42. Harper
42
The next morning, the hushed villagers assembled, and Aedon dealt them their predicament. Too many for a limited cure, and nothing to be done there and then about it. It left a sour feeling in Harper’s stomach. Yet again, a tale of the poor suffering whilst the noble elite possessed all the wealth and resources to end it. Perhaps Pelenor was not as different to her home as she had hoped.
“You must choose, I’m afraid. I’m sorry it has come to this. We did our best, but alas, we did not realise this would spread so quickly. We’ll leave at once to obtain more elixir, whether we have to beg, borrow, make, or steal it. I promise, we will return. We will not forsake you in your hour of need.”
Their leader stepped forward. He stood tall and proud, but Harper saw the wobble in his step and the sweat beading upon his brow as he strained to hold himself up with the aid of a cane. The others looked to him. “If that is what it takes, so be it. We are grateful for your assistance. We know the risks you have placed yourselves in to even procure such a small amount for us. Others need it more than I. I shall wait until you return.”
“It may be a while, Ralkan,” warned Aedon.
“We place our faith in you,” Ralkan said in an even voice. Even though he put on a brave face, Harper saw how his shoulders sagged. “You did not fail us once, and I’m sure you will not fail us now.”
“Who shall take the cure?” Aedon asked, casting his gaze about those assembled.
Ralkan pointed at a child. “Him. Children first.” The villagers nodded, muttering and pushing their young forward.
“Form a line,” Aedon called. “One at a time.”
They trudged forward, each offering their upturned faces to him as he carefully dripped one drop of the cure on each of their tongues. The women stepped forward next, youngest to oldest, until the vial was empty save for three, last drops. That which they could not afford to give, for it would be the only way to secure more.
“No more,” Aedon said, slipping the vial inside his breast pocket once more. “I’m sorry.” Half the women remained, and all the menfolk. But no one glared at him. With wondrous expressions and a light in their eyes, the villagers surrounded their young, who already seemed to have a little more spring in their step.
“I can feel it. Magic,” Ralkan said hoarsely.
“It’ll take a little while, but they will recover. Now, keep to yourselves. Do not stray from the village. Woe betide that this should spread,” Aedon warned. “We’ll return as soon as we may.”
“Dragon’s speed to you,” Ralkan said.
“You’re in a good mood today, aren’t you?” Aedon grinned at Harper. He had lightened in spirits since they had left the village earlier, as though he had left his sorrow behind. Harper was glad to be away from the place too. It had been a draining experience to see such hopelessness. He had regained some of the spring in his step and twinkle in his eye. She knew he would be distracted by the thought of a new adventure, though she suspected mostly because of the illicit nature of it.
“I’m looking forward to seeing Tournai. Dragons, magic, and the king, and all.” It was enough distraction from her sore, throbbing feet to wonder at what lay ahead. And easier to distract herself with what was to come, not what they had left.
Aedon shot her a sideways glance. “You might not see the king, you know. He’s not the type to wander around the streets of Tournai. I don’t know any king who does.”
“Well, then, I’ll go to him.”
“And what? Receive his blessing and his help to return to Caledan?”
“Yes.” She could see it now. Kneeling in a grand hall before a throne. The king would sit upon it, regally benevolent. His face shadowed. Perhaps he would have a beard. A kind smile, too, and a grace beyond anything she had seen. He would be exceptionally grateful for her gifted Dragonheart—and only too happy to return her to Caledan and send aid to the village. Nothing like the miserly and mean lord of her lands only seen from afar on feast days in the town. She frowned. Somehow, the image of the noble king blurred into the image of the Lord Denholme, greed and anger marring his stern visage.
“What then? You’ll return to your old life?” Aedon interrupted her thoughts.
Harper stilled. She had only thought about returning—not what might come after.
“What is it?” Aedon pressed, his hand brushing her arm.
Not able to bear his touch, she surged away as though he had stung her. Guilt and longing warred within her—the Dragonheart was her way home. Hers. Whether it could save lives or not was irrelevant—she owed nothing to anyone. She’d always taken care of herself. No one save Betta had ever looked out for her. But, no matter how many times she told herself that, guilt seethed sourly inside her. “I don’t want to go back to that life,” she admitted. “I have to return, though. At least to Caledan. What else do I know? Betta needs me.”
“What if you didn’t have to return? What would you do?” He stood closer now. His hand dropped away.
Harper met his eyes. “I’d… travel, I suppose. Find a new home. Adventure. I’d find a way.”
Aedon cocked an eyebrow at her. “Oh, really? What kind of adventure?”
Emboldened, she continued. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve loved reading about and hearing tales of dragons, knights, and epic quests. I dreamed about being like the heroes in the stories. Wouldn’t it be amazing?”
“Hmm.” He gestured around. “Is this adventure not grand enough for you?”
Harper laughed. “I suppose this is an adventure of sorts. I’ve always imagined becoming a dragon-rider or something grand, like the old tales of Ulric and the Dragon.”
