The Orphans' Promise

by Pierre Grimbert

  Swords weren’t the Junians’ preferred weapon; they were much better known for their cavalry’s skilled use of the lance, but for the exercise, the man agreed to arm himself with one of the Goranese broadswords, similar to Léti’s. Thus the lesson began.

  Léti easily repelled the guard’s first two or three timid assaults, and Grigán pressured the man to be more aggressive. At the beginning, the young woman was content to merely defend herself, while watching her adversary’s maneuvers, just as she had learned.

  She feigned weakness when she countered his attack at her legs. Sharp mind. The man fell into the trap and focused his assault there.

  After a few of these exchanges, Léti stopped faking a lack of flexibility and simply sidestepped the blade. Firm footing. The broadsword still grazed her calf, but she had learned to not fear injury. She agilely lunged and pointed her blade toward the startled guard. Steady hand.

  Grigán thanked the Junian and left him to his work, despite the man’s pleas for a chance to avenge his loss. Rey and Bowbaq excitedly congratulated Léti, who was equally happy. Proud. Now, she could defend herself. Now, she could protect her friends and family.

  Grigán didn’t let her gloat for long. He grabbed his curved sword and asked her to get ready. Léti obeyed, grateful to the warrior for his teaching.

  She handled her second combat with less ease than the first, since her opponent was more difficult. Skilled in the same techniques, Léti and Grigán launched few attacks, trying to gauge each other with small sidesteps and brief collisions between their blades.

  Each strike should have a goal, Grigán had said. Parry or counterattack. The rest does nothing more than uselessly tire. Since they both followed this rule, the combat would be won by the one who had an attack that was surprising or quick.

  The warrior’s experience was the decisive factor. He whirled his blade in a motion so terrifying that Léti instinctively held up her broadsword to protect herself, even though Grigán’s blade was still too distant to pose a threat. The moment she put up her sword, the warrior brutally crashed into her with his shoulder, knocking her weapon out of her hand. Léti found herself flat on the ground and disarmed.

  “It’s cruel to do this to her now,” said Rey, who had been watching the scene intently. “You could have let her savor her victory a little.”

  Grigán responded in a neutral tone, “Life is more like this. In a real combat, we don’t celebrate.”

  He reached his hand out to Léti and helped her up. The young woman wasn’t mad at the warrior, as his teaching had already proved its worth. She was mad at herself. And she used that anger to renew her resolution to keep improving.

  But Rey had more objections. He took Léti’s defeat personally.

  “Worse, it’s not an even fight. Your blade is longer by a foot. And her broadsword is too heavy! What do you expect her to do with this club meant for burly brutes?”

  Grigán didn’t respond immediately, but pulled the actor to the side so that Léti couldn’t hear them.

  “You’re trying to do the right thing, Reyan, but you are interfering with her training. Léti should figure these things out on her own. It’s an experience we can’t just give to her; she has to earn it. I didn’t choose her weapon. She should learn the difference.”

  “How is she supposed to compare it to something else if that broadsword is all she knows?”

  Having delivered his strongest evidence, Rey turned his back to Grigán and left the room, to the warrior’s great relief. The actor reappeared shortly after, this time with his rapier, which he put in Léti’s hands.

  “Try this. This is what I call a sword. At least you don’t have to be as strong as Bowbaq to handle it. Just a bit of dexterity and speed.”

  Léti turned toward Grigán, who shrugged his shoulders and then nodded. She gripped the light Lorelien sword, and immediately recognized the advantages of such a blade. Longer, lighter, sharper, requiring less strength. It was all that she needed.

  She thanked Rey with a charming smile. The actor often boasted about his independence, his individualism, but he had learned to appreciate the feeling of friendship.

  A crowd of barons began arriving at the Broken Castle on the sixth day of the Hunter’s dékade. From then on, Séhane had a lot less time for her friends. She held an endless string of audiences, from polite visitations to official meetings. She allowed herself only a few, rare moments of free time, which she spent with Corenn, discussing thorny political matters and the queen’s own succession.

  The queen had been ignoring the problem for too long. Granted, it was difficult to contemplate her own death, but the kingdom’s prosperity depended on the stability of its government. If the succession terms weren’t drawn up and approved by the people and the barons, Junine would soon find itself in the midst of a civil war, a conflict that could spread to the rest of the Baronies. It would mark the end of the treaties. It would mark the end of her life’s work.

  Deep down, Séhane had always thought the king would outlive her. He would wed another woman, and she would give him children. But Urio had left her alone, eleven years earlier. Since then, she had so much to take care of that she didn’t have the time to solve this major problem: Who should get the crown?

  “I’ve often considered copying you, Corenn. Copying the Matriarchy. Have the people choose their leaders. In reality, that’s the fairest solution, but the barons would oppose it with all their strength. They’re not ready yet. And it’s better for Junine to be part of the Small Kingdoms rather than to become the Junian dissidents.”

  Corenn agreed with Séhane on every point. The queen had given the problem enough thought to avoid making an errant decision. Unfortunately, she hadn’t found a good one either, which kept her distracted and distressed. Séhane would have made an extraordinary Kaulienne Ancestress.

