They were finally back on the path leading back to the Akkeri temple. It was the shortest route to Faerune that would keep them off the main roads. If they were apprehended before they could find help, Elmerah and Isara were as good as lost. They might be lost already.
Alluin’s hand alighted on her shoulder. She stopped walking. At first she thought he’d noticed her dejected expression, then his fingers clamped down, warning her.
Malon, his pale skin marred with purple beneath his silver eyes, looked questioningly at both of them.
Alluin removed his hand from Saida’s shoulder, then unlooped his bow from his arm. “Get off the path.”
Saida moved to obey, but froze as a low eerie howl cut across the surrounding marshlands. All the hissing and chirping insects went silent.
Another howl.
Fear tickled her throat, echoing her heart’s nervous patter. “Wolves?”
Malon grabbed Saida’s arm and pulled her close to him, his free hand on the shortsword at his belt. “Not wolves,” he explained. “Bonehounds. I recognize their call. They are the trackers for the Akkeri.”
A dart of movement drew Saida’s attention to the left. The creature was small, about the size of a sheep, with wiry gray hair, a long canine snout, and beady black eyes. Another creature darted across the path ahead of them.
Malon wrapped his left arm around Saida, then drew the sword from his belt with his right. “Stay close, priestess. If we do not move, they will not be distracted from whatever the Akkeri have sent them to hunt.”
Alluin moved close to her other side, his bow at the ready. “But what would the Akkeri be hunting this far inland? This close to Faerune?”
Saida glanced at him. She knew the Akkeri wanted her for their ritual. They believed marrying her to their High King would break the curse that made them the grotesque, bloodthirsty creatures they were. Was their desire to break the curse enough to lure them into places they would be killed on sight?
More bonehounds darted through the scraggly trees surrounding them, their small paws nearly silent on the sodden ground. They seemed to be . . . circling.
Malon watched them calmly. “They should move on soon.”
“Um—” Saida began.
“They may be after Saida,” Alluin finished her thought.
Malon’s arm around her tightened. “That would have been nice to know . . . prior to this moment.”
The bonehounds tightened their circle, close enough now that Saida could see tears in their flappy ears, and scars on their muzzles and chests, parting their wiry fur.
Her heart thundered in her ears. “What do we do?”
Alluin shook his head. He had an arrow knocked, but not aimed. “There are too many of them.”
Something moved beyond the hounds at the edge of the down-sloping path. Several humanoid forms of medium build, slightly hunched, approached. The sun behind them made them stand in stark silhouette, though Saida knew what features would be revealed as they neared. Pale, mottled skin, sparse hair, and too-thin frames, like Faerune corpses left to rot in a bog.
The Akkeri whooped and hollered as they realized what their hounds had found, and more grotesque forms trotted into view. There had to be at least twenty of them. Saida held her stomach, feeling the urge to vomit.
Malon whispered in her ear, “You need to run, priestess. I will provide a distraction.”
She barely heard him, for amidst the nearing creatures was the largest Akkeri she’d ever seen. He was at least a head taller than Malon or Alluin, likely even taller than Celen if she recalled his height correctly. Not only that, but we was muscular, built like a mountain. The thin, sickly-looking Akkeri seemed like children scurrying out of the path of his thick leather boots. He wore dark breeches and a gray woolen tunic crisscrossed with studded leather straps. His shaved head revealed pointed ears curving upward from a deeply scarred face.
She wasn’t sure at what point she’d started to tremble, but it seemed almost uncontrollable now. This had to be their High King, their Konnungar. The Akkeri leader Egrin had promised her to wed.
“Saida,” Malon said more firmly. “When I say run, you must go.”
She tried to take a steadying breath, but fear crushed her chest. “No.”
“Sai—”
“No,” she said again, then pulled away from him.
Elmerah had known Egrin wouldn’t kill her, and she’d used that knowledge to save them. Now she had the same opportunity with the Akkeri. She would not be a coward. Not now.
