Six Heirs

by Pierre Grimbert

  “It took place the next day. I couldn’t sleep at all that night, although an assassination would have confirmed my adversary’s vile nature.”

  “We faced each other in accordance with the rules, before the king and the tribal chiefs, given the official nature of our duel. Even today, Aleb is reputed to be the best fighter in all the Lower Kingdoms. But I had truth on my side...and anger too. He cut my hand and face; I wounded his leg and took out an eye.”

  “Coromán called the duel to a halt, as he had the right to do. Perhaps to protect his son who had already lost an eye, or perhaps because he had seen enough.”

  “He granted me the honor of victory, but Aleb was still alive. The king simply rescinded Aleb’s claim to the throne, which he transferred to Aleb’s younger brother. And in the end, I was banished from the kingdom for disobeying my captain’s orders.”

  The warrior uttered these last words with hate and disgust.

  Yan’s spirits were dampened. Indeed, everyone was now in a more serious, melancholic, and far-from-pleasant mood. He tried to change the subject.

  “Is that where your scar came from?”

  “No. That’s another story. An acchor did that to me. I’ll tell you about it another time, if you behave and listen to Lady Corenn,” Grigán added with a grin.

  Yan smiled back. He had no idea what an acchor was, and once again his curiosity was stirred, but he had the good sense to keep it to himself.

  “You haven’t returned since then?” asked Léti.

  “No, never. A short while after I left, Aleb murdered his father and brother with his own hands. Then he ascended to the throne and ordered mass executions. Finally, he initiated a conquest—it would be more accurate to call it destruction—of all of the northern Lower Kingdoms. It sickens me to see how successful he was...”

  “Why don’t the other kings ally against him?” It seemed like a logical outcome to Yan.

  “Some of them tried, but Aleb hired entire armies of mercenaries: Jez, Pledens, Ramgriths, and even Goranese. He lets them sack and pillage all of the conquered lands to their greedy hearts’ content. He’s not interested in making Griteh richer; he’s more concerned with extending his own power. He took over The Hacque as his capital, which isn’t even a Ramgrith city! Furthermore, his army is surely made up of more than twice as many Yussa as Ramgriths.”

  “Who are the Yussa?”

  “Mercenaries. Or just men who are under Aleb’s command, as one out of every three ‘battles’ is really just a pillage.”

  “Mother Eurydis, may they never get the notion to cross the sea!” said Léti.

  “Oh, not to worry. Aleb despises the Upper Kingdoms. It’s a pastime of his to regularly send assassins after me, to get even for his lost eye. Until one of them succeeds. Unless the Züu rob him of the pleasure. Or perhaps he’s the one who’s sent them, who knows?”

  “You see what your poor character has gotten you into,” joked Corenn.

  “It’s just the way I am,” Grigán answered sincerely.

  “How long has it been since you left?” Léti cut in.

  “Fifteen years, at least...” The warrior reflected for a moment. “No. It’s already been nineteen years,” he said, with a hint of dread.

  “And this man is still trying to kill you, twenty years later? You’ve been hunted for twenty years?”

  “I’ve already met two men who have devoted their entire lives to revenge. Human will knows no limits, and neither does our folly.”

  “For someone who claims to not be very fond of reflection, I admire the depth of your thoughts, Master Grigán.”

  “Actually, those words belong to a friend of mine from the Land of Beauty. But their truth resonates with me; he was able to explain in one sentence everything I’d learned in twenty years of traveling the known world.”

  “I would really like to meet this perceptive man who has the honor of being called your friend.”

  “I hope that you’ll have the chance someday, Lady Corenn. If we make it out of this terrible adventure alive.”

  They remained silent for a moment.

  “Have you ever thought about returning to confront Aleb?”

  Yan had been dying to ask the question for a while, and it took at least as long for the warrior to answer.

  “I think about it all the time,” he admitted, finally. “But I would no doubt end up dead. Before I even reached him.” After a moment he added, “In any case, I’m banished. I don’t have the right to return.”

