Chronicles of Pelenor Trilogy Collection

by Meg Cowley

He subsided at her gesture, but she could see he was still unhappy.

  “Are you sure this is wise?” Brand murmured to her as the könig dismissed them to speak more with his jarls on their forthcoming strategy and inevitable battles.

  “No,” Harper admitted. “But I don’t know what else to do. There are so many questions...” About Saradon and his purpose. Is it as dark as it seems? As Dimitrius suspects? And then Dimitrius... What is to come? “And no answers.”

  “I will find answers. And revenge,” said Erika gleefully, smiling darkly at Harper. “I have waited a lifetime to repay the suffering of my family. Now that I find the one who caused it is within my reach, I will see it done.”

  “You cannot presume to take him on single-handedly,” said Brand, exasperated. “Saradon is an elf...a most powerful one now, it seems. You are strong, but none of us would get near him.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll die trying. I’ll try, even if none of you comes with me.”

  “I will always come with you,” Brand said in a low voice. Harper pretended not to hear. Aedon walked in stony-faced silence beside her. She was still not speaking to him.

  “We’re all going,” Harper eventually said. “When the dwarves depart for Afnirheim next week, we will all go with them. This... We could help avert a catastrophe.”

  Vanir’s words weighed on her. The mysterious vision of the one Vanir called Erendriel. Somehow, Harper was just another body in this, yet something more. She shivered as the dark clouds and scorched, ruined land of her visions teased her. The stakes could not have been higher, if what she had seen would come to pass should she fail.

  Thirty-Seven

  King Toroth’s throne stood empty for the first time in centuries as the high council congregated in the hall without him, all silent and expectant. Not even a whisper rustled through them, their attention fixed upon Raedon, standing one step down from Toroth’s throne, and Dimitri, standing one step farther down from him. Their rank in this could not have been stated more clearly.

  Commander and advisor.

  There had been surprise and fear at the beginning. Why were they being summoned? Was it one of Toroth’s latest fits? More than a few faces were absent, for fear of their own fates in the king’s volatile hands. They would find out what had passed soon enough. And no doubt come flooding back.

  Now there was only confusion. Raedon and Dimitri had ever been on opposite sides of a bitter personal vendetta. Now they stood together before the empty throne. Dimitri suppressed a smile at the riddle with which he and Raedon faced them.

  Dimitri nodded to Raedon, who cleared his throat and straightened.

  “We have summoned the full council today for a matter most urgent. It has been coming for a while, as I am sure you are all aware, though none of us would have dreamt to utter it. The king is no longer fit to sit the throne.”

  A muttering rose amongst them, whispers chasing around the room.

  “Until such time as His Majesty, or one of his heirs, is once more fit to rule, we must act to preserve Pelenor. As general of the Winged Kingsguard, I will step in to keep the peace across the realm, in the king’s name–”

  He was cut off by a bark of derisive laughter. “You presumptuous, greedy upstart!” the king’s aged treasurer cursed Raedon, before he bent at the waist, taken over by a coughing fit. He, too, had been struck by Saradon’s Curse, which slowly wasted him away.

  Raedon fixed him in a steely glare. “I do not seek to sit the throne, Treasurer.”

  Dimitri stirred. “Nor I,” he added. All eyes turned to him, glaring and full of disdain. “The queen will soon be dead.” Gasps rang out through the hall, echoing into the vaulted heights. “The king follows her, unless he miraculously recovers. Their children and many members of this court, as well.” He glanced around the hall, which was far emptier than it ought to be. Cold shadows crept close. “Saradon’s Curse lives once more, feeding from the greed, corruption, and sin in this ghastly pit. Notice how the good general is untroubled by this affliction?” Dimitri gestured to Raedon. “He stands above such pettiness, so the curse does not feed on him. You ought to be more like him.” He fixed the treasurer with his own scorn. Before he could retort, Dimitri continued.

