Lofen looked at the map in his hand, trying to make some sense of it. It had probably made perfect sense to Neave when she’d drawn it, but the kinds of things that made sense to the Picti didn’t necessarily make sense to any normal person.
“Great,” Lofen said. “How am I supposed to win them over if I can’t even understand them?”
He had so few experiences with the Picti, and yet his brothers were expecting him to be able to bring them back to help with the fight that was coming. He’d seen them when he’d been expecting to die down at the healing stone, and he’d seen them around the camp when they’d come to help in the fight against Altfor, but beyond that…
Beyond that, the Picti were stories, and Lofen had no idea which stories to believe. The ones he’d heard had them as brutal savages who killed civilized folk when they found them, or who engaged in strange quests on points of honor. They were folk who might slaughter a man for saying the wrong thing, but who kept their word once they gave it, even if it meant dying.
“I should have spent more time with the Picti in camp,” Lofen said to himself, looking around and trying to decide if the next hill was the same as one drawn on the map, or if it was one further back.
The truth was that Lofen would have preferred a task where he just had to hit something. That would have made things far simpler. Raymond had always been the clever one, and Garet had been the one with the energy and the ideas. Lofen had been the one who had been good at fighting, but without the others there, he felt…
“Helpless,” he said, the word bringing with it a whole wash of fear. Lofen knew where that fear had started, back in the dungeons of the duke. Those had been bad enough, with the feeling that they couldn’t help anyone, couldn’t save anyone. The stone had been worse, with the gibbet, and then being tied to the stone… the pain…
Lofen pushed those thoughts from his head. His brothers didn’t need him to be frightened. He looked at the map again, decided that the hill was the one he sought, and set off in the direction of a wood beyond it. He rode hard until the trees closed in around him, then dismounted on instinct, sensing that the Picti wouldn’t like someone just trampling through their domain on horseback.
Lofen tried to remember more of what he’d seen of the Picti. The ones who had come to fight with them had been fierce and proud, loyal but with a deep sense of a past where the land had been there. Was that the way to do this: offer them their lands back?
Lofen knew that wouldn’t work. He couldn’t make a promise that they’d know was false. Even he was intelligent enough to know that.
Instead, Lofen started to walk, deep into the woods. He didn’t know if there were eyes on him or not there, but some instinct said that there might be. Slowly, carefully, he took out his sword and set it down by a tree.
“I’m here to talk,” he said, to the forest around him. He hoped someone was listening, because his brothers would laugh long and hard if they heard that Lofen had been out talking to just the trees and the birds.
Still, he had that nagging feeling that someone was watching.
“I don’t mean you any harm,” Lofen said. “You have my word on that. I’ve been sent by my brother, King Royce!”
“No invader is a king of ours,” a man said, venom in the words. He melted from the shadows of the forest, and others came with him. There were men and women there, all armed, some with axes or swords, some with bows. Instantly, Lofen’s memory flickered back to the sight of Picti almost like these stepping out around the healing stone.
“Royce is a king for everyone,” Lofen said, keeping his eyes on the man who had spoken. He was taller than Lofen, broad-shouldered and powerfully built. His skin was decorated with woad and his beard was spiked in odd directions. He carried a spear whose head spread out like a leaf, with a shaft of broad oak.
“You think a man just gets to come in and call himself king?” the Picti said. “I am Nils of the clawed bear clan, and I lead here, not some man we’ve never heard of.”
“I’m Lofen,” Lofen said. “My brother… well, he was raised as my brother, but the truth is that he’s the son of King Philip, and…” Lofen tried to think of what would impress the Picti, what had impressed those who were already with them. “The stone. The healing stone sang out for him.”
Around him, the Picti stood in silence, and Lofen tried to judge whether that had impressed them or not.
“You’re lying,” Nils said. “Just by bringing up the stones, you show us how little you know of who we are, and what we’ve lost.”
Lofen tried to think, and realized that he did know this part. He’d seen it in the face of every Picti he’d met. “You’ve lost who you were. It’s not just a kingdom, is it? You hold on to old ways, and old secrets, but only because there’s no space in the world for any of them. Royce can give you back that space.”
The larger man drew his spear so fast that Lofen had to clench his fists to keep himself from reacting.
“Be careful,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’ve killed men for less.”
“I believe you,” Lofen said. “Men who didn’t understand how much it means. Men who don’t know what I’m saying when I tell you that Royce will give it back to you; not your lands, but the part that matters.”
Nils laughed at that, but Lofen could see that he was doing it for the benefit of the others around him. They were looking at Lofen thoughtfully, as if they couldn’t quite believe what he was saying to them.
“Royce made the stone cry out,” Lofen said. “He retrieved a sword made of crystal, and armor taken from the silent tower beside Earl Undine’s castle. He can see through the eyes of a hawk, and has spoken with witches. When he rules, it will be a land with space for all of the old things.”
“Those are nice stories,” Nils said.
“They’re not stories,” Lofen said. “Royce did all of those things. I was there, and so were plenty of your people. There are Picti who have already joined us, and fought beside us.”
“And yet they are not here,” Nils said. “No one is here but you to tell us these things. None of our people heard this stone sing out, none of us have seen this crystal sword, or this brother of yours.”
“Are you saying I’m a liar?” Lofen asked, unable to stop himself. The flash of temper came quickly, but even so, it was stupid to do it. Or was it? The Picti hated liars, and they were fierce. Lofen couldn’t imagine Neave standing by while someone said that she was lying.
“Yes,” Nils said. “You’re a liar. All outsiders are. They give their word, and then they break it. They promise us anything, tell us any fable, in the hope that we will not kill them. You shouldn’t have come here, outsider.”
