The Elven Apostate

by Sara C. Roethle

  Malon turned to her. “I recommend you sleep near one of the fires. I wouldn’t want you to freeze.”

  She would have balked had she the energy. Instead, she tugged her head wrap from her mouth to hang loosely near her chin. “It’s been dark for hours and it’s still nearly as hot as day. I think I’ll survive.”

  He stepped closer to her, loosening his head wrap to reveal the lower half of his face. She imagined the Crown of Arcale hidden underneath the remaining fabric upon his brow. “Trust me, Saida. Another hour and the air will shift. Travelers have frozen to death in the Helshone, even in the middle of the sun season.”

  She still thought he must be jesting, but she was too tired to argue. Her stomach growled, reminding her of another pressing need. They had not stopped for food all day.

  “Come to the fire,” he said. “We will eat, then we will rest.”

  His simple command sparked in her a deep resentment, fueled by hatred and loss. He had caused her mother’s death and many others. He had kidnapped her and drugged her. Yet, he acted so casually.

  He seemed to read her expression. “Phaerille can care for you, if that is your preference.”

  It was, but she bit her tongue and stuffed her anger back down. She would escape him eventually, and when she did, she would take with her the full knowledge of his plan. “Lead the way,” she said through her clenched jaw.

  Malon watched her a moment longer, then offered her his arm.

  She stared at him. She was willing to play nice, but not that nice.

  “Your legs are surely sore from the long ride,” he explained, “and the sands tend to tug at your boots.”

  “And your legs are not in the same state as mine?”

  “I am more accustomed to long rides than you.” Despite his words, he had lowered his arm, and turned to lead the way.

  She stumbled after him. The sand did tug at her boots, and her legs were almost unbearably sore. She dreaded climbing back in the saddle come morning.

  By the time she made it to the first of three brightly burning fires, most of the elves had seated themselves around the farther two. She spotted Phaerille, her head wrap undone like Malon’s, speaking lowly to two male elves. She suspected this third fire she had arrived at was reserved for her and Malon alone.

  She turned her gaze anywhere but toward Malon, spotting the two elves who’d tended the antlioch, their hands now rifling through the plump saddlebags. She suspected that’s where supper was coming from.

  She plopped down in the sand near the fire, keeping two arm’s lengths of distance between her and Malon. “Why three fires?”

  Malon crossed his legs beneath him and looked into the flames. His silver eyes seemed to absorb the yellow light. “Scorpions the size of sheep come out at night. They fear the fire.”

  The thought of scorpions so large sent a shiver down her spine. “Demons?”

  “No, just common denizens of the desert. There are far worse monsters out here, but fortunately they are far more rare.”

  They both fell silent as the two elves who’d tended the antlioch reached them with an offering of unleavened bread and cured silverfish. She accepted her share from a male elf who was perhaps as young as she. She tried to catch his eye, but he simply avoided her gaze and walked away.

  “Eat and rest,” Malon said. “We don’t have long before the sun returns, and you’ll want what sleep you can manage.”

  Though she was exhausted, sleep was the furthest thing from her mind with the thought of giant scorpions lurking in the darkness. Although, she supposed Malon could summon demons to destroy them.

  She took a bite of bread and swallowed, thinking upon what had happened at Skaristead. “You summoned those demons. How?”

  Malon shrugged, already halfway done with his meal. “It is not difficult if you know the words, and possess the strength of mind. Would you like to learn?”

  “Absolutely not!” she hissed. “And besides, I do not possess any magics.”

  “But you do, you know. It’s why you are needed.”

  The flatbread crumbled as she clenched her fingertips around it too tightly. “I do not understand.”

  “You are a priestess of the moon. Your gifts may not have been appreciated by the High Council, but wiser elves know they should be treasured above all else.”

  She shook her head. Weariness tugged at her as she stared into the fire. “Do not lie to me, Malon. I may see through some illusions, but I know myself. I know of what I’m capable, and it is not much.”

