The Elven Apostate

by Sara C. Roethle

  The male warriors spoke in Kaleth, perhaps not realizing he could understand them. They intended to move him, tie him to an antlioch and transport him away from the oasis before the gokugam reached it. The rest of the clan would travel away on foot, unaware of Urali’s plan to regrow the desert.

  Three male warriors approached. This would be his only chance to rescue Saida, if she was even still alive. He needed to retrieve the Crown of Arcale from Oga, preferably from her cold, dead fingers.

  The distant rumbles intensified. Still speaking in Kaleth, Oga ordered the male warriors to release him.

  Malon forced his body to relax as the warriors reached him. One lifted his spear, pressing it against his throat.

  He swallowed, feeling a sharp prick as the spear punctured his skin.

  Another warrior walked around the tree and worked at the ropes binding his hands. The ground trembled beneath their feet, reverberating through Malon’s bones. The warrior fumbling at his ropes muttered a particularly foul curse in Kaleth.

  “Hurry up,” Oga hissed, clasping the circlet with both hands against her chest over her tan robe. “Urali will be back soon, and we must be ready.”

  “Cursed ropes,” the warrior on the other side of the trunk said in the common tongue. “Straighten your hands, elf.”

  He realized his hands were balled into fists, pulling the rope too taut. He relaxed them, willing the warrior to hurry. He needed his hands free if he was going to wring Oga’s neck.

  The warrior tugged the rope suddenly, slamming Malon’s back against the trunk, then cursed. “You tied it too tight,” he muttered, presumably speaking to the other warrior who’d moved to try the knots. “Cut it.”

  Malon hissed as the sharp point of the warrior’s spear sliced across his hand on its way to cutting the ropes. Free at last, he began to move his hands forward, but the Makali guarding him applied more pressure to the spear at his throat.

  “Do not move, elf. Keep your hands where they are.”

  “Hurry!” Oga urged, her dark eyes on the horizon past Malon’s back.

  The rumbles had grown so intense, he knew the massive, slow-moving gokugam would be visible in the distance, but he couldn’t turn to look with the spear forcing his neck against the tree.

  A warrior came around the tree with the cut ropes, gesturing for him to put his wrists together in front of him.

  He could not let them bind him again. If he remained trapped, everything would be over.

  He relaxed his body, acting as if he fully intended to extend his wrists. He would have to rely on the hope that they’d been ordered to keep him alive. He balled his hands into fists, pushed his throat slightly against the spear, and lashed out.

  * * *

  Saida

  Saida rolled in the sand, her body a hot, pulsing heartbeat of agony. Urali had won the fight long ago, but the beating continued. She wasn’t sure if the rumbling of the ground was from her own blood pumping in her ears, or something else.

  Another kick landed to her stomach, sending crimson-tinged saliva spewing from her mouth. Murmurs throughout the crowd grew louder as Urali stepped over her, casting her in shadow.

  Saida rolled onto her back, sure the end was near, but too weak to defend herself.

  Urali grinned down at her, but spoke to the surrounding crowd. “Kill the traitor, bring me the circlet.”

  The rumbling wasn’t in her ears after all. The ground shook, tossing flecks of sand across her bare palms. Her mind muddled by pain and exhaustion, she almost thought Cindra had come to save her, but then she remembered the gokugam Brosod had mentioned.

  “Curse the gods,” Urali hissed, glancing southward before looking back down to Saida. “Time to end this.” She lifted her foot, aiming it at Saida’s neck.

  The ground shook so violently, Saida cried out, the fresh cuts and bruises all singing at once. She whipped her head to the side, seeing Urali on her rump in the sand, thrown from her feet by the trembling earth. Makali shouted all around them, running in different directions.

  Urali let loose a string of foul curses, scurrying to her feet as Saida struggled to sit up. Her wounded body seized up, and she fell back to the sand.

  Urali stood over her. “Now you die!”

  “Lady Saida!” A blur of tan robes cut across her vision. Urali disappeared in a tumbling mass of robes and elven fists.