  The young Kauliens spent a long moment wondering whether this remark was merely a joke or a serious objection.

  Silence took hold, and seemed to last an eternity.

  “I’m going to see if our rooms are ready,” said Grigán finally, arising. He needed to be alone.

  After a few moments had gone by, Corenn shared her thoughts with the young ones.

  “I thought I knew Grigán better than anyone. But I never would have thought that you would gain his trust so quickly.”

  “I didn’t think he was capable of doing so much talking,” Léti said.

  “He won’t ask you, and I know that you will in any case, but please, respect his memories. He must either forget or accept them. Don’t talk to him about it unless he brings it up himself. And, of course, don’t speak to anyone else about it. Do you understand why?”

  “Of course,” they agreed together.

  Yan understood that the warrior saw his confession as a weakness and already regretted it. But he had also guessed something else.

  “Lady Corenn...”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t you get the impression that he’s trying to hide something? That he didn’t tell us everything?”

  The Mother stared solemnly at the young, ignorant fisherman, whose mind was nevertheless astute. Then she turned her gaze to the taciturn warrior, who was returning.

  “I hope that he’ll tell us someday,” she whispered. “When he’s at peace.”

  BOOK II: THE FORGOTTEN ISLAND

  It had already been four days since Yan, Grigán, Léti, and Corenn left the banks of the Gisland River. Along with hundreds of other travelers, they crossed Kolomine County, and forded the Vélanèse River at a shallow crossing that had been used for decades. Afterwards, they headed south toward Lorelia, veering east just before they reached the outskirts of the city. At last, they were less than a day’s journey from Berce.

  Yan hadn’t really been enjoying himself these past few days. Besides the nonstop rain that followed them most of the time, slowing their pace and shortening their patience, he had to endure Grigán’s growing anxiety and Corenn’s apparent calm indifference, which was just as irritating. And worst of all, Léti’s hot and cold remarks about the merits of his perpetual questions, his tendency to avoid taking charge, his niab character, and many other things that he preferred to forget.

  He was smart enough to not respond to her jabs, counting them as part of the crisis of spirit his friend was going through.

  The other evening was the first and only time she admitted to wondering who among her friends had been able to escape the Züu, if any at all. No one wanted to make any guesses, and the subject hadn’t been brought up again.

  All the same, the Day of the Promise was the day after tomorrow, and Yan would have preferred to be on the best of terms with his beloved in the final moments before proposing. Again, a feeling of apprehension tortured him. Would he have the courage?

  Oh, but it wasn’t a question of bravery or cowardice. If Léti asked him to jump from the highest cliff in Eza, to dive into the middle of a school of orzos, or to challenge one of the red-cloaked killers, he would do it in a heartbeat—if there were a valid reason, of course. But to go up to her and propose? No!

  He acknowledged bitterly that if she were in his place, she wouldn’t hesitate for an instant. When she wanted to do something, she did it, simple as that. It would be great if she wanted him, too.

  He shook his head, as if to chas
e these thoughts from his mind. The last thing he needed was to start obsessing about what Léti thought. He would know soon enough, and might regret it.

  It would have been easier to propose if they had ever discussed the subject before. But no, throughout all those years of living at each other’s side, all their conversations, all the time spent getting to know one another, they had never brought up the idea of a Union between them.

  He regretted it bitterly.

  Of course, everyone else had decided the Union for them, and they themselves had talked more than once, each in turn, about their ideal companion. Handsome, protective, and loving for Léti. Beautiful, mysterious, and joyful for Yan. But it was just a game; the young Kaulien’s dream woman was, without hesitation, his lifelong friend.

  Did he match up to Léti’s ideal? He shook his head again, harder this time. He had to stop thinking about this.

  “Are you all right, Yan?”

