Heart of Dragons

by Meg Cowley

  It was a quiet evening, none wanting to break the silence, each straining to hear any trace of pursuit, as futile as they all knew it would be. The elves of Tir-na-Alathea were fleet of foot and as silent as the night. Of Dimitrius... He was an elf of his own and worse than any other denizens of the night. Even Ragnar was subdued and did not suggest any chatura.

  It was to be their last evening before they reached the village. Gentle undulations in the earth had once more sprung up into hills, and Harper saw hazy blue mountains in the distance that slowly disappeared into the darkness as the sun sank.

  Their camp backed into an impregnable crag soaring above them, scant shelter provided by tall trees of great girth that somehow clung onto the stony terrain. It was hard to reach and not so hospitable. Precisely why they had chosen it.

  Harper kept her thoughts to herself, but she wished they had more shelter. The cooling winds already drove into them. They were all restless that night and woke tired with frayed nerves. Even the ever friendly Ragnar was silent as he and Harper prepared breakfast.

  The smell of woodsmoke and livestock lingered on the stray breeze as they descended to the forested valley with one more small pass to climb. It smelled foreign after days of nothing but pine forests and nature. Harper quickened her step, as did her companions, and checked again that the small vial was still within the pocket of her cloak.

  "I'll take that now," Aedon said quietly, gesturing to it. She slipped it to him. "I hope this will be enough.”

  "How many people are affected?" she asked.

  "A dozen or so, but they ought to only need a drop each. The antidote is powerful."

  Harper eyed the small vessel. It didn't look potent. In fact, it looked like nothing more than water, glistening in the strangely ornate, tear-shaped glass vial, which was stoppered with a matching glass stopper.

  "That'll really be enough?" She wrinkled her nose.

  "The elves of Tir-na-Alathea are some of the best potion masters in all of Pelenor, perhaps even Altarea. Nothing else has worked, and this sickness needs to be cured before it spreads...if it has the capability to do so. Which reminds me. You need to protect yourself." He opened the vial and dipped his finger in so a single drop adorned his fingertip. Slowly, he dripped it onto Harper’s waiting tongue, then licked his finger clean.

  Harper flushed. The liquid was almost tasteless, only having the slightest hint of sweetness. "What about everyone else?"

  “Already protected,” Brand replief gruffly.

  “Come on now. Hurry. We're almost there, and they're relying on us. We've been away long enough,” said Erika.

  "That we have," murmured Ragnar.

  SOMETHING PRICKED AT Aedon’s intuition long before they came upon the village. Their good cheer had dissipated with the growing altitude, then the freezing fog that met them as they journeyed over the pass. It marked the end of the long reach of the elves of Tir-na-Alathea’s territory, though Aedon was not entirely convinced they were safe yet. The feeling amongst the rest of the group was mutual.

  Brand scouted before them, leading the way, as he eased his short sword out of the scabbard at his waist. Erika skulked behind, her twin blades guarding their rear. They were silent shadows, watching, every ounce of attention sent out into the forest, seeking. Even Ragnar was more watchful. Hardly the fighter his fabled people expected, his hand was upon the handle of his knife, ready to draw it should he need to.

  “I don’t like this.” Brand’s voice was low. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

  “It’s the only pass,” was Aedon’s only reply. We have little choice.

  “The elves will not be here, will they?” Ragnar’s voice held an edge of trepidation.

  “No,” said Aedon, though there was every possibility. El’hari and Ta’hiir were fast, ruthless. It would not be hard to set up an ambush. “The way has been clear. They did not pursue us beyond the bounds of the forest. We are safe.” He said it with more confidence than he felt. Still, Ragnar’s hand fussed on the pommel of his knife.

  The valley narrowed ahead, and high, grey stone soared into the mist and out of sight above them. Beyond the cleft, the village lay in the shelter of the far side of the pass where the valley widened once more.

  Between the pines, stone walls seemed to sprout from the earth, the earthen roofs fitting seamlessly into the environment. At such an altitude, there was neither material for thatching nor the weather for it.

