The Zü stumbled heavily over his body and flew right down the stairs. Reyan didn’t waste any time perusing the result and stood up to run toward the other stairway, which he leaped halfway down. He jumped over the rail and landed on the ground as the Zü was getting up, apparently unscathed. The Zü started down the rest of the stairs, no doubt grumbling threats and insults all the way.
The actor was already making for a distant door, which he threw open and ran through. The library—there were weapons in the library. He pulled down the first one he saw, and the Zü charged into the room, barely sidestepping an ax blow that Reyan had delivered too early.
The two men faced one another, each studying the other with the hope of surprising him in the darkness separating two lightning strikes. In normal combat, Reyan would have had the advantage with his weapon, but right now, with the help of the poison, the Zü would only have to touch him once to strike him down.
The actor never had much practice with weapons; he didn’t even carry one. The training he received in his youth was limited to the classic swords of the Lorelien nobility: thirty-five-pound blades anyone would struggle to handle. This skill only came in handy during a performance.
Before playing with Barle, he was also a member of a little circus troupe, for which he performed a number—a pathetic one, at that—that involved throwing knives. But the weapons hanging on the walls here had nothing in common with the perfectly balanced knives from the circus. Maybe he could still try?
A flash revealed that the Zü had shifted to his left, and Reyan, surprised, reeled back with a cry. Luckily, the thunderstorm was at its peak, and the flashes followed each other quickly enough that the adversaries didn’t lose sight of each other for very long.
Be that as it may, in this little game the assassin would have the upper hand sooner or later.
The room went dark again and the actor randomly struck in all directions, as he had been doing up until now, hoping to injure the Zü—or at least prevent him from coming closer. The scene was lit up, then hidden again.
The killer seemed to be enjoying the scene, teasing the actor left and right, closer and closer each time. Reyan realized suddenly that he was nothing but anonymous prey for the Zü, and this horrified him.
He made his decision and immediately put his plan into action.
The glow of a lightning strike gone, he launched his axe in what he supposed was the direction of the Zü and flung himself toward the wall. His fingers grabbed at a metallic object; he pulled it down immediately and found himself with a bastard sword in hand.
A clap of thunder filled the room: he didn’t hear a cry or the fall of an axe. Calm restored, he listened, breathless in the fading light.
The intervals were getting longer, and this silent wait seemed to last an eternity.
The light returned to reveal a corpse. The axe had struck the Zü square in the forehead. Reyan drew near and mercilessly stabbed the point of the sword in the Zü’s throat, just in case.
Armed with a crossbow, he went through the house cautiously, locking every door and checking every dark corner. Reassured, he came back to the assassin’s body and searched him from head to toe.
He found a skeleton key, which he quickly slipped into his own pocket, a little wooden flask, a spool of thread, a little box containing a moist brown paste, a red headband, and, most importantly, a parchment. The little flask and the box must contain the poison and the antidote...or the antidote and the poison. He would figure that out later. The rest was insignificant, except for the paper, which he unfolded with care.
As he feared, he couldn’t decipher it. Reyan knew and read several languages, but this one was not Lorelien, nor Ithare, nor Goranese, much less Romine. It was most likely Ramzü, given the bearer’s nationality.
He recognized some words, however, which were always written the same way as long as the Ithare alphabet was used.
Mess Kercyan
Reyan Kercyan
And names of other people Reyan knew of, along with their presumed addresses. He knew their commonality right away.
First, they were all Lorelien.
Second, they were all the damned heirs of that damned island, Ji.
It seemed he wasn’t through with the story that was ruining his life. All through his childhood, he had been told about Reyan the Elder, who preferred to lose everything rather than break an oath. But Reyan had never asked for that! Was the family truly happier being modest yet honorable?
Now someone was organizing a hunt. Had he asked to be the prey?
He kicked the body twice. It was pointless, but it made him feel better.
He pondered this for a bit longer and came to a decision.
If these Züu wanted him dead, his only chance was to fade into the wild. To exile himself for a few years, just until things settled down. To the Old Countries, maybe.
“Curses!”
He kicked the body again, and read through the parchment once more.
He vaguely knew some of these people. He had met them when his grandmother dragged him and Mess to one of those ridiculous gatherings. Presumably they were all in danger, or already dead.
But that wasn’t his problem; it was theirs!
He let out a heavy sigh. He’d had better days. And his conscience wasn’t done tormenting him...
He gathered up his battle trophies, then moved from room to room putting together a small pack. He brought everything upstairs to the second-floor window and prepared to go back out into the night; better to avoid the front door, which could be watched.
He changed his mind, came back to the library and chose two knives. One he slipped into his boot, the other in his belt. Then he retrieved the Zü’s dagger and the bloody sword, for which he grabbed a scabbard. Loaded with these tools, he was glancing over the room one last time when a final idea came to him. He returned to the corpse and removed his clothes. An official Züu outfit could surely be useful for something.
And Reyan didn’t know what the future might bring.
The Day of the Falcon began that morning.
