Six Heirs

by Pierre Grimbert

  “I’ll believe it. What’s a red pig?”

  “What! You’ve never seen one, Yan? And you, Léti?” asked Corenn, shocked.

  “No.”

  “I can’t believe it. They look like a mix of a boar and a pig, except they’re completely red. They travel in packs of fifty or sixty, but people have seen hordes of more than three hundred. They’re incredibly destructive. Romine is infested with them. A few years ago, we had to organize hunts just west of Kaul because they were beginning to spread throughout the Matriarchy.”

  “This is the first I’ve ever heard of them. Anyhow, Master Grigán, what does a red pig do when it’s in heat?”

  “It grunts, it squeals, it bites, it races about, it charges at anything that moves. Well, everything, for that matter. But worst of all, it stinks. They say that even with all the willpower in the world, you still couldn’t stay within ten yards of a male in such a state.”

  “Actually,” Léti guffawed, “that sounds like Yan when he comes home after fishing for vase eels!”

  “Very funny. Remind me to bring some back for you next time.”

  “Eels are delicious,” noted Corenn.

  “Do you want to come along? I’ll gladly take you. You’ll see how much fun it is.”

  Yan’s mood was improving. He had forgotten his worries about the future. Right now, he needed to enjoy today.

  The barge glided silently along the calm river, disturbed only by the movement of the wooden poles pushing into the depths and fish jumping at swarms of insects. The soft light of the lamps and the crescent moon didn’t dispel the already thick darkness, but it was soothing. Bénélia’s distant lights to the south didn’t shine as brightly as the fireflies fluttering in the vast darkness. Buildings on the banks lit up to signal piers and nearby inns...a promise of imminent comfort. The temperature had dropped, and Yan wrapped himself up in his tunic the best he could. It occurred to him to check on Léti’s well-being, but he didn’t dare break the calm spell cast by the croaking of frogs, the murmur of passengers, and the sound of the waves. She thanked him with a smile. If only things could always be that way between them.

  He wrapped his arms around her, and Léti rested her head on his shoulder. They remained silent and still, hidden together in the darkness, surrendered to their feelings.

  Corenn gently pulled the two young Kauliens from their reveries; the ferry was about to dock. Yan hadn’t even noticed. He released Léti regretfully and followed everyone else, guiding his horse by the bridle.

  Once everyone had disembarked, Grigán steered them toward a nearby inn. In every way, this side of the river looked just like the other: the dock, the guards who collected the toll, the travelers waiting for the ferry, the small, deserted shops.

  Above the entry to the inn hung a sign that seemed excessively large compared to the front door. In Ithare, the sign read The Ferry Inn. Clearly, the owner wasn’t too original.

  “Have you been here before?” Yan asked Grigán.

  “Three times, I think. Or maybe four. But my last stay must have been at least six years ago. There is little chance that they’ll recognize me.”

  “No, that’s not why I was asking.” Yan hesitated, hoping not to make himself look stupid once again. “It’s just that...well, I’ve never been inside an inn before. I don’t even think there are any near Eza. Is there something special I must do? Or things not to do?”

  His three companions laughed heartily.

  “As long as you pay for the damage, you can pretty much do anything you like,” the warrior answered with a grin. “Except, maybe, kill the innkeeper, or start something with the customers. Think you’ll be able to control yourself?”

  “The customers might be a problem,” Yan said through gritted teeth.

  “Fine. I’m still going to see if they can accommodate us.”

  The warrior opened the little door and bent forward to avoid hitting the monstrous sign. As Grigán entered, voices, the scent of warm food, and a gentle warmth emerged to subtly caress the Kauliens’ senses. He returned just as quickly as he’d gone, accompanied by a young man who led their horses to the stable after all the baggage had been unloaded.

  A man ripe with age came forward to greet them when they finally entered the tavern. The entryway overlooked the main room from the top of a little three-step stairway. A dozen or so thick wooden tables surrounded by benches filled most of the room.

