standing before a thick, iron portcullis that barred the way. Again, Brand and Erika did not hesitate, and Aedon and Ragnar dove into the frey. Harper raised her sword and backed away, trying not to get in the way, certain she'd be a liability.

  Erika looked back at her with scorn that made Harper cringe. They raised the portcullis and hurried through.

  A feather-light touch caressed Harper. She knew the Dragonheart was there. Instinctively, she recognised the imprint of it, the feel of it.

  "It's here," she said as they rushed along the tunnel. "I can feel it."

  They entered a large cellar with vaulted ceilings. Shelves upon shelves were laid out in rows, bearing the most unlikely treasures – dragon eggs of every size, colour, and texture. Even Erika stopped for a moment of wonder.

  "This way. Quickly.” Aedon led them. "It'll be in one of the secure vaults. I’m holding back the wards with every ounce of our combined strength, but I can’t protect us for long.”

  Harper saw his jaw clenched, as though he were under some great strain, and a bead of sweat began to form upon his brow.

  They followed him through the gloom. In every direction, the egg store was pitch black. Harper followed Aedon closely, keen to stay within the sphere of magical light he had cast to illuminate the way, small and inconsequential though it seemed.

  "We're getting closer," Harper said. “I can feel something...familiar. It’s the stone. I know it sounds crazy, but—”

  “Not crazy at all,” said Aedon, changing course. “What you’re sensing is the magical resonance of the stone, which, incidentally, is exactly how I found you in Tournai using your old dagger.”

  Harper had no time to process her surprise as they jogged on. They came upon a door, locked with a fancy, cylindrical mechanism of many revolving disks, the likes of which she had not seen before.

  “A safe,” remarked Aedon. “How predictable!”

  “A safe?” Harper asked.

  “The gigantic strongbox of rich folks,” Aedon explained, wrinkling his nose.

  "How do we open it?" Harper ran her fingers over the dials. I have no idea. So close, yet so far...

  "Allow me, my dear." Aedon gestured for her to stand to one side and took her place before the door, raising his arms and wriggling his fingers, as though preparing. He whispered to the door, stroking the dials in a particular order.

  The dials rotated on their own until the door groaned and opened slowly. Inside it lay piles of Dragonhearts of all colours, shapes, and sizes.

  Aedon’s mouth fell open, his expression mirrored by the rest of his companions.

  “There are so many,” Harper whispered.

  “Enough to cure a nation, if it came to it,” Aedon said, his voice equally hushed. “It’s too tempting. Grab as many as you can.”

  “Wait... What? We came for just one – mine!” Harper said. “We can’t steal any!”

  Aedon scoffed at her. “These could help us curtail what threatens to be a plague. Start grabbing.”

  Harper refused, following the tug inside her to the small stone that was hers and hers alone. She grasped it and stepped from the vault. The rest soon tumbled out, their pockets, bags, and anything else that could be used as a vessel stuffed with as many Dragonhearts as they could carry.

  “Quick,” said Aedon through gritted teeth. “The wards are crushing me. I cannot hold them back much longer. We must leave.”

  They followed him out at a run.

  They heard a shout up ahead, saw torchlight.

  "Weapons out, team, and stick together," Aedon said calmly. Harper's heart lurched as more adrenaline flooded her system.

  The Kingsguard seemed to melt out of the darkness in a cacophony of noise, light, and blood-red cloaks, until the group was surrounded from all directions.

  Fifty-Four

  Aedon forged ahead, flanked by Brand and Erika, who cut down anyone who got in their way.

  Harper stumbled and fell, smashing her already battered body on the stones, but the adrenaline had her up and running a second later. She chanced a glance behind her. How could they be behind and ahead of her? Several red cloaks flapped in the gloom, spurring her on.

  The portcullis was ahead, but she saw it lowering. Aedon and Erika ran through. Brand dove, just barely making it out, landing hard on the far side before scrambling to his feet. They fanned out to meet the wall of red cloaks awaiting them at the far side.

  "No!" screamed Harper, but it was too late. The portcullis slammed shut, cutting her and Ragnar off from the rest of them.

  Aedon turned, and his face paled.

  "Harper!" he shouted, slamming his hands against the impenetrable iron and looking at them helplessly. He only had a moment before he was forced to turn and meet blades with one of the Kingsguard.

  Harper and Ragnar backed into a corner between the portcullis and the rough walls as the Kingsguard fanned out around them. Ragnar raised his axe before him.

  Harper swallowed. Fear fuelled her now, but as she looked at her companions, snarling desperately as they fought, almost like caged animals that knew they were already defeated, a surge of anger rose. This was not how it...how they were supposed to end, but end they would unless she did something.

  "We can do this." Brand’s reassuring voice boomed over them all, as if to allay her fears.

  "I say the same to you, Harper," Aedon called amidst the sound of clashing blades. "Fighting, just like you've practised—”

  “But harder," Erika chimed in. Harper could hear the smile behind her gritted teeth at the joy of the fight.

