Yan slowly emerged from darkness, struggling with the throbbing pain in the back of his skull that was trying to drag him back down. He was lying on his back, and opening his eyes, all he could see was pale morning sky through the branches hanging above.
“He’s waking up,” announced a quavering voice. Yan’s heart leaped in his chest: it was Léti’s, unmistakably. He sat up too abruptly, bringing back the pain, and immediately passed out again.
When he came to, the sun was higher in the sky; it must have been the start of the third deciday. Yan propped himself up on his elbows, cautiously this time.
To his relief, he realized that he was not mistaken: Léti was sitting nearby, and she appeared to be in good health, with the exception of her eyes, reddened with tears. Her aunt was there too and stared at him disapprovingly. There was also a stranger dressed in black, facing him with an openly hostile expression on his face.
Even though he hadn’t met many, Yan was almost certain that the stranger was a native of the Lower Kingdoms. He was rather short—shorter than him, at least—but the first adjective that came to mind looking at him was “imposing.”
The second, definitely, was “dangerous.”
He must have been in his forties, at least. That’s what his appearance suggested: his leathery skin, already full of small wrinkles, his profound, somber gaze, and the gray strands among his dark head of hair. A thick mustache and an ugly scar drew crisscrossing lines on his face. He was quite obviously dressed for battle: pieces of leather solidly attached to one another, with flashes of metal here and there, from head to toe. This handmade outfit wasn’t brand new anymore; it was worn at the joints, scuffed everywhere, and patched up in some places. The man carried, rather comfortably, a bare curved blade and a dagger at his waist. Yan thought to himself that he must handle those weapons just as naturally as he slipped on his tunic in the morning. And this imposing and dangerous man was staring right at him with a fiery look.
“You were told to stay in your village? Were you not?” he scolded.
His strong accent was typical of the Lower Kingdoms.
Still in shock, Yan looked at Léti and her aunt with the hope of finding some support. But Léti was sobbing, her face buried in her palms, while her aunt seemed to be in agreement with the stranger. His head felt heavy. He worried that he might faint again.
“Who are you?” he managed. His throat was dry and his own speech sounded strange to his ears.
“This is Grigán,” Corenn answered for the man in black. “He’s...a cousin of mine. A very distant cousin.”
Yan looked back at the strange man, who was nervously pacing as he stroked his mustache. This man was related to Léti?
“If it weren’t for him, we would be dead by now,” continued Corenn in a conciliatory tone. “He saved our lives yesterday. He won’t harm you,” she concluded loudly, turning to the warrior.
“We’ll have to see about that,” he grunted. “Are you alone? Does anyone know where you were headed? Were you followed?”
Yan’s mind was clouded by the pain, and it took him some time to process all of the questions and to answer, which appeared to annoy the man—apparently called Grigán—even further.
“No, I’m alone, and I wasn’t followed. I went through the scrubland. What’s going on?”
The man in black stared at him for a moment.
“Are you sure?”
“If he says so, it’s true. That’s it. Yan isn’t the type to lie, and he has no reason to.”
Yan shot an appreciative look at Corenn for the unexpected intervention. But the man in black wasn’t going to settle for that.
“How did you find us?”
“I spotted hoofprints at the edge of the trail. Because of the fog, I practically had my nose in the dirt.”
“I think that’s enough, Grigán.”
“All right, all right. In any case, we can’t waste any more time. We need to get back on the road as soon as possible. Which means now.”
He made as if to retrieve the horses.
“And what about me, what am I to do?”
Yan wasn’t at all happy with what the warrior had implied in his last comment.
“You? You can rest up if you wish, then you’ll return to your village. You won’t speak of this to anyone. Understood?”
It wasn’t really a question.
Yan looked at Léti, who was sobbing silently. The Day of the Promise was near. This man had saved their life? Why were they in danger in the first place?
“No, I’m staying. I’m coming with you,” he answered, in a voice he wished were louder.
Grigán let out a sigh of exasperation and took a few steps away from him. Yan was well aware that if it weren’t for the presence of the two women, the warrior wouldn’t waste his time with a boy who dared to argue with him, and would resort to more persuasive measures.
“Yan, I know you very well,” attempted Corenn. “Perhaps better than you think. I’ve watched you grow up all these years, along with Léti. And I know you’re doing this for her.”
He remained silent, but avidly watched for Léti’s reaction.
She didn’t appear to react at all, apart from a sob that might have been louder than the others. Léti seemed to be in complete shock, overwhelmed, utterly closed off to her surroundings. Yan had seen her like this before, when Norine disappeared.
“By staying with us, you’ll be putting her in danger,” continued Corenn, softly. “As well as me, and Grigán, and others whom you don’t know, whose survival isn’t at all guaranteed and depends, in part, on ours. Not to mention, you’d put your own life in danger. Do you realize that you could have gotten yourself killed by Grigán last night? Do you see? Léti cries enough as it is, don’t you think?”
The arguments were irrefutable, but Yan didn’t want to admit it. He felt that, being the important diplomat she was, Corenn was trying to trick him like she would a child. The pain in his skull was throbbing more intensely, disturbing his thinking, and he got stuck on one idea: stay with Léti, stay with Léti.
