The rain sluiced through his hair. He felt it dripping from his beard. The knights were giving him fierce looks, although he saw courage in their eyes, not dread. They had confidence in him and his ability to do the impossible.
“We stand as men of Glosstyr,” he said with conviction. “We stand to defend the Argentine family and our own. This is our land, not theirs. We do not know weariness; we do not know pain. We do not falter; we do not give ground. We make the Black King fight for every furlong. We are the men of Glosstyr.” He raised his fist to the sky. “Dex aie!”
“Dex aie!” they shouted as another streak of lightning sizzled in the sky overhead.
I sent Dawson to Glosstyr and finally heard back from Ransom. The Occitanians have invaded and laid siege to Averanche. It is certain to fall, which is another loss in Westmarch that we can ill afford. Jon-Landon is taking his treasure to Glosstyr, where he will convene another council with the estranged lords of the realm.
If he makes it.
An army is coming, and it will converge against Glosstyr. Ransom has asked for ships, which still have not returned from Kingfountain. I need to send men to help, but I don’t have enough of them available to bring more than a token force, which will be led by Dearley, who felt duty-bound to hurry to Ransom’s aid. The boys want to go to Glosstyr as well. They want to join in the fight, even though they are so young. They both have their father’s courage.
—Claire de Murrow
Connaught Castle
(the Wizr pieces are moving)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Reach of the Sea
Ransom divided his knights into three companies, but he didn’t arrange them in a standard battle formation with a vanguard and right and left flank. Each company was its own vanguard and would attack independently of the others. The goal was for one company to strike fast and hard, then withdraw before the enemy’s reinforcements could arrive. The next would attack Estian’s army from another side, seeking to draw the bulk of the enemy soldiers that way. While they were reeling from that attack, the third would slam into the front of the group, hitting the divided force like a wedge in a stump, seeking to crack Estian’s army in half.
It was a desperate gambit. And it worked.
By dawn, with rain pummeling them all and turning the road to mud, they’d fought four skirmishes with the Occitanian force. They had overturned supply wagons and frightened the foot soldiers with raids punctuated by streaks of lightning. Ransom was exhausted from the constant hit-and-retreat maneuver, but they’d succeeded in stalling the Occitanian advance and providing more time for Jon-Landon’s wagons to flee. With dawn a gray smear in the eastern sky, Ransom gave the order for a final retreat and led his knights in a flight toward the wagons.
The Raven scabbard was glowing, but he felt no pain, only weariness. His lances had all broken, and there were none to be found on the road.
“My lord,” said Galt, “we had them chasing shadows all night long. It felt good to see them so confused.”
Ransom smiled. “Aye, it did. How many do you reckon we have lost?”
Galt scratched his beard. “A score or two? I saw some pikemen take down Sir Connor’s horse. It was a bloody mess. He’s captured or slain; I don’t know which. Sir Barnaby was skewered on an Occitanian lance. But he hurt them in return. I’ll warrant they suffered more losses than we did.”
“They can afford to,” Ransom said with weariness. The onslaught had been relentless, despite their early successes, and in the end, there’d been no choice but to withdraw.
As they rode their exhausted horses up the road, they spied a deserted treasure wagon in the rain-soaked haze.
“Go investigate,” Ransom said to Sir Galt, and the knight complied. The axle had broken. The back of the wagon was open, and the treasure had been removed. The team of horses, save one, had been loosed. The other lay dead, slathered in mud and froth. The ruts from the wagon wheels were clearly visible in the fresh-churned mud.
Ransom whistled for his men to ride on, and they caught up to the wagons shortly afterward. The king was soaked, his armor spattered in mud. His dripping hair was plastered to his forehead beneath the chain hood he wore for protection. His eyes were feverish with worry as he approached them on his weary destrier.
“Ransom!” he said with a hopeful smile. “What news?”
A pit of disappointment had hollowed out Ransom’s stomach. They’d caught up to the king much too soon. The progress during the night had undoubtedly been stalled after the failure of one of the wagons.
“I’d hoped you’d be farther along, my lord,” Ransom said.
“We had a problem with one of the wagons.”
“I saw it abandoned.”
“Yes, well, I couldn’t just leave it like a plum for Estian, could I?”
Ransom shook his head. The prince swayed wearily in his saddle as he rode his horse up next to his father. His cheeks were chalk white.
“You think me foolish?” growled the king.
“We’re still too far from Glosstyr, my lord. We blunted the advance, but we couldn’t stop it. My men are weary from fighting all night.”
“They did their duty,” said the king.
It was true, but Ransom didn’t want to comment on that. “We need to rest. But their knights might catch us before nightfall, and then we lose the advantage of darkness. Any word from the North?”
“None,” said the king, his shoulders slumping. “I’ve not heard back from any of the knights I sent. I can’t afford to send more, we’re vulnerable enough as it is.”
That was true. Ransom wished the storm would pass, but the sky was overcast, and the day ahead of them promised to be every bit as miserable as the one behind them.
Jon-Landon wiped his mouth on his sleeve and smeared some mud into his goatee and lips. He grimaced. “Pfah! Disgusting. What else can we do?”
Ransom wanted again to suggest abandoning the wagons, but he knew the king wouldn’t consider it. It would be impossible to stay ahead of Estian’s knights, but man for man, Ransom thought his own force to be superior and more motivated. It was the foot soldiers that were the real threat. They could march faster than the wagons could move, and once they caught up, it would be over. There would be no choice but to flee and abandon the treasure.
“Keep the wagons going. Have men help push. I’ll leave one of my companies with you to protect you in case they flank us. We’ll rest here and lie in wait for their knights.”
The king nodded with eagerness. “Good! How far are we from Glosstyr?”
Ransom sighed. “The road bends about a league ahead. You can see the ocean from there. After that, it’s one more league to Glosstyr. We’re close, my lord.” Not wanting to give the king false assurances, he added, “But they are even closer behind us.”
“Hold them back,” the king said angrily.
“I will do the best I can,” Ransom promised.
The king gave him a salute, turned his destrier, and rode back to his wagons. The prince waved at Ransom before turning his horse and following his father. Ransom watched the boy, the final hope of the Argentines, and ordered one of his companies to follow the king and the prince. Their horses wouldn’t be able to rest, but at least the pace was slower. That group looked at him with misery, but they obeyed his command.