His fate now was to go to Kerjean castle in the duchy of Bayree. When he thought of it, he imagined the castle walls were made of bleached bones and not stone. It was like some giant skull waiting to receive him until his own flesh turned to dust.
His horse suddenly slowed, breaking him from his dreamlike reverie. The sun had nearly set, its golden rays knifing through the tree-lined hilltop to the west. He felt a sluggish ripple from his Fountain magic.
“Whoa there,” said Sir Robert in a wary voice. He held up his hand to signal a warning and then grabbed one of his lances.
Squinting into the sunset, Ransom saw a row of horses lined up to confront them. Sir Robert’s retinue slowed further. The other knights copied their master, and each took up a lance, except for the one holding Ransom’s lead rope.
Ransom craned his neck, trying to see through the glare of the setting sun. The knights blocking their way had a single banner with the raven sigil, the symbol of Brythonica. What were these knights doing so far south? Ransom saw that the numbers were even or nearly so. A spark of hope began to quicken in his chest. When he heard the lapping sound of water in his ears, that hope began to flame.
Sir Robert ordered a halt. He twisted in his saddle, giving Ransom a brooding look, and then turned back to those blocking the way. A single rider came forward. Not the one carrying the banner, but a solitary rider enclosed in a shell of iron.
Sir Robert edged his horse forward to meet the man. As they drew near, Ransom saw that the knight in front of them was missing an arm. His right arm ended at the elbow. It was Ransom’s sword that had taken his arm, for this could only be Sir Terencourt, the champion of Brythonica.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Sir Robert said angrily. “Stand aside.”
“You bring armed knights through Brythonica,” said Sir Terencourt, his voice familiar. “Are we not entitled to investigate?”
Did Terencourt hold a grudge against Ransom for injuring him in the tournament? He’d said all was forgiven, but was that true? The Fountain magic swirling inside Ransom made him believe that these knights were his allies. “Hoy there, Sir Terencourt!” he shouted.
Sir Robert’s horse began to fidget. “Let us pass.”
“You may pass,” said Sir Terencourt. “But you’ll leave your prisoner with us.”
Robert let out a curse. “I will not, by the Lady’s blood.”
Sir Terencourt drew his sword with his left hand and brandished it. “Your prisoner, sir.”
Ransom knew this was his only chance to escape. Now that the horse had stopped, he could dismount without breaking his neck. So he did.
One of the knights positioned behind him came up with his lance, aiming the tip at Ransom’s chest.
“Don’t move!” he barked in command.
Ransom grabbed the lance with one hand and twisted his body, trying to pull the knight off his horse.
“Ready to lose your other arm?” Sir Robert snarled to Sir Terencourt and then jammed his spurs into his horse’s flanks.
Chaos exploded in the clearing. The lance was ripped out of Ransom’s grip, but he sidestepped as the man’s horse went by him, hooking his bonds in the rider’s spurs. He was dragged off his feet, and the knight was yanked off his horse. The man dropped his lance as he landed on the ground, groaning in pain. Ransom descended immediately, kneeling on the man’s leg and using the spur to saw at the ropes. When the knight tried to rise, he kicked his helmet.
The sounds of battle became louder as the two sides engaged, horses charging at each other, and Ransom paused from his sawing to look up. Sir Terencourt swung his blade at Sir Robert, who had drawn his already.
The ropes frayed and finally spilled away from Ransom’s wrists. The knight on the ground swung an arm backward, his elbow coming at Ransom’s face. With both hands free, he blocked the elbow and then yanked the man around on his back. He found a dagger sheathed at the knight’s waist, and the two wrestled for it for a moment. But Ransom’s determination to free himself gave him a surge of strength that ended with the dagger plunging into the knight’s neck.
He felt no remorse for killing the man. No, his heart pulsed with the need to do battle, to defeat these men. Some riders were unhorsed in the first round. A Brythonican knight came right at Ransom, but the man swerved his lance to the side as he prepared to turn around for another run at the enemy.
Ransom threw the dagger aside and drew the sword from the dead knight’s scabbard. With a new weapon in hand, he felt his energy surge, and the Fountain magic roared inside him. A feeling of danger came from the side as he saw one of Robert’s knights charge toward him with a lance aimed at him. Ransom stood his ground, staring at the oncoming warrior, and then flung himself to the side at the last moment, slashing at the man’s beast as he went by. The horse screamed in pain, and its forelegs tucked, driving both animal and rider to the ground. Ransom found the weak spot in the knight’s armor and stabbed through it, killing the man before he landed.
Another throb of danger. He whirled around, finding another knight bearing down on him, not with a lance but with a sword. He blocked the attack, knowing he was at a disadvantage since he was on foot and lacked a helmet. He feinted to the left and then came around the other side of the horse. He whacked its rump with the flat of his blade, making it buck, which sent its rider backward. The knight held on to the reins, trying to prevent his fall, but Ransom grabbed his arm and pulled while the horse charged forward. The knight collapsed in a heap of metal, choking to breathe through the sudden loss of air, and Ransom finished him off.
He turned, hungry for vengeance, and saw Sir Robert stab Sir Terencourt through the ribs, at the seam of his armor. His missing arm made it all too easy. Ransom saw the Raven scabbard and his own sword fastened to Sir Robert’s destrier. He ran forward, jumping over a fallen knight to get closer.
Sir Terencourt tilted in his saddle, and he dropped his sword to grab the saddle horn to keep upright. He stayed in his seat, but Sir Robert slammed his beast into him, and Ransom heard the man’s leg get crushed. Robert hacked at Terencourt again, his blows deflected by the armor, but the other man lacked a weapon, and it looked like he would prevail.
Ransom reached them. Dropping the sword he’d claimed, he grabbed the scabbard and hilt and tried to wrench them free. Sir Robert turned suddenly, his eyes glimmering with fear when he saw Ransom at his flank, and he glanced his spurs against his horse. The beast leaped into action, and Ransom was dragged a ways before he had to let go of the scabbard. Sir Robert’s horse began to flee.
Breathing in quick bursts, Ransom turned and saw Sir Terencourt’s horse lacked a rider. The Brythonican knight lay on the ground in a heap. Ransom hurried to the beast and mounted it. He charged after Sir Robert, and the animal rode like a lightning bolt. It was a magnificent chestnut, a heavily muscled warhorse bred for stamina. The knights were still embroiled in a bitter fight, but he ignored them and went after Robert.
The two raced each other, but Robert’s horse was already fatigued from the strenuous ride of the day. Terencourt’s was fresh, and it followed Ransom’s lead as if it had served him all his life. He gained ground with every stride. Robert glanced back, seeing who was bearing down on him, and used the flat of his blade to swat his horse again. But it wasn’t enough. There was no pain in Ransom now, even though his wrists were worn raw and he’d been weakened by the journey. He had to kill Sir Robert. The need for retribution burned so hot inside him, it blinded him to all else.