Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,75
of them noticed they weren’t being followed. He said something in an undertone, and the others stopped. The leader turned his rouncy to the side.
“Oy!” he called. “What’s the matter?”
“Who do you serve?” Ransom asked in challenge.
“The Duke of North Cumbria,” said the man.
A ripple of distrust went through Ransom’s bones. “And who is that?”
The man stared at him in confusion, or perhaps he was feigning it. “You’re a nervous one. Come to the castle.”
Ransom didn’t trust it. “I want a writ of safe conduct first.”
He heard some of his own knights inhale sharply at the request. One asked for safe conduct from an enemy, not an ally. The implication was that Ransom didn’t trust the king’s liegeman in the North.
The lead knight from Dundrennan snorted. “You are daft, man. You want to linger in the cold while I fetch one? So be it.”
“Thank you. We’ll come no farther without one.”
The riders continued on to town, and as Ransom watched them go, he wondered if he was being overcautious.
Dawson looked both ways through the woods. “Do you think Duke Benedict is waiting for us?” he asked worriedly.
“I don’t know,” Ransom said, “but I sense something’s wrong. Dismount. Give the horses a rest and some provender. It could be nothing.”
“I don’t believe that,” Dawson said, shaking his head. “But we will do as you ask, my lord.”
They all dismounted and began to care for their horses. Ransom kept looking back at the town and peering into the woods. The distrustful feeling began to fade, and he worried he had misunderstood the Fountain’s promptings.
“They’re coming back,” Dawson said urgently.
Ransom mounted again. The cold had settled in his hands and feet after the brief wait, but he moved fast in spite of it. He gazed at the town, and his stomach dropped when he saw the numbers coming through the wooden gate. Five turned to ten, and then twenty, and then fifty or more. One carried a battle flag with the Eagle standard on it.
“They don’t look friendly,” said one of the other knights.
“Ride,” Ransom ordered, turning his destrier around. He looked at Dawson. “Get to Blackpool as fast as you can and send word to the king that there is treason here. You go ahead of us.”
“I want to fight,” Dawson said, his eyes fierce.
The young man reminded Ransom of himself, but if they fought here, now, they’d lose. They at least needed to bring the fight somewhere they’d have an advantage. “Obey me, Dawson, or you have no place in my mesnie.”
Dawson gritted his teeth in frustration, but he nodded and spurred his horse ahead of the others. Ransom and the knights followed him, charging back up the slope the way they’d come. He was grateful they’d stopped, even more so they’d given their steeds a needed rest and some food. Dappled grunted with the mounting tension as the noise of the advancing knights grew louder.
They made it to the top of the hill without being overrun. Ransom saw Dawson charging down the other side at breakneck speed, but Ransom reined in and turned. The other knights followed suit. They wouldn’t all make it to Blackpool.
“What shall we do, Sir Ransom?” asked one of the others with worry in his eyes.
“We’re outnumbered,” Ransom said. “Their horses are fresher. But right now, we have the high ground. That will help. Let’s break some lances, lads.”
Ransom took down five knights before both of his lances were destroyed. He charged into the thick of their attackers, swinging his bastard sword overhead as he rushed into the press of men. The power of the Fountain gushed into him, filling him with strength. Shouts of battle surrounded him. He felt blows striking him, but he turned and countered, driving his attackers away. His knights were surrounded, and one by one they started to fall. Each loss filled him with battle rage, which made him relentless in his attack.
His screaming horse bit down on a knight’s arm and dragged him off the saddle, where he was promptly crushed beneath a hail of hooves. Two knights charged Ransom at once, and he roared in defiance, spurring his destrier between them and swinging at them both. He used the hilt to pound the helmet of one while the other hacked at his armor viciously, trying to take off his arm holding the reins. The knight he’d bashed in the helmet toppled off his horse, and Ransom swung back, jamming his blade into the other knight’s visor.