The Akkeri before Malon kicked him in the gut.
Malon grunted, reflexively curling his body to protect his belly.
The Akkeri spat on him. “Filthy elf, not so fine now?”
Malon glared up at him. “If you’re hoping to insult me, you should perhaps gain a better grasp of the common tongue. You sound like an imbecile.”
The Akkeri spat again, this time missing Malon’s shirt. A glistening glob of mucous-filled spittle coated the dead grass near his shoulder. “Female Akkeri wait on ship. Give you to them, then we see who em-bee-seel.”
A few of the Akkeri milling around the camp had stopped to watch the spectacle. They edged closer, like wolves sensing weakness. The penned bonehounds at the edge of camp whimpered in anticipation.
“Enough of this!” a deep voice boomed.
Alluin looked over his shoulder to see their leader approach, though he didn’t so much as glance at Alluin or Malon.
“Night will come soon. We will continue on until we reach the ship, then you can do as you please with the elves.”
The Akkeri surrounding him cheered, eliciting more yips and whimpers from the bonehounds.
Alluin squirmed. Their leader had spoken in the common tongue on purpose. He knew they couldn’t escape. He’d let Saida think they were safe until he had her on his ship, then there would be no escape for any of them.
His eyes darted around the camp, searching for a way out. His gaze fell upon one Akkeri, smaller than the others, cheering not half as fervently. He almost thought he recognized him, though it was difficult to say. They all looked nearly the same.
He had just written the sense of recognition off as hunger and fatigue addling his brain, then the Akkeri’s eyes landed on him. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded.
Elmerah
Elmerah lay in an awkward ball, her shoulders and knees braced against the bars of her too-small cage. She thought that if she let herself fall asleep, she might stop breathing, though the dark shadows of the tent continued to lull her toward oblivion.
Egrin had forced her to drain every last ounce of her magic, yet still believed she’d been hiding something from him. She wished she’d been hiding something. It would have made it slightly less humiliating when she’d collapsed, and Thera had replaced the magic-nullifying shackles.
She forced air deeply through her lungs, then let it out again. Her entire body ached. Egrin had not been lax in punishing her for failing him. Her ribs were cracked, and she’d probably be pissing blood if she managed to live long enough.
Moonlight cut across her face. She winced, distantly noting the sound of the tent flap falling back into place, bathing her once more in near darkness. Someone approached, then knelt before her cage.
“It’s alright,” Isara’s voice soothed. “I’m not here to harm you.”
“You’re not here to help me either,” Elmerah rasped.
She heard the sound of water dribbling into a bucket, then a cool rag soaked her face, dabbing at congealed blood. Isara pulled the rag back through the bars, dunked it again, then continued her dabbing.
“The Dreilore will attack Faerune at first light,” she explained. “Then we’ll return to my brother in the Capital. I will appeal to him to spare you.”
Elmerah swallowed, but it did nothing to soothe her burning throat. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you? I will not be spared. I might not even live long enough to watch the elves be slaughtered, a small blessing, I suppose.”
Isara reached something else through the bars. The spout of a waterskin touched Elmerah’s lips.
She tilted her head to drink, but coughed and sputtered as soon as the water hit her dry throat. As soon as she could breathe, she tried again, drinking more slowly, though her body urged her to gulp the water down greedily.
“There’s nothing to do about the elves.”
Elmerah wanted to curse at her, but couldn’t manage enough fervor. “There’s always something to be done. You are a coward.”
Isara was quiet for a moment. “At least I’m not the one in a cage.”
“Yet.”
“You are right,” she sighed. “But I cannot stand against him. I never could. Even if I wanted to, what could I possibly do to help?”
Elmerah thought of Celen, but quickly dismissed the idea. She couldn’t risk Isara telling Egrin about the secret Arthali encampment. He’d destroy them all.
“Why did you do it?” Isara asked abruptly. “Why did you agree to help Saida and Alluin? The Arthali fell long ago, and no longer care for the affairs of this continent. What remains of your kin are in no real danger now.”
