Holding Onto Hope

by Michael Anderle

  Ben was still grinning when they came around the corner and saw Birra’s guards waiting at the door of the study.

  He didn’t hesitate. If he did, the guards would gain the advantage and it would go poorly. He might have done some training with swords, but these men had trained for most of their lives.

  As he pushed into a sprint toward them, he drew his short-sword, then threw himself into a roll. His pacing was good and he came out of it behind the far guard as the man staggered forward. He had drawn his sword to counter his attacker’s swing and had thus leveled a heavy strike at thin air.

  A little unbalanced by the futile attempt, he didn’t have a chance for another strike. Ben stabbed into the man’s back and winced at his scream. He’d become better at steeling himself to the task of fighting, but it wasn’t easy to see death up close.

  Why couldn’t he have been a virtual reality plumber, hopping over mushrooms and snagging gold coins? That would have been much less traumatic.

  Right now, though, there was no time for regrets. The man staggered away and Ben arced his blade down for a final strike. On the other side, the two dark elves dispatched the second guard with silent efficiency. They fought in the same way they talked—one of them started an attack and the second finished it.

  His guard made one last attempt at an attack, and he hit the man on the head with the hilt of his sword. He shuddered as he dropped like a stone. Even now, after all that had happened, he hated this.

  Common sense reminded him that he had to stay alert. Birra was inside the study. He nodded at his companion and flung the door open.

  A third guard stood inside, something he had anticipated. She seemed like the type to have increased her guard since the first time she’d encountered him. He wondered if she remembered him at all. The right side of his chest certainly remembered her. The colorful imprint of several diamonds still bruised the skin.

  Kule and Havern moved to secure Birra while he and her bodyguard fought. He was powerfully built and imposing, definitely with orcish blood, and he moved like his massive broadsword weighed nothing.

  The man was also tall, which meant he didn’t bring his guard down quite enough. Ben parried several of his strikes, drove him back, and then—when the woman’s scream distracted him—ducked low and stabbed up under the man’s leather armor. A second slash followed across his throat and he stumbled upright to see Birra watching him.

  “You,” she said with undisguised hatred.

  She did remember him. It would seem having a grimy human tackle you from behind what you thought was a solid wall was a formative experience.

  “Me,” he said cheerfully.

  “What do you want?” she snapped. “Do you want another piece of treasure from my uncle’s vault? Perhaps you want a bag of gold?”

  “I came to kill you,” he said.

  “As you can see, my uncle isn’t here,” Birra snapped at him.

  “Yes,” he said patiently. “I know that. I said I came to kill you.”

  Her face paled and her mouth opened. She looked at Kule and Havern.

  “What did my cousin pay you?” She was on her feet in a second. “I’ll triple it. You’ll be a rich man all your life—and that’s before you get the payout for murdering him.”

  “Your cousin didn’t send me,” Ben told her.

  She went even paler at that. “My uncle?” Her voice wavered now.

  “It wouldn’t be that much of a surprise, right? After all, you’re spying on him while he’s at dinner, he’s been trying to get his son to come back as his heir…” He shrugged.

  “Whatever you want,” the woman said. “Name it and it is yours.” Her gaze was cold. She was the type of person who was used to bending the world to her will. “Everyone has a price. Simply name yours.”

  “I want my father back, you son of a bitch.”

  “I…beg your pardon?” She looked at Kule and Havern, both of whom shrugged.

  “It’s a long story.” Ben hefted his sword. “The short version is that there’s no price that will stop this. You’re dead, Birra.”

  “Why?” She spread her palms on the desk. “If it’s not one of them, then who?”

  He was torn. On the one hand, he didn’t want to make the mistake of destroying his advantage with a speech. On the other, he wanted her to die knowing exactly what had led to her death.

  “You destroyed lives,” he said as he had to Jorys. “No amount of your pain could ever make that right—which is lucky for you. But you won’t get out of this alive.”

  Her mouth opened on a denial and her scream was cut short when he vaulted over the desk to run her through. He didn’t bother trying to cut through her jewel-encrusted dress but lunged at her throat. She died with a hidden dagger falling from one hand. Whether she had meant to kill him with it or herself, he didn’t know.

  He did know that there was another battle happening, and it was the more important one.

  “Let’s go,” he said to his companions.

  “But the vault is right there,” Havern argued.

  “Now, unless you want to explain to Elantria why we weren’t there for Orien.”

  They shut up immediately and followed him without another word of protest. Elantria apparently inspired terror in her followers, even those who liked her.

  They ran through silent hallways toward the sound of yells from the great hall. There were armed people inside, and he motioned for the other two to stay back while he peeked in one of the doors.

  Kerill’s guards had arrived too late. Orien and his fighters had Kerill surrounded, while seven elves stood along one side of the room. Three of them looked outraged, as did the slaver. The lord’s guards didn’t know what to do. They didn’t dare get closer while the elf had their employer at knifepoint, and they didn’t want to get involved in the workings of elven law either.

