She debated seeking Alluin’s help for a night’s shelter, but their last parting had been uncomfortable enough. She didn’t need to see the quiet judgment in his eyes the next morning. She’d be better off at an inn. Now that she didn’t have to worry about Rissine, she’d likely be safe. What were the chances she’d run into any militia men on the lookout for her this late in the evening, with a storm flooding the streets?
She stopped below a carved wooden sign swinging violently with gusts of cold wind. She could barely make out a carving of a female elf fetching water from a well, surrounding the words The Elven Maiden. Though candlelight bled through the windowpanes, the place seemed utterly deserted. While she might not enjoy whatever meal she found inside, at least she would not risk being seen by the wrong people.
Running a hand across her forehead and back over her dripping wet hair, she pushed the rickety door open and stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind her with a particularly violent gust of wind. As suspected, most of the round wooden tables were clean, and their surrounding chairs empty, save two in the back corner. The two male Valeroot elves sitting there gave her wary glances, then huddled back together to speak in hushed tones.
Elmerah removed her coat and wrung it out, leaving a puddle of water on the floor. She scanned the rough wooden bar at the back of the room, then stepped forward and peeked down a dark hallway. No barkeep was to be seen.
She cleared her throat, garnering the attention of the two elves. “Am I mistaken in believing this is an inn?”
The elves stared at her. One was slightly older, but had similar features to the younger one. She placed them as father and son.
“Who wants to know?” the father elf asked.
She wrung water from her hair. “A lowly traveler, obviously. I’d rather not sleep in the sopping wet streets.”
He stared at her for several long moments, then waved her off. “Take a room if you like. Eat what you please. We’ll be leaving soon regardless.” They turned away and continued their quiet discussion.
She frowned. She wasn’t about to pass up a free meal and lodgings, but . . . “Why are you leaving?”
The elves turned their gazes up to her as she approached their table, leaving tiny puddles of water in her wake.
“Have you truly not heard?” the younger elf blurted, inciting a sharp glare from his father.
“Heard what?” she pressed.
Cowed by his father’s continued glare, the younger elf turned his gaze down to the table.
She took another step forward to loom over them. Either they hadn’t yet realized she was Arthali, or they simply didn’t care. “Look, I’m far worse off than you in this city. If you think I’ll go running off to the militia, you’re dead wrong. They’d sooner arrest me—” she hesitated. “Or just execute me before they’d listen to a single word I had to say.”
The older elf let out a heavy sigh. “I suppose you’re right. The elves were first, but the few Arthali in the city will likely be next.” He tilted his head to meet her gaze. “This morning the emperor announced he’ll be letting the Dreilore into the Capital to protect us from Faerune, then, not hours later, we caught word that some of our kind were massacred. My son and I are leaving before the same fate befalls us.”
She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and stepped back. Valeroot elves massacred? Could it be? “Names,” she demanded. “Give me names. Who has been killed?”
The father elf’s brow furrowed. “We don’t know names, girl, and we’ll not be staying in the city long enough to find out. Our lives are not worth the risk. The Dreilore will be knocking at our door next.”
Her arms broke out in goosebumps at the second mention of Dreilore. Due to interbreeding, few races had true magic anymore, but the Faerune elves and Dreilore had remained mostly pure, and their hatred for each other was as old as time itself.
“Why would you run instead of sailing?” she questioned, debating her own options. “Surely sailing far away from this continent is the wisest option.”
The father elf snorted. “Akkeri ships were spotted just as the storm rolled in. None of the ships will be leaving port until that threat has been assessed.”
Her heart plummeted. The Dreilore were closing in on one side, and the Akkeri on the other, all on the orders of Egrin Dinoba. Did he truly wish for his own people to be slaughtered? Did he even care?
She took a shaky breath as she realized the appearance of the Akkeri was likely no coincidence. Ordering the monsters to lurk nearby would force those who hoped to leave the Capital through the city gates, where guards could observe any who passed.
The elves had turned back to their conversation, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be staying there that night.
Without another word, she turned away from the pair, donned her wet coat, and headed for the door. She went outside, grimacing as she found the rain had increased.
Not that it mattered. She was drenched to the bone regardless.
Her soggy boots carried her over the slick cobblestones back toward the eastern end of the Capital. If she couldn’t catch a ship, her first order of business would be to get out of the city. She should have just gone with Saida in the first place. She could have snuck onto a ship in Faerune instead, far from the Akkeri threat.
Movement caught her eye and she whipped around, drawing her cutlass with a metallic hiss.
The dark form that had approached her back hesitated, then lifted hands in surrender.
“Alluin?” she balked, her cutlass still raised. Something was wrong with him. The skin around his eyes seemed swollen, his face pale in the moonlight. His long brown hair was soaked, and his ear tips were bare to the elements.
Slowly, he lowered his hands. “I’d hoped the storm would delay your departure. I figured I’d find you somewhere near the docks.” His tone was bland, contrasting sharply with his bedraggled appearance.
She lowered her cutlass. “Why?” she demanded, then everything fell into place. She shook her head. “The elves who were killed. They were you kin, weren’t they?”