“Hmm. I haven’t heard of that one. I imagine that’s not impossible,” Aedon said, though she could see his suppressed smile.
“Really?” she burst out, unable to help herself. I wonder if I could trade my Dragonheart for a place with the king’s dragon-riders, she thought, all ideas of returning to her dreary life in Caledan lost for a moment.
“You do realise it’s not that simple, right?” His lip curled and her heart sank. He was toying with her. That stung.
“How so?”
“He means that you can’t just stroll up to the capital city—or the king, for that matter—and decide to be a dragon-rider,” Brand said from behind them, making her turn to look at him. “It’s more complex than that.”
“Go on.”
“Well, for starters, to become one of the Winged Kingsguard, you must have trained with the Royal Kingsguard for many years, starting your apprenticeship young. It’s not unheard of for someone to be taken on at your age, but it’s certainly unusual.” Brand quickened his pace to draw level with her and Aedon. “Then there’s the matter of being accepted for the training. You already have to be proficient in a number of physical and magical combats and arts, as well as rounded in your education.”
“I can read and write,” Harper replied. Just about. Thanks to Betta.
“Hmm. I don’t know what education is like in Caledan, but for starters, I’m going to wager you haven’t studied philosophy, magic, or the healing arts. Nor can you speak, read, and write Pelenori, and that is what matters here.”
Harper gave him a blank look.
“Then there’s the small matter of your breed.” Brand scrunched up his face. “It’s as crude as the Aerians. If you have the wrong type of blood, well, they simply won’t look at you twice. You can’t be a mere mortal, that’s for sure.”
“So I’m out,” Erika said from behind them with a snort of derision.
“You cannot be another kind of race, either. So that rules myself out,” said Brand.
“And me,” said Ragnar. “Not that I want to ride dragons anyway.”
“Nor can you be a half-breed any less pure than a half-elf. They like to keep the magic pure and strong. Half-elves or stronger are the most able-bodied for combat, and their magic runs strongest to bond with their dragons.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Harper. “But that means there’s a small chance, right? I mean, if I am half-elf, and they do take applicants my age, perhaps I can learn all those other things.”
“Sure,” agreed Brand affably. “Never say never. Few things are truly impossible. But Aedon is right. It isn’t as easy as strolling up to the king’s gates and saying ‘pretty please’.”
Harper sighed.
“Why are you so hung up on it?” Erika asked.
“I’ve dreamed of adventure all my life.” What Harper did not dare admit to was that those dreams had been all that she had to keep her going on the darkest of nights. The promise of better times and the power to change her own fate. “Perhaps it’s not the same here where such adventures are common for you. Besides, I want to know more about the Dragonheart, how it came to me. I don’t know where else to get answers.”
Erika snorted again. “If that’s the case, you have a pretty messed up idea of what’s important. Riding dragons and pratting around like you’re better than everyone else? Pah!” She strode ahead.
Harper glared at Erika indignantly, but no one spoke to excuse her. “You all agree with her?”
“‘Fraid so,” said Brand.
Aedon nodded. “It’s an easy choice for us. Look at what we’re doing. We’re on a mission to save lives. We’ll make a real difference in the world.”
“But so will the Winged Kingsguard, right? They must do such noble deeds far and wide!” Their scrutiny—and self assurance that she was in the wrong—made the back of her neck burn. She angled defensively, eyes darting between them.
Brand chuckled.
Harper narrowed her eyes at him. “What?”
Aedon cast his friend a glance. “I think what Brand’s thinking is that it’s not so clear-cut. When you’re on the orders of the king, you do what you’re told—not what you want to or what you think is right. You may even have to complete tasks you believe are abhorrently wrong because they’re your king-given orders. Would you really be happy to do that?”
“That depends, I suppose. What’s the king like?”
Aedon shrugged. “A king.”
Harper waited for him to elaborate, but Brand spoke up. “Rulers often believe they’re doing the right thing, whether for themselves or for their kingdom. Seldom are those things aligned. A king may often act outside the best interests of his people. A king is but one person, and people are fallible, especially when not held to account.”
“That’s treason,” Ragnar said cheerfully.
“Your point? Join in if you feel like you’re missing out,” Brand retorted.
“Gladly. Kings are asses,” Ragnar said loudly with relish. “Have you ever really thought it fair that gold gets spent on those grand tournaments and parades when folks out in the country are starving on a bad harvest? There’s no way anyone can justify that. And being a member of the Winged Kingsguard will mean you have to stand by and watch that happen, even actively take part in it.”
He continued, “Notice how the king is not rushing to cure this sickness? Why bother? He might not have heard of it, just to give him a fair chance, but if he has, what’s one village to him? Hardly worth the effort, to be sure. Now, if it were his own household, I’m sure things would be different. Why, the Winged Kingsguard themselves would be sent the length and breadth of the kingdom to find a cure and retrieve it by any means necessary. Any price would have been paid to the elves of Tir-na-Alathea for it,” Ragnar scoffed, then muttered unintelligibly to himself.
