Only the Destined

“I’ve the easy part,” Garet insisted. “You’re the one who has to persuade people to rise up.”

Raymond nodded. “They’ll rise. They’ll do it for Royce.”

He’d seen the way his brother had been able to persuade people to fight harder, and how Royce had been able to overcome the most dangerous of foes. He’d cut down a master warrior like Sir Alistair, and had rallied Earl Undine’s forces. People would rise up in Royce’s name.

“I guess this is goodbye then,” Lofen said. There wasn’t much emotion obvious in it, but Raymond knew it was there under the surface. Raymond just hoped his brother could make a more emotional plea when it came to the Picti. He also hoped his brother would be safe, because they’d all seen what the wild people of the land were capable of, up on the healing rock.

“It’s not goodbye for long, I hope,” Raymond said. “Just remember—”

“Gather them at Earl Undine’s castle, not at the old duke’s,” Lofen said. “Aye, I know. You’ve said it enough times on the way so far.”

“I was going to say remember that I love you both, brothers,” Raymond said. “Even if you are an idiot, Lofen, and Garet’s too wet behind the ears for any sense.”

“At least we’re not a mother hen clucking over everyone,” Garet shot back. He turned his horse and heeled it forward. “I’ll see you soon, brother, with an army!”

“I’ll keep him safe,” Moira said, turning her own horse to follow Garet.

“See that you do,” Raymond called after her.

“You’re being hard on her,” Lofen said, as the two rode away.

“It’s more the part where Garet’s soft on her that worries me,” Raymond said.

He saw his brother shrug. “At least he gets a beautiful woman with him who knows the people he’s going to see. Why I couldn’t have that Neave come with me…”

Raymond laughed at that. “You think she’d be interested in you? You’ve seen her with Matilde. Besides, Picti will be easy enough to find. Just wander the wild places until one of them shoots something at you.”

Lofen swallowed then. “You’re joking, but you’ll feel bad if I come back filled with arrows. Still, I’ll do it, and I’ll bring back my own army, see how people like fighting the wild folk.”

He turned and rode in the direction of what they thought would be Picti lands, which left Raymond waiting by the crossroads alone. Compared to his brothers, it felt as though he had the easiest task: persuade people who were already discontented throughout the kingdom to join their cause. After so many years of being abused by nobles serving under King Carris, they should be tinder dry kindling, waiting for the spark of his words.

Even so, as Raymond turned his horse in the direction of one of the villages and kicked it into a canter, he found himself wishing that his brothers were coming with him.

***

The first village was a place so small that it probably wouldn’t have shown up on most maps. It had a name, Byesby, and a few houses, and that was it. It was barely more than a glorified farmstead, really, without even an inn to draw the locals together. The best that could be said of it was that at least there weren’t any guards around, serving some local ruler, who might try to stop Raymond in getting people to rise up.

He rode to the center of the place, which seemed to be marked by a low wooden post for messages, set next to a well that obviously hadn’t been repaired in a while. There were a few people out in the street working, and more came out as Raymond sat there on his horse. They probably didn’t see many people in armor out here. Possibly, they even thought he’d been sent by whichever nobleman claimed the place.

“Listen to me,” Raymond called out from the back of his horse. “Gather round, all of you!”

Slowly, people started to come forward. Raymond had seen more people in battles, but it occurred to him as they slowly surrounded him that he’d never had to speak in front of so many before. In that moment, his mouth felt dry, and his palms clammy.

“Who’re you?” one man, who looked burly enough to be a blacksmith, demanded. “We’ve no time for raiders and bandits out here.”

He hefted a hammer as if to emphasize the point that they weren’t defenseless.

“Then it’s just as well that I’m neither!” Raymond shouted back to the man. “I’m here to help you.”

“Unless you’re planning to lend a hand with the harvest, I don’t see how you can help us,” another man said.

One of the older women there looked Raymond up and down. “I can think of a few ways.”

Just the way she said it was enough to send the heat of embarrassment spreading through Raymond. He fought it back, and it felt at least as difficult as fighting a swordsman would have been.

“Haven’t you heard that the old duke and his son Altfor have been overthrown?” Raymond called out.

“What’s that to do with us?” the blacksmith called back. From the way people nodded as he spoke, Raymond had the feeling that he was the one there they listened to. “We’re on Lord Harrish’s lands.”

“Lord Harrish, who takes from you the way the other nobles take,” Raymond said. He knew there were better, kinder nobles like Earl Undine, but from what he could remember of the ruler here, he wasn’t one of them. “How often do they have to ride into your villages, stealing from you, before you tell them that enough is enough?”

“We’d be pretty stupid to do that,” the blacksmith called back. “He has soldiers.”

“And we have an army!” Raymond called back. “You’ve heard that the old duke was overthrown? Well, we did it, in the name of the rightful king, Royce!”

In his imagination, his voice boomed out over the place. In practice, Raymond could see some of the people at the back straining to hear him.

“You’re Royce?” the blacksmith called back. “You’re the one claiming to be the son of the old king?”

“No, no,” Raymond explained quickly. “I’m his brother.”

“So you’re the son of the old king too?” the smith demanded.

“No, I’m not,” Raymond said. “I’m the son of a villager, but Royce is—”

“Well, make up your mind,” the old woman who’d embarrassed him said. “If this Royce is your brother, then he can’t be the son of the old king. It stands to reason.”

“No, you’ve got it all wrong,” Raymond said. “Please, just listen to me, give me a chance to explain it all, and—”

“And what?” the blacksmith said. “You’ll tell us how this Royce is worth us following him? You’ll tell us how we should go out and die in someone else’s war?”

“Yes!” Raymond said, and then realized how that must sound. “No, I mean… it isn’t someone else’s war. It’s a war for everyone.”

The smith didn’t seem very convinced by that. He strode up to lean against the well, no longer a part of the crowd, but the one addressing it.

“Really?” he said, looking out to the others there. “You all know me, and I know you, and we all know what it’s like when nobles fight. They come and they take us for their armies, and they promise us all kinds of things, but when it’s all done, it’s us who’re dead, and they go back to doing what they want.”

“Royce is different!” Raymond insisted.

“Why is he different?” the smith shot back.

“Because he’s one of us,” Raymond said. “He was raised in a village. He knows what it’s like. He cares.”

The smith sneered at that. “If he cares so much, then where is he? Why is he not here, rather than some boy saying he’s his brother?”

Raymond knew then that there was no point in continuing. The people here weren’t going to listen to him, no matter what he said. They’d heard too many promises from too many other people, back in the days before King Carris had forbidden his nobles from fighting. Only the thought that Royce might actually care for them would be enough to persuade people, and the smith was right: they had no reason to believe that when he wasn’t even there.

Raymond turned his horse, riding out of the village with as much dignity as he could find right then. It wasn’t much.