In all his years, Ransom had never heard of the river overtaking the sanctuary. The surge ended, and everyone stood staring at the wet cobblestones, stunned by the dramatic display of the river’s power. Guivret stared down at the water, then pressed his palms against the stones and bowed before Ransom.
“You are Fountain-blessed,” he said hoarsely.
Ransom turned and saw that his knights had dropped to a knee before him. Whirling around, he saw Kiskaddon and his men had done the same.
The miracle of the surging river had been witnessed by everyone. It had washed away any last doubts or defiance.
The gate leading to the sanctuary creaked as it opened, and the deconeus and sexton came out onto the river-soaked street. The deconeus had a feverish look in his eyes as he approached Ransom and came to a stop in front of him. “We’ve all witnessed it. The Lady of the Fountain has proven Lord Ransom’s innocence.”
Duke Kiskaddon rose and approached Ransom with a look of respect and chagrin. When he reached them, Guivret had come to his feet, his pants and boots soaked by the water.
“Everything you’ve said is true?” Kiskaddon asked.
“It is,” Ransom answered. “I’ve come in the king’s name. You will be pardoned if you submit to him again. I promise you.”
Kiskaddon sighed. “I trust you, Lord Ransom. It is the king I do not trust.”
“May I propose a solution to this conundrum?” said the deconeus.
“Please,” Ransom answered.
The deconeus squared his shoulders and assumed a dignified authority. “I propose a charter, to be signed by the king and his nobles across the land. It would diminish the king’s authority to punish the lords of the realm. Any noble accused of treason will stand trial by their peers and not the king himself. Only if the peerage finds guilt can the king execute the penalty for treason. It will prevent the king and his heirs from being arbitrary. If the king does not uphold the charter, then all nobles will be released from their vow of allegiance to him and suffer no forfeit of land or life.”
Kiskaddon studied the deconeus before speaking. “I would sign such a charter. I would rather let my fate be judged by my peers than a capricious king. But will Jon-Landon willingly give up some of his power?”
Ransom thought carefully. “If it unifies his realm and ends the war, I think he might.”
“Will he not forsake his word later?”
“If he does, then it will no longer be treason to rebel against him. I think it is fair. What will we call these courts? These trials by the peerage?”
The deconeus said, “The Assizes. The Elder King used a similar arrangement to settle land disputes without his direct involvement. Only we’ll be using them to resolve issues involving life and property.”
“The Assizes,” Kiskaddon said. “May we have your help, Deconeus, in crafting this charter so that Ransom might return to Averanche with it?”
“Indeed you may,” said the deconeus proudly.
The noise of clopping hooves came from the direction of the palace, and Ransom and Kiskaddon both turned in concern.
The far gate had been left open, and a knight came charging up with a worried expression.
“My lords,” he said breathlessly. “The docks are under attack! The Occitanians have come!”
I’ve not heard back from Ransom, but I imagine it will take days yet. Instead, I received a message I was not expecting, from the Duchess of Brythonica. She has never written to me before, but she said the fate of Ceredigion is hanging by threads. King Estian will attack on multiple fronts to destroy Jon-Landon and all the Argentine heirs. With the kingdom in chaos, it cannot survive unless we band together and remember to trust one another.
She knows, somehow, that the Occitanian fleet will attack Kingfountain, and Estian and his knights will strike at Averanche. I am in a position to defend the palace if I send enough ships to the rescue. But that would mean leaving Legault vulnerable.
I must make this choice without Ransom here. I’ve always had a strange feeling about the duchess. Is she seeking to make Legault defenseless to her own duchy, or is she trying to assist us however she can?
Ransom trusted her. Now I must decide if I can.
—Claire de Murrow
Atha Kleah
(fateful news from Brythonica)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Coming of the Times
Fire from the burning docks could still be seen at midnight. Ransom was weary from the fighting of the day, which had claimed the lives of many, including some of the knights whom he’d brought with him. The Occitanian surprise attack on Kingfountain would not soon be forgotten. But it had been repelled.
Ransom and Kiskaddon were in the great hall of the palace, a map of the realm spread out on a trestle table in front of them. On it stood figurines representing the different forces at work. Faulkes was fighting James in North Cumbria. Kiskaddon’s troops were split between Kingfountain and East Stowe, but with the Occitanian ships still in the harbor, they could not send word to the port city by sea. A piece representing Jon-Landon was at Averanche. The other nobles were positioned in various places. There was no strategy to it, only chaos.
They both pored over the map, and Ransom felt a pinch of unease at the sight of Jon-Landon alone. Averanche was close to the border of Westmarch, which was currently still Occitanian territory. If only they had the Wizr board to advise them of Estian’s plans.
“I’m exhausted,” Kiskaddon admitted after slurping down some wine. His eyes were bleary. They both still wore their armor from the combat earlier in the day. Guivret stood with them, as well as some of Ransom’s knights. The chairs where the king and queen usually sat had been removed from the room. It felt strange being in the palace, knowing the precariousness of the situation.
Ransom pointed to a spot on the map—the city of Kingfountain. “Is this the only place where Estian has attacked?”
“I have no way of knowing,” Kiskaddon said. “With the mobs in the streets on the other side of the river, we can’t send messengers by foot. All of our information has come from ships.”
Ransom tapped the spot. “Estian has spies in the city, no doubt. I don’t think Kingfountain is his only target. The king—he’s going to go after the king.”
Kiskaddon tilted his head and looked at the map quizzically. “I think you’re right. He attacked us here to keep our focus off his real assault. Averanche is too vulnerable. Where do you think the king should go? Glosstyr?”
“It’s near enough,” Ransom said. “If we follow the coast, that’s the quickest way.”
“What about by ship?”
Ransom shook his head. “I think it would be safer to stay on land. A freak storm struck us during my crossing from Legault. The season is turning early this year, I fear.”
The duke looked at the map and nodded in agreement. “What about the fortress at Beestone?”
Ransom looked at the map again. “With all those wagons full of treasure, it would be slow going. And Estian would be able to predict the destination, so he could send his army to cut off the way. We don’t have much time to react.”
“Do you think, Ransom, that he will accept the terms of the charter?” There was a hint of doubt in Kiskaddon’s tone.