“Grigán is a descendant of Rafa Derkel. The three Züu that attacked us were initially after him, in Bénélia. But they didn’t find him, and in the end he was the one who followed them to their next target.”
Corenn went silent.
“We would have died yesterday.”
It seemed that she wanted to draw the conversation to a close. Yan waited patiently at her side in silence for a moment, and then rode ahead to the warrior.
“Corenn just told me what happened. How did you manage to escape the Züu in Bénélia?”
Grigán stared at him curiously, making Yan feel awkward.
“Do you suspect me of something?”
“No, of course not!” he exclaimed. “I’m just curious.”
The warrior paused to gauge the fisherman’s sincerity.
“The Züu aren’t the only ones who want my hide. If I didn’t constantly watch my back, I would have been dead long ago.”
He left Yan there, and took his horse off at a gallop toward the crest of the next hill.
He really was an odd character. They were lucky to have him, Yan thought.
Corenn caught back up to him, smiling. “I don’t know what you said to him, but remember, if you annoy him, he’ll hurt you!” she said, pulling a face and imitating Grigán’s accent.
Yan returned her smile. Fortunately, not all of his companions were like the taciturn warrior. Otherwise their ride would seem a lot longer.
It suddenly dawned on him that he didn’t even know where they were headed.
“Are we fleeing aimlessly, or do we actually have a destination?”
“No, we’re not on the run. If we were, we would be going the other way,” said the Mother, pointing west. “We have to try to meet up with the other heirs. Maybe one of them has some important information. And we’ll go from there.”
“How will we find the others?”
He guessed as soon as he asked.
“Of course. Berce. Your usual meeting spot. That’s where all the survivors will go.”
Corenn nodded.
Yan continued, “I suppose you’ve already thought of this, but if the killers are as well-informed and effective as you say, won’t they also come to the same conclusion and be waiting for us there?”
“Yes, certainly. Unfortunately, it’s the best solution we have. We’ll make it work.”
Yan’s expression went grim. There was bound to be a lot of making things work over the next few days. It’s not that he was against a little bit of adventure, but he was hardly thrilled at the prospect of heading straight into the lion’s den.
“Do you think we’ll manage to meet up with many others?”
“I hope so. I would hate to discover that we’re the only three left. But looking over my list...”
She didn’t finish her sentence. They just stared at each other in silence.
“How many of you are there? I mean, how many of you were there before?”
“I don’t know exactly. Maybe seventy or eighty, but there must have been some births over the past three years. And not everyone came to the gatherings, far from it. I can’t place a face to nearly half of them. Furthermore, I’m sure some are even ignorant of their entire history. Xan had hoped to bring everyone together this year, something that hasn’t been done in a long time.”
Yan made a quick mental calculation.
“There still aren’t too many of you. If you estimate two children per generation, for a little more than a century, there can hardly be more than a hundred of you.”
“Yes, that’s true. Perhaps it’s better that way, given the circumstances.”
“And how many are dead?”
“According to my list, thirty-one adults and children.”
Corenn swallowed painfully, then turned away.
“But it is certainly incomplete.”
Yan didn’t question her further. In spite of her efforts to control herself, it was obvious that the Mother was again on the verge of tears.
And he too took some time to contemplate the weight of the circumstances.
They stopped for lunch at the top of a hill, where they could survey the comings and goings of riders on the road. Grigán isolated himself from the group, sitting under the trees, and spent the whole time scanning the horizon. Léti looked much better; a bit of sleep, even on horseback, had done her good. They exchanged few words and were soon back on the road, Grigán’s anxiety having infected them all.
Léti rode with Corenn. Even though he could handle his horse more easily now, Yan regretted the absence of his beloved leaning against his back. But they had to alternate, in order to keep both mounts fresh.
The rest of the day was going to be monotonous; Yan was completely sure of it after they’d covered a few leagues with no trouble. Since none of his companions were speaking—all of them lost in thought—Yan decided to stifle his impatience and observe the landscape. But he quickly grew weary of the many plants covering the horizon, ones that could easily be found close to Eza. So it almost pleased him to see Grigán return somewhat agitated from one of his reconnaissance patrols.
“A horseman’s catching up to us, at a swift gallop. He’s wearing a priest’s robe.”
“A red robe?” Léti asked in an acid tone.
“No. But that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Do you think it’s a Zü?”
“No, I don’t think so. They travel in groups, most of the time. But I wouldn’t bet my life on it.”
“Are you certain that the three who attacked you yesterday are dead?” Yan interjected.
“Deader than the kings of Lermian,” responded the warrior with a frightening grin. “Even if I’m never the first to attack, I don’t leave my enemies alive. It’s a basic rule of survival.”
Yan had a vision of Grigán sadistically cutting the throats of dying men, as they pleaded and screamed. He banished the thought, horrified. He certainly wanted to believe that he would strike to kill in a battle.
“What do you suggest we do?” Corenn asked.
“We hide. One should always avoid combat when one can.”
“So, we have to hide like this every time we see somebody?”