The giant Akkeri said something to those surrounding him in their guttural tongue. Crude weapons were raised as a few Akkeri stuck spindly fingers into their mouths and whistled. The bonehounds’ tattered ears perked up, then as one, they leapt away toward where two Akkeri herded them off the desolate path.
“Little elves,” the High King said in a lisping voice. He sounded just like Merwyn, like his lips were too dry and thin for speaking, only his voice was deep. It was a voice she imagined an elder bear would have if it could speak. “Which one of you has my circlet?”
Her jaw dropped. The circlet? Did he not realize who she was?
“Circlet?” she questioned, careful to not look down at the satchel hanging from her waist.
He took a step forward. The other Akkeri waited silently, all watching their king. “The circlet stolen from a spider’s belly. I can sense it. You killed the Ayperos.”
“What do you want with it?” Malon demanded.
The Akkeri king sneered, revealing rotted teeth. He said something else in Akkeri, then added in the common tongue, “Keep the girl alive, kill the others.”
“Wait!” She started to step forward, then felt a tug on her shoulder as Malon pulled her back. She struggled against him. “I’ll give you the circlet, just don’t hurt them.”
The Akkeri stroked his ruddy chin with long, meaty fingers. “What status do you hold in Faerune, girl?”
She hesitated. He obviously didn’t know she was the specific elf he needed, but that knowledge might be the only way she could keep everyone alive.
“I am a high priestess,” she answered.
The Akkeri tilted his head, then said something in his language to the others. The lesser Akkeri closed in around them, bringing with them the odor of rotten fish.
Malon lifted his sword, and Alluin his bow, for what little good they would do.
“Wait!” Saida said again, and the Akkeri stopped. She looked to the High King. “I am the Moon Priestess you seek. Spare my friends and I will go with you willingly.”
The king grinned. The Akkeri surrounding him chattered and whooped in excitement. “You may as well keep the circlet!” The High King called over the chatter of his kin. “You will wear it as we take our marriage vows.”
Saida gulped and shrunk back. The thought of marrying the vile creature gave her chills.
“Bind and gag the others,” the large Akkeri ordered in the common tongue for Saida to hear. “We will bring them along. If the priestess shows any inclination of breaking her vow, we will pluck out their eyeballs and string them up by their pointy little ears.”
Alluin edged close to Saida’s shoulder. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
“Saving your lives,” she hissed.
Malon backed away as the Akkeri edged near.
“Don’t fight it,” Alluin said. “All you’ll get is bruised and bloody, and they’ll take you regardless. Save your strength.”
Malon shook his head. The sweat glistening on his brow caught the murky sunlight. “I will not let them touch me.”
The High King had turned away, confident his subordinates would do as they were told.
Bony fingers gripped Saida’s arms. She flinched, then closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to slow. She could get through this. She’d play along for now, and would find a way to escape when the time came . . . she hoped.
She opened her eyes to see two Akkeri approaching Alluin
with leather binding straps in hand. He remained calm, at least outwardly, though tension seemed to radiate through his jaw.
Malon slashed his sword at the nearest Akkeri. The creature dove out of the way, as two more Akkeri jumped on Malon’s back. In an instant three more leapt atop him, one catching his blade against its thigh. The single creature shrieked and fell back, but there were too many of them.
Saida tugged against her captors. “Don’t hurt him!”
“Take prisoner,” one of the Akkeri holding her hissed, obviously less fluent in the common tongue than the High King had been.
She relaxed hearing that, even as Malon was piled upon by more Akkeri. Alluin calmly allowed himself to be bound. She wondered if he felt just as ill as she did watching Malon get beaten into submission. He’d probably never forgive her for the humiliation, but she’d had no other choice.
Her knees went weak as another realization dawned on her. With the three of them held hostage by the Akkeri, there would be no one to tell Rissine what happened to Elmerah. She and Isara would be on their own to free themselves from the emperor, just as she, Alluin, and Malon would be to free themselves from the Akkeri.
