Six Heirs (8 page)

They slowed down their rapid pace in perfect unison, then came to a stop before meeting the two women with a silent stare. Léti immediately understood, without knowing why, that the men approaching her were the assassins. Her aunt knew, too; Corenn’s hand gripped her shoulder. Then Corenn stepped in front of her niece, and resolutely faced the strangers.

They were all wearing the same red-colored tunic and had shaved heads. They could have easily been mistaken for young, innocent priests of some harmless cult. So, here they were, the famous Züu killers. They didn’t seem so terrible at first glance. They wouldn’t, so long as you ignored the horrible reputation that preceded them and their fanatical stare. And if you also ignored the various weapons that hung here and there on the sides of their horses, and the notorious daggers resting in their sheaths.

The tallest of the three pointed toward them, barking a quick order. His acolytes quickly jumped off their horses. Léti, incredulous and helpless, saw them grab their blades and calmly approach, one directly, the other moving at an angle to cut off any escape.

This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t going to die here, right here, right now, like this, stabbed on a dirt road. It wasn’t possible.

She wanted to run, but her legs were paralyzed, as was the rest of her body. She wanted her aunt to flee, but she knew Corenn was too tired. This could not be happening. Not like this. They couldn’t die like this.

The tall one gasped suddenly, and Léti found enough energy to lift her eyes toward him.

Blood ran from his mouth. An arrowhead stuck out of his chest.

The man grabbed at it clumsily, as if drunk. A second arrow emerged from his body as if by magic, a half foot above the other. The Zü’s eyes rolled back and he slid off his horse.

Thirty yards away, a man in black lifted his bow. The two remaining killers immediately reacted and rushed for the bushes. One of them wasn’t fast enough and let out a gurgle as an arrow passed through his throat. He collapsed, drowning in his own blood.

The two women hadn’t moved an inch. Léti felt incapable of moving. Her eyes went from the man in black to the two corpses, from the corpses to the man in black, and she couldn’t do anything but watch, transfixed by the battle that unfolded before her.

The stranger grabbed his sword and stuck it in the ground. Calmly, deftly, he aimed his bow toward the bushes in front of him. The Zü charged with fury, running straight at him; the arrow flew two fingers above his head. The stranger dropped the now useless weapon and hurriedly seized his blade. The two men faced each other, the assassin ready to pounce, his knees bent and his hand clenching his dagger, the man in black holding him off with his sword extended. Then, it happened in an instant.

The Zü launched himself so quickly that even though Léti was waiting for it, she was surprised. But the stranger reacted just as quickly, as if he had known what his adversary would try. His blade gleamed, and the Zü’s hand was sliced and his stomach opened in a swift dance of steel. Léti saw the man’s
guts gush out onto his legs and the ground, despite his desperate efforts to hold them in with a bloody arm.

Her will gave way and she fainted in a heap.

Yan felt his hope dwindling by the moment. It had been dark for a while now, and cutting through the scrubland of Southern Kaul no longer seemed like a good idea.

He had made a mistake. The light of the moon wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the way; it couldn’t break through the thick layer of foliage that hung above him most of the time. His legs, arms, and face were irritated, scratched, and even cut in areas by the brambles and the other plants that formed the dense maze of shrubbery, and he had fallen several times. He was only a few decidays into his trek, and he was already hurting all over, he was covered in mud, his clothes were torn to shreds, and his hair disheveled.

The worst was that he was beginning to doubt his bearings. Was he still headed in the right direction? Or was he lost?

On two separate occasions he had the feeling of passing the same spot twice. Navigate using the stars, sure. It was a lot easier when you could see them! In addition to the foliage, which was quite dense at times and reduced his field of vision, a haze had recently fallen, suggesting a heavy fog was on the way.

His foot caught on a root and he nearly fell again, but he just barely caught himself on a low-hanging branch that his hand happened to meet. This time he was lucky: it wasn’t a thorny branch.

A family of margolins scurried away a few steps ahead. That had to have been the sixth time. The critters really had to be deaf not to hear him approaching. And to think of all the trouble he normally had trapping one!

Yan cursed himself for not thinking to bring the things necessary to build a fire. That should have been a priority during his rushed preparations, instead of the fruit or the fishing line. Everyone was right; he really was a good-for-nothing dreamer.

It was just what he needed now, to find himself face-to-face with a bear or a stray wolf. He would look really fierce with his fishing knife and his rusty harpoon.

He should have first gone to the neighboring village and got his hands on a horse. He should have found a weapon worthy of being called so. He should have taken the time to think, like he so often told others to do.

Léti must be far away. Perhaps even dead.

He delivered a furious blow with his harpoon to a wall of seda shrub that was blocking his way. A swarm of huge silvery flies took to the air, buzzing. A bat swooped in, gliding toward them, ready to make a dinner of them. Yan chased him off by waving his arms around like a madman. It was unfair, but the bat had frightened him.

He allowed himself a short break. In spite of the situation, a funny thought ran through his head: maybe Léti had already gone back to the village, and she was now worrying about him. If it were true, he would really be the King of Fools. But this idea was pleasant, since it implied a return to normal life.