  Ben motioned for Kule and Havern to follow him as he circled the outside of the great hall. He wanted to be quick but he couldn’t afford anyone to hear them. Various phrases could be caught through the wall.

  It turned out that legalese in elvish sounded very similar to legalese in English.

  The three entered through the back door of the room in a rush to join Orien, who looked gratefully at them. The elf raised an eyebrow as if to confirm that his mission was accomplished.

  He nodded.

  “You have admitted to selling slaves,” Orien said and returned to the matter at hand. “You have admitted, in front of witnesses, to selling me—a resident of your same city. You have admitted, also, to training me for purposes that would lead to my death. You are in violation of elven law.”

  Kerill looked desperately over his shoulder at the seven assembled elves. The four who had been called in by Nemon met his gaze without flinching. The man had known how they would see this.

  The other three wouldn’t look at the accused.

  “You know this isn’t a legal proceeding,” Kerill called to them. His voice was high and wild.

  “There are no protestations of innocence, you notice,” Orien said clearly to no one in particular. “And you can save your breath. We can carry out the sentence before your guards can reach us.”

  The guards looked less and less sure of what they should be doing.

  “Slavery has never been prohibited in Heffog,” Kerill snapped at them. “Do something.”

  One of the men took a step forward miserably, and Orien’s sword flashed. It came to rest along the lord’s neck.

  The man glared at him. “You’ll never get out of here alive. They’ll kill you as soon as you kill me.”

  “I don’t think that’s true,” the ex-slave said. “After all, they have several noble witnesses who declare me to be in the right. They know you’ve claimed exemptions from other laws due to your adherence to elvish custom, which means you should hold to it now.” He cast a speculative look at the guards. “And frankly, I don’t think they care that much. Once you’re dead, I don’t think they’ll risk
their lives to fight my soldiers.”

  Kerill snarled at him. “What do you want? Is it money? A mansion of your own?”

  “No,” Orien said. He shook his head slightly at Ben. “They always offer the same things. They think it solves all their problems.”

  His mouth twitched.

  “Then how about this?” Kerill’s voice dropped and he suddenly had a smile on his lips. “I have records of where every slave was sent to. Everyone…including your friend Josyla.”

  The elf froze.

  “Orien?” Ben asked quietly.

  “They were rather more than friends,” Kerill said. He sounded smug now and could see victory within his grasp. “I would have kept them together but you see, she fetched quite a good price as a goldsmith—and why keep her here, only to see him die in the arena? But now that he’s free…”

  He could see that it cost the slave trader, even now with his actual life on the line, to say goodbye to the money he’d received for Josyla.

  “A deal could be made,” he finished.

  Ben watched Orien’s indecision and fought the urge to run Kerill through himself. He didn’t believe that Josyla was still alive. The man couldn’t be trusted at all. It was merely an attempt to weasel out of this.

  But this was exactly what Elantria had worried about. It was why she had warned him that Orien must be the one to kill Kerill. He had a thought, suddenly, of exactly how to ensure that.

  He stepped close to Orien to murmur in his ear. “When this is over—immediately after you do what you came here for—I’ll need to leave Heffog. Send me to look for Josyla. Between Kerill’s records and my…magical spirit…we’ll find her and we’ll free her. Don’t let him weasel out of paying for this simply for Josyla’s sake. We can have both.”

  The elf looked at him. “And I suppose he might be lying.” His jaw was tight.

  “Then he definitely shouldn’t get to weasel out,” he said. He met his gaze. “We don’t need him for this.”

  “We don’t,” Orien agreed.

  He did it casually and with such speed and skill that Ben didn’t realize at first what had happened. Kerill’s head thudded onto the floor of the great hall and one of the dinner guests screamed. The three nobles who had been invited by the now-dead host looked at his body and looked away.

  The elf was not finished with them, it seemed. He stared at them with a grimly expectant expression.

  Slowly, beginning with the three who had supported Kerill, each of the seven heads of household stepped forward to look at the body and turn their hand palm up.

  “What does that mean?” Ben muttered to Kule.

  “It means they agree that he took what was his due and justice is satisfied,” Kule explained. “They agree that he was within his rights.”

  They might have been reluctant or have hated Orien, but none of them wavered from this. The first of the seven turned to the guards who all waited anxiously.

  “Your duties are done,” she said. “Guard only your master’s property and await the time that an heir is determined.” Her tone suggested that she had a hunch of what might happen to Birra. “Let this man and his companions go in peace. They present no danger to the rest of those gathered.”

  “Thank you,” Orien said. He whistled to his soldiers and the group left the room. Ben would have lingered but for the fact that the elf took his arm and pulled him along.

  They did not speak until they were out in the darkness and Orien led him to the stables.

  “We don’t have much time,” he said. “You have to go now. Go south of Heffog, sneak past the first town, and take your shelter in the second. The inn barely deserves the name, but it’ll do. When we have the information, we’ll send for you.”

  He nodded. “And you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” the elf said. “There are many more elven nobles—and some humans—who may face justice in the coming days. I owe it to the people of Heffog to stay through this process. You, though—you’re merely a murderer and you need to leave before they find you.”

