Heart of Dragons

by Meg Cowley

  "Harper should,” said Ragnar. "She's earned it." Erika nodded, to Harper's surprise. Aedon slipped the small glass vial from inside his top, where it had been tucked close to his chest, and handed it to Harper.

  "Guard that with your life."

  "She – and it – will be safe with me," Brand said. "Right. We have no reason to delay. Let's go."

  “Going anywhere nice?” a familiar voice drawled.

  The group whipped around. Harper’s heart sank before she slowly turned with them.

  Dimitrius stood, far too close for comfort, in yet another immaculate suit as dark as night, his hands in his pockets, his smooth coiffed hair shining in the morning sun.

  Brand swept Harper behind him as Erika drew her blade and Ragnar hefted his axe from his belt.

  “You Saradon-cursed dragon-turd! You sent them?” Aedon launched an assault of magic.

  The barrage disappeared into nothingness. Dimitrius did not even blink or twitch.

  Harper’s mouth dropped open. How powerful is he?

  Again and again, Aedon sent everything he had, until they were all deafened and blinded by the volume of magic that crackled and blasted across the space. But they vanished each and every time.

  Aedon’s shoulders visibly drooped. She drew her own knife, though she could do little with the rest of them in close formation about her. Not to mention her own battered body could barely lift the knife, let alone wield it.

  “Are you quite done?” Dimitrius narrowed his eyes at Aedon. “Or do I need to teach you a lesson?” Blue fireballs grew in his hands.

  Thirty

  Aedon bared his teeth in a feral snarl, but stepped back to the group.

  Skulk back to your pack, Dimitri thought, watching him retreat. “Now, who did I send?”

  “Don’t play dumb, snake!”

  “Ah, you mean the two I saw scurrying away with their tails between their legs?” Dimitri cocked his head. “What are two elves of Tir-na-Alathea doing here, chasing you? And why do you think I am involved?”

  Aedon glared at him, but did not answer. Dimitri shrugged.

  “Fine. Have your secrets,” he said mockingly, even though his mind was already alight with wonder and worry.

  Do the wood elves also seek it? How do they know about the Dragonheart? What do they want with it?

  Then he recalled a report from the forest about a recent theft of one of their secretive elixirs.

  “I hope what you took from them was worth it.” He grinned wickedly, but his heart lifted at the thought. We seek different things... I hope.

  There was no way for the elves of Tir-na-Alathea to know what he had accidentally sent into Aedon’s hands. Can I afford to take the chance?

  They glared at him in stony silence. He shrugged off their wariness and reluctance to speak to him, circling them like a predator. They shifted with him as he moved, their defences flowing like water, always keeping the strange girl in the centre of their eddies. He did not need his other senses to know she carried what he sought. He could feel it, temptingly close, but their actions betrayed them.

  “I know what you carry.” His gaze flicked to Harper’s, and he gave her a coy smile. She returned it with a fearful widening of her eyes, quickly masked by a scowl.

  He sent his magic to sense her. She felt strange. She was magical, that was certain, but hers was weak, suppressed deep within her.

  He cocked his head. She seemed foreign. Everything about her smelled of somewhere else, yet her blood was elven and sang to his own, calling him closer, drawing him in. They were kin, as all elves were.

  How can she be elfkind, yet not? he wondered. He had never met anyone like her.

  When none of them replied, Dimitri suppressed a sigh. Just as he did not wish to reveal his personal interest in the Dragonheart, they did not wish to reveal they had it. He continued to circle them, keeping them constantly on guard and shifting.

  “The king knows his Dragonheart is missing and he wants it back,” he said casually, admiring the surroundings as though he strolled through the beautiful manicured gardens of the palace.

  Meanwhile, he noted with pleasure their shock and suspicion that he knew what they carried. Suspicion toward him, and perhaps toward Harper, as their emotions roiled over one another in quick succession.

  “You can give it to me now, and I will leave you to your miserable existences, or I shall take it from you.”

