“Gladly, Sir Ransom! Thank you! I cannot thank you enough!”
Ransom watched him depart with haste and exuberance. He rubbed his thumb across the ring on his finger, feeling the little circles engraved in the band. What was the significance? He’d heard stories about the Ring Table and King Andrew, tales of the Fountain-blessed, but he’d paid little attention to them at the time. He wished he knew more. Alix had said she had many books with the old stories. Did she know about the Gradalis, or had he perhaps learned something she had not?
His thoughts shifted to Claire and the letter he was to write. He’d always imagined visiting Glosstyr with her first. Rather than wait in his chamber for Guivret to return, he strapped on his sword and bounded up the stairs until he was abovedeck. There were twelve ships in all, each full of knights and soldiers hastening to defend the king. He grabbed a rope to steady himself as the deck pitched. The fortress of Glosstyr lay before him, the town set within the bay. It rivaled Ploemeur in size and grandeur, but the city and bay were not as large, and there were fewer ships at port.
Waves crashed against the rocks beneath the massive castle built into the coast south of town. The sight of it gave him a thrill of wonder.
It would be his if they won this war.
It would be theirs.
A letter arrived today that brought such joy and relief. Ransom escaped from the murderous villains who had abducted him, thanks be to the Duchess of Brythonica. He wrote to me from one of her ships, and the message was sent from Glosstyr. He has men-at-arms now and is hastening to meet the king at Dunmanis castle, where the king assembled his forces to withstand the attack from King Estian and Duke Benedict.
Duke James’s scouts have reached the edge of the city of Kingfountain. I don’t think he will attack us. I believe his goal is to prevent the king from returning. However, his presence will make it difficult for us to hear any news that doesn’t arrive by sea.
This is such a reprieve. I’d feared Ransom would be held hostage again, just as he was before. He didn’t mention any injuries, but he’s just the sort of fool eejit who wouldn’t talk about something like that. I’m pleased he went to Glosstyr to bring aid to the king. There are still some puffs of smoke coming from the ashes of this fire. Perhaps some fresh wood will cause it to blaze again. I hope so. Oh, how I hope so!
—Claire de Murrow, Duchess of Glosstyr
(the tempest is coming)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Dunmanis Castle
Ransom and the knights from Brythonica and Glosstyr arrived at Dunmanis at midday, riding in from Glosstyr. There were puddles and mud everywhere, showing a rainstorm had swept through the area. Dunmanis was a sizeable fortress, although not as powerful as Beestone. It wasn’t situated on a hill, which would have added to its defensive position, but it did have a river on the south side of town, creating a natural moat to help defend the town.
His arrival at the north gate with additional forces was greeted with cheers from King Devon’s bedraggled troops. Knights and soldiers thronged the rain-soaked cobblestone streets, their grinning faces and salutes indicating the reinforcements could not have arrived at a better moment. The boisterous welcome made Ransom smile as he rode through the throng on Sir Terencourt’s destrier.
A group of knights approached them from the castle, and Ransom was delighted to see John Dearley at the head of the group. Dawson was with him, along with other knights from Josselin.
Dearley’s face was bright and joyful. “I didn’t let myself believe the news until I saw you with my own eyes. But it is you!”
Another cheer went up from the soldiers who’d accompanied Ransom and the knights down the road.
“It’s a story I’ll share later,” Ransom said. He nodded at Dawson, whose grin was almost as wide as Dearley’s. “Where is the king?”
“He’s at the castle waiting for you,” Dawson said. “Your brother is also there.”
“Good,” Ransom said. “How are things at Josselin?”
“I left ten knights to defend her,” Dearley said. Then he flushed. “The castle . . . I mean. I meant the castle.”
“How many men does the king have on his side?”
“There are about two thousand gathered here.” His eyes turned worried. “We need more.”
“It’s easier to defend a castle than to take one,” Ransom said. “We have enough to hold them off.”
“I hope you’re right,” Dearley said.
“We’ll fight to the last man,” Dawson said with a dark look. He was always hungry for combat, and Ransom didn’t doubt he’d get his fill.
“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Ransom said. “But we defend the king, no matter what.” He saw Guivret out of the corner of his eye, watching them, and he gestured for him to join them. “This is my new squire, Guivret of Brythonica. He’s joined the mesnie.”
Dearley looked surprised but pleased, but Dawson looked at the younger man with the eyes of a rival. Leading a mesnie presented its own set of challenges, something he would have to maneuver more with each person he added. Each young knight or squire had a different temperament and personality. It made him understand and appreciate Lord Kinghorn all the more. He had always made it look easy.
“Let’s go to the castle,” Ransom said.
They rode to Dunmanis and dismounted in the bailey. Guivret began to tend to the horses while Ransom and Dawson followed Dearley, who knew the way. The king was atop the battlement walls, wearing not even a hauberk, although his sword was nonetheless strapped to his waist, and he had on his black cloak with wolf trim. Immediately, Ransom sensed the pain in the king. The grimace on his face showed that he was suffering, that his insides were on fire, but Ransom could tell that it was not an injury. His heart sank. Now, he knew why Alix had not traveled with them. She’d had another assignment.
“Ransom!” the king said, forcing a smile. He embraced him in a bear hug and then clapped him on the back. “It was storming every day until your news arrived, and now the clouds have lifted.”
Ransom saw his brother, Marcus, grinning at him nearby, along with the other lesser nobles. He was surprised to see Prince Jon-Landon atop the battlements too, standing in the king’s shadow. When Ransom met the prince’s eyes, he saw a look of contempt and anger gazing hotly back at him. Was it because of the king’s warm greeting, or was some other resentment festering inside the young man? Had he planned on taking Glosstyr for himself?
“I came as soon as I could,” Ransom apologized.
“I shouldn’t have been surprised by such treachery,” the king said. “I’m only too grateful that you made it out alive. This is a desperate hour, my boy. But this old wolf isn’t dead yet.”
“You’re in pain,” Ransom said in a low voice.
Jon-Landon was close enough to hear it and scowled.
The king draped an arm around Ransom’s shoulder in a warm, easy gesture that reminded him of the Younger King’s affability. “I am suffering,” he said in a quiet way. “It started after you left for Beestone. It’s not gotten worse, but it feels like I’ve swallowed hot nails. This is not the time to be indisposed.” He grunted with pain and then shook his head.