  “You’ll learn differently in time. I would not have gone to so much trouble for you otherwise.”

  Finally, she turned to him. “And you have believed this from the start? Is that why you rescued me that day in the snow?”

  He leaned back and lifted his brows. “So you do remember?”

  She stared at him.

  He smiled softly. “No, I did not at that time possess the wisdom I do now. I simply saw a headstrong priestess wandering off, ready to get herself into trouble.”

  “So you rescued me out of the goodness of your heart?” she asked incredulously.

  “Is that so difficult to believe?”

  She fell silent. Perhaps he was a good man once, but it changed nothing. His ill deeds could not be revoked. She looked down at the dried fish and bread in her hands, having no desire to eat them, though she’d been starving moments before.

  “The Crown of Cindra,” she said abruptly, shifting in the sand for a more comfortable position, “you claim it belongs upon my brow. I’m surprised you left Faerune without it.”

  “The circlet is in your saddlebag, Saida. Check your mount if you do not believe me.”

  She went still, though soon her hands trembled around her forgotten food. It was not possible. After she’d revealed the circlet to her father, he’d hidden it in a locked trunk in his cellar. They’d all agreed its presence should remain a secret until any lingering traitors could be found out.

  He watched her mull it over, the phantom of a patronizing smile on his lips. “I’ve known you had it since we were aboard the Arthali ship. You claimed the Akkeri kept the circlet, but my dear, you are a horrible liar.”

  “Then why didn’t you take it while I was injured?”

  “I didn’t have much time. Not if I wanted to procure the Crown of Arcale before the Dreilore could give it to Dinoba. With the circlet in your keeping on the ship, it was safe for the time being.”

  She gritted her jaw. “Perhaps you speak the truth about why you left it, but I do not believe you have the circlet now. There is no way you could have found it.”

  He sighed. “Dear Saida, I turned half of Faerune against itself, did you think I would leave none behind to do my bidding?” He gestured to the accompanying elves. “Many left Faerune well after I did, and breaking into a cellar is not difficult. It would have been wiser of you to keep the circlet under heavy guard.”

  She dropped her food into the sand, then clutched her stomach, feeling overwhelmingly ill. A traitor had broken into her father’s home, had gotten into his cellar, and into the trunk. They must have searched his chamber first, and hers. They’d been all over her home and she’d not even noticed. Neither had Alluin or Elmerah.

  “When?” she rasped. “When was it taken?”

  “The same night I found you in Skaristead. My spies knew to wait until your chambers were the least populated.”

  “My father—”

  “He was not harmed, save for a small dosing of bloodflower extraction administered when he was already asleep.”

  The desert seemed to spin around her. He had both the Crown of Arcale and the Crown of Cindra. Two of the most powerful artifacts ever known to her people.

  “Why would the emperor let you keep them?” she asked, still trying to steady her swimming thoughts. “Doesn’t he want the moonstones for himself?”

  “Why do you think we’re fleeing to the Helshone? He will not find us here.”

  Gods, she tho
ught, he’s made himself an enemy of the demon emperor. Perhaps he wasn’t the coward she’d thought him. In truth, he was a madman.

  “If you will not eat,” he said, glancing down at her food forgotten in the sand, “then you should rest. You will regret staying up through the night come morning.”

  Her mind going numb and distant, she fetched her food from the sand and tossed it into the fire. She looked away from Malon, across the fires in search of Phaerille, and actually caught her already looking her way. Their eyes locked for a moment, then Phaerille quickly averted her gaze.

  Saida decided that the next night, she would choose to eat and rest with Phaerille. She would have the entire unbearable ride the next day to drag more information from Malon. After that, she would set to the task of forming an alliance, one female elf to another. Ye gods, he had both circlets. What could he possibly be planning?

  “You should rest,” Malon said again. “I’ll fetch you a bedroll.”

  “Have one of the others bring it. I don’t want to be anywhere near you.” She’d gotten all the information she could stomach for a night.

  He stood and left her without another word.

