Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,5

came out and patted down the horse’s withers. He wore a threadbare and torn tunic over his battered hauberk, and his armor was bundled up in a net and strapped to a palfrey, which had emerged from the hold with much fewer complaints.

He removed the blindfold from Dappled, and the mighty horse stomped derisively as it looked around.

“What?” Ransom asked the beast. “You don’t care for the city? At least it’s not as hot as the desert.”

The horse snorted as if it understood his comment and disagreed. Ransom smiled, feeling a strange tension in his shoulders. His hand dropped to the hilt of his bastard sword, which hung in the scabbard he’d received in the oasis. The scabbard, when he’d drawn it out, had looked to be the length of a regular long sword. But he’d attempted to put his sword in it, and the scabbard had elongated until it fit the blade perfectly, revealing itself to have uncanny powers. However, while it did amplify his Fountain magic, especially during engagements with enemies, he had yet to figure out if it had some special purpose. Sometimes the raven sigil glowed blue, but the significance escaped him.

Grateful to be back ashore again, he climbed up on Dappled’s back, took the guide rope of the palfrey, and continued his journey on land. He planned to stop at the palace, not to see the king, who was, based on what he’d heard, often at Tatton Grange, but because he hoped to learn the latest news from the kingdom and possibly find a noble in need of a knight. The second reason for his visit, the one closer to his heart, was that he wanted to see Claire again or at least get a message to her. His journey had been long and lonely, and he’d often wondered what Claire was doing. Whether she was looking up at the sky at the same moment he was, whether she was still up in her tower prison, and whether she thought of him too.

As he rode up the steep path leading to the city, he was met with the sights and smells of Ceredigion. Bakers were selling meat pies and ropes of juicy sausages. Ransom had plenty of silver in his money bag, so he treated himself to some food. His gaze drifted across the river to the palace, to the spire that rose above all others, and his stomach clenched with nervousness. On their stop in a Brugian port, he’d heard that Queen Emiloh was still a prisoner. What he didn’t know was whether Claire still lived in the tower with her. The king had sent her there to serve as the queen’s companion, although everyone knew it was a punishment for Claire’s refusal to marry as he wished. As a Legaultan, she had that right. She was the heir to Legault and also to Glosstyr, which meant Ransom would never be allowed to marry her. Or if he did, it might cause a war. Unfortunately, that knowledge had little influence on his heart.

“You’re a sunburnt chap, Sir Knight,” said the merchant who’d sold him the sausage. “Where do you hail from?”

“I come and go,” Ransom replied evasively. He thanked the man for the food and then walked Dappled through the crowded street. No one looked at him in recognition. A bridge straddled the river and the falls, and Ransom noticed some new construction had been done in his absence. The bridge had been widened, and some inns had been built along the sides. As he walked past the gate of the sanctuary of Our Lady, he was tempted to stop in and throw a coin into one of the many fountains, but he no longer felt the superstitious need to do so. His connection to the Fountain was stronger after his visit to the oasis. Instead, he mounted Dappled and rode to the palace gates, where he was met by a group of knights in tunics bearing Devon Argentine’s standard of the Silver Rose. He recognized one of them, but the others were new.

“What brings you to Kingfountain, good sir?” asked the knight he knew, who looked up at him without paying him any notice. His name was Sir Bannon, and Ransom had trained with him years before.

“You don’t recognize me, Bannon?” Ransom asked, wondering if his longer hair and full beard had disguised him.

Bannon’s eyebrows furrowed. “You know my name.”

“Is the king here?” Ransom asked.

The other man’s brow knotted, but something lit in