  Harper nodded. If she thought about it, she would lose all nerve, so she didn't think. She threw herself forward, Ragnar at her side, as the soldiers descended on them.

  Ragnar tore at their cloaks, nimbly running between and around them, tangling them in the folds, whilst Harper danced around, fending off attacks. Somehow, her feet found the right positions, and she realised that Brand's training, limited as it was, made sense. She was still clumsy, and her short, light blade could not match the strength, reach, and power of the soldiers before her, but somehow, she managed to dodge one soldier's attack and slice his hand.

  "Sorry!" she squealed as he screeched in pain and dropped his blade. Don't apologise, you idiot! she berated herself.

  Ragnar grabbed the man's hand in his vice-like grip and pulled him to the floor so Harper could smash the man's helm with the pommel of her sword. He went limp, out cold.

  "You should have killed him," Ragnar growled.

  "I can't!" It's just not in my nature, but at least I can put them out of action.

  There was no time to argue, for the next of the guards charged. Harper and Ragnar took him out together. Harper slashed at his cloak, then grabbed it as it flew past her, yanking hard so the man stumbled off bal
ance. Ragnar leapt onto his back and dragged his dagger across the man’s throat. He gurgled and fell as Ragnar leapt off him and advanced on the remaining guards with his axe raised, who surrounded them warily.

  Harper backed up to the portcullis. An arm shot through it, grabbing her by the neck and pulling her back hard, cutting off her air supply. A second arm grasped her around the waist, trapping her sword arm at her side.

  Harper struggled, but the tightening grip was like a vice around her slender neck, and she could not move an inch. Stars danced in her vision as he slowly strangled her, the world around her beginning to fade.

  Ragnar turned and froze. The anguish in his eyes was clear, and it cut her to the core. Harper knew they had lost. It was over. They would both die.

  DIMITRI STOOD AND WATCHED. Unbeknownst to Aedon, he had also held back the wards, lending his strength to the elf. As much as he would have liked to see Aedon devoured by the protective magic, Dimitri’s success depended on theirs.

  In the chaos, it was easy to slip between the folds of the world, staying hidden. He flitted between them, tripping a guard here, blinding one there, just for the fun of it. He refused to admit to himself that he did not want Harper to be hurt.

  He paused by Aedon and the tall Aerian. Their cloak pockets and bags hanging from their waists were stuffed to the brim with Dragonhearts. He found the biggest and spirited it to the in-between place with him. It was risky. He ought to have left, but he stayed, lingering just a while to watch the fight.

  The dragon magic roared through Aedon, bathing all in fire, burning up wards, as well as air.

  Interesting. He is more powerful than I realized, even without a dragon.

  The dragon’s bond of strength had not entirely forsaken the elf. Dimitri had no idea that could be the case when a rider’s dragon died. It was a new reason to be wary of Aedon.

  Around them, he felt the wards crumbling under the weight of magical assault and dragonfire. They were almost free, but not quite. Dare he leave them yet?

  Remember why you are here. It is not for them.

  With that thought, Dimitri left.

  WITH THE LAST OF HER thoughts, Harper focused on Ragnar. His presence was her anchor, all that kept her from falling apart and being dashed in the wind.

  Give them hell.

  If she was going to die, if they both were, there was no reason not to take as many down as possible. Her fingers scrabbled inside her cloak, desperately seeking the dagger.

  With a roar, Ragnar turned back to the Kingsguard, who rushed toward him.

  Harper plunged the dagger into the arm around her throat.

  His screams and curses were drowned out by a blaze of light and heat as flames erupted from Aedon, bathing the Kingsguard before him.

  The hands around Harper vanished. She collapsed to the floor and slumped against the portcullis, gasping for breath, utterly spent.

  Aedon’s fire grew. Slowly turning her head, she could see how he glowed from the inside out. He's beautiful...and deadly, Harper thought.

  Each breath hurt, as though her throat had been squeezed shut and would not open, and the heat in the air around her burnt her mouth. Stars still danced before her eyes, and her fingers were limp around the handle of the dagger.

  I need to get up, she thought, but it was impossible, and Aedon was so beautiful to watch. It was almost as if he was moving in slow motion.

  He turned, and an arcing jet of white-yellow-orange-red fire gushed from him. The cloaks of the Kingsguard caught fire, the red of the fabric deepening the colours of the flames. The plumes of their helmets flamed up, too, like columns of flickering light shooting for the ceiling.

  The men ripped their cloaks and helms off, desperately trying to stamp out the fire, but as Aedon continued, they ran. Inferno after inferno he sent at them, advancing a step at a time, until they fled into the dark vaults.

  The portcullis rumbled to life at Harper’s back. As it rose, she tumbled backwards, sprawling upon the floor. Aedon rushed to her side, Ragnar and the others arriving soon after.

  “Harper, can you hear me?”

  She could not tell who the voice belonged to. She found the strength to raise a hand that did not feel like hers. Another grasped it, almost too hot to touch.

  Aedon?

