Only the Destined. Морган Райс

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.

      He rode out on the path in the direction of the next village, trying to think as he went, and ignoring the steady rain that started to fall around him.

      He loved his brother, but he also wished that Royce hadn’t felt the need to leave to find his father. Objectively, Raymond could understand how much finding the old king would help their cause, but it was Royce people would follow, Royce they needed to see in order to rise up. Without him there, Raymond wasn’t sure if he would be able to pull together any kind of army for his brother.

      That meant that when King Carris struck back, it would just be Earl Undine’s forces against the full might of the royal army. Raymond didn’t know how big that army would be, but since it would be composed of forces from every lord in the land… they would have no chance.

      If only there were some way that Royce could be here, Raymond had no doubt he would be able to raise the army they needed. As it was, though, he found himself hoping that Lofen and Garet would have better luck.

      “We can’t leave it to luck though,” Raymond said to himself. “Not when there are so many people who will die.”

      He’d seen firsthand what the nobles could do to those who crossed them. There were the gibbets, the tortures on the healing stone, and worse. At the very least, every village that stood would find itself ravaged, which only gave those that remained more reasons not to join in the revolt.

      Raymond sighed. There was no way to square the circle: they needed Royce, but they couldn’t have him while he went to find his father. Unless…

      “No, that couldn’t work,” Raymond said to himself.

      Except that maybe it could. It wasn’t as though anyone here actually knew what Royce looked like. They might have heard of him, might even have heard a general description, but everyone knew how stories exaggerated.

      “This is a stupid idea,” Raymond said.

      The trouble was that it was the only idea he could think of right then. Yes, it would be dangerous, because Royce was a hunted man. Yes, it would store up trouble for later: people would feel betrayed when they found out, some might even desert. More wouldn’t though. More would feel too connected to the cause once they were a part of the army, or would be too busy fighting to think about it.

      “They might not even see Royce close up,” Raymond mused.

      He realized that he had made a decision without exactly making it, and continued on his route toward another village. He chose one a couple of villages over, because he didn’t want stories spreading from Byesby and spoiling what he was about to do. This village was larger, with an inn and a great barn that served