When they entered the sanctuary, there were plenty of guests already in attendance. The acolyte announced them to the sexton, who quickly summoned the deconeus. The man emerged promptly and offered a warm greeting. It was, Ransom realized, the same man who had advised him all those years ago.
“It’s good to be back,” Ransom said, bowing to the elderly man.
“Have you been here before, Duke Ransom?” asked the deconeus.
“Long ago,” he answered. “Thank you for giving us shelter.”
“Benevolence is one of the aspects of the Lady,” said the deconeus. “A Genevese merchant ship was blown off course . . . this is the captain, Weyrich. And we’ve other visitors too. A ship of mercenaries, bound for the king, was also unable to reach their port. Are you going to the king as well, my lord?”
“I was going to Glosstyr,” Ransom said. “I left Legault this morning.”
“Perhaps it is the Fountain’s will that you were waylaid by the storm. Come have some supper. You and your knights must be hungry.”
The acolytes set up an extra trestle table and chairs for Ransom and his knights. After a short wait, plates of venison and vegetables were brought out. The meat was sparse, so midway through the meal some peppered fish was brought out to accompany it. Ransom enjoyed every bite of the meal, and the wine served with it had a mellow, pleasant flavor.
The captain of the merchant ship raised a cup to toast the deconeus’s hospitality. “A cheer for our gracious host!” said Captain Weyrich. “Hup, hup!”
They all joined in the recognition, and Ransom leaned back in his chair. He’d thought about riding on to Glosstyr that night, but he was exhausted from the journey, and his knights looked as if they were content to stay at the sanctuary for the rest of the night.
“A blessing on your various journeys,” said the deconeus after things had quieted.
The captain knocked on the table. “Is this not the oldest sanctuary built in devotion to Our Lady of the Fountain?”
“It is, Captain Weyrich,” replied the elder man. “It is the last and the first.”
The captain’s brow wrinkled. “How can it be last and first? Explain this riddle.”
The deconeus was at the other table, but he was close enough that Ransom and the others could easily hear him.
“It was the only sanctuary to survive the flooding of the ancient kingdom of Leoneyis,” he said. “Because it was built on higher ground. All who fled here were spared.”
“The drowned kingdom is only a myth, Deconeus,” the captain argued.
The deconeus gave him a pointed look. “Is it? Our fishermen continue to pull artifacts from the sea. Helmets with barnacles. Swords cankered in rust, brittle except for the hilts. If you would see evidence, Captain Weyrich, I can show you.”
The captain shook his head. “Of course one would find such things. Many wars have been fought in this land and along its shores. It proves nothing. But if you wish to believe a kingdom was once swallowed by the sea, I will not mock you for it. Even in Genevar we have heard the tales of King Andrew.” He raised his cup again in salute and took a sip from it.
If the deconeus was bothered by the comment, he didn’t show it. “And do the stories you’ve heard in Genevar speak of the prophecy of the Dreadful Deadman?”
“Are not all dead men dreadful?” quipped the captain.
Ransom leaned forward in his chair. He’d felt a throb in his heart at the deconeus’s words.
“Alas, many are,” said the deconeus. “So you have not heard the prophecy?”
“Enlighten us,” said the captain with an indulgent smile.
“King Andrew was mortally wounded during a battle with his bastard son. He had dismissed his first knight, who was falsely accused of seducing the queen, so he had no champion to fight his battle for him.”
A shiver went through Ransom’s heart. He wasn’t hungry anymore.
“A king without a champion. A sorry thing indeed,” said the captain.
“Alas, that is not the worst of it. The king had many artifacts of power that should have preserved his life. He had the hollow crown, which could control the weather. He had the sword Firebos, which was sharp and strong and could summon a holy fire. But his greatest treasure was a scabbard. It had the marking of his kingdom on it.” The deconeus turned at that moment and gazed at Ransom. He did not look at Ransom’s scabbard, only his eyes, but the gaze was full of meaning. “With that scabbard, he could not be slain in battle.”
“I see,” said the captain with uncertainty. “Yet he was wounded. He was killed.”
“The scabbard was stolen before the battle,” said the deconeus, turning back to the captain. “A decoy was put in its place. One that lacked the power to save the king. But even then, he did not die of his injury. He was put on a boat and sent over a waterfall in Leoneyis. Three days later, the flood came and submerged the once powerful kingdom. King Andrew survived, and an artifact of great power, the Gradalis, sent him to another world to heal and recover.”
“Another world?” scoffed the captain. “You mean the Deep Fathoms?”
“No,” said the deconeus. “Another world, like ours. A world where they carve faces into stones.”
Ransom swallowed, remembering the barrow mounds in Legault. There’d been faces there, full of a power that had felt threatening before he entered the space. Constance had told him they were also carved in caves on the shores of Ploemeur. He felt an itching curiosity about what the deconeus had told him earlier. It was no accident that he was there that night.
“And the prophecy?”
“The Dreadful Deadman will be Andrew reborn, from the same line of kings. Like his forebear, he will unify his land with the help of his champion.”
The captain shrugged. “I’ve heard many stories during my travels, Deconeus, and the one unifying factor is that everyone believes their own stories to be true. The Brythonicans like to say their jeweled glass is priceless because it comes from the ruins of Leoneyis. I say the legend makes them rich at the expense of the gullible.”
The deconeus sniffed and held up his hands. “Many do not believe in the prophecy of the Dreadful Deadman. Some lack eyes to see what is still far off. So be it. You are not the first. But I’ve given you the answer to the riddle. This sanctuary was the last standing after the terrible flood. And it was the first after it.”
“Thank you for the explanation,” said the captain. “And for your generous hospitality.” Despite their differences, he appeared to mean it.
“You may thank the Lady for that,” said the deconeus, bowing his head.
“I shall put a coin in one of her fountains,” said Weyrich. “A tribute for fairer skies tomorrow.”
The sexton approached Ransom’s table. “I can take you to your room when you are ready.”
He glanced at the deconeus, who’d already risen from his chair. He felt a powerful compulsion to speak to the man. “Take my knights. I’ll join them later.”
“As you wish,” said the sexton.
Ransom caught up with the deconeus as he reached the pillars at the far side of the guest hall. The older man paused and turned, hearing the sound of Ransom’s boots.