  She watched his back as he approached the other elves, and suddenly felt like an idiot for sending him away. She should have learned what he intended with the circlets. She should have asked where the rest of the traitorous Faerune guard had gone. She should have made sure her father remained safe.

  A male elf brought her a bedroll, but she barely noticed. She merely unfurled it far from the fire and crawled inside, wanting to be nowhere near the flames should Malon return to warm his hands.

  She’d rather face a giant scorpion than rest with him watching over her, even for what little remained of the night.

  * * *

  Saida’s uncontrollable shivers woke her before sunrise. Malon had been right, once the sand cooled, the Helshone turned into an icy wasteland. She lowered the top flap of her bedroll just enough the peek out, then looked through the fog of her breath at the still smoldering fire, too far away. The last she’d seen of Malon, he’d been sitting awake near the fire, allowing her to freeze if that was her choice.

  Now he was missing, but she was not alone. In the firelight, she could see two male elves standing guard, reflective eyes turned away from her. She shifted under her bedding, uncomfortable in her boots, but she’d been too frightened to take them off—the idea of scorpions both large and small haunting her thoughts.

  Footsteps shifted the sand behind her. She rolled over, then looked up at Malon, seeming impossibly tall from her viewpoint. His head wrap was missing, revealing the cool reflection of moonstones at his brow.

  Though he stood just above her, his gaze was turned outward. “Curse it all,” he muttered after a moment. He looked down at her. “Pack up your bedroll. We need to move, now.” He took a step away and shouted to those standing guard. “Wake the others, ready the antlioch!”

  It was the first true worry she’d heard in his voice since she’d met him, so she did not question the request. She scurried out into the shocking cold. Goosebumps erupted on her skin, sending her whole body back into shivers.

  Malon knelt and hastily rolled up her bedding, placing it under one arm. His free hand grabbed her upper arm, then he tugged her along toward their waiting mounts. She was now glad she’d kept her boots, for she wouldn’t have had time to don them.

  “What is it!” she gasped, her eyes darting after hurrying elves.

  “I did not think he’d track us past the border of the Helshone. I was wrong.”

  “Egrin?” she gasped. Her boots caught in the loose sand, but Malon kept her standing, an unrelenting force dragging her toward the antlioch.

  She almost wondered if she’d be better off letting Egrin catch them. He’d surely kill Malon . . . of course, he’d probably kill her too, and he’d claim both the circlets. She hated Malon having them, but it would be even worse to leave them to the man who’d pillaged and destroyed Faerune.

  They reached the antlioch, and she willingly climbed into the saddle, her senses buzzing from cold and panic. To her surprise, Malon climbed up behind her, then the antlioch leapt forward. His arm around her waist was the only thing that kept her from being tossed back down into the sand.

  “What about the others!”

  “They’ll be right behind us,” he explained, his chin near her ear as night wind whipped at both their faces. His free hand clung to the antlioch’s shortened wool, but it was mainly his legs digging into the creature’s side keeping them both in the saddle.

  Realizing she was more hindrance than help, she clenched her thighs and leaned forward. Strands of hair pulled loose from her braid and flew across her face. She must have lost her head wrap somewhere in her bedding, though there was no sun to accost her currently.

  There was only the night, far too silent. She could hear huffs of breath from the antlioch, thuds of delicate hooves in the sand. Gentle winds, but nothing else. Judging by the nearing hoofbeats, the others were not far behind.

  “Are you sure we were tracked?” she rasped, fear clutching her throat. “I hear no signs of pursuit.”

  “Wait for it. He is near. I should have done more to cover our tracks. Reach in the saddlebag for the circlet. You’ll need to wear it.”

  “You’re mad!” she argued. “I’m not putting that on.”

  The desert was slowly turning pink with the first hints of dawn. She kept her eyes ahead, seeing nothing but an open expanse of sand. No, not just sand. What was that? Darkness swirled down from the sky. It thickened as it hit the sand, then turned into solid figures. The darkness cleared, and there stood Egrin Dinoba, dressed in black, with four male Dreilore, not just soldiers, but lords.

