Curse of the Akkeri

by Sara C. Roethle

  The choppy waves near the docks rocked the small boat enough that they had to crouch down. He looked back and saw the Arthali and Valeroot elves in the other boats doing the same. He continued scanning the boats until he spotted Vessa. Despite her tendency to make bad decisions, she’d come back to her people when they needed her the most. He wished he could have convinced her to stay on the boat with Saida, but she’d refused. Only Merwyn, a few injured elves, and three Arthali with little magic had remained behind.

  With a few more thrusts of the oars, they reached the docks. As they moored the boats, Alluin waited with his ear raised upward, sure he’d hear the sounds of approaching Dreilore or elves any moment, but nothing came.

  “Why is the city so quiet?” he muttered to himself. Most of the distant fighting had subsided. Faerune should not have fallen so easily.

  “We’ll soon find out,” Rissine answered, though he hadn’t been speaking to her. She was the first to climb atop the docks, the tiny trinkets draping her hips jingling with every step. She turned and looked back at him. “You’ll come with me, elf. Each of your clan will be accompanied by one of mine, that way we’ll have no surprises.”

  She might as well have said, I don’t trust you in the slightest, but he wasn’t about to argue. If anyone would confront Egrin this day it would be Rissine, and he planned to be there when it happened. He climbed onto the docks, stretching his legs, which now felt wobbly from the short time at sea. He wasn’t used to ships, not like the Arthali, who were born and bred on them.

  He looked back to address the other elves and Arthali climbing atop the docks. “Most of you should head toward the mines. They’re toward the southeastern end of the city.”

  Rissine curled her lip at him. “And where will you and I be going, oh great leader?”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “We’ll go to the High Temple. Any living priests and priestesses will be there. We need to find Saida’s parents.”

  Malon reached his side. “I’ll check the guard posts, without an Arthali escort, if you don’t mind.” He looked to Rissine. “I’ll be able to address them better without them thinking I’ve turned traitor.”

  Rissine looked to Alluin, as if she might actually want to know his opinion.

  He nodded. “Let him go. If there are any guardsmen left alive, we’ll need their help, And he’s the only one amongst us who really knows the city.”

  What followed from Rissine was a series of elaborate hand gestures like Alluin had never seen, but the other Arthali seemed to comprehend her meaning.

  She turned and walked away without another word, her boots echoing hollowly across the whitewashed docks.

  Malon turned away too, without a reply, and Vessa was busy giving orders to the other Valeroot elves. Gritting his teeth, Alluin hurried after Rissine before he could lose sight of her. For all her confidence, she was making herself rather vulnerable to an arrow in the back, but perhaps she had skills he didn’t know about. He wouldn’t be surprised if she did.

  Elmerah

  Elmerah crouched behind a decorative partial wall between Isara and Celen. She’d been right in her assumption. The last of the Faerune guardsmen—at least those who’d chosen to fight—were being cut down on the steps to the High Temple. It was almost dizzying watching them fight. The elves were faster and more skilled than any human ever would be, but the Dreilore were even faster. Their icy white hair flicked and arced with their movements, standing in blurry contrast to their black leather armor. These were no mere foot soldiers, only the nobility and higher ranking officials amongst the Dreilore grew out their hair. Her confusion deepened. That the Dreilore were willing to risk their soldiers for whatever Egrin had offered them was one thing, but to risk their nobility?

  She kept her eyes on the fighting, and on the blood running down the white steps. “Are you both ready?”

  Celen grabbed her arm before she could stand. “Don’t you see how their blades glow? They are enchanted. They might be able to nullify our magic before we can even get close. We shouldn’t attack.”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  Isara cleared her throat. “I might be able to nullify the magic on their blades like I did with your shackles. You would be able to use your magic, but that will not make the Dreilore any less dangerous.”

  Celen squeezed her arm. “Are you willing to die for this, Ellie?”

  It was a good question. She hadn’t seen Alluin or Saida anywhere, but that did not mean they weren’t within the temple. She could try to fight her way in, but doubted she could make it. Perhaps it would be noble to try, but she’d be doing no one any good—least of all herself—if she got cut down for no reason.

