She finally dropped the clam back to her plate, since he no longer seemed focused on making her eat. “I met an Akkeri once. He told me.”
“A tall tale at best.”
She glared. “It’s true, though he didn’t believe a forced marriage would break your curse. He thought, if the Akkeri were to gain the favor of the Skygod, that they would have to cast aside their bloody ways. They would have to live as Arcale would want, and only then, might the curse be lifted.”
“Who was this Akkeri? He should be put to death for such talk.”
“He was poisoned by a Dreilore arrow. I do not know where he is now . . . but I imagine it is too late to punish him.” Her voice trembled as she said the last.
Hotrath didn’t seemed to notice. “Dreilore poison will not kill us. Nothing seems to kill us save beheading, fire, or electrocution. We are not trolls. We are cursed.”
She sat up a little straighter. “Truly? You can survive even the most toxic of substances.”
His milky eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If I did not know any better, I’d say you cared for this Akkeri.”
She lifted her nose. “He was a friend.”
She fell back in surprise at his sudden laughter, so loud it made her ears ring. She braced herself on her elbows, then sat back up.
He finished laughing, then pushed aside his mostly empty plate. “Finish your food, priestess. We have a long journey ahead of us, and I only need one of your friends alive to force you into compliance.”
She gulped. She’d been wondering if he’d realized that. “If you hurt either of them, I will not comply. I will do everything in my power to destroy you.”
He stood, towering over her. His feet were so large and his legs so thick, she had a sudden vision of him squishing her beneath his threadbare boots. “Such loyalty, priestess. I wonder if they would do the same for you.”
He turned and walked through the hide flap leading out of the tent, leaving her alone.
She shivered, knowing her threat was in vain. He was the High King of the Akkeri, the king of monsters. He could summon demons to guard his treasures and left a sea of corpses in his wake. She shook her head. It didn’t matter who he was, she had to figure out a way out of this.
She looked down at her plate. If she tried to escape now, Malon or Alluin would be killed. She picked up a stiff salted silverfish, plugged her nose, and ate it. She’d play along for now, and at least she had one reason to be glad. Merwyn might still be alive, and letting him escape her company might have very well saved his life since it kept him away from Hotrath.
It was a cold comfort at best, but it was better than nothing.
Elmerah
Elmerah struggled against her shackles. Morning had waned into evening, and she desperately needed to relieve herself. She didn’t know where Isara had gone, only that she’d been taken from the carriage by Egrin, leaving her alone with the two Dreilore. She would sooner die than piss herself in front of any of them.
Her stomach growled loudly.
The female Dreilore smirked.
“Remove these shackles and I’ll slice that smirk off your lips.”
Her bluish lips smoothed into an indignant frown. “You won’t be cutting anyone, witch.”
“We’ll see,” she muttered, though the Dreilore was probably right.
The carriage door to her right swung outward, revealing four more Dreilore. They must have reached their camp, though that didn’t explain why she’d been left in the carriage all this time.
“Bring the witch,” one of the male Dreilore outside said. “Her lodgings have been prepared.”
She leaned forward to look out at him. “I’ve been in this carriage all day, and most of last night. I’ll be needing to make a stop along the way to these . . . lodgings.”
The Dreilore just stared at her with his strange burning eyes. Three other male Dreilore stood behind him. All wore dyed-black leather, their version of armor. Would these be the soldiers who would soon attack Faerune? Did this mean they were somewhere near the elven city? Thoughts of Celen and the Arthali camp flooded her mind.
The female Dreilore in the carriage with her stood, then kicked Elmerah’s boot. “Get moving. No stops.”
She winced as she stood. It was probably fortunate she hadn’t been given any food or water, else she’d never make the walk.
Two of the Dreilore outside took hold of her arms as she stepped down from the carriage. She took a quick look around, noting the dense surrounding oaks, and narrow, rutted dirt path, barely passable by carriage. If she had to guess by how long they’d traveled, they were at the southern edge of the Illuvian forests. Mostly east, and just a bit north of Faerune, south of Celen’s encampment.