“My mother was killed on the order of Soren Dinoba . . . who is actually Egrin, if I’m to believe your tale. Why wouldn’t I want to depose him?”
“But you didn’t know that at first. You didn’t know it was Egrin who ordered the Shadowmarsh line destroyed.”
“He did the same to Alluin’s kin,” she sighed. “I was fully prepared to sail away from the Capital forever, but Alluin found me. I helped him pile the corpses and burn them.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Isara pressed. “Alluin’s kin were not your own. Why would you risk your life to help him?”
Elmerah almost smiled. “Because no one else would, you idiot.”
Isara was quiet for several long moments, until finally she asked. “Do you think Egrin had my father killed? I was told it was the Dreilore, but we never found his body.”
“Probably.”
“Do you think Daemon let it happen?”
Elmerah stifled her irritation. At least Isara’s inane questions were keeping her awake. “You tell me, he’s your brother.”
Isara was silent again.
“Did Daemon know about your father’s theories?” Elmerah asked. “Did he know he thought Egrin a demon?”
“Yes.”
So Daemon knew Egrin was something . . . evil, and stuck with him anyway, despite his sister and father running far away. “Well then I suppose you have your answer.”
Isara stood.
Elmerah couldn’t see her face clearly in the darkness, but imagined she was crying. A moment later, sniffling confirmed her suspicions.
Isara quietly left the tent, and Elmerah was left with nothing but her thoughts.
Tomorrow the Dreilore would march on Faerune. Saida’s kin would be killed. Egrin would claim the magic of the moonstones, though for what evil purpose was anyone’s guess. She would be powerless to stop him. She would watch the crystal walls fall. If Alluin and Saida had returned to Faerune, which she imagined they had, they would both die. And she wouldn’t be far behind them.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep when a soft rattling woke her. The tent’s interior was still dark, so it had to be night. Her eyes cracked open, catching a dull flicker of light on Isara’s round spectacles.
“I’m getting you out of here,” she explained, her fingers working the lock. “I couldn’t find a key, but this lock is not overly complex. I should be able to pick it.”
Elmerah tried to sit up, but failed. “Not that I’m not grateful, but there’s one problem.”
Isara paused her movements to look down at her.
“I don’t have the strength to stand, let alone run.”
“Then I will carry you.”
While the sentiment was nice, she doubted Isara could even carry a full sack of flour, let alone an Arthali witch. Though she wasn’t about to stop her from trying. “I’ll need you to remove my shackles first. Perhaps a measure of my magic has returned.” She doubted it, but there was no way for her to tell until the shackles were off her.
The padlock holding the cage closed clicked open. The door moved with a deep groan.
She noticed the shadow looming up behind Isara too late. Isara’s breath whooshed from her mouth and she stumbled forward, landing atop Elmerah as she tried to struggle to her feet. The cage door slammed shut, and a female Dreilore latched the padlock back into plac
e.
Elmerah rolled onto her shoulder and pushed Isara aside, only to watch as the Dreilore knelt and retrieved something from the ground.
She held up one of the small tools Isara had used on the lock. Her flickering orange eyes narrowed in distaste as Isara finally managed to stand. “Stupid girl. Dinoba told us to watch you.”
Elmerah would have liked to stand too, but she couldn’t find the strength. It was all she could do to brace her back against the bars. She’d have to settle for glaring up the length of the Dreilore’s long legs. “Leave the girl alone. Not everyone thinks like a conniving eel in the reeds.”
She couldn’t quite tell in the darkness, but she thought she saw the Dreilore smirk. “Have fun sleeping in there together. We’ll see if you still defend her in the morning.”
Tears glittered on Isara’s cheeks as the Dreilore let herself out of the tent, temporarily bathing them in a sliver of moonlight.
“I’ve failed you,” she choked out.