  He felt Aedon’s magic well up before he saw the elf’s crackling palms. Aedon’s companions raised their own weapons, and even the girl wielded a knife. Dimitri laughed.

  “Are you going to carve me up like a roasted dinner?” he asked Harper sweetly, then leapt back as they attacked as one.

  Aedon’s fireballs scorched the earth where he had stood. Any trace of mirth dropped from Dimitri’s face. Now it is my turn.

  He straightened his collar and glared at them. They froze, gasping as his vice-like grip of magic tightened around them, just as Saradon had done to him. After a few moments, he released them.

  “I can crush you without a second thought. I suggest you not be so foolish next time.” He saw them relax slightly.

  “There. See?” he added mockingly. “That’s not so hard. I’m not a monster. I’ll give you a little time to decide.” Whilst I eliminate the competition, he thought to himself, wondering where the Tir-na-Alathean elves were. “I’ll be back.”

  Dimitri faded into the void, watching with glee as their eyes widened at the sight of him vanishing into nothingness. Once he was gone, he raced away quicker than a flash of lightning, seeking a different trail – that of the Tir-na-Alathean elves.

  He was almost certain they sought something different from Aedon and his outlaws, but Dimitri knew he had to be certain. In any case, the last thing he needed was the wood elves stumbling onto his Dragonheart. They would take it into the living wood, never to be seen again, and his hopes, now more alight than ever, of crushing King Toroth, his father, and the entire blasted establishment of Pelenor would be dashed.

  It was a complication he did not need, but whilst the stone lay hidden from Toroth, and other prying eyes, Dimitri would eliminate the only potential leak of information. It would be worth it to know he would be secure in the knowledge only he would have the stone’s location.

  He found them not far away, nursing their wounds. Dimitri easily broke their cocoon of protective magic. They jumped to their feet, casting around for the source that broke their barrier. As they espied him, their welling attack turned into a rush of defences.

  Good. They know who I am.

  “What would two wood elves of Tir-na-Alathea be doing so very far from home, on a miserable autumn day such as this?” he asked, keeping his tone light. They would know he meant business. Anyone who knew him did. As he felt their defences rising, he flicked his finger, wiping them out.

  “There’s no need for that. It’s a pointless waste of energy.”

  Despite his words, their defences began rebuilding once again. Dimitri clenched his jaw. “Fine. You brought this on yourselves.” He had not decided how to deal with them. That depended on what they knew.

  He took a deep breath and shattered open their minds, walking through centuries of memories without breaking a single bead of sweat. He did not need previous centuries. They would make for interesting perusal on another day perhaps.

  He saw their Queen’s recent anger at the theft of the aleilah potion from her stockpile. Their own dogged attempts – all failures – to waylay the elf, Aedon, and his companions to recover it. Their latest skirmish. Dimitri raised an eyebrow at the bravery of Harper, despite her naïveté.

  No magic or weapon training? It was an unforgivable weakness for an elf, but he supposed she was no normal elf, though he had not figured out why or how.

  He stilled as he found the memories he needed most. Their knowledge of Aedon, their meeting with Harper, and their sudden realisation that she carried a magic more powerful than that which they sought.


  They know. His own blood sang with the first tinge of fear. He saw their desire for the Dragonheart’s powerful magic. Their wishes to take it for themselves – for their Queen. Dimitri listened to their conversations through their memories.

  “It could be useful to Her,” the male said.

  “It is an object of great power. She will desire it whether it be useful or not,” his sister remarked, then raised an eyebrow. “What of the girl?”

  The male elf paced back and forth. “She feels...strange. Great power resides in her, yet she does not know how to use it. I suspect she does not even sense it.”

  “A curiosity.”

  “Yes, quite.”

  “The Queen enjoys curiosities.”

  “You think we ought to take her and the aleilah, sister?”

  “Precisely. She carries something of great power that the Queen would no doubt covet, perhaps punishing us if we return without it. And the girl, well... She might be of use or interest to the Queen. If not...” She let the sentence hang in the air.

