Ransom could feel the vibrations of the hooves now, the implacable enemy approaching.
“They are coming, just as you said,” Marcus acknowledged. “We’d better ride back and warn the king.”
“How many do you think they have?” Dawson asked in wonder.
“Too many,” Ransom answered.
The scouts noticed them at last. A cry of alarm sounded.
“Ride,” Ransom ordered.
When they reached the bridge, Ransom gave the order to begin demolishing it. The men with axes began their work immediately, but he lingered, intent on defending the bridge should any of their foes arrive before it fell. Wooden pegs and supports were chopped furiously as he waited with bated breath, watching the road. Sure enough, knights were bearing down on them, hoping to stop them before they informed the king of the onslaught.
Ransom ordered his knights to prepare for a charge and lowered his lance. But the first shattered planks of the bridge began dropping into the river as the enemies drew up to it. He felt the Fountain magic stirring within him, preparing him for combat, but the invading knights were cautious and outnumbered. They gazed sullenly as they watched the bridge collapse section by section.
“Back away, my lord,” said one of the warriors with an axe. “It won’t be up much longer.”
Ransom and his knights retreated, and he waited until he was satisfied the bridge was truly impassable. He rode hard into Dunmanis and was told the king was up on the battlements again, so he dismounted and joined him there.
The prince was with his father once more. He didn’t look at Ransom with hatred or scorn. He seemed afraid. King Devon eyed the advancing army with a shrewd eye.
“I told you he’d come,” said the king when Ransom arrived.
“Are you going to burn the town now?” the prince asked his father. There was a worried tone in his voice, a concern that might be related to a certain lass in town.
“No! Don’t be daft. Your brother has to get across the river first. This will test him, to be sure. He will lose many men before he crosses the river.” He sounded almost fond as he said it. Then he turned to look at Ransom. “Did you get a view of his army?”
“There are two armies coming this way,” Ransom said. “Estian the Black is riding with him.”
Devon the Elder scowled. Ransom could still sense the pain attacking his innards, the bite of whatever poison he’d been given. “You should have taken his head off in Pree. No matter. That river will drown many of their knights before this is over. Mark my words. All we need to do is stand firm.” He gazed back at the scene unfolding across the river. “Come and get me, boy. You chose this fight. Not I.”
Jon-Landon shot a wary glance at his father. “What do we do in the meantime, Father?”
“We wait. It will take today and probably tomorrow for the rest of the host to arrive. They’ll set up camp. They won’t even start attacking for two days. Maybe three. We have time.”
“But what will we do?”
“If you were wise, you’d spend time in the training yard with Sir Ransom,” said the king impatiently. He glowered at his son. “Your brother has.”
A sudden fury flashed in Jon-Landon’s eyes, and he turned and stormed off toward the stairs leading off the wall.
“Boy! Don’t be petulant!” The king’s teeth showed, and he cursed under his breath. After Jon-Landon was gone, Devon glanced at Ransom. “He’s too young. In another three years, he would have been ready for this.”
“He didn’t have the same opportunities as his brothers,” said Ransom solemnly.
The king chuckled. “Thank you for that, but he did. He wasted them. Always pining for some bit of land to rule. I tried giving him Glosstyr.” He flashed Ransom a chagrined smile. “But we’ll say no more on that score. He’s always wanted Kingfountain. Maybe I should have given it to him and let Benedict rot in the Vexin.”
Ransom approached the edge of the battlements and set his gauntleted hand down on the wall. Knights were streaming in from the road. Some were riding on the meadow grass bordering it. He felt a throb in his chest and gazed into the press of men.
“I think that’s him,” he said to the king, pointing.
Devon looked in the direction he was indicating and then breathed out slowly. “Yes. That’s my son.” He grunted in pain and doubled over, grasping the edge of the wall to steady himself.
“You need to rest,” Ransom said.
The king grimaced again. “You think it is easy to sleep feeling like I do? No, I must be up and moving. I will not give up my kingdom so easily. Not after all the years I’ve spent building it up.” His gaze was still fixed on his son across the river. A look of self-loathing crossed his face. “How did I lose so much so quickly?”
Ransom pitied him. The seeds of this moment had been planted years before, even before the Younger King first rebelled. It was a bitter harvest.
“Let’s go down,” he suggested to the king.
“I agree,” said Devon. “I must speak to the men. They need speeches in times like this.” He began to pant with weariness. Then he turned and looked Ransom in the eye. “Don’t you betray me, Ransom. I don’t think my heart could bear it.”
“I won’t,” he promised and felt the power of the Fountain surge within him. The king put his hand on Ransom’s shoulder and smiled weakly, and the two walked side by side down the steps.
Many knights had assembled in the courtyard. Most had smudges under their eyes from sleeplessness. As he beheld them, the king straightened and removed his hand from Ransom’s shoulder.
“Why the glum faces?” the king said brightly, touching the wall with his other hand to steady himself as he continued down the steps. “This is not a siege to be dreaded. My friends, we have ample provisions and game in the forest to feast on for months. You may have heard that the duke’s men have arrived. Ha! They are just beyond the river. And yes, the King of Occitania has ridden against us too. It is no matter. My son is proud. That is his weakness, and it will be his downfall.”
He’d reached the bottom of the steps and started walking among them, touching shoulders and clapping backs. “We’ve been through worse storms than this one. Every man they steal from us will cost them ten. Now is not the time to be fainthearted. We are on the eve of victory. And when victory comes, and it will, I will chasten my son, and he will be ashamed he rode against us here. Courage, lads. Drop a coin in the fountains throughout Dunmanis. Make the waters quiver with them. The Lady is on our side and ever shall be. Spend this day in prayer, and tomorrow you shall witness the fate of those who dare to attack a city so defended by the Lady’s own power!”
A weak cheer rose from the knights. Such a speech deserved a stronger response, and the king seemed shaken by the lackluster reception to his words. Were they so lacking in faith? Had they lost the battle already?
Ransom stepped down the rest of the way. “My lord,” he said, his voice pulsing with anger. “Give me command of the gate. Let me hold it in the name of the king.”
Devon turned and looked at him, his dismay turning to hope. “Yes, Sir Ransom! Duke of Glosstyr in spirit if not in right. I put you in charge of the defense of Dunmanis!”