Lady's Ransom (The First Argentines, #3)

The clash of arms began immediately, but Estian didn’t lead the charge himself. Row after row of enemy soldiers pressed in, mostly on foot, using spears to drive the knights back. Ransom’s blood sang with the passion of battle, his Fountain-blessed instincts reaching a peak as he led his men.

But the enemy marched onward relentlessly, each fallen man replaced by three fresh ones. He saw his own lines begin to bend. Arrows whistled down from the walls, but the darkness hindered the archers’ aim. Cries of pain and shouts of anger filled the air around him. He saw Dawson on horseback, chopping down an enemy knight with a battle axe. It was a skillful blow, and he was proud of his young knight.

Ransom deflected a spear thrust up at him and countered by nudging Dappled forward and then slamming his pommel against the soldier’s helmet, dropping him.

The feeling of grating stone jolted him to attention. His pulse began to race as he realized the intention of the order. The piece representing him had moved, and he felt a strong compulsion to abandon Josselin and go to Glosstyr. It made no sense to him, and in the thick of the fighting, he rebelled against the instinct. It was his castle, given to him by the Elder King. Could he forsake it so quickly? They hadn’t even tried to defend it for long!

“Retreat to the castle!” Ransom shouted, a taste of bitterness in his mouth. Soldiers continued to pile into the gaps in the line, pressing his men back, squeezing them. If they didn’t flee soon, they’d be overrun.

It took time for his command to go down the ranks. He led the rear guard himself, holding off the attackers so his knights could escape. The glow of blue started from his scabbard before he even realized he’d been struck. They gave ground slowly, but the gristmill continued to grind against them. Finally, he cried out the final order to retreat, and they rode back to the castle gates, which were hurriedly closed and barred. Archers rained arrows down at the attackers.

With sweat trickling down his neck, he thought of the command he’d been given through the Wizr board. Something had changed. Something he couldn’t see. He had to trust Emiloh’s judgment.

After dismounting Dappled, he climbed up to the battlement walls, where Dearley was leading the defenders. The twang of bowstrings sounded again and again. Dearley strode up and down the wall, his gaze intense. When Ransom caught up to him, he stopped moving but continued to tap one heel.

“They keep coming and coming,” Dearley said, shaking his head. “I’ve heard many are taking shelter in the villagers’ homes. Tomorrow will be a dangerous day. There are so many. How long before the men from Beestone get here?”

Ransom shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I have orders to abandon Josselin.”

Dearley swallowed, his eyes wide with shock. “Whose orders?”

“The queen dowager.”

“When did they arrive? I’ve seen no courier.”

“I have the orders all the same. We must prepare to leave.”

The look of disappointment on Dearley’s face was powerful. In some ways, the castle had become his home. His wife had made a mark on it, and it was where they had first met. “If you say so, Ransom. But I think we can hold it.”

“I know we can,” Ransom said. “But there is more at stake here than one castle. We’ll leave men to defend it.”

“How many?”

“A hundred. No more. We’re going to Glosstyr.”

His words had clearly gutted Dearley, but his friend, ever faithful, merely nodded. “I’ll rouse the men. Better if we leave before dawn.” He seemed on the verge of saying something else, but then he shook his head and started giving orders.

Ransom was grateful for Dearley’s trust in him, particularly when Dawson strode up to him in a fury not long afterward.

“We’re abandoning the castle already? My lord, I don’t understand!”

Ransom tried to keep his patience. “I have orders from the queen dowager. We’re going to Glosstyr.”

“This is your castle. Why let Estian have it?”

“I’m not giving it to him, lad. I’m following orders.”

“It’s folly!” Dawson nearly shouted at him.

Ransom gave him an icy stare. “I’m not looking for your approval. If you’re a true knight, you will obey your orders.”

Dawson threw up his hands and stormed away.

It took the rest of the night to prepare to withdraw. The rear gate was in constant use as knights, soldiers, and villagers fled into the darkness. More than one accusing look was sent his way. His forces began their march to the fortress of Glosstyr, but he remained behind to consult with Dearley on the evacuation.

Westin approached him, wringing his hands. “My lord, if I may?”

“What is it?” Ransom asked. The darkness was beginning to lift, the night nearly over. A few morning birds had begun tweeting.

“I wish to remain behind with the defenders.”

Ransom studied him. “If the castle falls, you’ll be held for ransom.”

“I know, my lord. It would break my heart to leave, though. Let me stand with the defenders until there is no longer hope.”

Dearley had overheard the conversation and approached them. “I’ve given Sir Trent command of the defense,” he said. “There’s no need to stay, Westin.”

“I know, my lord.” He continued to wring his hands. “But it’s my home.”

Ransom clapped Westin’s shoulder. “If you are taken hostage, I’ll pay your ransom.”

“I’ll do my best to keep that from happening,” Westin said, relieved.

Ransom turned to face the knights who’d been left to defend the stronghold. “I know you’ve been put in a difficult situation. Josselin has never fallen to the Occitanians. I’d like you to keep it that way. I don’t expect you to fight to the last man, but I do expect you to make the siege costly for them. Get away if you can and leave nothing of value behind. Then ride and catch up with us.”

A few determined nods came in reply. With that, Dearley and Ransom mounted their horses and followed the last of his troops out the back gate. They rode through forests meant for hunting, following the only available road. Sunlight slit through the branches, and the thump of hooves against the recently trampled dirt brought an earthy smell to his nose. The woods were thick and imposing and quickly blocked the castle from sight. His heart ached at the thought of leaving his castle behind for Estian to try to pluck. How he wished he could have faced Estian in single combat in the river.

After riding the breadth of the woods, they finally caught up with the main force of the army snaking its way to Glosstyr. Dawson sat atop his charger, a chagrined look on his face.

“What’s the matter?” Ransom asked, reining in near him.

Dearley reined in as well.

Dawson hesitated. “When we emerged from the woods, we encountered Occitanian knights riding toward us.”

Dearley gasped in surprise. “On this side?”

“Aye,” Dawson responded. “We outnumbered them, of course, and they fled, but we took one of them prisoner. I asked him how they got there, and he said they’d been ordered to cross at the ford at Applewell. They had axes and were planning to barricade the road to prevent us from escaping. If we’d stayed another day, we’d have been trapped in Josselin. I was wrong to doubt you, my lord. It won’t happen again.”

“Ride on to Glosstyr, Dawson. Tell them we’re coming.”

“I will.” Dawson spurred his charger and began galloping across the plains alongside the marching army.

Dearley gave Ransom a quizzical look. “How did the queen dowager know they were flanking us?”

“Always trust a queen’s intuition,” he said, smiling. Would Estian follow him to Glosstyr? It was the largest city on the western coast. Hopefully, Duke James would be standing by at Blackpool as promised. This would be a decisive battle.

One that could change the fate of kingdoms.