Elmerah crossed her arms as he approached. “The moment is finally here. Do you care to do the knocking?”
He looked to Saida, then nodded. Saying a silent prayer to the hunt goddess Felan, he approached the sun-faded door and knocked.
Footsteps sounded within. A moment later the door cracked open, and a woman that had to be at least one hundred years old peered out at them through thick, hazy spectacles. She was tiny, far shorter than Saida, almost the size of a child, with charcoal gray hair tied in a knot atop her head.
“Forgive me for disturbing you—” he began.
“Girl!” the old woman shrieked, then turned away and walked back toward a cozy, ancient stuffed chair.
Footsteps clattered across the floorboards, then a willowy girl of medium height came to a skidding stop in front of the doorway. She wore wire-rimmed spectacles almost as thick as the old woman’s, if a bit less hazy. Her curly blonde hair shone in the candlelight illuminating the home. The hair seemed far too rich and lustrous for her tattered maroon dress.
“That's her,” he heard Malon mutter behind him, but he didn't need the information. The girl was nearly the mirror image of her brother, Daemon Saredoth, except with curly hair rather than straight, and only slightly more feminine, which said more about Daemon than it did about her.
She blinked at them, her eyes made large by her lenses. “Can I help you? It’s rather late for a visit.” She peered past Alluin then gasped. “Is that an Arthali witch?”
“What of it?” Elmerah growled.
Isara jumped back as if stung, but quickly seemed to regain her composure. “An Arthali witch and a Valeroot hunter, you both must come in. I have so many questions to ask you.”
She turned away and headed toward the small kitchen area, fully visible from the door by lantern light.
Elmerah stepped up to Alluin’s side. “Well, Nissa was obviously right.”
He clenched his jaw. It seemed so. No sane person would invite four strangers so readily into their home without first learning why they’d come to call. Especially not when one of those visitors was an Arthali witch.
Elmerah walked past him into the home, followed by Saida and Malon, the latter of whom gave him an infuriating wink.
With a heavy sigh, he followed them in, then shut the door. The old woman had settled into her chair, and seemed to be fast asleep.
“Don't mind her,” Isara said, gesturing toward the old woman. “She’ll be out for the rest of the night.” She walked into the kitchen area and placed a copper kettle onto the dusty wooden table dominating the center of the floor, then filled it with water from a lidded clay jug. “Who would like some tea?”
Elmerah moved toward the stone hearth, much smaller than the one outside, near the old woman’s chair. She hooked an unused footstool with her boot, scooted it against the wall, then sat. There was no other seating in the small space, save two wooden chairs pushed in against the wooden table. Dried herbs decorated the kitchen, and a few farming tools lined the back wall, and that was it. Alluin spotted one door further in that must have led to the bedroom.
Malon crossed his arms and leaned against the wall near the door, leaving Saida and Alluin to wait around the table with Isara as she opened a delicate wooden box filled with dried herbs. Alluin hoped the herbs were actually meant for tea, and they weren’t all about to be poisoned.
Alluin cleared his throat. “Just to confirm, you are Isara Saredoth, are you not?”
She looked up from the herbs, her pointed jaw slightly agape. “Oh don’t tell me my brother sent you.”
Elmerah snorted from her seat across the room. “Hardly.”
Isara’s eyes remained glued to Alluin.
“No,” he said, wondering just what he should tell her. He’d waited for this moment for so long, but now his mind was coming up utterly blank.
“We come to you on behalf of Faerune,” Saida interjected, “as your long-time allies.”
Isara's gaze shifted to Saida, then back to Alluin. “Why would anyone from Faerune come to find me? I daresay the scholars were glad to see me go.”
Saida bit her lip, now seemingly at a loss.
Alluin felt the same. How did you tell someone you wanted to murder her cousin and brother so that you could make her empress of the Ulrian Empire? Perhaps it was best to weigh her further before sharing any sensitive information.
He smiled encouragingly. “We mean you no ill will, I assure you. How much do you know of what’s going on in the Empire?”
