Only the Valiant. Морган Райс

Royce called out. “Father!”

      He knew that soldiers might hear him if they were still there, but he didn’t care. A part of Royce even welcomed the prospect of them coming, because it meant a chance to kill them, and make them pay.

      “Are you there?” Royce called out, and a figure staggered from one of the buildings, soot-caked and haggard looking. For an instant, Royce’s heart leapt, thinking that maybe his mother had heard him, but then he realized that this wasn’t her. Instead, he recognized the form of Old Lori, who had always terrified the children with her stories, and who sometimes claimed that she had the Sight.

      “Your parents are dead, boy,” she said, and in that moment the world seemed to break for Royce. The whole of it froze in place, caught between one heartbeat and the next.

      “They can’t be,” Royce said, shaking his head, unwilling to believe it. “They can’t be.”

      “They are.” Lori moved to sit against the remains of a low wall. “As dead as I’ll be soon.”

      Even as she said it, Royce saw the blood on her rough-spun gown, the hole where a sword had gone in and out.

      “Let me help you,” he said, starting toward her, in spite of the fresh surge of pain that had come from what she’d said about his parents. Focusing on her felt like the only way not to feel it in that moment.

      “Don’t you touch me!” she said, pointing a finger at him. “You think I don’t see the darkness that follows you like a cloak? You think I don’t see the death and destruction that seeks out everything you touch?”

      “But you’re dying,” Royce said, trying to persuade her.

      Old Lori shrugged. “Everything dies… well, nearly,” she said. “Even you eventually, although you’ll shake the world before then. How many more will die for your dreams?”

      “I don’t want anyone to die,” Royce said.

      “They will anyway,” the old woman countered. “Your parents did.”

      Fresh anger flashed through Royce. “The soldiers. I’ll—”

      “Not the soldiers, not for them. It seems there’s more who see the dangers that follow you, boy. A man came here, and I smelled the death on him so strong I hid. He killed strong men without trying, and when he went to your home…”

      Royce could guess the rest. He realized something worse in that moment, the full horror of it striking him.

      “I saw him. I saw him on the road,” Royce said. His hand tightened on his sword. “I should have stepped out. I should have killed him there.”

      “I saw what he did,” Old Lori said. “He’d have killed you as surely as you killed all of us just by being born. I’ll give you a piece of advice, boy. Run. Run away into the wilds. Let no one see you again. Hide as I once hid, before I was this.”

      “After this?” Royce demanded, his anger flaring. He could feel hot tears on his face now, and he couldn’t work out if they were grief, or anger, or something else. “You think I can walk away after all of this?”

      The old woman closed her eyes and sighed. “No, no, I don’t. I see… I see this whole land shifting, a king rising, a king falling. I see death, and more death, all because you can’t be anyone but who you are.”

      “Let me help you,” Royce said again, reaching out to help plug the wound in Lori’s side. There was a flicker of something that felt like the shock from wool rubbed the wrong way, and Lori gasped.

      “What have you done now?” she demanded. “Go, boy. Go! Leave an old woman to her death. I’m too tired for this. There’s plenty more death waiting for you, wherever you try to walk.”

      She fell silent, and for a moment, Royce thought she might be resting, but she seemed too still for that. The village around him was still and silent once again. In that silence, Royce stood silently, not knowing what to do next.

      Then he did know, and set off for the remains of his parents’ home.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      Raymond groaned with every jolt of the cart that was carrying him and his brothers to the place where they were to be executed. He could feel every bounce and judder of the vehicle clashing against the bruises that covered his body, could hear the clink of the chains that held him as they moved against the wood.

      He could feel his fear, although it seemed to be somewhere on the far side of the pain right then; the guards’ beating had left him feeling as though his body was a broken thing, made of sharp edges. It was hard to concentrate, even on the terror of death, past that.

      The fear he could find the way to was mostly for his brothers.

      “How much further, do you think?” Garet asked. Raymond’s youngest brother had managed to sit up in the cart, and Raymond could see the bruises that covered his face.

      Lofen sat up more slowly, looking emaciated after their time in the dungeon. “However far it is, it’s not far enough.”

      “Where do you think they’re taking us?” Garet asked.

      Raymond could understand why his little brother wanted to know. The thought of being executed was bad enough, but not knowing what was happening, where it would be, or how it would be done was worse.

      “I don’t know,” Raymond managed, and it even hurt to talk. “We have to be brave, Garet.”

      He saw his brother nod, looking determined in spite of the situation the three of them were in. Around them, he could see countryside passing by, with farms and fields on either side of the road and trees in the distance. A few hills stood there, and a few buildings, but it seemed like they were far from the town now. Their cart was being driven by one guard, while another sat beside him, crossbow at the ready. Two more rode beside the cart, flanking it and looking around as if expecting trouble at any moment.

      “Quiet back there!” the one with the crossbow yelled back at them.

      “What are you going to do?” Lofen demanded. “Execute us more?”

      “It’s probably those big mouths of yours that have earned you special treatment,” the guard said. “Most of the ones out of the dungeon, we drag them out and we finish them the way the duke wants, no problems. You, though, you’re going where the ones that have really upset him go.”

      “Where’s that?” Raymond asked.

      The guard smiled nastily in response. “Hear that, lads?” he said. “They want to know where they’re going next.”

      “They’ll see soon enough,” the driver said, flicking the reins to move the horses forward a little faster. “Don’t see why we should tell criminals anything except that they’re going to get everything that they deserve.”

      “Deserve?” Garet demanded from the back of the cart. “We don’t deserve this. We haven’t done anything wrong!”

      Raymond heard his brother cry out as one of the riders beside them struck him across the shoulders.

      “You think anyone cares what you have to say?” the man snapped. “You think everyone we’ve taken this way hasn’t tried to declare their innocence? The duke has declared you traitors, so you’ll have a traitor’s death!”

      Raymond wanted to go to his brother and make sure he was all right, but the chains that held him prevented it. He thought about insisting that they really hadn’t done anything except try to stand up to a regime that had tried to take everything from them, but that was the point. The duke and the nobles did what they liked; they always had. Of course the duke could send them to die, because that was how things worked there.

      Raymond strained against his chains at that thought, as if it might be possible to break free through sheer strength. The metal held him easily, wearing away the little that remained of his strength until he collapsed back against the wood.

      “Look at them, trying to get free,”