by Meg Cowley
They spread out, three abreast across the walkway. Aedon darted forward, slicing through a goblin’s arm and causing him to drop his trident with a shriek. His kin filled the gap, seemingly endless, as Aedon and his companions fought them off, all the while shuffling one step backward at a time to the door, and the possibility of safety.
After a few minutes that seemed like an age to their faltering bodies, they passed under the great, stone arch. Before them, goblins trampled their fallen kin with no reverence, their sole attention on the three before them.
“We cannot make it,” gasped Erika. “If we turn and run, we will be cut down where we stand. I will not die a coward’s death with a blade in my back!”
“I will cover your exit. Go!” cried Brand, taking a huge, scything swing at the first of the goblins. It leapt out of the way of his blade – but the next one died where it stood.
“No!” said Aedon. “We leave together! Now!”
They launched one final assault to push the goblins back, then dashed through the open stone doors. As Erika and Aedon heaved upon them, closing them one painstaking inch at a time, Brand stood in the opening, pushing back the goblins, though he earned more injuries for his bravery.
At last, he leapt back and lent his strength to their efforts, shutting the doors with a boom. He wedged a broken length of wood in the place where the original bar, which was smashed and twisted upon the floor, ought to have gone, then bellowed for them to run. Run they did, up the huge flight of stairs that was wide enough for ten men to climb alongside, toward the faint light ahead that signalled the riven doors of Afnirheim, the outside, and hope of escape.
Aedon’s elven strength and Brand’s Aerian power carried them up the stairs faster than Erika. All Aedon could hear was the pounding of his own heart and his ragged, tearing breath, as his feet pounded toward freedom.
None heard the doors yield behind them, for the goblins had massed on the other side and forced them open, splitting Brand’s makeshift bar in half.
Fifty-Three
Erika turned. Her mouth fell open with dismay at the sight of the goblins pouring through the breach and up the staircase after them.
I cannot make it.
She looked up at Brand and Aedon far above her. Brand’s once beautiful wings were blackened and bloodied. Her heart ached fiercely that this would be the last time she saw him alive.
She let out a ragged sob of anger that it would end like this, in the dark halls, that her death would be at the hands of those who did not deserve it, but she refused to die a coward’s death, straining to escape a fate she seemed destined for. She turned and threw aside her blade, grabbing a dwarven double-headed axe that lay on the stairs. Other than a covering of gore and dirt, it seemed in perfect working order.
“I will kill you all in the next life!” she screamed and raised the axe before her as she met the bloodlust in their eyes with her own rage.
The impact of her axe upon the first helm within reach fuelled her fire, and she screeched a battle cry that had them all clamoring to sing of death and blood. It deafened her, and her senses narrowed to only her sight and the feel of the wooden handle, smooth in her grip, as she swung the axe in a deadly dance.
But she was one against many, and they surrounded her in quick order. Those below her pulled and scrabbled at her ankles, until she could no longer kick them away. Their blades slashed at her limbs until with every spin of her axe, she trailed ribbons of blood, then that, too, was snatched from her grasp.
A great bellow sounded behind her, and the goblins were blasted back in a great ball of fire. To her left, Aedon, his face contorted in pain and anger, shot fireballs with every thrust of his clawed fist, and Brand cut down any before him with a long-bladed spear.
“You fools!” she shouted, though the clamour was too loud to hear her own voice.
Brand’s feral grin and the spark in his eyes was enough answer. “We will not leave you to stand alone. We die together.”
“I will see you in the next life, my friends.” With that, she re-joined the fray.
The goblins suddenly shrieked and retreated down the stairs, just as a great shadow from above fell upon Erika and her companions. Dimitri’s dark form appeared from the ether as they turned to face him.
Enemy or friend? Erika did not know, so she kept her guard raised, snatching up a new weapon in a moment of reprieve. It was a thick, short, dwarven sword, the type she hated to fight with, but it would take a life if she needed, even though the world swayed and she knew the last of her strength was fading.