The kettle of water lay forgotten near Isara’s fingertips. “Are you here to call me crazy like all the rest then? What do you want to hear? That I think my cousin is a demon?”
Elmerah was suddenly at Alluin's side. He hadn’t even heard her move. “Demon, you say? Do go on.”
Isara seemed unsure, but continued, “I believe Egrin is a demon, or another type of immortal being. Everyone says it was his father who defeated the Arthali during the Great War, but it wasn’t. It was Egrin himself.”
That’s it, Alluin thought. She is utterly mad.
Elmerah stepped nearer, her gaze intent on Isara. “Have you any proof of this?”
Isara paled a bit. “You mean, you believe me?”
Elmerah gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward. “Your cousin has a type of magic I've never seen, and there have been accounts of him visiting different places, but no one sees him come or go, he simply appears. I don't know that I believe he is a demon, but I’m willing to hear your theories.”
Isara's eyes lit up. “Arcale preserve us, I can’t believe I finally found someone willing to listen, and an Arthali witch no less. After my father died, I thought I’d be alone with my knowledge forever.”
Alluin stepped back, willing to let the situation play out. Saida and Malon were both watching Isara, but he had no way of knowing if they believed anything she was saying. He thought Elmerah was being a bit gullible, but then again, she’d experienced the emperor’s magic more closely than anyone else, except perhaps Saida.
Isara smoothed her hands across the dusty tabletop, then pulled them away, wiping her palms on her dress. She stared at Elmerah. “How do I know I can trust you? What if you were sent by Egrin?”
Elmerah lifted a brow. “If Egrin had his hands on an Arthali witch, do you think he’d send her this far south where she could easily disappear into the wilds?”
Isara licked her lips. Her entire skinny body seemed to tremble. “Alright. I'll tell you what I know, but Arcale help you if you’re lying to me. I might not have the same power as Egrin, but we do share a measure of the same blood.”
Elmerah held up her palm. “I’ll swear to whatever god you’d like me to swear to, that I mean you no harm.”
Isara glanced past them to the old woman in her chair, then nodded. “Let’s go to the bedroom. I can show you my father’s research. He was the one who first suspected what Egrin truly is. When he was killed by the Dreilore, I picked up where he left off.” She stepped away from the table and walked toward the only other door in the home, grabbing a lit candle in an iron holder on her way.
Elmerah was the first to follow.
Alluin met Saida's gaze across the table.
She shrugged, then mouthed, "What do we have to lose?" before following.
Malon went after her, leaving Alluin alone for a moment in the main room with the old woman. Could Egrin Dinoba really be a demon? He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but after seeing the Ayperos in the Akkeri temple . . . maybe greater demons really existed too. Egrin’s atrocious actions surely suggested an evil nature.
He could hear shuffling papers and Isara’s soft voice from the bedroom. He supposed he could at least hear her out . . . it wasn’t like he had any better options.
He followed the others into the faintly candlelit room. It was cleaner than the rest of the house, but more cluttered. Stacks of books and papers dominated every surface, from the small desk, to the only chair, to the trunk at the foot of t
he modest bed. Isara sat on the floor before the trunk, flipping pages in a heavy tome by candlelight. Malon and Saida stood at her back, lighting more candles decorating the shelves on the walls, while Elmerah perched on the bed.
Isara stopped flipping pages with a triumphant, “Hah!” She looked up to Elmerah. “Here it is, come have a look for yourself.”
Elmerah crawled forward on the bed to look at the book upside down.
Unable to fight his curiosity, Alluin stepped forward. Within the book, taking up the full righthand page, was a detailed sketch of Egrin Dinoba. His haunting icy eyes seemed to stare at each of them from within the prison of the page.
Isara pointed to the small caption below the picture. “Look at the date.”
Elmerah snatched one corner of the tome and turned it upside down so she could read it. “Soren Dinoba, ruler of the Ulrian Empire.” She turned her eyes up to Isara. “So Egrin looks a great deal like his father. This proves nothing.”
Isara stared up at her. The candlelight reflecting off her spectacles made her seem almost blind. “Have you personally encountered Egrin?”
