Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)(102)

“Ah. This is quite unusual. It’s been a few years since anyone has come here seeking such a boon.”

“Others have come?” Ransom asked.

He nodded. “Although few enough. This sanctuary was built by the King of Leoneyis before his kingdom was swept into the sea.”

Ransom studied the old man carefully. “That’s just a legend, is it not?”

“Yet here you are, come all this way, asking if you have special powers and gifts. I think people are drawn here because the king of Leoneyis had a Fountain-blessed knight who served him. An Oath Maiden.”

Ransom’s brow furrowed. “A woman?”

“Yes. She was not the first, nor will she be the last. She served her king dutifully, but he betrayed her in the end.”

A jolt of feeling went through Ransom’s heart at the words. The familiarity of the situation was unnerving.

“I’ve never heard of this before,” Ransom said.

“Of course not. There are records here, written on pages of vellum in ancient ink. One gets lonely after a while, being in such a secluded place. Reading is a good way to pass the time. Are the stories of King Andrew and his Ring Table merely that? Stories? Or are they records of a time long since past? You came here seeking to know if you are Fountain-blessed, but I’m afraid you will not find that answer here.”

Ransom felt a pang of disappointment. He’d hoped to finally have his answer, whatever that might be. “Why not?”

“Because in all the stories, those who are Fountain-blessed go on a pilgrimage. They travel far away, to the East Kingdoms. It’s a journey that takes a year each way. It’s a sacrifice of time that few nobles are willing to grant, especially to those who serve them. I daresay the Younger King would grant you permission to visit St. Penryn, but he would not be so keen to send you on such a long and perilous journey.”

It struck Ransom deeply that such a journey was now entirely possible. He had no one left to serve.

“If I were to undertake such a pilgrimage, where would I go?”

The deconeus huffed a laugh. “The last person to ask me that was a young woman of Occitania. She didn’t like the answer, and I doubt you will either.”

Ransom’s eyes widened. “Who was she?”

The older man shrugged. “She never told me her name. This was about six or seven years ago. I don’t believe she was married, but she looked to be roughly the age at which women marry. She wore a cloak and a hood.”

Ransom started. Was this the lady he had sensed and seen?

“Do you know her?” the deconeus asked, looking at him with open curiosity.

“I may know of whom you speak. There is a lady I have noticed . . . one whose presence I could sense.”

“That is a trait of the Fountain-blessed,” said the deconeus, eyeing Ransom with interest. “Did you know that? It’s in the writings.”

“And you do not know her name? She was from Occitania, though?”

“She spoke in Occitanian with an accent not from Pree, but . . . then again, you have a trace of accent yourself that is not from these parts. She said she’d gone to many sanctuaries seeking wisdom about how to know if she was one of the blessed. I will tell you what I told her. In all the stories, when one is blessed, they are given something from the Deep Fathoms. A treasured gift. Sometimes they’re given a choice of what to take, although the gifts are not always what they seem. Some are curses. King Andrew was given a sword and a scabbard. Yet the Wizr Myrddin told him the scabbard was more powerful than the sword.”

Ransom nodded, his attention riveted. “Where did you tell her to go?”

“There is a desert far to the east that separates us from the East Kingdoms. In the middle of the desert is an oasis called Chandleer. That is where I told the young woman to go. There is a fountain in the desert, a spring of pure water. That is why the caravans stop there. But it is a difficult journey. And dangerous.”

An itch had begun to quiver up Ransom’s spine upon hearing the man’s words. The words gave him a spark of hope. Something to focus on instead of hiding away. Perhaps the situation would improve if he left on this quest. Much could happen in two years. The furor might ebb; the truth might reveal itself.

“Did the young woman ever return?” Ransom asked.

The deconeus shook his head. “I never saw her again. Only the Fountain knows if she went on her quest.”

“Thank you, Deconeus. You have given me what I needed.”

“You will seek the oasis, then? That is your pilgrimage?”

“I believe so. May I borrow some parchment and ink? I need to pen a letter before I go. Is there a courier I can hire to send it?” He’d decided to write his warning to Devon before leaving. The letter might be read, but he was determined to plead his innocence and warn the king about the dangerous lady who was always lurking beyond sight. Especially since Noemie was perhaps aware of her.

The deconeus nodded grimly. “Of course. I’ll make the arrangements. But first I must ask you something. The records tell us that the Fountain-blessed glean strength from acts of self-discipline. They form habits, if you will, which strengthen their abilities. Because of their devotion to their craft, they are blessed with abilities beyond the ken of normal men and women. In the records, they call this magic. But it is more than superstition. They do not quit when challenges bar the way, and they are driven to feats that could be seen by some as truly miraculous. Have you experienced such as these before?”