The door on the left was cracked open. One of them was on watch, or at least keeping an open ear. Yan continued forward calmly. The last thing he wanted was to arouse suspicion. An idea came to him just before he reached his room, and he pretended to drunkenly stumble as he neared the end of the hall. That might throw them off.
Yan clumsily slipped the key into the lock of the door to his room, struggling with it for a moment. He didn’t even have to pretend: it truly was difficult. He finally managed to turn the lock, entered, and closed the door behind him with a sigh. He felt like he was in a snake pit, or rather, a pool of sharks.
One night, he only had to hold on for one night, and he could return to Léti. The news he would bring wasn’t good—the entire village was under surveillance by their enemies, and the hope of finding other heirs hung from a few flashes of light from a stranger, who might have had nothing to do with their business.
The only thing he had left to do was wait. He resigned himself to his fate and thought about how he would get through the night.
His room had a roof hatch, rather small, but big enough for a slender man, or more simply, a crossbow bolt, to slip through. He made sure that it was closed tight and even reinforced the latch with a thin rope. It wouldn’t make a big difference for a determined individual, but it was better than doing nothing at all.
He wasn’t going to fall asleep tonight. Not right away, at least. Despite the lateness, he didn’t feel tired in the slightest; the cold and the anticipation kept him wide awake.
He resolved to get his clothes together for the next day. He refused to put on that stupid tunic meant for girls.
That’s when he noticed that someone had gone through his things.
He took a quick inventory—they hadn’t stolen anything. Furthermore, he didn’t see that he owned anything attractive enough to justify a robbery.
Of course, the aim wasn’t robbery. For that matter, they’d made a conscious and careful effort to put everything back as they found it, and it was mere coincidence Yan noticed at all.
He checked his lock. It appeared to be in good condition, stiffness aside. Unless that had actually been caused by the break-in.
Now he definitely wasn’t going to get any sleep that night. He even felt ready to start the return trip immediately...but that would have been too dangerous, too suspect.
He sat down resolutely on a stool in front of the door, dagger in hand. All right, the first person to come through this door is going to get it. As for the second...he didn’t know how he would hold him off.
To think that a few days before he had found it all so exciting! Given his current situation, he far preferred his life from before—monotonous and uneventful.
In the end, he managed to nod off—for a short while at a time, anyway—despite his uncomfortable position. Hardly a deciday went by, but he felt like it lasted two.
Voices in the hall.
It took him a few moments to realize that they were in fact real, not just something from his troubled sleep. Then they became all too concrete.
Two or three men, maybe more, were talking among themselves, or with the assassins, at the top of the stairs. Yan glued his ear to the door, but he still couldn’t hear the conversation. All he understood was, “I...fifty, no less.” The rest, said in a lower tone, was unintelligible.
He decided to risk it and open the door, since a discussion so late in the night could only be truly important. He hid his candle under the stool covered by a blanket, and then turned the key in the door ever so slowly. Finally, he gently cracked the door open.
The hinges creaked, very faintly, but to Yan’s ears it sounded louder than a vorvan’s cry. He waited motionless a few moments, his hand gripping his dagger, but no one came. The men were still talking and seemed not to have heard anything.
“No, no,” proclaimed the loudest voice. “I want fifty silver terces, no less. And furthermore, I want them before I leave.”
“Fifty, that’s quite a sum,” said a calm voice. “Do you truly believe your knowledge to be worth that much? That a half day of your time deserves two gold terces?”
“If you find someone else, go ahead, hire them. But I’m telling you, it’s just me. And without me, you’ll never find the guy with the mirror. You have to read the signs, and despite your holiness and all that, you don’t know how to do that. So, I want fifty.”
“Are you very familiar with the goddess Zuïa?” asked the smooth voice.
Silence.
“Zuïa is the Goddess of Justice. Take careful note of how I didn’t say a goddess but the Goddess of Justice. Other gods are just weaklings, they only judge humans after their deaths. Zuïa is the only one who carries out her sentences immediately. She’s the only one who wields a real power, the only true goddess.”
Another silence. Yan could easily imagine the loud voice losing its confidence.
“My brothers and I are Zuïa’s messengers. If you refuse to help us, you will be siding with those already condemned. And Zuïa will judge you for that.”
At least it was unequivocal, thought Yan.
“So,” the smooth voice resumed, “are you going to lead us to them?”
The loudmouth apologized profusely, mumbling that it didn’t occur to him that they were dealing with a sacred mission and that, of course, he was completely at their disposal. For free! The smooth voice concluded with a simple, “Good,” and they set a meeting for the following day at the square when the third deciday sounded. They then turned and left down the stairs.
Yan waited for all to go quiet again before closing the door with infinite care, placing a piece of clothing on one of the hinges. The noise was muffled enough to be unnoticeable.
Locked safely in his room again, his mind was racing. What to do? What could he do? What would Grigán do in his position?
If he stayed put, the man with the mirror was going to die the next morning. If he moved, he too would perish that very night, unless he thought of something. But what?
