Six Heirs

by Pierre Grimbert

“Never, so long as we can avoid it. It’s more dangerous than you think.”

  “So what? I’m not scared, if that’s what you mean. Will you let me help, or not?”

  “No.”

  Léti rolled her eyes in frustration, feeling powerless against the warrior’s will.

  “I’ll do it without your permission. I’ll stay awake all night if I want.”

  “It’s up to you,” he said simply.

  After struggling for a few moments to come up with a retort, Léti began pouting again.

  “I’ll miss these special, happy moments later,” announced Corenn ironically.

  Yan was the only one who got the joke. Once everyone was in bed, he took his post at the spot Grigán had indicated, bow and arrow in hand.

  As he sat alone in the cold night, listening and watching the darkness, he experienced a strange, somewhat savage joy that he had never known before.

  It was the first time the warrior had given him his complete trust.

  It was also the first time he was truly watching over Léti. As if they were in Union.

  The next morning Yan felt less heroic. He had struggled to keep his eyes open until the darkest of the night, then regretfully woke up Grigán. He would have liked to have let the warrior rest, but felt the fatigue slowly overtake him.

  Worse, even though he did wake Grigán, and it was already late in the morning, he still felt tired enough to sleep another deciday.

  Despite this, he was pleasantly surprised when he left their little shack and saw a cloudless sky. The sun was already heating the Lorelien soil, promising better weather. A light breeze rustled the leaves still hanging on the nearby trees, while hundreds of birds celebrated this welcome break from the Season of Wind with song.

  Léti wasn’t there, nor Grigán. Since no horses were missing, Yan didn’t worry.

  He walked over to Corenn, who was huddled near a small fire. She greeted him and handed him a hot, aromatic infusion.

  “What is it?”

  “Some cozé. It’s a plant imported from Mestèbe. It has an odd taste, but it’s supposed to shake off sleep for even the most tired travelers. None of the Mothers attend a full meeting without drinking a bowl or two.”

  Yan smiled at the reference and sipped the brew. He found it pretty tasty.

  “You hide many talents from us, Lady Corenn,” he said, unthinkingly.

  “I wonder how I should take that,” she answered, feigning vexation.

  “No, no, that’s not what I meant, I—”

  “I know, I am kidding. Some people who know me well would say that you are entirely correct,” she told him mysteriously.

  Yan considered this response for a moment, but didn’t know what to make of it. So he moved on.

  “What will the council do? About you, I mean?”

  “Since I didn’t officially retire, my assistant should stand in for me until my return. But if my absence continues, the Ancestress will nominate someone else to take my place when she thinks it best. Same procedure as if I were dead, actually.”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “Of course I regret it, but what can we do? As long as the Züu are after us, our only chance at survival, paradoxically, is to feign death. In Kaul, only the Mother responsible for Justice knows our situation. But that’s already one person too many; if our enemies capture her, she herself will be in danger. And we will be even worse off given the information that they can get out of her.”

  Yan nodded his head. If he hadn’t yet understood the gravity of the situation, Corenn was quickly remedying that oversight.

  “Why doesn’t Grigán talk to us about these things? It might help Léti understand; it could make things easier between them.”

  “Do you think Léti needs to hear this right now?”

  Yes, actually. She was already shocked enough by her friends’ assassinations, and the one she had escaped.

  “So, why are you sharing it with me?”

  “Because I know you are smart. And that you will need this information if Grigán follows through with his plans.”

  Yan was going to ask for more information, when the missing members of their band returned to the camp. They both looked very unhappy, particularly Grigán. As soon as they arrived, they turned their backs to one another. It was shaping up to be a great day.

  “What happened?” Yan asked his friend.

  “It’s the crank’s fault. He was going to kill a standing sleeper,” she said. “I kept him from shooting, and he got mad.”

  Yan understood. Léti had a semidomesticated standing sleeper for several years. Above all, it was important not to call the little creatures “game animals” in her presence.