  It was deadly silent.

  A warning stroked down Aedon’s spine. Erika and Brand wordlessly drew closer.

  Harper's neck tingled with premonition and wariness. "Where is everyone?" she whispered, unwilling to speak through the heavy silence. Not even birds sang. Even the rustle of the trees had stilled, as if the air knew something was amiss too.

  "Weapons out,” Brand’s command was barely more than a growl. He drew his sword and lowered into a fighting stance, casting his gaze warily around them as he surveyed their surroundings.

  Erika moved to the other side of the group to flank them. Aedon drew his long, slim blade with a whisper. Ssshhhh. Ragnar’s hand moved from his knife to the haft of his axe. He hefted it from his belt to hold it, two-handed, in front of his torso, ready, waiting. Harper fingered Brand's knife and pulled it from her belt, holding it before her, though she felt more like a liability than an asset.

  Thirty-Two

  Aedon sent his awareness out into the forest. Nothing. The trees were a light of life against the black of the rocks surrounding them. And yet...

  There.

  A pulse.

  The faintest glow of life dotted around them. In the huts. Aedon’s heart beat quicker and his hand tightened on his weapon, ready to meet the threat, before his grip slackened again.

  “There are people here, but they are...” Ill? Dying? He did not know. “They need help, I think.” Aedon sheathed his weapon and rushed toward the dwellings.

  “Wait.” Brand’s command rang through the cold air. He pointed toward the doors. They had been marked with a giant “X” across the weathered, greying wood. It had already darkened and dried. As Brand leaned closer and touched it carefully, little black flecks flaked off. “Plague.”

  Every door had been painted thusly. Aedon drew close, touching the markings. When it came off on his fingers, he thoughtfully rubbed it between his finger and thumb, holding it close to his nose and sniffing. "Ash and mud."

  "It’s the same here, Aedon. What does it mean?" Brand looked on edge as he circled, his back toward the group, casting all his attention outward for some sign of life.

  "It means it is contagious...and that we might be too late." His shoulders slumped for a moment, but only a moment. "We need to search the village from top to bottom. This sickness may not kill. The people must be here somewhere."

  "They're hiding," said Erika in a low voice. She pointed at a window. A shutter swayed, as though it had been disturbed.

  Brand strode over and threw open the door, his weapon ready. He had to stoop in order for his huge frame to enter the small dwelling, then he backed out, such little room was there. “One female. Alive, but weak. And most definitely ill. Aedon, you need to see this."

  Aedon rushed over, the rest following. Harper could see a dank hovel, a bare earth floor, and a bed made of furs and rough, woven cloth. It was lumpy. She realised with a start that not one, but three lay within the folds of the blankets.

  It was dark, the only light entering through the doorway. Cold ash lay in the small fireplace. A woman’s small frame was barely noticeable under the pile of blankets covering her, and her children less so, curled into her sides.

  Her gaunt, pale face loomed in the shadows as Aedon approached. Her eyelids fluttered weakly. Without touching her, he knew she burned up with fever. He felt it raging through his blood, his entire body wanting to recoil.

  The children’s almost lifeless faces loomed in the dark as they stirred a little. Ragnar followed Aedon in. Taking his pack from his shoulders
, he rummaged through it for medicinal supplies.

  "They don't need those," Aedon said softly. "Open your mouths. I have the antidote."

  They offered themselves to him like chicks in a nest, waiting to be fed, and he carefully fed each of them just one drop of the precious liquid. "Rest. You’ll feel better tomorrow," he said before turning away. "Ragnar and Harper, fetch water. Erika, Brand, if it is as I fear, then the rest of the village is also like this, and those unaffected have fled."

  Harper and Ragnar collected water from the village well as everyone else rushed from house to house until every abode had been checked. Then they ran back to the well, the centre of the village. Harper had never seen Aedon so anxious. He twisted his hands together and could not seem to stand still.