He had no means by which to warn the stranger. He believed he could find the place in the hills by memory, but only in broad daylight. By night, it was impossible. Not to mention this talk about “reading the signs”...What would Grigán do in his position? He would need to ask him.
Even if it was going to be risky to slip away from Berce and ride at night, he figured it was best to rejoin his friends. Perhaps the warrior would have a better solution?
His decision made, Yan began addressing the practical concerns. One glance out the opened roof hatch confirmed that he couldn’t plan on making his exit that way. The slope of the roof was far too steep and looked right over a busy street. Not the most discreet exit.
So the door remained the only solution. What if he were to just walk out forthright, without acting like he was trying to hide something?
Either way, he should wait a bit. It would be too obvious to leave right now, just after that conversation.
He rubbed his face as he sat pondering. Here he was, forced to think like a fugitive, an outlaw, a convict, while he was the victim. His life really had changed.
It was better to leave his belongings in the room, he decided. To abandon them, actually, since he didn’t see how he could come back for them afterwards. If the Züu on watch saw him walk by with his whole pack, no doubt they would be suspicious.
So, he quickly sorted what he absolutely had to take from the rest. To his eyes, Léti’s beige tunic was the only thing of value, because it didn’t belong to him. He resigned himself to leaving the rest behind.
When he judged that enough time had gone by, he left the room without locking it, carrying only the candleholder.
He consciously made little effort to be secretive, sure that he was being spied on anyway. To his great relief, he managed to make it to the other end of the hall, pass in front of the killers’ rooms, and descend the staircase without being bothered.
On the ground floor, a boy his age slept soundly with his folded arm
s resting on the counter. Yan went around the boy without waking him, set the candleholder on a table, and went out.
Step one, accomplished. The next one was going to be a lot trickier: how was he going to exit the city on horseback, this late at night, with guards at the gates? Because they most certainly were still there.
He made his way to the stable, still hashing it out. He couldn’t see any solution other than just charging through. He lacked the energy to invent some sort of story believable enough for the uncouth soldiers who’d made a laughingstock of him.
Curses! The door to the stable was fitted with a lock. That was unexpected. After a few unsuccessful attempts with his dagger to break it open, he resolved to smash it with the blows of a rock. Luckily, the lock quickly gave way.
He wanted to close the door behind him while he readied his horse, but it was so dark inside, he left it ajar. He more or less groped his way forward, using the animals’ breathing and the sound of their hooves to guide him. Finally, he found his horse. A bad feeling had been niggling at him since he left the inn, and he had almost expected to find the stable emptied of horses but filled with enemies.
He rapidly saddled the horse and made for the door.
A man was blocking the way.
Due to the poor lighting, Yan couldn’t see his face, but his stature and clothing were telling enough. He wasn’t a Zü, Yan saw with relief. His features more closely resembled one of those crass soldiers who seemed to be working for the Züu. He wondered if the man had followed him, or if he had already been in the stable.
“Who are you?” Yan asked.
He wondered if it wouldn’t be too aggressive to stab the man with his dagger immediately. But that could start what he wanted to avoid at all costs: a fight.
“A friend,” answered the stranger. “I’m one of the heirs, and so are you, no?”
Yan remained uncertain for a few instants. Grigán had ordered him to not trust a soul, and he took the advice to heart. If this man was a friend, why was he blocking the way? Why didn’t he close the door? Unless he wasn’t being careful himself.
“And what is this friend’s name?”
Yan never would have thought himself capable of such impoliteness.
“Reyan. Reyan Kercyan. I’m from Lorelia. You’re one of the heirs, aren’t you?”
This friend’s tone of voice wasn’t friendly. But that could also be explained by this so-called Reyan’s own distrust. Should he believe him? Yan remembered hearing Corenn cite his name at least once. Was he one of those dead or alive?
“I’m not one of the heirs,” he answered, decisively. “But some of them are my friends.”
“Are they here? In the city?” he asked eagerly.
Yan had no desire to provide the Lorelien with that kind of information. He didn’t move away from the door. Yan noticed that one of the man’s hands was hidden from view. He didn’t like that at all. Could he hop in the saddle and trample the man before he had time to react?
“Well? Are they in the city, or not? You’re slow to answer. Don’t you trust me?”
Yan suddenly became convinced that he should not, in fact, trust this man. He was getting ready to jump onto his horse, when he saw, with horror, another man appear in the doorway. This one he recognized right away—he was the beggar from the inn. Certainly the other man’s accomplice. The situation was going from bad to worse.
“Don’t be so difficult, it’s no use,” the first man continued. “You’ll end up telling anyway, whether it’s me or those nutcases in red. It’s simply a matter of time and pain.”
Yan was frozen with fear. Was this guy threatening him with torture? Did he not just admit loud and clear his involvement with the Züu? Yan clenched his dagger and held it in front of him, his thumb on the blade, like Grigán had shown him. It must not have had as impressive an effect as intended, because the first man burst out laughing. As for the beggar, he just continued inching his way toward his companion.
Why so slowly?