  An enormous pile of logs—more like tree trunks cut in half—covered an entire wall. An imposing fireplace sat close by, the flames dancing four feet high. Yan could feel its heat, even from the entryway. Several doors and stairways allowed access to the kitchen, the cellar, other floors, and guesthouses. Indeed, the inn was quite large.

  Thirty pairs of eyes glanced up at the new arrivals, before their attention was quickly diverted back to the food and pitchers that covered the tables. The clientele was made up mostly of men, alone or in small groups. Farmers, artisans, merchants—travelers, in short.

  The host greeted them in Lorelien and led them to an open table, where they sat down. After a few brief exchanges, Corenn gave several coins to the innkeeper, who slipped away toward the kitchen.

  The young man from the stable soon brought them, in several trips and out of order, fresh bread, a warm loaf of meat, a vegetable stew, a huge hunk of cheese, forks and knives, goblets, a pitcher of beer, and, per Corenn’s request, a pitcher of water. They ate with relish while chatting about the differences between Lorelien and Kaulien cuisine, but without ever deciding—for lack of really trying—which was the best.

  “Are all inns like this?” Yan asked.

  “No, far from it,” answered Grigán. “Only people passing through stop here, people who just want a hot meal and a good night’s sleep. The hovels that you can find in the big cities don’t really have the same clientele...”

  “Actually, what I meant was, are all inns this big? You could feed the entire population of Eza at these tables!”

  “If you think so, there are still plenty of surprises in store for you. I’ve seen dozens of places bigger than this one, in the Upper Kingdoms. Taverns and inns larger than palaces.”

  “It makes me wonder if you think I’m some sort of niab or if you’re serious.”

  “I’m serious. In Lermian, I once spent the night in a hotel with six hundred rooms. And at least two-thirds were occupied.”

  Yan still wasn’t convinced, but he gave Grigán the benefit of the doubt. Why not, after all?

  By all counts, the warrior had spent half his life traveling, and the other half preparing for it. He had traveled across all the kingdoms, stayed in all the mighty cities, met hundreds of people, experienced thousands of things Yan couldn’t begin to imagine.

  Yan realized that the veteran who had been protecting them for the last few days, with his curved blade and his black garb, his mysterious past, and his strong personality, completely fascinated him.

  The warrior seemed more open to discussion tonight. More relaxed, now that they had made it out of the Matriarchy. The pitcher of beer, which he practically finished himself, might have helped a little as well. If Yan wanted to get to know him, it was now or never.

  “You’re from the Lower Kingdoms, right? At least, that’s what it sounds like, given your accent.”

  “What of it?”

  “Nothing, just a bit curious, that’s all.”

  “You, you aren’t just curious, you’re a snoop.”

  “That’s what the Ancestress of my village always says,” Yan answered, smiling. “She ended up teaching me to read so that I could find answers on my own to the questions I pestered her with all the time. But since she only owns three books in all, I kept bugging her until she finally told me one day that she didn’t have the answers to all my questions. Like all children, that had never occurred to me.”

  “It’s good you know how to read,” Corenn commented.

  “Only a little, and in Ithare.”

  Léti int
errupted, a smile on her lips.

  “Once, I saw him spend the whole day trying to interpret a parchment he had found at Old Vosder’s house. He was so disappointed that he couldn’t figure it out that I went to find the Ancestress so she could reason with him. It was hard to stop myself from laughing, seeing his face, when she explained to him that it was in Goranese.”

  “How was I supposed to know? They use the same marks,” Yan said, pouting.

  “So Yan traveled all the way to Assiora,” Léti continued, “to have someone translate the parchment. A full day’s walk in one direction. All of that just to look at some old words.”

  Yan, blushing with irritation and shame, chose not to answer.

  “Do you know how to read, Léti?” Corenn asked innocently.

  She knew the answer; she’d asked the question with the aim of encouraging her niece to show a little more respect for her friend’s efforts to improve himself.

  “No, I don’t know how. But I’m convinced that it’s useless,” the young woman answered, not giving in.