The Day of the Promise was only a dékade away: the dékade of the Unsure.
Yan, fifteen years old and a modest fisherman from a small Kaulien village, realized that these ten days would earn their name as they never had before.
Though he had considered the problem from every angle, he didn’t yet know how to strike up the courage to ask for Léti’s hand.
He had seen enough celebrations of the Promise to know what was expected. The suitors seeking a Union had to obtain their loved one’s agreement before nightfall, when the whole village would celebrate the engagements.
Of course, you could exchange vows at whatever time of the year you wished, but Yan knew how tied Léti was to traditions and that she would most certainly be infuriated if he dared to even discuss the subject on any day other than the ones set forth by the cult of Eurydis.
No, he really had to gather his courage. He had to ask for Léti’s hand in the next dékade. Otherwise he would have to delay his plan until the following year.
Curses, curses...
He had never realized that these rituals, which amused him under normal circumstances, became so restrictive when one was actually faced with them. Proposal, Promise, Witness, Union—there were so many steps to complete, and in front of the whole village, just so he could live with Léti! Not to mention the mockery and bawdy sarcasm that came along with the Day of the Virgin, the Day of the Mushroom, and the Day of Children, which couldn’t help but increase Yan’s apprehension.
The dékade of the Unsure...No, he was sure that he wanted a Union with Léti, but he was just as sure that he didn’t want to face all those trying moments!
And still, these problems were nothing compared to the biggest anxiety that ate at him: Would she accept?
It’s true that since they were kids everyone had always considered them promised to one another. Léti’s mother, Norine, had taken Yan in as an orphan and ra
ised him until he was deemed too old to live in decency with the two women. He then returned to live in his parents’ small house, but he still spent most of his time with his adoptive family, fishing for them, working for them, even preferring to maintain their house rather than his own, which fell into ruins a little more each day. When Norine had disappeared, he took care of Léti, who had taken ill, and nursed her back to health. Now they were both orphans. Yes, in everyone’s eyes, they were already promised to one another.
In everyone’s eyes, but in her eyes?
Yan knew himself to be a rather mediocre fisherman of little wealth, and he didn’t think himself particularly handsome or charming. He didn’t have any special talents, perhaps with the exception of knowing how to read a little, he had no family to rely on, and to others he came off as a somewhat lazy dreamer.
For him, Léti was the most beautiful woman in the world. He loved her strong will, her laugh, and her zest for life. Several women in her family had become Mothers; her aunt was a member of the Permanent Council, and it was likely that she too would be elected as a Mother in a few years. She lived in the biggest house in the village, which was furnished more lavishly than all the others combined. Yes, Léti was certainly too good for him.
Yan would have done anything to be more handsome, funnier, richer, more talented, and more interesting.
For instance, he had tried to improve the traditional methods for dive fishing by using the framework of an old crossbow to build a better harpoon. But he never perfected the weapon’s use, and the villagers were uninterested, deeming it too dangerous and suitable only for lazy people.
He had also spent several days with a learned traveler, eagerly drinking in his knowledge of marine birds while serving as the traveler’s guide to the more interesting coves and beaches. But when he told Léti that corioles migrate as far as Northern Arkary at the beginning of the Season of Fire, she asked him how knowing that could possibly benefit him. He was still searching for an answer.
He stopped fishing for a while and successively became the apprentice to the blacksmith, the carpenter, a farmer, the miller, and even the brewer. But he was forced to give up each time, aware of the mounting irritation from each master artisan that was caused by his suggestions. His only aim, according to them, was to do the least amount of work possible. The priest was the only person left in the village who was willing to take him on, but Yan politely declined his offer. He respected Eurydis and Brosda, but he was far from devoting his life to them.
In short, he now found himself with no prospects for his future, other than to take Léti in Union.
His life would be different then. Perhaps they would move to a new village or, at the very least, travel. Above all, he could finally accompany her to that mysterious gathering she attended every year with her mother and aunt. That alone would be an exciting experience—see new places, meet strangers and, better than that, foreigners! It really would be amazing.
Well, it would be amazing if he found the courage to propose and she accepted.
Yan decided that he had worried himself sufficiently for one day and stood up. Given the position of the sun, it must have already been a deciday that he had been lying on the beach brooding, and it was time he thought about the present: what were they going to eat for dinner?
He went to inspect the holes that he had dug in the sand that morning, where he had placed a basket woven in the shape of a labyrinth. The tide had risen and fallen, leaving behind a few crabs and shells in the trap. Over time, he liked crab less and less, but he would have to settle for it since he hadn’t gone out with the fishermen. Besides, Léti had surely thought to prepare some dish herself.
He placed his catch into a basket and took the path back to the village. Although he had sought solitude, he hadn’t gone very far and had just over a half league to cover.
He had only been gone since morning, but he still couldn’t wait to see Léti again. He had never realized, before thinking about it, how much she meant to him. For as long as he could remember, they had never spent more than a few days apart.
