Malon crossed his arms.
She could tell he was on the brink of arguing for his cursed army again. She braced her hands on her hips. “I will not go further into the desert, Malon. You had your chance at an army, now it is my turn.”
He sighed loudly and lowered his arms. “Fine, we will try it your way, though I’m not sure how you plan to catch the witch if she’s already on her way to the Capital.”
She wasn’t sure either, but there was nothing she could do about that now. She could only look toward the next step, and that was divining Elmerah’s location. Isara and Alluin would likely be with her.
After everything, they would return to their original plan: assassinate the emperor, and perhaps Daemon, then move forward from there. Except now, now they had the power of the circlets, which Egrin truly feared.
He feared what she and Malon could do together, and he was right to fear them. She was utterly terrified herself.
Elmerah
Elmerah breathed in the salty coastal air near Port Aeluvaria. Normally the scent would have inspired a longing for home, now it just filled her with a sense of dread. She and Alluin waited near the road leading to the port. Celen and Killian had gone ahead, the latter disguised as human instead of Dreilore, for imitating the accent of the Akenyth Province proved too difficult for him.
Elmerah smiled softly despite her nerves. It hadn’t been for lack of trying on Killian’s part. He’d been quite keen on sauntering into port as a Dreilore, inspiring the common folk to quake in their boots at the sight of him.
She shifted her weight to her other leg, glancing at Alluin seated in the grass. Her smile wilted. “This doesn’t feel right.”
He looked up at her, his green eyes filled with distant thoughts. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged, gazing in the direction of the port, though the ships were too far off to see through the trees. “A sliver of doubt nags at me. Call it instinct. We didn’t listen to yours with Isara, and look what happened.”
He stood, glancing at the nearby horses, then back to her. “Do you want to go to the port? We may risk their safety—and ours. This close to the Capital, Egrin could have spread word of your description, and I’d likely be the only Valeroot elf stupid enough to show my heritage in these parts.”
She frowned. He was right, Celen and Killian should be fine. No one would recognize Celen, and they were simply gathering information about the goings on in the Capital. Yet that could not soothe the churning in her gut.
“Let’s just get a little closer,” she suggested. “I’d like to be nearby should something go amiss.”
Alluin nodded. “I’ll fetch the horses.”
“No telling me I’m being silly?”
He smiled. “No, and I won’t even rub it in that you brushed off my valid worries about Isara.”
She scowled. “Shut up and get the horses.”
* * *
Rissine
It felt good to place her boots upon the dock after several days at sea, but something strange was afoot at Port Aeluvaria. The man waiting to register her arrival was Arthali. Only a halfblood, she could tell just from looking at him, but one of her people would never be tasked as portmaster within the Empire. It was unheard of.
Yet, here he was, looking down at his wood-mounted parchment, quill poised. “From where do you hail?”
She had the hood of her emerald coat pulled up, but this man obviously wasn’t paying attention, else he’d have paid her more heed. “From the North,” she lied. “On my way to the Helshone to retrieve a shipment of spices.”
He scribbled on his parchment. “Name?”
She blinked at him, glad she’d left Zirin aboard the ship, lest he pummel the halfblood for his impertinence. “Melia Korinth.”
“How long will you stay at port?” He finally looked at her, really looked at her, and his eyes widened slightly.
Just long enough to find word of my sister, she thought. “Two days. Perhaps three.” More lies. She’d abandon the ship at port if she must. There was no way she’d try to sail further north and dock at Galterra.
The halfblood scrawled a few more words on his parchment, glanced around them warily, then back to her. “Were you sent by the emperor?” he whispered. “I was told to expect a contingent of Arthali.”
She started to raise her brows, but quickly schooled her expression. “Yes, that’s correct. I wasn’t aware anyone at port would know. Do you have any information for me?”
Another wary glance. “No word of the Shadowmarsh witches you’re to hunt. Dreilore should arrive here by midday, bringing word from further south.”
She nearly choked. Egrin had enlisted other Arthali, and he was sending them to hunt her? Her magic flared inside her with sudden intensity. That little demonic worm. Those traitorous Arthali. They’d not join her cause, but they’d hunt their own kind?
She supposed it was no surprise. They’d been willing to kill her entire clan to save their own hides. She and Elmerah had only been spared because they were hardly out of childhood at the time.
She cleared her throat. “Does anyone else at port know of my task?”
He shook his head. “Only the few other Arthali stationed here. We all must know our task to secure our place within the Capital.”
A shiver snaked up her spine. This was just like before. Egrin was finishing the job he started, enlisting Arthali to kill or capture the last two remaining witches of her clan. Was he afraid to face her himself, or was the task simply not critical to him?
The halfblood watched her, his features turning suspicious.
She squared her shoulders. “Have I been provided lodgings, or am I to stand out on the docks for all of eternity?”
“But what of the rest of your contingent? Surely you don’t intend to hunt Shadowmarsh witches on your own.”
She glared. “I’d not have been entrusted with this task if I weren’t capable, and my crew must see to the ship before they disembark. Now are we done here? I’ve things to do.”
He hastily bowed, scribbled something else on his parchment, the scurried away.