She couldn’t quite decide whose situation was worse.
Rissine
Rissine lifted the monocular to her eye, her legs braced wide against the sway of the ship. She shifted slowly from left to right, taking in the crystal walls, then the grand architecture, then finally the distant, whitestone docks. She knew the elves had already spotted them. The only thing left to be determined was if Elmerah had reached them first. Were they sailing straight toward enemies, or allies? The swirling tattoos on her arms were bare to the murky sunlight. There was a chill in the air, but the sun felt good after weeks spent sailing the Kalwey Sea.
She lowered the monocular, then turned toward Zirin, the first to join her ranks. His long black hair was braided back from his strong-boned face, as was customary for the Winter Isles clans. He wore a roughspun tunic, adorned with snow leopard fur at the collar and cuffs. His breeches were thick wool, made for blocking out the cold winds and moisture of his homeland.
He sucked his teeth, then spit on the deck. “What do we do now?”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. He wasn’t the most . . . refined, amongst them, but the Winter Isles clans could control the winds. They came in handy when one needed to sail great distances.
“They’ll send an envoy,” she explained. “We will wait here.”
“And if they do not welcome us?”
She cast a wary glance across the ship. She’d gathered two dozen pureblood Arthali together. Not as many as she’d hoped, but for now, they would have to be enough . . . she just had to ensure they didn’t turn against her.
She lowered her voice. “Then we shall dock elsewhere and search for my sister. If Faerune will not join us, we will join with the Valeroot elves to tear down the Capital stone by stone.”
Zirin bared his yellow teeth. “And what if they do welcome us?”
“Then old hatreds will be forgotten. We know who our true enemy is.”
She lifted the monocular again, spotting the envoy. Four sets of oars propelled the modest vessel across the choppy waters near the docks. She could see only four elves on the vessel besides the oarsmen: an older elf wearing round spectacles and scholar’s robes, along with three armed guardsmen.
She lowered the monocular and turned back to Zirin. “Lower the ladder. I’ll go down and talk to them myself.”
Zirin’s dark eyes bulged. “The elves cannot be trusted. You should force them to board where you will be protected.”
Rissine glared. “I do not need protection Zirin, and I am in charge here. Remember your place.”
Zirin bared his teeth again, but at her continued glare, finally backed down. “Do not expect a rescue when the elves throw you to the sharks.”
She stormed past him, the trinkets and tiny gems at her waist tinkling with every step. Elmerah better have done her job, because she was more than ready to get off this cursed ship and away from these foul-mannered Arthali.
Others on the ship watched her silently as she strode across the deck, then threw her leg over the railing. The elven entourage was just reaching the ship’s side. She descended the ladder confidently, but halfway down couldn’t resist a look at the elves below.
The spectacled elf blinked up at her with an odd smile, while three of the oarsmen moored the boat to the ship.
She continued her descent, then hopped aboard the secured boat, keeping hold of the rope ladder should she need to make a quick escape. She could sense the eyes of half a dozen Arthali staring down at her from the ship’s railing.
“My,” the spectacled elf said, straightening his silken robes, “you do look quite a bit like Elmerah. I am Ivran Fenmyar.”
Rissine’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad to see my sister reached you first. This could have been a rather uncomfortable encounter.”
He removed his spectacles and wiped them on his robes. The robes probably cost more than every cheap jewel on her fingers and at her hips. “I’m afraid it still is a bit . . . uncomfortable.”
She looked to the other elves, but all the oarsmen had their eyes on their laps, and the three guardsmen stared straight ahead.
Her fingers itched for her cutlass. “Do go on,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Oh no no!” Ivran babbled as he fumbled replacing his spectacles. “I did not mean that you are unwelcome, only . . . well, you’re a bit unwelcome. You see, your sister, my daughter, and their friend Alluin were sent on a mission to retrieve someone. No decisions are to be made about alliances until they return.”
