Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,2
the horizon, red- and orange-hued mountains jutted up from the dunes, forming a natural barrier to the east. The oasis was fortified, with a series of sandstone walls mixed with vibrant palm trees. The group reached it as the sun went down, and the guards opened the gates, allowing them to join the other caravans that had braved the distance and were taking a much-needed rest.
There were many natural pools of water throughout the enclosure, enough to provide all the men and beasts with essential refreshment. Ransom refilled his flask and gulped it down, taking in the sights around him. There was a palace within the oasis itself, a grand structure with outer corridors, archways, and sculpted stone fashioned into dazzling parapets. Many travelers had set up their tents outside the palace, and Ransom helped his group do the same. Once the tents were up, Kohler broke off to speak to some of the other merchants in Genevese. Some of the other merchants had warriors with them too, and Ransom saw a few knights talking amongst themselves. One saw him and tapped his thumb against his chest in a familiar gesture. Ransom smiled and returned the salute.
Three knights walked up to him.
“Where do you hail from?” they asked in Occitanian.
He didn’t want to announce himself, not sure how far his reputation might have spread. Although he’d been cleared of any wrongdoing after Devon’s death, he knew it hadn’t prevented people from whispering about him.
“A small castle in the country,” he replied, matching their language. It wasn’t a lie, as he’d won a small castle in Occitania at a tournament. “What about you three?”
“Much the same,” said one of them. “How long have you been in the desert? It seems a good long time?”
“Over a year,” Ransom answered.
“I took a ship from Brugia months ago,” said another. “King Lewis is dead. It’s said he died of apoplexy. The Black Prince is king now. Had you heard?”
Ransom almost physically flinched. The old king was the one who’d sent a cloaked woman to kill Devon. She was the same woman who had probably killed Claire’s father. Ransom had seen her face, and she bore an uncanny resemblance to Queen Emiloh. He suspected the woman was the queen’s daughter, born before her marriage to Devon the Elder. He had told no one.
“No,” Ransom answered, shaking off the memories. “I’m surprised to hear it.”
The knight shrugged. “We’ve been talking about going back to Occitania,” said the knight. “The new king will need as many knights as he can take on. Might be another war with Ceredigion, eh?” He spoke the name of Ransom’s country with a tone of open contempt. “You returning after this trip? Or continuing on to the East Kingdoms?”
“Bah, who cares about a contract,” said one of the other knights. “It pays the most to serve yourself.”
The sentiment rankled Ransom. Their king, the one who’d died, had made a show of Virtus—the virtues of knighthood, which included honesty, valor, and integrity—but clearly it had failed to make an impact on his own knights. Or at least these three. “If that’s how you see it. I must be on my way.”
“You could come with us if you want,” offered one of them.
He didn’t but thanked them anyway and started walking toward the palace. The building was constructed of polished marble, and it struck him with wonder that such a place should exist in the middle of a vast desert. The gate stood open, and the armed warriors who guarded it stood by, allowing him to enter.
Torches in brackets lined the inner walls, holding back the coming dark. As he entered, servants approached with trays of apricots, figs, and cups of a pink drink. He took some of the fruit and waved away the drink. A few birds flitted around the indoor trellises, which were thick with fragrant star jasmine vines. He stopped and inspected them, inhaling the sweet fragrance, and noticed several of the merchants had preceded him inside. Kohler was among them. His robes and turban were gone; in their place, he wore his costly raiment, and his dark beard stretched into a massive grin. Laughter continued to emanate from the men as they shared experiences and stories. The celebratory atmosphere reminded Ransom of the end of a tournament, only this was a prize for merchants rather than knights—a reward for having endured the difficult journey.