  “All the passes east through our borders and Valtivar are closed. Pelenor wastes from within and without. No supplies come, and none leave across the mountains. The scourge of goblins, under their pascha’s leadership and with the aid of Saradon of House Ravakian, seeks to crush the realm of dwarves. Already, Afnirheim has fallen to them. It lay sundered and barren, and I fear all other dwarven halls in Valtivar will soon follow suit, unless we help the dwarves.”

  “Why should we help them? Never have they risen for us,” a callous voice called.

  “That is not true. Though we have not needed their aid for millenia, we have been allies for as long as our two nations go back, into the depths of time. We should not forsake them now. Would you have them fall, alone, because the enemy does not come for you?” Dimitri challenged them all.

  “If first he comes for the dwarves, and you do not stand beside them, where next do you think he might look? If then he turns to us, who will stand beside us? Not the dwarves. They will be dead and gone, ash and dust. Not the tribes of the Indis, who we have already shown our enmity to for centuries. Not the free dragons, for we have enslaved their kin for generations. They would sooner burn us. Not the elves of Auraria, who care for none. They will flee to their halls and we will hear no more of them. No. We will stand utterly alone, and we will fall. Unless we stand with our neighbours.

  “To ensure our own survival, we must seize control of Pelenor’s own fate. Saradon is coming. Tournai is but one small part of Pelenor. One small part of the web of disarray and strife that now spreads. Long has the court, the king, ignored the common peoples. If we allow it, Saradon will take them as his own and they will rise against us all. Toroth’s answer will be to burn us all in dragonfire, for he is insane. It cannot be so.”

  “You speak treasons,” the treasurer called, getting a murmur of agreement.

  Dimitri laughed. “I will speak and commit them, if it is to save Pelenor,” he said simply, fixing him in a steely gaze. “At least I will have earned my death. Will you have the courage to do what is right? Have you so quickly forgotten the burnings?”

  The treasurer winced.

  “I thought not. What of the last ones? All of them false traitors. You all suspected, yet I can confirm it. Not one supported Saradon, and their crimes were borne of the king’s madness and greed. Toroth framed every last one of them to secure their assets, and his good favour on the centenary of Saradon’s defeat.”

  Now, open consternation ripped through the ranks before him. Dimitri smiled, tight-lipped, satisfied. He had waited what felt like a long time to play that card.

  Raedon fingered the handle of his sword. “Enough.” His voice was quiet, commanding. “The Winged Kingsguard is taking command of Pelenor, in the name of the king. The guilds stand with us, and they command a vast amount of the people. If you disagree with this, I will deal with you. As for the rest of you, we will present a united, strong front to the people. We will go to the aid of the dwarves as soon as we are able. And we will rule Pelenor, keep her strong as she always has been, until such time as the king or his kin can take up their duties again. Whether Saradon’s rise be truth or rumour, he will not succeed now, just as he did not succeed before. Leave now, and attend your duties.”

  The court descended into irretrievable disorder. Raedon, his gaze sharp and determined, caught Dimitri’s eyes. He nodded once to Dimitri, who nodded back. It was done. Toroth would rule no more, guarded in his sickbed night and day by one of Raedon’s finest. All of his kin, be they sick or well, would also be kept secure in their rooms.

  Raedon would assume command, as was the military right of his rank, with Dimitri by his side as the king’s spymaster, to ensure nothing in the kingdom or beyond its borders escaped their notice.


  If only they knew what a spy they had in enemy courts, Dimitri mused. Even Raedon had no idea just how closely they were both tied to Saradon.

  Dimitri was pleased as he left the hall, which was filled to the rafters with worry. Toroth was deposed at last. Yet his satisfaction soon soured in his stomach. It was not Raedon who ruled in Toroth’s stead. Not truly. They were all puppets of a greater power.

  Sooner than Dimitri liked, Saradon would stake his claim to the kingdom that balanced upon a knife’s edge, ready to fall in confusion and disarray. No matter that Dimitri had been the one to raise him, Saradon would take all, with none to stand against him.

  What have I done?

  Thirty-Eight

  “Who is Valxiron? Who is Erendriel?” Harper asked now they had retired to one of their rooms in the könig’s halls, hoping one of them knew. But she was met by frowns and shaking heads from Brand and Erika. Aedon, however, shifted at her side.