  The remaining male elves surrounded Saida. “Get to your feet,” one urged. She recognized the voice, Luc. Arms gripped her, sending bolts of agony through her battered body. She could no longer see Urali struggling against the other male elves.

  Luc wrapped his arm beneath her shoulders, holding her upright. “My apologies. They would have killed us had we tried before.”

  She would have said she didn’t expect anyone to die for her, but it was all she could do to grit her teeth and move in the direction Luc guided her. Makali hurried around them, shouting orders, rolling up hides, and fleeing.

  “Brosod,” she groaned, her eyes rolling upward, the sun above but a dizzying display of light. Sweat and blood dripped down her face, making her skin wet and sticky.

  “I am here,” Brosod’s voice answered from Luc’s other side. “I have the circlet. We must hurry. If we travel away from the oasis, the gokugam will not bother us.”

  “We must find Malon,” Luc argued. “The last we saw of him, he was heading toward the oasis. I fear the Makali have taken him prisoner.”

  The sand dragged at Saida’s boots, and salty blood dripped from her nose into her mouth, somehow cooler than the hot sun on her skin.

  “The gokugam will trample any near the water they hope to drink,” Brosod said.

  The shouts died down behind them as they hurried across the sand. Saida sensed the other elves following close, but could hardly make sense of things. She’d taken a few blows to the head, or perhaps this was the heat and exhaustion.

  “They have him!” Luc gasped.

  She opened her eyes, only then realizing they’d closed. The desert swam like she was viewing a scene through water atop glass. Three Makali warriors surrounded Malon, spears all pointed toward his throat and chest. Two bodies on the ground. A female Makali standing back, a moonstone circlet glinting in her hands.

  The other elves ran past to aid Malon, leaving her alone with Luc and Brosod.

  Luc let her down to her knees on the trembling sand. “Stay here, priestess.”

  “The gokugam!” Brosod shouted.

  The rumbles were so loud, they drowned out the shouts of elves attacking the Makali, and Brosod’s words as she knelt by Saida’s side. Seeming to realize this, Brosod produced the circlet from within the folds of her cloak, and placed it atop Saida’s brow.

  She gripped Saida’s shoulder, leaning close to her ear. “You must save us.”

  The circlet’s cool magic soothed Saida’s hot brow. The desert faded from view. Everything was moonlight, but she didn’t know what to do with it. Malon did not possess the Crown of Arcale, and she could not reach him now even if he did. She distantly registered that the elves fought the Makali to protect Malon, but they were running out of time. The destruction of the gokugam grew near.

  She could do nothing kneeling in the sand . . . except feel the sand. She reached down, desperately searching for more life in the desert. The earth answered. Water swam upward, soaking her robe. Trees, she needed more trees and water to block the gokugam. Instead of them coming to the oasis, the oasis would go to them. They were animals, not monsters, they deserved the water as much as any Makali.

  Water surged up from the earth, a new trembling taking hold as trees sprouted from nothing out of the sand. They grew so rapidly, shade abruptly cut across Saida’s face.

  More shouts not far off. She opened her eyes, but could not see against the blaring sun in that direction, its rays cutting solid lines through trees against glistening water.

  But she didn’t need to see. She felt it the moment Malon reclaimed the Crown of Arcale. Even without
touching, his magic called to her. She knelt in cool running water with Brosod at her side, and waited for him to come.

  “You foul witch!” Urali’s voice hissed behind her. Something hit Brosod, ripping her away from Saida’s side.

  Saida fell forward into cool running water, slipping and bobbing as she tried to turn around. Water surged into her mouth, choking her. She turned onto her rump in the sand beneath the water in time to see Urali hefting a hatchet over her head.

  The hatchet swung down. With the water weighting her movements, she was too slow to avoid it. Things seemed to be happening in half-time, slow, like a dream.

  A hand clutched her shoulder, Malon’s magic swam through her, and Saida focused all her hatred and pain on her enemy. Sunlight flared out of her, hitting Urali.

  Flames crawled across Urali’s skin, fed by magic. Urali shrieked and dropped the hatchet, then fell into the water, but the flames licking up her clothing would not quench. Unearthly wails bubbled up from the surface of the water.

