The emperor stepped up upon a wooden dais in the center of the square, leaving Daemon and the Dreilore to stand off to either side behind him.
Egrin surveyed the crowd, then spoke. “It is with great pity!” he called out, “I must inform you our great empire has been betrayed by those we’ve trusted most. I’ve learned it was Faerune who sent the Akkeri here, mere scouting parties to precede the main attack.”
The crowd erupted in a series of murmurs and gasps.
Alluin found himself stepping forward without thinking. He had to hear what would be said next.
The emperor looked back at the Dreilore lord, then gestured for him to step forward.
The crowd fell silent again as they all stared at the Dreilore.
“Fear not, good people!” the Dreilore called out, speaking the common tongue with perfect pronunciation. One might think he’d grown up in Galterra, if such a thought weren’t so utterly ridiculous. “The Dreilore of Salisfait are here to offer you aid. We will cut off the Faerune threat at its head. You will not know the sharp end of elven blades. Together with the Empire, the Dreilore will protect you now, and in the times to come.”
The crowd was so silent, Alluin was able to hear the first raindrop fall. Then another, and another. Though the emperor had not accused the Valeroot elves, it did not matter. To commoners, all elves would now be viewed as enemies, the far distant kin of the Akkeri who’d burnt their homes and murdered their children, and closer relatives to Faerune, the latest alleged threat.
He slowly backed away into the crowd. He didn’t need to hear any more. They were all as good as dead.
Elmerah
Elmerah stood in the shadows of an alley near the docks as the first raindrop fell. She felt wary being out in the open, but it was a risk she had to take. The Galterra docks were the only place where ships large enough to cross the Murutane Sea could come to port. All she’d need to do was wait until one of the ships waiting for cargo was nearly loaded, then sneak onboard. If Rissine had received her letter, she’d be looking for her in the deep woods. The city was actually a perfect place to hide until her ship departed, despite the guilds keeping an eye out for her.
“I thought I’d find you here,” a woman’s voice said from behind her, making her flinch.
She turned to see Rissine approach. An emerald coat hugged her curves and provided a hood deep enough to obscure her features. Surprisingly, she was alone.
“Cursed elf couldn’t even deliver a letter,” Elmerah scoffed, turning her attention back toward the docks. If Rissine planned on attacking her, she would have done it while her back was still turned.
“Oh I received your letter,” Rissine replied as she came to stand beside her. “I also received orders from the emperor to search the deep woods for you, but I knew you’d be here.”
Elmerah kept her glare affixed to the distant sea. “Oh? And how did you know that?”
“Because a ship is the wisest way to run, and if there’s anything you’re good at, it’s running.”
Elmerah crossed her arms. “You left Shadowmarsh too.”
Rissine sighed. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
She finally turned toward her. “You wanted to gain allies to bring down the Empire, and now here you are, working for the emperor himself. I was right to run from you.”
Rissine shook her head. “You were never able to see the bigger picture. If we work with the emperor long enough to gain lands of our own, we can rebuild. You think the Dreilore will continue to support Egrin once they have another option? Not a chance. And once Faerune is destroyed, Egrin will have no other allies to come to his aid.”
Elmerah’s jaw dropped. She knew her sister had a grand ego, but this was ridiculous. “You actually think you can gather enough Arthali to pose a threat to the Empire? Aren’t you forgetting what happened to our clan? Why, we are perhaps the only two Shadowmarsh witches left?” She shivered, forcing away the image of her mother’s broken and bloody body. She’d been betrayed by her own people, her kin. Elmerah shook her head slightly. If she would have stayed, she would have been next.
“That was the Empire’s fault,” Rissine growled, closing the small space between them.
Elmerah took a step back, but soon hit the wall of the building she’d been hiding near, preventing her from moving further.
Rissine shivered, like a raven settling its feathers into place. “You know the Arthali attacked us to save themselves from the Empire. It was the deal to secure exile instead of utter obliteration.”