Harper turned back to Aedon and Brand.
“That pretty much covers it,” said Aedon with a shrug. “It’s hard to join, but if you get in, don’t necessarily think you’ll be off gallivanting on grand and noble quests. More likely, you’ll sit, growing old and fat, until the king sends you out on some selfish behest.”
“You’re just bitter,” Harper said, sticking her chin up and surprising even herself with her audacity. “Can’t be helped that some folks have privilege and others don’t. Believe me, I know the hard truth of it, but it doesn’t mean those with privilege are all bad. It doesn’t mean the king is bad, or that the Winged Kingsguard are all old, fat, lazy, and have no morals. I want to be a dragon-rider, or a warrior—somebody better than the nobody I’ve been all my life. Plus, I won’t be like that. It’s not in my nature. So at least there’ll be one good one.”
“Suit yourself,” said Aedon, more coldly than she had expected. He and Brand strode ahead in silence, leaving Harper to walk on her own.
“You really want to go to the King?” Aedon asked her that night as they sat around a small fire.
Harper tensed. “I do.”
Erika huffed and shook her head. “Foolish,” she muttered. Harper pretended she hadn’t heard. Ragnar pursed his lips in silent disapproval, and Brand didn’t move a muscle. Harper massaged her aching wrists. Before their evening meal—skewers of some unidentified, tangy meat—she had sparred with Brand and practiced her footwork.
“You want to do that over helping us?” Aedon pressed.
“I’m no help,” Harper insisted, shrugging. “I’m an extra pair of hands and another mouth to feed. I’d be more of a hindrance than anything. I’m no good at fighting, or magic, or anything you Pelenori value, so is it really such a problem if I don’t stay with you?”
When they all shared a look, Harper scowled, frustrated by the unspoken words running between them that she was not privy to.
Aedon looked at her, his expression inscrutable, until she squirmed and dropped her gaze. “I thought we had made ourselves clear, Harper, but perhaps not. Look, I think it’s a really bad idea. We all do.”
He reached out to grasp her hand, squeezing it, his worried gaze searching hers. Harper swallowed. She tugged away, determined not to be distracted. “But how will I return home? If it truly is the only place I can find answers and a way to return home—or a better life for myself—where else can I go? Why should I not go?”
“Sure, we said that,” Aedon replied, slowly nodding, “but remember, we’ve also warned you that you will be thought of as a thief first. You don’t know the punishment, do you? Trust me, it’s not a quick death.”
“But I’m innocent. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that, then they’ll have to listen to me and send me ho?—”
“They don’t have to listen to anything you say, and they won’t,” Aedon snapped. “Before you can say ‘Dragonheart’, you’ll be in irons.” Aedon huffed, glancing around at the others for support. “Come on. Help me out here. She’s so… stubborn!”
“I know someone else like that.” Brand sniggered quietly, glancing at Erika.
“I’m not stupid, though,” Erika said bluntly. She glared at him in return, then at Harper, her eyes full of disdain.
Harper scowled at Erika, but before she could retort, angry words jumbling thick and hot on her tongue, Ragnar spoke. “We welcomed you into our group,” he said quietly. The disappointment in his voice cut to her core, quenching the anger that had arisen at Erika’s coldness.
“We shared our food, our hearth, and all else we had with you—even our quest. We are grateful you assisted us in the village, but so much more is at stake. We need every pair of hands we can get, and yours have far more value than you think, even to us Pelenori people.”
Aedon bared his teeth at her. Harper flinched and cast her gaze aside.
“It’s a betrayal,” said Erika. “Now you know what’s at stake, you ought to stay and help us. Do you know what an asset you would be to us with a Dragonheart?”
“Erika,” Aedon said sharply, but she continued.
“It’s selfish to walk away, to throw yourself on the mercy of a king who will kill you for treason and take your Dragonheart in a heartbeat. You will never see your home again if you follow that path. Only death.”
“Erika,” Aedon cut her off, then turned back to Harper. “You know we run on the wrong side of the law. I hope you’ve realised we’re not the criminals you thought at first and that we have a critical task at hand. We need your help. We’d be honoured for you to continue with us. You might not yet have magic or be proficient at fighting, but you have other skills that are equally as valuable. Please, stay with us.” She opened her mouth, but he raised his hand. “At least consider it.”
Harper nodded. The group fell into an uncomfortable silence. Harper did not want to laze around the fire a moment longer. She rose and strode from camp.
“Don’t stray far,” Brand called after her.
She raised a hand in acknowledgment and kept walking.
What was worse? Erika’s disdain? Brand’s unfathomable silence? Ragnar’s disappointment? Aedon’s frustration? Harper did not know. And what should she do? She did not know that either. The alternative—pleading with the king to send her back to Caledan or to train her as a warrior—seemed equally ridiculous when she truly thought about it. Her heart sank.