is he coming this way?”
Ransom sniffed. “He’ll batter down the walls of Dunmanis if the king stays.”
“Do you think he’ll be the next king?” Marcus asked in a low voice.
“I know he wants it.” He glanced at his brother. “How are Mother and Maeg holding up? Are they frightened?”
“They’re safe at the Heath. I think the castle can hold out for a long time,” Marcus answered, which was no answer at all. “These are dangerous times. We’ve been loyal to the Elder King for many years. I’m hoping that loyalty isn’t misplaced.”
Ransom frowned. “Keep your voice down.”
Marcus nodded, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes. If Benedict won, those who had faithfully supported his father would pay. Literally. Power would change hands. Lives would be transformed. Ransom’s gaze dropped to the leather bracelet he once more wore on his left wrist. A familiar ache throbbed in his heart.
If he could marry her now, this very minute, he would, but an untold number of troops stood between him and Kingfountain.
As the sun rose, it began to scatter the fog as predicted. They’d ridden perhaps a league away from Dunmanis, keeping an easy pace, when Ransom felt a prickle of warning go down his back.
“Hold,” he ordered, lifting a fist into the air. Their mounts came to rest, some nickering and stamping on the dirt road.
“Do you see something?” Marcus asked in disbelief. The fog had thinned, but it still hung in the air like a shroud.
Ransom gazed ahead, unable to discern the source of the warning. He sniffed the air for a clue but smelled nothing unexpected.
“Just wait,” he said softly, easing his shoulder muscles. The noise of the birds grew into a steady chatter, drowning out all other sounds. His steed stamped again with impatience.
“Scouts,” Dawson whispered.
Ransom looked up and saw three knights coming up the road at a leisurely pace. There were eight in Ransom’s group, which gave them an easy advantage.
“Shall we take them?” Marcus asked softly. “See what we can learn?”
A dark premonition filled Ransom’s mind. “Not yet. Wait.”
Still they lingered as the knights drew closer, seemingly oblivious to the danger they were blundering toward. The fog continued to abate, bringing in fresh streamers of sunlight.
And then, as if a wind had blown out a candle, the fog lifted, revealing an army stretched like a python down the road. Two banners hung side by side, held by heralds. The Lion of Benedict and the Fleur-de-Lis of Estian. Row after row of knights rode toward the castle, the sunlight now winking on the metal curvature of their armor.
Ransom could feel the vibrations of the hooves now, the implacable enemy approaching.
“They are coming, just as you said,” Marcus acknowledged. “We’d better ride back and warn the king.”
“How many do you think they have?” Dawson asked in wonder.
“Too many,” Ransom answered.
The scouts noticed them at last. A cry of alarm sounded.
“Ride,” Ransom ordered.
When they reached the bridge, Ransom gave the order to begin demolishing it. The men with axes began their work immediately, but he lingered, intent on defending the bridge should any of their foes arrive before it fell. Wooden pegs and supports were chopped furiously as he waited with bated breath, watching the road. Sure enough, knights were bearing down on them, hoping to stop them before they informed the king of the onslaught.
Ransom ordered his knights to prepare for a charge and lowered his lance. But the first shattered planks of the bridge began dropping into the river as the enemies drew up to it. He felt the Fountain magic stirring within him, preparing him for combat, but the invading knights were cautious and outnumbered. They gazed sullenly as they watched the bridge collapse section by section.
“Back away, my lord,” said one of the warriors with an axe. “It won’t be up much longer.”
Ransom and his knights retreated, and he waited until he was satisfied the bridge was truly impassable. He rode hard into Dunmanis and was told the king was up on the battlements again, so he dismounted and joined him there.
The prince was with his father once more. He didn’t look at Ransom with hatred or scorn. He seemed afraid. King Devon eyed the advancing army with a shrewd eye.
“I told you he’d come,” said the king when Ransom arrived.
“Are you going to burn the town now?” the prince asked his father. There was a worried tone in his voice, a concern that might be related to a certain lass in town.
“No! Don’t be daft.