Faulkes looked at him with incredulity, James with confusion.
“But it’s only a storm,” the duke of the North said.
Ransom shook his head. “No, it is a punishment. An ancient curse. It destroyed King Andrew’s court and shattered his kingdom. And it will befall us next if we do not band together and confront this threat to our realm.”
Faulkes shifted uneasily. “You sound rather certain of this.”
“Once the lad is crowned at Kingfountain, I believe the storm will end.”
“Then why not crown him now and see?” Simon said. Turning to the others, he said, “Look, gentlemen, I know this is difficult to understand, but there are forces at work here that you do not know about. But I can assure you they are very real. The sea heaved itself beyond its bounds and took the king’s treasure. Maybe you’ve heard about a similar incident that happened on the bridge outside the sanctuary of Our Lady—”
“We don’t have time for a coronation ceremony,” Ransom said, breaking in. “We don’t have time to summon the deconeus of the sanctuary of Our Lady or even St. Penryn. If we don’t break Estian’s army here and now, we may be securing our own doom. We cannot abandon the defenders of Thorngate. I know Estian. I know what he’s capable of.”
“That’s what worries me,” Faulkes said. “He’ll want revenge.”
“So we must stop him,” Ransom said. “We must go . . . today . . . now! I know you’re both weary of fighting, but you are needed. Devon needs you.”
“What if we lose?” James said.
“With that attitude, how can we not?” Dawson quipped.
James glared at him. “Will someone shut this upstart up?”
Ransom appreciated Dawson’s exuberance, but a knight railing against a duke was disrespectful. He gave Dawson a subtle shake of his head, and the knight sat back angrily.
He faced the others in the council with a stern gaze. “If we fall, if everyone abandons the boy but me, do you know what I will do? I will carry him on my back. And as long as I can hold him up, I will hop from island to island, from kingdom to kingdom, even if I have to beg for my bread. That is what I am willing to do to see this kingdom saved. What of you?”
He was willing to do more. He was willing to give up his own life. But he felt a nudge of warning not to say so.
The passion in his voice affected them.
“I’ll go with you,” Dearley said.
Dawson grunted and nodded in affirmation.
Simon nodded as well. “To the end, my lord.”
Ransom turned to Faulkes next.
The lord had been loyal to Jon-Landon while he was alive. But he hadn’t wanted to watch the king die. His allegiance could not be counted on.
“Aye,” Faulkes said. “I’ll do it for the princess and the prince. None of this is their fault.”
They turned as one to look at Lord James.
He sat unflinching. His teeth were clenched with anger, and his fingers gripped the armrests of his chair.
“I left my wife and child at Ploemeur,” he said finally and firmly. “And that is where I am going next. You can have the realm. I’m done with it.”
Ransom dispatched a letter to me, despite the storms raging over Glosstyr. The king is dead, and his body is being sent to Kingfountain for the final rites. But Ransom is not going there. He is determined to face Estian alone and drive him out of Ceredigion or perish. These unnatural storms will only subside if the boy Devon becomes king. That is what the Fountain told him, he said. He said it might be his last letter to me and that he goes willingly to face his foes. He asked me not to mourn if the worst happens, but how can I not? How can I face the rest of my life without him? Fate is cruel, but she has claimed Ransom as her own. Little Sibyl asked why I was weeping. I cannot tell the children. Not yet.
For I fear these may indeed be the last words I get from him.
—Claire de Murrow
Connaught Castle
(news from the storm)
CHAPTER THIRTY
Thorngate Castle
It was a miserable trek through mud and rain. They traveled with no wagons, which would have been bogged down by the driving rain, but instead bore their rations themselves, trudging eastward on their horses through an endless drizzle. There was no sun during the day, no moon at night. Only the ever-present pall of the storm and damp and the rust smell of their armor.
There were some Espion still afoot, and Ransom put Simon in charge of them once again, to spy out the road ahead and discern information about the enemy. They would approach Thorngate from the west, whereas Estian’s legions had come from the south.
Ransom had never been to Thorngate himself. He knew from Lady Deborah that she had gone there as a lass of sixteen, her husband twice her age. She had become mistress of the castle upon his death and, despite many offers, chose never to remarry. She’d won her place on the Elder King’s council through her own shrewd wisdom. Lady Deborah had been a staunch ally of Ransom and a friend for years. His worry for her, the queen, and the others trapped in the castle lent him the courage and determination to get there before the castle fell.
Dearley rode next to him. Faulkes was farther back, leading the foot-bound troops who were cursing the rain and mud. Ransom had sent Dawson up ahead with some valiant knights to secure the way. And James—well, he had abandoned Glosstyr for Brythonica the previous evening. The defection saddened Ransom, but it did not surprise him. In the end, James Wigant had done what was in his own best interest, the same way he always did. Ransom thought on his sister, Maeg, his nephew, and his mother, wishing he could embrace them one last time.
“Did you hear me, Ransom?” Dearley asked, rousing him from his reverie.
“Forgive me, I didn’t. Say on.”
“I said the boy’s fallen asleep against your back.”
They’d brought young Devon, the king’s heir, with them, for Ransom hadn’t felt safe leaving him behind at Glosstyr. The lad’s arms were wrapped around his armor, so he hadn’t noticed the change in pressure. Glancing back, he saw the boy’s head was bouncing in cadence with his destrier’s pace.
“He’ll be all right,” Ransom said. “He’ll be with you.” He’d assigned Dearley as the boy’s protector. If things went bad at Thorngate, he was to rush the prince back to Glosstyr and seek refuge in Legault. That might not stop Estian from winning the Wizr game. But at least the boy’s life would be spared.
Dearley shook his head. “I wish I could be sure. I’d rather fight in the battle, you know. You could leave him with other knights to protect him.”
Ransom reached and wiped the wetness from his face and beard. “I don’t trust anyone else more.”
A look of gratitude lit Dearley’s eyes, and he knew he’d chosen well. Like him, Dearley would protect the boy to the end, however it came.
They rode at the head of the column, so they were the first to see riders returning. Simon and Dawson were both mud-splattered when they arrived and reined in. Ransom looked from one to the other, but he could not judge the news from their wearied expressions.
“How bad is it?” he asked gravely.
“There are thousands encamped south of Thorngate,” Dawson reported, although he did not seem the least bit daunted by the news. He was ready for a fight, eager for one.