  Corenn looked at him strangely. She must have been watching him for a while. Yan realized he must be quite the sight to see as he rattled his head around like a madman.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you. I’m just a little tired.” Come on, Yan, that’s nonsense, he thought to himself.

  “We’ll make a short stop,” Grigán said.

  “No, really, it’s not worth the trouble, I’ll be fine.”

  A bunch of nonsense.

  They took a break anyway, a few hundred yards from the path as usual. While everyone stretched their legs, rubbed their backs, and tried to dry off their soaking clothes as best they could, Grigán came and went, stiffening when he heard anything suspicious nearby, stealthily approaching the apparent origin of the sound with his hand on his sword hilt.

  Pretty soon he had passed his anxiety on to the others. Overcome with curiosity, Corenn tried to distract the warrior from his watch.

  “Do you think we’re in danger?”

  “To tell you the truth, no,” he answered without looking at her. “But we could be. I wouldn’t bet our lives on a mere gut feeling.”

  “It’s been rather easy going until now, hasn’t it?” commented Léti.

  “Yes. But the Züu had lost our trail. Whereas now, we’re going directly where they’ll be expecting us. And that makes me nervous.”

  “If they’re already waiting for us there, they’re not going to keep watch on the roads, too, right?” she pointed out.

  “Would you bet our lives on it?”

  Léti kept silent. Of course she wouldn’t. She was only making a comment. Mother Eurydis, the man was so touchy!

  “Think about it,” Grigán went on. “Why didn’t the Züu just wait for the heirs to reunite in Berce on the Day of the Owl and murder us all at once?”

  “Grigán!” Corenn scolded.

  It would take more than that to make Léti back down.

  “Do you think I haven’t thought of that? Maybe they were worried about letting some of us get away, or sending a warning to those absent? Maybe they were afraid of a defeat? Or maybe they just wanted to be discreet?”

  “Or maybe,” responded the warrior quietly, “the Züu want to keep us from getting to the island. Perhaps they don’t want the heirs to come together this year.”

  Grigán wanted to make this last retort an effective one, and he succeeded.

  Léti silently admitted that she hadn’t thought of that.

  Obviously, in that case, they were still in danger. More than ever, actually.

  With a black look, Corenn showed her disapproval of these revelations, which were premature for her taste. Her niece was still far too emotionally fragile for these disturbing theories about a grand conspiracy.

  Everyone retreated into silence then, enjoying the simple pleasure of a well-deserved rest. Yan would have been ready to set up camp for the night, but it was obvious that Grigán, as usual, wanted everyone to put aside their tiredness and carry on a little further.

  Indeed, a moment later he asked them to get moving again. Everyone followed right behind him, accustomed as they were to obeying him now.

  To their great surprise, he wasn’t leading them back to the path, but deeper into the forest.

  He was nice enough to grunt a few words of explanation, but they had already guessed why, once their initial shock subsided—discretion was vital as they got closer to Berce.

  That didn’t, however, make their walk any more enjoyable. Yan found it even more tiring than his night in the Kaulien scrubland. The ground was muddy, slippery, and spotted with puddles; the rain pooled on the leaves above and fell in droplets, which seemed to take a wicked pleasure in slipping under their clothes; and the horses’ exhaustion made it difficult to tug them along.

  Also, Grigán frequently commanded instant silence and stillness from his companions, with an imperious wave of his hand. He would remain motionless for a moment, listening, sometimes furtively scouting the surroundings, and then set the line back in motion again. None of it relieved the feeling of tension that had little by little taken hold of the group.

  Upon returning from his fifth patrol, which was a lot longer than the others, the warrior didn’t give the signal to continue on. With gestures, he ordered them to keep quiet, then led them on a large detour that took longer than a centiday. Finally, he relaxed a little and whispered a few words to Corenn. Yan didn’t hear everything, but he understood that the warrior had seen three men setting up a camp, that they weren’t necessarily dangerous, but he wouldn’t bet his life on it.