  “You’re right. Rushing in is stupid, but if Isara can nullify their enchantments, we can attack from a distance. It will undoubtedly catch them off guard and give the elves a fighting chance. We can’t just hide here and do nothing.”

  They both nodded their agreement.

  Celen backed away from the decorative wall, then cursed. “Well I honestly couldn’t be more surprised if I saw a walking whipfish.”

  Elmerah tilted her head up to view what Celen seemed to see. Rissine strode down the street bisecting the main thoroughfare, making no effort to hide. She marched right toward the Dreilore, and there was someone behind her. Elmerah’s heart leapt into her throat. Alluin.

  “Um,” Celen began, “they are about to get themselves killed.”

  Elmerah stood up straight, her feet stanced for action. “Isara, block the Dreilore’s enchantments. Remain in hiding and do not reveal yourself no matter what happens. Keeping their enchantments suppressed is our only hope.”

  The Dreilore continued their slow advance up the steps, leaving elven corpses at their feet. She wasn’t sure if Rissine couldn’t have come at a better time, or a worse time, but all they had was right now. She called out to her magic, hoping in her weakened state it would be enough.

  Celen’s voice seemed distant, though he was standing right beside her. “I guess were doing this then.”

  She felt him calling his magic. It wasn’t as strong as hers, and almost nothing compared to Rissine’s, but it was a different type of magic, which sometimes could count for more.

  Rissine stopped walking just outside the Dreilore’s field of vision. Her eyes went wide. She pointed in Elmerah’s direction, and Alluin’s eyes landed on her. The look on his face as he realized she was still alive was not what she’d expected. He blinked at her for a minute, then grinned.

  She gave him a quick wink, then focused on her magic. She felt suddenly invigorated, and more hopeful that they would succeed. Thunder seemed to shake the very foundation of Faerune. She felt her sister’s magic melding with hers, while Celen’s earth magic was just a distant throb behind her. This was the true reason the Shadowmarsh clan had been so dangerous. Alone, each witch was a force to be reckoned with. But together? Enough Shadowmarsh witches could destroy an entire city in minutes. They could sink an entire fleet of ships. Maybe they could even kill a single demonic emperor.

  The Dreilore on the steps regrouped, their orange, burning eyes searching the surrounding streets for the source of the building magic. As one, they seemed to realize that their swords were no longer glowing. Every elf around them lay dead at their feet. Three Dreilore ran for the unguarded doors.

  The pressure built until Elmerah felt like she couldn’t breathe. With a resounding clap, her magic fully melded with her sister’s. The steps beneath the Dreilore shook with Celen’s earth magic, then brilliant lightning rained down. A sudden downpour of moisture followed, drenching the entire city. More lightning crackled as the smoke disappeared in the rain. Four Dreilore were down and unmoving. Elmerah could hardly believe her eyes as the remaining three evaporated into clouds of darkness. The two that had raced toward the top of the stairs had gone inside.

  “What in Ilthune’s name was that!” Celen called over the sound of the rain.

  Isara stood, removing spectacles made
worthless by the downpour. “That was demonic magic!”

  Elmerah didn’t need the explanation, and Celen shouldn’t have either. They both had witnessed Egrin disappear right before she could drive her stolen rapier through his heart.

  Alluin and Rissine jogged over to them. Her sister looked at Celen like she had spotted a particularly disgusting bug.

  Celen stared back at her defiantly, even though Rissine could potentially crush him like that aforementioned bug.

  Elmerah noted the scuffs and bruises on Alluin’s face. “We need to follow those who went inside, but be wary. They may have a bit of Egrin’s power to them.”

  Alluin nodded, then followed her as she hopped over the low wall, leading the way to the High Temple. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, namely where was Saida, but there was no time.

  She ignored the bodies, both elven and Dreilore, as they hurried across the street and up the High Temple stairs. Their boots splashed in quickly forming puddles of water, washing away the blood. Isara, Rissine, and Celen followed.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, Elmerah looked to Alluin, who nodded. Together they each manned one of the heavy double doors, throwing them open. The silence inside was deafening in contrast to the heavy rain. They stepped inside.