One of the Dreilore jerked her arm hard enough she thought it might pop free of her shoulder. She gave him an evil glare, but had no choice but to be prodded along. Trying to escape now would be futile.
They walked her around the carriage and deeper into the woods. She could smell cookfires, but only faintly. They had a far walk ahead of them.
“Did I mention I was in that carriage for a full day and most of the previous night? I don’t know much about Dreilore, but I imagine our body processes are the same, if you catch my meaning.”
One of the Dreilore said something under his breath. It sounded like a curse, but she’d never really know as she didn’t speak their language. He gestured to the female Dreilore from the carriage. “Help her. If she tries to escape, cut off her feet. Dinoba was clear that he only needs her living, nothing more.”
Elmerah flexed her wrists against her shackles. It was a risk she was willing to take.
The female Dreilore replaced the male at her side, then led her off the freshly worn path into the trees. She barely went a few paces, affording Elmerah little privacy.
“Can we go no further? I wouldn’t put it past your colleagues to peep.”
The female Dreilore shoved her shoulder, knocking her into a tree. “They have no desire to see you, witch. Now hurry up.”
She pushed off the tree trunk, regaining her balance. “I can’t pull down my breeches with my hands shackled.”
The Dreilore lifted her thin white brows. “Would you like me to do it for you? I do not have a key to your shackles, nor would I ever dream of unlocking them.”
“It was worth a try,” Elmerah sighed, then started wiggling her pants down on her own.
To her surprise, the Dreilore turned her back. Well, not terribly surprising, she supposed, with several male Dreilore just a few paces away, she had little chance of catching any of them off guard. She debated shoving the woman and making a run for it regardless, but had to think better of it. Not enough to risk her feet over after all.
After finishing her business and awkwardly pulling up her pants, the female shoved her back toward the path, and it was onward toward the encampment. Her captors spoke little as they walked, leaving Elmerah to ponder their surroundings, and her dire fate. Would Egrin begin his torture that night, or did he want her to watch Faerune crumble first?
It was full dark by the time they reached the encampment. They were so deep within the forest she expected a Fossegrim to slither out at any moment. She almost hoped for one, as the Dreilore, not native to this region, might not be immune to the creature’s song.
Countless Dreilore watched her as she was marched through the canvas tents and cookfires composing the camp. She was marched all the way to the end of the line before being shoved into a tent, no different from any of the others. She braced herself as she went inside, then straightened. The tent was empty except for a large iron cage. Lovely.
One of the Dreilore stepped forward and opened the cage. It was tall enough for her to stand, but not wide enough for her to lie flat.
She turned toward the female Dreilore. “You’re going to have to make good on your threat of chopping off my feet if you expect me to go in there.”
Sudden pain shot through her legs as something hit the back of
her knees, crumpling her to the ground. Unforgiving hands grasped her biceps, and she was unceremoniously dragged through the dirt and tossed into the cage. The door slammed shut, and one of the Dreilore looped a padlock around the corner bars, then locked it in place.
The female Dreilore smirked. “I’ll take your feet later, witch, if there’s anything left of you after Dinoba has had his fill.”
She watched them all depart. If she ever got these cursed shackles off, that female Dreilore would be the first to taste her lightning.
With a heavy sigh, she slid her arms back down the bars of her little prison until her rump hit the solid iron bottom, then tucked her knees up against her chest. Her shoulders and wrists ached from being bound for so long, and she’d hoped she’d at least be imprisoned with Isara.
She should really learn to stop hoping all the time.
The hours waned on. The Dreilore in the camp all spoke in their foreign tongue, yielding no hints to what they planned. She had almost nodded off when the white tent flap finally opened, revealing Egrin and another familiar face. Thera.
Remaining seated, she looked the exiled Faerune elf up and down. “I’m surprised you’re still alive, traitor.”