I will die with a weapon in my hand.
“You need to get out,” Dimitri snarled. “I cannot keep the blasted horde at bay forever.”
With every word, he sent blasts of power at the goblins behind them, sending them tumbling down the stairs in a heap. He raised his arms high and wide, bringing them down to the floor in his biggest blast yet. Dimitri wavered on his feet for a moment as his power reeled through them, stealing all their breath.
The world shook as the staircase crumbled ten steps below them, sending goblins tumbling into the depths of a great abyss. The door they had barred also crumbled, shearing in half and falling into darkness, as well as the bridge beyond it, showering those below with giant chunks of masonry that killed all they fell upon, as if the heavens smote them.
Aedon needed no more urging. He grabbed Erika’s arm, tugging her after him. Her legs would not move. Instead, she tumbled forward, toward the abyss. Brand’s giant arm caught her and their blood mingled, wet and sticky, as he pulled her close, sweeping her into his burly grasp and barrelling up the stairs. Each jolting step sent her further over the edge into darkness. Brand’s jutting chin and curve of his wings loomed over her like a protective cave. Her fingers loosened. The sword fell from her grasp as she sighed and slipped away.
“GO!” AEDON URGED BRAND, who thundered up the stairs with Erika dangling in his arms, even as the remainder of the staircase shuddered beneath them, threatening to tumble them into the void.
Dimitrius stood before Aedon, blocking the way, with a hand raised to his chest. “Get out now, before it’s too late. Take whoever you can with you. Warn the dwarven king. Do not return to Afnirheim. It is lost. Do you hear me?”
He bent close, searching Aedon’s gaze in order to breach the distrust and hate Aedon lathered upon him. Aedon, taken aback by his vehement sincerity, nodded, speechless.
“Tell them to make the rest of their kingdom strong. The pascha will come, and Saradon will aid him to take all of Valtivar. That is what will come to pass.” He said it with such terrible certainty that it shook Aedon to his core, but there was no time to dwell on it.
“How do I know you speak the truth?”
Dimitrius shook his head, glaring at Aedon. “Do you not see?” He held his arms wide, gesturing around. “For heaven’s sake, Aedon. This is about so much more than you or I now. Forget your petty hate. There is a world at stake. There is but the slimmest chance to stop him, if only we can figure it out. You managed to get the Dragonhearts once. Now we need them again. Erendriel herself calls Harper to a higher cause. This is greater than any of us. You must do what you can to help her stop him.”
The staircase rumbled beneath them. Dimitrius grabbed Aedon by the arm, wrenching them both up the stairs as fast as they could go just as the rest crumbled into nothingness behind and beneath them. Dimitrius thrust them into the ether as the last of the bridge disappeared before they could reach safety, and Aedon’s yelp was cut off as they reappeared, tumbling to the ground at the top of what was now a cliff before a yawning void in the mountain.
“How...,” Aedon stammered.
“There’s no time. Go, now. Remember my warning. Swear you will pass it on. No more need to die needlessly.”
Aedon grabbed the front of Dimitrius’s shirt, yanking him close as he took one last look at the broken mountain. “I will swear it only if you promise to keep her safe. Swear on your blood, your magic, your l
ife that you will keep Harper from harm until we come for her.”
Dimitrius met his hard gaze with a surprisingly sincere one. “I swear it,” he said quietly. A slight breeze arose as the rush of magic swept around them, a bond of their word. For a moment, understanding passed between them.
They somehow now aimed for the same thing...in a way. What is he playing at? Aedon wondered, not for the first time. For without Dimitrius, they would all have been dead. The mountain rumbled behind them with ominous warning. Aedon released his shirt just as Dimitrius pushed him away.
“I will see you soon.” Dimitrius’s words were a promise as he disappeared into the ether once more – to return to his master’s side, Aedon reckoned.
