The Orphans' Promise

by Pierre Grimbert

  “Unfortunately, having these virtues proves nothing about the existence of your power. About your Will. Do you understand? It has nothing to do with being intelligent or dumb, knowledgeable or ignorant, old or young, honest or without morals. It has nothing to do with being a woman or man either. You can, or you can’t. That’s it. And we can’t do anything to change it. Do you understand?”

  “There is nothing to be ashamed of if I don’t have it, that’s what you’re trying to tell me?”

  “Mother Eurydis, if all the people who had gone through the test had reacted like you, my life would have been much easier.”

  “A test?” Yan repeated. “What is this test?”

  The young man was boiling over with impatience. The multiple warnings and Corenn’s reluctance were starting to have an effect, and he found himself suddenly preparing for disappointment. He wanted to know and move on as fast as he could.

  “I can’t make guesses about your powers, if that idea has crossed your mind. The only way to prove the existence of your Will is to demonstrate it.”

  Corenn leaned over, took the three-queen coin from Yan’s hands, and put it on the ground, standing straight on its edge. The young man dreaded what would happen next. He was right to dread.

  “Your turn now; make the coin move.”

  Rey was trying to remember why he had been so intent on accompanying Grigán. Oh, fear wasn’t the cause of his self-doubt, although he was a lot more scared than he would ever admit. No, it was the warrior himself who frightened him. Rey seemed of no use to Grigán, and the warrior wasn’t making the slightest effort to be good company.

  Even Raji’s donkey was friendlier and a better conversationalist, he joked to himself.

  Fortunately, they were almost at the end of the tunnel. Lorelia couldn’t have been more than a league and a half from the smuggler’s farm, but Rey felt like they had already walked three. He had long ago taken off his novice’s robe, which had made him so hot that he was still swimming in sweat. Raji cursed the actor for removing the novice robe, since the Zü costume underneath made him excessively nervous.

  The little man had stopped twice to repair sections of the ceiling that were threatening to cave in. Grigán had protested at length about this waste of time, but nothing could convince Raji to ignore his duty. He shook his head at each of the warrior’s complaints, and kept on digging, nailing, and reinforcing the walls, pulling out the necessary materials from his donkey’s cargo. Finally, a grumbling Grigán got his own hands dirty in order to speed things up. Rey refrained from helping them, claiming that he didn’t want to soil his disguise. They resumed their walk in silence until Raji announced that they were near their destination.

  Rey finally admitted to himself that he had only come because he didn’t know what else to do. He had flirted with the idea of leaving the group to try his luck on his own in the Old Country, or elsewhere. But despite the unpleasant character of a few, the heirs were the first true friends he’d had in a long time. What they experienced on Ji united them for eternity. He realized that now, and it was a strange, disconcerting feeling. Rey had never before been bound to anyone.

  Lost in his thoughts, it took him a few hundred yards to notice the changing slope of the tunnel and the improved finishing of the walls. The exit was near. He reluctantly slipped the novice’s robe back over his Zü tunic.

  Shortly after, the three men found themselves in front of a heavy hardwood door. It had no lock and looked a lot like the one in Raji’s farm on the other end of the tunnel.

  “How do we open it?” Grigán asked.

  “We wait for it to disappear, and then we walk through it,” Rey joked, referencing the wonder on the island of Ji.

  The warrior shot him a dark, threatening look. Rey acknowledged that he may have gone too far. He had promised not to reveal the island’s secret, and was determined to respect his promise at all costs. He gave Grigán a subtle apologetic gesture. It was the first time he had ever felt the need to apologize to someone.

  Raji didn’t notice a thing. He was busy repeatedly tugging on a hidden cord that stretched along the ceiling right next to the wall.

  “What’s that?” Grigán asked with a distrustful expression.

  “It rings a bell above,” Raji answered without pause. “To tell my partner to come down and open the door. It’s true, I swear, you have my word!”