  He held his hands out to help him into the saddle.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “You know how to ride a horse, surely?”

  “Well, yeah, except also no.”

  “Ah.” Orien scratched his head. “Well, put your foot here. Just do it. Now, push up and swing your other leg over. One motion. One, two, three. There you go.”

  “Holy shit.” He clutched at something to steady himself as the horse pranced nervously. He was much higher up than he had ever imagined being on an animal. “Uh…now what?”

  “You’ll learn the rest as you go,” Orien said simply and smacked the horse’s hindquarters with one open palm.

  His mount leapt forward. He yelped in alarm and held onto the pommel desperately as the horse cantered into the darkness.

  “Now this,” Prima said in his head, “will be hilarious.”

  Chapter Thirty

  A day and a half later, when the endless parade of medical tests was done and Ben had been fitted for a suit, he sat in a camping chair in a secluded part of Central Park.

  On such short notice, Natasha and Mike hadn’t arranged a permit for anything in particular, so they had found a small area that wasn’t likely to be seen by many passers-by. Much to his surprise, they had asked him to be the minister. Online ordination had been quickly submitted and despite the feeling that this was ridiculous, he had written some comments he could use.

  He saw his friend’s nod and pushed out of the chair. Mike came to help him to the tiny area they had chosen, now strewn with flower petals. Natasha wore a simple white dress and her hair hadn’t been pulled back or dressed up, but she looked radiant. She held a single stem of orchids in one hand.

  “Are you sure you can stand?” the man asked him.

  “Yep. Not for long, but yep.” He planted his feet and smiled at the two of them. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready,” Mike said with a thumbs-up.

  “Ready,” Natasha confirmed. She looked like she might explode from happiness.

  “Mike and Natasha,” Ben said. “For years, the two of you have been a blessing to everyone around you. Every one of our friends turned to you when they had bad luck or loss, and you were always there for them. I think I speak for all of us when I say that I doubted, many times, whether there was anything more to life than disappointment and loneliness, but the example you two set gave me hope.”

  Mike tilted his head slightly to the side. He knew his friend was surprised. Usually, he wasn’t the type to speak about mushy, sentimental things.

  But so much had changed recently.

  “You may not have known that,” he told them, “because I liked to poke fun at you for settling down and being an old married couple. But every time I did that, it was to remind myself that you made it work. I saw you two fight and make up. I saw you disagree and move past it. I saw you hold each other when times were tough. Mike, you were there for Natasha when she lost her job. Natasha, you were there for Mike when his grandfather died, and again when he needed you for everything from eating to deciphering medical statements. The fact that he’s standing here now is a testimony to your relationship. Whatever comes your way, I know you’ll weather it together.”

  The couple reached out to clasp each other’s hands.

  “Do you have your vows?” he asked.

  Mike nodded and drew a card from his pocket. “Natasha. Ten years ago, in Introduction to Astronomy, I met the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. It’s a good thing I wasn’t into Astronomy because you’re all I remember from that class. All these years later, every time I look at you, I feel the same way—like I don’t know what’s down and what’s up, and I don’t even remember my name.”

  She laughed and squeezed his hand.

  “I promise you,” he told her, “that I will be there for you in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, in good times and in bad, for the rest of our lives. We’ve h
ad…uh, well, we’ve done all that already.”

  Natasha grinned.

  “And I know life will throw other shit at us,” he continued. “Wait, am I allowed to swear in these? I guess I’m trying to say I love you and I will always be there for you. We’ve done it before, and I can think of no one better to share the victories and the good moments with because you make even the worst moments wonderful.”

  Ben nodded to Natasha.

  “Mike.” She had memorized her vows and looked into her fiancé’s eyes. “I spent a long time trying to think of vows that were better than the traditional ones, and…like you, I kept coming back to them. I swear to love you for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, for the rest of our lives. We are more together than the sum of our parts, and I cannot wait to face both good times and bad with you.”

  They exchanged rings and murmured the words required after him. Both had tears in their eyes.

  “And now,” he said, “by the power vested in me by the state of New York and the people at Ministers ʼR Us, I pronounce you husband and wife. I’ll go sit and you two wait until I’m not looking to make out.”

  He hobbled to his chair while they laughed. When he stole a glance, they were hugging, her arms gentle around Mike’s not completely healed body. They leaned their foreheads together, and he could see their complete comfort in each other’s presence.

  On the side of the clearing, Nick and DuBois gave him a thumbs-up. They had been drafted as last-minute witnesses and the doctor had offered a reception dinner of popcorn.

  Ben’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket after a few unsuccessful attempts. He smiled when he saw who it was.

  How did it go? Eliza had written.

  Good. They were basically already married. He looked at his friends. Now it’s merely official. They look so happy.

  I bet you did a great service.

  I like to think so. He hesitated. So, you said you had some news.

  Yeah. I got a job offer to stay here. Good money and way better hours.

  That’s awesome.

  Look, I know this is crazy, but—do you think maybe you’ll come back to Colorado?