The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(92)
A wry smile twisted the face of the Espion lieutenant. “It did not require much imagination to figure out where the king was planning to execute you. I had someone stationed at the river in case he planned on throwing you in, but I thought he’d keep with tradition. It’s part of the historical record that the Maid of Donremy was taken to Helvellyn for her execution. I sent word to Clark, knowing that he was already at Dundrennan.”
Owen smiled at the man and nodded. “And it was your idea to hide under blankets in the snow?”
Clark was not the type to appreciate such attention. He nodded curtly.
Iago laughed. “He’s too modest. It was bloody brilliant. He’s an excellent hunter and spy. I tell you, I was tempted to try and kill Severn myself when he came up the mountain so unprotected. If we could have hidden fifty men, it would have been the perfect trap. But I didn’t truly believe he’d leave his army, and we couldn’t risk that he would kill you before we got to him. All went well enough, though, so I shouldn’t complain.”
Evie squeezed his shoulder and he quieted down.
“Let my lady speak,” Iago said with a flamboyant gesture. “This was her strategy after all.”
Owen cocked his head to get a better look at her.
“When we found out you were compromised,” Evie said, “we needed to adjust our plans quickly, knowing we’d face the brunt of the king’s army. I think it’s better this way. He’ll be surrounded and cut off from his supplies. He’s coming to lay siege to the North, but he’ll be trapped here.”
“How so?” Owen asked. “Why can’t he retreat back to Kingfountain?”
She smiled mischievously. “Because your army is blocking the retreat.”
“Captain Ashby?” Owen asked with growing delight.
“Is on your side,” Kevan answered with a nod. “As are your men. And the Duchess of Brythonica’s forces will be arriving in two days. We’ll more than outnumber the king’s.”
Owen smiled. “She’s coming?”
Evie gave him a knowing look, a small smile on her face. “She’s kept us informed of her actions. There is more. Kevan? Tell him about the enemies of Ceredigion.”
Kevan nodded and clasped his hands behind his back. “The Duke of Brugia has breached the defenses of Callait. I see by your look you already knew this. He’s preparing ships to attack Kingfountain. Chatriyon is also marching with his army. They’ve swept into Westmarch behind the duchess’s forces. They’ve been joined by the Legaultans, who seek revenge on Severn for sacking their cities years ago. Westmarch is being fought for like scattered table scraps by hounds.”
Owen stared at him, his stomach clenching with worry. “That makes seven,” he whispered.
“What?” Evie asked him.
Owen stopped pacing. “The prophecy of the Dreadful Deadman says that seven kings will unite against Ceredigion, but I don’t think it literally means kings. Back in the days of King Andrew, each duchy was led by a king. It was a title, a rank, similar to that of a duke today.” He snapped his fingers. “Occitania, Brythonica, Leoneyis—that’s Westmarch—Atabyrion, Legault. In the past, North Cumbria was its own kingdom. And Brugia. That makes seven. Seven kings, or seven rulers, each invading Ceredigion. Severn brought his forces to the North because that is where his most loyal supporters have traditionally come from. This is the fulfillment of the prophecy. Only a new king can unify us again. A young man, hardly a boy, who is the rightful ruler of Ceredigion and who will restore the ancient rights of the sanctuaries.”
“And where is this rightful king?” Evie asked. “Is he still back at the palace? Should we send someone to fetch him?”
They were all looking at him. Only Lady Kathryn, Sinia, and the Deconeus of St. Penryn knew the secret now that Eyric and Etayne had gone on to the Deep Fathoms. “He’s down in the king’s camp with a Wizr board that can destroy all of us.”
Owen rubbed his forehead. It was time to tell them all the truth. He looked at the doors to make sure they were closed. “I must tell you about what I’ve been planning. It’s time you all knew. But before I do, I have a question to ask of you.” He turned to Evie. “Do you know of a boy in the castle named Carrick?”
Evie nodded. “He’s the son of my grandfather’s huntsman, Fergus. They’ve been out hunting meat to feed the soldiers. The boy is the best hunter in these parts. He has a gift.”
Owen smiled. “He’s Fountain-blessed.”
Owen’s legs ached from the long climb into the mountains behind the fortress of Dundrennan. He was wrapped in bearskin leggings, thick gloves, and several shirts and tunics, yet it was barely enough to suppress the chill of the descending night. Clark hiked alongside him, longbow at the ready, as did Evie, dressed in her sturdy leather boots. They followed Carrick, a sinewy lad with gray eyes and shorn hair, and his father. Fergus had a salt-and-pepper beard and an animated manner, but Carrick was quiet and sober-minded. He seemed older than his seventeen summers. They had warned the others that they were hunting in bear country and the beasts were especially hungry due to the early winter. They should be hibernating, but there was still the risk that some would be out looking for meat to sustain them.
Iago had remained behind with Kevan to oversee the castle’s defenses. He’d given Owen a wary look before they left, conveying the message that he had better protect Evie . . . or else. It was clear that while he trusted his wife on the jaunt, he was not happy about the risk they were taking by leaving the safety of Dundrennan.