Chronicles of Pelenor Trilogy Collection

by Meg Cowley

  “I hope you feel ashamed of yourself, bastard,” Aedon cursed at him. “Do you feel good taking advantage of young women like that?”

  Dimitri gazed at him impassively.

  Aedon spat onto the floor, a red globule of blood.

  “If you are so willing to help me, daughter,” Saradon crooned, “join me. I insist.”

  Harper walked toward him, rebelling against every step he made her take, until she stood before him. His finger lifted her chin so she met his gaze – her stony rebellion against his cold ire.

  He leaned close, so only she could hear, his hot breath fanning against her cheek. “If you decide to be so foolish again, I will only punish you all the more.”

  He pressed his knife into her hand, the blade cruel and dark, a river of steel. He stepped back. To her horror, she brought it to her own throat, tracing her skin with the cold edge of the blade, teasing it with the sharp point until he forced her to dig a little too deeply and pierce the skin. A droplet of blood ran down her neck as she stood utterly still, no longer rebelling against him, her wide eyes flicking from his gaze to Aedon’s, whose face mirrored her own horror. She saw the same fear within him, which worried her even more.

  Saradon laughed. “As you see, she will do as I bid. She will act how I instruct her, even if I ask her to take her own life.” He grinned at Dimitri, who smiled a thin-lipped grimace that did not reach his eyes. The best he could attempt at sycophancy. “I can even ask her to take your life. Oh, I am so tempted,” he murmured, grinning.

  With an unspoken order, Harper moved to Aedon. Her hand found his, pulling him to his feet. She tried to warn him, her eyes widening even more, that she did not act of her own volition.

  He realised when the cold steel touched his bare, blackened, bruised chest. His green eyes flickered to it before returning to hers, capturing her attention. They had never looked more serious. The light and sparkle of his laughing gaze was gone. Now his eyes were the colour of the brooding winter forest. Hard and cold. Not toward her, she realised, but toward the fate that might be his at her hands.

  “You don’t have to do this,” he said in a voice so quiet that she thought she imagined it.

  “I cannot defy him,” she breathed back.

  With all her might, she uncurled her fingers, one by one, from the dagger. It clanged to the floor between them.

  Saradon barked with laughter at her defiance, then yanked her leash tighter, forcing her to stoop and pick it up. This time, he made her press the point into Aedon’s chest.

  I’m sorry, she tried to tell him as the tip nicked his skin.

  He grimaced and pain flashed through his eyes before he masked it, gazing at her calmly and reassuringly. He flinched as she pressed harder. Yet Aedon did not push her away, did not blast her with his magic.

  He will not defend himself no matter what I do?

  The dagger carved into his chest in a slow, lazy circle. Aedon’s jaw clenched. He shook with the effort of keeping in the pain, not letting it show to Saradon, who watched keenly, nor Dimitri, who lurked behind them all, yet could not stop watching, pacing like a caged beast.

  “I forgive you,” he forced out between flinching. “I know it is not you who acts.”

  I’m sorry, she mouthed.

  His words did not alleviate her guilt. This is all my fault. If I had not been foolish enough to give him full control over me...

  “You are not bound to him as fully as you think you are,” he hissed, breaking into her mind. “Your blood binds you to him, it is true, and you gave your word, of a sort, but in that ambiguity you can find escape.”

  “What do you mean?” she dared to ask, even as her hand pulled back the dagger to start a new line, a wave across his chest.

  He grimaced in pain. “Your magic is yours, and no one can ever truly control that but you, Harper. Think on it. You harness that which the world gives you. It does not come from within you, and thus, no one can shackle that.”

  Gratitude welled within her at his solid friendship, his faith in her, though she wondered at his words. Was there a part of her that was free from Saradon? She had managed to throw off his control before, if only fleetingly. Could she escape his thrall completely somehow?

  Before her, Aedon sagged in pain, but Saradon’s magic held him aloft. Horrified, Harper realised what she had done. She stepped back, even before she realised she could move, and her hand, which had clutched the dagger tightly, loosened on the handle, almost throwing it away before she halted herself.