  Saida dug her boots into the sand beneath the pool and pushed back, trying to rise, wanting to escape the horrifying sight. “Make it stop!” It was too horrible. No one should die in such a way, not even Urali.

  The shrieking continued. Malon wrapped his arms around Saida’s waist and lifted her to her feet. “There is no stopping it,” he muttered close to her cheek. “And she would have done far worse to you.”

  Tears fell down her cheeks, mingling with fresh water and blood. Urali’s shrieks ended in a sound like a long exhale. Her charred corpse bobbed in the water, a grotesque reminder of what happened when you tried to steal the magic of the gods.

  Saida clutched her stomach just above where Malon’s arms still held her. She was glad for the cooling water now up to her waist, carrying the husk of Urali in the other direction.

  Malon’s voice sounded in her ear. “The ground has ceased its shaking. You managed to divert the gukogam with another pool of water. We are safe.”

  Her breath came too fast, panic and tears consuming her. “I tried to fight, but in the end, I needed you to save me.”

  His cheek pressed against hers, an oddly intimate gesture. “You are not the one who needs saving, Saida, you never were.”

  She didn’t know what he meant. They stood together in the cool water surrounded by shade trees as her strength left her, and everything went black. It was a good blackness, absent of scalding sunlight and charred corpses. She was safe, and for now, Malon would watch over her.

  For better or for worse, she was in this thing with him. There was no going back now.

  Elmerah

  “Can we stop yet?” Killian whined.

  Elmerah sucked her teeth, gripping her reins so tightly her knuckles went white. “Just be glad you are still alive,” she growled. And why was he still alive? she thought. He was not useful in the slightest. All he knew of the emperor’s plans was that he wanted the elves and Arthali watched. He’d had nothing interesting to tell her at all.

  So why was he riding with her, Celen, and Alluin?

  Her lips twisted sideways while glaring at the rump of the horse Killian rode just ahead of her. With Isara gone, they’d had a spare horse, and they couldn’t very well let him go with all he knew of their plan. And no one quite had the heart to kill him.

  “We should actually stop soon,” Alluin sighed, horse and rider bringing up the rear. “The sun is almost gone, and we must find a safe place to sleep . . . if such a place even exists.”

  Elmerah glanced back at him. “You know as well as I there is no safe place in the deep woods, but at least here, we won’t run into a contingent of Dreilore. I hope.”

  “Don’t act so worried,” Celen said from ahead of them. “These woods cannot be any more dangerous than the Illuvian forests, and Killian and I have survived those woods for years.”

  “They’re worse,” she and Alluin said in unison.

  “I’m hungry,” Killian chimed in.

  “Shut up!” Elmerah hissed, her ire quickly returning. She knew where it was coming from, and perhaps Killian did not deserve her harsh words, but the Dreilore who’d taken Isara were not here, and neither was that slime-bellied Daemon Saredoth. A man who’d have his own sister apprehended by Dreilore had sunk to the lowest depths.

  She almost had to laugh, recalling how Rissine had once had her apprehended by pirates.

  “Alright,” she sighed, loosening her grip on her reins to twine her fingers into her horse’s matted mane. “Let’s make camp. We should reach Port Aeluvaria tomorrow, and I want us all rested and ready. Perhaps there we will find word of the Dreilore who apprehended Isara, though we can already be quite sure where they’re going.”

  Alluin hurried his horse forward, weaving through the trees to ride at her side. He gave her a knowing look that could have meant ten different things, but she didn’t need any help deciphering it. They had lost Saida, now Isara, and the lives of countless elves. Their mission was more important now than ever. Yet, their chance of success had been shrinking from the moment they’d first started out, just an elf and an Arthali, with the fate of everything and everyone resting in their battleworn hands.

  * * *

  Alluin

  An uneasy air floated through their small camp that night. No suitable shelter could be found, so Alluin, Elmerah, and Killian rested with their backs to the rotted insides of a massive, halfway hollowed out oak. Across from their campfire, Celen stood far enough from the light to keep a sharp view into the darkness.