  “How did you do it?”

  “I yelled as loud as I could. The standing sleeper woke up and ran away. You didn’t hear it?”

  “No, maybe I was still inside.”

  Yan tried to imagine Grigán’s expression at the moment Léti screamed in his ears. That wasn’t the sort of thing to put him in a good mood. He was always worried about their discretion.

  The grumbling warrior armed himself from head to foot, and quickly left the camp, mumbling something like, “Have to go patrol, thanks to that stupid, willful little girl,” to Corenn.

  Yan wouldn’t want to be in Léti’s shoes just then.

  It seemed like they were going to get a very late start today. After Yan had washed his face, packed his bags, took care of the horses, and finished other daily chores, Grigán still hadn’t returned. Yan decided to get in a little shooting practice. He left the camp with his bow and arrows.

  Léti quickly followed suit. They took turns practicing, the young woman getting the best results by far in terms of precision, but still having plenty of trouble putting power behind her shot.

  They had a lot of fun; Yan relished the simple joy of one-on-one time with the woman he loved. Joy great enough to distract him from worrying about Grigán finding them.

  When Léti started to show signs of fatigue, they headed back toward Corenn, who sat on a blanket spread out at the foot of a tree, writing in a small book. Yan was burning with questions, but stronger yet was his respect for her personal time and his fear of being rude. So he just let himself sneak a glance at her from time to time.

  Finally Grigán came back. He seemed calmer, his anger mastered. He brought back some game, and no standing sleepers—thankfully—in the bunch. By chance or choice? No one asked.

  The warrior set down the new rations and began to pluck the feathers from a pair of sea pheasants he had shot. Because it was so rare for Grigán to slow them down, the young Kauliens were surprised he seemed to be taking his time. After finishing with the birds, he spread out all his blades in front of him—an impressive sight—and started sharpening and oiling one after the other.

  Léti approached and watched patiently for a moment.

  “Are you still mad?” she asked.

  The warrior didn’t even look up.

  “No, no, of course not, I’m just thinking, that’s all.”

  And he went on sharpening. He seemed embarrassed, almost ashamed.

  “I think I understand, you know,” Yan interrupted.

  Grigán stared at him, wondering.

  “We can’t all go to Berce and plunge into the lion’s den. You don’t want to go alone and leave us unprotected. The best solution is that I go, since the Züu don’t know me. But you can’t make up your mind.”

  Three pairs of eyes turned to stare at Yan, waiting for him to finish.

  “You’d better get used to it, because I’m going to Berce today.”

  “It could be dangerous.”

  Yan stuck out his chest, a bit stupidly.

  “I’m not planning on taking any risks. And we didn’t come all this way to just give up.”

  “Good,” the warrior concluded cheerfully.

  He started to put away his weapons, while explaining to the Kaulien boy what he wanted him to do.

&nbs
p; “Berce is less than a half day’s ride to the east. You will take the trail...”

  “Really? Yan is going to get himself killed!”

  Léti couldn’t believe that they were taking this seriously.

  “Not if he’s careful, and he will be; I trust him.”

  Yan couldn’t be happier. Léti, his love, was worried about him, and Grigán the Unbending just complimented him. Where was that army of killers? Bring them on!

  The warrior interrupted his daydream, “It’s not like he’s going off on a crusade, after all. All I want is for him to observe and report back to us. All in one Kaulien piece, if possible.”

  Yan answered with a twisted smile.

  “There is an inn on the sea road, almost at the end of town. I forget the name...”

  “The Wine Merchant,” said Corenn, who had kept silent until then.

  “That’s it, that’s where most of the heirs stay during the gatherings. Get a room there and watch.”

  “Am I going to sleep there?” Yan blurted out.

  “You don’t have much choice. Even if you left right now, you couldn’t get there and back tonight. What’s bothering you?”

  “No, it’s just that...nothing,” Yan muttered.

