Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,102

embraced him in a bear hug and then clapped him on the back. “It was storming every day until your news arrived, and now the clouds have lifted.”

Ransom saw his brother, Marcus, grinning at him nearby, along with the other lesser nobles. He was surprised to see Prince Jon-Landon atop the battlements too, standing in the king’s shadow. When Ransom met the prince’s eyes, he saw a look of contempt and anger gazing hotly back at him. Was it because of the king’s warm greeting, or was some other resentment festering inside the young man? Had he planned on taking Glosstyr for himself?

“I came as soon as I could,” Ransom apologized.

“I shouldn’t have been surprised by such treachery,” the king said. “I’m only too grateful that you made it out alive. This is a desperate hour, my boy. But this old wolf isn’t dead yet.”

“You’re in pain,” Ransom said in a low voice.

Jon-Landon was close enough to hear it and scowled.

The king draped an arm around Ransom’s shoulder in a warm, easy gesture that reminded him of the Younger King’s affability. “I am suffering,” he said in a quiet way. “It started after you left for Beestone. It’s not gotten worse, but it feels like I’ve swallowed hot nails. This is not the time to be indisposed.” He grunted with pain and then shook his head.

Ransom gazed at him with concern. “I think it’s poison, my lord.”

The king nodded curtly. “I’ve thought the same. How she got into the palace is a mystery, but you once saw her disappear into a fountain—we know she has uncanny abilities.” He sniffed. “They want to end this conflict. A missive arrived from Estian this morning, asking to broker a peace between me and Benedict. What cheek he has. Is not that why I sent you to Beestone? My strength is failing. Soldiers are deserting in droves. But your arrival . . . it’s truly a gift from the Fountain. Bless you, my boy. Thank you for your loyalty.”

Ransom felt his stomach clench with dread. He’d never seen the king’s health so compromised. Usually, he was so strong and hearty.

“We should go back down, Father,” said the prince. “You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest when I’m good and ready!” snapped the king. The discomfort was making him irritable. “You need lessons in war, boy. That’s why we are here.” He thumped Ransom on the back again and then turned to his youngest son. “Look down from the walls. Tell me what you see with a soldier’s eye.”

The prince blinked with surprise, but he sidled up next to his father, arms folded. “The bridge is made of wood. It’ll burn.”

“Exactly. But flames can be doused and wood takes time to burn. I have men with axes at the ready, waiting for my order to demolish the bridge. Look at the river. What are those men doing?”

“Catching fish?”

“No! We have plenty of stores already. We can survive a siege for quite some time. They are putting sharp wooden stakes in the river. Why?”

The prince’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t know.”

“To block the fords,” said the king patiently. “We don’t want to make it easy for them to cross, you see. Every trap we set delays them. They’ll get across the river. I have no doubt of it. But we must ensure each step costs them in pain and frustration. Once they do wade across, if they do, then we burn the town. That adds smoke, you see? Makes it difficult for them to breathe and fight.”

“Difficult for us too,” said Jon-Landon.

“True. But we hold the ramparts. The fires will burn for days, making it costly and dangerous to attack the walls. The river is the best protection we have. That alone will hold them off.”

“What if they try crossing a bridge to the east or west of us?”

“I know this river, lad. It is called the Pervenshere, and it runs nigh Tatton Grange. It’ll cost them many days to go either way. And we’d follow them, forbid them to cross.” His eyes had a far-off look. “I know this area better than anyone. I used to hunt the woods north of this castle when I was your age.”

Those reminiscences seemed to fill him with sadness, with regret.

“You never took me hunting,” said the prince.

The words were like a blow to an exposed wound. Ransom wanted to chide the young man, but it wasn’t his place.

The king simply nodded. “Let’s go back down. Have the cook bring some milk.