  “I’ve put my decision off for too long. My people are worried, and the barons are growing impatient. They won’t leave without an answer this time. And I don’t blame them…”

  “What are your options, Séhane? What decisions are actually possible?”

  “I can designate one of the barons as my successor, but the Junians would never accept any baron as their ruler. Or I could pass on the crown to one of my own Junians, in which case the barons would be the unhappy ones. No matter what I decide, the Small Kingdoms are in danger of erupting into chaos after I’m gone…”

  “But what is your preference? Do you have a name in mind, someone who is worthy?”

  “Yes, his name is Perbas. He’s been my regent for more than fifteen years. He’s an honest, passionate man, and just as knowledgeable about the kingdom’s affairs as I am. More so, perhaps. He has a son who seems to be following in his footsteps. The ideal candidate. But how do I convince my peers to accept him? He would need at least a few years in power before he would dare declare himself an equal among the barons. Yet he’ll need the courage to do so right away.”

  An idea started forming in Corenn’s mind. She had a way to show Séhane her gratitude.

  “Junians are a rather superstitious people, aren’t they?” she asked with a scheming look. “And the barons, too, I believe?”

  “Not one of them would ever break a maoal tree branch, Corenn. What are you getting at?”

  “Introduce Perbas as your successor chosen by the gods. That will shelter him from attacks long enough for him to toughen up, since no one will dare question his right to the throne.”

  “A ruse?” There was surprise in Séhane’s voice, but her expression was pensive. It took only a few moments for the queen to evaluate the plan. It wasn’t all that bad, she thought. In fact, it might be a great idea.

  “I thought you were the guardian of traditions, Corenn,” she teased. “Isn’t this idea slightly disrespectful?”

  “Even misers must eat, Séhane. I’ve often overstepped the Matriarchy’s laws with the sole aim of making others respect them. You wouldn’t be doing it for personal gain; you would be d
oing it for the good of your people.”

  “I envy your confidence. I’m the old woman, but you’re the one who’s speaking wisely and thoughtfully.”

  “I don’t know if it’s wisdom, but these last few dékades have been more trying than an entire lifetime. They’ve made me see the world differently. It is not something to envy, believe me.”

  Corenn couldn’t tell her about their expedition to Ji, about the strange portal leading to another world, or the mystery of the demonic children. But Séhane knew the rest of the story, and that knowledge was more than enough for her to understand the distraught expression that sometimes flashed across Corenn’s face, the one that surfaced when she thought no one was looking.

  It didn’t take long to prepare for the ruse. Séhane first had a long conversation with Perbas, and when she was finished, the regent left the room as pale as milk. It was the first time she had spoken to him about her plan. Before she could take it any further, she had to figure out if he would accept the throne.

  The Junian asked for a night to think on it, and came to find Séhane the next morning, as early as etiquette would allow, to accept the honor and responsibility. The queen had done such a good job making his natural patriotism resonate that he felt if he were to refuse, he would have committed the worst sort of treason. Nevertheless, he insisted that Séhane promise to stay alive for as long as possible.

  It remained to be seen how they would make his promotion seem to be blessed by the gods. Early on, Corenn rejected the idea of paying some unscrupulous divine figure, or theoretician, who would repeat any story they told him. It would be too easy to see through that. Besides, she had thought of a much better solution instead.

  Some of the barons always traveled with their own astrologist or personal soothsayer. To give their message weight, Corenn and Séhane had to use one of these men.

  “That’s impossible,” the queen objected to Corenn’s idea. “No matter what reward we can offer them, they will only end up selling the information to their master. The risk is too great.”

  It was then that Corenn revealed her magical powers to her friend. Far from being surprised, Séhane immediately understood the plan. It could actually work, the queen thought.

  Together they finalized the details. They had only to await the assembly of barons, which took place that very evening. Séhane required the presence of all her peers for a declaration of the utmost importance. Even though this demand was late in coming, everyone, filled with curiosity, rushed to the Broken Castle.

  Séhane, Corenn, and Perbas didn’t join the large audience until after everyone had already arrived. The more ambitious barons resented the presence of the regent and this new counselor at their assembly, having forgotten that they, themselves, were often accompanied by one, two, even three individuals. The Baronies numbered nineteen, but more than forty people were now impatiently staring at Séhane.

  “My friends, peers of the Small Kingdoms,” she declared solemnly. “I’m sure you have guessed the reason I brought you together today. Naturally, we are here to settle once and for all the conditions for succession. As you well know, Junine’s stability, as well as that of all the Baronies, is at stake.”

  She took a long pause, letting the official nature of her pronouncement settle in. The nobles in the hall were hanging on her every word.

  “Until now, no baron has died without an heir. Soon, I will have the sad privilege to be the first. But the treaties must survive beyond Arkane’s line. Junine must continue its history of being with and for the Baronies. And Junine must also stay Junian.”

  As expected, a few barons shouted out in violent protest. And while the majority of them respected the treaties as much as Séhane, there were still some who had hoped to inherit Junine and its riches. The queen had refused so many attempts at corruption these last few moons. However, she wouldn’t allow herself to choose one of the barons as her successor. Those who had vied for the throne had understood her maxim that “Junine should stay Junian.”