With a last look at the dark mountain that seemed to shake with its own anger, Aedon turned and fled, following his friends from the bowels of the earth into the welcome touch of light and air.
DIMITRI WATCHED AEDON go, wishing that he could leave, too – truly, without the leash of his master tugging him back.
You are a fool, Dimitri, he berated himself.
His eyes shut momentarily as he tried to swallow the guilt as best as he could once more, for it stabbed at him like a knife twisting in his gut. How many had died because he had been foolish enough to raise Saradon?
As he stood before the creaking, shattered gates of Afnirheim, watching a straggling line of dwarves flee – though he stood shrouded from them – his spirits sank. This was not what he had envisioned. A kingdom destroyed and overrun with barbaric creatures that had not one decent bone amongst them.
You can stop many more dying if you stand against him. That is more important now. Even if he had no idea how to make it come to pass.
He had no idea if Aedon and his companions would survive their flight to Keldheim or another sanctuary, but his word to Harper was complete. He had helped them as best he could, so his conscience was clear on that matter.
Slowly, Dimitri slunk back into the mountain, going the opposite way of the fleeing dwarves. Any goblins he met along the way, he killed or maimed to allow as many of the dwarves to escape as possible.
The end begins now. I started this... I must finish it.
Fifty-Four
The refuge of Keldheim was a long-awaited relief. The silent halls were peaceful, the air clean, but it was still too dark for Aedon’s liking. The giant faelight and scattering of lanterns could not replace the daytime sun, nor the wind upon his face.
Korrin had granted them refuge, gladdened they had somehow survived, though filled with grief was he for the loss of so many of his kin in another fruitless mission to retake Afnirheim – the last for now, Aedon knew, for the dwarven forces were too spent to attempt a third. Winter would soon close any attempts to salvage the dwarven stronghold.
As much as relief filled Aedon at the prospect of his own safety, Brand’s and Erika’s trepidation matched his own. It had been a long time since they had felt so hopeless – and so helpless.
They regrouped in the infirmary, where Brand and Erika rested near to each other in the now crowded space filled with as many beds as would fit, for the number of wounded was overwhelming and spilled out into the halls of the dwarven city.
The four – for Ragnar joined them, albeit on a crutch – sat in silence.
They all knew.
It was the calm before the storm.
They had seen nothing of Saradon’s, or Valxiron’s, power yet.
Inexorably, Saradon would come and do all in his power to lay waste to the lands and peoples before him. Do all in his power to stop the prophecy from coming to fruition.
What part would Harper play in it? None of them knew. None of them could know. Aedon’s heart ached for the loss of her. She gave herself so willingly for us. That, above all else, proved their companionship. She truly had become one of their small band of friends, their bond as deep as blood.
Her friendship had also brought him the peace he had sought over the years since Valyria’s death. Perhaps he could truly open up to her.
If we ever see her again, his mind taunted.
Somehow, just like the others, she helped heal him of a grief so old and deep, he never thought he would see the end of it. Now, he truly regretted being so casual and flippant with her own feelings.
She deserved better than that. He winced, recalling how he had been so cold to her when all she had sought was some warmth and love. No more than she deserved after her own hardships and a life of cold loneliness. You were not as good a friend as you ought to have been, he chastised himself, but she is alive, and there is hope to make amends. There could be no greater way to repent than to save her from the arms of their enemy.
Aedon watched as Brand slowly climbed from his bed to pour a goblet of water for himself and Erika. The Aerian’s wings were a mass of bandages, and the rest of his body was patched with poultices over the various wounds and bruising he had suffered. Aedon hoped the Aerian would recover to his former strength.
Erika was in an even worse state, her strength utterly spent and every limb in need of tending from the injuries she had sustained in their escape.
Brand hobbled to Erika’s bed, lifted the goblet to her lips, and trickled it in, more tenderly than anyone would have thought possible of the huge warrior. She tilted her head up, taking the offering like a small, frail, helpless chick in the nest, all the while glaring at him fiercely. Aedon smiled, which deepened as Brand bowed to rest his forehead against Erika’s. Both closed their eyes in unspoken solace.
