The Orphans' Promise by Pierre Grimbert Page B

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 perperson? 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