And then Sir James cried out the order to retreat and started riding back to town. The attack broke, and suddenly knights were fleeing the scene, charging back down the road. Ransom saw writhing, groaning men in snow speckled with mud and blood. He saw eight of his own still on their horses, weapons in hand. Broken lances were strewn everywhere.
Ransom wanted to ride after James and take off his head. The rage of battle pounding in his ears, his chest, he spurred Dappled to charge after him.
Someone else cried “Dex aie!” and soon the surviving knights were riding behind him, rushing back down the hill and chasing the larger force as it abandoned the field. Ransom saw James turn his neck and gaze backward and then spur his horse faster. Ransom’s thirst for vengeance overpowered him. Dappled responded to his prodding, and they began to gain ground, even though the other horses were fresher.
It was a race to the wooden palisade, and Ransom was determined to win. Even though there were only eight, he felt enough wrath that he could have defeated the entire garrison. But Sir James and his men had fresh horses, and they rode through the gate before Ransom and the others could engage them. He pulled up short, snarling. He wanted to shout insults at James, to demand he come out and face him in single combat. But he knew James wouldn’t, not even with his men gaping at him.
“My lord! Crossbows!”
Ransom felt the danger before he saw it. Men were climbing up the ladders to the railing wall behind the palisade.
“Retreat!” Ransom ordered, and they rode away as the bolts launched at them from the walls.
A few bolts landed in the snow ahead of him. One struck his armor from behind, which felt like a blow from a hammer, but it didn’t pierce the armor. Soon, he and his knights were out of range of the crossbows, and they worked their way back up the road to the scene of the fight. Some of the wounded knights still lay groaning in pain.
“See if any of ours still live,” he said, panting, when they reached the scene.
His knights dismounted and began searching. One of their men had hit his head after falling off his horse, but he was able to ride again, and they helped him back onto his mount.
Another man wearing the badge of the Eagle cowered as Ransom rode up to him.
“Are you a knight?” Ransom demanded. His anger had cooled, but he was still glowering.
“I’m Sir Honald,” said the young man.
“Do you yield?” Ransom asked, staring at him.
“Yes,” stammered the young knight. “I yield to you, Sir Ransom.”
“Who do you serve?”
“Duke James of North Cumbria.”
Ransom blinked in surprise. “What happened to his father?”
“He died a fortnight ago,” said the young man. “A fever and cough went through the palace. Many died, Sir Ransom.”
“Why wasn’t word sent at once to Kingfountain?” Ransom demanded. He gazed at the crumpled men littering the road. The vacant eyes staring through the slits in the helmets. They’d been outnumbered, but Ransom’s smaller force had won the day. His arm throbbed with pain, but he saw the raven symbol on the scabbard already glowing.
The young man looked fearful. “Because . . . because it was sent to the Vexin instead.”
Sir Dalian told us this afternoon that North Cumbria is now supporting Benedict. I could hardly believe it at first, but he said the news came from Ransom, who had gone to Dundrennan on a mission for the king to seek aid from Duke Wigant, only to discover the old duke perished during the winter and Sir James is now lord of the North. Through some intervention of the Aos Sí, Ransom suspected a trap and escaped, bringing a hostage with him to verify the news. I could kiss him, I’m so relieved.
The king has ordered a council of war to be held at the palace in two days. I wish I could attend it. I’m jealous of Lady Deborah in that regard. All the nobles loyal to the Elder King are commanded to attend on pain of forfeiting their land and titles. It is a meeting where he will ask the council to prove their loyalty. If he asks for hostages to ensure that loyalty, then I fear we are about to tumble back into the abyss.
—Claire de Murrow
Kingfountain Palace
Winter’s end
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Call of Loyalty
Ransom looked over at his battered suit of armor hanging from the rack in his room. The palace blacksmith had work to do on it, and quickly, for Ransom knew he would be sent on another mission soon. The remains of some poached eggs, bread, and a half-eaten trout were all that remained of his morning meal.
Dawson entered the room, holding a sealed scroll.
Ransom took a quick swallow from his chalice and nodded to the letter. “What is that?”
“A message from Dearley. It just arrived from Josselin.”
Unopened messages were a cause of anxiety for Ransom these days. Wherever he was in the realm, trouble had a way of finding him through pen and parchment. He waved Dawson to hand it to him and quickly broke the seal. The knight lingered, his brow furrowing with worry.
My Lord,
Some of the local shepherds said they noticed knights riding through a grain field at Ashton. I sent scouts to investigate, and they, too, saw the riders. They may have only been foraging, but I’m concerned Duke Benedict has his eyes on Josselin again, as we last spotted his knights over a fortnight ago. I’ve increased the watch, and the townsfolk are under orders to flee to the castle quickly. We have enough stores, but I’m worried the duke may be coming in person this time. That he’s trying to draw you here so you will leave the king unprotected. We will hold out as long as needed, Sir Ransom. Elodie is concerned, but I think this old castle can withstand the attack. I will send further messages as required. Your presence here is greatly missed.
Your servant,
John Dearley
“Were they attacked?” Dawson asked worriedly.
“No, but some knights were spotted in a farmer’s field.”
“Scouts for Duke Benedict?”
“Likely. Dearley will let us know if more are seen. That castle is strong and protected by a river. It wouldn’t be an easy target.”
Dawson began pacing, his worry evident on his face. “What can I do while you are at the king’s council? I wish I could go with you.”
“Go to the training yard. I know you’re upset you missed the fighting outside Dundrennan, but you will get your turn again very soon.”
“I will do that, my lord. Thank you.”
Ransom donned his sword belt, pausing to rub the raven sigil on the scabbard, and left the room.
When he arrived at the council room in the great hall, it was noticeably quiet. A few chairs were empty. Duke Wigant’s chair was the newest vacancy. Duke Rainor’s had been empty since his capture. Benedict’s seat was empty, as it had been since his rebellion, and Goff’s sat vacant beside it. That caused a sickening feeling of dread in Ransom’s stomach. While Goff’s lands bordered the conflicted grounds, he could have easily taken a ship from Ploemeur and been the first to arrive. Had he joined his brother in rebellion? Were they now fighting two of the king’s sons?
Duke Ashel sat next to one of the empty spaces, scowling, stroking his peppered beard as he gazed at the floor. Lady Deborah was also present, her expression tight with concern, and Sir Iain sat fidgeting in his chair. Lord Kinghorn raised his eyes as Ransom approached the gathering and took the seat next to him. Simon’s brow was furrowed as he read a piece of correspondence. The king had not yet arrived.