Holding Onto Hope

by Michael Anderle

  “What is the meaning of this?” Lord Kerill demanded.

  “My lord, apologies for the late hour.” The guard sounded respectful. “But we captured the elf you said would try to break into the property.”

  Ben’s eyebrows raised. He crept carefully toward the second door that led to the study. There was a faint gap where lamplight shone through but not enough to see anything. Dammit.

  Orders were issued and a scuffling sound followed.

  “So.” Lord Kerill spoke coldly. “Orien Markes. It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen you.”

  Orien? He froze in shock.

  The elf said nothing, however.

  “And why are you here? Is it to kill me like you killed the merchant Jorys? It seems your beloved Elantria is not the pacifist you thought she was.”

  “I’m not here to kill you,” Orien said tightly.

  “I’m afraid I can’t simply take your word for that.” Kerill sounded amused now. “You understand, I’m sure. Unfortunately, it means I will have to execute you. There’s no other option, you see.”

  Shit. Ben froze, his hand on the panel. The room was full of guards and he had barely a hope in hell of escaping before he and Orien died, but he couldn’t simply leave the other man there. After all, he was the reason the elf was in trouble now.

  Before he could give himself time to chicken out, he pushed the door open and tackled the first person he saw.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Whether fortunately or unfortunately was debatable, the first person Ben saw could only be Lord Kerill’s niece. She was tall, with an angular face and pale blue eyes that seemed to glow in a darker blue face. Blue-black hair was held back in an ornate braid and she wore a gown crusted with silver embroidery and jewels. It honestly hurt to land on it. While he had never considered the idea that he might get a puncture wound from a sapphire, it seemed very likely.

  He stared at her in shock and she returned it with an outraged glare.

  “Who the hell are you?” she demanded. “What human was allowed into the family vault? I’ll see you punished for this.”

  The threat confirmed that she was indeed the niece. He pushed to his feet and looked around to run a hasty headcount.

  Lord Kerill, Birra—still on the floor—Orien, held by his injured arm and who stared at him in genuine shock, and two guards in the room and probably more at the door.

  His first thought was that he could kill the slave trader and maybe he should. The man was a monster. He objected even to Elantria’s methods and he was willing to kill Orien rather than have him jailed. His family had owned the city for generations and, rather than rest on the hoard of wealth he had already accumulated, he resorted to slave trading.

  Logic and justice demanded that he should kill him. The city would be better off.

  But he had only a split second, a single chance to save Orien. He cast a single, pained look at Kerill, marked the lines on the man’s face, and thought of the forged letter in the pouch at his hip.

  With immense regret, he gave up on the perfect plan.

  He charged the guard who held Orien’s arm before anyone could try to apprehend him. Perhaps the man hadn’t viewed him as an armed threat because he hadn’t come out with weapons. He had no time to realize how wrong he was before the knife sank into his neck. With a gurgle, he sank to his knees and blood spurted from the wound.

  “Gah! Fuck!” Ben swiped at the blood on his face.

  Orien’s shock dissolved at his words. He whipped around and looped his chains around the other guard’s neck. With a well-practiced motion, he spun the man and used the chains to break his neck before he jerked them free.

  “Come on!” the elf snapped.

  “Right.” He brandished the bloody knife at Kerill and Birra, both frozen in horror, as he backed toward the door.

  She recovered first. “Guards!”

  “Fuck,” Orien said succinctly. He unlatched the door and leapt aside, pushing his companion with him so the guards streamed past them and into the room. As soon as the last man cleared the doorway, he caught Ben’s shirt and yanked him into the corridor. “Run,” the elf said.

  He didn’t need to be told twice. The guards yelled and one had turned to follow them. He ran while the necklace bounced at his waist and he held a bloody knife in his hand. Orien clutched the chains to stop them from rattling too much and ran with grim determination.

  They barreled through the kitchens and into the courtyard, but Kerill’s magic caught up with them.

  He wasn’t a mage himself, but his family had employed the best of the best for decades. An alarm had triggered and magical red lanterns pulsed everywhere while Kerill snapped, “Intruders heading to the back gate. Catch them.”

  Guards raced out of towers and down the road that led around the mansion.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ben muttered. He looked around in panic. They should never have stopped running, he thought in despair. Five men sprinted from the walls, two more emerged from the mansion, and a few came along the road from the other direction with what sounded like a full dozen hot on their heels.

  “It’s not so bad,” Orien said. He turned and his gaze darted quickly to assess the enemy.

  “What makes you say that?” He gave him a quick look. They had ten seconds at most until the first of the guards reached them, and how could they possibly fight this many?

  “Well, if you hadn’t intervened, I would already be dead. There is presently a chance that I might escape.” The elf sounded almost cheerful.

  “So it’s only better for you,” he muttered. “Great.” He had a short-sword and nothing else, and all his muscles were shaking.

  “Now, now.” Orien was—infuriatingly—grinning.

  “Did you have any follow up to that?”