Lofen suspected that he should run then, but what good would that do? He doubted he would get ten paces before he was brought down by an arrow. Worse, he would have failed his brothers, because if he couldn’t persuade these Picti, he wouldn’t be able to persuade any of them. News about him would travel far faster than he could.
“I’m not leaving,” Lofen said. “Not without you.”
“You see?” Nils replied. “He’s a liar, saying things that can’t be true. You know what, outsider, I think that I should teach you what it means to come where you’re not welcome.”
Lofen saw the spear snap around, the haft of it slamming into his stomach. It took everything he had to keep from doubling over. The Picti struck again, and this time Lofen stepped aside, barely dodging the blow of the spear in time.
“I don’t want to fight you,” Lofen said.
“That’s not true. You want it; I can tell,” Nils said. “You want to kill me, don’t you?”
He swung again, and this time Lofen managed to take the impact of the spear haft on his arms, feeling them bruise but not break. He dodged back before another blow could take his legs out from beneath him.
“Admit it!” Nils said. “You want to fight me! You want to kill me!”
Lofen parried aside a blow of the spear, only for Nils to reverse it and strike it with the butt of the thing. This time, Lofen went down to one knee, having to fight the urge to throw up. His hands balled into fists, anger flooding through him.
“Yes,” he admitted, “I want to kill you right now.”
“Then do it,” the Picti snapped at him. “Fight me! Prove you’re a liar.”
It took Lofen a moment to realize what Nils meant. He’d said it, hadn’t he, when he was coming into the forest? He’d told the Picti waiting there that he wasn’t going to harm any of them.
He had a moment to realize what that might mean before Nils was attacking again, swinging the spear Lofen’s way. Lofen barely ducked under it in time, then rolled, coming up on his feet.
The other Picti weren’t attacking, and Lofen guessed that they were waiting to see how this would go. What would happen if he did attack, if he did strike Nils down? Before he’d come here, he might have thought that it would give him the authority to tell the Picti what to do, but he could see now that it wouldn’t work like that.
What would? Dodging and weaving and parrying like this just made Lofen feel like a coward. Every instinct he had told him to fight back, and said that it wasn’t enough at the same time.
The spear flashed out again, and this time the leaf-shaped blade scored along Lofen’s collarbone. He saw his blood stain his clothes, and felt the pain burning along his skin. Nils paused, running his finger through the blood on the blade, then licking it.
“You’ll bleed more, outsider,” Nils said. He held out a hand, and one of the other Picti threw something that Lofen recognized instantly. It was his sword, still in its sheath, and Nils caught it one-handed.
“Here,” Nils said with obvious contempt. He threw the blade down in the dirt in front of Lofen. “Take it and fight me, or you’ll bleed far more.”
“If that’s what it takes,” Lofen said. He knew what it would take now; the only question was if he could do it. “I won’t fight you.”
He stood there, arms spread wide, forcing himself to stay still.
Nils struck him, the other Picti letting out a collective gasp at the force of it. Lofen staggered and almost fell, but he managed to right himself, adopting the position he’d been in before.
Nils struck out again, this time in a thin slice along Lofen’s leg. He followed it up with a kick that sent Lofen sprawling back. Lofen laughed, because what else was there to do in a moment like that but laugh? He stood up again, arms still spread wide, forcing himself to stand still as Nils struck again, then again.
It was the hardest thing in Lofen’s life to simply stand there, to feel so helpless after everything he’d been through. He’d been helpless in the dungeons, helpless when they’d taken him and his brothers up to the stone to suffer. Every moment of pain was a moment when he could strike back, but had to force himself not to, and that was hard. He didn’t want to stand there, feeling as though he could do nothing.
Then he realized the difference: he could do something; he was choosing not to do it. He was choosing to hold his ground, choosing to keep his word, choosing to stand there, whatever it took.
Nils seemed to get angrier and angrier as Lofen stood there, striking harder and harder. Lofen was sure he felt something break as Nils struck his ribs, cried out as the Picti kicked the side of his knee. He staggered, and he barely had the strength to get up this time.
Nils pushed him back, then tripped him, leaving Lofen in the dirt, so close to his sword that it would have been easy to reach out and snatch it up. One thrust was all it would take.
Nils drew back his spear, point aimed firmly at Lofen’s chest. There was no way he could miss now.
“Enough of this,” the Picti said. “It’s time for this to end.”
Lofen could have grabbed for his sword, could have used it, could have at least parried, but he knew that if he did that, then the Picti would never come to Royce’s aid. Even if Nils killed him, that might be enough to prove to the others that this was something worth being a part of, worth even dying for. He lay there, surprised to realize that he was prepared to die for this.
The spear shot forward, straight toward his heart. Lofen didn’t flinch, didn’t even try to dodge. He’d already felt the pain of the spear wounds, and he suspected that this wouldn’t be any worse. Any pain there was would only be brief.
The spear stopped a hair’s breadth from his skin, Nils quivering with the effort of pulling the blow short. He held it there for a second or so longer, and while he did, Lofen still didn’t know if he was going to die or not.
Then Nils tossed his spear to one of the waiting Picti and grabbed Lofen by the arm, pulling him to his feet. With all of the pain running through his body, it took everything Lofen had to stand, and not show weakness.
“Maybe some outsiders keep their promises after all,” Nils said. “It’s rare there’s a man who’s willing to die to keep his word.”
“Some things are worth dying for,” Lofen said.
“Like this brother of yours? The one you say the stone sang for?”
“I’m not a liar,” Lofen said.
“No, I think you aren’t,” Nils replied. He looked around at the others gathered there, the men and women who were standing silent and still, apparently trying to work out what everything they’d just seen meant. “Well, what do you say? Will we go with this outsider and help him?”
The roar of support echoed through the forest.