27. Harper
27
HARPER
E yes wide, Harper stared at the destruction, her attention captured by the familiar mark. She closed her hand around the wrist with her bracelet upon it. Was it her imagination, or did the metal feel warmer to the touch than it ought to be?
Erika bounded forward with a snarl at the sight of the mark, but Brand pounced upon her and dragged her back, containing her within his strong arms. “Let me go!” she spat at him.
“Don’t be an idiot,” he snapped back. “We don’t yet know what we deal with. Don’t endanger yourself on a fool’s crusade. It may mean nothing. How many times have we already seen his mark used in vain?”
After a futile struggle, she fell limp in his arms, but he did not release her.
With a sharp flick of his hand, Halvar signalled a retreat. Heart hammering in her chest, Harper followed as quickly as her screaming legs allowed.
Long into the night they ran, as though the goblins pursued them through the dark. Harper saw the golden magic Aedon dropped behind them, scouring their scent and presence from the road. She hoped it would be enough. She knew they had left the stench of carrion behind, yet it still clogged her nostrils, the image of bodies ever present. Every time she blinked—they were there. When they finally stopped, Halvar pushed them far off the road to a defensible spot. He spared no dwarf for a double watch that night, only allowing each a few scant hours of sleep, lest they be ambushed.
“What does this mean, Jarl?” asked one of the dwarves. Brand murmured to Harper, translating their language.
“It means it is worse than we feared, Torvaig. They have taken not just the road, but Afnirheim. Gods save our kin.”
“They may yet hold out. Afnirheim is one?—”
“Does it look like they held out?” snapped Halvar. He checked himself, blowing out a breath. “I apologise. That was out of turn. I hope it as well as any of you, but it does not look likely. Somehow, the goblin scum have overrun the place. We must return to the konig. He counts on us to report this, else he shall not know.”
Harper swayed as everything blurred before her. Brand’s strong hand grasped her upper arm to steady her.
“Th-Thank y-you,” she mumbled, her tongue tripping over the simple words. She swayed again, her legs gave out, and Brand caught her as she fell.
In her mind, Harper continued to plummet, through the frozen earth, on and on, through the void. Brand’s voice called from a distance, but she could not respond as she slipped further away. Her wrist burned, as if her bracelet had become a loop of fire, searing her skin. Then up, up, up she rose, but this time, she ascended into Keldheim.
This is not Keldheim, her mind told her.
She looked around, blinking slowly. It was like Keldheim, but this dwarven city was in ruins. Instinctively, she knew she somehow saw inside Afnirheim, as it was at that moment. She flew through deserted and destroyed halls and corridors. Through caverns with smashed aqueducts plunging their liquids into the voids below. Through seemingly endless spaces filled with the dead of both goblin and dwarven races. She came upon a great hall, where the leader of goblins, one greater and more disgusting than the rest, sat upon the scarred throne, the head of a dwarf, still crowned by a bloodied circlet, hanging by the hair from his clawed hand.
The raucous din in the hall drove a blade into her brain as the shrieks and shouts echoed around the cavernous space. Goblins cavorted, many now wearing dwarven armour, holding jewels and finely crafted weapons. Others tore hunks of meat from… Harper looked no further, focusing on keeping the contents of her stomach contained.
A crack split the air. With a flash of light, a tall figure, far taller than the goblins, appeared before the king’s dais. Harper drifted closer. An elf. Raven hair tumbled over his shoulders. As he turned to survey the horde before the throne, Harper saw a stern face, his dark eyes conveying wisdom, strength, and anger. Fine garments clothed him from head to toe. A jewelled sword hung at his waist, the pommel glowing red. He looked like he belonged in Dimitrius’s royal court.
“Pascha,” he said, and inclined his head to the goblins.
“Lord Saradon,” snarled the goblin upon the throne, his mouth struggling to form the syllables.
A current shot through Harper. Perhaps she had misheard. It was so loud. But she stared at the elf all the harder, recalling Aedon’s tale of the dark elf Saradon, whose mark she bore on her charm bracelet.
“You bring me no gift?” snarled the leader of the goblins.
The elf narrowed his eyes and turned back to him. He gestured at their surroundings. “I gave you Afnirheim. That is more than sufficient to show you my intent.”