  “Not really. I was about to point out that you voluntarily intervened to help me, but that seemed in poor taste.” He flashed a smile. “Ah, I think I know what to do. Head to the left corner of that house there, on my mark.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then we’ll see, won’t we?”

  “I swear to God,” he muttered, “if I had a better plan…”

  Orien ignored his muttering. “On three. One…two…three!” He sprinted to the building he had mentioned and Ben followed.

  Their unexpected departure left three sets of guards focused on a now non-existent target. Unable to stop, they careened helplessly into a mass collision. A scream indicated that at least one had met the wrong end of another’s weapon.

  “Keep running!” the elf said before he turned and flung his chains behind him. Another man screamed along with a noise that sounded very much like metal meeting flesh and bone.

  Ben winced, tried not to hurl his dinner, and raced on.

  He skidded into the shadows and turned to see the layout of the battle. Two of the guards tried to help the one who had been injured and the rest fanned out around Orien. The man he had already struck with his chains sprawled nearby and blood streamed down his face.

  Hastily, Ben scanned his surroundings. He could now see why the elf had brought them this way. Behind this house was a stairway to the walls as the house itself was part of the structure. They could get out there if they could ascend the stairs and jump before the guards caught them.

  And, of course, if they didn’t die when they jumped. Or before that.

  One of the men darted toward Orien and was kept out of range with a flick of the chains. The next time he darted in, however, another came from the other direction. Ben yelled a warning that was unnecessary as the elf’s foot lashed out to catch the second attacker full in the face.

  The elf was doing well so far, but there was no way he could defeat all of them.

  His mind conjured an impossible thought and he heaved a sigh. There was a way to get out of this without much more fuss. Probably.

  On the downside, he would learn what happened when Nemon was upset with someone.

  “Gentlemen
.” He raised his voice so it carried. “You have a choice. You can choose to apprehend this one runaway slave—an unskilled laborer and useful at best as a pretty face in a nobleman’s house.” He avoided meeting Orien’s curious gaze and drew the necklace out. “Or you can retrieve your lord’s heirloom. If you waste time apprehending the slave, I’ll be long gone with something a hundred times as valuable.”

  It was enough to make them stop and look at each other.

  “Come on,” Ben muttered. He caught his companion by the arm and shoved him toward the stairs. “Go, go, go before they start thinking!”

  “Where did you get that?” Orien whispered in horror.

  “In the vault—you know, where you saw me tumble out of. Move!” He tripped on the stairs and swore. The guards were running now.

  He might be able to get away with the necklace but he didn’t like his odds. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he turned and threw it like a frisbee. It sailed over the guards’ heads and they stopped to watch it.

  Orien grasped his arm and hauled him over the edge of the wall.

  “Fu—” His expletive was lost in a gurgle when he plunged into a deep pool of water.

  Kerill had a moat. Of course he did.

  Ben came up spluttering, flailed awkwardly to the shore and climbed out. He extended a hand to pull Orien out as well. “Come on,” he muttered, panting. “We have to run.”

  “You think?” the elf asked acerbically. He shook his hair out of his eyes, looped the chain over his shoulders, and hurried away.

  With one last look at the walls and the mansion beyond, he followed.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  They were a few streets away before Orien spoke. He darted between alleys with complete concentration, kept him back, or ushered him forward with gestures, but no words were exchanged.

  When he relaxed fractionally, Ben assumed they were in Elantria’s territory again. Still, he waited for his companion to break the silence first. He had made the somewhat debatable mistake of not listening to him once and he chose to use caution this time.

  “So how did you wind up there?” the elf asked finally.

  By his actions, he had already pissed Nemon off. He debated how much more to piss him off and decided to keep things secret for the time being. “Someone hired me to steal that necklace.”

  “And you wanted an opportunity at another slave trader,” Orien said neutrally.

  “This time was different.”

  “You weren’t planning to kill him?” The elf raised an eyebrow.

  “No, I was, but I intended to make sure the right person took over the family business.” He frowned at his companion’s skeptical expression. “I listened to what Elantria said, you know. And you.”

  “Not the first time.”

  He wanted to yell a response but he managed to bite his tongue. “No,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not the first time.”

  Orien studied him with genuine interest. “You’ve changed in the past few days. What happened?” His gaze roamed impersonally over his body. “It doesn’t look like you had the stuffing knocked out of you or anything.”

  “If you must know, I had an unflattering portrait of myself, painted by a—” He remembered how Prima had reacted to being called a demon. “A magical spirit,” he finished.

  “Ah.” The elf looked as if he had more questions and wasn’t sure which one to ask first.

  They walked in silence for another block before Ben said, “I didn’t want you to die or take the fall for me.”

  “You don’t have to justify leaping to my aid, you know. That one, I appreciated.” Orien sounded amused. He swung his arms slightly, still trapped by the chains.

  “You don’t seem at all bothered by those,” he observed. “And you fight well with them.”

  “I was a slave a while back,” the elf said. He didn’t look even remotely bothered by the memory and simply shrugged. “That was when slave trading had only started to take off in Heffog. They noticed I was light on my feet so they were training me to be a gladiator. It worked out well for me. Not so well for them, though.”

