Empire of Demons (The Moonstone Chronicles Book 4)

by Sara C. Roethle

  Elmerah looked them both up and down. “And just how did you two end up together?”

  Celen smirked, wrinkling the scars on one side of his face. His fur-lined coat was mostly dry now, and torn at one shoulder. “We found each other on shore. We haven’t managed to locate any of the others. I imagine they all journeyed inland to hide, just like you two.” He glanced around the small space. “At least you happened upon nicer accommodations. We both spent the night asleep in the dirt.”

  “We got lucky,” Elmerah said, giving Alluin a warning look.

  He didn’t have time to ponder why Elmerah wouldn’t want Celen to know this place used to be her home. She walked past him and out the door, calling back, “Come along!”

  Alluin shrugged at Celen and Merwyn, then followed her out.

  Birds sang happily overhead in the tall trees, rejoicing in a bit of unclouded sunlight. Elmerah was looking further east, down an overgrown path. He stepped up to her side.

  She pointed in the direction she’d been peering. “There is a small port that way. If we’re lucky, there will be a ship docked there. Once we find the others we can barter passage to the mainland, although I don’t know what we could possibly use to trade. Perhaps Rissine has managed to keep hold of her coin purse.”

  Celen and Merwyn joined them. “Will they take kindly to Arthali?” Celen asked.

  Elmerah shrugged, though she had been to the town before, she should know how folk would react. “Only one way to find out.” She looked over to Merwyn. “You, however, should remain hidden. Do you think your High King will search for us?”

  Merwyn’s already saggy skin drooped further as he lowered his chin. “He seeks Saida. If he believes we can lead him to her, he will not give up so easily.”

  Elmerah considered him for a moment. “Do you know why my sister’s magic bounced harmlessly off his ship?”

  Merwyn nodded, but it was Celen who explained, “All of the bolts and nails are made of Dreilore metals. It’s quite brilliant if you ask me. It makes the entire ship immune to magical attacks.”

  “Yes, brilliant,” Elmerah said caustically. She flexed her bandaged hands. “We should get walking. If Hotrath is to catch us, I’d rather it occur in a town where there will be plenty of distractions.” She turned and started walking down the path.

  Alluin watched her go for a moment.

  Celen leaned in near his shoulder. “Is she alright?”

  “I don’t think so,” he muttered, then started walking.

  He wished Celen and Merwyn had not found them so soon. Elmerah had finally let down a wall within herself the night before, but as soon as the pair showed up it had slammed back into place. He wasn’t sure when he would get the opportunity to see it down again. He found he had many things he still wanted to say to her, and hoped she would find it in herself to listen.

  Rissine

  Rissine woke up the next morning with a spear at her throat. At the other end of the spear was an Akkeri, its sickly, sallow skin adorned with mismatched pieces of armor, probably stolen from its victims. She wrinkled her nose at the strong fishy smell coming from the creature, knowing there would surely be more nearby. There always were.

  The spear tip pressed against her throat as the creature said something in its language.

  “I don’t speak Akkeri.” She sucked her teeth, debating how best to end the creature.

  Something large moved to her side, blocking out the harsh rays of morning sunlight. She turned her head, careful not to slice her skin on the dirty spear.

  The largest Akkeri she had ever seen loomed over her. He was just as grotesque as the rest, but instead of being skin and bones, strong muscles corded his arms beneath the pushed up sleeves of a silken tunic. Like painting rouge on a pig, she thought. The fine clothes looked out of place against his worm-like skin. Beyond him stood several more smaller Akkeri.

  She rolled her eyes up to meet the large Akkeri’s waiting gaze. She’d seen him once, but from a distance. “High King Hotrath, I presume?”

  He grinned down at her. “Rissine Volund, witch of Shadowmarsh. You are lucky to be alive, for now.”

  His firm grasp on the common tongue took her aback. Her magic had already begun to well up within her, prepared to decimate the surrounding Akkeri, but perhaps it could wait a moment more. “What do you want? Why did you attack my ship?” She hesitated. “And what have you done with Zirin?” He was supposed to be keeping watch while she rested.

