Heart of Dragons

by Meg Cowley

  Heart of Dragons

  PELENOR CHRONICLES BOOK ONE

  By

  Meg Cowley

  Copyright

  Published in 2019 by

  Eldarkin Publishing Limited

  United Kingdom

  First Edition

  © 2019 Meg Cowley

  www.megcowley.com

  Cover design © Jolly Creative Cover Design 2019

  All characters, places and events are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, places or events is purely coincidental.

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored or distributed in any form, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-One

  Fifty-Two

  Fifty-Three

  Fifty-Four

  Fifty-Five

  Fifty-Six

  Fifty-Seven

  Thanks for reading! Please leave a review.

  Want more? Download your free Heart of Dragons companion guide.

  Court of Shadows (Pelenor Chronicles Book Two)

  Books of Caledan: a World of Altarea Completed Series

  Books by Meg Cowley

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Dedication

  For Alexander

  I love you to the moon and back.

  Pelenor Map

  One

  The gigantic trees of the living forest rustled and contorted, but there was no wind to move them. It was as if the very trees themselves were angry. Aedon knew it to be true. The forest was furious.

  He dashed across the rope bridge walkways that soared above the forest floor, clinging on for dear life. The living trees, the dhiran, buckled their limbs around him, sending the walkways swinging like ribbons in the wind.

  Aedon was lucky he had always been a nimble elf. Even so, he struggled to keep his footing. He ducked and wove as branches tore at him, their leaves razor sharp. Every knobby arm of wood stabbed at him like a sword, leaving his skin peppered with nicks and grazes.

  Still, it was better than descending to the forest floor. If he did, Aedon had no doubt he would be eaten by the forest itself — or at least strangled in the writhing roots of the trees that strained to rip themselves free from the earth in their determination to grasp and punish him.

  Tir-na-Alathea was a special place. No one left if the forest did not wish it. Luckily, Aedon had a better plan.

  I hope.

  He chanced a glance over his shoulder and redoubled his efforts. The two elves pursuing him had murder in their eyes. He could not blame them, he supposed. The elves of Tir-na-Alathea were not the forgiving type, even though he had asked nicely. It wasn't his fault they had refused the trade. They’d left him no choice but to take it. This was all on them. Their howls of rage told him they felt otherwise.

  He strained for breath, every muscle screaming in pain as he pushed himself harder. He was a fast elf, but this was their home. He could not just assume he would escape. El’hari and Ta’hiir would pursue him to the death on their Queen’s orders, if that was what it took.

  One hand returned to his breast, checking and rechecking that the lump was still there. That it nestled safely within the protection of his leather jerkin. He could not afford for that to tumble to the forest floor and be forever lost.

  Faces stared from within the trees, as though the forest itself had eyes, agony carved in the flowing whorls of their rippling bark. That gave him renewed cause to flee.

  If he were caught, that...or worse...would be his fate, for those were not the trees, but the eternal prisoners of the living forest. Those who had wronged it and never saw the light of day again, thanks to the magic of the wood.

  It was a magic so strong, Aedon had to blink back the crushing headache that threatened to engulf him. Every pulse of anger from the forest had the very fabric of the magic of this place trying to crush him until even the air seemed to squeeze him from all sides.

  There was a break in the swirling leaves ahead. Beyond it, a chink of sky, a flash of tumbling water – the falls. His escape.

  His eyes flicked skyward as a shadow engulfed him. Giant, eagle-like wings soared over the canopy. They were utterly silent, like a hunter at night. Relief overwhelmed Aedon. He had never been so relieved to see an Aerian, particularly this legendary winged warrior, in his life.

  Aedon swallowed, hoping his plan would work, but there was no time for doubt. The edge of the trees approached. It was now or never.

  The forest continued for many miles at the bottom of the cliff. The rumble of the water was indistinguishable from the roar of blood pounding through his ears. At the trees’ edge, the walkway ended in a balcony open to the skies.

  Without slowing, Aedon vaulted the slim rail and threw himself into the abyss. His heart rose into his mouth as he fell with a soundless scream, the wind tearing at him just like the trees had done seconds before.

  He forced his watering eyes open. The trees below raced up to meet him. The cliff face was close. Too close. Just one snag of his body on the stone and he would meet an even more grisly fate. His heart jerked in a frenzy of panic.

  Suddenly, he was tackled from the sky, the impact knocking all the breath from his body. Stars flashed before his eyes as he gasped for air. Two bare, muscled arms, riddled with scars, locked around his chest in a protective cage. Aedon clutched onto the familiar, worn leather bracers, but neither relief nor safety was his yet. They still plummeted.

  His savior slowed their descent, his giant wings outstretched as they glided over the forest, then he pumped them powerfully. With each wingbeat, they rose into the sky.