  “Peers of the Small Kingdoms, hear me,” Séhane implored. “The treaties are fragile. After all, they rest only on a simple military alliance. If one of you came to own a territory two times as large, producing two times the wealth, do you really think that things would stay the same?”

  Only a few shook their heads, but they were the wisest among them. The rest, Séhane still had to convince.

  “Our common army would be imbalanced. The men of this new ‘Grand Barony’ would be more numerous and would make up a stronger presence along our borders. The other Baronies, less integrated, would become less interested in the common cause, until they would eventually retreat to their homes. Someday, the Yussa would cross the Louvelle, and there might be no one left to repel them. That is not what I want. That is not what you want.”

  Her words echoed in the hall, and all eyes were steadied on her. She had captivated them. Corenn shuddered at the mention of Yussa. They were Aleb’s mercenary troops, Grigán’s personal enemy. Mother Eurydis, the heirs had so many enemies, Corenn thought.

  “I choose Perbas of Ubresa, the kingdom’s regent and grand cleric of the Baronies, as the legitimate successor to the rights and responsibility of Junine’s crown. At my death, he will take the name Perbas of Junine and his line will inherit the throne. Barons, you know his valor and loyalty. From today, I ask that you treat him like one of our peers.”

  “He’s not even nobility!” protested Adémir, the king of Phar. “You can’t give him the throne!”

  “The crown of Junine will make him noble enough,” Séhane responded with specious logic.

  “How can you do this?” Adémir persisted. “Give Junine to some beggar! I formally oppose it!”

  “The treaties give you no right to interfere in my kingdom’s affairs,” Séhane curtly reminded them all. “You will either recognize my decision as a peer of the Baronies, or leave the alliance.”

  The king swept his gaze across the room, looking for support. Some were ready to follow him in his rebellion, if only they could find more solid ground on which to form their objection.

  “Let us consult the omens! If the gods favor him, I will bow to your chosen king.”

  He didn’t say what he would do if the gods didn’t favor Perbas. Everything was unfolding as they had planned. Corenn started to concentrate. She wasn’t yet sure what she would have to do, but she was ready.

  The king of Phar signaled to one of the members of his entourage. An old woman walked to the center of the crowd. She was covered in wrinkles and completely bald, which made her look like an overripe pear from Wastille. She awkwardly waved to the assembly and pulled out four pieces of ivory from a small leather purse embroidered with arcane runes.

  Divination by Ithare dice. Very well. This will be easy, Corenn said to herself.

  The soothsayer knelt down and chanted various incantations that were supposed to draw the gods’ attention. With surprising dexterity, she placed the four dice between her two thumbs and waited for a question.

  “Is it just that Perbas ascend the throne of Junine?” Adémir asked.

  It was a clever question. The symbolic arrangement of dice for “absolute yes” was rarely thrown. Many other combinations would have middling responses, which would be difficult to interpret. Corenn was sure the soothsayer would do her best to please her master.

  She threw the dice abruptly, and the small ivory cubes rolled on the ground. Corenn had never sent her Will so quickly, but she was able to straighten two of the cubes without anyone noticing.

  “Twice the Twins, and a triangle,” the king of Galen announced to the crowd, as he leaned over to see. “The gods give their blessing.”

  “The triangle represents fire,” Adémir objected. “The demons are in favor. And wind is on the earth die. The situation is temporary, and demands more thorough reflection.”

  Corenn had trouble believing that these kings would make political decisions on the throw of some dice, but they all seemed to
take the soothsayer’s talents seriously. Finally, someone asked for the soothsayer’s interpretation.

  The old woman remained still. A strange expression crept up her face, like a scowl she was unsuccessfully trying to hold back. Her mouth opened, letting out a trickle of saliva, and then a groan rose in her throat.

  The people closest to her stepped back, while Corenn did the opposite and rushed to her aid. The Mother shook her, even slapped her, but the old woman did not respond, staying motionless.

  Suddenly, she gripped Corenn’s shoulder with surprising vigor and shoved her face close to Corenn’s. She stared into her eyes and spoke with venom in her voice. The sound that came from her mouth was that of a man tired by age and deformed by hatred.

  She spat, “The heirs are going to die… soon. You will all die…”

  She pronounced this last phrase with a hint of madness, and finished with a horrifying and ridiculous laugh. Two men finally came to help Corenn, who couldn’t release herself from the old woman’s steel grip. They unclasped her hands from Corenn and hurried the old woman to another room. Clearly, she had lost her mind.

  The barons whispered, “What did she mean? Séhane has no children. Did she mean Perbas? But then, why say the heirs?”

  No one had enjoyed the scene, not even those who could use it to their benefit.

  Corenn was shocked, knowing all too well whom those words were meant for.

  The days flowed by, and the heirs still hadn’t heard anything from the author of the mysterious letter. Maybe the journey from Mestèbe to Junine took more than six days; that is, if the stranger were really hiding out in the Rominian city. In any case, the heirs were growing impatient. Didn’t their message say, “We can help you”?