  The warrior gauged the little smuggler in silence. A dagger had appeared in Grigán’s hand as if by magic. Rey understood that if this were a trap, Raji would be the first to regret it.

  The actor also prepared himself for the possibility, drawing a dagger. For a moment he thought about using the hati, but he pushed the idea away in disgust. His sense of morals, peculiar as it was, didn’t allow him to use a poisoned blade.

  A knot in the door disappeared, allowing a ray of light to pass through. An inquisitive eye appeared for a brief moment.

  “Raji?” yelled a worried voice. “What’s going on? Who are these guys?”

  “Friends,” Grigán responded calmly. “We’re unarmed.”

  The warrior was discreetly holding Raji at knifepoint.

  “How’s it going, Bellec?” the little smuggler asked, cheerfully. As a connoisseur, Reyan admired Raji’s acting performance.

  The eye reappeared in the knothole briefly, quickly examining Rey and Grigán.

  “Do we know each other?” Bellec questioned the strangers.

  “We’ve done business together,” the actor declared. “Through Raji. Do you remember the centenarian’s liquor? I’m the one you ran it for.”

  The man behind the door remained silent. Nothing proved that the strangers were telling the truth. They could have extorted that information from Raji.

  “Bellec, please open up,” the little man groaned. “Everything’s fine.”

  There was a renewed silence before Bellec complied and set about unblocking the door. The three men and the donkey quickly passed through the opening, under Bellec’s worried watch.

  He had the typical look of a Lorelien satisfied with his commercial success. Rather small and plump, with a tanned complexion from the sunshine of the southern Upper Kingdoms. His appearance was well kept, as was natural for any innkeeper or civilized trader, and it was obvious that he had never known hardship. But above all, Rey suspected he was nothing but an oafish, unsophisticated, crass man whose only concerns were monetary. My fellow countryman, Rey pondered in amusement.

  After some quick introductions orchestrated by Rey, Bellec rushed to close the door, as if some more strangers were about to invade his cellar. It was a considerably smaller cellar than Raji’s storeroom, but just as well organized. The two smugglers went to work placing the goods on the shelves. Grigán waited for them before continuing on.

  “I hope that you trust your friends, Raji,” Bellec commented. “I myself have never shown our tunnel to anyone.”

  “My tunnel,” the little man corrected.

  “That ends in my cellar. Try to remember that in the future. And see to it that you spare me this kind of situation again.”

  Raji was about to protest that he hadn’t had a choice, but let it go as soon as the thought struck him. No one ever listened to him anyway.

  Once the stores were on the shelves, everyone moved into the side room, Bellec’s real cellar.

  Bellec concealed the door to his secret storeroom behind a large shelf unit, while Raji tied the donkey’s reins to a ring on the wall designed for the purpose.

  “It’s the first time I’ve entered an inn through the cellar,” joked Rey.

  “Ha, ha, very funny,” Bellec said with a sneer. “Mind you, it’s also the last time. I run goods, not fugitives.”

  “Whoever said we were fugitives?” Grigán asked.

  “Why didn’t you go through the city gates?” the Lorelien countered.

  “Point taken. Just know that we have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Of course. I couldn’t care less what y
ou’ve done. I don’t want to see you in my cellar anymore, that’s all.”

  “Well, we’ll have to come back through this way.”

  “That’s not my problem. If you want, I can open the tunnel again right now, and you could disappear. The tunnel is not a toll road.”

  Raji watched Grigán in anguish. It was all going to end in a fight, he was sure. But it was Rey who launched the attack.

  “We could also leave here and go talk to the collectors,” he threatened. “The Crown has no problem with us.”

  Bellec stared the young man down in disdain. This was a low blow.

  “Come on, now,” the actor continued cautiously. “We’re only passing through.”

  Bellec didn’t answer, instead shooting Raji a reproachful stare. He was left with no choice.

  “Where are your men?” Grigán inquired, as they made their way up the stairwell.

  “Who?”

