Page 67 of Heart of Shadows

49

AEDON

It was a long, dark, restless night as the four aching warriors huddled around their fire, built as high as resources and energy would allow, refusing to rest in case Dimitri should return. Even Brand drooped with weariness by the time the sun rose, its pale light blinding to their swollen, heavy eyes. Every limb was stiff, the pale flickers of the fire failing to permeate the freeze of night.

In silence, they broke fast that morning on unsatisfying, cold rations. Every muscle hurt as though Aedon had run for days with a heavy pack, and his fingers shook. Rage bubbled through him at the spymaster’s cruelty—but fear laced the edges. What would he do to Harper when he found her? Now, Aedon was certain she went to her doom.

Aedon had renewed the wards thrice, but even so, they had not dared speak for fear Dimitri would be listening. Brand scouted the area, ambling back uncharacteristically slowly. “If he is here, I can find no trace of him.”

“We have to find her,” Ragnar said. His eyes were as dull as his voice as he stared listlessly into the flames. “She is in danger from that monster.”

Brand shook his head. “If we’re not too late.”

Aedon glanced at Erika, who remained silent on the matter. “I fear you’re right, Ragnar. As much as she swore she was capable of independence, Dimitrius is too great a match for her.” He shook his head. “Even if she’s not walking into a trap, she goes to her doom. It would be unforgivable if we let her.”

The group sat in silence for a long moment.

“There’s a slim to none chance that we will procure any more Dragonheart, powdered or whole,” Brand said carefully. “I think we all realise that. We have no Dragonheart and no knowledge of how best to use one. Going to Tournai may be our own doomed mission.”

Aedon gritted his teeth. “We made a promise, and I will not renege on it. Lives are at stake. We might find another way to fulfil our oath and save her at the same time. She’ll be branded a thief and imprisoned—or worse.”

Brand held up his hands in submission, though he knew Aedon had taken his point on.

“Besides which, Harper is in trouble. I know she is not what some of you would consider one of us, but even so, I feel a duty to help her. Do you not agree? The quest for the stone might be futile, but at the very least, we could save one more innocent life from Toroth. Is that not worthwhile?”

“You know where I stand,” Ragnar said. “I’m ready to go when you are.”

Brand dipped his head. “You are right. It’s foolish, beyond madness, but you are right. I could not live with that on my conscience.”

Aedon turned his attention to Erika, who sat there as taciturn and imperturbable as always. He fidgeted as he waited for her answer, disturbed by a sudden sense of urgency that they had to leave now, find Harper before it was too late.

“It’s idiotic to risk ourselves for a stranger,” she said shortly.

“You were a stranger when I risked my life for you.” Brand stared at her until she dipped her gaze.

“Dimitrius hunts her,” Aedon said. “Dimitrius, the spymaster of King Toroth himself, personally hunts her. If that is no clue to the danger she finds herself in, I do not know what is. She is clever and fit, especially now she’s eaten better than I suspect she has in her entire life, but she is no fighter. She does not understand politics, at least of Pelenor. Leaving her is worse than leaving you to the wolves—which we could have done to make our lives easier, and did not,” he added pointedly.

Erika stirred. “Fine. I do wonder what he wants with the stone, and she is not safe in his path.” It was as close to an acknowledgment, and agreement, that they would receive.

“We are settled then?” Aedon looked at them in turn. “We are going to venture into the jaws of the dragon itself, into Toroth’s very court, to save Harper—and the Dragonheart, if we can—from the clutches of that bastard Dimitrius.” He dashed to his feet, bouncing upon his toes. His entire body sang of the urgency that pulled him towards Tournai. “Come on!” he chided them impatiently.

Ragnar struggled to his feet, with Erika’s help, as Brand scuffed dirt over the last of the fire to douse it. “We have a girl, a stone, and a village to save.” And a spymaster to foil, he added to himself, wondering darkly what Dimitrius’s intentions were.

50

HARPER

“No!” shrieked Harper, but before the word was out of her mouth, soldiers wrenched the Dragonheart from her. A vice-like grip seized her arms and shoved her to the ground. Her torso and face smashed into the stone, winding her for a few precious seconds whilst they restrained her with ease.

She wriggled, trying to buck off the man who held her down, but her strength was no match for his weight. Soon, another man took one arm, pinning it to the ground. Others stamped on her legs until she was entirely crushed to the stone, unmoving, and then tied with bonds that dug into her skin.

A man’s loud voice boomed across the square, but she understood none of the words. Gasps and mutters followed, then turned to shouting and curses in a variety of tongues. Objects started to pelt her, and more than one foot was aimed her way. The guards let it happen, watching her with cold disdain for a moment.

Harper struggled, fully bound, to hunch into a ball to protect herself. As a hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head up, she screeched, but was quickly muffled by a dirty rag shoved between her teeth. Harper gagged on it as they hoisted her up by her arms moments later and dragged her away. She cried out in pain as her unsupported legs scraped against the sharp edges of stone stairs. She tried to shout through the rag, but all that emerged was an unintelligible yelp.

A hood—a sack of some sort that stank of old, mouldy potatoes, and worse—was jammed over her head, clogging her nose. She retched into the gag. Her eyes streamed with every jarring impact on the ground, and the strain on her elbows and shoulders felt as though they would be pulled from their sockets with every rushed step.

The world was reduced to sounds as they rushed her through the city. She could smell nothing but the foul sack, taste nothing but the fouler rag, and see nothing but darkness inside the rough-woven fabric. Darkness that lightened and deepened as they dragged her through patches of shadow and sun.

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