The girl’s brows lifted. “From Pence? No one’s lived there in years. Too many Akkeri attacks.”
“I meant near Pence,” she quickly amended. “A very small farm. No one knows of the name, so I usually just say I’m from Pence.”
The girl watched her a moment, then slowly nodded. “Very well. I hope you enjoy your meal. It’ll be two copper gulls.”
Isara fished in her coin pouch, knowing full well she should not be spending the gulls, as she had no way to earn more. She hoped any information she might gain would be worth it.
“Any word from the Capital?” she asked, stopping the girl before she could walk away.
Her blue eyes now wary, the girl resumed her original position. “You mean more than the Dreilore and Arthali?”
Isara’s eyes darted to her untouched meal, then back up. Would the girl find it odd if she asked about the Arthali?
The girl sighed. “I see you’re just as frightened of them as I. I don’t know which one is worse. Probably the Dreilore, because there are so many of them, but the Arthali are plenty frightening too.”
“I can’t believe the emperor lifted the exile,” she commiserated, risking the unverified speculation.
“For certain clans, at least. We won’t be seeing any Shadowmarsh nor Green Leaf witches.” The girl laughed. “A season ago, and I hadn’t even heard of the Shadowmarsh clan. Now I’m to report who comes and goes at our inn.” She lifted a brow at Isara. “You’re not a witch, are you?”
Before she could answer, the girl laughed. “No, too pale, too tiny. The witches are tall, a few passed through with some of the militia heading north.”
Isara nearly spit out the sip of ale she’d taken. “You saw them?” she choked.
“Oh yes, heading for Port Aeluvaria. The emperor has them watching all the ports, he says for Akkeri, but I bet it’s for the Faerune elves. He won’t risk them attacking the Capital.”
Isara shoved a bite of trout into her mouth before she could say something she’d regret. As if Faerune, in its current condition, could ever attack the Capital. But that begged the question, why was Egrin watching the ports? None would risk an attack on Galterra.
She turned at the sound of the door opening and gasped, inhaling a fleck of fish. She coughed as Celen strolled up to the bar, natural as can be.
He leaned near her shoulder. “We need to go,” he whispered.
The girl behind the bar was staring at Celen as if one of the gods themselves had strode into her tavern. Her eyes whipped to Isara. “You know him?”
But Celen wasn’t looking at the girl, he was still looking at Isara. “Now, would be nice.”
Isara stumbled from her chair, double checking that she’d placed the two gulls on the counter. “My thanks for the meal!” she blurted as Celen ushered her away from the bar.
She could feel the eyes of the girl and her parents on her back as she hurried out the door. Celen’s hand was at her shoulders, guiding her.
Once they were away from the door, he grabbed her hand and tugged her off the main road in between the tavern and a closed-down smithy.
“I thought you were going to wait for me,” she gasped.
“My apologies, but I thought you might like to depart before an army of Dreilore arrive.”
“Dreilore?” she squeaked.
He tugged her past more buildings, heading east toward the woods. “Heard a farmer talking.” He looked both ways down a narrow dirt alley before dragging her past a small sheep pen. “He rushed home from tending his crops, wanted to make sure his wife and child are safely locked away. They’d be more safe hiding in the woods, if you ask me. Can you go a little faster?”
Flustered, she increased her pace. They reached the end of the sheep pen. An open expanse of meadow stood serenely between them and the border of the forest. They broke into a run, the grass swishing around their legs like water.
She dared a glance toward the southern end of the road, stumbling in her panic as she spotted the first of the Dreilore. Were they just passing through, or had they somehow tracked her? She saw no way it could be the latter, but one of the Dreilore pointed to the field, to the exact spot she now stood, her feet rooted in fear.
“Run!” Celen hissed, giving her a tug.
Her mind jolted back to the present, and she ran. She ran until her lungs burned and her legs felt like they might collapse. The Dreilore shouted after them. Did they know who she was, or were they just suspicious of a human and an Arthali fleeing toward the woods?
Reaching the first of the trees felt like slamming into a wave, breaking through, then coming out running on the other side. Her heart thundered in her ears, her footfalls seemed to echo louder on the loamy earth.
Celen kept pace with her, though his legs could easily carry him faster. “Forgive me!” he shouted, then looped an arm around her waist.
Suddenly she was airborne, then her stomach smacked onto Celen’s shoulder. She lost her breath. The ground below passed by dizzyingly quick.
“We can’t lead them back to Elmerah,” he huffed. “We’ll run the other way, make sure we escape them before we find her.”
“Why are they chasing us?” she forced out against the shoulder pushing into her stomach.
“Those militia men at the checkpoint took note of us, and the Dreilore are coming from their direction. They might have realized either who you are, or Ellie.”
The trees whipped by them, but Celen never seemed to tire. Isara felt helpless and useless atop his shoulder, and she could only hope she’d not been the one they recognized. She’d hate to once again be the trap which led Egrin to Elmerah.
Elmerah
Elmerah stretched her neck from side to side, irritated. Alluin was back to his pacing, but now for a different reason. “They should be back by now,” he said, more to himself than to Elmerah or Killian, their Nokken prisoner.