  But something still nagged at him. The Day of the Promise was tomorrow. He had to be with Léti on that day.

  Grigán exchanged looks with Corenn, then continued.

  “You will rejoin us tomorrow, or the next day, whenever you think it best. Just make sure you aren’t being followed.”

  Yan nodded again. The day after tomorrow, not a chance! He already had made the firm decision to return at sunrise, if possible.

  “Speak with as few people as you can. Say that you came for the Day of the Promise, that you are from a Kaulien village, anywhere but Eza, of course. That you’re hoping to find someone. That will explain, at least in part, why you’re nosing around everywhere.”

  Yan cringed at the mention of the Promise and searched for Léti’s reaction. But the young woman was lost in her thoughts. Had she even heard?

  “Dozens of isolated peasants from the area come to Berce for such occasions. As in your own village, I’m sure. You should pass through unnoticed. Lastly, don’t trust a soul. All right?”

  “Not a soul,” Yan repeated in an unsteady voice.

  Now all of this seemed a lot less fun.

  “Good. Are you still sure?”

  Yan stifled his conflicted feelings.

  “Of course. It’s going to be as easy as falling off a log. And I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, looking at Léti.

  She stepped a few feet away.

  Yan could have sworn he heard her crying.

  He came within sight of Berce shortly after the apogee. In a rush to complete his task and return to his loved one, he didn’t give his horse a rest and was going to arrive sooner than Grigán had estimated.

  After a departure marked by Corenn’s encouraging words, Grigán’s last bit of advice, and more than anything, Léti’s painfully tearful, “See you tomorrow,” he’d led his horse to the trail they hit the night before, which he followed until he got to a wider road.

  The apprehension he felt for the first couple of leagues had slowly subsided, mainly because he didn’t see anyone. But it was coming back even stronger now and taking hold of his body, tying knots in his stomach, stiffening his arms and legs, and shortening his breath. Yan knew the cause well enough: fear.

  In spite of his slightly niab character and the occasional verbal floggings he endured, he was far from being an idiot. If even a fraction of what his companions told him were true, which had to be the case, Berce was going to be a genuine snake’s nest, a hunting trap the size of an entire village, set by a powerful organization of fanatical assassins.

  Upon reflection, he didn’t really see how he could discover anything important, besides confirming it was best for his companions to avoid the place. He couldn’t recognize any of the other heirs if he saw them and couldn’t even trust anyone claiming to be one.

  Oh well, he was just going to do the best he could, and return straight back to Léti the next day. Best to hold on to that thought.

  Berce was a citadel, or more accurately, a town surrounded by a wall about nine feet tall. It was much larger than Eza. In fact, Berce was already a small city. The front gate was open, but Yan counted four men near the opening, lounging about carelessly, sitting against the wall or sprawled out on the grass, nevertheless vigilant enough to keep Yan from passing by unnoticed.

  He studied them closely as he came near. They hardly seemed like standard city guards. In addition to their most unmilitary attitude, they weren’t wearing uniforms or anything close to them, and didn’t demonstrate the slightest care for hygiene.

  All four of them were even dirtier than Old Vosder: unkempt beards, grimy faces, black hands, clothes that hadn’t been changed for several dékades...

  One of them rose to his feet at Yan’s arrival. Yan preferred to bring his mount to a halt and wait patiently for the “soldier” to come over to him, thinking it better to keep a distance from the other three.

  The filthy man spoke a few interrogative words to him, meanwhile grabbing hold of his horse’s reins. Yan took note of the gesture but didn’t understand a word of what he said. Was it a Lorelien slang?

  “I don’t understand,” he said in Ithare.

  One of the other soldiers came over to them. Yan fought the impulse to tear the reins away and gallop at full speed back to his friends. The new arrival addressed him in Ithare.

  “Yer not Lorelien?”

  “Nope,” he answered in a defiant tone. He continued, more calmly, “No. I’m from Assiora, a village in the center of the Matriarchy.”