“I have to come with you. I’m sorry,” he added, with less resolve.
Corenn frowned, disappointed, and searched for something to say. Despite his strong will, Yan knew that in the end he would yield to reason. Or force. He had to find a way to convince them, rather than force himself in.
“The men who are after you don’t know who I am. They don’t even know that I’m with you. Surely, I can help you. I’m coming.”
A moment of silence followed Yan’s response. Then Grigán stepped away from the tree he was leaning against and quickly approached. Yan had a burning impulse to protect his face to avoid a potential blow, but that was definitely the last thing he should do if he really wanted to go with them.
The warrior squatted down next to him, stared him right in the eyes, and pointed an index finger at him. “All right, you can come. But make one false step, disobey me just once, and I’ll make you regret it. And I hope you won’t stick around too long.”
Yan wondered whether that last remark was in reference to the likely dangers of the trip or to the promised punishment. It didn’t matter; he was staying with Léti.
He agreed, completely sincere, and Grigán released him from his oppressive stare to have a word with Corenn.
Léti still hadn’t moved and had kept on sobbing, her face buried in her hands. Last time this happened—when her mother disappeared—she had stayed like this for over a dékade. The next few days were shaping up to be just wonderful.
He realized that he hadn’t spoken a word to her yet. He got up very slowly, staggered over to her, and half fell, half sat next to her. She appeared to rouse from her daze a little, threw her arms around his neck, and cried on his shoulder. He held her close to him. He’d earned that much at least.
“You will ride with her,” Grigán came over to tell him. “We’ll buy another horse as soon as possible.”
“All right.”
Yan had o
nly ridden a horse twice in his life but didn’t want to be a burden already.
“We must leave right away. We have to make it through Bénélia before tomorrow evening.”
Léti stood and began gathering her things. Corenn did the same. It bothered him a little to see a Mother of the Permanent Council, one of the highest authorities in all of Kaul, obey this rather frightening stranger without question. He felt that she should be the one leading the group. But perhaps she simply shared his opinion, or maybe she was too tired to take charge.
Yan stood up then and found his own bag, his harpoon, and his fishing knife at the base of a tree. He remembered having left his things in the bushes before approaching the camp. Grigán must have been following him the whole time. He really had failed as a spy in all respects.
He went over to the horses and waited patiently for someone to tell him what to do. The man in black, busy balancing the loads, took Yan’s pack and pulled out the six-foot-long harpoon.
“You have to leave this behind if you’re coming. It’s too cumbersome, too conspicuous, and it’s useless.”
He held the object out to him. Yan took it and obediently ditched it in a thorny bush. Grigán looked satisfied. He unstrapped one of the two bows he was carrying on his horse and held it out to the fisherman.
“Do you know how to use it?”
“Yes,” Yan lied.
He had never held one before. But if lying would reassure the warrior...and with such a weapon, he could actually protect Léti.
“Good. Here are the arrows. Only shoot if I ask you to. And keep your distance. Never approach your target. Got it?”
“Yes.”
Yan tried to appear comfortable, the quiver in one hand, the bow in the other. Curses! It was heavier than he’d thought. Could he really use it?
“Have you ever killed someone?”
“No.”
By Eurydis, no, never! Did this man imagine he spent his time skewering people with his harpoon? Yan couldn’t lie this time. He had never even been in a fight.
“Alright.”
It seemed like Grigán had made up his mind. He turned around to load the last of the bags.
“I want a weapon too.”
Léti stood in front of them with her arms crossed. She wasn’t crying anymore, but her reddened face and eyes gave her a crazed look.
Grigán turned his back to her. He didn’t seem inclined to give in to her demands.
“Women don’t fight,” he answered shortly and firmly.
Léti remained motionless in disbelief. Yan felt that she was on the verge of tears again; he held out his fishing knife.
“Here, just in case. But stay out of battle.”
The man in black stared at them for a moment. Léti took the blade before he could intercept it and walked away. Yan wondered if he might have already brought an end to his career as a guardian knight, but the warrior nodded, turned back around, and led the horses away by the reins.
Corenn sent off the two young Kauliens behind Grigán, swept the camp with one last glance to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything, and followed the others toward the main trail.
She had the unmistakable feeling that it was the beginning of a very long journey.
A fat, somewhat reckless margolin was trying to squeeze his way into Bowbaq’s reserve provisions. Bowbaq, feigning a nap, had spotted him a while ago.
It wasn’t until the little glutton jumped on the pack, frantically tearing at the canvas with his teeth and claws that Bowbaq decided to intervene.
“Ho! What if I did the same to your den?”
The rodent stiffened and froze, then bolted faster than if he had been surrounded by a pack of wolves. There’s no way he could have understood much from the threat, but the intrusion into his mind had driven him to panic.
That’s how it always went the first time. Bowbaq remembered Mir’s intensely aggressive reaction to his first attempt. Luckily, he had taken the precaution of tying her up first.
As for Wos, that was a different story. Bowbaq had been able to reach his mind before he had even come into the world. After that, the bond was much easier to maintain.
