Heart of Dragons

by Meg Cowley

A moment later, they continued on. Their rabble faded into the distance, muffled once more.

  What was all that? she wondered, rising from the floor and sinking into her corner again, where the stone was slightly less freezing than the rest of her cell.

  Harper listened for a while longer. The guards passed, laughing and talking as they returned to their posts, clearly excited and in high spirits, but all too soon, there was nothing but silence and darkness again.

  SOMETHING WOKE HARPER with a start. She listened, frowning. Scratching?

  There was incessant scratching on the wood of her door, as irritating as a fly buzzing around her head. She shuffled, gritting her teeth.

  There it was again.

  Scratch, scratch, scratch.

  What is that? Harper forced her frozen body into action. Holding her breath, she crawled closer to the door, trying not to make even the slightest sound.

  Scratch, scratch, scratch.

  Is it mice? Or rats? Do they have plague here?

  Maybe she did not want to find out what it was after all, but curiosity pulled her nonetheless. It was more interesting than sitting in the cold and the dark with all her senses blinded.

  "Hello?" she whispered. "Is someone there?"

  The scratching paused, then started again.

  "Hello?" she said a little louder, in the smallest voice she could – in case it was something dark and terrible.

  The scratching stopped again. A sense of foreboding rose in her, and the fear that never seemed to leave uncurled in her belly once more.

  Perhaps I've just given away my presence to some denizen of the dark. She gulped. I'm defenceless in this strange place. I have no advantages. Not even the discarded wooden plate and cup could help her.

  "Hello?" said a quiet voice from the other side of the door.

  "Who's there?" she asked, a flood of relief threatening to overwhelm her. A person? It must be a person. The voice sounded strange through the door. Man, woman, or something else, she could not tell. The voice was far too quiet, as if they were also being cautious.

  The wooden bar on the other side of the door slowly slid free, and Harper heard somebody gently set it down onto the stones. She held her breath as the door slowly opened. Light poured in and she scrambled back, blinking, shielding her eyes with her arm. The dark silhouette in the door advanced, and her heart hammered in her chest.

  "Harper?" the voice whispered.

  Wait, I know that voice... Harper angled her head so she could see the face in the almost-dark.

  "Aedon!" She threw herself at him as he rushed for her. Their bodies collided. He gripped her in a great hug that she returned, relief flooding her body.

  "Oh, thank Pelenor I found you."

  Harper struggled out of his grasp and stepped back. "It's really you? I'm not going crazy? How did you get here? How did you find me? And why? I didn't think I'd see you again." The questions rolled through her mind and off her tongue.

  Aedon held up a hand. "We don't have much time, but suffice it to say...," he said, drawing himself up tall and sweeping into an elaborate bow, "I am Aedon, the legendary Thief of Pelenor, and I have come to steal you back. The accommodation is rather lacking here, and I thought you might like a change of scenery."

  Harper did not know whether to laugh or cry, so she did both.

  He smiled. "I'll take that as a 'yes, please'. Come on. Let’s get you out of here." When he turned toward the door, she grabbed his cuff, immediately dropping it as she saw how filthy her hand was.

  "Wait... Why? How?”

  Aedon didn't turn back, but some of the swagger dropped from his posture. "I realised I couldn't leave you to fend for yourself – not when I knew what you were walking into. It was too dangerous, and you were blinded to it. I hoped I wouldn't be so late, but the others took a little more persuading. By the time I arrived, the entire city was abuzz with rumours of the Dragonheart thief's capture and impending trial. I suppose I'm here to make sure you won't be attending...” He turned and cocked his head. “Unless you wish to."

  Harper shook her head mutely.

  "Didn't think so. So what else was there for me to do but come and get you myself?" he asked, his usual grin and twinkling, mischievous eyes appearing once again. "I simply got detained – not hard as a wanted criminal – and taken to the very worst dungeon in the city. The king’s own. I knew you'd be here."

  Despite her filth, Harper hugged him again as gratitude and relief bubbled over that someone cared so much for her to put himself in danger. He ruffled her tangled hair and laughed, lacing his fingers through hers and tugging her with him.

