The Elven Apostate

by Sara C. Roethle

  He rose from her side and approached the creatures, who’d reached their horses, their bodies yet shielded by trees showing fragments of a head here, a furred rump there.

  “Weather worker killed greater demon,” one rasped as he drew near.

  “Few can kill greater demons,” another hissed.

  “Hole can be filled up now,” another said.

  “Who is speaking over there!” Elmerah called out.

  Alluin narrowed his eyes at the nearest Fogfaun. “You knew there was a greater demon lurking down there, didn’t you? That’s why you hadn’t closed the portal up yourself. You didn’t want to face it.”

  They whispered amongst themselves, until one said, “Yes.”

  “You could have warned me,” he growled, keeping his voice low.

  “Alluin?” Elmerah questioned from her position near the hole. “Return to me right this moment.”

  That she was still lying flat at the sound of voices meant she couldn’t rise.

  “I must tend her wounds,” Alluin said to the Fogfaun. “Can we expect more demons from the portal?”

  “Not for long while,” one said, its pure black eyes intent on him. “Lesser demons stay far away from greater. Greater wanted out, but too big and heavy to make steep climb out of hole. So it waited.” It glanced at the other Fogfaun, then turned back to him. “We heal weather worker.”

  The creatures scurried past him before he could protest. He followed them toward Elmerah.

  “What in the name of Arcale are you!” Elmerah balked as the first reached her.

  The creature hovered over her for a minute, then knelt on furred knees.

  Alluin neared, intent on questioning how the creatures might heal her, but all he could do was stare. The Fogfaun’s small, onyx-toned hands glowed a dark blue over Elmerah’s wound. Alluin glanced over his shoulder at the other Fogfaun, who’d formed a semi-circle behind him.

  “Alluin,” Elmerah said nervously, her eyes finally finding him to her left past the Fogfaun touching her. “What is it doing to me?”

  “Healing you, I think.”

  She turned wide eyes to the creature. “Where are Isara and Celen?”

  The creature bowed its shaggy head, seeming deep in concentration. Its hands grew brighter.

  Elmerah’s eyes slammed shut. Her face scrunched up with pain. “Ilthune’s curse that hurts.”

  The glow dimmed, and the Fogfaun removed its hands from her shoulder. Where once had been a deep, oozing wound, now there was a long blue mark, like a tattooed lightning bolt.

  Elmerah sat up abruptly, causing the Fogfaun to scuttle backward. She looked down at her new mark. “You know, I’d been glad to escape the tattoos of my clan, now you’ve gone and ruined it.” She looked to the Fogfaun with narrowed eyes.

  “I think perhaps you should be thanking it,” Alluin observed.

  “For kidnapping our friends and sending me down a hole with a greater demon? I think not.”

  Ah, so she had heard his conversation with the Fogfaun.

  “Where are Celen and Isara?” Elmerah demanded of the creature before her.

  It stepped back, keeping its eyes on her.

  “Don’t you dare disappear,” Elmerah warned, reaching for her cutlass with her rump still in the grass.

  “Will return them,” the Fogfaun who’d healed her said, “but must agree to slay demon king.”

  More hushed whispers, then, “If you can kill greater demon, you can kill demon king.”

  Elmerah scoffed. “You want me to kill their king? My apologies, but I have quite a few people to kill already. I don’t need to add a demon king.” She stood, swayed a bit on her feet, then steadied. “Now return my companions or I will be forced to cut you all down.”

  “Agree to kill demon king,” one said. “Give word, then companions returned.”

  She bared her teeth at them. “Give companions, or me kill you.” She began to draw her cutlass.

  The Fogfaun all chattered frantically, then Isara and Celen seemed to appear out of thin air amongst them.

  Elmerah’s hand drifted from her cutlass as she crossed her arms. “That’s more like it. Kill your own cursed demon king.”

  Isara was the first to scurry over to Elmerah, with Celen walking more confidently behind. “Demon king?” he asked. “We have some suspicions about that.”

  “We think it’s Egrin,” Isara whispered.

  The Fogfaun watched Elmerah with wide eyes as she digested the information. Feeling uneasy, Alluin moved closer to his companions.