  Apparently, Grigán wasn’t much of a gambler. Deep down, it was rather reassuring.

  They moved onward for an entire deciday, even after the sun had gone down. Yan wondered how the warrior knew where he was going. He himself was completely disoriented and would have even had trouble saying which way was north.

  “How are you able to guide us? You can’t see the stars, and we don’t have even the trace of a path to follow, nor the slightest landmark to help.”

  “Magic,” he answered, without batting an eye.

  “What?”

  “It’s magic. I focus very intently on my destination and the path appears in my mind. All Ramgrith men have this power.”

  Yan was dumbfounded. Was Grigán making fun of him?

  “All right, fine, it’s not magic. It’s simply thanks to this object. You see the arrow? Once it’s stopped moving, it always points north.”

  Yan examined in amazement the crafted ivory object Grigán held out to him. After a few moments, the little metal arrow became still, pointing more or less to his left. If it wasn’t just another joke, Yan was ready to believe it was magic after all.

  “Where did you get that from?” he asked, handing it back to Grigán.

  “I purchased it for a fortune from a Rominian sailor. It’s largely thanks to these kinds of inventions that the Old Country was able to dominate the known world for centuries. And that’s also why they still jealously guard their secrets.”

  “How does it work? It isn’t really magic, is it?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes!”

  “I don’t know. It works, that’s it. Maybe it’s magic, maybe it’s divine, maybe it’s mundane. I don’t know,” he repeated.

  “It most certainly is not magic,” Corenn interrupted.

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve seen plenty of needles like that before. In my opinion, there’s nothing special about them. They simply fall into the same category as other natural phenomena, like the tides, for example, or the seasons, or the phases of the moon.”

  “In the Lower Kingdoms, and even elsewhere,” Grigán commented, “I’ve come across cultures that consider each one of those phenomena a divine work.”

  “I suppose it depends on one’s point of view. Why not, after all? One man’s folly is another man’s truth,” Corenn concluded mysteriously.

  Yan was far from satisfied. What Léti had said, or rather hadn’t said, about her aunt and the supernatural came back to him. What could it be? What we
re the women hiding from him?

  Thinking on it...this whole story about the wise emissaries who disappeared from an island, only to reappear two moons later...up until now, he hadn’t really believed it. But as they neared the place in question and after spending a few days with the heirs, who were completely convinced of its truthfulness, he was beginning to have serious doubts.

  Could it really be that this old legend was true?

  His mind was buzzing with curiosity like never before. The impossible. Magic. Legends.

  Yan was prepared to do anything to be at their side, even if for a short while and at a distance. When he was just a child, he eagerly listened as the Ancestress told all the stories, from the underwater kingdom of Xéfalis to the tragedy of the speaking dolphin, Quyl’s endless quest, and the legend of the mage Guessardi, not to mention the religious fables about Brosda, Eurydis, and Odrel. Any confrontation with something out of these ancient tales, however minor, seemed to him some of the most valuable experiences imaginable.

  All of a sudden, Yan had forgotten his tiredness and even, momentarily, his apprehension about the Day of the Promise. What were they waiting for?

  Unfortunately, he had to put a damper on his enthusiasm soon after, when the group met back up with the road. Grigán made everyone turn back then to an abandoned hut they had passed, where at last he “suggested” they stop for the night.

  As was his custom, Grigán made a detailed inspection of the surroundings before loosening up a bit. They had a quick bite to eat before tackling the duties they had tacitly assumed out of habit: Grigán took care of the horses, Yan was responsible for the heavy lifting required to set up camp—reduced, this time, to clearing out the hovel—and Corenn and Léti handled the general settling in.

  “I think it would be best if someone kept watch tonight,” said Grigán. “Yan, are you feeling up to it?”

  “Of course. I’m too wound up to go to sleep right now anyway.”

  “Good. Just wake me when you feel tired.”

  “What about me?” Léti interjected. “When will it be my turn?”