“You can’t hold it alone!”
Ransom turned back, watching the king approach and seeing a look of horror on his face. Jon-Landon was pale with fear. Behind them came a rush of enemy knights, all determined to catch the king before he made it through the gate.
Every day that passes, every moment spent in suspense, is more terrible than the last. Lord Kinghorn will not relinquish the city unless he is ordered to do so by the Elder King or the king is killed. The latest word we have from Dunmanis is that they are preparing for a siege. Estian’s army has arrived with Benedict’s. I don’t know much about the town, other than that it is south of Glosstyr and a river protects it on the southern side. A siege could last for weeks.
Ransom could be trapped inside the city for a long time. I feel better that he is with the king. How long can they hold until the tide turns or defeat is unavoidable? It’s possible that James will abandon Kingfountain and try to cut off their supplies.
In such times, wisdom is the dearest companion. I wish I could be there amidst the smoke and carnage instead of here. I would have taken a bow and done my best to shoot down enemies.
I see the sun cresting the hills. What will this new dawn bring? Fight hard, beloved. Don’t let them through.
—Claire de Murrow, Duchess of Glosstyr
(restless still)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Fires of Dunmanis
Ransom only had time to mount his destrier and grab a lance. He would have to face the onslaught alone at first, the other soldiers having ridden off to start fires or put on their armor.
He gazed down the street at the king and his small cohort charging for the gate, followed by at least eight knights bearing down on them with lances. There was no way to shut the gate on the enemy now. Ransom saw the look of terror on Jon-Landon’s face as he kept glancing backward, seeing the knights closing in. King Devon had mastered his fear, so he didn’t show it, but he looked determined to escape death.
Ransom cradled his lance and urged his destrier to ride forward to meet them, quickly building speed. A frontal attack would allow the king’s cohort to go around him through the gate, while he tried to hold the Occitanian knights from passing through it. If the invaders won the gate this early, before the fire started raging, all was lost.
Feeling the Fountain magic ripple through him, Ransom lowered his lance. The king looked at him with a satisfied grin before charging past. Jon-Landon’s eyes were fixed on the gate. A moment later, Ransom’s lance exploded against a shield, sending fragments spraying everywhere and rocking him back. He unhorsed the other knight directly into the path of the other riders.
Yanking hard on the reins, he swerved his steed around to block the advance of the enemy knights. He moved so quickly the sights and sounds beyond his helmet were a blur, but he sensed the other knights’ positions and quickly backed up his steed to block another man from getting past as he yanked his bastard sword out of the scabbard. It was seven against one, although not all of them could strike at him simultaneously. He blocked and countered, hearing the shriek of beasts as they responded to their masters’ haphazard jerks.
But the numbers were so squarely against him, he found himself being driven backward as he defended himself against the attackers. More knights were crossing the river as the enemy vanguard continued to press through the magical ford their king had summoned. He managed to grab one of the knights by the collar and yank him off his horse. But still they pressed him backward, toward the shadow of the gate, their weapons smashing against his armor.
“Over here! The Fountain! The Fountain is with Sir Ransom!”
The shout came from guards atop the wall behind him. Emboldened by the cheer, Ransom fought back and stopped giving ground, holding the knights at bay until he heard the sound of hooves coming from behind him. Three knights of Ceredigion charged in on their horses, their presence evening the odds somewhat. More reinforcements were still pouring through the river.
They had to get the gate shut before the enemy arrived in force. Before the acrid smoke that was even now filling the air engulfed them.
A sword slicked through Ransom’s armor, and he felt the sting of it, but immediately the scabbard began to glow and no blood flowed from the wound. He countered and smashed the Occitanian in the helmet with his hilt, stunning the man. Another knight was already bearing down on them, wearing black armor emblazed with the Fleur-de-Lis. Ransom recognized the armor, for he’d seen it during tournaments at Chessy. This was Sir Chauvigny, the first knight in King Estian’s mesnie. He was followed by other knights in black tabards.
Ransom dropped the horse’s reins and cried out a warning to the others. Turning back, he saw more knights of Ceredigion coming from the gate, rushing to join the fray. He tried to fight his way to Sir Chauvigny, but several enemies blocked his path. His mind went numb to everything but the surge of battle, the determination to defeat his foes at any cost. Once more he was on the road to Auxaunce. But this time, he had armor and a strong destrier. Roaring with fury, he hacked a path to Sir Chauvigny, who saw him approach and didn’t hesitate to engage him. Sir Chauvigny also wielded a bastard sword, and he fought with strength and skill. The two battered into each other, their horses joining the fight.
The rush of incoming Occitanian knights was driving the Ceredigion forces back, Ransom with them, and he once again found himself trying to stop a flood. He felt the arch of the gate looming up behind him, but he wouldn’t back down, even though they were outnumbered again.
“Dex aie!” Ransom roared, the battle cry of the first king he had served, the cry of his father and of the knights of Westmarch.
Sir Chauvigny swung at him constantly to beat him down, but Ransom held his own, deflecting what blows he could with his sword and the rest with his armor. He fought back, matching stroke for stroke and sensing the other man was wearied by the ordeal. Realizing this, Ransom drove harder, and Estian’s first knight began to give way. Smoke drifted through the scene, but Ransom could still see Sir Chauvigny’s eyes through the opening in his helmet. They were wide with fear as he realized his skills and stamina could not match his opponent’s. There was no way to retreat, the two blocked in on every side.
The battle cry was shouted all around him as the knights of Ceredigion began to drive the Occitanians back. The heat from the fire was stifling, and the smoke stung Ransom’s eyes. It felt as if the whole world were burning, but it was nothing compared to the flames raging inside him. The Occitanians gave ground again, shoved back by the sheer might of will coming from the knights who had rallied to Ransom’s side.
Smoke obscured the road and the oncoming soldiers, but Ransom saw some of the Occitanians turn and flee. Perhaps they feared they’d be burned alive in the blazing town. Sir Chauvigny turned in his saddle, looking to see what had become of his knights, and Ransom lunged forward and grabbed the other man’s horse by the bridle strap. He clenched it in his hand and then turned his own steed and dragged the other toward the gate. Sir Chauvigny nearly fell off the horse at the sudden lunge but managed to keep his seat. Ransom hauled both horse and knight toward the gatehouse, where he saw and heard cheering men atop the walls.
Sir Chauvigny tried to wrest control of his horse again, but the beast followed Ransom docilely despite its rider’s objections. Stones were hurled down from the walls, several of them striking Sir Chauvigny on the helmet and breastplate. Ransom gritted his teeth and kept pulling, hearing the cheers grow louder.