Poor Wos. Bowbaq was forced to abandon him around Cyr Heights. The giant pony, so at ease in the vast frozen expanse of Central Arkary, was already suffering cruelly in the mild climate of Northern Lorelia. He never would have made it to Berce.
Bowbaq had sent him back to Arque country, explaining that he would rejoin him soon, which had been no small feat since the animal only understood future in the immediate sense. So he had to lie, inventing something like: “If Wos goes there, he see Bowbaq.” For the pony’s peculiar perception of time, it would make little difference if he were there right away or a moon later.
So the erjak had been on foot since he crossed the Lorelien border. It didn’t really bother him. He had often walked like this; his large size and proportionate weight prevented him from riding a common horse. And it was true he feared the ridicule he’d be in for at the sight of a man his size riding such a small animal.
The Day of the Owl was approaching; Bowbaq figured it would come eight nights after his departure. By the Big Bear—assuming he hadn’t made a mistake in his calculations!—it would easily take him six days to reach his destination, and the possibility of arriving too late haunted him. Once in a while, the worry nagged him so much that he would break into a long run with his massive strides. He only slowed when he came across other people.
Although he made a point of taking only the smallest trails, the barely discernible paths, the trails made more by animals than by humans, Bowbaq met far too many strangers for his taste. True, he was in the Upper Kingdoms, and he should have anticipated seeing a lot more people than in Arkary, where his closest neighbor lived at least six leagues away. But more than the obvious need for discretion that made him seek solitude, Bowbaq hated crowds. For him, meeting more than five strangers in one day was an extremely trying experience. It took a lot for him to join all the gatherings of the heirs of Ji.
He had even overcome a sort of crisis. The night before, he’d come to the outskirts of Lermian, which he took a wide detour around, of course. But the mere proximity of the Lorelien city and the congregation of travelers near it were enough to unsettle him for a while. He experienced a moment of hesitation, asking himself what he was doing there. Dékades away from Ipsen and the kids, and likely running straight into danger.
Fortunately it passed as quickly as it came, his sense of duty having won out. He had to see the heirs, to warn them. They were his only friends.
He packed up his things, checked the straps on his bags, and ran.
Yan couldn’t help but feel awkward and unconfident with Léti as his passenger; after all, he had only mounted a horse twice in his whole life. Corenn noticed and gave him some advice to help him get properly situated, while Grigán, exasperated, made his horse stamp impatiently. He practically lived on horseback and was an accomplished rider. He had a hard time understanding how someone could be so clumsy.
They set off at a slow, steady trot. As they moved along, the man in black frequently rode out ahead of the group to scout the horizon from the top of any significant rise in the trail. Léti rested her cheek against her friend’s back and eventually nodded off. Yan felt a pride that he knew was childish and undeserved, to be traveling with his beloved in unknown lands, like a valiant knight with his princess.
But it was far from being a pleasure ride; there was more than one shadow in the picture.
He began a conversation with Corenn, in a low voice.
“You said that Grigán saved your lives, didn’t you? What happened?”
Corenn sighed and reflected before answering.
“There are men who want to kill us. Not just some isolated clan, but an organized group. They’re called the Züu killers. Have you heard of them?”
“No.”
“They’re part of a religious sect, the Hand of Zuïa. Have you heard of Zuïa?�
�
Yan remembered reading something that sounded similar, in one of the few books that passed through his hands, but he hadn’t been sure how to pronounce it.
“It’s an island in the Sea of Fire, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. And it’s also the name of the inhabitants’ chief goddess. She’s a judiciary goddess, whom you must appear before once her messengers have delivered her sentence...”
Corenn broke off, her eyes troubled. She must have recalled some very painful events. Yan was prepared to leave her to her reverie, but she continued with her explanation, making a visible effort to control herself.
“In reality, the messengers are nothing more than assassins that anyone can hire by making an offering to the cult. But the Züu explain it by invoking predestination and divine will: if someone pays for the death of another, Zuïa is the one who condemns the second through the voice of the first. I swear, they’re completely convinced.”
Yan remained pensive for a moment before responding. “Why would someone want to kill Léti? And you, I mean?”
“We’re unsure of the real reason. All we know is it appears that someone is trying to eliminate all of the heirs.”
Yan didn’t say anything.
“You know who the heirs are, don’t you? Léti must have spoken to you about them?”
“To be honest, we never talk about it. The secret is sacred to her. All I know is that it has something to do with your ancestors.”
“In light of the circumstances, I think it’s best that you know everything.”
Corenn told him the story of Nol and the emissaries, their descendants, the gatherings on the Day of the Owl, and of the lingering mystery surrounding the adventure, forgotten by almost everyone. It did her some good to share these things that she hardly ever spoke about with strangers.
Yan, fascinated by the tale, now understood Léti and her respect for tradition much better. He felt even closer to her, but at the same time more distant. He wasn’t one of the famous heirs.
Corenn ended her story with the news of her friends’ brutal deaths, her frantic ride to Eza, and their journey up until their encounter with Grigán and the assassins.
Six Heirs Page 7