Elmerah sighed. She knew the reasons all too well. The former emperor, Soren Dinoba, had let the Arthali live on one condition: destroy the most powerful clan amongst them. Arthali would no longer be killed on sight, but they were never to band together again.
“This is all ancient history,” Elmerah grumbled. “Disbanded, the Arthali are weak, even if some magics still exist amongst the other clans. Your plan will ultimately fail.”
Rissine turned her gaze out toward the sea and the dark clouds moving inland. The raindrops began pattering more heavily around them. If the coming storm worsened, Elmerah wouldn’t be escaping on a ship any time soon.
“I now know the emperor intends to betray me eventually,” Rissine breathed. “He has named Lord Orius his ally, claiming the Dreilore will protect the Empire from Faerune. I know not yet what part the Nokken will play.”
Elmerah sucked her teeth. It seemed Alluin had been correct in many of his assumptions. “Protect them from Faerune?”
Rissine nodded. “Egrin is blaming the Akkeri attacks on Faerune. He claims the elves broke the treaty, and will soon attack the Empire.”
The rain, now pounding steadily, slowly seeped through Elmerah’s coat, chilling her to the bone. She wondered if Saida knew just what was coming for her people. “Why tell me all of this now?”
“Egrin’s plan has been set in motion. Faerune will be destroyed. He may be going back on his deal with me, but there is still an opportunity to be had. Even with the Dreilore, war with Faerune will weaken the Empire. Egrin will be focused on the South, leaving an opening for us to take the lands promised to me in the North. I will remain his ally as long as it is beneficial.”
Elmerah clenched her jaw. Men on the docks were still loading two of the larger ships, but the sky was growing darker. They’d not likely depart until the storm had passed.
“You’re a fool, Rissine. The Arthali will not follow you. You’ll be conquering these new lands on your own, and once Egrin is done with Faerune, he’ll come for you.”
“So you’ll stand idly by while your elf friends are massacred? You know it will not just be Faerune. The Valeroot elves will be the first to go. The Dreilore have hated them for centuries.”
She clenched her fists. All as Alluin had predicted, but it was not her problem. It was his choice to fight a losing battle. If he was wise, he’d run far from the Empire’s borders.
Rissine stared at her.
“What?” she growled.
Rissine shook her head. “You truly care for no one but yourself.”
A brief surge of angry magic washed through her, then quieted. “You are in no position to judge me, slaver.”
Rissine shrugged. “Perhaps not. Perhaps I care little for the elves or humans, but I do care for you, and our people. At least I have something to stand for. I’d hoped you would feel the same.”
“Well I don’t,” she snapped. “As soon as the storm passes, I will board a ship, and then another, and perhaps another. I’ll go so far from the Empire you’ll never find me again. Perhaps I’ll find a place where no one has even heard of the Arthali, because only then will I know peace.”
Rissine watched her for several moments, then her shoulders slumped. “In that case, you are not deserving of the Volund name, nor of the pride that comes with being part of the Shadowmarsh clan.”
Elmerah spat on the wooden boards beneath her feet to hide the tears burning at the back of her eyes. “O
ur name is worthless, and our clan is dead. Perhaps once Egrin runs a sword through your heart, you’ll finally understand that.”
She walked out toward the docks as her sister silently watched her go. She’d find another dark alley to wait out the storm. Alluin and Rissine could worry about the emperor and his Dreilore dogs. This was not her home. Her home had been lost long ago, the day she left Shadowmarsh and never looked back.
Saida
The rhythmic sway of the antlioch might have put Saida to sleep if it weren’t for the icy rain making its way through the tree canopy above. She and Merwyn had done as Alluin asked, keeping to the border of the deep woods while heading roughly south. Once they were well out of reach of Egrin’s scouts, they would take to the road, speeding their journey to Faerune. What would happen once they arrived was anyone’s guess. She’d have her hands full protecting Merwyn from the guards at the crystal gates.
