67. Harper
67
Aedon burst out laughing. “Not where we are! Ragnar likes playing chatura in real life, too, as you’ll find out. He gets tired of wooden pieces on a board. Real people are much more interesting and unpredictable. It’s a rather useful skill that’s gotten us out of quite a few tight spaces. He just needs a little head start on us.”
Harper shook her head in bafflement. Reserved and kind Ragnar has a mischievous streak? She would never have guessed. Perhaps he had been running around with Aedon for too long, though she left that thought unvoiced.
“Take this,” Erika said. She gave Harper a slim sword with a scabbard and belt. “It’s similar to my twin blades, so you’ll be more used to the weight. You’ll probably need it. Remember what Brand taught you.”
“Thank you.” Harper eyed Erika warily.
Erika huffed and turned away. “If all else fails, stay behind the rest of us and don’t stab us. It’s time. Ragnar will be in place by now.”
Harper suppressed a wince. Hopefully she wouldn’t be that bad. A flicker of nerves ran through her at the thought of having to use a blade—and not in a training situation. Her first hope was that it would not come to that. She released a shuddering breath and followed Erika, Brand, and Aedon into the alley.
Ragnar joined them just before the buildings opened out into a grand square. Erika raised up her closed fist to her chest at the sight of him. He replied in kind, along with a smug grin.
“Done?” she asked, her brusque tone revealing her tension.
“As easy as taking sugared fruits from a wyvern,” Ragnar said with a toothy grin. “They all legged it off to some poor, unsuspecting district that I suspect will shortly be in the midst of a total lockdown.”
“Good. Let’s go.” She tossed him a cloak and helm, which he swiftly donned.
They all jogged toward the grand doors that led to the dragon hold. The stone doors were huge rectangles, three men high and two men wide, under a thick lintel set directly into the cliff soaring above them. To Harper’s surprise, they pushed open on oiled hinges without a sound.
From there, the gang proceeded silently with no weapons drawn, so as not to draw attention to themselves. Harper felt naked without something to protect her, so she stuck close to Ragnar, behind Aedon, as they forged into the heart of the mountain.
She barely had a chance to glance around, and little vision to do so through the restrictive helmet, but it was as if she had stepped into an underground town of sorts. The ceiling, which was formed from natural crags in the rock, soared above them, stalactites hanging from the roof. Lights hovered above their heads. They were dim, but better than the pitch black of darkness.
The floor was the only smooth part, stretching through the heart of the stone ahead of them. To either side were doorways, both grand and small, and even windows, giving the illusion they were on some kind of underground street. Each wooden door was closed, barred, and bore a sign that Harper did not understand.
As they walked, it grew hotter until she regretted the oppressive cloak and helmet. Sweat trickled down the bridge of her nose and nape of her neck unpleasantly. There were Kingsguard here, all cloaked, some helmeted, who greeted them in the Pelenor tongue as they marched past. Harper remained silent as her companions cheerfully replied in kind. Her heart rose into her throat every time they sighted another red cloak, and she heard nothing over the rushing of her blood in her ears, but it seemed they raised no suspicion, not even Brand with his great wings. Then they reached another set of doors even larger than the last—and the guards who stood before it. Brand and Erika stepped forward without hesitation and knocked them out cold. Aedon stepped up behind them and passed his hands over their prone forms.
“A sleeping charm,” he explained. “One that will modify their memories so they have no recollection of us when they wake.”
“No time for chitchat. Move,” Erika said. She and Brand opened one of the doors and they slipped through.
Harper gasped. It was as if they stepped into the heart of a great crater that stretched from the very top to the very bottom of the mountain. Faint daylight flooded in from the top, and yawning shadows tumbled from the massive caves peppering the inside of the mountain. Yet it was not that which had caught her eye. Above her head soared… Dragons. Big ones, little ones, blue ones, red ones. They called to each other with roars that echoed around the cave, and as they landed in the caves, the cracking of rock was akin to the snapping of whips. One blew a great stream of fire across the inside of the mountain, and a wave of heat rolled down upon them. Harper squeaked as it blasted her face.