  Elmerah turned around to address the others. Her eyes landed on her sister. “I’ll go with Alluin and Isara toward the left wing, you and Celen take the right.”

  “Why do I have to take him?” Rissine whined.

  “Because he can protect himself, and I don’t trust either of you to protect anyone else.”

  Footsteps thundered up the stairs outside, echoing the patter of rain. Everyone instinctively faced the threat with weapons drawn.

  Malon ran inside, his wet boots skidding on the white tiles. He lifted his hands in front of him at their raised weapons. “It’s only me. There were no guardsmen in any of the outposts. Everyone must be deeper in the city, or holed up in the mines. That is where those unable to fight are instructed to go in case of attack.”

  Elmerah wanted to ask questions now more than ever, like where in Ilthune’s name was Saida? But expediency in locating the Dreilore remained vital.

  “There are Dreilore in the building,” she explained to Malon. “You go with Rissine and Celen.” She turned away and strode down the long hall of the left wing, confident Isara and Alluin would follow.

  As the others took off toward the right wing, she heard Celen introducing himself to Malon.

  She turned her attention forward, scanning the hall. There was no blood decorating the pristine white interior. A good sign.

  Alluin reached her side, his bow held casually, though she knew he could nock an arrow in seconds. “You’re as good as sacrificing Malon sending him with those two.”

  “I’m guessing by your demeanor, Saida is all right?”

  “She’s on Rissine’s ship, injured but alive. We had a run-in with the Akkeri.”

  “You’ll have to tell me about that later.” She stopped outside the first door and placed her ear against it. After a moment she pulled away. “Isara, listen at the doors. The priests and priestesses have to be somewhere in here, perhaps locked in a vault somewhere, hiding while their people are murdered in the streets.”

  Isara nodded a little too quickly, then hurried to the next door on the other side of the hall.

  Alluin jogged toward the end of the hall, then pushed his ear up against the nearest door.

  Elmerah moved toward the next door closest to her. She hoped there were only the two Dreilore somewhere in the building. She didn’t relish the thought of an ambush, especially now that she’d used up most of her magic outside.

  She was just about to lean against the next door when she heard a familiar voice, muffled as if several rooms away. “You shall not have it!”

  “Solana no!” another familiar voice called.

  Alluin was already at her side as she kicked down the door in front of her. She scanned the rows of books within, then broke into a run with Alluin and Isara trailing her. She came to another door just as a pain-filled scream sounded on the other side.

  She kicked the door open, then drew her rapier. “Be ready!” she called back, hoping Isara realized her words were meant for her, but all she found was another room filled with books.

  “There.” Alluin pointed.

  A bookshelf at the end of the room cut diagonally across the floor, clearly out of place against the other neat rows. She ran toward it, discovering a secret doorway.

  She charged inside, barely managing to light her rapier. Solana Fenmyar lay in a pool of her own blood. The crimson puddle rapidly expanded across the white granite tiles.

  Ivran backed into a corner, clutching a velvet box the size of a large book to his chest. Tears glimmered behind his round spectacles.

  The male Dreilore in front of him aimed a glowing sword toward his heart. “I will have the box, elf. You may live or die, it is all the same to me.”

  Ivran’s entire body trembled. “You killed her! You murdered her like her life meant nothing!” Spittle flew from his mouth. “Her life meant everything!”

  “Hey Dreilore!” Elmerah called. “Let us see how you fare against an armed opponent you little gnat.”

  The Dreilore turned. His eyes seem to burn brighter than any she’d ever seen. His blade lowered from Ivran’s heart as body angled her way. “You dare address the High Lord of the Dreilore in such a manner?”

  Elmerah stepped forward, hoping to edge closer to Ivran, or to at least draw the Dreilore away from him. “I don’t care if you’re Arcale himself, no one attacks my friends and lives to tell the tale.”

  The Dreilore launched himself toward her without hesitation. An arrow twanged from Alluin’s bow, but sailed right through a cloud of darkness where the Dreilore should have been.

