Nancy Berberick - The Inheritance

"I am following gods."

Char said that, and recognizing his voice felt like a triumph. Elansa looked up, looked around, and saw the dwarf standing head-cocked and looking up at Brand.

"I’m following gods, and if y’ had but the one eye I do, you'd know it."

No one had the one eye Char had. No one had the ability to see in almost complete darkness as even a one-eyed dwarf could. Faint beams of light shivered down from the ceiling of the close tunnel; there were cracks above. This light, barely discernable to humans or elves, was enough for Char to find his way, enough, it seemed, for him to find something to follow.

"So y’ just trust me," the dwarf said, his jaw jutting, his dark beard bristling. "I’m what y’ got in here, Brand, so just trust me."

Brand held her, but absently, keeping her on her feet by holding her against him. It was the way you'd hold a sack. But leaning against him, she felt the breath he took, the considering breath. She felt his answer in the relaxing of his muscles.

"I trust you," he said, very quietly. "But all this talk of gods-" He tilted his head toward Elansa. "They liked the killing of the ogres, Char. They didn't like the way it was done, the magic and the crying out to a god."

Char made a sound far back in his throat. He sounded like his hound. "Then they're idiots. The rock fell, the stone cracked, a god lifted his hand. Blind fools."

Brand shifted his grip, his arm slid lower, circling Elansa’s waist. She breathed a little easier for the lessening of pain.

"Might be," Brand said, his voice chill. "Doesn't matter. You spook them any more, and things aren't going to be easier."

"Ain't so easy now," the dwarf muttered. "Ain't been gettin’ easier for a while."

He didn't say it hard. He didn't accuse. He spoke, and the tone of his voice touched Elansa like sadness. There had been a plan, a grand scheme between these two, to stand against their old enemies, to settle the feud with the goblins forever. He'd bargained in good faith with Kethrenan, or he had intended to. She believed, standing there, that if Keth had kept to the letter of the bargain, Brand would not have done less. He had no feud with elves, for all he thought of them as heartless neighbors. Maybe his plan would have worked, but Keth hadn't been minded to hand over a trove of weapons. Then goblins had come roaring onto the false field of exchange….

Elansa’s knees wobbled, and she began to sag in Brand's arm. Ah, gods, if only she could lie down, or even sit.

Brand shook his head, not conceding. "Listen to me, Char. There's enemies all around. Ogres in the caves and elves outside, and someone stole our weapons and sealed all our bolt-holes. Tell me later if you think our plan has turned in my hand. Now, get us to Pax Tharkas."

The dwarf turned. A thin drift of light showed his face, worn and weary, eyes sunken, skin gray. It was how he looked when he knew there was no drink to be had. His last lay in the ruined cavern among the corpses of two friends, ogres, and hounds.

"Come on then," he said, not to Brand, but to all those dark shapes gathered, breathing and muttering, and some groaning with hurt and weariness. "Come on. Let's walk."

Brand shifted his grip again. Elansa winced, but she made no cry. They followed Char, the line of them winding through the darkness. When pale glimmers of light sifted down from the ceiling, they saw the tunnel changing, the walls growing wider apart. Their own weary legs told them the way was rising now.

"We're getting close to the surface," someone said, whispering and hopeful. It sounded like Nigh-toothless Kerin. And Ley-she knew his voice, for it spoke in the accents of home-said he thought that was the case.

They stopped twice for water, to cup their hands under little rills running down the walls. It tasted sharply of minerals, but no one complained. Each filled up his or her hands with it and drank gratefully. Only Char didn't, wanting something else, and he kept his distance from his fellows, a surly space. He didn't stop talking about his godly guides though, and he took a sour satisfaction to see how that worked on his companions. Most, he seemed to take grim satisfaction in Arawn’s sneering.

"He's mad. The damn dwarf’s gone mad, and that’s what they said happened the first time-"

Not more than that did Arawn say, though, for Char had stopped and turned. He didn't drop his hand to the throwing axe at his belt or make any other threatening gestures. He lifted only his head.

"Come along, Arawn," Char said, his voice a low mockery of coaxing. "Come along if y’ have the guts, and see where gods are leading me." He laughed, but it sounded hollow. "Might be our raggedy little princess knows. Might be she could tell you what waits."

Whispers rustled in the passage, like the shuffling of bats’ wings. Arawn said nothing. He was not one to bluster, but Bruin muttered, and Pragol hissed. Brand told them all to shut up, he said he'd bind the next one who wasted his breath on threat or challenge and leave him in the dark. Satisfied, Char turned and walked ahead, up the rising way and into the dim light that did not increase and did not fail.

As the outlaws marched on, it could be seen that Char did indeed follow gods. Here and there, barely seen, felt by hands reaching to steady a walker, hands reaching to find a place to stop and rest, were images chipped into the stony walls-a dwarf with a warhammer, a dwarven smith at an anvil, more like those. These were not the works of an artist with time to make them perfect. They were the offhand works one sees when men are idle and their hands resent the stillness. Dwarves had been here, thinking of Reorx, thinking of the god and the images they most liked to create.

The rough god, peering out from shadows under her hand, comforted Elansa. Here had been folk who knew the right of the world, who knew that gods lived. In the long ago days of this rough craft, the gods had walked with their children. They had visited Krynn in guises fair or dark. The great families of deities had been deeply involved with Krynn. Now, they were not. They were gone, but these little images, the faith in the hearts of those few races who remembered, argued that gods did exist, even if they were long gone from this realm.

The sapphire phoenix hung round Brand's neck caught a gleam of gray light and shot it back to her eye. He saw it too, and he slid the talisman back into his shirt.

Following gods, they walked, and as the ceiling of the tunnel dropped low, tall humans bent to make their way. After a time Nigh-toothless Kerin said, "Why, them's tools!’ and the voices of others echoed to agree. Here and there, in corners, up against the narrow walls, lay the heads of hammers, rusted chisels, picks whose wooden handles had long rotted in the damp air under the ground.

Brand slipped his arm beneath Elansa’s and helped her to stoop. "Bend low, girl. Head down. I don't think it’s far now," he said, his lips right beside her ear. "See, there's light ahead. The way is climbing. Hang on."

Like a voice out of far memory, Char’s drifted back, Crying, "Ho! Come on! Come ahead!"

She stumbled, and Brand lifted her up. He moved her to the side, pressed her back to the wall while the rest filed by. They passed, and in each she felt the urgency of their need to be out of the cramping tunnel, to see what Char had found. Her legs sagging, Brand let her sit. As the last of them passed, he crouched next to her.

"Can y’walk?"

"In a moment."

He grunted, then sat beside her. He lifted her blouse and winced to see what the ogre had done. "Damn me if you aren't all luck, girl. Your ribs should be broken." He eyed her keenly. "But that ain't the worst, is it?"

Elansa leaned her head against the stone, and a thin trickle of water crept down her neck. "No, the magic hurt the worst. It’s better now. I'm tired."