Only the Valiant

by Morgan Rice

  “We’re hardly southerners,” Royce said. “We were born here.”

  “Aye,” the girl said. “After men with steel took the land just a hand’s worth of generations back. Have you stood on the end of Giant’s Point and looked out over the last of the world? Have you laid cairns for your ancestors and sung to the gods who made this place? Have you…” Again, she paused as the man with her snapped something, then she said something back in the strange language of the Picti.

  “Aye, well,” she said when she was done, “in spite of all that, you are the one the stone sang for, and we’ll follow you, so Osin says. Others might, if you turn out worthy. We’ll make camp over that way.”

  She nodded to a vacant section of the meeting place.

  Instantly, half a dozen villagers started to move forward, weapons drawn.

  “They’re Picti!” one of the men called out. “What do they think they’re doing, saying they’ll camp on our land?”

  “This was ours centuries before it was yours, southerner!” the girl shouted back, her hand straying to her sword. “We built this place. Our people would meet here before yours took it and—”

  “What about all the things yours have taken?” the man shot back. “The number of cattle they’ve stolen from me! And we all know what they do to people they catch out in the—”

  “Enough!” Royce bellowed, knowing that he couldn’t let this go any further. “This is not the time for arguments, or for hatreds. Yes, we’ve fought for a long time; for too long. But this is a moment when we need to come together. We need to recognize that Altfor and his uncle are more dangerous than any of our conflicts. We need to work together, which means that Osin and the others stay.”

  Royce looked around them. He pointed at the girl. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Neave.”

  “Well, Neave, tell Osin that if there’s any trouble from his people, I’ll be the one dealing with it.”

  “But that’s—”

  Royce spun toward the man who had protested so much. “And if any of you antagonize the Picti, I’ll want restitution for that, too.”

  He waited, silently daring any of them to challenge his decision. He hoped that it would be enough, and for the moment, at least, it seemed to be.

  “Now, everyone get settled in, eat, rest. At sundown, we will meet and decide what to do.”

  ***

  The rest of the day went far too slowly for Royce. He spent most of it sitting by his tent, thinking. He thought about the men and women who were with the healers even now, from his friend Mark to the ones who had been injured in the fight against Altfor and his uncle. He thought about the ones who wouldn’t be coming back, and about the things he had glimpsed in the gray man’s dream stuff.

  He tried to think of a way to make all of this work, and even while he knew there was only one answer, he knew it was one the others would never accept. Even so, he had to put it to them, had to find a way to persuade them, so he waited until the sun started to set and the others lit a bonfire, which shone like the fiery pupil of some great eye when viewed through Ember’s gaze.

  He waited until the others were all gathered around, and then he spoke.

  “We’ve had the day to think,” he said. “My guess is that many of you will have spent it hoping that all of this will go away. It won’t. I don’t believe that Altfor or Lord Alistair will stop burning villages now until they catch every last one of us. I could be wrong though. It might be that they just want me, so that’s the first thing I want to put to you: that you all hand me over to them and let that be an end to it.”

  That got an immediate chorus of disapproval from the throng there.

  “You want to give in?” Garet shouted out.

  Others there shouted out against it too.

  “I don’t want to,” Royce said. “But I’m not going to tell you. I’m going to ask. Do you want me to hand myself over?”

  The roar of no echoed around the meeting place.

  “Then we have to think about other options,” Royce said. “Do you want to run? We can still find boats and try to escape.”

  “And then what?” Matilde demanded. “We go somewhere else with another lord who is as bad as Altfor and his family?”

  “We could try to rebuild our lives,” Royce suggested. “We could scatter and be safe.”

  “Until the next time someone comes for us,” Lofen said.

  Neave listened to Osin and then shook her head. “We are Picti, and this is our home. We will not leave. We will stay and fight!”

  Royce had guessed that someone would say that.

  “There aren’t enough of us,” he said. “I’ve seen what Altfor’s forces are like. We have more people now, but I’m sorry, you aren’t an army yet.”

  “We can learn,” Garet insisted.

  “We can,” Royce agreed, “but not fast enough. What if they come now? Even if we do train together, how many people can we get on the battlefield compared to them? It isn’t enough.”

  “Then what?” Neave called out. “What do you have in mind?”

  Royce paused before he said it, because he knew that this was the part that would divide people. Even so, he couldn’t see another way to do this.

  “I want us to go to some of the other nobles and seek their help,” he said.

  Instantly, there was an uproar. People seemed almost as unhappy about it as they had been about the prospect of him giving himself up. Even so, he knew that he had to make the case for it.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “The nobles hate one another, and not all of them are the same. Lord Kershaw and Earl Undine have both fought against the old duke.”

  “Lord Kershaw is almost as bad,” a man called out.

  “But from what I’ve heard, Earl Undine is fairer than that,” Royce said. “And he has men.”

  “But he’s still a noble,” Neave said. “Still one of those who stole our lands.”

  Royce forced himself to stay calm. “You can say that about anyone who is here,” he said, “but we need help. We need soldiers who are willing to help us.”

