Curse of the Akkeri

by Sara C. Roethle

  Celen followed her as she trudged up the hill. The sounds of battle raged on behind her, spurring her on. “Ellie! You know you have a dagger in your back? It seems a small blade, but still, we should probably get it out. You are losing blood.”

  She ignored him, though she felt lightheaded and on the verge of fainting. There was no time for delay. Swaying on her feet, she found Isara at the top of the hill, looking a bit dazed amongst the dead Dreilore, including the one who’d held her captive. The knife he’d held to Isara’s throat now jutted out from his ribs. She had a key in her hands and was working at using it on her shackles.

  Elmerah swayed on her feet again. “Well aren’t you full of surprises?”

  Celen moved past her to help Isara with her shackles.

  Elmerah gestured toward her with the rapier still clutched in her hand. She’d nearly forgotten about it. “Celen, meet Isara Saredoth. We’ll need to keep her alive if we still hope to carry out Alluin’s plan, now let’s go.”

  She turned without waiting for a reply, summoning every ounce of strength she possessed. Isara and Celen hurried after her as she tromped back down the hill. She didn’t know what she could do for Faerune. Her sister had obviously failed to arrive, and she didn’t know where Saida or Alluin were, but she couldn’t just stand around and wait for the results.

  Celen grabbed her good shoulder at the bottom of the hill where the other Arthali waited. “You cannot hope to take on so many Dreilore by yourself. The elves are as good as dead.”

  “We have to try.”

  He huffed. “Fine.” Without warning, he gripped the hilt of the dagger in her back and tugged it free. “Healer!” he called, motioning to the waiting Arthali.

  She fell to her knees. That had not felt good. She hoped Celen had a proper healer, someone from the Greenfold Clan.

  She had no idea what she would do once she could stand again, but she meant what she said. She had to try.

  Alluin

  Alluin braced his hands against the ship’s railing as it swayed across the choppy waters. Vessa stood at his side, avoiding Rissine’s glare. In all the chaos, he hadn’t stopped to consider that Vessa had once worked for Rissine until he and Elmerah had messed things up for her. At least, that was probably how she viewed it. Personally, he still debated wringing his sister’s neck for helping Rissine smuggle young women into slavery.

  Of Vessa’s scouting party, only eight of the original thirty still lived. They were outnumbered by the Arthali on the ship, but just barely. Malon was below deck with Saida and Merwyn, both too injured to stand.

  Faerune was nothing but a cloud of smoke in the distance. He heard fighting, but it was already waning. They would be too late.

  Rissine approached his side, opposite Vessa. “I fear there will not be much left of Faerune to save. Stupid elves should have let us in when we first arrived. Of course, if we hadn’t been left out at anchor, we never would have seen you and you’d all be dead.” Her dark eyes glinted with malice. “I’ll need you alive if I’m to kill you for letting harm befall my sister.”

  Alluin didn’t reply. They were too late, too late for everyone. He’d failed Saida just as he’d failed Elmerah. It seemed in the end the Arthali would be the only ones left standing, at least until the Empire hunted them all down.

  Vessa clenched the railing in front of her hard enough to make the wood creak. “I told you uncle Ured’s plan was folly. I told you from the start.”

  He still didn’t reply. Maybe she was right. Maybe if he’d listened to her, Elmerah would be safe, Saida would be uninjured, and the Valeroot elves would still be living like rats trying to avoid Egrin Dinoba’s boots.

  Saida

  Saida’s eyes fluttered open to the creak of boots on floorboards. A lantern swayed gently from a hook on the ceiling. She was lying in a bed, though not a terribly comfortable one, and her head and body felt like she’d been hit by a horse. Her eyes slowly focused on someone walking toward her. She tensed, then relaxed when she realized it was only Malon.

  He knelt beside her bed. He had one blackened eye, and a bit of blood at his hairline, but he was still definitely in better shape than her. “I’m glad to see you’re awake.”

  “Where am I?”