Three surprised faces turned toward Léti. Her tone had been almost angry.
“No, of course not,” her aunt responded in a soothing tone. “But, for now, it’s the best thing to do. There’s no need to take any risks, our lives are at stake, after all. You understand, don’t you?”
“It’s just a passing horseman,” Léti retorted, sulking. “Even if he is a Zü, he’s alone. Grigán could kill him easily.”
“Do you even know what you’re saying?”
The young girl didn’t answer. Perhaps she really had gone too far.
Grigán shook his head while leading the group to take cover in the trees, where they dismounted. Corenn tried to make her niece think more sensibly about the situation.
“The trail we’re on is the fastest way to get from Kaul to Lorelia; actually, it’s just about the only one. The Züu will inevitably patrol it, if they suspect we’re headed for Berce, don’t you see?”
“Yes, yes,” blurted the young girl, exasperated but not convinced.
“We’re not going to have to hide all the time; we’re only doing so now because there’s a distinct possibility that the horseman is one of the assassins hunting us. Once we’ve passed Bénélia, we’ll be able to breath a lot easier. They can’t keep a watch on all the Lorelien routes, at least not without using hundreds of men.”
“Lady Corenn, you’ve understood the situation perfectly. Of course, I expected nothing less from you.”
“Thank you, Master Grigán.”
Yan kept out of the conversation, and certainly didn’t allow himself to take sides. The last thing he needed was to get mixed up in an argument. Unfortunately, he was sure that one or the other was going to ask his opinion on the matter.
“Take your bow and follow me,” Grigán said. “Léti, if you’v
e finished your tantrum, try to calm this horse down, please.”
“Where are you going? I want to come with you.”
The warrior didn’t respond as he turned toward the trail. Yan shot an apologetic and resigned glance toward Léti and followed Grigán.
Léti had never been so humiliated. She was filled with so much rage, she felt as though she could tear down a tree with her bare hands.
She went to see the rebellious horse and silenced it with just a look. The poor animal had the good sense to obey.
Léti paced about for a while, and then couldn’t take it anymore, letting her anger course through her.
“Aunt Corenn! I respect Grigán, I’m happy to have him with us, and I know that we owe our lives to him. But does that give him the right to treat us like incompetent, useless fools?”
She paused for a moment before continuing.
“How can you stand him? You, a woman, a Mother of the Permanent Council?”
She regretted this final retort before even having finished it. But it was too late: Corenn, always levelheaded, the queen of diplomacy, capable of forgiving many things, fixed Léti with a stern look. Then came the sermon.
“Léti, have you ever been hunted before?”
“No,” responded the young girl, embarrassed.
“Have you ever taken on the responsibility of protecting peoples’ lives?”
“No. No.”
“What do you know about hiding? What experience do you have with danger? Do you even know how to fight?”
“No, I don’t know how to fight, I’ve never killed anyone, and I’ve never eaten raw jellyfish either. So there!”
“Grigán, unfortunately for him, has experienced and still experiences all of those horrors. Furthermore, he invariably acts in the interest of our well-being, and we must trust him.”
“I’m not saying otherwise! It’s just, why did he ask Yan to help him and not me?”
“That has nothing to do with you. It’s due to his education, his convictions. For him, as for any native of the Lower Kingdoms, women should not fight. And if I were you, I would immediately give up any effort to change his mind.”
“But that’s stupid! There are women in the Matriarchy’s army with the same titles as men, who do just as well as them!”
“You think so? There are some female captains, sure, maybe even a good number of female warriors. But are they really as effective?”
Léti was appalled. All of her education was based on equality between the sexes, even a certain feminine superiority. And here the Guardian of Traditions herself was telling her the opposite.
“You agree with him.” Léti finally understood.
“In some ways. I have known Grigán for a long time, and I trust him. I’m happy to give him responsibility for our safety.”
But Léti wasn’t done yet.
“Well, I think he’s wrong. A woman can certainly do just as well as a man for what amounts to stupidly swinging swords around.”
Corenn preferred to drop the subject. The conversation was taking a turn that she didn’t like at all. She definitely didn’t need the only remaining member of her family to get it in her head that it was a good idea to face professional assassins one-on-one.
Yan and Grigán took up position at the edge of the forest, where they had an excellent view of the trail. The rider was closing in and would be galloping past them soon.
He was a middle-aged man, dressed in modest priest’s clothes. Besides his haste, nothing about his behavior was particularly suspicious. Yan was sure he wasn’t after them.
“Nock an arrow and be ready.”
Grigán had stuck his curved blade in the ground in front of him and was straining to draw a bow that was even bigger than Yan’s. The fisherman would have liked to wait and watch the warrior, but he didn’t want to give himself away. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, laid flat on his stomach, and tried his best to nock it.
The man in black watched him in disbelief.
“Not on the ground! What are you doing!”
Yan quickly jumped to his feet and tried to play it off nonchalantly. He couldn’t let Grigán realize that he had never used a bow before.
