Nancy Berberick - The Inheritance

"You will go when you wish," he said to her. "We made our bargain."

But Elansa was too weary to go. She had strength only for sitting, for leaning against Brand. This he let her do, hearkening to the ravens and the cries of elves on the battleground, listening to the opening of the gates of Pax Tharkas and the clatter of hooves in the courtyard. If he wondered what fate he would meet, he and his three friends, he didn't speculate aloud or burden her with his thoughts. He simply let her rest.

But Brand did rest with his sword across his knees.

In the room, the outlaws stirred. Near the door, Char stood straight. Mail sang in the corridor, jingling. Booted feet trod the stone, heavy. Only one came, an elf off the battleground. None need guess who he was. Char went to the door, opening it before Kethrenan could.

"Welcome to Pax Tharkas," said the dwarf to the elf prince. His voice held only a small note of irony. "We’ve been expecting you."

Kethrenan stood in his battle gear, mailed and helmed and weaponed. He stood covered in blood and dust, his face all keen edges, his eyes like swords. Elansa’s breath caught in her throat, as it had so many times before when she'd seen him like this, the prince come home from battle. Then, in the halls of the Tower of the Sun, she had felt a thrill to watch him stride into the room, to smell the battle still on him. Now, she did not thrill to see him. Now he looked dangerous, and fear snaked cold in her belly, for the look he turned on her was one of disgust.

When she moved, Brand loosed his hold on her a little.

"Keth," she said.

Kethrenan ignored her. He glanced at Char only to see that he was no threat. He pushed past him, swept the room with a cold stare. One and another, the outlaws looked at him. None stood, and Dell, in the far corner, honed the blade of her dagger, making steel and stone sing. Kethrenan dismissed it. Last, he looked at Brand.

"You," he said. "Move away from my wife."

Brand kept his place. He did not move his arm. Elansa felt him quiver, as a hound does to a call. He lifted his head. The danger she sensed, he understood.

"Move," Kethrenan said.

Brand's lips moved in a long slow smile. His eyes narrowed. Elansa’s belly tightened. She tried to move, but he held her.

"My lord prince," Brand said, naming the elf courteously.

Dell rose from her place in the corner, and the singing of stone on steel ended. Near the window, Leyerlain Starwing had the dark look of one who stares at an end. Perhaps it wasn't Kethrenan in his thoughts, but it was the prince at whom he directed his glance. Behind the elf prince Char stood with his back to the door, his throwing axe to hand. No one offered harm, but no one stood down.

Brand rose, and he stood before Elansa. In his left hand, he held his sword. It was not his natural hand for holding a weapon. Still he gripped it strongly, neither raising it nor grounding it.

Kethrenan lifted his head. "Do you threaten me?"

Brand appeared to consider the question, then allowed as how he probably did, indeed, threaten. "But it doesn't have to come to that if you go gently with your wife."

The color drained from Kethrenan’s cheeks. Beneath the grime of battle and burnish of the sun, his skin went ashen.

"Elansa," he said, his voice cold as the winter of her captivity. "Move away from that human scum so I may kill him."

She rose, and the doing was easier than she'd imagined. She’d found strength, but she knew not where. Head high, standing in her rags, she said, "You will not kill him, husband. I do not wish it."

Kethrenan’s eyes widened for the briefest instant, then they narrowed.

"Husband, I am ready to leave here with you, but I won't leave over the bodies of these people. Brand and I made a bargain between us. I upheld my part, and doing that I made certain you had only goblins to face, not worse." She put her hand upon the sapphire phoenix, the wide-winged bird upon her breast. Soft, Elansa said, "Now Brand is prepared to uphold his part of our agreement. Let it be, Keth."

She spoke, without considering her voice and what the softness of it might reveal. Elansa saw horror and disgust warring in her husband's eyes as he understood, as he gleaned the true meaning behind her words. She saw them overwhelm disbelief and change into anger.

"He… he has had you."

Had, he said. That word made her skin crawl.

"He has had you, and you stand here shameless without the decency to have killed yourself!"

In the silence between them, the cries of ravens sounded very close, the call of death.

Brand moved Elansa aside and named the elf prince a coward.

"Coward, aye, that's what you are. You'd rather she killed herself than lived? You'd rather find her corpse than find her alive? Elf, you have no idea what courage your wife has. You have never seen it in your fine and golden towers. I have seen it. I have tested it, and I have tasted it." Sneering, he said, "You don't deserve her."

White to the eyes, Kethrenan drew his sword. Steel sang from the scabbard, the blade flashed up, and someone cried out.

Kethrenan shouted in Elvish. "Valth! Caslth! Valth!"

Whore! Slut! Whore!

Two swords rose. Kethrenan’s flashed first and fell to kill the woman he named whore. Brand moved swiftly. He took the blow, the whole blade into his breast. Elansa screamed and fell, covered in blood as a dagger whistled past her ear. Again, blood, spurting, spraying, and she saw her husband fall, Leyerlain’s dagger in his throat. The room erupted in cursing and cries of fear. Elansa wailed, for she kneeled with her back to the corpse of her husband and Brand's body in her arms.

Brand looked at her, his eyes dim, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. Kethrenan’s sword had cut so deeply into his lungs he would soon drown in his own blood. Still, he held her with his eyes and tried to speak.

What was to say? What words would serve? None.

"My girl," he whispered. Only that, for a long moment, while someone sobbed, and someone else cursed. Only that, and then, "I loved the courage of you. I love…" And then, the soft sigh, the last breath leaving.

Elansa felt him go. She felt him die. There in her arms, she felt it, and she saw the life go out of his eyes. She lifted up her head to keen.

"Wu-la! Wa-la! Wa-la!"

The terrible grief-cry silenced the room, and then Char took her and pulled her to her feet. Brand slid from her, fell away, and she tried to cry out, but she had no voice for anything but keening.

Elansa would not go with the elves. She said so with the last of her tears on her thin cheeks. She would not go with people whose prince would have killed her for choosing to live. The outlaws gathered around her when she stated her will, and Char shook his head.

Dell didn't understand.

"He's dead," she said, glancing scornfully at Kethrenan. "Who's to know what he said or didn't say, what he knew or didn't? Go home, princess. You can now."

Leyerlain understood well, though.

"Let her do what she wants," he said. He said so wiping his bloody dagger on the leg of his pants. Not once did he look at the prince he'd killed or the outlaw lord whose life he'd hoped to save. Ley knew about endings, it seemed, more than anything else. He didn't look at Elansa. "Let her do what she wills. I'm out of here. Kethrenan’s warriors are going to come looking for him soon. I'm not going to be here when they show up."

So saying, he turned and walked away. He didn't go alone. Wordless, Dell followed. They would find their way together, or they would part. This was the pattern of their lives, the way their fates were woven. Only Char remained, and of the last three outlaws, he grieved the dead man most.

"Princess," he said, his voice rough with emotion as he took Elansa’s arm and helped her to stand. "We have to leave, if that’s what you want to do."