one. Every man they steal from us will cost them ten. Now is not the time to be fainthearted. We are on the eve of victory. And when victory comes, and it will, I will chasten my son, and he will be ashamed he rode against us here. Courage, lads. Drop a coin in the fountains throughout Dunmanis. Make the waters quiver with them. The Lady is on our side and ever shall be. Spend this day in prayer, and tomorrow you shall witness the fate of those who dare to attack a city so defended by the Lady’s own power!”
A weak cheer rose from the knights. Such a speech deserved a stronger response, and the king seemed shaken by the lackluster reception to his words. Were they so lacking in faith? Had they lost the battle already?
Ransom stepped down the rest of the way. “My lord,” he said, his voice pulsing with anger. “Give me command of the gate. Let me hold it in the name of the king.”
Devon turned and looked at him, his dismay turning to hope. “Yes, Sir Ransom! Duke of Glosstyr in spirit if not in right. I put you in charge of the defense of Dunmanis!”
A cheer rose from the crowd of knights, one much more enthusiastic.
Sir Ransom glared at them, angered by their failure to show proper respect for their king. This was the time he needed them most, and they’d distanced themselves, reconciling themselves to possible failure. “Prepare for battle!” he shouted. “Dex aie!”
In a thunderous response, they shouted the battle cry back at him.
Duke James said a knight was captured trying to sneak through his army bearing tidings that a battle had been fought at a castle south of Glosstyr. The king is dead, he said, and Duke Benedict is now king.
I thought it more nonsense from that brainless badger, but Lord Kinghorn came to visit Emiloh with the report and asked for her counsel. Emiloh said that it was a deception, a trick to get us to open the gates and allow James in to conquer the city. When Lord Kinghorn asked why she thought that, she said if Benedict had won, he would have come in person.
—Claire de Murrow, Duchess of Glosstyr
(insufferable eejits)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Hidden Ford
The morning birds were beginning to sing. Ransom paced at the gate, watching as the men slumbered. He could find no rest himself, having a brooding sense that danger was near. He’d sent out three patrols of men in the night to roam the streets beyond the wall, and there were guards posted at the river’s edge to keep watch on the army, which had assembled the previous day. And yet, he could not bring himself to leave the gate in case Alix ventured near. So far, he hadn’t felt any inkling of her presence. That surprised him, for he had thought she might be with Estian’s army. Each report back revealed that nothing had happened or was happening. All was quiet.
And yet he felt that itching sense of anger from the Fountain, and it had never once been wrong.
“You should sleep, Ransom,” said Dearley, who had remained by his side throughout the long dark night. “I promise I’ll send word if there is so much as a stray arrow shot our way.”
The suggestion made Ransom’s stomach shrivel with queasiness. He frowned and shook his head. “Something is coming. I don’t know what it is.”
“How are they going to get across the river?”
“I don’t know,” Ransom answered. “I just feel uneasy.”
The gate that he guarded was the main entrance to the inner part of the city, but there were smaller buildings and homes outside the walls. Most of the citizens had moved to safer ground the previous day, having been informed of the king’s intention to torch the city to make it harder for Benedict to seize Dunmanis. Many had dared to remain behind.
“Someone’s coming,” Dearley said, gazing into the gloom of the town. The eastern horizon was just starting to brighten, but daylight was still a ways off.
It was true. The bootfalls of two men could be heard heading up the road toward them. The next watch wouldn’t report until sunrise, so it was unusual to hear someone approach at this hour.
Soon the travelers became visible as they reached the edge of the light emanating from the torches mounted on the exterior walls of the gate.
Ransom recognized the prince, Jon-Landon, who walked toward the gate confidently. He was wearing a chain hauberk over his