  Hotrath crouched down beside her. “I want to know why Saida Fenmyar is in the Helshone. What is she planning?”

  Her eyes widened. “I have absolutely no idea. You sunk my ship just to ask me that?”

  He stood and turned his back on her. “I sunk your ship because the emperor wants you.”

  “You hope to turn me in?” She would strike them all down before she let that happen.

  “No,” he answered, his back still turned and arms crossed. “I have worked with him before, and he betrayed me. He promised me a moon priestess. He promised me Saida.” He shifted his weight, blinding her with the sun.

  She squinted her eyes, trying to keep him in her sights. “Then you hope for revenge?”

  He turned back to her, once more blocking out the sun. “Saida is my only concern. You will help me claim her, or I will hunt down your sister and turn you both in to Egrin Dinoba. The rest of your crew, any who still survive, will be killed.”

  Her magic welled at the threat.

  Hotrath gestured to the Akkeri holding the spear at her throat, and the sharp tip pressed into her flesh. “I can sense your magic girl. Call it again and you’re dead.”

  She counted backwards from ten to one in her head, reining in her temper. “How am I supposed to give you the priestess when she is in the middle of the Helshone?”

  “She will not be there for long. In fact, she was on your ship last night. I saw her like a phantom, barely visible to the naked eye. She knows what has happened, I have no doubt she will come to the aid of her friends.”

  He was speaking utter gibberish—there was no way Saida had been upon her ship last night—but she wasn’t in the habit of arguing with creatures who were on the verge of having her killed. “If you believe she is already coming here, then what do you need from me?”

  “She possesses the Crown of Cindra,” he explained. “I can sense it wherever it is. It once belonged to me. If she has learned how to use it, I will not risk facing her openly. You must take the circlet from her, and deliver both the priestess and the Crown of Cindra to me. Agree to this, and I will allow both you and your sister to escape.” He crouched back beside her.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “There must be more to it than that. You would trust my word alone that I would aid you?”

  He smiled indulgently, like he was speaking with a child. “Hardly. I would never trust the word of a Shadowmarsh witch. I would, however, trust her survival instinct. Help me, and I will stand with you against Egrin Dinoba, and any forces he sends your way. The numbers of my people are great. You would have a vast army at your disposal.”

  She knew regardless of what she decided, she would need to agree to his proposal here and now. She wasn’t about to die due to simple pride. But . . . it wasn’t a bad offer. She could have an entire army to protect Elmerah. That was, if Hotrath was a creature of his word.

  He chuckled. By the look on his face, she almost wondered if he could read her thoughts. “You may have some time to think upon it.” He removed a small trinket from around his neck, held on a thin silver chain. “Take this, and summon me when you are in need of an army. I will expect both the priestess and the circlet as payment.” He leaned close, dangling the trinket in front of her face. It looked like a tiny silver whistle. “And know this, witch. The only reason I have not killed Dinoba is because I still hope to use him. Fail me, and your use will be at an end.”

  He leaned back, gesturing for the Akkeri to remove the spear from her throat.

  Once she was fr
ee, she sat up and swiped the whistle from Hotrath’s waiting hand. With her new vantage point she could see Zirin standing surrounded by Akkeri, five different spears pointed at his throat. The torn hem of his coat was wrapped around the arrow wound in his leg like a bandage.

  “You were supposed to be standing watch,” she hissed.

  His onyx black hair had come loose to form tight curls around his face. He glared at her through those curls. “Forgive me for being tired after dragging your ass to shore.”

  Hotrath laughed, standing before stepping back amongst his people. He gestured for the spears surrounding Zirin to be lowered, though his unsettling gaze remained on Rissine. “Remember what we have discussed, witch. I make a far better friend than an enemy.” With that, he turned away, and the other Akkeri followed.