Rissine clenched and unclenched her fists, debating whether or not to board her ship and flee. If a contingent of Arthali were being sent to hunt her, they’d surely be powerful fullbloods. They would not accept the task if they did not think themselves capable of defeating her. She should run and save her own hide, but . . . Elmerah was somewhere out there, perhaps even nearby, and she might have no idea what awaited her.
Yet, if she left her crew for long, they’d risk running afoul of the Arthali as they reached port.
A throat cleared above her. She looked up. Zirin peered down at her from the deck.
Using old Arthali signals taught to her as a girl, she gestured for him to wait on board. She’d quickly search for information, then return to her ship, either to flee with her crew, or order them to disembark. She held little love for any on board, but she’d not leave them to die by Arthali hands.
Zirin watched her for a moment, nodded, then his head disappeared.
She turned her attention to the nearby settlement, unnervingly serene given the time today. Aeluvaria was one of the largest port towns along the coast outside of the Capital and Faerune. Relatively close to Galterra, it was usually well-guarded by militia.
She spotted a grey uniform here and there among the folk bustling about beyond the dock, but not as many as there should have been. Which begged the question, what was more important to Egrin than protecting the dock? Where had the rest of the militia been sent?
Noticing the halfblood portmaster eyeing her from further down the dock, she started walking. She’d not need to hide her heritage here if Egrin had enlisted other Arthali, she just needed to hide from anyone she knew. She’d made many enemies during her time in Galterra. If there was a price on her head, they’d turn her in.
She reached the end of the dock, stepping across a few more planks leading to solid ground. Her legs seemed to sway
awkwardly, but she knew it was just a mental effect from her time at sea. A militia man eyed her as she walked by, but made no move to question her.
She straightened her shoulders and continued walking, debating tossing back her hood. While many in Galterra respected her since she had connections to the emperor, she was not used to walking through a settlement entirely unhindered. In the Capital there was always the odd militia man, or drunkard who thought they could push her around because she was the only Arthali they’d seen in their miserable, sheltered lives.
They’d been wrong, but it didn’t change how wary she’d always felt walking the streets in daylight.
She walked past the storage houses, where goods from nearby farms awaited transport to Galterra, then into the center of town. There were more taverns and inns here than anything else, vying to pry coins away from tired sailors needing a reprieve.
Any one of them would do. She needed to learn what was going on here before the Arthali arrived to hunt her. And before the Dreilore arrived, the ones the portmaster had mentioned. She wasn’t sure which was worse.
The thought struck her as she walked through the wide-open doors of the busiest tavern, that the Arthali might have already captured Elmerah. The portmaster hadn’t seemed to think so, but word could travel slowly at times. If Egrin already had her sister, he knew he’d have Rissine too. Elmerah was her only weakness, one she’d sacrifice her life for.
Though she doubted Elmerah would do the same for her.
She caught a few odd glances of tavern patrons as her boots echoed across the wooden floor. The open doors and long windows along the sun-facing wall left no doubt what type of woman lurked beneath the emerald hood.
As she approached the bar, she noted the distinct lack of elves in the tavern. She’d expected no blonde or silver locks from Faerune, but outside of the capital, Valeroot elves often worked farms, and some even joined trade crews. Yet not a single elf glanced her way.
Arthali welcome, and elves exiled. How strange life could be.
She reached the bar, quickly catching the attention of the elderly man pouring ale. The seated young couple she’d stepped between wordlessly climbed from their stools, moving slow like she might strike them, then scurried away.
Arthali welcome, yes, but still feared, it seemed. So the land had not been completely turned on its head.
The barkeep reached her, brushing a meaty palm over thinning gray hair. “What’ll it be?”
She reached into her coin pouch, withdrawing a rare rhodium gull, one of many earned during her time in the Capital. The man’s eyes widened. The gull could feed his entire family for a year.
She slid it across the bar, leaning toward him in its tracks. She lowered her voice, “Every scrap of information in your skull. I want to know who has passed through this port, and why. Whispers of the Dreilore, plots of the Arthali, all of it.”
The barkeep licked chapped lips, reaching trembling fingers toward the gull. “Not here, too many eyes and ears,” he whispered. “Meet me out back.”
She swiped up the gull before he could snatch it. “I’ll see you there.”
She turned and sauntered out of the tavern, hoping she’d chosen right in her source of information. Barkeeps knew more than most in any settlement, and the aged ones knew most of all, because no one expected they cared enough to listen.
* * *
Celen
“Stop fidgeting,” Celen muttered under his breath.
Killian might look like a normal, sandy-haired young human man, still dressed in his woolen tunic and breeches, but his shifty eyes and hand-wringing were sure to give him away. If one of the militia men stopped them, Celen had little doubt Killian would panic and blurt out every scrap of information unfortunate enough to pass through his little mind.
“Crowds make me wary,” Killian whispered, eyeing those milling about at the center of the port.
“It’s not even crowded.” Celen surveyed each of the taverns for the busiest one. They’d get their information, learn what they faced within the Capital, then get out.
“No elves,” Killian muttered, his brown eyes darting about. “No elves, no Dreilore, but some Arthali.”
