The Elven Apostate

by Sara C. Roethle

  He dragged her across the meadow toward the road, the Dreilore silently falling into line behind them.

  “Daemon,” she rasped, stumbling as he dragged her along, “you don’t know what you’re doing! Egrin—”

  He stopped for a moment to look at her. “I realize exactly what Egrin is. Do you think me so dense? I’ve remained by his side for years.” He tugged her arm.

  Teeth gritted, she tugged back. “If you know, then how can you aid him!”

  “Better than standing against him, sister, you will learn that in time.”

  She had hoped to talk sense into him once he knew the full truth, but he already knew. He knew Egrin was a demon, and he didn’t care. “That answer isn’t good enough.”

  He shook her by his grip on her arm, then yanked her forward.

  This time she went with him, wanting to keep her shoulder in its socket.

  He walked ahead, tugging her behind him with his too long stride. “Isara, quit being foolish. Our choices are to live long lives with riches and protection, or to fall into ruin like the elves. Can you honestly tell me you prefer the latter?”

  She pushed up her spectacles with her free hand. More Dreilore had come into view. Twenty, thirty? She could not tell. Their ranks went on and on, taking up most of the southern road. Even if she could make Daemon see reason, they’d never escape so many.

  She glared at his hand on her arm as he continued to drag her behind him. “I will enjoy the look on your face when Egrin is defeated.”

  Daemon laughed, not looking back at her. “Don’t antagonize me, sister. I’m the reason you’re still alive.”

  She fought the tears welling up in her eyes, but it was no use. Her only hope now was to wait for Elmerah to save her, and hope she’d keep her promise. Because even now with Daemon at his worst, she knew she could not let him die. Even now, part of her was overjoyed to see him again, her only family, and all she would ever have.

  Saida

  Saida sat on the intricately woven rug with legs crossed, knees open beneath her tan robe. She ran her fingers across the circlet, turning it over and over again in her hands. She was surprised Malon had left it with her. Maybe he thought it would protect her from another curse.

  He’d also left her with every elf in their party, all crammed inside her tent. The male elves had been spared the horrific details. The black sludge had been scrubbed up, the stain covered with a pillow, and she’d been given a clean robe. The elves were told only that there may be danger, and to not let Saida out of sight.

  Which was vexing, considering she wanted to get to Urali before she cursed her again. She hid that desire, avoiding eye contact with the other elves, some seated, and a few stationed just inside and outside entrance. Malon would not condemn Urali without proof, but she knew it was her. The malevolent look in her eye that night at the oasis was unmistakable. She didn’t know if Urali wanted to kill her, or trap and use her, but she was not inclined to wait around and find out.

  Phaerille stood near the door with two male elves. It was hard to tell them apart in the long tan robes with their backs to her, but Phaerille was a bit smaller, and her shoulders were hunched. Since seeing Saida vomit up the black mass, she’d avoided her as if she were diseased.

  Saida turned the circlet over again in her hand. It had remained silent, perhaps because she was temporarily out of danger? But that begged an even more confusing question. Was the circlet actually protecting her?

  Voices outside the tent drew her gaze, just as the flap opened to reveal two male elves and a rather daunting young female Makali peering inward.

  “She claims it’s time for the settlement to move,” one of the elves explained as he stepped inside. “A herd of,” he glanced at the Makali, “gukokam, was it?”

  She nodded, leaning on the pole of a wicked looking spear. The sleeves of her loose robes revealed silver vambraces. A warrior. Every elf in the tent eyed both her and her weapon warily.

  “A herd of gukokam will come to the oasis soon,” the elf next to her continued. “Apparently we do not want to be here when they arrive.”

  Saida stood, fastening the circlet at the belt of her robe. What in Cindra’s light was a gukokam?

  The female Makali looked past the other elves, her dark eyes landing on Saida. “Time to take down tents. You come with me.”

  A protest was on the tip of her tongue, but Phaerille had already stepped in front of the Makali. “Where Lady Saida goes, so go we. She is not to be left alone.”