Thera bared her teeth. Dark bruises marked the skin beneath her blue eyes, and her pale hair hung unwashed and limp over her modest dark woolen dress. “At least I’m not the one in the cage.”
Elmerah laughed. “You’ll wish you were safe in a cage if Rissine ever finds you.”
Thera’s skin, still perfect despite her bedraggled appearance, flushed. She opened her mouth to reply, but Egrin motioned her to silence.
“You are here to observe, Thera. Tell me if you see anything I cannot.”
Elmerah lifted her brows at Egrin. “You mean you aren’t all-knowing and all-noticing?”
He laced his fingers, flipped his hands, and cracked his knuckles. “Thera is a Moon Priestess, or she would have been had her mother not been exiled. She can see through certain magics.”
Her brows lifted further. A Moon Priestess just like Saida? And with the same gifts?
“So why didn’t you give her to the Akkeri instead of Saida?”
Thera’s face turned beet red.
Egrin laughed. “She was under the protection of Rissine at the time, and Rissine promised me a different Moon Priestess, one of high standing within Faerune, not a besmirched exile.”
Elmerah leaned her head back against the bars, observing Thera. “Yes, I imagine the Akkeri wouldn’t have wanted such a dishonorable lout.”
Egrin laughed again. “I imagine not, but it is of little consequence now. I got what I wanted from the Akkeri. If they attack Galterra again, the Dreilore will put them down.” He gestured to Elmerah without so much as glancing at Thera. “Remove her shackles.”
Thera reached into her belt pouch and removed a heavy iron key, then stepped toward Elmerah’s cage. “Reach your hands out.”
“Make me.”
Egrin sighed. “Remember, the Dreilore’s enchantments only neutralize your magic. I can crush the air from your lungs with or without the shackles.”
She stuck her tongue out at Egrin, but obeyed and stood with her back against the bars, sliding her shackled wrists through one of the openings.
She couldn’t help her sigh of relief as her hands were freed. She stretched her arms above her head, then side to side.
“Now attack me with all you have,” Egrin instructed, “and I’ll see to it you’re fed come morning.”
She reached out for her magic and felt it coursing through her. There was little chance any of her attacks would land, but she’d sure as salt and air try.
Elmerah
Elmerah groaned. She tried to turn over before she got a boot to the back of the head, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She was too tired. Everything she’d thrown at Egrin had been easily deflected.
She sensed him as he crouched beside her. “I don’t understand it. It’s as if the air itself fills you with magic, yet I can’t feel it being pulled from our surroundings.”
She turned her head, resting her cheek in the dirt. The white tent, anchored to the ground by heavy stakes, fluttered and tugged at its bindings with the wild gusts of wind outside. She hoped the wind had been enough to drown out the sounds of her struggle. The Dreilore had seen her humiliated enough. Beyond Egrin stood Thera, holding a lantern aloft, her face utterly dispassionate.
Elmerah winced as Egrin’s hand landed on her shoulder. She prepared herself for more torture, but it didn’t come.
He shook his head and withdrew his hand. “I simply do not understand it.”
Elmerah coughed, sending up a faint puff of dirt from the hard-packed earth. “Well if you’re done figuring it out, maybe you should just let me go.”
He leaned closer. “Or maybe you should just tell me how you do it.”
His closeness sent shivers of panic through her. “That’s like asking a fish how it manages to breathe. Can you explain where your magic comes from?”
He stood. “No, I cannot, which is why your magic interests me so. We are not like other beings, who draw their magic through the earth, and filter it through objects. We simply . . . are.”
Tired of straining her eyes upward to see him, she took a deep breath, held it, then rolled onto her shoulder, curling up around her bruised belly and cracked ribs. She did prefer to filter her magics through weapons, but it wasn’t absolutely necessary for her. “So you’re telling me you don’t even understand your own magic? You’d think in all the time you’ve been alive you would have figured it out.”