The pascha laughed, showing bloodied, pointed teeth, and waved at the hall before him, which teemed with swarming goblins. “Take what you want of the spoils, Lord Saradon.”
“I do not need your loot. I need your scourge.”
“And you shall have it.” The pascha grinned wickedly. The scourge of goblins around them shrieked and cavorted with glee at the prospect of further conquest.
“Good.” Saradon’s lips curled into a mirthless grin. “I expect you to come when the banners are called.”
The pascha hissed. “We do not take orders from Elfkind.”
“But you will take mine if we are to succeed,” said Saradon forcefully. He took a step forward.
The pascha’s eyes seemed to unfocus for a moment as his gaze slid away. “Yes, we shall,” he said dully, before he blinked rapidly and returned his attention to Saradon.
Saradon gazed around them. His lips thinned as he viewed the goblins with distaste. “I shall leave you to your spoils.”
Harper floated away as the sounds, sights, and smells receded, fading into darkness once more.
She woke upon the ground with Aedon’s cloak wrapped around her and a warm hand upon her forehead. She opened her eyes slowly. Above her, stars pinpricked the night sky. The shadowed faces of Aedon and Brand, cast in the fire’s glow, hovered in the fringes of her vision.
“Can you see me? Harper? Can you hear me?” Aedon asked.
“What happened?” she mumbled, closing her eyes for a long moment again. Her head pounded to the point it hurt to look around. She opened her eyes to slits—Aedon’s troubled face hovered inches above her.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “You collapsed, and you’ve been twitching and mumbling for several minutes.”
Harper slowly looked around. At the edge of her field of vision, she saw the company of dwarves lurking. Some openly looked toward her. Others glanced over subtly or pretended not to be listening.
She lowered her voice. “I saw something when I passed out. I don’t know what it is. But I think it might be connected to the dwarves, the goblins, and Afnirheim. I just cannot make sense of it.” She stopped, frustrated. How can I possibly explain it? It had already started fading at the edges of her memory, and she clung to it.
“You can show me, if you wish?” said Aedon. “I will be able to see what you saw. It might help us make sense of it.”
Harper swallowed as Aedon reached his hands out. For some reason, she wanted to shrink away from his touch, despite them clarifying the boundaries between them. Instead, she forced herself to lace her fingers through his, as if there were nothing amiss.
The faint caress of his magic stroked through her, and she closed her eyes, sinking into the memory once more, trying to remember every detail. Aedon’s hand grew tighter upon hers, until his grip became painful. Harper opened her eyes as the memory faded, and Aedon’s grasp loosened. She pulled away. His pale face told her he had seen everything. She had hardly seen him so speechless before. A premonition of fear curled up her spine as he helped her sit up, then offered her a drink from his waterskin.
Halvar loomed over her. “Is she well?” he asked, frowning.
“Exhaustion,” said Aedon with a reassuring smile that betrayed none of the consternation he had just shown Harper. “Humans, you know. Not as strong as you fine folk.” The dwarves around them guffawed at that—and their attention peeled away, back to their own circles. “If we may have a healer at Keldheim check it is nothing more untoward perhaps?”
“Of course.” Halvar waved his hand dismissively and returned to his own company.
“What is it?” Brand asked, a sharp bite to his voice.
“Far worse than we feared,” whispered Aedon. “Harper, I believe you just had a vision—of inside Afnirheim.” He swallowed, and his eyes darted around to the dwarves, who lurked close. “I cannot explain. Let me show you.” He reached out to grasp Brand’s and Erika’s hands.
A few minutes later, looking at their faces, Harper knew they had seen what she had witnessed. She tugged her cloak closer as her body shook from fear and exhaustion. “What does it mean?”
“It means we must speak with the konig at once. Afnirheim is not only lost, but it is lost beyond their reach. Saradon ,” Aedon cursed. “Goblins are the least of our problems now.”
“Was it really him?”
“Yes,” said Aedon heavily. “I’d know that face anywhere. I’ve seen the portraits of him in the royal gallery of Tournai. A long time ago, of course, but one does not forget such a striking character. I do not know how he can be here now. Maybe your vision was of the past, though I do not recall any record of him taking Afnirheim,” Aedon said, a desperate edge to his voice, but Harper could see he did not believe his words. “We must report it. It appears… Saradon has returned.”