Celen stiffened. He hadn’t noticed the lack of elves. Not a pointy ear in sight. “The Arthali you see are just halfbloods.” Their skin was a bit too light, their features telling the tale of roots within the Empire. “Let’s go in there,” he pointed to the open doors of a large tavern. “We’ll have a drink and a good listen to the other patrons.”
Killian nodded a little too quickly, the illusion of his sandy hair flopping forward.
With a heavy sigh, Celen led the way across the square and into the tavern. He quickly surveyed the patrons, wary of any lingering Militia, then strode across the room with Killian at his side. Whispers followed him as he approached the bar. “Another one.” “Has to be a fullblood, he’s so tall.” “She was almost just as tall as him.”
Celen’s shoulder blades itched. Too many eyes on his back. And where was the barkeep? The dull, scuffed wood held a few empty mugs and plates, with no one around to clear them.
Killian subtly tugged at Celen’s sleeve, drawing his attention behind him. Every pair of eyes in the place whipped downward. He suddenly regretted entering the tavern. He’d thought with all the halfbloods around, he wouldn’t be much of a spectacle, but he was tall even for an Arthali, and his scars were an unusual characteristic. He could only be grateful his tattoos were covered by his coat.
He turned around and leaned his back against the bar, making sure the eyes remained downward. With no barkeep here to question, he’d need to make a casual escape. Couldn’t seem too conspicuous lest someone report him. “Let’s get out of here,” he grumbled to Killian. “Might be better to ask a few questions down at the docks.”
Killian nodded. “The barkeep is out back. Heard some whispers.” He reached a hand toward the nearest stool as if to lean on it, a casual gesture, but his hand slipped across the wood and he nearly fell.
Celen cringed as Killian quickly righted himself. “How did you pick up on that?” he whispered. “You still have fox ears hidden under there?”
“My appearance is illusion. I can still smell the foul stale sweat in this place, and I can hear them all whispering about your scars.”
Celen nodded subtly. “Let’s go out back then.” He raised his voice, just enough to seem casual. “No barkeep, let’s move on.”
Killian nodded a little too quickly, then hurried toward the door with Celen at his heels.
Celen felt the eyes on his back as soon as it was turned, and wondered if Elmerah had dealt with this in the Capital too. He’d known enough about the continent to hide in the woods when his ship wrecked on the shores, but he hadn’t realized just how bad it could be.
The open sunny sky above the square was a welcome relief. Not paying attention, Killian turned left while he turned right. He had to reach back one arm to grab Killian’s sleeve and turn him around, then they both proceeded to walk around the tavern toward the back.
Celen neared the building’s back corner, then hearing voices, he slowed and leaned against the wall.
An old, raspy voice spoke, “I swear, that’s all any of us know. You’ll find no other information within this port. Now, my gull?”
“This was hardly worth my trouble,” a female voice growled, and Celen had to stifle a gasp. He knew Rissine would search for her sister, but he’d never thought she would have already made it this far. She must have set sail within a day of learning Elmerah was gone.
His palms sweated as he leaned against the outer tavern wall, with Killian pressed against his shoulder. He had to decide quickly. If he didn’t confront her now, he might lose her, but maybe he wanted to lose her. Would she be a help, or hindrance? Would she protect Elmerah, or just drag her by the ear all the way back to Faerune?
His decision was quickly made for him. Killian inhaled sharply through his nose, sputtered for a moment, then let
out a stifled sneeze.
“What was that?” Rissine hissed. “Did someone follow you out here?”
“No, and I want nothing to do with it. Give me my payment so I can return to my tavern.”
“Here,” Rissine grumbled, followed by the sound of footsteps and a door opening and shutting.
He had to decide now. Flee, or try and reason with the most difficult woman he’d ever met.
“Get behind me,” he sighed to Killian. “And keep quiet. She could strike you down in a heartbeat.”
Killian obeyed without question, just as Rissine came into sight around the corner of a stack of crates. She didn’t see him immediately, but when she turned her eyes filled with a moment of recognition, then pure, untainted hatred.
“You!” She stormed toward him down the narrow dirt alley, wild black hair whipping behind her. “Where is my sister?”
He held up his hands. “She’s safe, let’s not act rashly, you’ll need me to lead you to her.”
She stopped in front of him, angrily tugging her emerald coat straight. “You utter fool. How could you put her into danger like this? Do you realize purebloods have been sent to hunt her?”
He lifted his brows. “What in Arcale’s light are you talking about, woman?”
“The information I was given the moment I arrived at port, from an Arthali halfblood portmaster,” she fumed. “Now where is she? Our hunters could arrive any moment.”
“Outside of town,” he answered honestly, realizing now was no time for pretense. “If those Arthali have any Brambletooth witches with them—”
“They’ll easily track her magic, mine, and yours,” Rissine finished for him. She looked past his shoulder. “Who is this trembling little man hiding behind you?”
“An ally,” he explained. “Now let’s go.”
“I have a crew. Valeroot elves, the little Akkeri, and Zirin.”
Celen fidgeted, ready to make like a silverfish darting away from a whale. “Will they wait on your ship until otherwise instructed?”
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