  "Come on."

  Harper followed him eagerly, her aches and pains momentarily forgotten, overwhelmed by a strange stirring rekindled by his presence that she recognized. Somehow, it felt like she was going home.

  HARPER HAD NO TIME to savour the moment. Aedon chivvied and tugged her along the dark corridor.

  "What about the guards?" she hissed at him. Their footsteps were far too loud, deafening to her after her enforced silence.

  "Already taken care of,” he said airily.

  "Huh?"

  He did not answer as she struggled to keep up on feet that felt like blocks of ice.

  Sure enough, the corridors were deserted, the noise of the guards always seeming at a distance, though too close for her comfort. She had no idea what he'd done or how he'd done it. It seemed too easy, too neat. He soon pulled her into early morning sunshine. She slammed her eyes shut against the brightness, then slowly opened them again, looking around. There was not a soldier to be seen...or anyone, in fact. He slid his arm around her waist when her knees buckled, supporting her as she was overwhelmed for a moment by it all – light upon her face, wind upon her skin, and the hubbub of the city waking around her.

  "Are you all right?”

  "Y-Yes.”

  As her sight and senses refocused, she looked down at herself and gaped. Her hands were filthy, covered in black grime, and her once fine cloak was dark with muck. Her eyes burned and watered in the light. She found the cleanest inch of her cloak and wiped them.

  "Okay. Let’s go," he said gently.

  "We have to find the Dragonheart!" she blurted, refusing to be tugged away.

  "I know. Don’t worry! All part of the plan," he said, tugging her hand again. "We need to go. Timing is critical. The rest of them are waiting."

  She set off at a jog beside him, hardly able to believe the others might have come with him after how they had parted company. "And we're going to get the stone? I don't know where they took it." She glanced around. The city was huge. Where would they even begin?

  "Already in hand." Aedon was serene, as if he did this every day.

  Perhaps it's not his first time, Harper thought.

  He led her through the streets and alleyways, always keeping to the minor routes, which twisted and turned through the heart of the city and were overshadowed by tall buildings. In a small square, the gang awaited.

  Harper's mouth fell open. Even Erika had come.

  "Got her!" Aedon said cheerfully.

  "Could have given her a bath first," Brand muttered. He pushed himself off the wall where he stood with his arms folded. "Let's get going. Plan's afoot."

  "He's joking," Ragnar said with a dark glance in the Aerian's direction. "It's good to see you, Harper."

  "Why did you come?" she asked in a small voice. "I didn't think I'd see any of you again, after–"

  "Yes, well, Mr. Poetic over there wouldn't stop waxing lyrical about how you never ought to turn your back on someone in need, even when they were being completely and utterly daft..." Harper winced. "So, just to shut him up, we decided to come along and help you out. I missed my cooking partner, too, if I am being truthful."

  "And the hand massages," Aedon whispered with a wink as he strolled past. Harper chuckled.

  "Thank you," she said, loud enough for them all to hear.

  "Time for that later," Brand replie
d gruffly. "We have a Dragonheart to steal back, and our own escape to master, before we’re done here."

  Erika bent to grab a pile of cloth from the ground. Harper cocked her head, wondering what it was. As Erika passed them around, she saw they were red cloaks. She took one automatically, but glanced at Aedon, a question in her eyes.

  "Kingsguard uniform," he explained. "Help us blend in. Make sure you put it on right so it drapes over your clothes. That way, no one can see you're not wearing a uniform underneath. Did you get the helms, too?" he asked Erika.

  She kicked the sack next to her, which rattled.

  "Same again then. One apiece."

  Harper slipped her red cloak on over the cloak the king had gifted her and the squire’s uniform bearing Toroth’s crest, followed by the helm. The cloak was heavy, but the helm also made her feel like she would sink straight into the stone as easily as sinking into mud. It forced her head into her shoulders uncomfortably. Its long nosepiece pressed down on the tip of her nose painfully. The sides were so narrow that it felt like her field of vision was reduced to two narrow vertical bars.