  Rissine debated summoning her magic and obliterating them all, but Hotrath was king for a reason. He had magic, and judging by the events of the previous night, he was strong.

  Still clutching the silver chain affixed to the whistle, she stood and looked to Zirin. “Let’s find my sister and get out of here.”

  He watched her calmly with eyes as black as his hair, his bronze skin looking golden in the morning sun. “If you take the Akkeri’s deal, she’ll never forgive you.”

  “That’s none of your concern,” she growled, then turned to start walking.

  She had made this choice once before, to protect Elmerah at all costs, even if it meant her sister would hate her. She could only hope it wouldn’t come to that. If the elven priestess really could use the Crown of Cindra, she might be a lot more useful to Rissine than an army of Akkeri. That would be a choice to be made when the priestess came for them. If she came at all.

  Saida

  Saida waited south of Fallshire, seated upon a rock in a marshy forest. Luc and some of the other elves who’d survived the Helshone lounged nearby, keeping a close eye on her while pretending not to. There had been others waiting for them just outside the small village. Other elves like Phaerille and Luc, either of mixed-blood or betrayed in some way by Faerune. She hadn’t expected there to be so many.

  Even with the shock, she felt better to be so close to home, though she could not afford to visit. The Makali milled amongst the trees. While she didn’t speak Kaleth, she could guess at what they were saying. Most of them had never seen so many tall trees in one place before, and the sprawling lush grasses drew much attention. Maybe they would change their minds about regrowing the desert, claiming the unprotected lands here instead.

  She took a deep breath of the moist air, her gaze lingering in the direction of Fallshire. She and Malon had ventured in earlier that morning to obtain new clothing and supplies. Her simple breeches and soft gray tunic felt odd against her skin after wearing the flowing robes of the Makali. She had two daggers at her belt, and next to them, the circlet. She was always hesitant to touch it, hesitant to hear the whispers. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to learn what they had to tell her.

  She stood. Malon would soon finish detailing a route for their army, and it would be time to go. But there was one last thing she knew she needed to do. Something she had been avoiding.

  The Makali had kept guard over Phaerille, waiting for Saida to decide the fate of the traitor. The only issue was that she had no idea what to do. Phaerille had tried to have her killed—twice. She had lied and schemed, all the while pretending to be a true friend. If Phaerille had attacked her directly, perhaps she would have had the strength to kill her, but now—she simply wasn’t in the habit of ordering executions. Even within Faerune, under the rule of the High Council, executions were exceedingly rare, the most severe punishment being exile.

  She looked to Brosod, standing beneath the shade of a nearby tree, her eyes tilted upward as she marveled at the tall branches overhead. Oddly, the tan breeches and loose shirt two shades darker suited her, the fabric clinging to her well-muscled body. The clothes didn’t look out of place at all, nor did her spear or the daggers at her belt. She had a bow and quiver slung across her shoulder too, so she could hunt for game should their journey take longer than expected.

  Sensing Saida’s attention, Brosod lowered her eyes from the branches. “You seem agitated.”

  Saida shrugged, wondering if Brosod was perhaps another wyrm in disguise. She didn’t think so, but then again, she would never have thought such things of Phaerille. “I’m just wondering if we should do anything with Phaerille before we depart.”

  Brosod shrugged, the sunlight glinting off her short black hair. “She won’t be harmed now that you have ordered it to be so. You can leave her behind without guilt.”

  “But we can’t hold her prisoner indefinitely.”

  Brosod moved closer, her boots swishing through the grass. “Maybe she will be killed some other way and will save you the trouble.”

  She knew Brosod would gladly kill Phaerille herself if only she would let her. Judgment within the desert was harsh, and exile was a crueler fate than a swift death.

  She sighed. “Perhaps I should pay her a visit before we leave, to explain that she will be safe while we are away.”

  Brosod crossed her arms. “She deserves no such courtesy.”