Elmerah closed her eyes and leaned the back of her head against the bars. You’re definitely not the first, she thought, but out loud she said, “Don’t worry about it. I don’t have the strength to run anyhow. At least now I know you’re not entirely soft-bellied.”
Isara removed her spectacles and wiped them on her dress.
“Though it might have been wiser to use your gifts to take down your cousin,” Elmerah added. “You’re likely the only person alive capable of sticking a dagger in his back.”
Isara hung her head. “I could never do that.”
“You’d be surprised what you can do when your life is at stake. You may soon have to test that theory.”
Isara slid her back down the bars, sitting her rump next to Elmerah’s in the small space. Their bent knees nearly touched. “He won’t kill me. He doesn’t waste useful things.”
“And you’re useful?” She regretted the words as soon as she said them. Isara seemed a sensitive sort.
“It’s not only Egrin’s magic I can nullify. I could do it to you, the Faerune priests and priestesses, anyone really.”
“Can you do it to enchanted shackles?”
Isara turned to face her. Her slack jaw was faintly visible in the darkness. “I . . . I never really thought about it. Enchantments are powered by magically imbued metals, stones, or wood. In theory they should be the same . . . ”
Elmerah shifted to put her back toward Isara, making the small space even more cramped. “Care to test the theory?”
“I can’t remove them, how will we know if it works?”
“Just try. Even with the shackles on, if the enchantment is nullified, I should be able to call my magic.”
Isara was quiet for a moment, then Elmerah felt the brush of her cold fingertips as she examined the shackles. A few more tense moments passed, then a trickle of magic bloomed within her core. It was weak, just the merest spark since Egrin had utterly drained her, but it was there.
Grinning, she shifted positions again, putting her back against the bars. “Get some rest,” she told Isara. “I’ll need as much sleep as possible if I’m to be of any use tomorrow.”
“But shouldn’t we escape now? I can nullify your shackles and you can use your magic on the padlock—”
“I’m too weak right now. We’d never make it past the Dreilore. For now we rest, and I’ll have more strength come morning.”
“What do you plan?” Isara gasped, lifting a hand to her mouth.
Elmerah’s grin wilted as sleep reached out for her. She was getting better, stronger. The last few times she’d expended all of her magic energy she’d been unresponsive for hours afterward. She’d let herself grow weak in her peaceful little swamp, but she’d been flexing her muscles now more than ever before. With Isara’s help to nullify the enchanted shackles, she just might have a bit of magic to use in the morning.
Her eyes fluttered closed. “Just be ready,” she whispered. “I’ll find a way to signal you when the moment comes.”
She really had no idea what she planned, but she’d know it when the moment presented itself. All she needed was to catch Egrin off guard. If she could do that, she could save Faerune. She could save Saida, Alluin, and all the other elves.
She couldn’t wait to see the look on Immril and Cornaith’s faces when she did.
Saida
The sound of the ocean surf sent shivers of fear down Saida’s spine like it never had before. She’d grown up by the sea. Its crystalline depths had always meant magic and mystery to her, along with delicious fish and oysters. Now it meant her doom. She knew if she boarded the Akkeri ship with Hotrath, she’d never escape him.
They’d walked the entirety of the night, and Hotrath kept a brisk pace ahead of them. She caught sight of the cresting waves in the dim light of predawn. Amidst them lurked a black ship, its mast and railings like jagged broken bones jutting up from the sea.
She dared not look back in search of Alluin or Malon. She wouldn’t want them to take a glance from her as a signal to act. They were surrounded by Akkeri guards, as was she, their boots all slick from walking through the muck of the marshlands south of Faerune. She was unfamiliar with this territory, as the elves had no reason to venture south. Beyond the vast marshlands were the Southern Deserts, and Faerune horses were not suited for traveling across the arid expanses. They’d die of thirst long before they reached the Helshone, where larger cities provided refuge from the heat.
She shook her head as she walked. Her mind was addled and her feet were sore.
Hotrath glanced back in search of her. His milky white eyes found her quickly, not far behind him. “You, by my side. Do not make me kill your men.”