He smirked down at her. “I see Isara has been waggling her loose lips.”
Elmerah stared up at him.
“Very well,” he sighed. “To answer your question, no, even with the centuries I’ve lived, I have not figured it out. I have learned a great many other things though, things you could hardly comprehend. And I can use the magic of others. Not always a great feat, considering enchanted Dreilore steel can be wielded by any who possess it.”
She debated sitting up, but was pretty sure she couldn’t manage it. “Are there others of your kind?”
His expression darkened. She must have hit a nerve. “There used to be.” His voice was short and clipped.
He turned and walked toward the tent entrance, pausing a moment beside Thera. “She’s not strong enough to attack you now. Replace her shackles and put her back in her cage.”
Thera’s eyes widened and her upper lip trembled, the small movement clear in the lantern light. She reached for the shackles at her belt with her free hand as Egrin exited the tent.
Elmerah licked her cracked lips. Once the shackles were returned to her wrists, she’d be all but defenseless. She tried to summon her magic, but there was nothing left. It was a wonder she was even conscious. She was getting stronger, but not strong enough to withstand Egrin’s torture and still be well enough to fight.
Setting her lantern aside, Thera knelt behind her.
She closed her eyes as cold steel sealed around her wrists. “Why do you do his bidding? The Dreilore I understand, but you? He treats you like a slave.”
Thera retrieved her lantern and moved so Elmerah could see her clearly. “I do his bidding because I am smarter than you. Soon you’ll be dead, and I’ll still be alive. Perhaps someday I’ll escape him, but for now, at least I have protection.”
“What will you feel when Faerune is destroyed, I wonder? Will it hurt you to hear the screams of your kin?”
“My mother was an exile,” Thera snapped. “And so am I.”
Elmerah snorted. “And so am I, but I still wouldn’t stand and let Egrin destroy the Arthali. Did the little children elves exile your mother? Did their poor mothers and fathers? I don’t think so. It was the High Council. You will allow innocent elves to be slain for the crimes of six priests and priestesses. Egrin may be a monster, but as I see it, you’re the true demon here.”
Thera’s lips sealed into a tight lin
e. She’d struck another nerve. Lovely. “I’ll enjoy watching Egrin kill you.”
Elmerah lifted the shoulder she wasn’t laying on in the barest of shrugs. “Maybe, but my death won’t be the one you’ll remember in your nightmares until the day you die.”
Thera stormed toward the exit. “Put her back in the cage,” she said to someone outside as she walked past.
Two male Dreilore came into the tent. It was clear by their smug smiles they’d been listening in. Apparently they didn’t like Thera any better than she did. It was probably the only thing they’d ever have in common.
Alluin
Alluin glared at his Akkeri guards. The four vile creatures chattered on in their language above the buzz of a thousand swamp insects, making lewd gestures toward him here and there. They occasionally threw one Malon’s way. However, since he was unconscious, they were far less entertained.
They were in the center of the crude camp, deep in the swampland. More Akkeri had awaited them there, bringing their number to nearly forty. Only one tent stood casting a shadow across the soggy ground. Alluin knew Saida was inside. He’d seen the Akkeri leader exit, but not her.
He shifted his shoulders against the leather straps binding his arms against his sides. Moisture snuck up the rear of his breeches from the soggy ground. He could almost feel sorry for himself if it weren’t for the fact that Elmerah was in an even more dire, and likely uncomfortable, situation. Just what did Egrin Dinoba have planned for her? He could at least hope that she was still alive. Egrin had wanted her alive for a reason.
Malon groaned. He squirmed on the ground, trying to sit up, but the Akkeri had bound him from shoulder to ankles with leather straps. His face was bruised and bloody, matting his silver-blond hair against his scalp.
Noticing Malon’s struggle, one Akkeri swaggered up. The thin scraps of cloth hanging limply from his scrawny body left little to the imagination. Another guard said something in their language, then all three laughed.
Curse of the Akkeri Page 14
