Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,22

his heart for his mother. That is obvious in the overly courteous way he speaks to her, his eyes always shifting to distrust. He’s his father’s son and has been rewarded for despising his mother. Yet still he came to see her, or did he just come to see me?

I do not like Jon-Landon. I cannot help but think he is watching all of us, sizing us up, trying to seek a weakness he can tuck away for later use. The conversation was stilted and awkward. The only time he seemed genuine was when he expressed his concern for his father, the king, and what is happening during this present unrest with his brother. It is a concern I share.

There is no news yet from Westmarch. Everyone is looking for riders to come.

—Claire de Murrow

Cistern Garden

(the dreadful silence)

CHAPTER FIVE

The Desolation of War

It went against all of Ransom’s instincts to watch the battle rage in front of him without charging into the fray. He sat astride Dappled, two lances couched in holders fixed to the saddle, his bastard sword in the Raven scabbard at his side. The rear guard of the army surrounded him, the men’s eyes fixed on the scene in front of them as the armies of Ceredigion and Occitania battered each other.

Ransom’s blood sang with the thrill of battle as he watched the clash, as he listened to the sounds. Horses screaming. Swords clanging. Lances shattering against shields. Men groaning or screaming in hate. It all swept over him like waters from a flood, igniting the trickling sound of the falls in his ears. He could sense the battle as if it were a living thing, a creature of enormous size, a monster made of armor, axes, swords, and helmets. And like a monster, it seemed on the verge of engulfing them all in blood.

In his mind, he heard echoes of the rallying speech that Devon had given before the attack. It had charged up all the knights and soldiers, Ransom included, and compelled a throaty yell from them as they rode onto the field.

“Fear them not, my brothers!” the king had shouted from his horse, brandishing his sword. “They’re used to tournaments and flowers, not the sour harshness of war that you lads have drunk since your mother’s milk! A debt of blood is owed this day. Blood like that which dripped from my son’s mouth and eyes as he lay dying at Beestone, a victim of Occitanian treachery. They mock us and claim we are weak. We will prove our strength is mightier than theirs. Onward, lads! Onward until they cry for peace! Spare none until it is over! We shall be avenged this day!”

Even now, Ransom’s blood surged with the will to fight, to follow his king into battle. Instead, he stood watch vigilantly, waiting for a time when he was needed. His senses searched too for any signs of the Occitanian poisoner. Estian’s father had not hesitated to use her against them, and Ransom suspected the same of the son.

Time was no longer a concept that made any sense, so he wasn’t aware of how much of it had passed when a prickle of awareness shot down his spine. He sensed riders coming, could feel the thrum of hooves as they approached from behind.

“Sir Ransom!” one of the knights called out in concern. “The Lion banner! It’s Benedict!”

Ransom turned at his waist and gazed at the approaching men. A host of knights rode toward them from across the field, a small group leading them, one rider carrying the red banner with the golden lion.

“What do we do?” asked Dearley in concern. He’d looked pale all night, but somehow he’d lost more color. “Will they attack us?”

“I don’t know,” Ransom replied. “Stand ready. Front ranks, stay where you are. Back ranks, turn about. Prepare your lances!” He grabbed one of his own and pressed the wide shaft against his side. He circled Dappled around and came through the line to put himself at the forefront. The riders from the Vexin were coming fast, most on horseback, but he also saw foot soldiers running, holding pikes and halberds. He grimaced at the numbers he saw. If Benedict decided to attack, they would be in trouble.

“Sir Dearley,” Ransom said, turning to the young knight who had just received his rank. “Get word to the king that his son approaches. Quickly now.”

Dearley nodded and began riding toward the battle lines they’d been observing during the conflict. Ransom saw