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

Because Cecily and Terric could speak the language, they did the communicating along the journey. Even though Ransom couldn’t follow what was being said, he’d detected a certain air of distrust toward outsiders. A small band of rogue knights had accosted Ransom’s group once along the way, trying to demand payment to pass. He’d sensed their evil intention through his Fountain magic and was on his guard as they approached. When Cecily revealed the threat, he drew his bastard sword and pressed forward to attack. The knights had backed off and departed in haste. The language of violence was recognized everywhere.

The Wartburg was built on a promontory overlooking the village of Eisen. They reached the village in late afternoon on the third day, and after resting their horses a bit and eating some Brugian food—breaded slices of meat bedecked with herbs and boiled in fat, which Ransom particularly liked—they mounted again and began the ride up the mountainside to the castle high above town.

The entire area was heavily wooded, which created ample opportunities for ambush, so Ransom kept his instincts sharp for any traps. A steep trail wound its way up the side of the mountain, making their horses grunt with the strain. As they climbed higher, the trees became sparser, giving them a better view of the fortress—a long, narrow structure that occupied the bulk of the promontory. Strong battlements rose above the sparse tree line. The central square tower had a spiked roof and a banner waving from it, but from the height it was impossible to see the design of the standard.

Judging by the height and the windows, the main structure had at least three levels. Smoke drifted lazily from the many chimneys on the eastern side. From what Ransom could see, the castle looked about half the size of Kingfountain. As they reached the top of the promontory, a great cleft in the mountainside loomed in front of them, spanned by a drawbridge. Breaching such a castle by force would be a daunting task. The rock cleft, the steepness of the road, and the dense woods were all natural protections that would inhibit invaders. It was more of a prison than a fortress, and if Benedict were there—as he expected—there would be no easy way to free him without a ransom.

A squad of four knights guarded the drawbridge with pikes. They each wore hauberks, blue tunics, and carried shields. Their helmets were vastly different in design from what Ransom remembered from his previous encounters with Brugian soldiers. Shaped like bells, they fanned out in a full circle from the top of the head. Their chainmail didn’t just cover the neck but also the chin and the bottom half of the face.

One of the men challenged them in Ceredigion, his Brugian accent sharp.

“Velcome, host! Velcome to the Vartburg. Whom do ye seek?”

Cecily, playing the role of the noblewoman, said, “We seek audience with Lord Gotz.”

The knight gave her a probing look. “The eventide is nigh. Have you come to barter for your king?”

“Yes,” Cecily said.

The knight gave her a cunning smile. “Then enter. The great lord of the Vartburg is in the hall vith his guests. You are velcome to bring your veapons, but do not use them. Drawing a blade in the Vartburg is punishable by death.”

Cecily nodded and gestured for her companions to follow her. As they rode past, the knights stared at them with savage eyes. Ransom felt their animosity, their desire to provoke a conflict, but he kept his eyes fixed on Cecily’s horse as they crossed the massive drawbridge.

Beyond it lay an extensive gatehouse. It was wide enough to rally defenders to protect the drawbridge, although only a fool would consider making such a crossing. Any attempt to arrange a makeshift bridge would be met with a hailstorm of arrows. Gotz could defend such a castle with only fifty men.

After passing a stone arch, they rode through a long courtyard that became wider the farther they went. Now that they were closer to the castle, he could see a few buildings that had previously been concealed due to the height of the rampart walls. Another gate with a portcullis lay at the end of the courtyard. When they reached it, they were greeted by grooms who cared for their weary horses.

Ransom felt a pulse of warning in his heart as he dismounted. He glanced around, anticipating an ambush, but there were only a few knights milling about. Joining the others, he continued through the portcullis, which opened to another massive courtyard. A single cottage sat to his right, servants passing in and out of it, and the palace loomed to his left. A huge well lay partway across the wide-open space, and servants were drawing water from the cistern waters below. The huge square tower was impressive, but Ransom’s attention was drawn to another tower, a shorter one, off by itself at the farthest point of the building. Covered walkways led to it, and he felt a whisper from the Fountain confirming that Benedict was being kept there. He stared at the small windows, at the thick stone walls. Gripping the pommel of his sword, he fought the urge to charge the structure and rescue Benedict himself. He knew in his heart that such an attempt would be folly.

A messenger approached them after the grooms had taken their horses. The man spoke to Cecily in Brugian at first and then, once he realized where they were from, he changed his language.

“Velcome, honored guests. Follow me, please.”

He led them toward the castle, and as they approached the looming structure, Ransom felt a throb of Fountain magic coming from within. It was the presence of another who had Fountain magic . . . but it wasn’t Alix. This magic had an unnatural element to it—like a stagnant pond instead of a cool rush of water. It felt wrong, twisted, and it made him instantly uneasy at what they would find within the keep.

They were escorted up a twisting set of stairs within a tower well until they reached a higher level, whereupon they were brought through several rooms, each one richly furnished. The interior passageways were narrow and short and very dark, and Ransom had to duck to change rooms on occasion. His feelings of dread intensified the deeper they went. In his mind, he cast a silent plea to the Fountain for help.

When they reached the main hall, the sense of splendor rivaled anything Ransom had seen in Kingfountain or Pree. The space boasted a vaulted ceiling, and the walls were covered in rich wainscoting stained a rich chestnut. Four chandeliers hung from elaborate chains, bathing the hall in warm light. There were windows on the left side, which he’d seen on the ride up, but inside, they were framed with stone embossed with gold. The floor was also polished wood but fixed in an elaborate herringbone pattern, the strips of wood alternating in color and stain. Padded benches framed the area to his right, with wooden chairs filling in the open space. There were easily a hundred people crowded into the room, the guests representing a variety of stations and kingdoms. The feeling of Fountain magic was coming from the other end of the hall. He looked for Longmont but didn’t see him.

An elaborate golden facade decorated the far end of the hall, with a few shields bedecked with the crest of a gauntleted fist arranged amidst a swooping design. The metal reflected light from the four chandeliers, giving the impression the facade was on fire. Two rows of chairs, perpendicular to the rest, stretched across that side of the room. The guests who sat there were more expensively appointed than the rest.

The servant led them down a gap between the benches and the chairs on the right side of the hall and brought them closer. A velvet curtain hung between a triple archway in the facade and there, at the base, sat a man who was undoubtedly the master of the castle.