  Harper turned her head this way and that so she could see all her companions. They were indistinguishable from real guards, except Brand, who could fit neither head into helm nor wings into cloak. The only other who remained without either cloak or helm was Ragnar, who made no move to don either, to Harper's confusion.

  "Right, where is it?" Brand asked.

  "In the dragon hold," Aedon replied. "The king holds his Dragonhearts with the dragon eggs."

  Brand frowned. "That could work to our advantage."

  "Definitely; however, the fewer dragons we meet, the better. They'll be our enemy as much as the Kingsguard if they believe one of their own is in danger."

  "Shall we?" said Ragnar, his wicked grin taking Harper by surprise. She did not expect such mischief from him. Aedon met it with one of his own.

  "After you, my friend."

  Ragnar nodded to them all, then hurried down another twisting alley.

  "Where's he going?" asked Harper.

  Aedon turned his mischievous smile to her. "Why, he's going to the Kingsguard to tell them I’ve escaped from the dungeons and precisely where to find us, of course!"

  Icy panic flooded Harper. "Wh-What?”

  Fifty-Three

  Aedon burst out laughing. "Not where we really are! Ragnar likes playing chatura in real life, too, as you'll find out. He gets tired of wooden pieces on a board. Real people are much more interesting and unpredictable. It's a rather useful skill that's gotten us out of quite a few tight spaces. He just needs a little head start on us."

  Harper shook her head in bafflement. Reserved and kind Ragnar has a mischievous streak? She would never have guessed. Perhaps he had been running around with Aedon for too long, though she left that thought unvoiced.

  "Here.” He passed her a familiar scabbard.

  "How did you get this?" she whispered, fingering it. She pulled out the blade. It was definitely his dagger – or at least an identical match.

  He winked. "You forget. Greatest thief in all Pelenor!”

  "Right," Harper said, laughing. "Thank you. I didn't expect to see it again. Don't you want it back?"

  "Keep it. You need it more than me, and it was a gift. If I want it back, I'll ask."

  "All right. Thank you."

  "Take this, too," Erika said. She gave Harper a slim sword with a scabbard and belt. "It's similar to my twin blades, so you'll be more used to the weight. You'll probably need it. Remember what Brand taught you."

  "And you, too," Harper said, touched that she would think of her.

  Erika huffed and turned away. "If all else fails, stay behind the rest of us and don't stab us. It's time. Ragnar will be in place by now."

  Harper suppressed a wince. Hopefully I won't be that bad. A flicker of nerves ran through her at the thought of having to use a blade, and not in a training situation. I hope it won't come to that. She gulped and followed Erika, Brand, and Aedon into the alley.

  Ragnar joined them just before the buildings opened out into a grand square. Erika raised up her closed fist to her chest at the sight of him. He replied in kind, along with a smug grin.

  "Done?" she asked, her brusque tone revealing her tension.

  "As easy as taking sugared fruits from a dragon," Ragnar said with a toothy grin. "They all legged it off to some poor, unsuspecting district that I suspect will now be in the midst of a total lockdown.”

  "Good. Let’s go." She tossed him a cloak and helm, which he swiftly donned.

  They all jogged toward the grand doors that led to the dragon hold. The stone doors were huge rectangles, three men high and two men wide, under a thick lintel set directly into the cliff soaring above them. To Harper's surprise, they pushed open on silent hinges.

  From there, the gang proceeded silently with no weapons drawn, so as not to draw attention to themselves. Harper felt strangely naked without something to protect her, so she stuck close to Ragnar, behind Aedon, as they forged into the heart of the mountain.

  She barely had a chance to glance around, and little vision to do so through the restrictive helmet, but it was as if she had stepped into an underground town of sorts. The ceiling, which was formed from natural crags in the rock, soared above them, stalactites hanging from the roof. Lights hovered above their heads. They were dim, but better than the pitch black of darkness.