Elmerah frowned. “Yes, I’ve had the misfortune.”
“Let me guess, he questioned your magic, where it comes from?”
Elmerah hesitated, then nodded. “How did you know I had magic?”
Isara tilted her head, her hand resting absentmindedly on the ancient book. “Don’t all Arthali?”
“Yes,” she replied, “but only to an extent. Some gifts are as small as predicting the weather and the tides. Most would not consider that magic.”
Isara seemed to have forgotten everyone else in the room. “It is magic though. Egrin knows that, and he wants it. It’s why he attacked Shadowmarsh. He hoped to attain some of the most powerful magics known to the Empire.”
Elmerah’s expression soured, but Alluin was finally beginning to feel hopeful. Isara’s story was lining up with Elmerah’s experience with the emperor, only he’d claimed it was his father who destroyed the Shadowmarsh Clan.
Isara seemed to scrutinize Elmerah, as if she could peer right through her skull and steal her innermost thoughts. Her head tilted further, reminding Alluin of a sea crane. “You wouldn’t happen to be a Shadowmarsh witch, would you?”
Elmerah pursed her lips. “So what if I am?”
Isara scrambled to her feet. The ancient tome went toppling to the dirty rug atop the dirt floor. “Not only an Arthali, but of the Shadowmarsh Clan? I have so many questions for you! And a warning,” she added hurriedly, “you must stay far away from my cousin. He’d probably cut you up into little pieces if he thought it would give him the key to your magic.”
Elmerah lifted a brow. “You know, most who learn of my heritage are more apt to run the other way than to ask questions.”
Isara waved her off. “If you wanted to kill me, there isn’t much I could do to stop it. It would be a waste of my time to worry about such outcomes.”
Elmerah looked to Alluin. “So do we think she’s crazy, or no? I keep changing my mind.”
Isara looked to him. “C-crazy?”
Malon hmphed from his post against the far wall. Saida glared at him as he explained, “The village folk seem to think you quite mad.”
Alluin expected Isara to wilt at the accusation, but she only stood straighter. Her gaze was on Alluin as she said, “But you don’t think me mad, else you wouldn’t be here.” She turned to Elmerah. “You know of Egrin’s magic. You know what he can do.”
“Isara,” Alluin began patiently. “Why did you flee the Capital? Why not live in wealth and esteem with your brother and cousin?”
Her jaw fell open. “You’re asking me why I wouldn’t want to remain a servant to a demon and his closest ally? It was my father’s life’s work to uncover the truth about Egrin, and I shall carry on with it as long as I am breathing.”
Alluin flicked his gaze to Elmerah, then back to Isara. Saida had stepped forward, leaving Malon to sulk in a corner.
He took a deep breath. “What if we told you we share the same purpose? That not only do we wish to uncover the truth about Egrin Dinoba, but to depose him, and to make you the next Empress of the Ulrian Empire?”
Isara’s eyes widened so much he thought they might pop out of her head, then they rolled back into her skull. She swayed on her feet, then thudded to the floor, landing in a limp heap.
“Why Alluin,” Elmerah said tersely, “I believe you’ve killed her.”
Saida
Saida peered down at Isara, now tucked beneath the threadbare blankets on her bed, still unconscious. Malon hovered over Saida’s shoulder, far too close for her liking. Alluin and Elmerah had gone outside to make sure no one had followed them from Fallshire.
“You can’t possibly believe this frightful creature is our only hope,” Malon commented. “Just look at her. Even if she weren’t half-mad, she’s certainly no empress.”
She turned toward him, only then realizing just how close he’d been standing. The open hem of his travel coat brushed her back. She stepped away, butting the backs of her legs against Isara’s bed. “I’m well aware of what you think of our plan, but we’re going through with it.”
“I implore you to reconsider.”
Isara let out a low groan, drawing Saida’s eye, but she did not wake. She turned back to Malon. “Why do you care? Why are you even here, Malon? If our plan is so foolish, surely I’m not important enough to protect. You have little to lose if I die.”