Has he found redemption, too? Aedon wondered. Long had Brand carried the weight of Nyla’s death upon his shoulders. The death of another was a heavy burden to carry. Aedon knew that only too well.
He can never bring her back, as he well knows. I wish he would stop blaming himself. Stop cutting himself off from love again. It is no betrayal. Aedon had only just realised that himself, though too late to save any fragment of a relationship with any of his past courtships.
“You know, if you’re going to be busy mooning over a girl, Aerian, you shall have no hope of winning chatura any time soon,” Ragnar said, a hint of hoarseness still in his voice. He sidled up to Aedon and smiled warmly.
Aedon clasped his friend close in a one-armed hug, grinning. “Well met, my friend.”
“Shut up, dwarf,” growled Brand, then he kissed Erika upon the lips in front of any who watched.
Aedon laughed delightedly. “Oh, thank heavens! It’s about time.”
Brand smiled, his cheeks red, his shoulders hunched in uncharacteristic shyness. Erika’s smile was hard, yet filled with her own brand of affection as her fingers laced through Brand’s.
As they talked into the night, Aedon found solace in his companions, until the healers sent him and Ragnar scurrying for fear of disturbing the other patients. He missed Valyria fiercely. It was an aching void that would never be filled. Something within him died with her that day. He wondered if he could ever truly love again, as more than a friend anyway, for none of his companions would become as close of a soul mate as his dragon had once been.
He had lost his chance with Harper, for he did not know how to love her when she had sought it. He respected that she had realised her own worth was far greater than he had measured it, with no small amount of shame on his part. He was grateful she still cared enough to sacrifice herself for them. After his treatment of her, it was more than he deserved.
He vowed to get her back. A part of him hoped that now, in the arms of her enemy, she had at least one to call a friend, or at least an ally, temporary or not, in Dimitrius.
She will need to find much strength, ere we see her again.
“Are you all right, friend?” Ragnar, released from the infirmary to reside once more in the königshalle, paced beside him silently.
Aedon huffed. “Just worrying, Ragnar. Just worrying.”
At Ragnar’s silence, he continued. “I mistreated Harper. I see it now. She’s been a better friend to us than we deserved, even after
we doubted her at first. I hope she is as safe as can be.”
His thoughts strayed to Dimitrius and his promise to protect her. Did he trust the spymaster? He had seemed so sincere, yet it had been many years since they had seen eye to eye.
“And that our paths cross again,” he said finally, his voice heavy.
“Against all odds, we are all here.” Ragnar’s voice was warm, reassuring. Aedon was grateful that his friend never lost hope. “We will find her again. We will rescue her.”
“More than that,” said Aedon grimly. “We’ll do everything we can to stop Saradon. I would not be doing my duty as a former general of the Winged Kingsguard if I did not stand up to protect those who cannot protect themselves from power such as his.”
Ragnar looked at him in surprise. “You would take up your old position?”
Aedon snorted. “No. No matter the current situation in Pelenor, I would not be welcomed back into those ranks, but there is nothing to stop me acting of my own volition. I may have a dragon no more, but her fire burns in me, and I will no longer squander it selfishly. She would want me to fight, as we always did, for the peace of others.”
Ragnar clapped him on the back. “I’m proud of you, my friend.”
Aedon nodded, but glanced at him sidelong. “You know, you could help the cause, too.”
Ragnar scowled.
“Hear me out. No matter your personal squabbles with Korrin or anyone else here, your rank holds power. You know as well as I what good that can do. We must not suffer in vain. Look at the sacrifices your people have made already, let alone our companions. Think of the suffering to come.”
Dimitrius’s words weighed heavily upon him, his fervent promises of the destruction Saradon would wreak upon Valtivar.
“You could stand against that,” Aedon insisted.