  Aedon wriggled in Brand's grasp. The Aerian’s grip was a vice around him, crushing Aedon to his solid, leather chestplate. It dug painfully into his back, yet Aedon relished the metal studs and hard, ridged edges cutting into his flesh. They were safety. He breathed in a shaky breath to steady himself, inhaling the scent of leather and sweat. Never had he been so grateful for that stench.

  "I was scared for a moment you weren't going to catch me," Aedon spluttered with his first draw of breath. He tried to sound nonchalant, but he was unable to keep the tremor from his voice. The pounding of his heart continued to deafen him. He looked up. Brand’s expression was impassive, his attention on the horizon.
<
br />   "I nearly didn't," Brand growled in his gravelly voice. "The peace and quiet I'd have without you was tempting...but Erika would kill me if I dropped what you carry. I thought I'd better not."

  Aedon ceased moving, suppressing a squeak of fear. The forest was far below them now. His head swam, nausea threatening to overwhelm him as his stomach roiled. Elves are not meant to fly. Not without a dragon. He turned his head as far as he could as Brand banked higher.

  Now he could see them. The elves of Tir-na-Alathea. They crowded the balcony he had jumped from. From such a distance, they were too small for him to see their features in detail, but their raised fists were unmistakable.

  It’ll be about three hundred years before I can set foot there again, Aedon thought with a moment of ruefulness. It was a shame. The Tir-na-Alathea elves were some of the most talented spellmakers in all of the elven Kingdom of Auraria. Their wares and services were definitely closed to him now.

  "You do have it, right?" Brand asked. His grip tightened a little. A warning not to joke.

  Aedon's hand squeezed around Brand's iron grip, slipping under the neckline of his top. The tips of his fingers brushed against the cold, hard, crystal vial digging into his chest. It was there. Safely stoppered. A grin of triumph broke over his face.

  "Oh, I got it all right! Right from under their noses! They said it could not be done. Stealing from the elves of Tir-na-Alathea, escaping the living forest, all without paying the price," he crowed. "The legendary Thief of Pelenor strikes again!"

  Brand's arms loosened slightly. "There's that annoying noise I was so keen to get rid of," he threatened.

  Aedon silenced at once, and his belly somersaulted until Brand's arms tightened around him again, but he could not stop the grin that split his face until it ached.

  This was the best part.

  Forget the thrill of the chase. What Aedon loved most was the smug enjoyment of a successful mission.

  Two

  The rabbit’s lifeless eyes reflected the glistening wet of the autumn woods.

  Harper loosened the snare from its leg before resetting the trap, then fastened the animal to her belt next to two of its dangling kin. She muttered a small thank you to it, as she always did, and stroked its silken ear. Her slim fingers pressed the cord back into the pile of sodden leaves, concealing it from view on the game trail once again.

  She stepped back to appraise it. Invisible. Betta had taught her well. She still missed the old woman as she had been – strong, capable, independent. The only one who had shown her care. Now the aged, infirm woman was a shadow of her former self and relied on Harper to keep her safe, warm, and fed. Harper did not begrudge it as, but for Betta rescuing her from the streets of Glymouth as a young waif, she would have had an even more miserable life.

  Harper’s stomach growled, as if in appreciation, and she stirred into action. That day, it would not be empty. For a change, she had both surplus meat and hides to sell, though they would only fetch a pittance. Her willowy figure might have been praised as elegant and attractive in some circles, but it was a testament to a slow starvation more than anything else.

  Harper wiped her wet palms on her breeches. It did little good. The steady drizzle, which had persisted since that morning, had soaked through every layer of clothing she wore. The sun, wreathed in mist and fog, soared far above. Down in the bowels of the forest, there was no light or warmth to comfort her. She suppressed a groan at the stiffness of her limbs.

  It was time to return to the village. Soon, dusk would come, and with it, creatures she was not armed against. Her feet squelched through the wet loam and layers of fallen leaves. The trees were half bare, the forest floor a kaleidoscope of oranges and browns.

  It made tracking both a blessing and curse. The mud made every print stand out in sharp relief, yet following the game trails was a difficult wade through muddy thickets. It was lucky she knew the woods like the back of her hand. Where the rabbits lived, deer grazed, denizens prowled.

  Over the rhythmic sucking of the mud against her leather boots, Harper’s heightened senses scanned her surroundings. The sigh of leaves falling. The sound as they rustled from pile to pile in the stray breeze. The flicker as they caught her line of sight, the only movement other than her own. The distant crashing of a big animal through the woods – moving away, to her relief, for it sounded big enough to be a bear. The overwhelming scent of damp, natural decay. Her own heart thudding in her chest, strong and alert, ready to thunder into action at a second’s notice to spirit her away should danger approach.

  She skidded down the last embankment, the mud sliding under her boots, as the village came into view. Dislike rose in her. It always did. The village meant people, and she had no need for them, though she would be glad of the inn’s hot fire that night.