  Harper, Ragnar, and Aedon worked all day and all night, whilst Brand and Erika stood guard, watching either end of the village in the fog and eerie silence. Ragnar’s skills were utterly tested as he worked until his eyes reddened with tiredness, and Aedon used every fibre of magic he had until fatigued. Still, they could not turn the tide of the fever raging through the victims who were left.

  The five huddled around a fire that was too small to truly warm them. All were stiff and numb with cold.

  “There’s only one cure I know,” Aedon said to the others. He pulled the stoppered vial from his breast.

  “There’s not enough,” Ragnar said dully.

  “I know,” Aedon replied. He rubbed his creased brow with a hand. "It's spread so quickly. We don't have enough to cure everyone, and there’s nothing else we can do to help them. Damn. I should have stayed. I should have tried to get more."

  The anguish in his voice was clear, and Harper’s attitude softened toward him. She did not see a thief, a petty criminal anymore. Now she saw someone who just wanted to help, punishing himself for failing.

  "Don't blame yourself," Brand said. "That you managed to procure any aleilah at all is a miracle. Anyone who receives it will be grateful."

  "But we don't have enough," whispered Aedon. "How do we choose who receives it and..." He trailed off, but he did not need to finish the sentence. They all knew what he was thinking.

  "Women and children first," Ragnar said. "As always. If there is any left, the men may partake."

  "There is not even enough for that." Aedon looked into the small vial. Somehow, it seemed even smaller and far emptier than before, as though it carried the last dregs and nothing more.

  "Then the young ones first," said Ragnar, hanging his head in sadness.

  Erika stirred. "We can still make them comfortable."

  “We need to tend to everyone.” Aedon seemed determined to help – or deny the reality of the situation. “No doubt they are all in a state of severe weakness and will not eat or drink properly. Brand, help me distribute the water. Harper, can you and Ragnar look around, see if there is any food to be had in the houses? Erika, see what bounty the forest may hold. Then we can decide who is most in need of the cure."

  Ragnar clapped Aedon on the back. "Don't be hard on yourself, brother. It's not your fault."

  They had little time to dally. Whilst Aedon and Brand tended to people as best they could, Harper, Ragnar, and Erika set about collecting firewood and any food they could find, distributing it amongst those who were ill.

  The young woman Aedon had tended first woke before the others. “Thank you,” she said weakly. “It burns through my blood. I feel it even now, but by whatever grace you have given me, I sense it slipping away.” Her face slackened with relief and her eyes slipped shut for a long moment.

  “What happened?” Aedon dared to ask. He held a beaker filled with cold, fresh mountain water close to her lips so she could take a sip.

  “Ah,” she sighed with relief. “We do not know. We were all fine and healthy one day. The next, the sickness spread. Old, young, fit, and healthy. It did not seem to discriminate. You found us, so we had some hope for a cure, but it continued to spread. Most fled to protect themselves. The rest of us...” She shrugged slightly. “When no cure could be found, we asked them to leave us behind.” Her voice cracked.

  “Where did they go?”

  “Down the pass, into the next village.”

  “We will send them back to you.”

  Her eyes lit up with burning fear. “There’s no risk to them?”

  Aedon hesitated, uncertain. “No. You have no sickness in you any longer. Burn everything you can to purify the area. If there are any of magical blood here, set new wards against sickness upon your households. It should suffice to halt the spread for now.” He hoped long enough for them to find a way to use the Dragonheart to make enough elixir to cure them all.

  Brand immediately flew to the village where the others had fled, soon coming back with word they would return with the coming dawn. Aedon bid her farewell.

  “I owe you a life-debt, Aedon Lindhir Riel of House Felrian,” she said formally, using his full title.

  “I hope to never call upon it. Be well.”

  HARPER STUCK CLOSE to Ragnar, not wanting to intrude into people's private spaces, especially when they were sick, but the afflicted were glad to see them, greeting them with tired smiles and hollow eyes.

  "We're glad you came back," one said hoarsely from his sickbed where he lay in the darkness, alone.

  "We promised it, and so we did," Ragnar said, his voice strong and filled with reassurance.