  “Are you sure those were the names you heard, Harper? Exactly those?”

  She met his gaze and nodded, taken aback by the uncharacteristic seriousness. “She said, ‘Valxiron’s legion spreads anew...in Saradon, his disciple.’ And that we ‘shalt triumph over Valxiron’s servant.’ It was Vanir who said the name Erendriel.”

  “‘Valxiron’s legion spreads anew.’ That does not fill me with confidence.”

  “Who is Valxiron?”

  Aedon shook his head and scowled at her. “Do not even speak his name.” He looked at the others. “We ought not to. Just to utter it is to call darkness.”

  “Darkness?”

  “Let me tell you the tale of the Darkness of Altarea, my friends,” Aedon said solemnly, just as he had many nights past to recount the tale of Saradon.

  “In the beginning, there was Altarea, world of the elementals. Those many races know as gods, though by different names and faces. The elementals created all life in Altarea. Everything you see and know, everything you have not yet experienced, the spirits of the elements made it all.

  “They created a master race. The Eldarkind.” Aedon looked at Harper, who nodded slowly.

  The Eldarkind were deeply ingrained in the lore of Caledan. An ethereal, fair, nearly immortal magical race that had disappeared from Caledan, along with the dragons, centuries ago.

  “The Eldarkind governed all in the elementals’ stead, for the day came when most elementals disappeared, leaving few to roam Altarea. They were balance. It was their sole purpose to ensure the cycles of life and death continued in balance all across Altarea. That fairness came to all living things.

  “In the earliest days of our world, where our realms – Aurauria, Pelenor, Caledan, Valtivar, and many more – did not yet exist, or were in the infancy of their years, the Eldarkind ruled all. Noble were they. Fair. Just. Had they continued their governance, I have no doubt Altarea would have remained as noble, fair, and just as they. Yet it was not to be so.”

  They all leaned closer, barely breathing, in anticipation of his words. Harper hung on his story. Here was a tale she had never heard before, but it had every promise to be as grand as any of the wandering bards’ stories.

  “There was born one Eldarkind, Valxiron, who did not share his people’s vision. Valxiron was malcontent with being a lesser Eldarkind with no power amongst his kind. He sought power so he could win over Erendriel, whom he desired above all else. It is said she was the fairest Eldarkind maiden who ever walked the world. Her hair was starlight, her eyes the sky. Her soul was as pure as a babe’s, and all she blessed turned to wonder and joy.

  “Valxiron saw the Eldarkind as weak, not fulfilling the duty for which the elementals created them – to keep order in the world...or, as he saw it, to rule the world.

  “Valxiron pursued Erendriel, but she rejected him and his rhetoric, to his humiliation. He refused to accept that it was her right to do so. That she was entitled to disagree with him. Erendriel did not believe that dominion over all else was most important, and Valxiron’s ideology caused great consternation amongst his people.

  “Valxiron scried the world at the seeing pool. He saw to how much the Eldarkind seemingly turned a blind eye. War and strife were plentiful. Surely it was their duty to prevent such things. He was angry. In his eyes, his people ought to be ashamed for their failings.

  “News of discord arrived, but Valxiron had already seen and awaited, wondering what his elders would do. They had to act. Yet they did not. Valxiron, furious, confronted the elders, imploring them to intervene. It was their duty and purpose. However, they would not listen. Valxiron had enough, realising that unless he took matters into his own hands, it would never come to pass.

  “Valxiron visited the Heart of the World, the source of all power. It was intoxicating. He decided to tip the balance himself. To rebel against the elders for the greater good. Erendriel and the elders tried to stop him, to no avail. Valxiron was determined, his respect and obedience to them broken. He drew from the Heart of the World, unable to resist the alluring call of its limitless power, but such power was beyond his ability to harness and it broke what little was left of his sanity. The Eldarkind banished him from their lands, and from the Heart of the World.

  “Drunk on power, he hatched a daring scheme to accomplish his ends. He would create more strife and chaos in the world, and let itself be torn to pieces. Only then could order remain. Only then could he rule over the vision he desired for Altarea...once he had overthrown the elders, who he thought were too feeble and cowardly to stand against him. He vowed to fulfil the potential of their race, as it was meant to be. To hold dominion over all life.