  The streets were half empty. Those who weren’t huddled inside from the weather were out on the bay fishing for their own suppers. Harper made her way straight to the lone inn, letting herself in.

  Tam, the landlord, clattered downstairs and raised a brow as he appraised her. His gaze caught the bounty strapped to her waist.

  “Very nice,” he said with an appreciative nod. “They’ll do for tonight’s stew.” Cook would whip up a batch of hot, filling, meaty stew. Harper usually managed to slip a bowl for herself from the fresh pot before all the patrons, though Tam always charged her for it.

  “Half a copper apiece, and I keep the hides,” she said as a starting negotiation. She’d get more for them from the tanner.

  Tam sucked the inside of his cheek for a second. “Half a copper, but I want a hide – a tanned one. Need to patch up.”

  “Done.”

  Tam jerked his thumb toward the kitchen, a silent invitation for her to take them by way of the cook, and ambled upstairs. Harper skinned and left them on the counter, then sat by the fire, almost grasping the flames in her desperation for warmth.

  Her cloak was heavy and sodden as she peeled it off and hung it by the fire. Soon, steam rose from it as it started to dry. She turned this way and that until she had mostly dried, her attention on the flickering flames, daydreaming of nothing.

  The first of that night’s patrons ambled in. One of the fishermen from the bay, no doubt wanting his own warmth and a place to dry off. Harper stirred with a sigh. Time to work.

  HARPER WIPED THE GLOBULE of spittle from her cheek with her sleeve as she twisted away from the man, his cold and clammy hand wrapped around her wrist. She suppressed a shudder of distaste and schooled her expression into bland boredom as she backed away, her hands full of empty tankards.

  “What do yeh say, lass?” Old Robson roared with laughter as he raised a paddle-sized palm to try and slap her on the bottom, but he was far too drunk and she far too nimble. All the same, she thrust the tankards before her as a barrier and tried not to gag on the stench of his hot breath fanning across her face – stale beer, tobacco, and something she couldn’t identify.

  Her eyes slid over his toothless grin, his grizzled, unkempt stubble, and the stains on his tattered tunic. I wouldn’t take you to bed in a thousand years, she thought. Not even if you were the last man in Caledan.

  “Are yeh accosting my girl?” shouted Tam from across the bar, leaning over it to peer into the dim corner. “Yeh wouldn’t leave me without a hand now, would yeh?”

  “I’ll leave you without those two hands,” said Old Robson, leering at Harper, who hastily turned away. “I bet they make short work of my—”

  “All right, all right. That’s enough,” Tam called as raucous laughter erupted from the similarly inebriated patrons he drank with.

  Harper’s cheeks burned as she stepped away, longing to curse the lot of them, but she needed the work more than that.

  “Are you all right?” asked Tam. His eyes roamed over her, but not in the same manner as Old Robson’s. He was a better man than that. He liked to make sure his staff was not accosted, though not out of kindness. It was bad for business. Harper appreciated it
all the same.

  “Fine,” she muttered, slipping past him to dunk the empty tankards into the pail of water in the kitchen out of sight of the patrons.

  She dropped to her knees to scrub them, using a sticky hand to push a strand of uncurled hair out of her face, immediately regretting it. Now she probably had a smear of goodness knows what on her face. Her eyes stung from the long day and the smoke curling in the air, but she resisted trying to clear them with the back of her hand.

  In the dark corner of the kitchen, she allowed herself to pause for a long moment. Her eyes slipped shut in exhaustion. She breathed deeply through her mouth if only to avoid, for just one breath, the rank stench of spilled ale, sweat, and worse that hung heavy on the damp air.

  Harper dunked her hands into the bucket and scrubbed furiously at the skin the old man had touched, but the ghostly feeling of his fingers still seemed clamped there, despite her best efforts. With her eyes closed, she could pretend she washed with clean water. By that time of night, it was usually more beer than water, but Harper wasn’t about to dodge through the crowd again to go fetch a fresh pail.

  She could not block out the din from the next room, which pounded in her ears until she felt dizzy with it. The silence of home was always golden after each shift.

  Not long now. Her head thumped dully with the thought of each word.

  Hearing a clatter behind her, she rushed to appear busy, nearly slopping half the pail onto the floor with her sudden movement. Tam appeared, seeming not to have noticed.

  “You could appease them, you know. Earn a bit of extra coin.”

  She whipped around to face him, mortified. “You mean...”

  “Well, yeah.” Tam shrugged. “There’s no shame in it.”

  Harper bared her teeth at him and turned away, scrubbing at the tankards furiously, as though she could take out her anger on them. “How dare you. I’m not whoring myself out to them.”

  “What?” She heard the creak as he leaned against the slanting door frame. “It’s not like you have anything to lose. You won’t find a husband as you are anyway, so you might as well do better for yourself than that shack of yours. If you take on a few jobs, I reckon it would only be a few months before you might be able to afford a nice little cottage or something.”