At least, he was acting like a prisoner. Elmerah rolled her eyes to Killian, sitting across from her, both leaning their backs against tree trunks. Alluin had been the one to tend his arrow wound. It wasn’t a bad one, deep, but far from hitting anything vital. The young man had been lucky Alluin didn’t pierce his heart.
Elmerah crossed her arms, peering at Killian suspiciously now that he was bandaged and ready for questioning. “Are you sure none of your people followed you?”
His fox ears flicked forward at her words, a bit unnerving since she wasn’t used to spending time around Nokken. “I told you, I was on my own when I saw you leave Faerune. No one would have been around to follow me, and I would have noticed if they had,” his accent grew thicker with his rushed words. “I’m a good tracker. I would have noticed.”
She lifted her hands in a soothing gesture. “Calm down, I was just asking. Now why were you watching Faerune on your own? Isn’t that the sort of task entrusted to a full scouting party?”
Killian shrugged, averting his amber gaze.
“Kil…li….an,” she warned, drawing out the syllables of his name.
He looked to her, then to Alluin—still watching the woods—then back to her.
She tilted her head. “Might I remind you, we can still reinsert that arrow into your flesh.”
Killian winced, placing a hand to his bandaged leg. “Alright, alright. The truth is, watching Faerune is a bit of a punishment. Nothing ever happens. We watch for days, but hardly anyone comes and goes. If they do, we wait until our replacement shows up, then we go back to camp and report what we saw.”
She considered his words, thinking them truthful. She knew well enough that the High Council had been resting on its laurels, keeping everyone inside, though they should have been moving forward. “Do your people only watch Faerune, or do you watch the neighboring villages as well?”
“Skaristead, Fallshire, a few others. The villages are less of a punishment. At least in Skaristead I could make myself look like an elf and go into the tavern.”
Alluin walked up to her side. “Skaristead?”
Killian looked worried. “Did I say something wrong?”
Alluin shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing we can do now except move forward. We should look for Isara and Celen, they may need our help.”
She stood, stretching out her stiff legs. “If we do that, they may return here and find us gone. We can’t both go.”
“I’ll go,” Killian offered.
Elmerah snorted, rolled her eyes, then looked back to Alluin. “You go, you’re stealthier than I, but if they’re in trouble you bloody well better come back and find me. Don’t go rushing into danger on your own.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. You’ll be fine with . . . ” his gaze drifted to Killian.
Elmerah grinned wickedly. “Don’t worry, we’ll spend this time getting to know one another.” She turned her grin to Killian, who hunched his shoulders and inched his back further down the trunk.
Alluin surprised her by placing a hand on her shoulder, not a casual gentle pat, but a meaningful squeeze. She watched him for an explanation.
“Please, be careful.”
She blinked. “I’m not the one possibly walking into a trap.”
He smiled, though it didn’t reach his worried green eyes. “Humor me, will you? If a troll happens upon you, don’t antagonize it.”
She lifted a hand to her chest. “Me? I’m hardly antagonistic.”
He gave her shoulder a final squeeze, then turned away. “I’ll head straight northwest to the village, and I’ll come back the same route. If I don’t return by nightfall, come find me along the way.”
“I’ll be finding you well before that,” she said, but he was already gone, and she was left with only Killian for company.
She walked across dead twigs and leaves, then plopped down in the soggy grass right beside him.
He squirmed, but didn’t try to move away.
She didn’t like Alluin leaving, but at least she had entertainment while he was gone. “Now Killian, I think it’s time you told me everything you know about the emperor’s plan.” She patted his leg right above the bandaged wound. “And remember, Arthali can smell lies. I’ll know if you leave anything out.”
Killian took a trembling breath. “Where do you want me to start?”
* * *
Isara
Panting and sweaty, Celen let Isara down to her feet. The Dreilore weren’t just following them because they ran, they were searching for her specifically. That fact had been proven by the way the Dreilore dogged their steps deeper and deeper into the woods.
Her body trembled from the panic of it all, though signs of pursuit had not been heard for quite some time. “Do you think they’ll track us?”
Celen wiped sweat from his brow, then shucked his coat, baring the tattoos on his well-muscled arms. “No. My magic may not be quite as impressive as Elmerah’s, but it’s useful when covering one’s tracks.”
She wrapped her cloak tightly around her arms, feeling cold though the weather was moderate. “I think your magic quite impressive, actually. The way you shifted the earth outside the crystal walls to save Alluin was incredible.”
Draping his coat over one arm, he looked around. Occasionally a bird flitted from branch to branch, but there was no other sound or movement. The forest seemed almost cheerful.
“You’ll have to save your flattery for later,” he said as he watched a bird swoop down near them, then back up. “Now that we’ve evaded the Dreilore, we need to find Elmerah, and not run amok of any deep woods creatures while we’re at it. I don’t imagine there will be Fossegrim this far north, but there may be trolls, and I don’t know these forests well enough to evade them.”
“Trolls?” she gasped. She’d never seen an actual troll in the flesh, though she’d studied them extensively.
