It was a good point. The main gate of Dunmanis was the obvious target, because of its size and proximity to the broken bridge and the street leading up to the castle, but Dawson was right—other breaches could be made more easily.
“Get some rest,” Ransom said. “You’ve done well.”
His men smiled with relief and walked past him through the gate. Others had begun to rouse, and a few men ran up to ask questions about the report from the watch. Then Ransom heard the noise of horsemen riding from the castle, and he and Dearley turned to see who was coming. The colorful dawn showed the arrival of the king, his son, and some of his household guards.
Ransom walked back through the gate to meet the king on the other side. The king wore no armor, only the hollow crown and his tunic and black cloak, although he did have his weapon. Jon-Landon and the rest were wearing armor.
“What’s the matter?” Ransom asked with concern as the king reined in. He still sensed the pain the king was feeling, but it had lessened somewhat from the day before.
“Nothing’s the matter. We’re going to inspect the riverfront. I want them to see that I’m here waiting for them. We’ll pay our respects at the shrine of Our Lady and then come back. Take off your armor and come with us.”
A throb of warning went through Ransom again.
“I’ll come with you, but I’d advise you all to return to the castle and prepare your arms. No doubt they have crossbows on the other side. You’d be vulnerable, my lord.”
The king arched his eyebrows, eyes narrowing with offense at Ransom’s gentle rebuke. “Are they preparing to attack now?”
“No. It’s been quiet all night, but I’m troubled. I fear they will attack today.”
The king chuffed. “I’m counting on it. I’d like to bloody Bennett’s nose a bit on the first day. I see Jon-Landon has your paranoia. He said he rode down this morning to examine the defenses.” His voice throbbed with pride in his son. It was a lie, but Ransom thought it prudent to remain silent about it. He glanced at Jon-Landon and saw a guilty look on the young man’s face.
“No, I don’t want to show fear in front of those Occitanian dogs,” the king insisted. He turned back to his knights. “Remove your armor. We ride to the river as if we haven’t a care in the world. Come join us, Ransom. You do the same.”
The other knights looked at the king and then began removing their bracers.
Ransom shook his head. “My lord, I will go with you, but I’m going as I am. Whatever we face today, I want to be prepared. Riding to the river is a needless risk. I have a foreboding feeling about the day.”
The king scowled. “Then keep your foreboding to yourself and stay here, by the Fountain! I’ll not allow you to ruin my plan. Come on, Jon—take off the hauberk! We’ll show them our mettle. Our defiance. Small acts of bravery will inspire the hearts of the men.”
Ransom bristled from the scolding, but he remained in his armor because he felt the king was being unnecessarily foolish. The king’s household knights removed their armor, including their hauberks. The men who’d been sleeping at the gate had risen, and they helped take the pieces of armor from the knights. Jon-Landon gave Ransom a grateful smile for not revealing him, but he said nothing as he handed over his armor. The king whistled, and they rode their horses down the street.
“That was strange,” Dearley said to Ransom under his breath.
“The king is a proud man,” Ransom replied. “It blinds him sometimes.”
“Do you think he’s in danger?”
“It wouldn’t be an easy shot, even with a crossbow. And I don’t see how the knights can cross the river. Perhaps I’m being too cautious. But I remember what it was like to be caught unprepared. Still, I don’t think they’ll be down by the edge very long.”
From his vantage point at the gate, he saw the king and his fellow riders reach the edge of the river where the ruins of the bridge, whatever had not been tossed into the river, had been stacked into piles. The king inspected the bridge and then rode to the edge of the river.
“Look,” Dearley said, pointing.
A group of knights wearing Occitanian-style armor approached the other side of the river on horseback. Had they responded to the king’s approach? Another row of knights began to assemble behind them, followed by footmen with pikes.
“What are they doing?” Dearley asked in bewilderment.
“That’s the vanguard of the army,” Ransom said, his insides squeezing with concern. “They’re preparing to attack.” His guards, the ones who’d been sleeping, stared in confusion. “Put your armor on!” he barked at them.
One of the enemy knights rode his horse into the shallow bank of the river.
“There isn’t a ford there,” Dearley said. “The river is deeper than his horse’s neck.”
Ransom felt a thrum of power coming from the knight in the river. Fountain magic, and it wasn’t attached to the poisoner. For a moment he just stared, immobilized, and watched the rider continue into the river. The other knights began to follow him. The king sat on his horse, staring at the scene without moving. Then the lead Occitanian knight raised a fist, as if making a command.
Ransom gaped in shock as the waters seemed to cease flowing, opening a gap that stretched from one border to the other, creating a path right before the gathered men.
The knight kept his fist raised, and Ransom sensed, preternaturally, that it was Estian himself using some artifact of the Fountain. He and his knights began to ride through the gap, advancing to the other side.
Ransom nearly screamed at the king to ride away, but the king realized the peril. He turned his horse and took off at a gallop toward the gate. The soldiers patrolling the edge of the river came rushing toward the opening en masse to try to prevent the knights from reaching the other side.
“Get my helmet,” he told Dearley with rising passion.
His ward hurried to obey.
The king and his son rode furiously toward the gatehouse. One of the king’s knights turned around, grabbed his lance and shield, and went back to attack the invaders. Ransom watched as he galloped toward the lead knight, who had just reached the other bank. Was it Estian? Now he wasn’t so sure. Although the Occitanian king was unpredictable, he suspected he wouldn’t risk himself by crossing first. The lance shattered as it struck the Occitanian’s shield, but it didn’t unhorse him. His horse clambered up the bank, and suddenly it was on the same side as the castle.
Another one of the king’s knights turned to face their attackers, trying to buy time for the king to escape. He, too, shattered a lance on an enemy and managed to knock him off his horse, but three knights rode forward to challenge him. He tried riding away but was struck from behind by a lance.
“Here!” Dearley said, holding up the helmet.
Ransom put it on, understanding now the source of the prickles of warning he’d been experiencing throughout the night. His senses sharpened as he felt the rush of the waters inside him. Once his helmet was in place, he turned to Dearley.
“Torch the town. Get every building you can blazing. Have the townsfolk flee through the other gates.”
“What about this one?” he asked in concern.
“I’ll hold them off myself,” he said. “I need my horse.”