  Ben made a mental note to not piss him off ever again.

  Then something else occurred to him. “How did Kerill know you?”

  “He owned me,” Orien said promptly. “He took over a few of the mansions when people left for the new monarchy and I was one of the servants there. Of course, he sold most of us. He’d had a taste of how profitable it could be and there we all were. Some of us, he kept because he wanted to train us first so he could get a better price. He liked to single me out and talk to me, to remind the other slaves that elves were better. It made him look like an ass, though—if he thought elves were in any way better, why did he own me?” He shrugged. “Anyway, I killed the overseer and left with some of the others. Kerill sends messages from time to time, telling me to come back.”

  “Why on earth would you go back?” he demanded.

  “Mmm—allegedly so he can treat me with the respect I deserve and we can both profit. Somehow, I doubt that.” Orien grinned.

  “So when you said I might make things worse by killing slave traders…”

  “I was speaking from experience, yes. I’ve made it something of a hobby to examine the trade.” The elf stopped and fixed him with a firm look. “I know you think Elantria is a coward. Hell, sometimes even I disagree with her methods. I wish she would take more of a stand. Then again, I was only a servant and she was an acknowledged bastard. We had different lives.”

  “Yeah,” Ben said, “and maybe that blinds her to—”

  His companion cut him off. “But she gave up much to stay here and fight for people instead of living a cushy life. So maybe…consider that before you call her a coward again.”

  “I don’t think we’ll speak again,” he pointed out.

  “Where did you think we were going?” Orien demanded. “Good gods, man. I’m taking you back to her.”

  Ben waved his hands in protest. “And you didn’t think that was a bad plan? She hates me! And…the feeling is mostly mutual.”

  “She doesn’t hate you,” the elf said. “Elantria reserves hate for a very select group of people and you had better hope you never number among them. Most of them are dead and she’s still trying to find ways to ruin their legacies.”

  “You…” He sighed. “Look, I appreciate you helping me get out. I do. But I don’t think going back to Elantria is the answer.”

  “Well, you’ve pissed off the person you were supposed to get the necklace for,” Orien pointed out. “And you have no other benefactors. So unless you want to bite it, I suggest you come with me.” He saw the look on his face and sighed. “Okay, I’ll…smooth the way. If nothing else, you earned yourself points by saving me.”

  Ben sighed, but he had a point. Nemon seemed like he could be a very unpleasant person if crossed and he had failed him—and in a way that would make it difficult for anyone to steal the same necklace again.

  He followed the elf through the dark streets to Elantria’s house after only one more caution.

  “The person who hired me—he knows I was here before.”

  “And?” Orien looked at him.

  “I don’t want to bring anything down on her. If nothing else, it’ll hardly help her impression of me.”

  “She already has half the city pissed at her,” his companion said cheerfully. “There’s no need to worry about that.” He rapped on the door, whispered a password to the guard, and ushered him into the darkness.

  They hurried silently to the study and Orien went in first with a motion for him to stay back.

  “I wondered where you had gone,” Elantria said drily. “What happened?”

  “Let’s say anyone who trades in slaves has been extra jumpy lately,” the elf said.

  She sighed. “That idiot,” she said with a sharp edge to her tone.

  “Mmm, speaking of whom…” From the series of clanks and clicks, someone was pickin
g the locks on his cuffs. “He’s the reason I got out of there alive.”

  “What?” She had not seen that coming.

  “Yes. You see, they brought me directly to Kerill and Birra for execution, and who should tumble out of the vault but Ben. Ah—that feels better, thank you.” There was a last clank of iron on wood as the chains were put on the table, followed by the sound of wine being poured into a goblet. “He killed the guard holding me and threw his job to get me out.”

  “Really.” Elantria sounded cautious.

  “Mm-hmm. He’s impulsive in both directions, as it turns out. But the point is, not only did he throw his job, he’d taken our advice to heart and planned to get Kerill’s son into power instead of Birra.”

  “How did he plan to do that?”

  “He can tell you himself.” Orien raised his voice. “Ben.”

  “Oh, you have to be kidding me,” she said as he came around the door.

  “I’m afraid not.” He managed a smile, although he was fairly sure it looked more like a grimace. “Trust me, I asked Orien numerous times if he was sure about this.”

  “Why were you in Kerill’s vault?” she demanded. “Who hired you?”

  Ben weighed the pros and cons of hiding the man’s name and decided it was probably best for her to know. “Nemon. Through Delia.”

  “Ugh.” Elantria flopped into her chair. “I don’t know what Delia sees in him. What did he hire you for?”

  “To get a necklace—an ugly old thing covered in jewels. He said no one had used it in a while and probably wouldn’t even notice it was missing.” He considered whether to sit or get himself a glass of wine and decided to do neither. He didn’t want to piss her off.

  What he wanted was to leave, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do that.

  “And…” The woman looked at Orien.

  “And when we were surrounded, he yanked it out and threw it to distract them,” the elf said.

  “That was foolish,” Elantria snapped.