“Why are you willing to do this?” she sighed. “I know you don’t believe that marrying me off will lift your curse, but why go as far as to help me?”
Merwyn was silent for a moment. She was about to look back to see if he’d fallen asleep, when he finally spoke. “The Akkeri are violent and cruel. I was born small, and always looked down upon. When we came to the Empire, I saw a chance for escape. Then, I saw another small, weak creature soon to suffer a fate worse than mine. I think, if my curse is ever to be lifted, I must gratify myself to Arcale through noble deeds, not through forced marriage.”
Her face burned. “I take it I’m that small, weak creature you spotted?”
“My apologies,” Merwyn muttered.
“No, no, I’m not offended. For a Faerune elf, I’m nothing impressive. But you’re saying you snuck into the castle, and later faced the emperor himself just to help me? Not that I’m not grateful, but I feel I still don’t fully understand your intentions.”
Merwyn sighed. “I do not fit with the Akkeri. I am not a warrior. I had hoped if I helped Faerune, Faerune would help me.”
“Ah,” she replied, “now that makes more sense.” Unfortunately, Faerune was not likely to help him, though she was reluctant to say so out loud. She would help him if she could, but the High Council rarely listened to her at the best of times.
Thunder crackled overhead, making her wince. They could not risk seeking shelter at one of the many inns along the Emperor’s Path, not with the militia likely scouring the area for her. It was going to be a very wet, uncomfortable night.
“What do you think your people will do now that they’ve lost me?” she questioned.
“The emperor failed on his bargain,” Merwyn answered. “The Akkeri will either attack him, or try to recapture you. No saying which way they will go.”
She shivered at the thought. She’d come so close to being taken by the Akkeri. If it weren’t for Elmerah and Alluin . . . she sighed. She felt she’d somehow failed them in leaving, though she was doing just as Alluin wished. Still, it felt wrong to leave when the Valeroot elves were in danger. Yet, she saw no other choice. Like Merwyn had said, she was small and weak. She had none of the magics possessed by most of her kind.
“What do you think the Emperor really wants?” she questioned abruptly. “Why work with the Dreilore, and why target Faerune? I asked Elmerah once, and she said it was either power or revenge, but as far as I know, the emperor has no vendetta against Faerune, and he already possesses great power.”
“Maybe he wants more magic,” Merwyn suggested.
Her spiraling thoughts halted. She wiped a damp strand of hair from her face. “What do you mean?”
“Dreilore have magical metals. Metals only found deep in the Salisfait mines. Faerune elves have gems. Moonstone to harness the power of Cindra. The emperor has magic. Maybe he wants more.”
The rain seemed to fall harder, though maybe it was just her imagination. “But only the Faerune elves can harness the magic of the sun and moon. To Egrin Dinoba, our precious gems would be little more than baubles to adorn his fingers.”
“Maybe the emperor is different.”
She took a deep, shaky breath. The emperor was, in fact, different. She’d never heard of magic like his. Besides what was possessed by the Arthali, most magic was more subtle. The Faerune elves could call upon the goddess Cindra to bless their crops. They could make the flowers grow, and make long-dried streams run crystal clear. The Dreilore, on the other hand, used their magics for crafting. They were known for their arcane weapons and alchemy. Both races were particularly long-lived as well, likely evidence of their magic, but none could suffocate a person with their thoughts.
“You’re right,” she muttered finally. “He is different. I fear we may never know what he truly wants until he takes it.”
Another rumble of thunder sounded overhead, seeming to echo her words. The rain began to gush, soaking her cloak and tunic, the loud pattering drowning further conversation.
She supposed it was just as well. They should focus on their surroundings, and the danger surely lurking ahead.
Alluin
Alluin fled the city with a storm licking at his heels. He needed to check in with his scouts. If the Dreilore intended to protect the Capital, that meant they’d be slithering out of from the dark Salisfait peaks to invade Galterra. While most humans feared the deep woods, the powerful Dreilore would not. They could easily find the Valeroot settlement, and Alluin had no illusions as to what would happen if they did.