Alluin nodded. “Cut down by the Dreilore like dogs.”
A shiver trickled down her spine. Egrin’s grand scheme had begun.
She grabbed Alluin’s arm, then hurried him toward the deep shadows of the nearest awning. She didn’t want to be out in the open with the Dreilore about, even with dense clouds mostly obscuring the moonlight.
Once they were leaning against the wall of a small shop, temporarily out of the rain, she turned back to Alluin, but he wouldn’t look at her.
“Your uncle . . . ” she began, unsure of what to say.
Alluin stared out at the raindrops bouncing off the street. “Dead, along with many others. Those at the settlement are safe, for now, though I’ve instructed them to flee. They are not safe anywhere near Galterra.”
She reached out to touch his arm, then let her hand drop. She knew what she was thinking was insensitive, but she had to ask, “Why would Egrin want them dead? I know they were sneaking people in and out of the city, and spying on the emperor, but why not just arrest them?”
Alluin flinched, though his gaze remained distant. “We weren’t just spying. We were planning a revolution. My uncle Ured had every intention of overthrowing the Empire.”
Her jaw agape, she slumped against the wall. “How? How could he have hoped to accomplish such a feat?”
Alluin finally turned toward her. “Do you know how many Valeroot elves live in the smaller villages surrounding the Capital? And how many beyond that?”
She shook her head. If she had to guess, she’d say humans within the Empire outnumbered elves thirty to one. That was, of course, excluding Faerune, an empire unto itself. “I do not know, but not enough to overrun Galterra.”
He wiped away the water dripping down his brow. “Overrun? Perhaps not, but there are more ways than one to overthrow an empire.”
She stared out at the dark street, now grateful for the rain, as it prevente
d anyone nearby from overhearing their treasonous conversation. “I still don’t understand. Even if you managed to eliminate Egrin, and any other possible claimants to the throne, the people of the Ulrian Empire would never follow elves . . . no offense meant.”
“No, but they would follow a legitimate claimant to the throne, one more sympathetic toward the lesser races, and one with a deep hatred of the Dreilore.”
Turning her gaze back toward him, she frowned. “Such a person does not exist.”
“Isara Saredoth exists.”
Her frown deepened. “Saredoth, as in Daemon Saredoth, Egrin’s closest advisor?”
Alluin smiled, though it was more of a snarl. “Yes, she is Daemon’s sister, and both are cousins to Egrin.”
She’d been away from the Empire for a long time, and hadn’t kept up with politics. She didn’t even know of Daemon’s existence until she met him. “You’re going to have to give me a little more to go on. I’m not well versed in politics.”
He sidled closer to her. “Isara Saredoth once lived in the castle with her brother. She left when Egrin took the throne after his father’s death. She’s a scholar, and wanted to learn more of other cultures. Her father was the same way, but he was killed by the Dreilore.”
Elmerah nodded, the pieces slowly falling into place. Someone of royal blood, but with sympathies for other races, and a reason to hate the Dreilore. “But where is she now, and how would you ever hope to put her on the throne?”
“She’s in Faerune,” he explained, “one of the few humans who actually lives within the crystal walls. The High Council would surely stand behind her if she were to become Empress, as would the Valeroot elves. Many humans would too, since she will be the only remaining legitimate heir.”
Elmerah’s eyebrows raised. “Oh will she now?”
“Yes, just as soon as Egrin and Daemon are dead.”
She cringed, wishing he hadn’t told her any of this. Just knowing this information could get her executed . . . of course, she’d personally attacked the emperor. Her head was bound for the chopping block either way.
“Why are you telling me all of this?” she sighed.
He gripped her arm, startling her. “Half my kin have been slaughtered. I’ve sent Liam and Vessa to rally the other elves further from the Empire, but alone, I stand little chance of eliminating both Daemon and Egrin.”
She jerked away from him. “I ask again, why are you telling me this?”
He closed the space between them, his green eyes intent. “Elmerah, I’ve seen your magic. You are more powerful than any elf, perhaps even more powerful than the Dreilore. If anyone can help me, it’s you.”
“And why would I help you?” she hissed, leaning away from him. “Why should I risk my life for the elves?”
He grabbed her arm again, more gently this time. “Because I saw you risk your life to rescue Saida, then again to protect us all from the trolls. You care more than you’re willing to admit.”
She tugged away half-heartedly. Risking herself for someone like Saida was one thing. Fighting for those who looked down upon her, who would sooner see her dead . . . She shook her head. “The elves might not detest the Arthali as much as the humans, but that doesn’t mean placing Isara Saredoth on the throne will make any difference for me.”
“What if we make lifting the Arthali exile part of the bargain for putting her on the throne?”
She shivered. “Most of the Arthali are monsters. Only a fool would invite them back into the Empire.”
He let out a harsh huff of breath. “Then what do you want, Elmerah? Name it, and it will be yours.”
“To be left alone.”
He waited, clearly not satisfied with her answer.
“Fine,” she growled. “I want to no longer be looked upon as an insect. I want to visit any city and be able to walk openly through the streets with my hair blowing in the wind, and not worry about who might try to harm me. I want to know the carefree feeling I had in my homeland, before my mother was murdered.”