  “Werb and Micaeir,” Raji specified, just as curious.

  “The Guild offered them a job in a little hamlet on the coast,” Bellec answered, directing his speech to his accomplice. “Rumor has it they’re dead. I hope it’s true. They picked up and left me without blinking an eye.”

  Rey and Grigán exchanged a knowing look, and then followed the smugglers up the stairs toward Lorelia.

  Bowbaq had finally fallen asleep. He and Léti had covered many topics, and the young woman had felt, yet again, her beliefs shaken.

  She leaned over the giant, listened to his breathing, and found it peaceful, measured. Right then she decided that she could use a walk outside. Corenn and Yan had been gone for a while, and after what she had just heard, she had no desire to be left alone.

  Outside she was still ill at ease. Even a few paces in the sunshine wasn’t enough to make her forget her fears, or even push them away temporarily into the future or the past.

  She met up with Yan and Corenn as they were returning to the stable. Her friend had an odd look on his face, the one he always had when he was passionate about a new discipline. He couldn’t hide these kinds of things from her, she knew him too well.

  The Kaulien gave her a smile as soon as he saw her. She felt a pang in her gut. Again, she mourned that Yan hadn’t asked for her Promise.

  She tried to drown this thought. Yan didn’t love her, and that was that. It was only another worry among many.

  As soon as they were within earshot, Corenn asked, “How is Bowbaq?”

  “Good. He had trouble falling asleep, but he’s snoring now.”

  “Is he in pain?”

  “He grimaces when he moves, that’s all. He isn’t complaining, though.”

  The three Kauliens faced each other, looking for a new topic of conversation.

  “You took a long walk,” Léti commented.

  Yan looked down and was suddenly very interested in giving his shoes an extended examination.

  “Yes,” Corenn answered. “The forest is very beautiful, over there. Well! I am going to go look and see if we can’t find something to make dinner from master Raji’s stores. After all, at five terces per day, he can at least offer us some meals!”

  They returned to the warehouse. Léti had the unpleasant feeling that they were hiding something from her. Her aunt only acted this way when she wanted to shelter her from bad news.

  Léti had meant to speak with her about Bowbaq’s valley of demons. Now, she no longer had the heart.

  Rey spent his first half deciday back in Lorelia watching the entryway of Bellec’s inn, the Rominian Pig, with Grigán as his lone and silent companion. The fact that the warrior didn’t trust the trader as far as he could throw him was easy to understand. Rey shared the same opinion. But to force him to hang around for a half deciday under the apogee sun, sweating like a pig in his heavy clothing, that was more than he could put up with.

  After one last attempt to reason with the Ramgrith, Rey decided to go it alone and marched off with a determined step toward the old neighborhoods. Grigán caught up with him before he reached the street corner.

  “You’re being too impatient,” the warrior started to lecture. “You don’t think before you act. You won’t live to be old.”

  The actor retaliated with a mocking smile, “I prefer to live young, anyhow.”

  He turned off into an alleyway, which better deserved to be called a hallway, crossed a square whose cobblestones were several centuries old, and then made his way up an avenue, obstructed by carts and mule drivers, hollering to be let by. Grigán doubled his efforts to not lose sight of Rey, all the while observing his surroundings. For the excessively cautious warrior, it was an incredibly taxing situation.

  Only one thing played to their advantage: Lorelia was one of the last places in the world where the Züu might expect them. This slight advantage would be lost the moment they came across the assassins, though, and Grigán still had a hard time believing he had ever agreed to meet with the red killers for a chat. Corenn, however, seemed determined to see it through.

  She was counting on him to assure their safety. Of course he would do his best, but if the meeting turned sour, only luck could save them…

  Rey started down another alleyway, continuing until he came to an intersection, where he waited for the warrior.

  “The Kercyan house is two streets over in that direction,” he said, pointing toward an arch that overhung a side street.