  "And you brought a friend." The man tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace of pain.

  "My name's Harper," she said shyly. With a stroke of inspiration, she picked up a rag, drenched it in cool water, and placed it across the man's brow.

  He sighed in relief and reached up to grasp her hand. His skin was hot to the touch and felt as thin as paper. His grip shook. She held his hand, taking care to be gentle.

  "Thank you, Harper. It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Ralkan." It was as though every word cost him energy he did not have.

  A moment later, he dropped his hand and his face fell, aghast. "I can feel your magic. You must leave at once! If you stay, you’ll also catch this...if it's not already too late. Curses if I've passed it to you! Skies forbid your magic should waste as mine has."

  She held up her hands to calm him down, explaining that she had taken the cure. Even so, tears of fear leaked from the man's eyes.

  "Is a life without magic so bad?" she asked softly.

  Ragnar touched her shoulder, having already raided the man's paltry food stores, and left in silence.

  Ralkan shook his head. "It is most terrible to be mortal." It was as if the word were a curse.

  "I’m... I was mortal. As yet, I have no magic and manage just fine. Surely you’ll be fine, too, if it comes to it.”

  "You don't understand," Ralkan moaned. "Magic is tied to our innate strength. Without it, we are weak and helpless. You see how we all lay abed when we ought to be outside, going about our lives."

  Harper quieted. She thought of Betta, who somehow managed, despite her age and infirmities, and the people back on Caledan, who thrived with far worse issues to deal with. She longed to challenge him.

  What on earth will you do? Waste away here day after day? You have to make the best of what you've got!

  Instead, she said, "I'm sorry to hear you feel that way. We'll do our best to care for you all and...and get the cure," she finished, though she was loathe to promise it.

  Do we really not have enough, even for this small village?

  "Thank you," Ralkan said, clasping her hand in both of his with all the strength he could muster.

  Before she left, she turned back to the bed and cocked her head. "If you don't mind me asking, how are you magical? Are... Are you a half-elf?"

  Ralkan gave a rasping laugh. "No, I'm quarter-elf, on my mother's side."

  An elf... “Rest up now, Ralkan. I'll check back later.”

  HARPER SPENT THE REST of that day tending the afflicted. All told similar tales of how abhorrent life without magi
c would be. It made Harper simultaneously more indignant and sad that a non-magical life was seen as such a burden.

  That evening, she sat around the campfire with the rest of them, aching from a day of labour and activity, longing to cleanse the smell of smoke and sickness from her.

  "You did a good job today, Harper," Ragnar said, smiling as he offered her slightly stale bread. A luxury.

  "Thank you," Harper said softly, ducking her head and hiding behind a curtain of tangled hair.

  "She has a knack for putting people at ease.” Brand took his share, giving her a tired smile.

  "That she does," Ragnar replied. "Mighty glad was I for her help today."

  "You did us out of a job! By the time we'd gotten around half the village, you'd already seen the other half. They didn't need us at all." Aedon winked.

  Harper coloured. "I just did what felt right."

  "Good judge of character," Ragnar said around a mouthful of crumbs and smoked meat.

  They ate as night fell around them, but the forest was still and silent.

  Brand broke the silence first. "I don't like it here. Too quiet."

  "It's like the forest knows," Erika said, glancing warily around her. Harper noticed how neither of them had settled down, each alert.

  "It does,” said Aedon softly. "The magic of the plants and animals is tainted here. It makes me feel nauseous, like there is disease on the air."

  "Is that what happened when Saradon cursed Pelenor?" Harper asked.

  "Yes. The earth, the plants, the creatures were left untainted, but even so, such darkness resonates. Magic is as much a part of this land as the people are.”

  "What could cause it?" Erika asked. There was a bite of another unsaid question to her tone that Harper could not fathom.

  Aedon gave Erika a long, slow look. "I do not believe it to be Saradon, if that is your meaning. He's long dead, as you said. Nothing more than a tale to scare children at night. This is but a pale imitation of the blight he left upon the land."