  The two hideous men stared at him in silence.

  “Kaul!” Yan added. “The Kaul Matriarchy! It’s not even a dékade’s ride away!”

  The second man’s face finally lit up with recognition. He smiled, then burst out laughing before translating for his counterpart, who caught on and laughed in turn.

  “So ye come from wom’n country?”

  “Women country?”

  “Yeah! There’s jist women o’er there: women-men and men-women!” he laughed even harder.

  Yan didn’t quite get the joke but was sure that he didn’t like it. He really wanted to respond in kind, attacking the apparently liberal Lorelien standards of hygiene, but he was able to control himself and grit his teeth as he waited for the degenerates, who were now all gathered around him, to stop laughing idiotically.

  It was a long wait, but they finally showed an interest in him again.

  “So, wha’ cha here for?”

  “For the Day of the Promise.”

  The guard translated for his pals, and the brutes’ potbellies shook with another explosion of laughter. Yan suddenly realized the potential benefit of having clothes like Grigán’s. He would have been treated differently had he come dressed in leather armor, with a four-foot-long blade at his waist. Instead he wore a stupid beige tunic belonging to Léti, and a headband Corenn had tied around his forehead—“A finishing touch for your bachelor look.” Ridiculous!

  “So can I enter or not?” he asked, annoyed.

  “Yeah, yeah,” the soldier answered, wiping away tears of laughter. “Good luck, friend!”

  Yan ignored the new tempest of hilarity that broke out behind him as he passed through the outer wall. Danger, heroism—yeah right! He was sure he was going to hear more of the same over the next couple days.

  He swallowed his anger and shame, and observed his surroundings. That’s what he had come for, so the sooner it was done, the sooner he could return to Léti.

  The little city was in quite a stir, surely due in large part to the preparations and excitement surrounding tomorrow’s festival.

  Berce looked like a nice city. The houses, stables, artisan’s workshops, and other buildings appeared to be somewhat old, but that gave them a certain charm. He noted that a lot
of them were several stories tall, in contrast to the traditional Kaulien architecture.

  He walked up what must have been the main street. He passed many busy people on his way, the majority of whom barely glanced at him. Good, at least he would pass through unnoticed. The only exceptions were those who stopped and stared at him in amusement. At first Yan tried to remain indifferent, but then he couldn’t stop himself from responding with dirty looks. He ended up ripping off his headband and undoing his tunic altogether.

  Children of all ages scampered about in groups around the streets. Bitter, he promised himself he would keep a close eye on the purse Corenn gave him. He wasn’t about to be fooled twice; he had learned his lesson in Jerval.

  He passed another horseman traveling in the opposite direction. Yan noticed he was leading his horse by the bridle. He figured he might draw fewer looks if he did the same. He dismounted and continued on foot.

  He came upon what must have been the central square. As it was Lorelien custom to avoid work as much as possible on festival days, preparations for the following day were already well under way.

  Citizens had set up various tables, collected from the community, and an equally dissimilar assortment of benches, chairs, and stools. An impressive pile of wood and a fireplace built specifically for the occasion sat a short distance from all the furniture.

  But what struck and alarmed Yan the most was the platform. Were the promised couples expected to go up there together, in front of everyone? Or worse, was it that the men had to stand up there alone and propose? It was possible, after all, that the procedure for the ceremony in Lorelia was very different than in Kaul.

  Yan was standing there as if hypnotized by the whole scene, his imagination painting the most terrible scenarios, when a face sprung up right in front of his own.

  He had neither seen nor heard the man approaching. The man had slithered his way in front of Yan like a snake, and now stared at him insistently.

  Yan briefly returned his fierce stare. The man was shorter than him and wore a common priest’s cloak with the hood pulled up. He must have been in his thirties, but his clean-shaven face and bald head made him look younger. He kept his hands hidden, but that wasn’t what was most alarming.