  Elmerah looked to Isara, then Celen, then to the Fogfaun. “Is this true? Is Egrin Dinoba the king of demons?”

  One Fogfaun stepped away from the others, boldly straightening to its full, if less than impressive, height. “Many names. Many many names. But yes, Dinoba is one such name.”

  “Of course it is,” Elmerah muttered, her eyes dark with malice. “Of course he is the demon king. He is far more evil than stupid spiders,” she gestured to the hole, “or that thing down there.” At a conflicting thought, she turned her attention to Isara. “If Egrin is the demon king, a demon who came to this realm on his own, then how are you related to him?”

  This seemed a revelation to Isara, who’s eyes widened behind her dirty spectacles. “I . . . I don’t know? Perhaps he sired children at some point, and I am a grandchild rather than a cousin? From where else would I gain my,” she hesitated, seeming to search for the right word, “gifts?”

  Elmerah shook her head, turning her sights back to the Fogfaun. “Do you know?”

  The creatures simply stared at her.

  She glared at the Fogfaun. “Alright you irritating little creatures, I’ll kill your demon king for you, whether he’s Isara’s cousin, grandfather, or anything else, but what will you give me in return?”

  Isara opened her mouth to speak.

  Alluin gave her a warning look, sure she was about to give away the fact that Elmerah had already planned to kill Egrin and needed no further motivation.

  The bravest Fogfaun approached, looking up the long length of Elmerah’s body before reaching her eyes. “Weather worker wields lightning and fire, but greater gifts lurk, if you can claim them. This knowledge is gift to you.”

  Elmerah rolled her eyes. “You’re gift is useless. I was born with my gifts, and while they have increased in power to a degree, they never change.”

  The Fogfaun blinked black eyes at her. “Only thing of value we can give.”

  Elmerah looked to Alluin, who shrugged, then back to the Fogfaun. “Fine,” she huffed. “That’s alright. I’ll kill your demon king, just kindly stay out of my way from this point forward.”

  The Fogfaun was already backing away. It rejoined the others, and they faded into the forest as if they’d never been.

  Alluin stared at the space they’d occupied, almost wondering if this was all just some fanciful dream. Fogfaun, greater demons, and the demon king.

  “Let’s get going,” Elmerah said. “Our journey has been delayed long enough.”

  Alluin watched her saunter toward the horses. With a shrug, Celen followed, leaving him alone with Isara.

  Isara watched the two Arthali with wide eyes, then looked to Alluin. “They don’t seem terribly worried to know that Egrin is not only a greater demon, but the demon king.”

  He sighed and shook his head. “I’m quite sure the only things the Arthali worry about are ale and fine foods.”

  Elmerah mounted her now untethered horse, then looked back to them. “Hurry it up, will you!”

  He started forward, his spirits lower than ever. He’d nearly lost her this day. She’d faced a greater demon, and barely made it out alive. Could she kill the king of demons?

  He hung his head slightly as he reached Elmerah and Celen atop their mounts. He didn’t think so. At least not by herself. They’d all been foolish to run off from Faerune alone. Yet without a doubt, now that they had, there was simply no going back.

  * * *


  Saida

  Saida had never sweat so much in her life. The day’s ride had been torturous after the night of little sleep, and the ever-looming fear that Egrin might return. She hunched in her saddle, pulling her head wrap—which she’d found in her hastily-rolled bedding—a little lower over her eyes. She wasn’t sure she and Malon could recreate . . . whatever that was. Whatever that overwhelming magic had been.

  Beyond that, she didn’t think she wanted to. No one should possess such strength. She could make sure she never felt it again by killing Malon and giving the circlets to Egrin, but then where would that leave Faerune? She hadn’t wanted to face the real solution. If Malon was already Egrin’s enemy, could she convince him to unite with her to kill the demon emperor? She’d seen the fear in Egrin’s eyes. This magic could harm him.

  “We’ll be there soon,” Malon assured, having ridden the entire day at her side.

  “You misread my worry,” she muttered. She didn’t care about reaching Malon’s allies. The last full moon had just passed, so the next was still far off. She had time, but they needed to be heading toward Faerune, not away from it.