  “You’re wrong,” Grigán interrupted. “I’ve often thought the same, but I’ve more often regretted thinking that way.”

  “It’s never too late, Master Grigán.”

  “That’s what they say, Lady Corenn, that’s what they say. But I don’t think I can change now. The years left in my life will be like the ones behind me.”

  An awkward silence followed this last statement. Yan was the first to fill it.

  “Where were you born exactly, then?”

  The warrior let a moment drift by, as if he were sifting through distant memories, or he were hesitating to open up.

  “In Griteh. Then the happiest of the Lower Kingdoms, forty-two years ago. But I haven’t been back there for a long time.”

  Yan paused, uncertain if he should continue, but curiosity won out.

  “Why?” He finally dared to ask.

  Grigán let out a sigh.

  “Because I’m no longer welcome there. And there’s nothing left for me there anyway.”

  His friends could tell immediately that he wasn’t being truthful. The warrior was incapable of lying about his feelings. Probably one of the reasons for his habit of silence.

  “What happened to you?”

  Yan pointed out that Léti was hanging on Grigán’s every word, and like Yan, she was waiting for him to let his memories surface. But time passed, the silence getting longer and longer, and they finally had to concede that the warrior wasn’t going to answer.

  “Tell them, Grigán,” Corenn said in a sweet voice. “As long as they don’t know, they’ll badger you with questions. And you’ll either tell them or hit the roof someday.”

  The warrior’s only reaction was to stare at Corenn, as if he were seeing her for the first time.

  “Tell them and accept it, or stay silent and forget the story forever. But stop tormenting yourself,” she added with an even gentler tone.

  Grigán looked distraught for a brief instant, and then he made up his mind, still unsure whether he made the right decision.

  “Don’t think I’m complaining, and please don’t take pity on me. Above all else, don’t do that. Know that I’m telling you this story so you can learn from my experiences.”

  “Yes, yes,” the young Kauliens answered in unison.

  They would agree to anything to get him to talk.

  “Good.”

  The warrior drank a final swig, perhaps to give himself some courage. It was as though he were more afraid to speak than to attack three Züu killers, Léti thought.

  “Have you heard of Aleb I, Aleb the Conqueror, or, more to my taste, Aleb the Violent?”

  “No,” Léti replied.

  Yan thought he had heard the name, but he wasn’t sure. He preferred to play dumb, to get a fully detailed version of Grigán’s story.

  Grigán continued, “He was my leader. At the time, he was still only Prince Aleb. I fought by his side in the wars with the neighboring kingdoms of Griteh: Irzas, Quesraba, Tarul, and even Yiteh for a while. Do you understand? We were at war. Against warriors.”

  Yan and Léti met each other’s eyes briefly, then rushed to agree. They didn’t really understand, but they soon would.

  “For many decades, Griteh had been a second-order kingdom whose borders any army could cross as they pleased. Thanks to our victories, peace and security had at last returned to the country. But it had lasted only a few years when Aleb called the tribes together again. And so I went to fight by his side, to defend my loved ones, as did every honorable man. But I wondered what reasons he had for rallying a defense, since no army had been spotted at our borders.”

  Grigán stopped. The young Kauliens waited impatiently, fidgeting for a few moments, until Léti couldn’t bear it any longer.

  “And then what? Then what happened?”

  “I should have known from the start. Aleb spoke to us at length, and with words that went straight to the heart. Little by little, he whipped the men into a fury against Quesraba, recalling our past conflicts, Quesraba’s betrayals of our rare alliances, and the lost battles that demanded revenge. At the end of his speech, he even presented Quesraba as a part of our kingdom, but occupied by enemies. He spoke of true things, things that were less true, and dreadful things—things that would even make a Rominian shepherd angry. But nothing he said can excuse what happened next.”

  Grigán paused.

  “Go on!” Léti urged rudely.