Unfortunately, for now the only thing he could do was to carry on and try to find the trail.

He found it two centidays later, on the other side of a thick grove of broad-leaved trees. Relieved, he immediately scanned the horizon in both directions, hoping to make out the shapes of riders in the misty twilight. But, of course, he didn’t see anything.

He was now faced with a decision. Either head back toward the village, praying that they hadn’t yet made it this far, or continue east, hoping they had already stopped for the night. If they veered off the path before he caught up to them, it was likely he would never see them again.

This idea made his blood run cold, and he quickly set off toward the Lorelien border. The exhaustion of the strenuous trek was beginning to take a merciless toll on him, but he forced himself to ignore it. Besides, covering ground without stumbling on roots or trudging through thorny bushes made it much more tolerable.

The only challenge was to not lose the trail.

Rarely traveled, the trail wasn’t always easy to make out. With the fog, Yan sometimes had a hard time telling the trail from the scrub. At one point, he convinced himself he had lost it again.

He ended up focusing his attention just a few steps ahead, walking with his gaze practically stuck to his feet.

He continued on that way for almost a league, when a detail, which he had nearly passed by, snapped him out of his daze.

He was just about to step on a fresh print left by a horse’s hoof.

The surprising part wasn’t the print itself, of course, on a road frequented by riders, but its direction.

He soon found others, quite a few even, leaving no doubt: two horses, maybe three, had recently pulled off the road into the thick scrub.

Taken by a wave of hope, Yan lunged down this new path, keeping his eye out for more clues hinting at a recent passage of animals. It was harder than he had thought, and several times he had to retrace his steps to correct his course, the darkness hardly helping matters.

During one of these moments, he realized that he might have made a mistake.

A low-hanging branch like any other, which he had brushed aside just as he had done so many times that night, didn’t straighten back into its place, but fell.

A living plant that size doesn’t just break.

When he examined it up close, he discovered a thin string tied to one end, more or less taut, which vanished into the bushes.

Genius. The other end of the string must have activated some sort of alarm. Yan had made enough hunting traps himself that he didn’t need it spelled out.

He ran a few paces and hid. Who could possibly have put such a setup in place besides thieves? Besides people who didn’t have good intentions? It wasn’t Léti, or Corenn, in any case. So who was it?

Yan decided that he could live happily without knowing the answer, and began to cautiously make a wide loop back to the trail. He concentrated all his attention on being silent as he moved forward, frequently looking behind him.

Suddenly, he felt a shiver race down his spine. What if they had been attacked? Kidnapped? By those with evil intentions?

He needed reassurance. He had come this far for at least that.

After taking his knife out, he hid his bag under a branch. He also left behind his harpoon, which was too cumbersome. Then he went back to the string and began following it to its other end, cautiously keeping a bit of distance from it.

He continued for fifteen paces or so. The people at the other end had set themselves up rather far away; this did nothing but confirm his theory. As he moved forward, he heard more and more distinctly the characteristic crackling of a fire.

He abandoned the string’s path and slipped away toward the camp. He covered the remaining distance practically at a crawl, with only one thing in mind: don’t make a sound, whatever you do, don’t make a sound.

The fire was burning at the bottom of a depression in the ground. It was surrounded so well by shrubs and seda bushes that it was impossible to see it even from twenty yards away. Three horses were tied up nearby, and two figures were lying on the ground, their backs facing Yan.

His heart leaped in his chest. He wasn’t sure, but...yes, that body, there...It was Léti!

Something cold pressed against his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out the dull gleam of a blade clenched in a man’s hand.

“Drop your knife. Put your hands up. Slowly,” a calm voice whispered in his ear.

Yan complied, cursing himself. How did he always manage to mess things up?

The blade left his throat. For an instant he wondered if he should make a move. Not easy, in this position...

Something hit him on the back of the head and everything went black.

“Maz Lana? Are you well?”

The priestess lifted her head. It was Rimon, the young novice, who had kindly come to comfort her. He had always been her best student as well as a loyal friend, and Lana knew she would pass on her title of Maz to him one day or another, if Eurydis allowed it.

“Yes, yes. Thank you.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, thank you. Not right now. I just need to be alone for a moment. To reflect.”

“All right. I’ll be outside your door. Don’t hesitate to call for me if you need anything.”

At the doorway, he added: “The Temple has sent a few officers. They’re placing a guard around the building. You are safe.”

“Very well, you can go now.”

Rimon obeyed her meekly, with one last pitying look at his teacher. Sometimes Lana asked herself if she saw more than respect, more than friendship in the eyes of the young novice. But they both knew things would never go any further.

She stood and paced across the little cell that served as her home. Even though it was austere, modestly decorated, and only functionally furnished, her bedroom had always felt very comfortable. Its main appeal was the magnificent view from the window. The midday sun shimmered off the Alt’s flowing waters, glistening on the Holy City’s myriad domes and temples, warming the foothills before the high mountains of the Curtain range. It was such a beautiful city. Peaceful, pacifist, spared from the barbarism of the rest of the known world.