  “Urali says to bring her,” the Makali argued, stepping around Phaerille, but three more elves had already blocked her path. She glared at them all, then turned her dark eyes toward Saida. “You must come with me now,” she urged, her tone pleading. “Unless you want to walk the dark place again.”

  Saida’s jaw fell open. Did she mean the curse? She hadn’t told Phaerille or Malon exactly what she had experienced. “Are you threatening me? Where is Malon?”

  “He awaits us, please come.”

  That gave her pause. She almost believed it, but realized Malon would never expect her to trust one of the Makali after what had happened to her. “Tell him to come here for me, and we will go wherever you want together.”

  The Makali chewed her lip, glancing at the other elves before landing her eyes back on Saida. “Time is short. Please, I would keep you in the light, priestess.”

  Saida glanced at Phaerille and the other elves. There was something this Makali wanted to say, but not in front of them? A whisper shivered through her mind. “Go with her.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. Something was wrong. There was a reason Malon had not returned. She stepped toward the Makali. “Take me to him.”

  Phaerille gripped her arm as she tried to walk past. “You cannot! This woman cannot be trusted.” She gestured to the Makali.

  Saida patted Phaerille’s hand, then pulled away. “All will be well. Prepare for departure with the others.” She met the Makali’s hopeful gaze and nodded.

  “No, Saida.” Phaerille gripped her arm again.

  Saida pulled away, surprised at Phaerille’s fervor. “I can take care of myself, do not worry.” She glanced at the male elves still blocking the exit. “Step aside.”

  “But Malon said—” one began to argue.

  She held up her hand. “I am going to Malon now. Do not worry.” She walked toward them. They would either get out of her way, or she’d push past them. She hoped, after what they’d seen her do to the Dreilore with the circlet, they would choose the former.

  They did. Soon she was out in the sun with the Makali woman at her side. The elves whispered frantically inside the tent, clearly unsure of whose orders they should be obeying at this point.

  The Makali gestured to the wide path between the tents. The camp had come alive with others, some already taking down tents in the midday heat.

  Saida realized as she began to walk how much the shade of the tent had helped. Without her head wrap, she felt like her skin might blister. The female Makali wrapped her own dark hair as she walked at her side, a well-practiced movement with which the other elves had fumbled.

  “Thank you for trusting me,” the Makali muttered, leaning in close once her mouth was hidden by tan fabric. “Malon is in trouble. You are in great danger, and not just from gukokam.”

  “I figured as much. Why are you helping us, and why could you not speak in front of my people?”

  The Makali’s eyes darted nervously around the camp. A few had turned to watch Saida’s passing. “I help because you would bring life to the desert,” she whispered. “That is what’s important. I am called Brosod.” She glanced around again. “And I believe you have a traitor in your party. Someone to feed you Urali’s curse.”

  So it had been the food! It just wasn’t the spices, someone had . . . put a curse in her food? But the one who brought her meals was Phaerille, so that couldn’t be right.

  Shouts erupted behind them. They were speaking Kaleth, but Sa
ida interpreted the meaning well enough. Spear in one hand, Brosod gripped her arm with the other. “Run!”

  “Saida!” Phaerille’s voice calling after her.

  She ran. Phaerille could not help her now, she needed to find Malon. Her heart thundered as her boots slipped in the sand. Her loose robe seemed to have a mind of its own, tangling around her knees and threatening to trip her. Brosod gripped her arm, keeping her aloft.

  “He is at the oasis,” Brosod panted at her side. “Trapped there. You will free him.” She glanced back, then tugged Saida’s arm so hard it nearly popped out of its socket.

  The force of it launched Saida forward. Losing her balance, she skinned her palms in the hot sand, then collapsed. Panicked, she rolled over, thinking she’d been betrayed by Brosod, but the woman had turned to face a bevy of Makali warriors, gleaming spears pointed her way. They barked orders in Kaleth.

  Brosod shook her head, pointing her spear toward the other warriors. “She has given us water, life. You will not have her.”