His expression softened, and for a moment she almost thought she’d hurt his feelings, then his sharp jaw stiffened once more. “You have a duty to Faerune, priestess. If your mother dies, you will be needed. To continue with this plan is utterly selfish.”
Heat crept up her neck. “My mother is not going to die!”
“The words of a scared child,” he chided.
Though her heart pounded furiously, she forced her shoulders to straighten. “You would do well to remember your place, Malon. I may be a magic-less Moon Priestess, but I still outrank you. To speak to me in such a way is a violation of the oath you swore to the High Council of Faerune.”
He bowed his head, conceding her point, albeit grudgingly.
She tried to slow her breathing, but she feared her emotions were written all over her face. Was she being selfish? Her presence hadn’t helped Alluin and Elmerah to get to this point . . .
“Do you really think my mother is going to die?” she asked, instantly wishing she could take it back. It was another child’s question, and she’d shown Malon more than enough weakness already.
“No,” he assured, “I do not think she is going to die.”
She observed him, wondering if he was just humoring her.
“What happened?” Isara groaned behind her.
Saida quickly looked away from Malon, a blush burning her cheeks. Isara blinked up at her, trying to see without her spectacles, she realized.
With Malon standing silently at her back, she fumbled the spectacles from a nearby pile of books. “You fainted,” she explained, handing them to Isara.
Isara sat up and adjusted her spectacles. “My apologies, I have a tendency to be a bit excitable.”
“Hmph,” Malon muttered behind Saida.
She ignored him, keeping her attention on Isara. “Do you remember what was said before you fainted?”
“You mean that wasn’t just a dream? You actually intend to murder my cousin?”
“And your brother,” Malon added.
Isara gasped. “No! Egrin I understand, but I will not let you harm Daemon.”
Saida chewed her lip. This was exactly what they’d feared. They could not expect Isara’s cooperation when they intended to kill her only immediate family.
“If we eliminate only Egrin,” she explained. “Daemon will become emperor. There’s much you do not know. They’re both working with the Dreilore to destroy Faerune.”
Isara went utterly still. Saida wasn’t even sure she was breathing.
Isara turned her gaze up to Saida. “My brother would never ally himself with the Dreilore. They murdered our father. Daemon may be a pompous mule, but he loved our father.”
“It is the truth,” Saida forced herself to say, realizing that in a way, she was breaking Isara’s heart. She might have run from her cousin and brother, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still her kin.
Isara’s head slumped over her hands grasped in her lap. “Then he has fallen farther then I would have thought possible.” She shook her head, seeming to come out of her fugue as she turned back to Saida. “But why would Egrin break his treaty with Faerune?”
She shrugged. “All we’ve come up with is his obsession with foreign magics. Elmerah’s sister worked closely with him for a time, and this is what she believes.”
Isara wrung her hands. “It makes sense, I suppose. The moonstone mines are the source of Faerune’s power.”
“How do you know that?” Malon snapped.
Isara didn’t react to his tone. Her gaze had gone distant. After a long pause, she spoke, “Elven moonstones, Dreilore metals, and the Arthali. It seems whatever he’s been planning all this time may soon come to pass.”
Malon moved forward to Saida’s side. “And just what might that be?”
Isara’s gaze shifted to him. “That I do not know, but a demon is gathering immeasurable magics. Is that not enough?”
A lump formed in Saida’s throat. If Isara was right . . . Faerune would never give up their mines willingly. If Egrin wanted their moonstones, he would have to kill every last elf to get them.
She had no doubt he’d do just that.
“I will help you,” Isara breathed. “I will not harm my brother, but Egrin must be stopped. Perhaps if we can defeat him, Daemon will come to see reason.”
Saida leaned forward and placed a hand over Isara’s. “We accept your terms.”
She knew she’d be hard pressed to convince Elmerah and Alluin to spare Daemon, but Faerune was running out of time. They had to stop Egrin Dinoba. If the Empire fell to another ruler, one with the same prejudices prevalent in the Capital, then so be it. At least Faerune would be safe.
Curse of the Akkeri Page 11