  “The Picti are helping,” Neave argued.

  “And their help is important,” Royce said, “but with respect, if you were enough to overcome Altfor’s forces, you would have done it years ago.”

  Neave looked as though she was going to argue more, but then Royce saw Osin put a hand on her arm.

  “Okay,” she said. “We’re willing, apparently.”

  “It’s still risky,” Raymond said. “We could go to Earl Undine, but what if he decides that we’re just peasant rebels? What if he decides to hang us?”

  That was the biggest risk, and Royce understood just how dangerous it could be. He could be leading his people to their deaths. He could be risking everything they had, but what did they have? A small encampment? The risk of being found and killed at any time? They had to do this.

  “We need to risk it,” he said. “We have to go seek the support of the nobles.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Genevieve stared up at the gleaming lights of the castle’s torches, not wanting to go up to it, but not able to look away.

  “You’re still not sure, are you?” Sheila said.

  Genevieve didn’t answer for a moment or two, because she knew what she had to say, and it wasn’t the same as what she felt in that instant. Her instinct was to turn and run, but that instinct wouldn’t help anyone.

  “You could still do it,” Sheila insisted. “You could still take the root, still run, still be free of him.”

  Genevieve shook her head. “He would find me, and anyway, I need to be there if I’m going to influence any of this.”

  It was like they’d decided before: she would go back and be everything she needed to be until her child was born. She would arrange things so that she would have control in the event of Altfor’s death. Then, with Sheila’s help, she would do what was needed.

  “I hate the idea of you being in that castle with
him,” Sheila said. “I wish I could go with you, maybe pretend to be a maid or something. At least that way, I could make sure that he couldn’t hurt you.”

  Genevieve wished that it might work so easily. It wouldn’t, though. “Altfor would guess who you were, and then he would have you right where he wanted you. He would hurt you just to make me watch it. He already wants you dead.”

  “If not the castle, then where?” Sheila asked. “Where do I go?”

  Genevieve had been thinking about that for most of the journey back to the castle. So far, she had only been able to come up with one place that was hidden enough and safe enough, at least if her sister was careful.

  “Fallsport,” she said. “You need to go to Fallsport.”

  “But that’s over the water,” Sheila insisted. “It’s almost another kingdom!”

  Genevieve nodded. “That’s the point. Almost, but not quite. The island there is a place all kinds of people go, and you’ll be able to drift in among them without being noticed. You can read and write, and we used to play at the manners of the nobles, and I have a little money, so I have a plan.”

  She took out what she had, wishing that it were more.

  “Take it and pretend that you’re some lady’s maid about a task for your mistress,” Genevieve said. “I’ll send more when, if, I can. If you’re secretive about your identity then, people will just assume that you’re arranging something illicit for her: some tryst or alliance or something. You’ll be able to use the idea of her to keep people away from you, and to build up a life until it’s time to act. And…” She hadn’t mentioned this part to her sister. “If all of this goes wrong, then I will need somewhere to run. You can prepare a place for both of us.”

  “I don’t like the thought of leaving you behind,” Sheila said. “You could come now.”

  “You won’t have your revenge if I do that,” Genevieve said, even though it wasn’t the reason for needing to be there. If she left, she wouldn’t be able to change things for the people around her, she wouldn’t be able to rein in Altfor’s excesses…

  …she wouldn’t see Royce again.

  “I have to stay here,” Genevieve said. “Promise me that you’ll stay safe.”

  “I feel as though I should be the one getting you to do that,” Sheila said. She hugged Genevieve then, tightly and fiercely. “Are you going to tell him? He won’t hurt you if he knows you’re carrying his child.”

  Genevieve nodded. “I’ll do whatever I need to.”

  She walked toward the castle then, forcing herself not to look back until the darkness had swallowed her sister so completely that there would be no hope of finding her. If someone watched her on her approach, Genevieve didn’t want them guessing that she had come with Sheila.

  She headed for a small, postern gate, where a guard stood watch. If Genevieve had thought that she could enter the castle quietly though, she was quickly disappointed, because the door swung open, revealing Altfor standing there, flanked by a pair of guards.

  “Where,” he demanded, “have you been, wife?”

  ***

  Genevieve stood in the middle of their shared chambers while Altfor paced before her, growing redder by the moment in his anger. Her fear was growing along with his anger, because she was sure that somewhere in this, Altfor was going to lash out at her, either with his fists or with a weapon.

  She wasn’t sure what she would do if he did that. She wasn’t sure what she could do.

  “Where were you?” Altfor demanded.

  “I went to see my sister,” Genevieve said, because there was no point in pretending anything else. “I got there before the men you sent to kill her.”

  “You think you’re clever?” Altfor said, whirling toward her. “Where is she?”

  “Somewhere you will never find her,” Genevieve promised.

  He did hit her then, slapping her with the flat of his hand so that Genevieve staggered, catching herself and staying upright only because she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of falling.

  “Where is she?” Altfor demanded again, raising his hand as if he might strike her again.