  Dimitri knew the girl would be disposed of, or become a toy at the leisure of the Queen. It was not uncommon. The Queen liked collecting pets.

  The he-elf smiled. “We shall bide our time and strike them when she, and whatever she carries, is most vulnerable.”

  And indeed they had.

  The elves stilled as Dimitri relinquished his grasp upon their minds. They knew precisely what he had seen.

  “Well,” he said, keeping his tone conversational as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets to save them from the chilled air. “We seem to have a problem, don’t we? It’s wrong to steal, you know.”

  “Not if it’s from a thief,” the he-elf growled.

  “Not if it’s the king’s property, Ta’hiir of the Forest,” Dimitri fired back.

  The elf glared at him with defiance, but did not seek to attack. He knew it was futile. “Our Queen does not recognise the authority of Toroth.”

  “Your Queen can recognise whatever she likes. I don’t give a damn.” The she-elf took an indignant intake of breath at the insult. “I want the king’s property back, and you shall not stand in my way. We can do this amicably or not. It’s your choice.”

  “The thief is fair game.” Ta’hiir gripped the handle of his bow, his knuckles white. Dimitri could see how his fingers twitched, itching to nock an arrow to the string.

  “I do not care about your aleilah, elf. But what the girl carries is mine, and somehow...” Dimitri narrowed his eyes. No matter how he looked at it, they were a threat. “...I don’t trust you.”

  Without waiting for their response, he waded back into their minds, seizing them whole. El’hari and Ta’hiir shuddered, their eyes bulging as they stood, frozen, yet trembling, captured by him.

  “I will take all memory of Aedon’s journey from you. You never found his trail. He escaped with no trace. You are to concede defeat, give up in your hunt for the aleilah. You did not see the girl or feel what she carries. You know nothing of it. You will return to your Queen and make such a convincing account of your failure that She will concede the hunt. You will bear your punishment.”

  Dimitri gave his instructions in a voice of steel, crushing memories, carefully chosen, with each word.

  Before he surrendered their minds and bodies back to them, he gave one last instruction as he slipped into nothingness. “I was never here. You did not see me. If you fail in this, I will end you both.”

  Thirty-One

  With a great leap, Harper in his arms, Brand took to the air. She squeaked and clung to him, though she need not have worried. Brand's arms did not flex or waver for a second as his wings pumped powerfully, taking them into the sky. She did not dare look down as the rolling land swept away.

  "Won't they see us up here?" she asked, raising her voice slightly so he could hear her. Or him. Dimitrius’s eyes still burned into her memory, though he was long gone. Harper squinted against the wind rushing past them, making her eyes water, stealing the scent of Brand’s leather and musk from her nose.

  "No. We're to fly close to the ground, and Aedon sends us with extra protections to ensure we will not be spotted."

  This is close to the ground? Harper gulped and chanced a peek down. Treetops sped past below her feet. High enough!

  "I'm sorry I lost your knife."

  "I found it. Don’t worry." Brand paused for a moment. "You don't need to be ashamed, you know.” He glanced at her, then gazed ahead, impassive as always.

  "I ought to be able to defend myself. Erika is right. I'm not good enough."

  "You had one lesson, if that, before you were pitted against the elves of Tir-Na-Alathea. That was an outcome nothing could have changed, Harper. It's okay to be the underdog.”

  "It sounds as if you speak from experience, Brand, but I can't imagine that to be true. You're so...” Strong? Fierce? Invincible? Nothing seemed fit enough to describe how capable Brand seemed as a warrior.

  “I wasn't always as I am now. I've had to learn to take care of myself. As hard as it might be to believe, I was once the underdog, just like you. Fighting isn't everything. Sometimes there are other strengths just as important."

  "Such as?”

  "Like today, for example. You could have given us away. I'd wager a lot of folks would have under such duress. Yet you held strong. That takes a special kind of courage. Thank you for not revealing us. Things might not have ended so well had we been taken by surprise. I respect you for that."

