A cheer rose from the crowd of knights, one much more enthusiastic.
Sir Ransom glared at them, angered by their failure to show proper respect for their king. This was the time he needed them most, and they’d distanced themselves, reconciling themselves to possible failure. “Prepare for battle!” he shouted. “Dex aie!”
In a thunderous response, they shouted the battle cry back at him.
Duke James said a knight was captured trying to sneak through his army bearing tidings that a battle had been fought at a castle south of Glosstyr. The king is dead, he said, and Duke Benedict is now king.
I thought it more nonsense from that brainless badger, but Lord Kinghorn came to visit Emiloh with the report and asked for her counsel. Emiloh said that it was a deception, a trick to get us to open the gates and allow James in to conquer the city. When Lord Kinghorn asked why she thought that, she said if Benedict had won, he would have come in person.
—Claire de Murrow, Duchess of Glosstyr
(insufferable eejits)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Hidden Ford
The morning birds were beginning to sing. Ransom paced at the gate, watching as the men slumbered. He could find no rest himself, having a brooding sense that danger was near. He’d sent out three patrols of men in the night to roam the streets beyond the wall, and there were guards posted at the river’s edge to keep watch on the army, which had assembled the previous day. And yet, he could not bring himself to leave the gate in case Alix ventured near. So far, he hadn’t felt any inkling of her presence. That surprised him, for he had thought she might be with Estian’s army. Each report back revealed that nothing had happened or was happening. All was quiet.
And yet he felt that itching sense of anger from the Fountain, and it had never once been wrong.
“You should sleep, Ransom,” said Dearley, who had remained by his side throughout the long dark night. “I promise I’ll send word if there is so much as a stray arrow shot our way.”
The suggestion made Ransom’s stomach shrivel with queasiness. He frowned and shook his head. “Something is coming. I don’t know what it is.”
“How are they going to get across the river?”
“I don’t know,” Ransom answered. “I just feel uneasy.”
The gate that he guarded was the main entrance to the inner part of the city, but there were smaller buildings and homes outside the walls. Most of the citizens had moved to safer ground the previous day, having been informed of the king’s intention to torch the city to make it harder for Benedict to seize Dunmanis. Many had dared to remain behind.
“Someone’s coming,” Dearley said, gazing into the gloom of the town. The eastern horizon was just starting to brighten, but daylight was still a ways off.
It was true. The bootfalls of two men could be heard heading up the road toward them. The next watch wouldn’t report until sunrise, so it was unusual to hear someone approach at this hour.
Soon the travelers became visible as they reached the edge of the light emanating from the torches mounted on the exterior walls of the gate.
Ransom recognized the prince, Jon-Landon, who walked toward the gate confidently. He was wearing a chain hauberk over his tunic, and his cloak was open to reveal it. A gorget covered his neck, and he had bracers on his arms. Walking about ten paces behind him was a cloaked knight who looked to be the prince’s protector.
Ransom hadn’t seen him leave, which meant he had probably used one of the other three gates, which were all locked now. He had given orders to keep each one secure, rendering the main gate the only way to enter or leave the fortressed town.
As the prince approached, Ransom felt disappointment curdling inside him. The prince saw him—although he still wore his armor, he’d left his helmet near the gatehouse—and his cocky smile faded.
Ransom remained where he stood, letting the prince come to him. He folded his arms.
“You’ve caught me in my misdeeds, Sir Ransom,” said Jon-Landon. “Are you going to tell my father?”
“You shouldn’t have been out last night,” Ransom said, trying not to scold but unable to keep his voice as neutral as he wanted.
“I wore armor. I’m not the fool you take me for.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. You’re a target for anyone seeking favor with your brother.”
Jon-Landon stiffened. “You think Bennett would hurt me?”
“I don’t. But there are others in Occitania who would. Get back to the castle before your father knows you’re missing . . . again.”
The prince frowned at him, the chagrin of being caught turning to fierce anger.
“I don’t live by your standards, Sir Ransom,” he said in a low voice.
Ransom took a step toward him, and the prince immediately backed away. “What harm have I ever done to you, Jon-Landon? Have I given offense?”
The young man’s lip twitched. “She was supposed to be mine.”
Ransom understood now. Jon-Landon had convinced himself that Claire would accept him eventually. That his father would eventually win out. He understood things better now. Disappointment was a bitter taste. Some found it impossible to endure.
“I know what it’s like to be a younger brother,” Ransom said. “I’m not your enemy, lad.”
The prince looked down, either ashamed of himself or unsure of what to say. “Don’t tell my father.”
“Then get back to the castle before I have to tell him,” said Ransom.
The prince nodded, still sulking, and then marched past Ransom through the gate. He took one of the castle horses tethered there for running messages and mounted it to ride the rest of the way back to the castle. The knight who’d followed him gave Ransom a nod of thanks as he jogged past him to get his own mount.
Ransom returned to where Dearley still stood. He’d witnessed the whole encounter, although Ransom wasn’t sure how much he’d heard.
“What was that all about?” Dearley said. “Why was Jon-Landon wandering the town at night?”
“We’ll not talk about it now,” said Ransom, staring at the eastern sky, which continued to brighten.
Dearley looked confused for a moment, but then his eyes widened, and he nodded.
When the sun finally peeked over the eastern hills, the last watch arrived back at the gate, led by Dawson, who was accompanied by Guivret and six others.
“Any signs of trouble?” Ransom asked.
Dawson shrugged. “They’re rousing already. A few have started campfires. But we couldn’t see anything except for the scaling ladders they were building yesterday. Oh, they also have sentries at the river’s edge, watching us. One called over and asked if the Elder King was still here, but we didn’t answer him.”
“Good,” Ransom said, relieved. Of course, Estian likely had the magic Wizr board with him, in which case he knew Devon was there. And that Ransom was too. “What of the other gates?”
“They’re still shut. But to be honest, Ransom, it wouldn’t take much to break one of them open. If three of us grabbed a bench and used it as a battering ram, we’d be through in a trice. Not this gate, though. It’s the strongest one. But what good will it do us if they manage to cross the river? They’ll go for one of the others instead.”