He had this on his mind when he got closer to the hamlet. A gang of children rushed toward him as soon as he was in view. He greeted them with a smile, which soon faded.
“Léti’s gone! Léti’s gone!”
The children surrounded him, tugging on his clothing; every one of them wanted to reveal a secret, but each secret was the same.
“Léti’s gone! Léti’s gone!”
Something roared in Yan’s ears. Gone? How could she have left? Sure, until this evening, maybe. She couldn’t have really left.
He spotted the village Mother slowly making her way toward him. He was beside her in an instant. She talked to him in an artificially reassuring tone, but with a sincerely sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
“She left at the apogee. She looked for you everywhere to warn you, but no one knew where you were. It was her aunt, the one from the Council, who came for her. She arrived in the morning. I have the feeling it was something very serious, because they left in such a hurry.”
“Léti was crying!” exclaimed one of the kids, innocently.
“Where did they go?”
“My boy, Corenn requested that no one follow them, and it’s most certainly wise advice. It’s better that way, for—”
“Which way did Léti go?” he asked one of the children.
Fifteen fingers pointed toward the east while a chorus echoed, “That way!” and “Léti went that way!”
“Yan, wait!” the Mother commanded.
But he was already out of earshot, in a sprint toward his house. He dumped out a canvas bag and rummaged through its contents for a waterskin, two tunics, a line and a few hooks, his old fishing knife, and some dried fruit. He picked up a harpoon, then was gone as fast as he came, running in the direction where the kids had pointed.
“It’s useless, you’ll never catch them! They left at the apogee, and they’re on horseback!” the Mother cried after him.
Yan was already beyond the bounds of the village.
Léti refused to believe it, though she knew it all was true. All her friends, all the heirs, her adopted cousins, uncles, aunts, grandmothers, grandfathers, they were all dead. She remembered all of their names, seeing each face in her mind as she did, and grew even sadder thinking that she would never have enough tears for them all.
Her aunt Corenn seemed just as shaken, though a bit more reserved. She hadn’t said a word since they left. Léti knew that her aunt hadn’t slept the night before, riding all night to reach her niece. She must be tired; anyone could see it in her face.
They both walked slowly, leading their horses by the reins. The two animals were also exhausted; they hadn’t rested since the night before either.
Léti forced herself to ask, “How far do we have to go?”
Corenn seemed to snap out of it a little. Her gaze left the ground to move toward the horizon. She cleared her throat before responding.
“I’m not sure. As far as we can, anyway. We’ll leave the path to sleep for a bit soon, but I want to get a little further.”
She turned toward her niece, forcing a smile.
“Is that all right?”
“Yes, yes,” Léti assured her.
The more she thought about it, the more she preferred to keep on walking, to walk forever. It made her feel like she was escaping her sadness. She knew that when they stopped, all her torments would catch up with her. Maybe it was the same for her aunt?
Mixed with the grief of all the disappearances, the image of Yan repeatedly came back to haunt her. She regretted not being able to speak to him. What if she never saw him again?
A fresh stream of tears flooded her face and she let the sadness overtake her completely. She was so happy, just yesterday. Why? Why was all of this happening?
They progressed in silence, each of them lost in her own thoughts.
By the time they heard the horses approaching, it was too late. Panic
ked, Corenn shoved her niece and their horses toward the bushes at the edge of the path, as she had several times before, but she was not fast enough to escape the eyes of the three men who suddenly appeared from around a bend in the trail.
They slowed down their rapid pace in perfect unison, then came to a stop before meeting the two women with a silent stare. Léti immediately understood, without knowing why, that the men approaching her were the assassins. Her aunt knew, too; Corenn’s hand gripped her shoulder. Then Corenn stepped in front of her niece, and resolutely faced the strangers.
They were all wearing the same red-colored tunic and had shaved heads. They could have easily been mistaken for young, innocent priests of some harmless cult. So, here they were, the famous Züu killers. They didn’t seem so terrible at first glance. They wouldn’t, so long as you ignored the horrible reputation that preceded them and their fanatical stare. And if you also ignored the various weapons that hung here and there on the sides of their horses, and the notorious daggers resting in their sheaths.
The tallest of the three pointed toward them, barking a quick order. His acolytes quickly jumped off their horses. Léti, incredulous and helpless, saw them grab their blades and calmly approach, one directly, the other moving at an angle to cut off any escape.
This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t going to die here, right here, right now, like this, stabbed on a dirt road. It wasn’t possible.
She wanted to run, but her legs were paralyzed, as was the rest of her body. She wanted her aunt to flee, but she knew Corenn was too tired. This could not be happening. Not like this. They couldn’t die like this.
The tall one gasped suddenly, and Léti found enough energy to lift her eyes toward him.
Blood ran from his mouth. An arrowhead stuck out of his chest.
The man grabbed at it clumsily, as if drunk. A second arrow emerged from his body as if by magic, a half foot above the other. The Zü’s eyes rolled back and he slid off his horse.
Six Heirs Page 5