“All right, you want to play?” said the other, as he pulled a curved blade out from underneath his cloak. “With pleasu—”
The beggar, who was now right behind the louse, violently raised the other man’s chin with one hand. With a dagger held in his other hand, he traced a dark groove across his throat, which quickly gushed forth blood as it widened. The wounded man let out a few sickening gurgles and collapsed.
The murderer leaned down and wiped his blade with his victim’s clothes.
“Even when they’re dying, they’re revolting. These fellows really have no style. Except for pretending to be me, of course.”
Yan kept hold of his dagger. What was going on here?
“Oh! I hope you aren’t too upset with me, depriving you the pleasure of ridding us of this fat heap. An opportunity presented itself, so...”
Yan stared blankly at the beggar, who had by now put away his dagger and stared back at him with his hands on his hips.
“I mean, I hope you aren’t too upset with me for saving your life and all.”
“Um...Thanks,” mumbled Yan.
He couldn’t dispel the image of this man coldly killing the other. It was going to be just as hard to grant his trust to this newcomer.
“Who are you?” he asked, with a feeling of déjà vu.
“Rey Kercyan, the original. And it’s just Rey, not Reyan. This guy should have known that I don’t let anyone call me Reyan. That’s way too fourteenth eon. And you, Mr. Horse Thief?”
“Yan. And this horse belongs to me!”
“The door too? As well as the lock?”
The Kaulien remained silent.
“Come on, I’m kidding. Let’s not hang around.”
The so-called Rey leaned over the body again, from which he pulled out a dirty purse that he weighed in his hand, a disdainful look on his face. Shocked, Yan didn’t want anything to do with this immoral man. This reeking man had to be aiming for some sort of reward he didn’t want to share with anyone, which is why he killed his accomplice. He certainly wasn’t an heir!
“I must leave you,” attempted Yan. “Thanks again.”
“Wait!”
It wasn’t an order, and no sudden movement was made to stop him, so Yan decided to hear him out, for a few moments at least.
“I heard what you said earlier. Everything you said. Since I got here a dékade ago, it’s the first bit of good news I’ve received. You don’t have to believe me, of course, but I’m also part of the family. To my misfortune,” he added, in a low voice.
Yan didn’t know what to think. His tone seemed sincere, but the stakes were too high. It could merely have been part of some scheme to locate Yan’s friends.
“I can’t take you to them. I don’t even know you.”
“I know, I wouldn’t have thought otherwise. So, go find them and tell them I’m alive. I’ve grown up a little since they last saw me, but surely they’ll remember this: tell them I’m the boy who lit the tent on fire a few years ago. They can’t have forgotten that,” he added with a smile.
Yan nodded. He didn’t understand everything, but he did know that Rey didn’t have any immediate ill intentions toward him. That was enough for him.
“Then what? If that’s enough to convince them?”
“Come find me. Oh, not here,” he added, noticing the fear in Yan’s eyes. “I don’t plan on sticking around here either. Let’s say tomorrow at the apogee, on the beach where we held the old gatherings.”
“I guarantee it’s being patrolled,” objected Yan.
“It’s not. I checked. At least it isn’t yet. By the time the Day of the Owl comes, it will be.”
Yan accepted. He would have liked to suggest another meeting point, but he wasn’t familiar with the region. Grigán would decide the best course of action later.
“One last thing. Warn them that the Grand Guild is also after us.”
“The Grand Guild?”
“Do you not know what it is, or do you not believe
me?” asked Rey in surprise.
“I don’t know what it is,” admitted Yan in all seriousness.
“Great. Good thing I’ve found some help,” he said to himself, ironically.
“I’m going to share your criticisms with someone I know,” Yan retorted. “I bet he’ll have a lot to say on the subject.”
They let a moment of silence go by.
“Touchy, huh?” Rey continued, breaking the silence.
“Less touchy than you are cynical,” Yan answered, with the same frankness.
They faced each other for a few moments, with knowing smiles. Then Rey calmly took Yan by the arm and led him outside.
“Let’s get going! The sun will soon be up and we’ll still be pestering one another, sitting over this dead body. Can you imagine how that’d look? Tell me, how did you plan on making it out of here with your horse?”
A whistle rose up in the night.
Nuguel, the only man posted by the Züu at the Leem gateway, wasn’t in the mood for games. All his friends, or at least most of them, had been sleeping for a while, or were out carousing with girls, and on girls. Whereas he had to stand guard all night at a gate that no one ever used anyway.
So that little moron who was whistling like an idiot was going to feel real pain if he didn’t quit it soon.
Nuguel would have already solved the problem, if he could only figure out where the whistles were coming from. But that high-pitched sound traveled far in the silent night, and the imbecile could be in any of the alleyways he faced.
It wasn’t just some simpleton happily passing by. Someone was really messing with his head. The whistler stopped and started, over and over, as he moved between the alleys in front of the gate. Nuguel would have given anything to work out his frustration on him. Or on one of those people they were looking for. Or on anyone, so long as he could hurt him.
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