Her shoulders hunched, she hurried toward him. She thought she could feel everyone’s gazes on her, but she kept her eyes downcast. She had to think. There had to be something she could do to escape without getting Alluin and Malon killed.
A high-pitched whistle, like the mournful cry of a nightlark, sliced through the thin air of dawn. Hotrath marched toward Saida and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him. She nearly gagged at the strong smell of fish. She finally dared to look for Malon and Alluin. She spotted them not far off, surrounded by Akkeri with their primitive weapons poised.
Another cry sounded. Malon seemed unsure of what it meant, but all the Akerri froze with apprehension.
Another cry echoed across the damp earth.
Hotrath shoved her away from him. “Get her to the ship!”
The nearest Akkeri wrapped thin arms corded with narrow muscles around her, then lifted her upward off her feet to secure her until two more Akkeri appeared, each snatching an arm. More closed in around her. She bent her knees and dropped her weight to thwart them, but it didn’t stop her from being sometimes dragged and sometimes carried across the soggy ground toward the distant sound of the tide. More cries cut across the growing light as of the remaining Akkeri closed in around Hotrath. Her captors carried her over the hill until the others were out of sight.
On the descent toward the shore, one Akerri holding onto her shoved his bony shoulder into the Akerri next to him. That Akkeri stumbled, losing his grip on her arm. An Akkeri in front of the first turned with a hiss, but the first monster was already shoving his shoulder into the one across from him. All hands fell away from Saida. The air rushed from her lungs as she flailed, then landed hard on her rump. The Akkeri leapt upon the dissenter, flattening him to the ground. He was much smaller than the others and likely would not be long for this earth.
“Run Saida!” the small Akkeri cried.
A horrifying realization dawned on her as she rolled aside, narrowly missing a kick from an Akkeri boot. “Merwyn!” she shouted, staggering to her feet.
It couldn’t be him, could it? Had he orchestrated this fortunate mishap? He’d disappeared again underneath a pile of fighting Akkeri. The rising sun blinded her as she looked toward where she’d left Hotrath, but the hill blocked her view. She knew the wise choice was to run, to save her own hide
, but as people always seemed to be telling her, she wasn’t terribly wise.
She knelt and picked up a roughly hammered fallen sword. The rust speckling the metal hilt bit into her palm as she lunged forward and shoved the blade into the back of an unsuspecting Akkeri. He rolled aside, taking the blade with him, revealing Merwyn underneath. Merwyn gasped for air, coughed up blood, then was immediately piled upon by the remaining Akkeri who didn’t seem to care that one of their own had just been slain.
She heard shouting in the distance. Something was happening, but she could spare no time to figure out what. Finding no more fallen weapons within reach, she said a prayer to Arcale, then dove upon the pile of Akkeri who were attempting to beat the life out of Merwyn.
Alluin
Malon’s shoulder bumped into Alluin’s. “I sincerely hope these are friends of yours,” he whispered.
Their Akkeri guards had their backs to them, eyes trained on the slowly approaching elves. Alluin couldn’t help his grin. The call of the night lark was a well-known signal amongst Valeroot hunters. Those edging in were his kin, no doubt scouts sent to watch Faerune and the bordering towns. The Valeroot hunters were skilled trackers, and the Akerri were not difficult to track. They had probably picked up the trail where his party had been apprehended on the little used road near the temple.
Hotrath loomed over them. He said something in Akkeri, then Alluin was jerked backward by his collar through the mud. He scrambled to regain his footing as Hotrath grabbed Malon by his shirt and carried him in the direction Saida had been taken.
Alluin threw himself backward, surprising the two Akkeri manhandling him. One lost its grip on his right arm and he used the momentum to swing his fist around, punching his other captor in the jaw. He’d had no opportunity to communicate with Merwyn, but he’d spotted him amongst the Akkeri taking Saida to the ship. If Merwyn had actually managed to free Saida, then he had to buy them time to escape.
Curse of the Akkeri Page 15