Of Gods and Elves - By Brian D. Anderson Page 0,68

and grabbed his arm. “What is going on?” she whispered.

Malstisos bowed his head. “A tragedy,” he said. “And an act of pure honor.”

The two elves put down their bows and quivers, and each drew their long knives. “Why?” asked Grentos. “Why do you do this?”

“Because I love you too much to see you live in dishonor,” he replied. “Should you strike me down, it is unlikely you will be able to defeat Malstisos after, even if he is not a seeker. And as you well know, the challenge made cannot be withdrawn.”

“Then I hope I die by your hand, brother.” Grentos charged.

Vadnaltis stepped aside, narrowly avoiding Grentos' initial onslaught. Time and again they traded blows, each unable to gain advantage over the other.

Eventually, it was Grentos that drew first blood, as his blade cut deep into Vadnaltis' left thigh. Blood soaked the elf's leather trousers as it poured from the wound. Any human would have collapsed in agony, but Vadnaltis showed no signs of weakening. He spun around and brought his blade across the right shoulder of Grentos. Grentos staggered forward but quickly regained his balance. Both elves stepped back for a moment, blood dripping from their blades.

Grentos felt the wound on his shoulder and smiled sorrowfully. Tears streamed down the face of Vadnaltis.

“Deep enough,” said Grentos looking at the blood on his hand. “You have killed me. I beg you... finish it.” He dropped his weapon and fell to his knees.

Vadnaltis slowly walked over to his comrade and stood in front of him. “I will join you soon enough, brother.” He placed his hand on top of Grentos' head and muttered a prayer. “I send you to the Creator.” With that, he plunged the knife through Grentos' heart. The elf gasped, then fell to the ground.

Maybell was weeping uncontrollably. Her thoughts went to the death of Berathis.

Vadnaltis pulled his knife free and cleaned it on his shirt. “Malstisos of the Finsoulos Clan.” he said without looking up, “I call you to judgment for crimes against our people.”

Malstisos took a step forward but did not approach Vadnaltis. “I am bound to see this woman to safety,” he replied. “But upon the fulfillment of that duty, I will face judgment.”

“Then go in peace,” he said. “I would perform the rites alone.”

Malstisos bowed low and motioned for Maybell to mount her horse. They urged their mounts on in the direction of town in silence. Once they were a few hundred yards away, Malstisos began to weep. Maybell rode in silence, tears stinging her eyes. They halted just before they got to town.

“I know you don't understand what just happened,” said Malstisos, softly.

“I think I do,” Maybell replied. “At least part of it. What I don't understand is why Grentos allowed himself to be killed.”

“He was dead either way,” answered Malstisos. “The fight would have continued for some time, and Grentos was losing blood. Even if he were victorious, he would have been so weak that he could not have challenged me successfully. He chose to die by his brother’s hand, instead.”

“Seekers and their ways are beyond my understanding,” said Maybell. “I could never kill a sister... even that devil Salmitaya.”

“Yes,” said Malstisos. “But they were more than just seekers. They were brothers.” “You don't mean...” she gasped.

Malstisos nodded slowly. “I do. They were brothers by birth.”

“How do you know?” She reeled at the thought.

“He is performing the burial rites alone,” he replied. “That is only done under two circumstances. If there are no others to help... or if it is blood kin, killed by your own hand.”

“Monstrous,” Maybell cried. “And you intend to let such people judge you?”

“They are my people!” he yelled, causing Maybell to recoil. He took a breath and calmed himself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't expect you to understand. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” she assured. “It's just... I can't...”

“I don't expect you to understand all of our ways,” he said. “But know that I am not afraid to face judgment. In fact, after today, I welcome it. I am tired of the division within my people. Perhaps this is the only way that we can heal.” He urged his horse forward.

They spent the rest of the day in utter silence. Maybell picked up a few supplies, but was in no mood to linger. The only thing she wanted to do was get back to her tent and sleep. On the trip home she could smell the funeral pyre, somewhere in the forest, and she began to weep