Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

“What if your father wins? Have you considered that?”

Devon pursed his lips and shrugged. “I find it unlikely, but you’re right. It is wise to consider all possibilities.” He rubbed his goatee and paced a bit. “Will my father execute me for treason? Lash me with ropes inside a boat and send me into the river? I think not.” He stopped and faced Ransom. “Actually, I think he would respect me more for having tried and failed. But let’s be honest, Ransom. He’s facing the combined might of the Vexin, North Cumbria, five hundred knights under me, and the King of Occitania, including . . . which you so adroitly learned this evening, the support of the Duke of Bayree and Count Hardle. Both of whom deserve a flogging for not being more discreet.”

“When did you plan on telling me?”

“Before we left Pree,” Devon said. “The only way you were to go with us was to pledge your loyalty anew. Now, it’s cold out here, and my wife is awaiting me in bed. Have you decided yet?”

It was a heavy decision to make. And a painful one. Ransom didn’t want to be disloyal to either man. But Devon the Younger had made his decision, and now Ransom needed to do the same. He couldn’t be loyal to both father and son.

In this moment, he did wish he could hear the voice of the Fountain, if only so he could know what was right. He did not wish to fall in with the Occitanians, but Devon was the man he had agreed to serve, and there was no denying the king had used his son as a sort of prop—a figurehead. The Younger King had, at least, the cunning to be a king.

But Ransom was the one who had to decide, no one else. He found himself thinking of that first meeting with the king and queen, and in it he found his answer.

“I never deceived you,” Ransom said. “Your father did not suborn me to betray you. He asked me to serve you, and I agreed.” He dropped down to his knee. “I am your sworn man, and I will be so long as you’ll have me.”

As he said those words, he felt the ripples within him grow stronger. His pledge strengthened him somehow, just as it had before their journey to Pree. Devon’s hand touched and then squeezed his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Devon said huskily. “I know you mean it. And, as your liege lord, I swear to protect and defend you. And to reward you for your good service.”

Ransom looked up, meeting the Younger King’s eyes, which looked wet with tears.

“If you’re going to fight your father, my lord, you’d best do it as a knight.”

“Do you mean it, Ransom?” His eyes gleamed as he said it.

“I do. I was knighted before my first battle, my lord. I think you should be as well. King Lewis could do the honors.”

“No, Ransom. It will be you who cuffs me with your gauntlet. Only you. That will be my greatest scar and my deepest honor.” His smile was so broad, so thankful. He looked like a king.

It gave Ransom some measure of comfort. But he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that victory would not be easy.

It might not even be possible.





King Devon Primus (called Devon the Younger or just the Younger King) has come out in open rebellion against his father, Devon Ursus (whom they call the Elder King). I did not want to believe it at first when word arrived from some merchants, but Da has sent me notice that this was why he remained at Glosstyr Keep. There has already been fighting in the borderlands of Westmarch. Da is riding forth with his warriors, coming at the command of the Elder King. All is in turmoil. These few years of peace have passed like shadows. How many must die before this foolishness ends? Da has ordered me to secure Connaught and be wary of nobles who would take advantage of the unrest. It is wise counsel, for stupidity is unfortunately contagious.

What is Young Devon expecting? Will a lion give way to a cub? The fool. The ignorant fool. If he had brains, he’d be dangerous. He’ll learn the true nature of the powerful. Brainless badger.

—Claire de Murrow

Connaught Castle

(not yet under siege)





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Siege of Arlect Castle

Smoke abounded. It stained the skin, tainted the water they drank, and gnawed at their armor and swords. The smell of it reminded Ransom of his boyhood, of the siege against his father’s castle. This time he wore armor, which had blackened with soot. The taste of ash was in his teeth. He wondered if he looked hard enough through the vapors, whether he’d find that lost boy, waiting to be hung for a crime not his own.

From the haze surrounding Arlect castle, he saw Captain Issoudun’s grimy face appear. The two met, and the captain gave him a knightly salute.

“Ho there, Sir Ransom. It’s nearly dawn. You think we’ll crack this castle today?”

“We’d better,” Ransom said, wiping his mouth. He hadn’t slept much in the last few days of war, but he felt alert and full of vigor. The fighting they’d experienced had strengthened him instead of draining him.

“I think we will,” said Issoudun.

“What gives you confidence?”

Issoudun put his hands on his hips. “They say there are only three ways to breach a castle, lad. You know them, I’m assuming?”

Ransom knew the theory, but this was the first test of it. Thankfully, men like Issoudun had had years of practice during the civil war.

“Surround it and cut off reinforcements,” he said. “Breach the walls with siege engines. Or dig a tunnel beneath one of the walls and then build a fire so strong it collapses the earth and breaks open part of the foundation.”