  "Harper!" Aedon's piercing voice cut through her daze. He knelt beside her and gently helped her into a sitting position. She slumped against his chest. "Thank goodness you're alive."

  “What in the blazes was that?” Brand spluttered.

  “Er, can we discuss this another time?” asked Aedon. Brand narrowed his eyes and placed his hands on his hips. “Fine. Long story short, I repurposed the power of the wards into fire magic. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Right,” Brand mumbled, dumbfounded. “Not a big deal.”

  "We need to get her out of here,” Ragnar said, biting his lip as he felt Harper’s forehead.

  "A moment, please. I need to give her strength to move.”

  Aedon dragged his bloodied hand across her cheek and cocooned her under his other arm. He murmured words she couldn’t understand that slipped in and out of her ears as easily as wind through hair.

  Harper felt the tingle of magic rush through her. Slowly, the fog in her mind retreated, then her pain, until she felt well enough to sit up on her own.

  "Better?" Aedon asked. She nodded, but he did not remove his support until she was on her feet and he was certain she could walk unaided.

  "Let's go," snapped Erika. "The entire hold will have heard that din."

  "We need another way out," Ragnar said with a pointed glance at Aedon.

  "Remember, we're not the Dragonheart," said Aedon. "We're the decoy. The king won’t be able to resist trying to pin me down now. Brand, take Harper and go. A tall, high place... You know what to do. We’ll see you on the other side. Erika, Ragnar, come with me. We can't use the front door, so we might as well try the back.”

  "Try?" asked Ragnar.

  "We've been in worse predicaments," said Aedon with a smile.

  Ragnar spluttered at that, speechless.

  "Come on!" Erika scowled and set off.

  Harper looked at Aedon, completely baffled. "We have to split up?"

  "Trust me," said Aedon. For once, there was no hint of mischief. He was as serious as she had ever seen, and his smile was tired. "We'll see you soon."

  "Harper, this way."

  For a short time, they all ran together through the hall. The clamour ahead set Harper's nerves on edge once more. At a crossroads, the group split in two without a word. Harper followed Brand into the darkness.

  The Aerian forged ahead along a perfectly flat corridor, which was lit by tiny lamps that offered little help.

  "Stairs," was his only warning before they ran onto the rising spiral. Harper pushed as hard as she could, struggling to keep up. Brand's giant wings, which barely fit in the narrow confines, rustled as they scraped along the thick stone, slowly pulling farther ahead.

  A different kind of light emerged. Suddenly, there were slitted windows in the walls that punctuated the stairwell at every level. The stone here was over an arm’s length thick. As she raced past each opening, she glanced out. They were so high, but she had little breath and less energy to try and comprehend where they fled to.

  Soon, Brand came to a door. It offered little resistance against his bulk as he ran into it. He contorted his body to slip his wings through. Once he had made sure the coast was clear, he reached a hand in to tug her out faster.

  Harper gasped. It seemed they were at the top of Tournai in some kind of watch tower, though who needed a watch tower almost on top of a mountain, she had no idea.

  A walled ledge surrounded them. Brand peered over the edge. Harper followed suit. Her stomach flipped. They were so high up, she could not even comprehend the height. The road to the city was nothing more than a tiny ribbon trailing through the valley.

  From where she stood, the wall around the city looked li
ke parchment, the buildings a sprawling collection of crumbs. The wind tugged and tore at her, teasing that it would pull her off and fling her to her death below.

  "Where do we go?" She turned in a circle, seeing nowhere else to go, except down the staircase from which they had emerged.

  Brand pointed out...toward nothing.

  Harper raised an eyebrow. A suspicious inkling began to unfurl in her stomach, and she very much hoped it was wrong.

  "We're going to fly. Low and fast."

  Oh no.

  "Slight problem," she said, her tone light, though she felt like screaming. "I can't fly.”

  "I can," Brand replied. He smirked a little at her discomfort.

  "But you can’t carry me,” she said desperately. Not this high. Not this far. Not again. "There must be another way."

  "We really don't have a choice, Harper," said Brand in his usual no-nonsense approach. "Sooner or later, they're going to find us up here. If we're not gone..." He left the rest to her imagination.

  "All right. If you're sure," she replied, swallowing her nerves. She nodded. "Let's get this over with."

  Brand opened his arms wide for her to come to him.

  "Please don't drop me," she whispered as she leaned into his chest.

  His laugh rumbled through him as his arms closed around her, firm and strong. He lifted her with ease and hopped onto the parapet.

  Harper squeezed her eyes shut, clamped down on the rising nausea that threatened to overwhelm her, and clutched onto Brand's clothing. It was still not enough.

  The door slammed open behind them, crashing into the stone wall. Brand wheeled around.

  “You!” he snarled and crouched into a defensive position, shifting Harper into one arm and drawing his blade with his free hand.

  Dimitrius stood before them, his hands up, preparing to spellcast, Harper assumed. Their eyes locked. Dimitrius paused before lowering his hands.