  “It felt right, didn’t it?” he said.

  She shivered, the sweat dripping down her body suddenly feeling cold. She didn’t have to ask what he meant. “It felt wrong.”

  His silver eyes were on the horizon, the sun creeping ever closer to leaving them in the dark. “Don’t lie to yourself, Saida. You are a priestess of the moon. You are one of the only women alive who can channel Cindra’s magic.”

  “The gods’ magic cannot be channeled,” she hissed. “It is not possible.”

  “You saw those Dreilore. You cannot deny it.”

  She shook her head, unwilling to argue further. To her, Malon’s words bordered on fanatical. She went silent, listening to their surroundings. The sound of the antlioch’s hooves in sand had become a constant rhythm relegated to the periphery of her mind, and beyond that, there was little to focus on.

  “What do you plan once we arrive?”

  He glanced at the other elves riding silently around them, as if debating whether or not they should hear his answer. Finally, he turned back to her. “The settlement is simply a waypoint. We will show our allies the power we possess,” he glanced at the other elves again, “then we will go deeper into the desert.”

  A few elves muttered amongst themselves, as if unaware they’d be traveling even deeper into the desert. Saida wondered if the thought made them feel just as ill as she.

  “We cannot go deeper,” she said, her voice weak. “We must return to Faerune before the full moon.”

  “We will return when the time is right.”

  She gripped the front edge of her saddle so tight her fingers ached. She took a breath, forcing her voice to be low, and steady. “Why? Why must we wait?”

  “Because I will not return without an army at our backs. The Dreilore are mighty, and you cannot fathom the power Dinoba possesses. Even Galterra’s militia should not be taken lightly. Their numbers are great. And now,” he shook his head. “I daresay all elves will be against us too. You may think Faerune will welcome you back with open arms, but they will not. To use an artifact like the Crown of Cindra . . . ” he trailed off, his tone suggesting she’d been a very bad girl.

  “You forced me to use it! I had no choice!” Her antlioch danced beneath her, set off by her emotions.

  “An argument that will ring hollow with the remnants of the High Council. You are as much a traitor as I.”

  “That’s not true.”

  He shrugged. “Believe what you wish, it changes nothing. I will make you one promise. We will return to Faerune before the full moon. In exchange, you must cooperate fully when we meet with the Makali this night, and other tribes in the time that follows.”

  Tears stung her eyes. It pained her heart to give Malon what he wanted, but was there any other choice? “Why don’t you just summon an army of demons? I know you’re capable.”

  Malon tilted his head as he watched her, his shoulders gently swaying from his antlioch’s gait. She’d grown used to only seeing his eyes through the head wrap, and imagined his lips were pursed in consideration. “I’d assumed you and your Arthali witch had figured it out already. Perhaps you’re not as clever as I’ve been led to believe.”

  She glared at him.

  “Very well. While you are correct, the demons make a useful army—against elves and Dreilore—they will not stand against Dinoba. He is their king, more powerful than the greatest of demons. The fact that he abandoned them to the underworld when he came to this land matters little. Most are of low intelligence, and even the more clever demons still respect his power.”

  She blinked at him. Surely he could not be serious. “His magic is strong, but he cannot be stronger than the greater demons. The myths—”

  “The myths are both wrong, and right,” he explained. “The demons are extremely powerful whilst in their own realm, but once they’re here, they tend to fade. There is not enough magic to sustain them. They are unable to summon power out of thin air like your Arthali, or like Egrin. They are rarities.”

  “You can summon a wisplight without the aid of moonstones,” she accused. “I saw you do it at the Akkeri temple.”

  “A small feat of earthen magic. The land will let us take small doses here and there, but will not give us magic enough to summon storms, or create destructive flames from nothing.”

  “Or to suck the air from your lungs,” she added, beginning to understand. “That’s why Egrin has wanted Elmerah. Her magic is like his, it comes from within, but she can summon it on a massive scale. Perhaps a far greater scale than he.”

  He laughed. “You are clever after all. Yes, though I do not know for sure, I believe that’s why he wants her. He would like to uncover the secret of her gifts.”

