Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

I’ve not heard back from Ransom, but I imagine it will take days yet. Instead, I received a message I was not expecting, from the Duchess of Brythonica. She has never written to me before, but she said the fate of Ceredigion is hanging by threads. King Estian will attack on multiple fronts to destroy Jon-Landon and all the Argentine heirs. With the kingdom in chaos, it cannot survive unless we band together and remember to trust one another.

She knows, somehow, that the Occitanian fleet will attack Kingfountain, and Estian and his knights will strike at Averanche. I am in a position to defend the palace if I send enough ships to the rescue. But that would mean leaving Legault vulnerable.

I must make this choice without Ransom here. I’ve always had a strange feeling about the duchess. Is she seeking to make Legault defenseless to her own duchy, or is she trying to assist us however she can?

Ransom trusted her. Now I must decide if I can.

—Claire de Murrow

Atha Kleah

(fateful news from Brythonica)





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


Coming of the Times


Fire from the burning docks could still be seen at midnight. Ransom was weary from the fighting of the day, which had claimed the lives of many, including some of the knights whom he’d brought with him. The Occitanian surprise attack on Kingfountain would not soon be forgotten. But it had been repelled.

Ransom and Kiskaddon were in the great hall of the palace, a map of the realm spread out on a trestle table in front of them. On it stood figurines representing the different forces at work. Faulkes was fighting James in North Cumbria. Kiskaddon’s troops were split between Kingfountain and East Stowe, but with the Occitanian ships still in the harbor, they could not send word to the port city by sea. A piece representing Jon-Landon was at Averanche. The other nobles were positioned in various places. There was no strategy to it, only chaos.

They both pored over the map, and Ransom felt a pinch of unease at the sight of Jon-Landon alone. Averanche was close to the border of Westmarch, which was currently still Occitanian territory. If only they had the Wizr board to advise them of Estian’s plans.

“I’m exhausted,” Kiskaddon admitted after slurping down some wine. His eyes were bleary. They both still wore their armor from the combat earlier in the day. Guivret stood with them, as well as some of Ransom’s knights. The chairs where the king and queen usually sat had been removed from the room. It felt strange being in the palace, knowing the precariousness of the situation.

Ransom pointed to a spot on the map—the city of Kingfountain. “Is this the only place where Estian has attacked?”

“I have no way of knowing,” Kiskaddon said. “With the mobs in the streets on the other side of the river, we can’t send messengers by foot. All of our information has come from ships.”

Ransom tapped the spot. “Estian has spies in the city, no doubt. I don’t think Kingfountain is his only target. The king—he’s going to go after the king.”

Kiskaddon tilted his head and looked at the map quizzically. “I think you’re right. He attacked us here to keep our focus off his real assault. Averanche is too vulnerable. Where do you think the king should go? Glosstyr?”

“It’s near enough,” Ransom said. “If we follow the coast, that’s the quickest way.”

“What about by ship?”

Ransom shook his head. “I think it would be safer to stay on land. A freak storm struck us during my crossing from Legault. The season is turning early this year, I fear.”

The duke looked at the map and nodded in agreement. “What about the fortress at Beestone?”

Ransom looked at the map again. “With all those wagons full of treasure, it would be slow going. And Estian would be able to predict the destination, so he could send his army to cut off the way. We don’t have much time to react.”

“Do you think, Ransom, that he will accept the terms of the charter?” There was a hint of doubt in Kiskaddon’s tone.

“I do. He has little choice.”

Kiskaddon looked wary still. “No king willingly relinquishes power. Not the Elder King. Not even Bennett. If Jon-Landon doesn’t sign the charter, we’re all doomed. That is, if you’re right about what happens when the Wizr game ends. After what I saw on the bridge today, I have to believe what you said is true.”

Guivret approached the table and stood between them. “It is true,” he said. Something within him had altered, as if the last of Alix’s influence had slithered away. He seemed like his old self again. “I’ve no doubt on that score, my lord.”

Kiskaddon looked at Guivret thoughtfully. “You both have more confidence in the king than I do. But I agree, what else can he do? The charter will change the affairs of the kingdom permanently. If Jon-Landon accepts it, then I’ll unite with him. I need your promise, though, Ransom, that he will not condemn us for treason.”

“You have it,” Ransom answered. “If he signs the treaty, I’ll hold him to it. He sent me here to work out a truce. What we propose is fair.”

“Fair, but he’ll be tempted to tear up the charter after we’ve stabilized the realm.”

“It’s more than words on a page,” Ransom said. “If he agrees, it will bind not only him but all future kings of Ceredigion. It feels right, doesn’t it?”

Kiskaddon sighed. “It does. I’d like to send one of my knights with you, though. To see firsthand how he reacts to the terms. Would you be opposed to me smuggling someone in with your group?”

“Let me go, my lord,” Guivret asked.

Kiskaddon smirked. “You were the one I was thinking of, lad. What do you say, Ransom?”

“I agree.” He gave Guivret a smile. “The deconeus said he’d have the charter ready by dawn. I’ll take my knights to Beestone and gather some of the garrison there to defend the king.”

“How many are left?” Kiskaddon asked.

“Five hundred, I think,” Ransom said. “Many were sent north with Faulkes. If the king signs the treaty, I’ll have him call Faulkes back. You can tell James about the charter. I don’t care how you accomplish it.”

“Well enough. Dawn will be here soon, and we both need some rest to prepare for what’s ahead. My knights are guarding the docks that haven’t burned. I’ll see you in the morning before you leave.”

They gave each other a knightly salute, and Ransom left the audience hall and found his way to his bedchamber, which had been cleared for his arrival. He lay down in his clothes, his mind weary, and fell asleep in moments.



The next morning, a messenger from the sanctuary arrived with the news that the charter was finished and ready for inspection. Ransom and Kiskaddon ate together and then rode down to the bridge with the rest of Ransom’s knights and Guivret. The deconeus met them at the gate and, with a solemn look, lifted the long round leather case he held.

“This is the charter, my lord. I’ve never written such a document before. It requires the king’s seal to be valid, which he keeps with him. After he has approved it, it will become the law of the land.”

The deconeus undid the cap and took out the charter, which had been written on parchment instead of paper. That would help it last longer. As he unrolled the document, Ransom felt a throb of approval from the Fountain. Standing side by side with Kiskaddon, they read the small, elegant script. It was in the old speech, which Ransom had learned years ago in his training. As he read the document, he marveled at the significance of what they were doing. The king, if he stamped it with his seal, would no longer be above the law—he would be subject to the laws of the realm. The deconeus had written the terms of the Assizes too, including how justice would be meted out.

After Ransom finished reading, he looked over at Kiskaddon, who was still poring over the words. When he finished, he let out a sigh.