  Saida couldn’t quite meet her eyes. In truth, as much as Phaerille’s betrayal had stung, all she felt for her was pity. Phaerille had been born from the forbidden union between a mother from Faerune, and a Valeroot hunter. She would never fit in with either clan, nor would she fit in amongst humans. She had seen Malon as her future, a chance to finally have a home, and she had loved him. In her eyes, Saida had taken him away, though in truth she had no romantic designs as far as Malon was concerned.

  Brosod pursed her lips as she watched her. “I believe you waste too much energy on this traitor, but if you would like to see her before we leave, I will escort you.”

  Saida met Brosod’s scrutinizing gaze for a moment, then looked down toward her boots. “I’m not sure what I would even say to her.”

  “You have not spoken with her since her betrayal. Perhaps you should let her do the talking.”

  She kicked around a pebble with her toe, halfway hoping Malon would return and tell her there was no time, that they must depart immediately. There really wasn’t time. Who knew what state Elmerah was in now?

  “Take me to her,” she decided. “If I am to perish in the demon realm, I’d rather go without regrets.”

  Brosod lifted a dark brow. “That is not at all comforting.” She turned to lead the way to where Phaerille was being kept amongst the Makali ranks.

  Together they wove through the trees, and Saida’s steps began to feel lighter as she went. The decision was made. She would hear whatever Phaerille had to say. She could sense Luc and the other elves following at a distance. She wondered if they would miss her once she was gone, and found, to her surprise, that she would miss them too. Nothing could form a bond faster than surviving near death together.

  Malon emerged from a tent set up among the trees, quickly spotting her. He said something in Kaleth to the gathering of Makali still inside, then walked toward her. His clothing was all dark gray, matching her tunic. The color suited his silver hair and eyes better than it suited anything about her. She wondered if he had made them match intentionally, or if he had simply picked from whatever was available. She had waited in the nearby shadows while he chose, both of them fearful she might be recognized.

  She realized she had stopped to wait for him without thinking about it, Brosod standing quietly behind her.

  “We are almost ready to depart,” he said as he reached them. “I just need to speak with a few more of the clan leaders. Where are you off to?”

  “She wishes to speak with the traitor before we go,” Brosod explained. “Just in case we die.”

  Saida gritted her teeth. Not exactly how she would have chosen to explain things.

  Malon watched her for a moment, then nodded. “Isleth should be in the same direction. His clan took charge of her while we traveled.�
� He started to turn away, then stopped. “But we should make this quick, or do you no longer care about reaching Elmerah in time?”

  She glared at him. “You’re the one that has been holding us up.”

  His eyebrow twitched, the only small hint that he was merely teasing her. “I am leaving my army behind for you, Saida. I would not leave them behind without proper orders. They should be able to travel mostly undetected with the route I have detailed, and if we time things right, we will have no trouble meeting up with them again.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “You’ve made your point, now let’s get on with it.”

  He gave her a slight bow, then dramatically gestured for her to lead the way.

  She did, her spine stiff and cheeks burning.

  They passed many other tents well-hidden in the trees. The Makali would stay in this place one more night to hunt and gather any other food they could, then they would move on toward the Illuvian forests.

  Saida’s nerves caught up with her as they reached the tent where Phaerille was being held captive. Malon nodded to each of the Makali guards outside, then pushed aside the tent flap for Saida to enter ahead of him.

  She looked a question at him. “You’re coming with me?”

  “She tried to have you killed once, I won’t have you alone with her.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Brosod.

  Brosod wrinkled her nose. “I will wait out here, lest I become too tempted to kill her.”

  Saida nodded, squared her shoulders, then walked inside the tent. She involuntarily lifted a hand to her chest when she saw Phaerille, curled up on her side in the grass within the tent, her spirit broken. Her once lustrous honey blonde hair hung limp and dirty, covering half of her thin, pale face. Thick ropes bound her wrists, making them look frail. She still wore the robes of the Makali, as well as the bruises from the beating she had taken. Saida knew a little bit about bruises. Her ribs and abdomen still ached from what Urali had done to her, and the healing split in her lip still stung.