  The floor was the only smooth part, stretching through the heart of the stone ahead of them. To either side were doorways, both grand and small, and even windows, giving the illusion they were on some kind of underground street. Each wooden door was closed, barred, and bore a sign that Harper did not understand.

  It was surprisingly warm, unlike the dungeon she had found herself in. Harper realised that the movement had gotten her blood flowing once more. No longer did her legs feel dead. The warmth was welcome.

  As they walked, it grew hotter until she regretted the thought and wished she could take off the oppressive cloak and helmet. Sweat trickled down the bridge of her nose and nape of her neck unpleasantly.

  There were Kingsguard here, all cloaked, some helmeted. They greeted them in a foreign tongue as they marched past. She knew it was the language of Pelenor.

  Harper’s heart rose into her throat every time they sighted another red cloak, and she heard nothing over the rushing of her blood in her ears, but it seemed they raised no suspicion, not even Brand with his great wings. Then they reached another set of doors even larger than the last – and the guards who stood before it.

  Brand and Erika stepped forward without hesitation and knocked them out cold. Aedon stepped up behind them and passed his hands over their prone forms.

  "A sleeping charm," he explained. "One that will modify their memories so they have no recollection of us when they wake."

  "No time for chitchat. Move," Erika said. She and Brand opened one of the doors and they slipped through.

  Harper gasped. It was as if they stepped into the heart of a great crater that stretched from the very top to the very bottom of the mountain. Faint daylight flooded in from the top, and light rays tumbled down from the massive caves peppering the inside of the mountain and opened to the elements outside. Yet it was not that which had caught her eye.

  Above her head soared... Dragons.

  Big ones, little ones, blue ones, red ones. They called to each other with roars that echoed around the cave, and as they landed in the caves, the cracking of rock was akin to the snapping of whips.

  One blew a great stream of fire across the inside of the mountain, and a wave of heat rolled down upon them. Harper squeaked as it blasted her face.

  "Keep steady," Aedon murmured. "Nearly there. This is the worst part.”

  "Won't they come after us?" she whispered back.

  "That’s why we have the cloaks. In them, we're friend, not foe. They think we're Kingsguard, and long may it stay that way." He gave her a reassuring smile and encourag
ed her forward. She struggled not to break into a run, feeling far too conspicuous wandering through a thunder of dragons.

  Don't eat us. Please don't eat us. Don't eat us. Please don't eat us.

  The thoughts reverberated around her head with each roar that seemed to vibrate right to the heart of her.

  "This way," Brand said in a low voice, walking into a wide hallway that plunged steeply down on the other side of the crater. "The egg vaults are down here.”

  There were more guards, too, standing before a thick, iron portcullis that barred the way. Again, Brand and Erika did not hesitate, and Aedon and Ragnar dove into the frey. Harper raised her sword and backed away, trying not to get in the way, certain she'd be a liability.

  Erika looked back at her with scorn that made Harper cringe. They raised the portcullis and hurried through.

  A feather-light touch caressed Harper. She knew the Dragonheart was there. Instinctively, she recognised the imprint of it, the feel of it.

  "It's here," she said as they rushed along the tunnel. "I can feel it."

  They entered a large cellar with vaulted ceilings. Shelves upon shelves were laid out in rows, bearing the most unlikely treasures – dragon eggs of every size, colour, and texture. Even Erika stopped for a moment of wonder.

  "This way. Quickly.” Aedon led them. "It'll be in one of the secure vaults. I’m holding back the wards with every ounce of our combined strength, but I can’t protect us for long.”

  Harper saw his jaw clenched, as though he were under some great strain, and a bead of sweat began to form upon his brow.

  They followed him through the gloom. In every direction, the egg store was pitch black. Harper followed Aedon closely, keen to stay within the sphere of magical light he had cast to illuminate the way, small and inconsequential though it seemed.

  "We're getting closer," Harper said. “I can feel something...familiar. It’s the stone. I know it sounds crazy, but—”

  “Not crazy at all,” said Aedon, changing course. “What you’re sensing is the magical resonance of the stone, which, incidentally, is exactly how I found you in Tournai using your old dagger.”