  Saradon momentarily lapsed in his control of her as he admired her handiwork. She had carved his own mark, the Riven Circle, upon Aedon’s once beautiful, bare chest.

  With a rush of grief and anger, her magic rushed up within her, raging to burst forth.

  In a chink of clarity, she touched Dimitri’s mind, and he opened his walls to let her in. She communicated her thoughts in an instant. Dimitri rushed into her mind then, protectively encasing it in his own adamant wall against Saradon’s control. It would not last long, but she hoped it would be enough.

  “Go!” she screamed into Aedon’s mind with every fibre of her being.

  He seemed to understand. He blazed with magic, despite his broken body and tired heart, the dragonfire still slumbering deep within him.

  Harper launched the dagger at Saradon. Caught entirely by surprise, he did not have time to move before it buried itself in his side. Yet he was far more powerful than all of them combined.

  As Aedon ran to the doors, blazing fire at any goblins in his way, Saradon pulled the dagger from his flesh, like a knife from butter. He would heal himself in a moment, Harper knew, but she hoped it would be distraction enough.

  Valxiron’s darkness grew as Saradon channelled his master’s power to him. The true brunt of it took Harper’s breath away. She was lighter and more inconsequential than a feather, pummelled by a storm of storms as he turned on her, rage visible in every line upon his snarling face.

  The goblins overran the hall as Aedon fled, but their shrieks were of fear, not predatory glee, and Saradon whirled to them as the pascha himself barrelled in amongst them.

  “The dwarves are here!” Dimitri said into Harper’s mind, his tone high with shock. “Come. This may be our only chance!” With that, he leapt to her side and grabbed her around the waist, disappearing into the ether as he spirited them away.

  Seconds later, they came upon Aedon. Dimitri grabbed the elf, who protested vociferously, in his other arm, then once more took them into the nothingness. A breath later, he set them down in a quiet hall. They heard the din not far away.

  When Dimitri grimaced, Harper knew why. His arm around her relaxed, then stiffened again. Saradon summoned them, as he did all those in his control. A summons they could not resist. The goblin horde would hurry to do his bidding, to meet the tide of dwarves flooding their ancestral home, determined to take it back. She hoped they would number enough, but against Saradon, who could triumph? Despair filled her.

  “Go,” Dimitri snarled at Aedon. “Get out of here.”

  “I’m not leaving without her. Harper, come with me!” Aedon reached for her. She saw exhaustion in him before, but only determination and desperation fuelled him now.

  She longed for nothing more than to go to him. For him to take her away from dark and brutal Afnirheim, for a breath of fresh air, a fine meal, and the company of friends whom she had taken for granted and now missed.

  Tears pricked her eyes as she realised it would not, could not be so. She stepped back, further into Dimitri’s arm. “I cannot go. He calls for us. My very bones ache to go to him,” she admitted. Shivers racked her, but not just from cold. From resisting his order that called for her body to leave at once.

  Aedon gaped and glanced between them.

  Dimitri’s visage was serious, yet tinged with sadness. “Aedon, I know you bear me much enmity. I promise, I will protect her as much as I can. We cannot leave.”

  He grimaced as the summons came again
, stronger, and Harper blanched, too. He looked at her, and she met his gaze. “Come,” he said softly to her. “The sooner we heed, the less the punishment will be.”

  “No!” Aedon leapt forward to grasp Harper’s wrist, trying to tug her away from Dimitri. But she pulled herself free, curling away from him.

  “Aedon, I cannot. Please, trust me. You must leave before the opportunity escapes. They are coming.” Already, she could hear their infernal shrieks as they scrabbled up through the halls, even as the other end of the vast space started to fill with dwarves forming ranks to sweep through the city.

  “Take Brand and Erika if you can.” She sent him a flood of memories of their maltreatment at the goblins’ hands.

  He paled at the sight, then growled at her with a grimace. “Damn it!” They all knew none of them had any choice. “We will return for you. I swear it!”