  It was Alluin’s turn to rest, but sleep evaded him. Perhaps it was Killian snoring loudly to his left, or Elmerah restless to his right.

  She turned toward him as he shifted his weight, pulling his bedroll up to his chest, his legs extended toward the fire. Flame light danced in her dark, weary eyes. “What do you think we’ll find at the port?” she asked softly.

  He shook his head. He’d been worried over the same thing. News of more slaughtered elves? A blockade preventing any of his kind from traveling further north toward the Capital?

  “I’m preparing myself for the worst.”

  She shook her head. “Perhaps we shouldn’t stop. We risked acquiring information once, and look where it got us. We may be better off keeping to the woods.”

  “We would be going in blind to the Capital.”

  Her shoulder moved against his as she shrugged. “Better than going in with any less of us.”

  A loud snore from Killian made him tense. At this rate, the Nokken would draw every troll and wyvern in the forest. He nudged Killian gently with his elbow.

  Killian groaned, sliding down the rotten inner trunk to lay on his side in the dirt. After a moment, he tugged at the bedroll wrapping his legs, wiggling about until it was up to his shoulders.

  Alluin felt Elmerah leaning near the back of his shoulder to peer at Killian. “Is he still dead asleep?”

  “I think so. I’m not sure how he’s survived this long in the woods sleeping so deeply . . . and loudly.”

  Celen stepped closer to the fire. “The Nokken who live in the forest often sleep in trees, and those within their larger settlements are well-protected.”

  Elmerah sat up straight, facing Celen. “And how do you know so much about them?”

  Celen shrugged, gripping a wicked-looking knife in his hand, though his magic would offer better protection than any blade. “My clan lived in the forests for years. We encountered their kind often enough, but they rarely gave us any trouble.”

  Alluin glanced down at Killian, not for the first time wondering why the Nokken had chosen to side with the emperor. He turned his gaze up to Celen. “They were spying for Egrin some time before Faerune fell. Long enough to infiltrate the city and successfully pose as healers to poison the High Council. You never noticed any strange activity?”

  Celen’s brow furrowed. “Why would I invest resources into watching the Nokken? Save a few scouts keeping an eye on the road from time to time, we stayed far from Faerune.�
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  Alluin sighed, realizing he’d unintentionally accused Celen of something. “It was a simple question. I’m wondering why the Nokken would spy for Dinoba, and how long it’s been going on.”

  Elmerah laughed quietly. “You know, I probably should have asked Killian that while he was still afraid of me. I was so set on gaining information about Egrin, I ignored the Nokken’s role in matters.”

  “You could just ask me now,” Killian’s drowsy voice interrupted.

  Alluin glared down at him, finding his eyes open to narrow slits. “How long have you been awake?”

  Killian sat up, pulling half out of his bedroll. “Not such a light sleeper after all, eh?” Despite his words, his amber eyes drooped, and his russet hair stuck out in all directions against his sagging fox ears.

  Alluin gestured for him to go on. “Well then, answer the question.”

  Killian glanced up at Celen, then over to Alluin. “It’s a bit humiliating.”

  Celen loomed closer, the fire casting his face into grim lines. “We’ve all been forced into humiliating roles at one time or another.”

  This seemed to give Killian courage. He sat up a little straighter, his hands clutching the bedroll’s hem, now piled in his lap. “The truth is, he threatened us. My people are happy in the forests, it’s where we belong. Promises of land and riches did not entice us,” he hesitated. “Well, they did not entice most of us. Some traveled all the way to the Capital in hopes that Dinoba would grant them a different life.”

  “He threatened to kill you?” Elmerah asked.

  Killian rapidly shook his head. “No, no. We are skilled fighters. We would not back down to such a threat. His threat was far greater than the loss of lives. He threatened to destroy the forests. He said he would burn everything to the ground, and would summon demons to keep us from fighting the blaze. We would be left alive, but with no home.” His words tumbled out so quickly he had to pause to take a deep breath. “The forest is part of who we are. We could not lose it, and so, we agreed to be his spies. It seemed our only option, and truly, he was not asking much of us.”