  “Soft-bellied muckdweller,” Elmerah cursed.

  The Dreilore appeared again, right next to Ivran.

  “I’ll get him,” Isara’s whispered behind her.

  Alluin aimed another arrow, but the Dreilore snapped his arm outward, placing the tip of his blade at Ivran’s throat. “You seem to care for this one. Will you allow your bravado to cost him his life?”

  Alluin’s bow did not lower, nor did he release his arrow. The Dreilore were even faster than elves. Could he slit Ivran’s throat before an arrow could pierce his heart?

  The Dreilore’s blade did not waver. “I will have that box now.” He extended his free arm toward Ivran.

  Ivran shook his head, his gaze dutifully avoiding his wife’s body on the floor.

  Elmerah let the flame on her blade go out before the magic sapped all her strength. “There are four of us. There is no way you will escape here with that box alive, even with your borrowed demonic powers. So, it is you who must make a choice. Leave now, and keep your life, or kill Ivran for the box, and die in the process. We can stop you from avoiding the next arrow.”

  The Dreilore laughed. The sound of it slithered down her skin. “I have more than borrowed powers, Arthali bitch. Dinoba has made me truly immortal. Fetching his jewels is the price we pay, but for this one thing, I am willing to play lapdog.”

  Elmerah’s palm began to sweat around the hilt of her rapier. He couldn’t truly be immortal, could he? Her eyes narrowed slightly, realizing if he were, he would have already slit Ivran’s throat for the box. His hesitance pointed to his fear that an Arthali witch might be able to defeat him.

  She took a step closer. All she had to do was lure him away from Ivran. “I killed many of your lords and ladies outside. They didn’t seem terribly immortal to me. Now will you face me, or are you a coward?”

  The Dreilore growled, then launched toward her, almost too fast for her to follow. Alluin loosed another arrow. It struck the Dreilore in the shoulder and he fell mid-leap, surprise painted all over his grayish face.

  He staggered to his feet and tore the arrow free from his shoulder. “How!”

  Anot
her arrow cut across the room toward him, but instead of disappearing in his demonic cloud, he rolled across the bloody tiles.

  Elmerah darted between him and Ivran, then held her rapier at the ready.

  The Dreilore went for Alluin instead. Alluin dove aside, narrowly missing the tip of the Dreilore’s blade. The magical blade cut into the stone wall with a flurry of sparks.

  The Dreilore recovered quickly and slashed at Alluin, forcing him into the corner across the room from where Ivran stood.

  Elmerah raced across the room, desperate to save Alluin. He was a skilled fighter, but this Dreilore was faster than any she had ever seen.

  Isara, far closer to Alluin, cried out as the Dreilore’s blade narrowly missed Alluin’s throat. She ran toward the Dreilore’s back, though she had no weapon to bear.

  Elmerah reached the corner at the same time. The Dreilore swung his elbow back. Elmerah managed to duck, Isara did not. His elbow connected loudly with her jaw.

  Isara fell back, landing hard on the tiles.

  The Dreilore turned partially toward Elmerah, lifting his free hand and clenching it into a fist. Alluin gasped, then clutched at his throat. Slowly, he crumpled to his knees behind the Dreilore, but the Dreilore’s eyes were all for Elmerah.

  “Demons are beings of air and darkness. You cannot hope to stand against them. Now I will have that box.”

  She didn’t dare take her eyes off the Dreilore, but she could see out of the corner of her eye that Isara wasn’t moving. She’d be no help in suppressing his magic now, nor the enchantment on his blade.

  She did the only thing she could do with Alluin slowly suffocating. She slashed her rapier toward the Dreilore. He countered it easily with his sword.

  Growing desperate, she slashed again. “Let him go! If you kill him I will hunt you to the ends of this earth. Every day you have left will be spent looking over your shoulder for me, because I will have your head!”

  She slashed furiously, though every attack was easily parried by the smug Dreilore. She summoned a burst of flame into her rapier, knowing it was the last of her magic, and probably the last thing she’d ever do.