  Grigán anticipated his next words, preparing himself for a ferocious argument in which he would forbid the actor from putting them all in danger for a petty whim. But Rey continued walking without adding anything more. There was no need to explain the situation to him. In any case, the actor had never really liked the shack, a genuine land of exile for his family. Now it was probably just making a homeless gang happy. He had no desire to see it again, much less to go inside.

  The warrior doubled his vigilance in these neighborhoods that were once Rey’s stomping ground. The actor, taking notice of Grigán’s unwavering stare and sluggish pace, quickly showed signs of impatience. In the end, their walk, punctuated by meaningless quarrels, brought them to their destination.

  The Royal Commerce Commissioner’s Winter Palace, more commonly known as the Small Palace, took up the entire west side of the impressive Riders’ Square. Every seventh day of the dékade, the square was host to the largest open market in Lorelia. At the same time that the usual market was open, the Small Palace was open as a bargaining site for deals, by and large illegal in nature, accessible to anyone the guards allowed in and who could pay the right of entry.

  “We haven’t talked about this yet,” Rey said as they approached the building, “but it’s really very expensive to enter.”

  “Just tell me how much,” Grigán grumbled.

  “Five hundred terces per person, no less. With or without a deal.”

  Grigán’s expression grew even darker. This affair was going to burn quite the hole in their purse. Twenty golden terces per person? To talk with the Züu? He sighed loudly, shaking his head, and then resigned himself to examining the place.

  Collectively, the warrior must have spent more than ten dékades in the merchant city. Without a doubt, he had walked through the square and along the edge of the Small Palace at least fifty times. But today the structure took on an entirely new importance to him, and he began to intensely study and itemize its features in his mind.

  The person who had renamed it was gifted with a certain sense of humor. If this palace was supposed to be small, it could only be so in comparison to the royal residence. The Small Palace reached a height of five floors, whereas few Lorelien residences had even four. And no less than eleven large windows could be counted on each level. The entire building could have easily housed twenty families.

  The architecture was representative of Lorelia’s grand buildings: pilasters, cornices, windows as high as they were narrow, little balconies. All built of solid stone from Cyr’s quarries. The Small Palace was more than six hundred years old, but looked like i
t was completed no more than ten years ago.

  The Royal Commerce Commissioner was no longer housed there, although the apartments remained. For two centuries, the greater part of the building had been home to the study halls of the kingdom’s clerks: all the regular administrators, archivists, bureaucrats, scribes, managers, registrars, and others who were indispensable to the stability and prosperity of the merchant nation.

  Entry into the palace was free, and every day hundreds of traders went inside to carry out certain obligatory declarations and procedures. The seventh day of the dékade was the exception. On that day, only the clerks were permitted to enter, and those wishing to take part in the indoor market.

  Grigán slowly followed Rey up the fifteen steps leading to the excessively decadent porch. A lone guard, who may have been sleeping, was supposedly monitoring the comings and goings between the entrance hall and the outside.

  “During the market,” Rey whispered in the warrior’s ear, “the hall is guarded by six jelenis, the royal rank of dog masters. They always choose their most vicious dogs. No one could ever hope to enter or leave by force.”

  The narrow entrance hall led to a sumptuous receiving room, built entirely of embossed marble. At the entryway, they passed the desk of a drudge clerk, who paid them no attention.

  “This is where you will pay the right of entry and surrender your arms,” Rey explained, pointing toward the desk.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I can pretty well imagine how hard that will be for you,” chuckled the actor. “Just remember that the Züu will have to endure the same punishment.”

  Two spiral staircases led to the upper floors. Rey dragged the warrior up the first one. They passed through a splendid arch and found themselves standing under a portico encircling a huge interior courtyard.

  The courtyard most closely resembled a garden or a small park, full of lush flowerbeds and green fields. The illusion of wilderness had been pared back inside the courtyard, though, as none of the trees, flowers, bushes, grass, or ivy that grew there were truly wild. Everything was straight, trimmed, and “disciplined” according to mankind’s aesthetic needs.