  In that moment, Genevieve knew that she could stop him simply by telling him that she was pregnant with his child. Do that, and she would be protected until the very instant she gave birth to his son or daughter.

  She found that she didn’t want to, though, so she just stood there, glaring at him and somehow managing to hold him at bay just with the strength of that stare.

  “Remember your place,” Altfor said.

  “I was under the impression that my place was now as a noblewoman, protected from the likes of you,” Genevieve said. She couldn’t help it, or rather, she wasn’t going to shrink back and meekly accept whatever Altfor chose to do. Let him have Moira for that. Talking of which…

  “I don’t see your lover here,” she said. “What’s wrong? Tired of Moira already?”

  “She doesn’t come into this,” Altfor said, but there was a twitch to him as he did it.

  Genevieve knew that was her best chance to keep attention from her sister. The longer Altfor took about this, the longer Sheila had to disappear into the dark and start to find her way to a new life.

  “What is it, Altfor?” Genevieve asked. “Are you ashamed enough that you don’t want your wife talking about your mistress?”

  “You think you’re clever?”

  “No, that’s not it, is it?” Genevieve guessed. “It’s something else. Are you worried that she might move on? What’s wrong? Scared that she’ll go from you to your uncle?”

  That seemed to make him angrier, and not just in the way that Genevieve had been hoping for. He took a step back, drawing a long, slender knife, his expression paling.

  “Be. Quiet.”

  Genevieve knew in that moment that she’d gone too far. She’d thought that attack might save her and distract attention from her sister, given that Altfor was constrained by the need to keep his wife safe. Instead, it seemed that he had a point where even that might not hold him back.

  He took a step forward, and even then Genevieve didn’t tell him that she was pregnant. She wouldn’t use the fact of it like some kind of shield, wouldn’t put her child between her and the violence that looked set to come her way. Instead, she took a step back, looking around for something, anything, she might be able to use to ward him off. There wasn’t anything, and when Altfor started to take another step, Genevieve got ready to run.

  The sound of Altfor’s door slamming open interrupted the moment, and for an instant, Genevieve thought that she’d been saved by some kind of hero, perhaps even by Royce. Wouldn’t it be like something out of a bard’s tale if he broke in there right at the moment when she was in danger?

  It wasn’t Royce though. Instead, Altfor’s uncle stood in the doorway, flanked by a dozen courtiers, and looking almost as angry as Altfor was.

  “Give me one good reason, Nephew, why I shouldn’t hack your head from your shoulders.”

  Genevieve stood still while Altfor spun toward his uncle, and she watched his expression change to one of pleased concern. She had seen some of the way he could change from one mood to another, but this… he should have been a player upon a stage with skills like this.

  “Uncle,” he said. “I’m glad to see you safe! I was worried that the blow you took might prove worse.”

  “Hoped, you mean,” his uncle snapped.

  Genevieve saw Altfor clasp his hands to his heart. “You do me a disservice, Uncle. I have no wish to do you harm. I would have left you upon the battlefield if that were true. Isn’t that right, wife?”

  He turned to Genevieve, and in that moment, she realized that he was expecting her to play along. The worst part was that she really had no other choice. She could go along with Altfor, or she could risk both his continued wrath and whatever violence would come from his uncle.

  She stepped forward to put a hand on Lord Alistair’s arm.

  “You were hurt, my lord?” s
he said. “And Altfor brought you back to us? Then I am grateful for it.”

  “Grateful for him pulling back in the middle of a battle?” Lord Alistair snapped back. “Grateful for him not continuing when we had a chance to seize the traitor, Royce?”

  “I am sure my husband had his reasons,” Genevieve said. She knew better than to comment any other way. Admit that she was grateful it had happened, and both Lord Alistair and Altfor would accuse her of siding with Royce. Say that she wasn’t, and Altfor would think she was taking his uncle’s part in this.

  “Oh, he had reasons,” Lord Alistair said. “He wanted to save his skin.”

  “Had I merely wished that,” Altfor pointed out, “I wouldn’t have ridden back toward the fighting for you. I did what I had to in order to marshal the defense in the face of those… horrors.”

  Genevieve didn’t know what had gone on, but something about her husband’s face said that it had been more than anything natural.

  “We were faced with magic,” one of the courtiers pointed out. “No one could have predicted magic, my lord.”

  Genevieve saw Lord Alistair’s eyes narrow, but eventually, he nodded. “No, I suppose not. This is twice now that there has been such magic.”

  “We will not let it stop us,” Altfor said. “We will work together to overcome it.”

  “Work together,” Lord Alistair said, looking thoughtful. He looked around at the courtiers. “And what do all of you have to say? Do any of you have a way to overcome magic?”

  Most of them shook their heads, while one or two of them muttered about charms that their nursemaids had laid over their beds at night. None of it seemed to impress Altfor’s uncle.

  Suddenly, Genevieve found Lord Alistair looking straight at her. “And what do you say? None of these boot lickers will give me a real opinion. What do you think? What will we do in the face of magic?”