  “Go,” she urged him again. “I am Saradon’s blood. He will not harm me. I am safe, for now.” She said it with far more confidence than she felt. But if it meant her friends were saved, her remaining was a small price to pay.

  I will stay. I will remain so they may leave.

  She could not think what that would mean. She had seen her friends suffer most terribly at Saradon’s hands. Could she endure the same? It was too terrifying to imagine what her punishment might be if she could turn his ire at their escape onto herself.

  You must, she urged herself. Be brave. They had no choice but to suffer it. Ragnar, Brand, Erika, Aedon... They had all suffered at Saradon’s hands. She had escaped lightly thus far. It is a price I must pay to save them – whatever comes of it.

  Aedon glanced at the dwarven ranks, but instead of escaping that way, he dove straight for the heart of the goblins now pouring into the far end of the hall, blasting them out of his way as he disappeared into their midst and the dark caverns beyond.

  “I must help them,” Harper moaned to Dimitri, threading a hand through her hair in anguish, but his grip on her wrist stopped her.

  “You cannot. We must go. Now. Can you not feel his anger?” For the first time, Dimitri sounded fearful.

  Harper shared her guilt with Dimitri, daring to confide in him. “If I had not given him my word, my bond, this never would have happened. My friends would have been safe from him. From me.” Harper balled her hands into fists until her fingernails dug into the skin of her palm painfully – but she did not stop.

  You deserve the pain, she told herself.

  “Saradon would have taken it anyway,” said Dimitri harshly. “He used his sway with the goblins to keep the pascha and his scourge in his thrall. I will do my best within my orders to help your friends, Harper, but I can make no promises. I am bound to do what he asks of me.” Dimitri gritted his teeth.

  The din rose around them as the dwarves charged from their end of the hall toward the rabble of goblins at the other. In the centre of the area, the noise was overwhelming, as overwhelming as the call to Saradon’s side. Dimitri looked between the opposing forces to either side of them, clutched Harper close, and fled into the shadows, racing back to Saradon’s side.

  He was not far behind the goblin scourge. His magic filled the hall with charged crackling as he smote left and right, sending blasts into dwarven ranks and scattering them, leaving bodies in his wake. The goblins rushed forward, taking advantage of their foes’ disarray.

  Dimitri and Harper materialised before Saradon, whose scowl deepened. “Where have you been?” he snarled. “I expect better from you, Lord Ellarian. Go forth and make sure my work is done. Kill them all!”

  Dimitri bowed and vanished once more. The last thing to disappear was his reassuring hand on Harper’s own.

  Harper quailed, her own power and defiance a tiny light against the dark of night. “I will deal with you later,” Saradon said threateningly. He extended a clawed hand toward her. Pain racked her body, then all faded to darkness.

  Fifty-Two

  Aedon limped into the depths of Afnirheim to where they had been imprisoned, where he hoped Brand and Erika still were. His mind was a jumble of thoughts. His torture at the hands of Saradon...or, rather, Harper. Harper’s own position in Saradon’s captivity. Dimitrius.

  Not for the first time, Aedon did not understand his motivations, or machinations, but he had promised to keep her safe. It was Dimitrius he would hold accountable if any harm befell Harper. But there was no time to think on it. He pushed the thoughts from his mind, focusing on not getting lost in the maze of tunnels down into the depths of the fallen dwarven city.

  Would that the dwarven reinforcements buy us enough time to escape, he pleaded with the silent heavens. Aedon was certain this would be their only chance. It’s this or death. He had so much to live for and did not want to meet his end in the dark caverns, far from the green woods or the open sky.

  It gave him renewed vigour and strength to run, despite his limp, for remaining would only bring doom on them all. He only hoped Harper would remain safe until they could exact her rescue, too.

  Nothing could stand before his burning desire to leave. He blasted goblins with furious bursts of energy that sent them crashing into the walls to fall upon the floor, still and prone. If nothing else, with the remnant of her fire, he could pretend Valyria fought beside him once more. The thought of her gave him courage to defy the ordinary and manage the impossible.

  You are the Thief of Pelenor, he reminded himself. You can escape from anywhere.

