Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

“A king without a champion. A sorry thing indeed,” said the captain.

“Alas, that is not the worst of it. The king had many artifacts of power that should have preserved his life. He had the hollow crown, which could control the weather. He had the sword Firebos, which was sharp and strong and could summon a holy fire. But his greatest treasure was a scabbard. It had the marking of his kingdom on it.” The deconeus turned at that moment and gazed at Ransom. He did not look at Ransom’s scabbard, only his eyes, but the gaze was full of meaning. “With that scabbard, he could not be slain in battle.”

“I see,” said the captain with uncertainty. “Yet he was wounded. He was killed.”

“The scabbard was stolen before the battle,” said the deconeus, turning back to the captain. “A decoy was put in its place. One that lacked the power to save the king. But even then, he did not die of his injury. He was put on a boat and sent over a waterfall in Leoneyis. Three days later, the flood came and submerged the once powerful kingdom. King Andrew survived, and an artifact of great power, the Gradalis, sent him to another world to heal and recover.”

“Another world?” scoffed the captain. “You mean the Deep Fathoms?”

“No,” said the deconeus. “Another world, like ours. A world where they carve faces into stones.”

Ransom swallowed, remembering the barrow mounds in Legault. There’d been faces there, full of a power that had felt threatening before he entered the space. Constance had told him they were also carved in caves on the shores of Ploemeur. He felt an itching curiosity about what the deconeus had told him earlier. It was no accident that he was there that night.

“And the prophecy?”

“The Dreadful Deadman will be Andrew reborn, from the same line of kings. Like his forebear, he will unify his land with the help of his champion.”

The captain shrugged. “I’ve heard many stories during my travels, Deconeus, and the one unifying factor is that everyone believes their own stories to be true. The Brythonicans like to say their jeweled glass is priceless because it comes from the ruins of Leoneyis. I say the legend makes them rich at the expense of the gullible.”

The deconeus sniffed and held up his hands. “Many do not believe in the prophecy of the Dreadful Deadman. Some lack eyes to see what is still far off. So be it. You are not the first. But I’ve given you the answer to the riddle. This sanctuary was the last standing after the terrible flood. And it was the first after it.”

“Thank you for the explanation,” said the captain. “And for your generous hospitality.” Despite their differences, he appeared to mean it.

“You may thank the Lady for that,” said the deconeus, bowing his head.

“I shall put a coin in one of her fountains,” said Weyrich. “A tribute for fairer skies tomorrow.”

The sexton approached Ransom’s table. “I can take you to your room when you are ready.”

He glanced at the deconeus, who’d already risen from his chair. He felt a powerful compulsion to speak to the man. “Take my knights. I’ll join them later.”

“As you wish,” said the sexton.

Ransom caught up with the deconeus as he reached the pillars at the far side of the guest hall. The older man paused and turned, hearing the sound of Ransom’s boots.

“Yes, Lord Ransom?” he asked, his eyes sharp and clear.

“I believe what you said.”

The deconeus nodded. “Some will always reject the warnings of the Fountain. You, on the other hand, do not. I recall your visit, you know. Sometimes my memory just needs a little jab.” He glanced at Ransom’s scabbard. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I did,” Ransom confirmed.

The deconeus nodded. “And you’ve kept it secret, I see. Good. I feel impressed to say one thing more to you. One part of the legend, which I rarely share.” He reached out and put his hand on Ransom’s shoulder. “The prophecy of the Dreadful Deadman will be fulfilled here, in this very sanctuary. On a night during a great storm, the child will be born here.” His expression was one of fierce determination. “Your scabbard will also be here at that time. You are part of something greater than yourself, Lord Ransom. Many are called by the Fountain. But few choose to heed the call because the road is never easy.”

Ransom swallowed, feeling his knees tremble at the deconeus’s strange words. “I will do what I can.”

“There was a man, years ago, who drowned in the cove,” said the elderly man. “He and his son were looking for clams and had wandered too far along the cliffs before the tide came in. It came swiftly. They tried to swim, but the waves kept smashing them against the cliffs. They were both going to drown. But the father hoisted the lad up onto his shoulders and pressed himself against the cliffs. His son grabbed the higher rocks and hung there until the water covered his father’s head. The father drowned. The boy lived.”

Ransom’s heart clenched with dread. “That is a terrible story.”

“I was the boy,” said the deconeus. “And I have given my life to serve the Fountain since that day.” He patted Ransom on the cheek and walked away.





I was relieved when the cog came back to Connaught with a message from the captain and a note from Ransom. The storm prevented them from reaching Glosstyr, but they found shelter at St. Penryn along with some Genevese ships. The king is at Averanche, and Ransom should be there by now.

I’ve heard that Estian sent the Duke of Garrone to attack Southport by sea. No one has stood up to counter the invasion because the duke, Lord Faulkes, left Southport with his mercenaries and is waging war against North Cumbria at present. Surely Estian is using the Wizr board to see where we are most vulnerable. Lord Kiskaddon still holds the palace and East Stowe and has done nothing to stop the incursion. Perhaps he even welcomes it.

I hope Ransom can convince the king to treat with his nobles. If not, the kingdom of Ceredigion may be no more.

—Claire de Murrow

Connaught

(calmer seas)





CHAPTER TWENTY


The King’s Favor

This was the second time Ransom had gone to Averanche in search of Jon-Landon. The first time, the then prince had been hiding while attempting to mount an insurrection against his brother. Now he was a king seeking shelter from an insurrection against him.

Ransom saw the castle from afar, and it brought back other memories. This was where he and James had trained as knights under Lord Kinghorn. How strange that the man who’d been his enemy had become his kinsman, only for this fissure to come between them.

The deconeus of St. Penryn had dispatched a messenger to the king to inform him of Ransom’s arrival and ask if he wished to meet with him. The return reply came from one of Jon-Landon’s personal bodyguards, who told Ransom emphatically that he was most welcome, and the king would be gratified if he’d travel the short distance to Averanche to meet him in person. So Ransom had brought his entourage of knights back to Averanche with the king’s bodyguard.

His magic pulsed within him, slow and steady, as he closed the distance to the castle, his loyalty to the king the source of its strength.

When they arrived at the main gate, it was opened to greet them. The knights standing guard at the bulwark shouted down at them as they approached.

“It’s Lord Ransom! He’s here!”

“A cheer for Glosstyr! Dex aie!”

The knights above them flashed the knightly salute, which Ransom returned, feeling a flush come to his cheeks at the unexpected welcome. They rode beneath the portcullis, through the open gate, and into the courtyard. Eight sturdy, fortified wagons waited there. Each had huge wheels, rimmed with iron, and teams of horses were tethered within the courtyard.