  She pressed her head wrap against her brow to soak up the dripping sweat. At least the sun was going down. She looked forward to a reprieve. “He wants Elmerah, but not Rissine, though he knew Rissine from her time in the Capital.”

  “Elmerah’s sister?” he questioned, then seemed to think about it. “I only met her the one time, but her well of power is small in comparison to Elmerah’s.”

  Her eyes widened as she turned her gaze back to him. “How can you tell? Elmerah thinks her sister far more powerful.”

  “From my limited observations, I would guess Elmerah is limited by her lack of self-belief. Rissine has already reached her full potential. I can tell, because my gifts are similar to yours. I can see beyond what meets the eye.” He peered forward, then pointed. “Look, fires. The settlement is near.”

  She narrowed her eyes against the suddenly sharp rays of dusk, the sun at the final moment before it sunk below the horizon. She could just make out the light of fires, small plumes of smoke, and what looked like sun-faded hide tents.

  “Be cautious with your words,” he said not just to Saida, but those riding around them. “The Makali are a quick-tempered race. Arguments can quickly turn to bloodshed.”

  Saida kept her gaze on the distant settlement. Under any other circumstances, she would have been excited at the prospect of such an unusual experience. She’d never met one of the Lukali, nor their less-civilized brethren. Few ventured to Faerune, though she knew occasionally Lukali trade ships traveled up to Galterra during the sun season, when the waves were at their most gentle.

  She glanced at Malon—for what, reassurance? She wasn’t sure. It was difficult to define one’s emotions, when one’s greatest enemy was also their sole ally.

  It was full dark when Malon’s group reached the settlement, where two Makali sentries stood guard. Saida did her best not to stare, but it was a struggle. The Makalis’ skin was a deep, rich brown, much darker than Elmerah’s. Their features resembled a human’s, save the dainty lower fangs resting over their upper lips. Their gleaming black hair was closely cropped, she presumed to accommodate the blazing heat

  Saida had expected pri
mitive dress—they had been depicted to her as little more than savages—but the silver vambraces and greaves were finely crafted. She wondered at the lack of breastplates and other armor to cover their loose linen robes, but thought it best she ask the other elves in private.

  The two sentries, both female despite the short hair, stood before massive torches on poles stuck deep into the sand. There were no walls around the settlement, just a circle of torches enclosing the tents, which made sense, considering Makali tribes were nomadic.

  Malon dismounted, gesturing for the other elves to stay back. He approached the two female sentries, bowed his head, then began to speak in a language Saida had heard a time or two—practiced in the High Temple by scholars who would accompany trade caravans. The language sounded almost like music, lifting and falling, the words seeming to run into each other like one long word instead of many. She imagined that such a language would be spoken by the nymphs and other magic folk of myth, for it sounded too melodious to be real.

  That Malon spoke this language increased the puzzle of his upbringing. Who were his parents to have raised a man who spoke Kaleth, and had a deep understanding of the arcane arts? And demons. The conversation seemed to go on forever while Saida studied the hide tents beyond. Other Makali ventured in and out, some pausing to steal a glance at their visitors.

  Finally, one sentry nodded, then gestured toward the settlement with her finely honed spear.

  Malon turned back to the elves. “You may dismount now. Take from your saddlebags only what you will need for the night. The antlioch will be well-tended.”

  Saida slid down from her saddle, her body even more stiff than the previous night, and bone-weary. She unfastened a smaller satchel affixed to her saddlebag and slung it over her shoulder, feeling the weight of the circlet within like an anchor pulling her down into the depths of the sea. She glanced at Malon for further instruction, but he had turned to continue his conversation with the female sentry.

  Feeling nervous and alone, she took a deep breath, and stepped away from her mount, forcing her mind away from thoughts of Malon, and the circlet resting within the satchel against her hip. She almost felt guilty when her thoughts slipped to the need for a bath, or at least a bucket of water to pour over herself. She should not be considering her own comfort when the lives of all in Faerune might be in peril because of her. She tugged the lower portion of her head wrap loose, sighing at the ecstasy of evening air on her hot, damp skin.