Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,74
close.”
He turned his neck to glance at the other twenty riders following behind him in tight ranks. Dearley wasn’t with them. He’d stayed back at Josselin to protect the castle in case Benedict tried another go at it. Ransom’s two wards had gotten even closer during the winter’s confinement, while he had traveled under less than pleasant circumstances on errands for his king.
Each of the men had two lances, and while Ransom wasn’t expecting a brush with Benedict’s knights this far north, it didn’t hurt to be cautious. The snow had already melted farther south, but the climate of the North required heavy cloaks and thicker padding beneath their armor.
“How many times have you been there?” Dawson asked.
Ransom shrugged, swiveling back and fixing his gaze on the road. “Once. Duke Wigant couldn’t spare any men to help the crown last season—he was too busy pushing back the Atabyrions. But we’ve lost Lord Rainor, so we need Wigant now. Dundrennan can hold out for a long time if it’s attacked.”
Once they cleared the rise, the view opened up, and they could see Dundrennan amidst the snowy mountains. The falls next to it seemed like a white tongue of ice, although the sound of falling water could still be heard.
“Now that’s a sight,” Dawson said in awe.
It was. Smoke from the many hearth fires in the castle added to the layering of clouds, some of which were low enough to smother the highest peaks of the mountains. Birds chirped and fluttered from tree to tree with giddy excitement, as if promising the riders that spring was on its way.
As they rode down the slope on the other side, coming to the town at the base of the mountains, a group of six men rode forward to intercept them. Ransom appreciated that the duke had posted guards to keep watch for incoming troops. It was what he would have done.
The lead horseman had the badge of an eagle, the symbol of Wigant’s house. Ransom didn’t recognize him, but he slowed and raised a knightly salute.
“You wear the Silver Rose,” said the knight to Ransom. “Who are you?”
“I’m Sir Ransom,” he replied, gazing at the men, each one in turn. He felt a sudden prickle of unease shoot down his shoulders. His Fountain magic was warning him of something, of some danger that lay ahead.
The knight looked startled. “You’ve come on a long journey, Sir Ransom. Did you come to see the duke?”
“Yes, with orders from the king,” Ransom said. He had the sealed writ in his saddlebag.
“We’ll escort you,” said the knight, and he turned. The other riders did as well, and they started toward the town.
“How’s the food here?” Dawson asked in a low voice, a grin on his mouth.
Although Ransom had been thinking about that himself a few minutes ago, dreaming of roast turkey and bronzed yams, he didn’t respond. The strange prickling sensation troubled him still, giving him a sensation of unease. He called ahead to the knights leading them. “How were things in the North this winter?”
“Cold,” one of the other knights grunted.
The feeling that something wasn’t right increased. The knights ahead exchanged a look. They didn’t strike up conversation amongst themselves, nor did they ask how things were at the palace or with the war. A feeling of doom came over Ransom as he stared at the fortress built into the mountainside.
“How is Duke Wigant doing?” he asked.
“Oh . . . the duke is quite well,” said the lead knight.
Looking ahead, Ransom saw that the road opened up as it approached the spiked timbers of the wall surrounding the town. The pine trees crowded the road on each side, creating a dense mass where it would be easy to hide troops or cavalry. His stomach twisted into a knot of worry, and his eyes lifted from the town to the castle. He had the distinct feeling of being a child again, standing on a barrel in front of the castle of the Heath with a hangman standing next to him holding a rope.
Ransom held up a hand to alert his men to stop and then eased Dappled to a halt. He glanced at the trees on both sides of the road. Although he couldn’t see past them, he felt sure there were soldiers hidden beyond, waiting to flank them.
“What’s wrong, Sir Ransom?” Dawson asked in a wary voice, his hand seizing one of his lances. He’d learned to respond to Ransom’s instincts.