54. Harper
54
HARPER
T he goblin’s head flew from its shoulders as Brand’s giant blade swung before her, the big Aerian seemingly appearing from nowhere.
“I was fine!” she maintained, shouting across the maelstrom. He rolled his eyes before cutting another goblin clean in half. She knew her sting of annoyance was only aimed at herself, at her lapse. “Thank you!” she shouted, turning away again.
“Stay close!” he thundered. “Stay together !”
“I can handle myself!” Had she not already proven it? I’m alive thus far . The rush of self-protection singing through her was an antidote to her fear.
He did not respond. Perhaps he had not heard, for the din still raged around them. She could not even hear herself over the ringing in her own ears and the pounding of her heart.
Yet she could not mistake the figure wreathed in shadow and flame who appeared before the doors of Afnirheim. Saradon stalked from the city, casting his gaze and his magic this way and that. With every step, he blasted those around him indiscriminately, and goblins and dwarves alike fell before him. Harper quailed, riven to her core by fear. She turned, forging her way closer to Brand, even as he battled to make a path back to the rest of their companions. Now, she realised how much she needed them for her safety. All stilled for a moment as Saradon’s raw power crackled through them all. She was not sure if she had imagined it, though, for in the next instant, all was as before—the onslaught and the din unrelenting. Dimitrius’s warning rang in her ears, but she had a sinking dread that it was far too late to heed it.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him, too, standing in the shadows behind Saradon. But Dimitrius made no move, neither to aid the goblins nor the dwarves. His gaze slid to the giant Aerian, then to Harper. From across the distance, she saw his flash of gritted teeth, saw how his face paled, and he sprang to attention, straightening with the shock of seeing her. She knew he had perceived her—reckoned he probably hurled a curse her way for not heeding his warning, which had been given at such great risk to himself. She was glad she could not see those eyes of his. They could lecture her without a single word.
Harper noted how pale and drawn he was. She had not noticed it in the dark when he had sought her. He looked sick with apprehension. The tight lines around his mouth and eyes scared her more than anything. He was more powerful than any of them, save perhaps Saradon and his dark magic. How much worse was Saradon for him to fear?
She suddenly realised the flow of the battle had changed. Even as the dwarves retreated with renewed vigour at Saradon’s appearance, so the goblins advanced with new purpose. A great knot of them surged for Harper and her companions, just as Saradon locked eyes with her across the valley. She saw the gleam of white teeth as he smiled with open satisfaction.
There was no way to hold them off, for the scourge of goblins was so overwhelmingly huge. The dwarves around them either fell away in retreat or were cut down where they stood. Rough, clawed hands dragged at them all, overpowering them, even Brand, with the sheer weight of numbers. But they were not torn to shreds, though the goblins made no effort to be gentle.
Instead, Harper and her companions were pulled and dragged—sometimes in opposing directions until her muscles and joints strained—heaved in a great, writhing mass, deafened by the shrieking that was far too close for comfort. They were prodded and poked all the way to Saradon’s feet. With a flick of his finger, they fell to the ground, where he immobilized them with half a thought, so they lay unable to defend themselves in the blood and dirt.
Harper turned her head as far as she could, looking up at Saradon, who glared down at them all with grim glee. Her attention flicked when Dimitri loomed beside him, his face marred by barely concealed worry as he met her gaze—and then looked away, as if fearful Saradon would see his attentions upon her.
Saradon spoke in a harsh, jarring tongue, his attention straying to them for a moment before the goblins once more leapt upon their prisoners and rushed them into the dark of the mountain. The clutch of their claws bit her arms once more as they dragged her away. The last thing Harper saw before the darkness enveloped them and the ruined doors boomed shut was the last of the dwarves fleeing into the tree line.
The jarlshalle of Afnirheim, ruled by a dwarven lord rather than a konig, was smaller than the konigshalle of Keldheim. It was made even smaller by the darkness within. Columns loomed in the space, but above them was darkness. No faelights shone in the tall, thin alcoves at the side of the hall. The floor was dark with ash and blood, and the emptiness stank of death and decay.
Saradon awaited them, like a king standing before his throne. Dimitrius was nowhere to be seen. Harper did not know whether to be comforted or more terrified by that. With a single word from him, their captors hurled them to the floor, then rushed out in a cacophony of shrieks and snarls. The doors boomed shut, the sound echoing from the bare walls, until all fell to silence. Unconsciously, Harper drew closer to her companions as they tightened their knot, all warily eying the dark figure standing on the dais before them whilst they knelt on the bare rock.
His raven hair—so like Harper’s, she realised with a shock—was an even darker black in the dim light, but his skin glowed an unsettling red in the ruddy light of the braziers burning about the hall. They belched smoke that added to the stench of the tainted halls, but it at least covered up the worst of the death blighting the air. However, the dark could not hide his piercing violet glare. His attention sent her skin crawling as she inched closer to Aedon, Brand, and Erika, wishing she had paid more attention during the battle. Perhaps if she had stayed closer to them all, if she had not strayed so far, they could have escaped. But as Saradon’s gaze swept over and through her, she knew she could not blame herself. The moment she had set foot upon that battlefield, she had sealed her own fate. She would not have outrun him. Perhaps she ought to have heeded Dimitri’s warning.
Even though she felt as weak as a fawn before Saradon, she was grateful for her companions. At least she could find strength in their presence. For the first time, she truly realised how much she needed them, relied on them for her safety. Terror sawed through her already shredded nerves as Saradon advanced. The raw tang of his power preceded him, whipping and crackling through the very air until it hummed with the strength of it. It felt wrong in a way no other magic did, turning her stomach and tainting her own well of power in a way she could not explain. As he drew closer, she realised how very small she felt, for he towered over her in both height and imposing presence.
“Daughter of my blood, I welcome thee to my halls,” he said to Harper, baring his teeth in a terrifying smile which curdled dread in her belly.