Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,116

Vexin approached. He rode hard to try to catch up with the king, who was still fleeing for his life.

When he caught up with them at a distant hilltop, they were waiting for him. Ransom reached them, out of breath, and saw the king gazing back at the black smudge in the distance, the smoldering wreck of Dunmanis. His eyes seemed haunted.

Ransom looked back and saw that they weren’t being chased anymore.

Dearley edged closer on his horse. “They stopped hunting us. They went back and are helping put out the blaze.”

It was the right thing to do, and Ransom respected Benedict for the choice he’d made.

The king turned to Ransom. “You killed the horse instead?”

“Yes, my lord. I wouldn’t have killed your son.” As he said this, he saw a look of anger kindle on Jon-Landon’s face. The prince’s future was ruined—Benedict would win the throne. So be it. That was what the fates had written.

The king stiffened and then groaned, clutching his belly with one arm. Jon-Landon looked at his father worriedly.

“We need to get you to a healer,” Ransom said. “We should ride on.”

“You ride on to Glosstyr,” said the king, grunting in agony. “I don’t think I can make it that far.”

“Father?” Jon-Landon asked fearfully.

“I’m dying, boy,” said the king. “Ride on to Glosstyr with Sir Ransom. Seek shelter there.”

Dread twisted the prince’s features, but after a moment he nodded.

“I’m not leaving you,” said Ransom earnestly.

The king looked down, breathing in quick gulps. He clenched his jaw and shuddered with the torture. Then he gazed up at Ransom. “I want to die at Tatton Grange.”

Ransom frowned at him. “My lord, it’s in enemy hands now.”

“I know that. My end is near. My body is at war . . . with itself and losing the fight. Take me to the grange. Have Bennett . . . and Estian . . . meet us there. This conflict must end. Too many have paid the price. I . . . I yield.” He groaned again, nearly toppling from the saddle.

Ransom edged closer and grabbed the king by the arm to keep him from falling. He hated seeing the king in such pain. Poison was a coward’s way, and he thought of Alix and of Estian with malice.

The king looked up at Ransom. “Will you . . . take me there, boy?” There was blood on his lips. “It was always the place that I loved best in all the world.”

Grief overwhelmed Ransom. Although Devon and his family were more difficult than King Gervase, more mercurial, he had come to care about them as his own family. The pain of losing this king hurt just as badly as the loss of the old one. A feeling of failure weighed on him.

“I will, my lord,” he answered.

“I’m not going into Westmarch,” Jon-Landon said sullenly.

Ransom looked at Dearley. “Take the prince to Glosstyr. Then go to Josselin.”

The message was clear—if Dearley was to marry his love, it would need to happen now. The young man’s eyes shone with gratitude, and he nodded to Ransom. Then he turned to the prince. “Come with us.”

As they rode away, the king hung his head and gazed at the distant smoke of Dunmanis. “Curse the Fountain for this ruin. And curse my feckless sons!”

Disaster at Dunmanis. That is the only way to describe it. One of the Elder King’s knights who was at the battle brought the tale through fire, smoke, and enemies prowling around Kingfountain. We were all astonished by the story of the parting river and the horror of Dunmanis’s destruction. When last the knight had seen the king, he was fleeing to Glosstyr for refuge. It is my castle, and I cannot even be there to defend it or the king. No doubt Benedict and Estian will lay siege, and no doubt the king will flee by sea, but where? Where can he go? Everything is in ruin.

The knight also said that the king was very ill, that he could hardly keep atop his horse. I suspect treachery and poison.

Lord Kinghorn has ordered the queen to be released from her confinement. She is no longer bound to the tower. He said he would write to Benedict and pledge fealty to him if it is the Fountain’s will that he should rule. Everyone will flock to the prince now. They are all sheep fearing the wolves that are coming. But not my Ransom. I can’t imagine him changing sides until the very end, when the