“Keep steady,” Aedon murmured. “Nearly there. This is the worst part.”
“Won’t they come after us?” she whispered back.
“That’s why we have the cloaks. In them, we’re friend, not foe. They think we’re Kingsguard, and long may it stay that way.” He gave her a reassuring smile and encouraged her forward. She struggled not to break into a run, feeling far too conspicuous wandering through a thunder of dragons. Each roar reverberated right to her core.
Please don’t eat us. Please don’t eat us. Please don’t eat us.
“This way,” Brand said in a low voice, walking into a wide hallway that plunged steeply down on the other side of the crater. “The egg vaults are down here.”
There were more guards, too, standing before a thick, iron portcullis that barred the way. Again, Brand and Erika did not hesitate, and Aedon and Ragnar dove into the frey. Harper raised her sword and backed away, trying not to get in the way, certain she’d be a liability. Erika looked back at her with scorn that made Harper cringe. They raised the portcullis and hurried through.
A familiar feather-light touch caressed Harper as they crossed the threshold. She knew the Dragonheart was there. Instinctively, she recognised the imprint of it, the feel of it.
“It’s here,” she said as they rushed along the tunnel. “I can feel it.”
They entered a large cellar with vaulted ceilings. Shelves upon shelves were laid out in rows, bearing the most unlikely treasures—dragon eggs of every size, colour, and texture. Even Erika stopped for a moment of wonder.
“This way. Quickly.” Aedon led them. “It’ll be in one of the secure vaults. I’m holding back the wards with every ounce of our combined strength, but I can’t protect us for long.” Harper saw his jaw clenched, as though he were under some great strain, and a bead of sweat began to form upon his brow.
They followed him through the gloom. In every direction, the egg store was pitch black. Harper followed Aedon closely, keen to stay within the sphere of magical light he had cast to illuminate the way, small and inconsequential though it seemed.
“We’re getting closer,” Harper said. “I can feel something familiar. It’s the stone. I know it sounds crazy, but?—”
“Not crazy at all,” said Aedon, changing course. “What you’re sensing is the magical resonance of the stone. It’s familiar to you after so much time together.”
There was neither chance—nor breath—to question him as she followed him at a run. They came upon a wooden door, locked with a metal cylindrical mechanism of many revolving discs, the likes of which she had not seen before.
“A safe,” remarked Aedon. “How predictable!”
“A safe?” Harper asked.
“The gigantic strongbox of rich folks,” Aedon explained, wrinkling his nose.
“How do we open it?” Harper ran her fingers over the dials.
“Allow me, my dear.” Aedon gestured for her to stand to one side and took her place before the door, raising his arms and wriggling his fingers, as though preparing. He whispered to the door, stroking the dials in a particular order. The dials rotated on their own until the door groaned and opened slowly. Aedon tsked. “Too easy. They always make it too easy.” But, bravado aside, his mouth fell open at what lay inside. Piles of Dragonhearts of all colours, shapes, and sizes.
“There are so many,” Harper whispered.
“Enough to cure a nation, if it came to it,” Aedon said, his voice equally hushed. “It’s too tempting. Think of the good we could do with all this! Grab as many as you can.”
“Wait… What? We came for just one—mine!” Harper said. “We can’t steal any!”
Aedon scoffed at her. “These could help us curtail what threatens to be a plague, and they’re good for many more things beside. Start grabbing.”
Harper refused, following the tug inside her to the small stone that was hers and hers alone. She grasped it and stepped from the vault. The rest soon tumbled out, their pockets, bags, and anything else that could be used as a vessel stuffed with as many Dragonhearts as they could carry.
“Quick,” said Aedon through gritted teeth. “The wards are crushing me. I cannot hold them back much longer. We must leave.”
They followed him out at a run. They heard a shout up ahead. Torchlights bloomed.
“Weapons out, team, and stick together,” Aedon said calmly. Harper’s heart lurched as more adrenaline flooded her system.
The Kingsguard melted out of the darkness in a cacophony of noise, light, and blood-red cloaks, until the group was surrounded from all directions.