  He smiled warmly. “You’re on an Arthali ship. Probably not the best place to be, but better than an Akkeri one.”

  Her muddy thoughts slowly pieced together. “Rissine? Did she find us?”

  He crossed his legs to sit on the floor beside her bed, eye level with her. “The she-beast, yes. She makes Elmerah look like a shining jewel.”

  Saida couldn’t help her small smile. Rissine and Elmerah were both beautiful, but their manners left much to be desired, especially in the eyes of someone who had spent his entire life in Faerune. “What happened on the shore? Is Merwyn alright?”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Merwyn tried to help me escape. We fought the other Akkeri. I was hit on the head, but I vaguely remember Hotrath coming for me. Is Merwyn alright?”

  He nodded, and she let out a sigh of relief. “He’s on another bed right over there.” He pointed across the dim cabin, though she could not see beyond the dome of lantern light.

  She lifted a trembling hand to her forehead. Her skin ached, but was smooth and clean. Someone must have wiped away the blood. “What are we doing on this ship? Please tell me we’re headed toward Faerune.”

  Malon pushed a lock of her dirty hair away from her face, surprising her with his touch. “Yes, I must inform you, the Dreilore assault has begun. We may not make it in time to be of much help. They are sure to act quickly.”

  Dizziness washed over her. Her mother, her father, they were being attacked and she should have been there to protect them. “How long? How long until we get there?”

  “Soon,” he soothed. “Does Hotrath have the circlet?”

  His question gave her pause. Though the circlet was invaluable, why would he ask about it now? She almost reached for her belt pouch to see if it was still there, but hesitated. Hotrath had told her to hold onto it since she’d be wearing it at their marriage ceremony. Why would Malon, as a guardsman, not a priest, care about it?

  “Hotrath took it,” she lied. “Does he still live?”

  “He escaped when Arthali attacked. I daresay he is the only Akkeri who survived this day, at least of his clan.”

  She shivered. She knew as long as Hotrath was alive he’d come for her, but that was a worry for another day. Her body felt so weak, so sore, she could barely move. She would be of no use once they arrived in Faerune.

  She lifted a trembling hand and placed it upon Malon’s shoulder. “Please, please promise me you will find my parents and protect them. I know it is not fair of me to ask, as your duty is to all of Faerune, but please, I cannot lose them.”

  He placed his hand over hers on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, once again surprising her. “Do you remember the time you became lost in the snow? You were but a girl, I’d guess around fourteen, maybe fifteen.”

  She furrowed her brow, then winced. “Yes I remember, I nearly died that day. I would have died if a guardsman hadn’t found me—” She narrowed her gaze. “What of it?”

  “I don’t expect you to remember. I know all guardsmen are the same in the eyes of the priests and priestesses. But I was the one who saved you.”

  She gasped, then felt suddenly guilty. She remembered that day. She’d snuck outside the crystal walls after the first snow of winter. She’d wanted to sled down the large hill outside the city, but once she’d gotten out, everything have been so sparkly and dazzling she’d wanted to explore more. She’s made it all the way to the edge of the forest, then went further in. She’d run from a wyrm. Then the snow came again, covering her tracks. She gotten lost.

  She would have died, but a guardsman happened upon her. He’d made a fire to warm her before escorting her back to Faerune. She’d been very grateful, in fact she’d developed a small crus
h on him as he wasn’t much older than her, but once she’d recovered she hadn’t been able to find him again. She’d never even learned his name. And he was right, she’d soon forgotten about him, just another guardsman.

  His brows lifted. “Starting to remember?”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it was you. That was only what, five years ago? Less? I feel like such a fool, I apologize. I’d always wanted to thank you. But—” she hesitated, “why do you bring it up now?”

  He gave her hand another squeeze, then allowed her to remove it. “Because now, priestess, I’m going to need you to trust me. I’m going to need you to trust that what I’ve done, I’ve done for the good of all elves. You may want to hate me, but things needed to change. The politics within Faerune are antiquated. Our class system is from another century. It has to change, and it will not be changed by allying with the Arthali.”

