Page 52 of Heart of Shadows

“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 fail those who mattered to me. 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. Persevere; don’t 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. But I see the resilience within you—you are stronger than you believe. I hope one day you see it too. I hope one day you grow into your most powerful self, so you can leave the world a better place than you found it. I’m certain you will.

“You’re better than you give yourself credit for, you know. Look how you helped Ragnar with his hands. Look how you protected us today. Look at me.” He chuckled. “I haven’t told anyone this story in years. Keep practicing your fighting—I’ll help you—and whatever else you can learn. You can always find new ways to be strong. 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— resilient and resourceful, fair and hard-working, and she could turn her hand to whatever she needed to survive. Whether she agreed with him on the value of combat, she was not entirely sure. It surely would have helped her that morning, but still, it soothed something raw and painful in her that felt small and weak for not being able to fight. 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, Aedon’s eyes were shadowed and his shoulders sagged, as if the effort of covering their tracks had taken a great deal from him on top of their encounter with Dimitrius.

It was a quiet evening. No one wanted to break the silence, each straining to hear any trace of pursuit, as futile as they all knew that would be. The elves of Tir-na-Alathea were fleet of foot and as silent as the night. Of Dimitrius… He was 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 that had started all this—the one that had driven Aedon and his friends to steal the aleilah. 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 almost inhospitable. 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 ornate, tear-shaped vial.

“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 further. Which reminds me. You need to protect yourself.” He opened the vial and dripped one single drop onto Harper’s waiting tongue, before stoppering the vial again.

The liquid was almost tasteless, only having the slightest hint of sweetness. “What about everyone else?”

“Already protected,” Brand replied gruffly.

“Come on now. 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 her 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, Aedon had declared, though Harper 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. We have little choice,” Aedon replied.

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

“No,” said Aedon, though there was every possibility as far as Harper reckoned. El’hari and Ta’hiir were fast and ruthless. It would not be hard to set up an ambush. Ragnar’s hand fussed on the handle of his axe, tapping the wood with a nervousness that leeched through the air to Harper.

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 sprouted from the earth and earthen roofs blended 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 her spine. Erika and Brand wordlessly drew closer.

Harper’s neck tingled with premonition and wariness. “Where is everyone?” she whispered, unwilling to break 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.

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. Erika moved to the other side of the group to flank them. Aedon drew his long, slim blade with a whisper. 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. Brand stalked to the front. “Move in.”

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