  Phaerille and the other elves had caught up to stand behind the Makali warriors. The male elves seemed confused, unsure of where to stand, but Phaerille looked almost . . . excited? It was an expression Saida never would have expected given the circumstances.

  She got to her feet, reaching for the circlet at her belt. The Makali warriors closed in around her and Brosod.

  Still holding her spear defensively, Brosod glanced back, then quickly returned her gaze to the approaching warriors. “I am sorry, priestess, I have failed you.”

  With trembling hands, Saida placed the circlet upon her brow. She didn’t know if she could make it work without Malon and the other circlet—remembering the Dreilore, she was not sure if she wanted to make it work at all. But while the Makali might not kill her, they would surely kill Brosod for betraying them.

  For a moment, the circlet was silent, then a clear voice rang through her mind. “Be still, the moment will soon come.”

  Low voices cut across the crowd gathering amidst partially disassembled tents. Saida watched as the Makali standing furthest back moved, then those ahead stepped aside, parting the crowd like water to form a path. Urali walked down that path, confidently gripping an ornate wooden staff with opaque blue stones embedded into the carved designs. She wore vibrant red silks today, standing out like a cardinal amongst a sea of tan.

  Saida took an instinctive step back, then froze at a sharp tip pressed between her shoulder blades. A glance showed a handful of Makali warriors behind her, one pressing a spear to her back. She lifted her hands in surrender. The circlet remained silent upon her brow.

  “Bring her to me!” Urali ordered. “Kill the traitor!”

  “No!” Saida gasped, stepping away from the spears and closer to Brosod. There was no way to protect her from all sides. They were surrounded.

  “Challenge her,” the voice whispered in her mind.

  “I challenge you!” Saida echoed, stepping forward. The crowd went utterly silent. “I challenge you, Urali,” she repeated, making things up as she went. “If I win, you spare Brosod’s life.”

  Outraged shouts erupted through the crowd. She wasn’t even sure what she was doing, but it had certainly gotten their attention.

  Standing not ten paces away, Urali lowered her chin, peering at Saida from beneath her dark, wrinkled brow. “You know not the customs of my people, little girl. We do not use weapons when challenged. That circlet on your brow must be cast aside.”

  Saida licked her cracked lips, hoping the circlet would give her further instruction, but nothing came. The other elves in her party were now surrounded by Makali with spears near their throats. But Phaerille—Phaerille had moved to stand at the front of the crowd, behind Urali.

  The loose ends of the plot twined into place. Brosod believed they had a traitor in their midst, because someone had fed her a curse. She didn’t want to believe it, but that traitor was Phaerille.

  Urali watched her cooly. “Remove the circlet, Saida, or your challenge means nothing. Brosod will be killed.”

  “Do not do it,” Brosod whispered.

  Saida removed the circlet, then extended it toward Brosod. “Please, keep this safe for me.”

  Brosod extended her palms. “I cannot!”

  Saida shook the circlet at her, knowing she’d soon regret this, but she couldn’t let Brosod be killed. “You just proved you would die for me. Please, you are the only one here I can trust.”

  Brosod’s eyes widened from within the folds of her headvwrap as her trembling hand lifted to take the circlet, gripping it tightly as if it might flutter away on a breeze.

  Saida struggled to take in a full breath. The moment the circlet left her grip, panic consumed her. Where in Arcale was Malon? Was it as Brosod had said, that he was trapped at the oasis? She could see trees in the distance, but too much of the camp stood between.

  She whipped her gaze around as Urali walked forward, a twisted smile on her lips. The other Makali had stepped back, forming a large circle around them. No one moved toward Brosod. It seemed a challenge was binding to these people. If she defeated Urali, would Brosod be allowed to live?

  It was a foolish question if she’d ever thought one. She’d never defeat Urali in hand to hand combat. Aged as she was, the woman had probably been trained to fight since she could first walk. Urali would pummel her into pulp.

  Glancing to the captured elves, the surrounding Makali, then to Urali, Saida moved toward the center of the circle.

  Phaerille shoved her way between two male Makali nearest Saida. “You’ll never be able to beat her,” she taunted as Saida passed. “You should just give in now.”

