The king shook his head. “Even so, he could have spared someone. Maybe he’s sent a messenger to warn his brother? These faithless sons of mine. Perhaps I’ll just give the throne to Jon-Landon and be done with their schemes.” His good humor had soured. “What news from the east, Sir Thatcher?”
The final report was given by a knight with golden hair and a handsome face. “Nothing of note, my lord. Duke Wigant’s forces are coming, as requested. The duke is having a bit of a problem with his joints of late, but he’s coming anyway. He’s making progress.”
The mention of Sir James put a bitter taste in Ransom’s mouth. As far as he was concerned, his school companion had hastened Devon the Younger’s downfall, something he would never be punished for. He felt someone’s gaze on him, and looked up to see Lord Kinghorn watching him carefully. His kinsman knew about his past with James, how the two had clashed since they were knights training in his household.
Careful not to allow his feelings to show, Ransom nodded to Lord Kinghorn.
“How much progress? Where is he?” asked the king.
“We met his outrider at Shackletown,” said Sir Thatcher.
The king considered that for a moment. “He’s farther ahead than I suspected. Good. That means he’ll arrive in time. Excellent work, men. Get some food and rest. Start your journeys before dawn.”
The knights grunted in agreement and dispersed from the tent, leaving Ransom, Lord Bryon, and Dukes Ashel and Rainor behind. The force of three duchies would soon be joined by a fourth.
After the others had left, Ashel grabbed one of the cups holding the map down and drank from it. He had a long beard streaked with gray and the cold eyes of a man used to battle and carnage. “When will you tell the men where we’re really going?” he asked with a glint in his eye.
Devon shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Have you chosen a target yet?” asked Duke Rainor. He had copper-colored hair and a matching beard. Although he was only in his midthirties, he’d grown fat during the years of mercenaries fighting the battles. Ransom didn’t need his Fountain magic to see his weaknesses.
The king moved to the map and pointed to a place in Occitania. He looked at each one of them in turn. “Say nothing,” he whispered.
The spot he pointed to on the map was the duke of Bayree’s lands, which was on the northwest border of the Vexin and was nearly surrounded by water. If they took Bayree, Ceredigion would control the entire northern coastline of Occitania. It would be a grievous loss to King Estian. Even if he managed to cut off their supply route to the duchies by land, they could all be supported by sea.
Duke Ashel frowned. “He’ll not give it up easily,” he said in a serious voice. They were all being careful not to mention names.
“No, I don’t imagine he will,” said the king. Then he tapped the spot again. “That’s why I’m bringing all my might. A blacksmith doesn’t ask the iron to submit. He bends it to his will. The furnace is war, not diplomacy.”
When Ransom retired to his tent, Dearley was still awake, sitting on his bedroll, arms wrapped around his knees.
“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” Ransom said wearily.
“Is there going to be a battle tomorrow, do you think?”
“No, not tomorrow. But soon.”
Dearley rocked back and forth, staring into the darkness. There was enough moonlight for Ransom to see his ward’s worried look, but when Ransom went to unbuckle his armor, the younger man sprang up to help.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Dearley said in a half-hearted voice after they’d removed all but Ransom’s hauberk. He’d sleep in it with his sword by his side.
“We’ve all felt that way,” Ransom said. “What we’re doing is dangerous work. It’s natural to be nervous. But trust me when I say the king is prepared. He’s not lost a battle these many years. They’re more afraid of us. And they should be.”
Dearley smiled at that and nodded. “I hope so. I’m terrified. When I was twelve, my father sent me to train under Lord Eros in North Cumbria. I never did well when we fought in teams. We always lost. We were the ones others went after first.” He shook his head. “I did the best I could, but I’m not the most skilled swordsman in the kingdom.”
“Were you good at languages? Managing a castle?”
“Those came more naturally, yes. But a knight needs to be able to defend a castle too.” He looked up at Ransom, his gaze intent and worried. “All those times we failed . . . it wasn’t real. We weren’t trying to kill each other. If someone defeats me this time, I could die.”
“It’s your first time at war. You’ll learn from it. My first time was when the Brugians invaded, as I told you. We were outnumbered, and help was far away. You do what you must. I’d rather be in this circumstance than that previous one. We never know what will happen. The moment you think you know, circumstances will surprise you. Just be prepared, don’t give in to fear, and remember your training. Stay near me, and pay attention. I’ll do what I can to watch over you.”
Dearley sighed. “Thank you. I don’t mean to be a burden on you.”
“You’re not. You’re the first in my mesnie. There will be others. I promise we’ll go back to Josselin castle. We’ll make it through this.”
And yet, even as he said the words, he wondered if he’d be able to keep his promise.
Two days later, everything had changed.
Ransom stared down at the same map with a look of incredulity. The members of the king’s council stood around him, and the tent smelled of sweat and dust. The Occitanian army had gathered at the town of Bloissy, just south of their position, and reports showed that Benedict’s men were not defending Auxaunce anymore but were riding hard to intercept them. If they continued west toward the duchy of Bayree, then King Estian and Benedict could join forces and strike them from the rear.
“How did he know what we were going to do?” asked Duke Rainor in confusion.
The king looked furious. His arms were folded, and he paced back and forth by the table. “Estian’s army didn’t appear until after we spurned the road to Auxaunce. Either he guessed my intention correctly, or one of you has betrayed me.”
His words caused a chill inside the tent.
“My lord,” said Duke Ashel angrily, “how can you accuse us?”
“We’ve been loyal to you all along!” Rainor said defensively. “Why would we—?”
“Enough!” barked the king. He turned and gazed at them, his eyes searing. “The only one likely to have betrayed us is Sir Ransom, the newest member of my council.”
Ransom stared at the king in dread, his stomach clenching, his heart pounding wildly. Not again. One false accusation of treachery had been enough.
Before he could speak, the king shook his head. “I’ve had him watched since he came back. My spy in Auxaunce reported the confrontation with Benedict exactly as Ransom described it. And yes,” he said, his gaze shifting to Ransom, “I have people at Josselin as well. I’ve been testing him all along. So no, it is not him! And I do not believe it was any of you either.”