  “Valxiron found allies wherever he could, those who sought the advancement of their own peoples and dominions. In the dragons, the goblins, mortals, and more besides did he find those who promised themselves to his cause. He gave his allies power from the Heart of the World to accomplish their aims, but also used it to bind them to him.

  “Erendriel sought Valxiron out and begged him to stop. He was anxious to please her and persuade her to his cause. She rejected him utterly. Desperate, Valxiron forced her to his will, but broke her spirit when he did so. She was nothing more than a hollow shell, and he could not undo what had been done.

  “Valxiron was overcome with fury and grief. He blamed himself, but his emotions quickly turned into blaming the elders, for it was they he truly blamed for all that had passed. Were it not for them, he would not have been forced to any of the extreme measures he had taken. Were it not for them, Erendriel would still be. His mind was clear. There was no going back from that point. The elders were not worthy. He, alone, would rule.

  “Valxiron continued manipulating the various peoples around him to increase conflict as far and wide as he could, building his base of allies. He fully intended to betray many who followed him. They were unsavoury, beastly creatures, with no honour or merits, like the goblins.

  “Whilst his machinations proceeded as planned, resistance grew from the elders. They pursued Valxiron, and it seemed his luck had changed. The Eldarkind captured Valxiron and returned him to their homeland, breaking their banishment upon him to do so, to imprison him there. They were distraught at what he had done to Erendriel, yet they still exacted no vengeance upon him. Valxiron’s machinations were at last halted.

  “Valxiron was taunted by his failings when he was brought before the seeing pool to see how chaos had been averted. The elders once again tried to explain that all was a cycle. That all would right itself as it was meant to. Valxiron, haunted by the loss of Erendriel, teetered on the brink of insanity.

  “Valxiron claimed repentance. The elders were convinced of his sincerity, blinded by their hope and benevolence. He was freed, and though they welcomed him back cautiously, he was liberated entirely. Their forgiving and trusting natures would be their undoing.

  “Valxiron struck. Fuelled by the everlasting power of the Heart of the World, he killed the elders one by one, then created a prison of the Eldarkind kingdom. No longer did he desir
e to fulfil altruistic aims. He was driven by anger and grief. He saw the world had righted itself but refused the elders’ message to not meddle.

  “The last elder, instead of defending himself, stripped his entire race of much of their power and sent it where Valxiron would never find it, but he had made one grave mistake. Valxiron cared not, for he now possessed the power of the Heart of the World. He killed the last elder.

  “With his death, the last of the true Eldarkind...the all-powerful, immortal beings...disappeared. Those few who still remain in their hidden pockets of the world are but a paltry shadow of their former selves.

  “Valxiron claimed the Heart of the World as his own. It gave him the power to have ultimate dominion over all. He had no love or loyalty to anyone, save himself. From that day, a darkness spread over all.

  “His dominion lasted for an age and nearly tore the world apart. But for Erendriel, who ultimately cast Valxiron down – though, I confess, I have not yet read that tale – it would have endured to this day. It took another age to recover from the darkness he wrought...” Aedon looked at Harper. “The likes of which I believe you saw just a hint of in your vision of Erendriel, Harper.

  “However, his mission continues. E’er have there been pockets of malcontents who seek to revive his work, seek to continue his legacy. If Erendriel appeared in your vision, she speaks truly of Saradon. That he is somehow Valxiron’s own servant. It would explain, perhaps, how Saradon, a half-elf with no magic, became one of the strongest mages in Pelenor seemingly overnight, and also how he can find servants or allies in the goblins. Perhaps even now, the Dark One’s magic and his malicious will still endure.”

  Aedon shivered. “I don’t enjoy telling that story.”

  Brand scratched his forehead. “What does this mean for Saradon now? For Afnirheim? For us?”

  “I’m not sure. Only that he is far more powerful than we know. I fear Afnirheim is not the worst he could do. We shall have to tread very carefully indeed.”