  When he broke through the stone doors and into the lightless, airless prison, Brand and Erika greeted him with moans of relief. They emerged into the dim light on shaking limbs, as battered and bruised as he. Aedon grimaced when he saw them, a mixture of pity and anger at their state, but he did not have time to be righteous about it.

  “Come. There’s a window of opportunity. We must go!”

  “What of Harper?” Brand asked as he loped through the corridors beside Aedon, his face set in a permanent grimace of pain.

  “There’s no time. I’ll explain when we get out. We’ll have to come back for her. Trust me,” Aedon implored. Brand nodded, his calculating gaze evaluating Aedon’s unusual seriousness.

  Erika was in a better state than Brand, but Aedon sent what energy he thought he could spare to them both. It would not do for any of them to falter. They took any weapons they could from the corpses of goblins they passed. Brand lamented the loss of his giant blade, and Erika her two swords, but their loss would be a small price to pay for escape.

  They cut down any before them, lifted by their success, until they turned a corner and ran straight into a huge band of goblins.

  They scrambled backward, bunching together as the horde turned upon them.

  Brand swore. There were far too many.

  This is it, Aedon realised with a sinking feeling that he pushed away. They stood no chance of survival or escape.

  DIMITRI WAS GRATEFUL for Saradon’s vague orders, for in their ambiguity, he had room for disobedience.

  Kill them all. Dimitri grinned wolfishly. He didn’t say who.

  He rushed through Afnirheim, obliterating any goblins he came upon with a wave of fury, but he found no solace in their deaths. They only fuelled the inferno burning within him. When would the damned scourge of creatures end? They seemed to pour from the very earth without pause, as if they spawned infinitely. Dimitri internally cursed Saradon for his foolish alliance as he smote another small pack of goblins into oblivion before they ever realised he was there.

  Up ahead, a huge rabble of them squawked and screeched, excited. Who have they found to torture now? Dimitri thought, disgusted. When he rounded the corner and perceived their prey, his snarl deepened.

  Brand, Erika, and Aedon were already backed into a corner, fruitlessly fending off the ever-boldening goblin attack. Dimitri’s blast of magic sent them reeling, stunned, before they wheeled around, chattering with rage. At the sight of him, they cowed into submission as angry power roiled toward them.

  “Run!” he
commanded Aedon, who prodded a confused and suspicious Erika and Brand into action. They dashed through the deserted halls.

  At their victims’ escape, the goblins let out a clamour once more, brandishing weapons and charging Dimitri.

  He curled his lip and sent out a giant blast of magic, bringing the tunnel down upon their heads in a cascade of thunderous noise and choking dust. Before the halls turned to silence, he was already gone, on to seek his next targets. One way or another, he would see the pascha’s horde diminished.

  “THERE’S NO TIME FOR questions!” Aedon called to his companions as they straggled behind him. “Just run, and trust me!”

  They dashed through the dark halls with the last of their strength, up through the levels of Afnirheim, until the sounds of battle before them were deafening and growing by the second.

  Aedon changed direction at the last minute, circumventing the great space that had become a battlefield and treacherous sea of dead and dying, taking them higher to the galleried walkways. Shrieking and shouting behind them gave away their pursuers. Aedon chanced a glance back, seeing them too close for comfort.

  He looked ahead once more. The stone doors at the other end of the bridge seemed too far away to reach, but natural light spilled in, the doors of Afnirheim not too far beyond them, calling them to freedom. Aedon dug deeper and sped up, though every muscle screamed. Behind him, Brand’s thunderous steps quickened, too.

  Yet the goblins were faster, and before they made the door, Brand, Erika, and Aedon had to turn to meet the attack.

  Their purloined weapons were paltry protection compared to those they had lost in the depths of the battle, but Brand and Erika were skilled enough fighters to turn any weapon to their advantage. Aedon was glad to stand with them as he brandished the broken blade he had managed to take. It was of dwarven forging, yet had somehow been made less than noble by its goblin owners, who had replaced the handle with bone – whose, he did not care to wonder – and snapped the mighty blade so it was short and cruelly edged.