  Saida wanted to glare at her, but could not risk removing her eyes from Urali. “Why would you betray us?” she asked Phaerille. “I thought you viewed Malon as your savior.”

  “Malon, yes. You, no. He is too good a man for a worthless thing like you.”

  The final thread twined into place, making her feel sick. Phaerille was in love with Malon, and she wanted Saida out of the way. She’d played her from the start.

  Urali lifted her bejeweled hands, revealing the silver vambraces beneath her sleeves. “I will make this quick. Once I have your circlet, Malon will have no choice but to make me his Cindra.”

  Saida’s back went rigid. She didn’t for a moment assume Urali was in love with Malon too, but now the curse made sense. Urali wanted her out of the way, because she believed she could fulfill her role. A role which Malon needed filled one way or another.

  She lifted her hands defensively. She’d been trained to fight, but her skill was with a staff, and Urali had cast hers aside. Hand to hand combat was not foreign to her, but she hadn’t sparred in years.

  “You cursed me,” Saida accused, hoping to grant herself a moment before Urali attacked.

  Urali grinned. “Yes.”

  “You have magic then, enough to use the circlet?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Phaerille?”

  “She cares not for power. I sensed her desires the moment she entered my camp. I knew she would agree to feed you my curse.”

  “So you used her?” Saida spat. “And now you would claim Malon, and the circlet?”

  Urali laughed. “She can have your man, I desire the magic of the circlets.”

  More nimble than she seemed, Urali hopped back on one foot and swiped at Saida with the other.

  Saida dove to the sand, missing the blow, but the sand slowed her movements. Urali’s sandal-clad foot crashed down, kicking her in the gut.

  Saida rolled across the sand, gasping for air, then struggled to her feet. She lifted her hands again. Malon would not be coming to save her, and it was obvious no one else here would. She was on her own.

  She stepped to the side, remembering the movements she’d been taught by practicing with guardsmen as a girl. She might have lost many learned skills, but she would not go down without a fight.

  She eyed Urali defiantly, and as one, they
began to dance.

  * * *

  Malon

  Malon’s blood boiled. If Saida were with him and they had the circlets, he’d sear the skin from the Makali warriors’ bones. He’d come to the oasis in search of Urali, and he’d been met with an ambush. He should have seen it coming, but he’d truly believed Urali would not risk losing his goodwill. Not when there was so much to be gained.

  He struggled to roll his stiff shoulders, pushing his back against one of the newly grown trees, his wrists bound at a painful angle on the other side of the trunk. One of the younger women of high status, Oga, spun the Crown of Arcale on her long finger, leering at him. She was young and beautiful, but Malon would gladly kill her too.

  He strained against his bindings. “What is Urali doing to Saida? Where is she?”

  Oga grinned. Five male warriors flanked her. The others had gone with Urali.

  “Where is she?” he demanded once again.

  “You can say farewell to your woman, elf. Urali has more magic than she. With the Crown of Cindra, she will turn the entire desert into an oasis.”

  He gritted his teeth, squinting his eyes against the near-blinding sun. Saida needed him. He had brought her here and promised to keep her safe, and now she would die while he was tied to this cursed tree.

  He took a steadying breath, trying to calm his temper. “Tell Urali that if any harm befalls Saida, I will not help her. I will leave this entire desert to desiccate.”

  Oga bared her prominent lower canines. “You will have no choice in the matter, elf, you are our prisoner now.” Her eyes darted southward at a distant rumble.

  “Gokugam,” one of the men muttered, clenching his spear. “We must move soon.”

  Malon tensed. He’d never encountered the gokugam directly, but had seen evidence of passing herds. They were massive creatures, even their young weighed thrice as much as a full grown male troll. Thick gray skin, impenetrable to even the most finely-honed blade, protected them from the sun. Their tusks could impale a man in seconds. The eight antlioch tethered to the nearby trees now made sense. They would need to ride swiftly to escape the gokugam, but . . . only eight? What of the rest of Urali’s clan?