His shoulders slumped. “I cannot give you any of that, but I can give you the gratitude of all elves on the continent. The humans and other races may still look down upon you, but to the elves, you will be treasured.”
She blinked at him. He wanted her to risk her life to gain the respect of a few elves? It was absurd, and yet . . . the look in his eyes tore at her heart. He’d just had half his kin murdered. Could she truly turn him away? “I’ll hear your plan,” she decided, “but I reserve the option of fleeing at any time, and if I choose to go, you have to help me find a ship.”
He smiled, though it was tainted with a seemingly fathomless pit of sadness. “Was it really the adoration of elves that did it for you?”
She snorted. “Hardly. It was actually the unspoken promise of all the Valeroot wine I can drink.”
His smile seemed a little more real this time. “There may not be much left at the settlement, but I’m sure we can manage to scrape up at least a bottle or two.”
She gestured out toward the rain. “Lead the way. I’m more than ready to get out of this festering rathole of a city.”
With a nod, he turned and stalked off into the rain ahead of her.
She followed closely behind, watching his back more than anything else. He’d just had half his kin slaughtered. Such an unbearable loss.
She knew the feeling all too well.
Alluin
Though the rain had cleansed the blood from Alluin’s skin and clothing, he found it could not cleanse his mind as he led Elmerah back toward the hideout. He’d piled the bodies up in the basement, and would set them aflame once he and Elmerah were prepared to escape through the tunnels. It was the best he could do for them. Proper burials were not to be had.
His uncle Ured’s face flashed though his mind, his skin speckled with blood. He’d devoted his entire long life to keeping the clans together. Though Valeroot was gone, the Valeroot elves lived on. Scattered, but united. Alluin was determined to finish what his uncle Ured had started, despite all odds.
He pushed his sopping hair out of his face as he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Elmerah still followed. He was surprised she’d offered to hear his full plan, but he’d of course left out a few important details. Namely, that Isara Saredoth had not yet been approached about taking the throne, and she might not be too keen on the idea since it entailed her brother’s murder.
Still, he had hope. Isara had spent the past several years in Faerune, obviously preferring the elves to her own kind. His uncle suspected she would fight for them . . . especially when she learned the Dreilore were coming. He could only hope she’d learn the latter while there was still time.
Elmerah caught up to his side, and he carefully wiped the emotions from his face.
“Will we be using the tunnels to exit the city?”
“Yes,” he muttered. “The streets may seem empty, but the militia will be watching the gates. There is no other way out, save taking a boat from the docks.”
“Are the tunnels where . . . ”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” she replied, then did not speak further.
They walked on in silence, save for the thundering rain. The streets were beginning to pool with water, rushing to lower areas in wide streams.
Elmerah hopped over one particularly large puddle, though her boots had to be soaked through by now.
“I was hoping you could help me burn them,” he said suddenly.
She stumbled, then continued walking with her gaze on him.
“We won’t be able to stay to make sure they burn completely,” he explained, “so a large amount of fire at once would be best.”
Surprisingly, she nodded. “I can do that.”
They did not speak again until they reached the closed door of the hideout.
Elmerah stared at the door as if it might bite. “Are we sure there are no lingering Dreilore around?”
He leaned his ear against the door and listened. Al
l seemed quiet inside, though it was difficult to tell with the pounding rain. “I don’t see why they’d come back,” he replied, removing his ear from the door. “Egrin’s message was delivered. That was the only reason for sending them.”
He opened the door and went inside.
Elmerah followed, shutting the door behind them, leaving the room in near perfect darkness.
He fumbled along the wall until he reached a shelf where he knew a lantern rested. Retrieving it, he walked back to where he thought Elmerah was, then extended it. “If you don’t mind?”
Her hands groped his until she had a firm grasp on the lantern. A moment later, a small flame flared within.
Elmerah let out a low curse at the puddles of blood on the floorboards, most smeared from dragging the bodies to the space below.
“We should move quickly,” he urged.
“It will do you no good,” a thickly accented female voice said from the darkness ahead.
Alluin stepped back, his hands on the blades at his belt.
A female Dreilore stepped into the light. Her long, pure white hair flowed loosely to her waist atop fitted leather clothing. A thin, curved sword rested at her hip, sheathed in black. Her irises flickered like hot embers.
He did not know if this woman had been among those who’d slaughtered his family and friends, but hot rage coursed through him regardless.
The Dreilore looked past him to Elmerah. “You must be the Arthali woman Egrin seeks. Where is the elven priestess?”
Elmerah set the lantern on a shelf by the door, then stepped forward. “Perhaps she’s in the underworld. Would you like me to send you there to find her?”
The Dreilore smirked, then drew her long blade. “It makes no matter to me. I must only deliver your head.”
Elmerah withdrew her cutlass, already flickering with flame. “Come and get it then. We haven’t got all night.”
Alluin stepped aside and drew his blades as the Dreilore charged. He’d never fought one of their kind before, but was astonished by the woman’s speed.
The Witch of Shadowmarsh (The Moonstone Chronicles Book 1) Page 19