  The antlioch dug its hooves into the sand, skidding to a halt, but they were already too close to Egrin. He’d appeared nearly right in front of him. This close, she could see stolen Faerune moonstone rings on his fingers.

  Malon clutched her against him, his breath hot on her cheek. “Put on the circlet, Saida, or we both die here and now.”

  She heard the other elves’ antlioch stopping at their backs, but none ventured past toward Egrin and the Dreilore.

  “On the contrary, Saida,” Egrin called out, though she wasn’t sure how he’d heard Malon’s low words, “bring me the circlet, and I will spare you. I will even return you to Faerune, and I will put these traitors to death.”

  “Saida,” Malon pleaded, his arm still around her waist. “He will utterly destroy Faerune, the Empire, and everything else if he has them.”

  Egrin gestured the Dreilore forward. “Kill them all. Spare the priestess if she cooperates.”

  The Dreilore all had long white hair with jewels glittering in the dim rays of early morning. They moved with unreal grace, like phantoms with white hair fluttering in the early morning breeze. She knew without a doubt they would have demon magic like those who’d attacked the High Temple. One of them might even be her mother’s murderer, Lord Orius. They would be upon them in mere moments.

  She shoved her hand into the saddlebag, coming instantly in contact with the cool metal circlet. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she hissed to Malon. She withdrew the circlet and placed it upon her brow, tugging her wild hair to lay flat beneath it.

  Her fingers went numb as they left the circlet. Stars erupted in her vision, and she swayed in the saddle. She’d never felt anything like it. The magic of the circlet filled her up like a chalice with silver moonlight. It hadn’t done that when she touched it before. Suddenly the desert was a distant dream.

  Malon had dismounted without her realizing it. He clasped her hand, then helped her down from the saddle before tightly lacing his fingers with hers. “Do not let go. Together, we can face him. Gods against a single demon.”

  His words made her hesitate. The Dreilore had stopped their approach, and Egrin’s face had turned red, his brow deeply furrowed.

  “How?” he growled. “How have you ha
rnessed the moonstones’ power in such a way?”

  Saida’s hand locked with Malon’s glowed with white light. She wasn’t sure if it was to her eyes alone, or if everyone could see it, but the elves stayed far behind them, and the Dreilore did not advance.

  One Dreilore, however, drew a blue-glowing blade. “Will our enchantments cut through their magic?” he asked Egrin, his accent reshaping the words of the common tongue.

  “Find out,” Egrin ordered. “Claim the circlets, then cut the elves down.”

  The four Dreilore advanced as one, but Malon just stood there. The only move he made was to lift the back of his free hand, signaling the other elves to stay put. His silver hair floated on torrents of power, and she realized with a start that the loose strands from her braid were doing the same.

  “You must trust me,” Malon said to her at the last moment. “The circlets are meant to work as a pair. Trust me and I will keep us safe.”

  He was the last person she wanted to trust, but as the Dreilore reached them, she closed her eyes and surrendered her will to his.

  Her hand laced with his began to burn. Her entire body burned. She felt as if she were on fire. She opened her eyes to the sound of shrieking.

  Two Dreilore were writhing in the sand. Their blades lay far from their fingers, which now grasped at bubbling, steaming skin. The other two Dreilore backed away, hands raised in surrender.

  Malon smiled, his gaze on Egrin, still standing a safe distance away. “You may have pillaged Faerune, but the true heart of my people yet remains. You will not claim the circlets.”

  Egrin sucked his teeth. He didn’t so much as glance at the writhing Dreilore as they fell quiet. Saida presumed they were quite dead.

  Egrin gestured the two remaining Dreilore back. “Perhaps I will not claim the circlets today, but I will have them.” His eyes turned to Saida. “You have until the next full moon to bring them to me, or those remaining in Faerune will all be killed.” He turned an icy smile to Malon. “You cannot link the circlets with her if she is unwilling. Let us see how long it takes her to shove a dagger in your back.”