  Harper swallowed. He what? It seemed impossible that a strong warrior like Brand would have respect for someone like her, especially when she felt so weak and inconsequential. "Th-Thank you."

  "You have more strength than you realise," he said, as if he could read her mind. "Physical strength is not all that is important." He fell into silence. The wind whooshed past them to the powerful drum of his wings pumping through the air.

  "But it is for you now?"

  "Yes, in a way. My strength counts for a lot. It helps me in combat, but it also helps prevent combat. It's somewhat intimidating to face an opponent of my size.” She heard the smile in his voice. “That has its advantages. I don't enjoy fighting needlessly. I never did."

  "But you have to."

  "Yes."

  Brand fell into silence, the only sound the air rushing past them and the periodic beating of his wings.

  “I lived with my own kind once,” he finally said. “I had every privilege given to me, though I did not realise or appreciate it then. I did not fight at all, you see. I had none of these scars." He laughed mirthlessly. "I thought all anger could be tamed with words – or money. I was wrong. There are many different battlegrounds, each for a different type of engagement.”

  "What happened?" Harper dared to ask.

  Brand did not reply immediately, then sighed. "I fell in love. With the wrong Aerian. You see, there are two classes of Aerian. The differences grow from there." Brand's voice grew bitter. "My kind is the privileged. We command the higher positions, the more economically fortunate situations. Every advantage in life is ours, deserved or not. Our cousins have to work much harder for their share, but never are they elevated to the same levels. Even as a privileged Aerian, who took it all for granted, I could see that it was unfair." He shook his head.

  "Her name was Nyla." He said it with such softness, so uncharacteristic for the grizzled warrior, Harper was taken aback. "She was the most beautiful Eyrie I had ever seen. I did not care that she was lower than I. It did not matter. Yet my family thought differently. They were appalled by my behaviour and disowned me.” His voice hardened. “It was not suitable for an Aerian of my station – of Skyrie – to fraternise with an Eyrie." His voice hardened.

  "I was determined to prove them all wrong, that Eyries were worth as much as Skyries. That my Nyla was worth as much as any Skyrie female. I tried to give the Eyries a voice so I could live happily with my Nyla, free from judgment, from unfairness. We revolted. It failed. Nyla was killed. I w
as imprisoned, though I escaped. I can never return now."

  "I'm sorry," Harper murmured, aching with sadness for him.

  "It's not yours to be sorry for, but I thank you. I learned how unfair life was, regardless of what was just or right. I was determined to never be weak again, to never be the underdog. It took me many years to understand what strength was. Not just strength in body, but mental strength, strength of character.

  "I know what it is to be the underdog now, whether by privilege or lack of skill. You ought to persevere, not lose heart. Sword fighting, or other forms of combat, may not be your forte, but you have other skills. Take Erika's frustrations with a pinch of salt. She hates that some can't protect themselves.

  "You're good at bringing people together. Look how you helped Ragnar with his hands. Look how you protected us today. Look at me, opening up to you." He chuckled. "I haven't told anyone this story in years. That's a different kind of skill, but you can always find new ways to be strong. Keep practicing your fighting – I'll help you – and whatever else you can learn. You never know how you might grow."

  "What happened to Erika?"

  "That's her story to tell. It would not be right of me to share it."

  Harper nodded. "Thank you."

  He gave a sharp nod, returning to his gruff, taciturn self, but Harper was honoured by his confidence. Despite the pain she was in, a warm glow filled her middle.

  Brand was right. She was good at other things. Whether she agreed with him on the value of combat, she was not entirely sure. It surely would have helped her that morning, but she was glad he had said it was okay not to be a fighter. She knew that was not a path she wanted to follow.

  BY THE END OF THAT day, they had covered an even greater distance than the days before, spurred on by the knowledge of their hunters. Brand watched Aedon like a hawk as he laid extra protective enchantments around their camp. For the first time, Harper thought Aedon looked slightly tired, as if the effort of covering their tracks had taken a great deal from him.