  The blood in her veins turned ice. “Malon, what have you done?”

  He stroked her hair again, then pulled something out of his pocket, a small vial filled with red liquid. She recognized it as one of those her father had given her. Malon must have stolen it when they fled Isara’s.

  He flicked the stopper off the vial with his thumb, then brought it toward her face. “I’ll see you again soon, priestess. I know your whole life you felt unimportant, not having your mother’s magic, the magic of a Sun Priestess, but you are more valuable than you know, and not just to the Akkeri. I promise, this will become clear with time.”

  She lurched away, but there was only so far she could go. Her bed was against the wall, and Malon blocked the other side of it. He crawled onto her bed and placed a hand over her mouth before she could scream. She tried anyway, but knew with the sounds of the ship no one would hear her except maybe Merwyn, but he was obviously not conscious.

  Malon pushed his weight against her, sealing her mouth closed and keeping her head still. She was too weak, and in too much pain to fight him. He held the vial under her nose, the smell was sharp and sweet. Before she knew it her eyes were closed, her thoughts were growing distant, and then Malon was gone.

  She could hear everyone above deck, they must be getting ready to leave the ship. She had to warn them. She wasn’t sure what Malon planned, but he’d said it would make her hate him. Her last thought as she drifted off was of that time in the snow. Of sitting across the fire from a handsome young guardsman. Of listening to his tale about how things would be different someday.

  Elmerah

  Elmerah scaled the rubble at the edge of the ruined gates, keeping a close watch for any who might still live. Bodies littered the once pristine street, both Dreilore and elves. The shining granite architecture she’d once found so awe-inspiring was speckled with blood and ash. Her shoulder ached, but Celen’s healer had done a fine job mending it. With the healing herbs, a bit of magic, and fresh bandages, she’d at least been able to get moving again.

  Celen was right behind her, along with Isara. The other Arthali were fanned out, some already within the city. With their small numbers, stealth was best, though Elmerah ached to lash out at something. She wasn’t in top form unfortunately. Besides her wound, she hadn’t fully recovered from Egrin’s torture, and the scene on the hill had taken more of her strength than she cared to admit.

  She crested the rubble, hurried down, then went behind the nearest building. She could hear more fighting further in, but so many were already dead. When immortal warriors were pitted against the prowess of elves, death happened quickly. Yet even with so many dead, there weren’t enough bodies to account for all the Dreilore. There had to be many more within Faerune, even though the near silence made her doubt just how many she’d seen marching toward the gates.

  Celen hovered over her shoulder as she leaned out and peered down the main street. His scarred face was set into grim lines. “Why would the Dreilore be willing to sacrifice so many? They might have overcome the elves, but just barely. Why would they risk coming so close to defeat?”

  She shook her head. She didn’t understand either. An alliance with the Empire was one thing, but to sacrifice so many Dreilore lives for the emperor’s cause? The Dreilore had not survived so long by being selfless and loyal. “Egrin must have something they want bad enough to die for. Just as he did with the Akkeri. They were willing to die if it meant breaking the curse on their people.”

  “You believe the Dreilore are cursed?” Isara asked from behind Celen.

  Elmerah had nearly forgotten her. She craned her neck, aiming her ear upward to better hear the distant fighting. “No, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what they are willing to die for, it only matters that they are doing it. We need to see how many elves are still alive. Perhaps we can rally them to push out the remaining Dreilore.”

  “It still just doesn’t make sense,” Celen repeated. “Not just the Dreilore, but how quickly they overcame the city. Faerune has survived for a long time. Why were they so easily overcome?”

  Elmerah leaned back into hiding, then turned and walked the other way, away from the main road. “There’s only one way to find out. We need to get closer.” She glanced back toward Celen. “Your people will remain hidden?”

  Celen nodded as he fell into step beside her. “They will not act until I give them orders. If they come across any strays, they will quietly take them down with sleeping darts.”

  “Sleeping darts,” Elmerah scoffed, “not exactly the Arthali style.”