Celen nodded. “Now,” he spun a slow circle, “by my estimations, Ellie is that way.” He pointed.
She grimaced. “Forgive me, but you’re pointing north. Elmerah and Alluin should be to the south of us, and closer to the road, so slightly west, if I’m correct on how far we traveled. It was a bit difficult to tell since I was watching the ground go by behind your feet.”
He winked. “My apologies for that. It’s the easiest way to carry someone, and we needed to move quickly.”
She thought other means of carrying her might have been just as easy for such a large man, but bit her tongue. “You saved my life, or at least my imprisonment, no apologies necessary.”
“So you think they were after you? I thought so too. One of the militia men must have realized who you were.”
She nodded. “I look a lot like Daemon, unfortunately. I’d not be surprised if the militia men were ordered to keep an eye out for me.”
“It’s a good thing. It lets us know that Egrin is scared of you.”
She lifted her brows, too shocked to reply.
He rolled his eyes. “The emperor wants you, and he wants Ellie, but never came and snatched either of you from Faerune. He knows that together, you may be able to defeat him, and he wasn’t willing to risk it.” He looked around again. “So if that way is north,” he pointed, “we should go that way.” He swung his arm in the opposite direction.
She placed a hand at his wrist and pushed so his finger was pointing a little more westward. “Yes, southwest, correct.”
He grinned and lowered his hand. “Well then, let’s go. I hope you’re alright to walk on your own the rest of the way.”
“I’m fine,” she said, though she wasn’t. Her legs felt like thistle jelly and her brain felt filled with fog. She’d hidden from Egrin and Daemon for so long. Now that they knew she was still alive, and had allied herself with the opposition, there would be no returning to that quiet life. She wasn’t sure she would return even if she could.
Celen walked casually at her side, seeming unworried. “So the Dreilore, you can eliminate the enchantments on their blades?”
“Yes?”
He nodded. “Good. If they catch us, be sure to do that. I don’t need them neutralizing my magic.”
“Do you think they’ll find us?”
He shrugged. “They’re Dreilore, the monsters from the North who mine magic metals and have held their lands against any opposition for centuries. What do you think?”
A lump formed in her throat. If she had to choose what she was the most afraid of, it would be the Dreilore. Yet, if she ever wanted to learn what had happened to her father, they would hold the answers, because as far as she knew, they’d killed him.
They might kill her too, before all was said and done, but she’d do her best to avoid it.
* * *
Daemon
Daemon Saredoth did not enjoy life on the road, nor did he enjoy traveling with a pack of Dreilore. He brushed dirt from his red velvet pantaloons, thinking pack was a fitting term. They were more like wolves than men and women, always hunting, or else sunning themselves and looking at you like the might eat you.
Or like they might just kill you and leave you for the real wolves.
He glanced at each of the five Dreilore who’d remained with him while the others searched the woods. When Egrin had tasked him with obtaining his sister, he hadn’t thought it would be difficult. Isara was impressionable, and didn’t like to argue. She shouldn’t be hard to convince . . . only he couldn’t find the blasted girl. If it weren’t for the militia men recognizing her, he’d still have no idea where she was. Fortunately, the men had been instructed to report her position and not try to apprehend her. According to them, she traveled with two Arthali and an elf. The elf was of little consequence, but the Arthali comp
licated things. A few militia men would have been no match if said Arthali had even a fraction of the power the Shadowmarsh witches possessed. Or if one actually was a Shadowmarsh witch. The Volund sisters had made their stance against Egrin clear, it could easily be one of them traveling with Isara.
He sighed, tired of waiting near the pathetic little village. He should have gone to Isara and taken her by force from Faerune, but it would have been such a long way to travel, and he knew she’d wander northward eventually. It had been much easier to place militia at every port, and blocking every road. Messengers checked in with each group periodically.
He drummed his jeweled fingers on his thighs. “What’s taking them so long?”
The one Dreilore of their regiment with long hair, denoting his status, looked to him with malice in his ember-filled eyes. “They are skilled trackers. She will not evade them for long.”
Daemon sneered, then quickly regretted it at the look the Dreilore gave him. Wolves, they were all wolves. “They’d better not harm her,” he muttered.
“Capture the girl, capture the female Arthali, kill all others. Those are our orders.”
He drummed his fingers again. Kill all others. Egrin had grown rash, it seemed he no longer even cared for this war. It was as if land and status were of no consequence to him.
Daemon might have considered fleeing, but he was in far too deep, and he knew Egrin would eventually locate him if he ran. He wasn’t as valuable—nor as dangerous—as his sister, he needed to remember that. He’d find her, and use her to guarantee his own safety. There was no other choice.
Saida
Saida wrapped her arms around her belly, cradling herself against sharp pains, undoubtedly an effect of that spiced meat. Her stomach simply did not agree with it, though her temporary incapacitation could not have come at a worse time. Malon had been gone all day—hopefully questioning the Makali as promised, and she’d been left in her tent with Phaerille. The tent flap was tied open with the idea of letting in a nice breeze, but there was no breeze to be had.
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