Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

“No, I come in the king’s name. I just left him and travel with his authority.”

Another man, not in armor, approached the knight and said something to him.

“May one of the aldermen speak to you, Lord Ransom? At the gate?”

“Yes,” Ransom answered.

“Have the merchants draw back a pace. I know they’re eager to come in, but they’ll have to wait until we sort this out.”

Ransom saluted the knight and motioned for his entourage to come forward. His knights urged the merchants at the gate to stand aside, and they obeyed, although some did so sullenly.

The hinges of the gate groaned as the doors were pulled open from within, but they were only parted a few feet. Several knights stood in the gap, watching Ransom’s knights with concern. The man who had appeared above came down, puffing for air. He was surprisingly young to be one of the city elders.

“Lord Ransom, my name is Nathan Ashcraft,” he said, huffing and wheezing. “I recognize you. Are you aware of the situation here?”

“Tell me what I should know,” Ransom said, looking down at the man from his saddle. He reached out with his Fountain magic but didn’t feel any risk.

“Lord Kiskaddon has taken over the palace. The people are angry at him and demand he be captured and thrown into the river. There have been riots, my lord. We are not enough to keep the peace. Some thieves are taking advantage of the unrest and robbing merchants who come through the city.”

Ransom looked at the alderman with concern. “Thank you. Who controls the bridge?”

“The deconeus,” came the answer. “Neither side is allowed to cross to the other without permission. Duke Kiskaddon has the king’s docks and uses them for supplies. He’s threatened to take the bridge and subdue the town to restore order, but so far he hasn’t acted.”

“Then I will go to the sanctuary of Our Lady and advise with the deconeus,” Ransom said. “Let me through.”

“Very well. I just wanted to warn you that a mob may form. If we let you in, we must also allow entry to the merchants. They would feel safer if you went in first. We need the food they bring.”

“Agreed,” Ransom said. He signaled to his knights to gather near him. As the guards turned their attention to opening the gates, he addressed the others in a low voice. “Don’t draw your swords. There may be trouble, but let me see if I can calm it. We’re going to the sanctuary.”

He saw nods of agreement. By then, the gates had been opened, and the merchants were hurrying to prepare their wagons. Ransom waited until most of them looked prepared for the journey, then nudged his mount to continue into the city. The sound of the falls thundered in his ears as he rode through the gates. Despite all the trouble he’d lived through, Kingfountain itself had never felt this dangerous. The streets were mostly empty, but he saw people watching from their windows as they rode by. Several buildings were damaged, burnt by fire, and debris littered the street. With a watchful eye, he led his men down the main street toward the bridge leading to the sanctuary.

The mob found them before they got there.

It was a rabble of men, armed with clubs and some with sharper weapons. There were about a hundred, if Ransom had to guess, all ill-trained and violent, their faces bruised and dirty. His magic reached out and sensed their hostility, the danger of the situation. They blocked the street in a mass. Ransom had thirty knights with him. A mob, even one of that size, would not last against trained men. But Ransom didn’t want to hurt them.

He continued to approach and then gently tugged the horse’s reins to stop him.

“Who are ye?” asked one of the rabble, a man with silver in his beard and a suspicious look.

“Ransom Barton,” he answered. “I come in the king’s name.”

“You?” said the man doubtfully. “Why hasn’t the king returned with an army?” He looked pointedly at the knights following Ransom. “That’s not enough to take on Kiskaddon; may the Fountain curse him!”

“I didn’t come to fight him,” Ransom said. “Or you. Our enemies prowl like wolves outside Ceredigion. We must band together to protect against them. Stand aside, and let us pass.”

“What if he’s tricking us?” another man asked the one who seemed to be the leader.

“No, he’s Lord Ransom,” said the bearded man. “I know his face. He’d not lie to us.”

“All nobles lie,” spat another man.

“Not this one,” insisted the leader.

“Disband,” Ransom ordered. “In the king’s name. Go back to your homes.”

Ransom felt a thrum of Fountain magic come to him, unbidden. Power surged in his chest, and his words, his warning, rustled through the crowd. The people began looking at one another in confusion.

“Go back to your homes,” he entreated.

As if a spell had been cast, the mob broke apart. Within a few moments, the street was clear, and he could see the gatehouse of the bridge ahead.

He looked back at his knights, smiling encouragingly. Sir Casey, one of the newest members of his mesnie, had a look of awe.

When they reached the bridge, the thunder of the falls grew even louder. The bridge was normally swollen with merchants and business, but it was completely empty. They stopped at the closed gate, and the acolyte who stood behind it peered at them.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Lord Ransom of Glosstyr,” he said. “I’ve come to speak to the deconeus.”

“The deconeus has forbidden violence on the bridge,” said the acolyte. “On pain of excommunication. Will you abide his edict, Lord Ransom?”

“His authority does not reach past the sanctuary grounds,” Ransom reminded him. “But we declare our peaceful intentions. The king sent me to represent him.”

“I need to seek permission,” said the acolyte.

“Hurry, then,” Ransom said, waving him on.

As they waited, Ransom listened to the roar of the falls and felt his Fountain magic swelling in his chest, filling him with strength and purpose. Assuring him he had done right to come here. Even his ears started tingling with it. After a short while, the acolyte returned and opened the gate.

“The deconeus will meet you in the sanctuary. You may proceed.”

Ransom nodded to the young man, who shut and locked the gate after they passed through it. He could feel the tremor caused by the river rumbling beneath the bridge stones.

This is the river that King Gervase was sent into. It is where your body will join his.

He heard the whisper from the Fountain and felt his heart clench with dread. It was an awful burden of knowledge. Although there’d been no whispers of when it would happen, he had the presentiment he would not die an old man. The possibility of failure, of death, had been pressing in on him of late, and this confirmed it.

Thoughts of Claire and his children rushed through his mind, nearly bringing tears. He struggled against the surge of emotion, determined to do his duty whatever the cost. But the soreness in his heart was real.

I submit, Ransom answered in his mind.

When they reached the gates to the sanctuary, he gazed up at the spires and felt a swell of pride. The gate was already open, and the sexton greeted him warmly.

“Welcome back to Kingfountain, Lord Ransom. Your visit is unexpected and greatly appreciated. Come with me. Are your men hungry from travel? The day is getting late.”

“Yes, we’re all hungry,” Ransom said.

“We will provide for them. Enter the protection of Our Lady of the Fountain.”

Some of the knights stayed behind to tend to the horses, but Ransom dismounted and followed the sexton up the steps into the grand building. The alternating white and black marble floor tiles were scrubbed and polished. The statues depicting the Lady were immaculately clean, as were the majestic fountains filled with coins. There were no visitors now except for Ransom and his knights.

He was escorted to the deconeus’s personal study, where the old man waited.