  Celen shrugged. “Remaining hidden has been our priority these past years. Bows and darts work well to keep us protected.”

  Isara caught up to Elmerah’s other side, lifting the skirt of her burgundy dress above her knees to step over rubble. “Aren’t you two worried we’ll run into Dreilore walking around like this?”

  “No,” they said in unison.

  Elmerah heard a whisper from a nearby open window. Catching Celen’s attention, she pointed.

  He nodded, then took a side street toward the back of the small stone home. Elmerah stopped by the whitewashed door. Though most of the stones were also white, this close she realized it was only paint. Granite was reserved for the wealthier homes and other buildings lining the main street.

  She waited a moment to ensure Celen had time to reach the back of the house, then lifted her boot and kicked in the door. A yip sounded from inside, followed by frantic whispers. She hurried in, drawing her borrowed rapier, just as Celen came in through the back.

  Three elves, a mother, father, and little girl, huddled in the kitchen. She felt a small pang in her heart. How many families like this one had already been slain?

  “Please don’t hurt us!” the mother gasped. “We have nothing.”

  Celen reached Elmerah’s side as she explained, “We are not here to hurt you. Do you know what’s happening further in the city?”

  The father stood a little straighter and nodded. “I was near the High Temple when the Dreilore broke through the gates. The priests and priestesses locked themselves inside with our precious gems and irreplaceable artifacts. Many families fled to lock themselves up in the mines. I don’t know if they made it. I had to come back for my family.”

  Elmerah nodded. These three were probably safer than the ones in the mines, considering Egrin was after the moonstones. If there were magic artifacts in the High Temple, the Dreilore would be going there too.

  Isara had finally entered the home, but hung back near the door. Elmerah turned toward Celen. “We’ll head toward the High Temple. If anyone can rally the remaining elves, it’s the priests and priestesses, but something else is going on here, more than what we realize. I can’t really say what we’ll find.” She turned to leave.

  “Wait,” the father elf urged. “I heard something else as I was running back here. Some present at the gates claimed that over half the guardsmen didn’t fight. They turned away from their duty, and let the Dreilore break through the gates. I don’t know where these elves are now, but I wouldn’t trust any guardsmen you
come across.”

  Goosebumps erupted on Elmerah’s arms. So that was it. The guardsmen had betrayed their city, and that was why the elves were overcome so quickly. She nodded her thanks, then turned back to Celen. “Let’s go.”

  As they left the home she said a small prayer to Arcale for any other families like this one. They’d been betrayed by their own kin, and she knew exactly how that felt.

  Alluin

  Smoke plumes wafted up from Faerune, the scent mingling with the thick salt air. In a rowboat, Alluin stood next to Rissine, a borrowed bow in hand, and new knives at his belt. No one had had an extra sword to spare. Sitting behind them was Malon with another Arthali. Two others manned the oars. Following in their wake were more boats filled with Arthali and Valeroot elves.

  He was glad Saida was staying aboard the ship. She hadn’t even woken when he shook her. He wasn’t sure what he’d say to her if she were looking at the scene ahead. There was still fighting, he could hear it over the slap of the tide, but it was the end of a lost battle. He almost hoped Elmerah was still with Egrin, because if she was within Faerune, she was probably dead.

  He glanced at Rissine. Though she and Elmerah looked a lot alike—despite Rissine being a few years older with swirling tattoos up and down her arms—her presence was nothing like her younger sister’s. Where Elmerah was like a passionate fire, her sister was like prickly ice. Both were dangerous and unpredictable, but at least the former was something you’d want to warm your hands beside.

  “What?” Rissine snapped.

  “Are you sure you can protect the boats if the Dreilore spot us? It seems risky rowing right for the docks.”

  Rissine turned her dark eyes toward Faerune. “We have several members of the Winter Isles clan amongst us. They can summon winds to deflect any arrows or incendiaries, and we have no time to spare. If Egrin has my sister, there’s no saying how long she’ll remain alive.”