She tilted her head. “Your daughter is Saida?”
He smiled warmly. “Ah, so you’ve met. Saida has convinced me of her claims, but the High Council, they can be a tad stubborn. I’m afraid I cannot invite you into port until your sister returns.”
She crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “And what are we supposed to do until then? We haven’t docked in a week.”
Ivran stepped back as much as the small, crowded boat would allow. “I do apologize for the inconvenience. If you would be kind enough to cast anchor here, I can have some provisions rowed out to you.”
She scowled. Leave it to Elmerah to take off before she could arrive. “Very well,” she sighed. “When is my sister expected to return?”
“Soon, I would hope. Dreilore have been spotted in the Illuvian forests. It’s only a matter of time before they reach our crystal walls.”
Her jaw dropped. “The Dreilore are nearly upon you, and you would still turn us away?”
He smiled sadly. “Not away. I would like to welcome you right here to our little part of the sea.”
She blinked at him. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”
“I find levity the best medicine for tense situations.”
She shook her head. “Alright, Ivran. We’ll wait here, but don’t expect us to rush to the docks when the Dreilore come to kill you all.”
His face went a bit green. “Let us hope Saida returns before it comes to that.”
Saida
Saida licked her cracked lips. Before her, on a spread of ragged furs, lay an unappealing plate of cured silverfish, pickled squid, and steamed rainbow clams. Across from her sat Hotrath, the High King of the Akkeri. A small hide tent had been erected for their meal, though no furniture or other comforts were provided. Hotrath almost managed to seem harmless, hunched over his wooden plate with his legs crossed, sucking steamed clams from their iridescent shells before tossing them aside.
“Eat,” he commanded, gesturing to her plate with a meaty hand dripping with saliva and clam juice.
Her stomach turned. She’d been taken away from Alluin and Malon before she could see what they’d be fed, or if they’d be fed at all. “I’m not hungry,” she lied.
Hotrath scowled. At least, she thought it was a scowl. It was hard to tell with his drooping skin, thin lips, an
d eyes so pale and milky he looked blind. “You’ll need to acquire a taste for Akkeri foods. You’ll be eating them the rest of your life.”
She reached out and plucked a single clam from her plate. “So I’m not to be murdered after the . . . ceremony?”
Hotrath sucked up another clam and flung the shell, dripping juices all over the already stained and matted furs beneath them. The smell of old fish was almost overwhelming. “Perhaps once our curse is broken, you will no longer look at us like writhing insects.”
He seemed to be content with her picking up a clam instead of actually eating it, so she kept it in her hand. Merwyn had thought that once the Akkeri curse was broken, they’d be more or less like Faerune elves. “Do you really believe that you are cursed?”
Hotrath gestured to his ugly visage. “Do you have a better explanation?”
She was hesitant to anger him, but answered with her honest thoughts. “Trolls have skin similar to yours, and other creatures bear unsettling odors. It does not mean they are cursed.”
He slammed a fist on the ground, catching the edge of his plate and flinging silverfish and roast tentacles through the air. “You would compare us to monsters!” he hissed.
“You kill indiscriminately,” she replied without thinking. “You pillage helpless villages and merchant vessels, and you plan to force me into marriage. How else should I view you?”
That seemed to calm him. “The bloodlust is part of our curse, and elves kill too. The shores were piled high with Akkeri corpses during the Great War.”
“You were trying to destroy Faerune,” she said tersely. “Protecting one’s homeland is not the same as killing for riches.”
“Spoken like someone who has never been poor, nor hungry.”
She pursed her lips. She’d always been taught that Akkeri were stupid creatures, and most seemed to prove that generalization true, but not the High King, nor Merwyn. “What if forcing me to marry you does not break your curse?”
He watched her for a moment, for the first time seeming entirely interested in what she had to say. “How has a Faerune elf come to know so much about our beliefs?”
Curse of the Akkeri Page 13