He studied his companion out of the corner of his eye and did his best to imitate him. Hold the arrow between two fingers, keep a straight arm...It looked easy enough.
“Only shoot if I do. Then reload immediately and wait for my orders.”
Grigán followed the rider with his arrow for at least 120 yards, until he disappeared from view around a bend in the path. But it wasn’t until the pounding of the hooves was nearly inaudible that he released the tension in his bow. Yan did exactly the same.
“There, to the left, shoot!” the warrior yelled, practically in his ear.
Yan pivoted while drawing the bow, searched for his target, and thinking he found it, released the arrow. The bowstring scraped the length of his inner arm while the arrow slid comically straight to the ground. He feverishly darted his gaze here and there among the bushes, not seeing anything.
On the other hand, he clearly felt a strong whack on his noggin from Grigán.
“You’ve never touched a bow in your life, have you? Just try to tell me otherwise!”
Yan straightened, angry and upset. He felt his face redden like a lubilee fruit, all the more upset at being so easy to read.
“You’re crazy! You scared me! That was dangerous, you know. I could have killed someone!”
“It isn’t dangerous if you know how to handle your weapon,” argued the warrior, unruffled. “You shouldn’t have lied to me.”
Grigán’s calm tone and logical argument melted Yan’s anger like snow in the sun. But not his shame. He felt like a small child caught lying to his mother.
“I would much rather like to know where we actually stand. If we really had needed to defend ourselves, it would have been dangerous for you, for me, and the others.”
“All right, all right. I admit I was wrong.”
“Good. I consider the conversation finished. Now, let’s see what can be done with you.”
He went to retrieve the arrow and explained in a few sentences the proper archer’s position and followed it up with a practical demonstration. Yan listened attentively, then shot again at the warrior’s request.
The result was satisfactory: the arrow flew straight, without the string burning his arm.
“Good. That’s it. Now all you need to do is learn to aim, and for that, I’m of no use to you.”
“I’m going to train so diligently you won’t even have to worry about drawing your bow,” Yan joked, displaying his eagerness.
They returned to their little makeshift camp. Yan still felt somewhat foolish and ashamed, but his trust in Grigán had grown. In the end, the aloof warrior had only one concern: to keep them out of harm’s way.
Léti shouted violently at them upon their return.
“You were gone quite a while! What happened?”
“Nothing, everything’s fine.”
The warrior had no wish to waste time with unnecessary explanations.
“Grigán showed me how to draw a bow. It’s more difficult than I thought, but it’s not too bad once you’ve got the hang of it.”
“Glad to hear it. I hope you have fun with your man’s toy.”
She left him standing there.
Yan was dumbfounded. He had gotten into arguments with Léti before, but up until then he always knew why. What had gotten into her?
Perhaps she was angry because he had taken an interest in a weapon? An object made to kill. That must be it; she scorned men because they only had a mind for destroying one another.
No, that didn’t add up. Earlier, she was the one who suggested Grigán rid them of the rider without further ado.
He went to go after her, to talk, but decided against it. What could he tell her? When she was in this state, all attempts at reconciliation were useless. It was best to wait for things to settle down. Léti was sti
ll in emotional shock from the recent events, and she wasn’t thinking clearly.
He could only hope that she would get over it as soon as possible.
“Rey! Hey, Rey, is tha’ you? Rey!”
Reyan muttered one of his vilest curses. Now that he had successfully gotten out of Lorelia without causing a stir, now that he had followed the entire length of the Gisland River all the way to Pont, now that he had almost left the kingdom with complete discretion, now some idiot screamed his name at the top of his lungs in the middle of the street.
Reyan waved discreetly and went to meet him. Since someone had already spotted him, best to avoid drawing more attention to himself by reacting strangely, like feigning deafness or running away.
It really bothered him that he was recognized so easily. He had spent a fair amount of time conceiving an inconspicuous disguise, using all his actor’s talents to choose clothing that made him appear older, taller, and less Lorelien. Well, it’s true he hadn’t gone all the way and used makeup, no hairpiece or shading could hold for the whole trip. He would do better next time.
He was happy enough to be able to take these old rags. When he awoke Barle, three nights earlier, Reyan was scared for a moment that his troupe leader would finish the job started by the Zü. But after a long critique on the good-for-nothing troublemakers, the entertainers, the jokers, the revelers, whom Barle had sworn he would never allow to join his caravan, all of this in a voice much louder than usual, Barle had agreed to help the young actor. He had given him clothing, food, and without Reyan even asking—he hadn’t yet been paid—a full purse filled with gold terces, under the sole condition that he return one day to perform with them and, of course, to reimburse him.
Barle and the rest of the troupe immediately began packing up and headed for Partacle, hoping to lure Reyan’s potential—even likely—pursuers.
But all these efforts would be fruitless if he got himself caught thanks to some moron who kept wildly waving his arms at him. What was his name again? Tiric? Iryc? Rey hurried over to him.
“Do you really need to yell my name in the street like that? I’m not deaf,” he said, trying to hide his anger.
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