  “All the men followed his orders and launched an assault on Quesraba, and I wasn’t the last one. It took us a day to reach the border, but our zeal and anger hadn’t subsided, fueled by Aleb and his captains, who were now fully devoted to his cause. At last we came upon the first ‘enemy’ village. I ordered my riders to skirt around the village and head straight for the capital to meet the army, as was custom, but Aleb the Cursed had other plans.”

  Grigán downed another swig.

  “He ordered us to attack the village. Hundreds of people died that night. People who weren’t even armed. People who didn’t care about frontier politics. People like you, people like...”

  He took a short pause, and then continued the story.

  “And I did nothing.”

  He gazed deeply into the bottom of his goblet; the warrior regretted once again his inability to get himself drunk. No matter how hard he tried, he always remained perfectly sober. He remained responsible for his actions.

  “I could have tried to reason with Aleb. I could have tried to reason with the warriors. I could even have ordered my men to attack the murderers. But I didn’t do any of that. I just stood there and watched the atrocities being committed right in front of me. I saw children bludgeoned by maces and elders burned alive in their homes. I saw women raped right before their dying men’s eyes. I saw animals suffer the worst kinds of torture, and not just them...”

  “Grigán...” said Corenn, softly.

  She felt it was time to put an end to this morbid litany. The warrior stared at her for a moment, sighed, and went on.

  “I know that it’s difficult to hear. But that’s what happened. To think that at the beginning of the ‘battle,’ I nearly threw myself into the madness...”

  He was silent, wearing a troubled look. No tears fell from his eyes, but all the sadness and regret in the world weighed upon his shoulders.

  The Kauliens respected his pain. No one wanted to ask him any more questions; in fact, they would have left it there if Grigán hadn’t continued, this time in a steadier voice.

  “At first, I looked for enemies. ‘Where were they? Why wasn’t anyone attacking? Was it a trap?’ Then I began to hope that it was a trap. The Ramgriths, my brothers, couldn’t really be in the midst of massacring harmless villagers. No, there had to be something else. Surely enemy warriors were hiding somewhere nearby, or among the farmers, and Aleb had given the command to attack to thwart the ruse, because he was a good leader.”

  “I clung to my delusion all thr
ough the night, and I willingly ignored the slaughter that was unfolding before me. At dawn, I finally admitted that I had lost my honor, even my humanity. I fled from that cursed land and retreated to my homeland. I needed to be alone, to think on how I was going to put an end to my days.”

  Yan and Léti looked at each other uncomfortably. Grigán took a deep breath and carried on.

  “I couldn’t go through with it. It seemed like yet more proof of my cowardice, but at the same time, I felt weak for not doing it. I sat, tormented by indecision, for a dékade. In the end, I chose to live to take action, rather than die for failing to.”

  “I went to Griteh and requested to appear before King Coromán, who was happy to receive me. My family serves...served his since Rafa the Strategist’s father’s father. Coromán was an unyielding man, sometimes harsh and insensitive, but he tried to be just. I couldn’t believe that he had authorized the massacre in Quesraba, and the others that had immediately followed.”

  “I gave him my version of what happened, the only true one. His own son had dishonored the crown of Griteh, the kingdom, and all of its subjects, indulging in a bloody slaughter followed by looting, like a horde of ruthless bandits.”

  “Coromán’s first reaction was as I had hoped. He immediately summoned his son to confront him about our exchange. Aleb flat out denied everything, and gave a detailed report of the imaginary battle against the Quesrabian troops. Then he provided proof, bringing forth his captains as witnesses and presenting the enemies’ uniforms and weapons, ‘war trophies’ that must have dated back to a past conflict. Then the king turned to me, waiting for an answer.”

  “What could I say? As I had just come to understand, no one would speak out against the prince. I’m merely a warrior; plotting and treachery are not my strong suit, so I didn’t see how I could contradict him.”

  “I suddenly felt a strong urge to have it out with Aleb the Liar. The only thing I could think about was stopping the thug from doing harm once and for all. So I challenged him publicly to a duel of honor.”