The rain increased as he ran, keeping to the shadows of back streets and alleyways. He wouldn’t bother with the main gates—the elves were all still being questioned about Saida’s whereabouts—and instead hurried toward the secret hideout. He would use the tunnels to escape, and might not return any time soon.
He slowed as he reached the narrow street leading to the hideout. He didn’t see the usual scouts atop any of the nearby roofs, but that didn’t mean much. The Valeroot elves were experts at remaining unseen.
Still . . . something about the emptiness of the street made him nervous. The pounding of rain was almost deafening, blocking out any other sound.
He crept forward, hands near the twin daggers at his belt. He continuously glanced from side to side, searching for the scouts, but none revealed themselves.
He reached the front door to the hideout, then pressed his ear against the damp door. Silence. It still might not mean much. Most of the elves had likely fled to the settlement.
Normally he would be expected to knock so the guard inside could admit him, but the hairs had all risen at the back of his neck, and he smelled something sharp and tangy mingling with the smell of rain. Blood.
He withdrew his right dagger, then opened the door left-handed.
The scent of blood increased, turning his stomach. He knew without a doubt something terrible had happened. Part of him wanted to turn and run, but deep down he knew he had to see for himself who had been lost, and if anyone remained to be saved.
He stepped lightly into the dark entry room, lit only by the open door. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, revealing the first of the bodies. Baeorn. He’d likely been the elf on guard when the attack occurred.
Though Baeorn’s tunic was stained with dark blood, Alluin still knelt and checked his pulse. His body was cool, but not yet icy, indicating the attack was fairly recent. He choked back tears. How could it be? He himself had slept in the hideout the previous night. When he’d departed that morning, everyone had been alive and well. He must have just missed the attack.
He stood, sadly leaving Baeorn’s body behind to investigate further. He noted a few more corpses, but did not venture close enough to identify them. There would be time for that after he made sure whoever had attacked was gone. He felt almost as if he were floating through the house, a mere ghost with no connection to the dead, except . . . they were all like family to him. He knew he’d experience the impact of this atrocity later, but for now . . .
He moved deeper into the house. It became almost too dark to see, th
en he reached the stairs leading down to the basement, still illuminated by two small sconces flickering in the darkness. Another elven guard lay crumpled at the base of the stairs in a puddle of blood.
Reaching the bottom, he once again checked for a pulse, though he knew he wouldn’t find one. The body was cool to the touch. The door ahead was slightly ajar.
With trembling, bloody fingers, he opened the door, then reeled back at what he saw.
This was where the majority of the massacre had taken place. The elves from the upper floor had tried to flee, but they hadn’t been fast enough. Whoever had killed them had cut them down before they could even reach the door leading to the tunnels.
Alluin forced himself down the stairs. A few lanterns lit the small space, their flickering light reflecting off puddles of blood. The first wave of emotion hit him as he spotted the last person he wanted to see. His Uncle Ured was sprawled in the center of the floor in front of the other bodies, as if he’d been trying to protect them. A short sword lay near his outstretched hand, the blade clean. Ured had been a skilled fighter, with nearly two hundred years of experience, yet he hadn’t managed to inflict any damage before meeting his demise.
Forcing his gaze away from the bodies, he examined the rest of the room, hoping for some hint of what had transpired, and why.
Even as he searched for what would not be found, he realized he already knew the answer. Humans would not be able to cut down so many elves so quickly. Not even the Akkeri would have made it this deep into the hideout. There was only one answer to what had happened. He’d feared the rest of the Dreilore might soon arrive in the Capital, when in truth, they already had.
Elmerah
Elmerah wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she skulked through the pouring rain. The storm had only grown worse as evening fell, trapping her in Galterra for another night. Hopefully it would clear up by morning, and she could sneak onto a ship.
The Witch of Shadowmarsh (The Moonstone Chronicles Book 1) Page 18
