Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

He reached the sanctuary late in the day, passing a few windswept villages on the route. As he drew near, he could hear the crash of the surf against the lower cliffs. The ocean seethed within its foamy depths, sounding as unsettled as he felt inside. He rode up to the grounds with a heavy heart and dismounted. There were no servants about. The sanctuary felt abandoned. He tied his destrier to a mounting post and then secured the packhorse as well. Gazing up at the ancient stone walls speckled with lichen and moss, he wondered whom he’d find inside.

After climbing the steps, he approached the iron door of the sanctuary and pulled at the handle, which opened with a loud groan of metal. The noise of the wind and waves was muffled as he ventured inside and shut the door behind him. A few torches sputtered, and the interior was chilly and uncomfortable. A statue of St. Penryn stood at the front of the space along with a dark pool of water. His armor rattled as he walked toward it, and his footfalls were heavy—if someone was here, they would surely notice him. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the vaulted windows, and when he reached the edge of the pool, he saw heaps of rusting coins. He stared at them, wondering how long they’d been spoiled by the waters. These looked even older than the ones he’d seen in the secluded pool at the other sanctuary.

“May I help you?”

The words, spoken in Occitanian, came out of nowhere, and Ransom turned in surprise, seeing the gray cassock of the deconeus, who wore light leather shoes and approached with soundless steps. He had no beard, which was surprising, although he had a mane of snow-white hair atop his head.

“I don’t know, Deconeus,” Ransom answered bleakly.

The deconeus gave him an affable smile. “I saw your two horses out front. Looks like all your worldly possessions came with you. Are you in need of money? I hope you didn’t come here to rob the sanctuary.”

Ransom had plenty of coin to spare. “No, Deconeus. I’ll not rob you.”

“You wouldn’t be the first who has tried,” said the man with a grin and a glint of humor in his eyes. “Your accent says you’re from Ceredigion. Am I right?”

“You are.”

“Why have you come? Most knights are drawn to the grand sanctuary palaces in Pree, Brythonica, or better yet . . . Kingfountain. Yet you came here.”

There was no one else present, at least none that could be seen. The kindly deconeus seemed a pleasant fellow, yet Ransom felt embarrassed to make his request. He feared earning the other man’s scorn.

And yet, what difference could it possibly make? Could he fall any lower? He sighed again and looked the deconeus in the eye.

“I came here seeking answers. For many years, I have harbored the idea that I may be Fountain-blessed.”

The warm smile on the deconeus’s mouth drooped to a thoughtful frown. “Indeed. That is a rare thing these days. Who sent you?”

“I was encouraged by Queen Emiloh to seek out the oldest sanctuaries.”

“The imprisoned queen? Interesting. That you know her means you are one of her household knights, then? One of the ones the king dismissed, perhaps?”

“No. I served her son.”

“Which one? She has many.”

“The Younger King.”

“Ah. This is quite unusual. It’s been a few years since anyone has come here seeking such a boon.”

“Others have come?” Ransom asked.

He nodded. “Although few enough. This sanctuary was built by the King of Leoneyis before his kingdom was swept into the sea.”

Ransom studied the old man carefully. “That’s just a legend, is it not?”

“Yet here you are, come all this way, asking if you have special powers and gifts. I think people are drawn here because the king of Leoneyis had a Fountain-blessed knight who served him. An Oath Maiden.”

Ransom’s brow furrowed. “A woman?”

“Yes. She was not the first, nor will she be the last. She served her king dutifully, but he betrayed her in the end.”

A jolt of feeling went through Ransom’s heart at the words. The familiarity of the situation was unnerving.

“I’ve never heard of this before,” Ransom said.

“Of course not. There are records here, written on pages of vellum in ancient ink. One gets lonely after a while, being in such a secluded place. Reading is a good way to pass the time. Are the stories of King Andrew and his Ring Table merely that? Stories? Or are they records of a time long since past? You came here seeking to know if you are Fountain-blessed, but I’m afraid you will not find that answer here.”

Ransom felt a pang of disappointment. He’d hoped to finally have his answer, whatever that might be. “Why not?”

“Because in all the stories, those who are Fountain-blessed go on a pilgrimage. They travel far away, to the East Kingdoms. It’s a journey that takes a year each way. It’s a sacrifice of time that few nobles are willing to grant, especially to those who serve them. I daresay the Younger King would grant you permission to visit St. Penryn, but he would not be so keen to send you on such a long and perilous journey.”

It struck Ransom deeply that such a journey was now entirely possible. He had no one left to serve.

“If I were to undertake such a pilgrimage, where would I go?”

The deconeus huffed a laugh. “The last person to ask me that was a young woman of Occitania. She didn’t like the answer, and I doubt you will either.”

Ransom’s eyes widened. “Who was she?”

The older man shrugged. “She never told me her name. This was about six or seven years ago. I don’t believe she was married, but she looked to be roughly the age at which women marry. She wore a cloak and a hood.”

Ransom started. Was this the lady he had sensed and seen?

“Do you know her?” the deconeus asked, looking at him with open curiosity.

“I may know of whom you speak. There is a lady I have noticed . . . one whose presence I could sense.”

“That is a trait of the Fountain-blessed,” said the deconeus, eyeing Ransom with interest. “Did you know that? It’s in the writings.”