Six Heirs (22 page)

By the time the horsemen returned it was late in the evening and the festival was already well under way. To Yan’s relief, he noticed they didn’t bring back any bodies or prisoners with them. Nor did they have the proud and arrogant look of victors. Fortunately, the stranger had gotten away.

He shot only a fleeting glance at the three “priests,” afraid that a longer look would draw their attention. But it was long enough for one of them to meet his eyes. Again, Yan was frozen in terror at seeing those predatory eyes. Luckily, the Zü continued on his way, observing everyone indifferently.

Was he the only one who was scared? The others must not have noticed. He wondered how the locals would react if they found out a group of murderous Züu had taken root
in their own village. Surely the town would be deserted the following deciday.

The horsemen separated, the three assassins heading for The Wine Merchant. Yan made up his mind to follow them, desperate to gather any additional information for the night. There was little chance that the people reveling in drink, those dancing to airs played on vigolas and moon lutes, and especially those who were courting would be of any interest to Grigán. On top of that, the young Lorelienne who had approached him earlier wouldn’t stop signaling to him; it was obvious that before long she would come up to talk to him again. Maybe even suggest a dance! It was best to avoid another embarrassment.

He gave a limp wave in response to one of her gestures, and then took advantage of a surge in the crowd to slip away unnoticed. It was hardly civilized, sure, but he couldn’t find a better solution. And since others might have had their eyes on him...

He briskly walked back to the inn. Away from the large fireplace in the square, the night became bitterly cold.

No meal had been served at the festival. Tortured by hunger, Yan had eaten bread and forcemeat at the inn. He now congratulated himself. If he had to dine alone with the Züu as tablemates at the inn, he wouldn’t have been able to swallow a bite.

He soon reached his destination. The beggar was no longer sitting across from the entrance. Several times throughout the evening, Yan had thought he’d caught a glimpse of him in various places around the festivities. He was happy not to run into him again.

With a quick glance in through the window, Yan made sure the inn was empty. He pushed open the door, which
had the immediate effect of summoning the innkeeper, who without delay tried unsuccessfully to strike up a conversation. Yan simply took the candleholder he handed to him, politely wished him a good night, and fled upstairs. He couldn’t handle another deciday of ceaseless babble.

He silently walked past the two rooms where the Züu were staying, the two rooms closest to the staircase, situated across from one another. The tireless host had pointed them out earlier in the day, after showing him his room. The priests had insisted on staying in these rooms: a most strategic placement, Yan noticed. No one could go up or down without them knowing.

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 arms 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.