“Aye,” said Jon-Landon. “And the poison is already working. This . . . this is how my brothers died.” He grimaced with pain.
“What happened?” Ransom asked in despair.
The king’s nostrils flared. “The wagons got bogged down. They were right here,” he said, extending his hand and waving it around the beach. “I ordered the knights to dig them out, but they wouldn’t obey me. All was lost. I should . . . I should have gone with them to Glosstyr.”
He turned his head and gazed at the empty beach. “Gone. It’s all gone now. I’ve lost.” He groaned in pain. “Each . . . breath . . . burns.”
“When did Alix come?” Ransom asked.
The king looked at him in misery. “Not long ago, riding with a band of knights. They killed my guards. I put the crown in a satchel and gave it to Devon. I see he still holds it. I told him to flee to the rocks, to hide until you came.” He grunted again, and Ransom saw a bit of bloody spittle come from his mouth. Alix had plunged the knife in deeply. He’d been dealt a mortal wound, which was perhaps a blessing. The poison would give him a worse death.
“They were about to ransack the wagons,” Jon-Landon said with a wheeze. “Then . . . then a wave came, a monstrous wave. I’ve never seen one so huge. Alix fled with her knights, and the water smote me. I was drowning, Ransom. I choked on it, believing it would carry me down under to the Deep Fathoms.” Naked fear blazed on his face. He didn’t meet Ransom’s eyes, just stared vacantly as if reexperiencing a nightmare.
“The wave buried everything in sand. When it retreated, I was still alive. That’s where you found me. The wagons were gone. Everything was gone. I thought my son was dead.” He looked up at Ransom. “I’m dying. I don’t think I can make it to the castle.”
“You will,” Ransom said with determination. His heart was sick with grief. He’d watched the man’s two brothers and their father die from the same poison. Alix claimed to have a cure, but he’d never seen evidence of it. Nor would she give it to him for any price he was willing to pay.
Ransom looked to the knights who had gathered around them. “We hasten for Glosstyr. Sir Galt, ride ahead and tell them to bring a barber to attend to the king.”
“I will, my lord,” Galt said. He kicked his horse and started up the slope of sand.
But Ransom no longer held hope that Jon-Landon would survive the night.
As they rode with determination, the rain began to fall again in earnest, coming in heavy, drenching sheets. Night had fallen, and they were all hungry and miserable, but Ransom could see the lights of Glosstyr in the distance. He’d sent a company back to waylay the Occitanians, and the men had returned with word that Estian’s army had turned inland and were heading to Thorngate castle, where the queen and princess had taken shelter with Lady Deborah and Cecily. They were no longer giving chase to the king.
Perhaps Jon-Landon’s piece had already been removed from the Wizr board . . . or Alix had simply reported her deed. Had Devon’s piece disappeared from the board too when he was with the Ondine? That would explain the shift in strategy, for Estian would believe—at least for a while—that Princess Léanore was the last Argentine. And since Jon-Landon had murdered all the Occitanian hostages, Ransom thought it realistic that Estian would not spare anyone either. Even women and children. He’d once threatened to execute everyone in Josselin castle in front of Ransom’s very eyes.
The king was so weak that they had him mount behind one of the other knights and ride double. He groaned with agony, suffering from the dagger wound as well as the poison ravaging his system. Ransom thought about his promise to the Ondine—to the Fountain—to sacrifice his life so that the boy could survive. He believed the prince would be a better king than his father, if given a chance, but he hadn’t done it just for him. He’d chosen to save the people of the kingdom.
When they were still about a league away from Glosstyr, they encountered riders coming from the castle, led by Sir Dawson. They’d brought fresh mounts as well as some bread and wine.
“I’m so grateful we found you!” Dawson said. “Where is the king?”
Ransom nodded to the horse next to him. Jon-Landon’s cloak had concealed his identity. In the torchlight, the king’s face had a sickly pallor.
One look at the king, and Dawson blanched. His eyes met Ransom’s, and they shared an unspoken understanding. The king was nearly dead.
“Is there a barber waiting?”
“I thought there might be wounded men, so I brought him with us,” Dawson said. “Come forward!”
While the knights took a brief rest and ate amidst the rainstorm, the soaked barber followed Ransom and Dawson as they brought the king beneath a tree. The light was brought up, revealing the crimson stain spilling from his lower ribs. The dagger had pierced his hauberk. Devon crouched by his father’s side, holding his hand and speaking comforting words to him.
Dawson shook his head. “He’s almost gone,” he muttered to Ransom.
“The blade was poisoned too. She took no chances.”
Dawson swore under his breath. “How far back is Estian’s army?”
“They broke off the chase,” Ransom answered. “They’re going to Thorngate now.”
“Why?” Dawson demanded.
“That’s where the princess is. I don’t think they realize the prince escaped. He was guarded by a water sprite at the cove back yonder. All the treasure is gone. It’s been dragged out to sea.”
“He should have left it,” Dawson said with a snarl.
“I can’t argue. Tell me—how is Claire? How are my chil-dren?” His voice caught as he spoke. The pang of losing them struck him hard. He felt tears sting his eyes, but the raindrops dripping down his face masked them.
“The boys wanted to come with me!” Dawson said with a grin. “Claire is hale. It was good seeing her again. She sent ships to drive the Occitanians away from Kingfountain. We’re still waiting for word on what happened. Your daughters are also well. It was good to see the boys with Sibyl again. But they miss the princess. Willem keeps talking about when they’ll see her again and what mischief they’ll do!”
Ransom chuckled at that, and then the pain hit his chest so hard he choked and began to weep.
Dawson looked at him in concern. But he didn’t ask what was wrong. “There’s more news, Ransom. None of it good.”
He nodded for Dawson to speak, unable to get any words out.
Dawson sighed and shook his head. “News from the North.”
Ransom’s stomach clenched. He wondered if he’d fall to the ground.
“What?” he croaked.
Dawson’s lips were pressed into a tight line. Then he spoke. “Wigant and Faulkes had a battle before news of the charter arrived. They fought for two days, neither side relenting. By the time your messenger arrived, only a few companies had survived the carnage. Both men survived, but their armies were destroyed.”
Hearing the words, he felt a surge of darkness within him. He’d been counting on Faulkes’s and James’s knights to help drive Estian out of Ceredigion. The truth bludgeoned him.
He would be facing Estian alone.