The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(94)

Severn Argentine, Lord of Ceredigion





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


The King’s Word



Owen sat astride his horse, ready for battle, with a thick chain hauberk beneath his heavy fur cloak, bracers on his arms, and a shield strapped to his saddle harness. The hilt of Firebos protruded from its scabbard, and he felt the magic of the blade thrumming against his hip. The blade sensed the looming battle, and was eager for it. A flock of young squires stood nearby with spears, in case they were needed.

The road was covered in freshly fallen snow, but trample marks showed the paths of the horses that had been ridden to and from the village throughout the night. Hastily built pavilions had been erected in the woods on either side of the road, but no one had slept that night, especially not Owen, for fear the king would try to slip away in the dark. The Espion who were loyal to Kevan had revealed that the king was still sequestered in a wealthy lord’s house. His army had marched the streets all night, expecting a night attack from Owen that hadn’t come. The two armies had faced each other silently, waiting for dawn to break the deadlock.

Kevan Amrein sat astride as well, but he was only there to relay intelligence about the king’s movements. He was not a warrior, and would not ride into battle should one break out.

Severn was in a terrible position. He had the mountains of Dundrennan at his back. Evie and Iago held the high ground and the keep. If the king attacked Owen’s army, they would attack him from the rear. If he tried to assault the castle, Owen would flank him from behind. The two armies were evenly matched, but Brythonica’s forces were already hastening to join them.

“How far is the duchess by your reckoning?” Owen asked Kevan, leaning on the saddle.

The Espion had a day’s growth on his chin from not shaving. “Two days, maybe less,” he said. “The roads are getting worse by the day. Will this infernal storm ever end?”

“No, it won’t,” Owen said, gazing down at the road toward the village. “Not until it’s over.” The biggest question in his mind was whether Severn would fight. Owen could have arranged for the king’s abduction. It would not have been easy, but there were many who would be willing to do such a thing to prevent bloodshed. But Owen did not want to topple Severn through trickery. A king deserved the chance to die in battle if he so chose. But it was not a battle Owen was anxious to start.

Captain Ashby’s horse rode up from the camp and aligned next to his.

“What news, Ashby?” Owen asked. “How are the men?”

Ashby had a serious cast to his face, but he looked confident too. They had led many battles together, and the older man had learned to trust Owen’s instincts and strategies.

“They are nervous, as you can well imagine,” the captain said gruffly. “You’ve not lost a battle. That bodes well. But neither has the king. Money is going to change hands when this is through. I put my money on you, my lord.”

Owen smiled and chuckled softly. “Thank you.” He stared at the lonely road, feeling warm beneath his cloak, gloves, and armor. In fact, he was a bit too warm. The scabbard was snug around his waist, and he felt the soothing, healing influence of it chase away his aches and pains.

“It’s no small matter rebelling against a king,” Owen said. “I’m sure the men have mixed emotions, as do I. But I swear to you, this winter will not end if Severn keeps his throne. His actions have doomed us all. The duchess and I could not let that calamity fall without acting against it.”

Ashby sniffed and then straightened. “Riders.”

The sound of hooves in the snow followed his warning, and men appeared on the road ahead. Owen saw the herald hoisting the banner of the king, the White Boar. A chill rattled Owen’s bones when he saw it, and his breath quickened. Three men approached the line.

“We have visitors,” Owen said, glancing at the cloud-veiled sky. The hour was indistinguishable in the wintery haze, but he guessed it was still before noon. He glanced at Kevan. “Get Farnes over here. Quickly.”

As the riders drew closer, Owen recognized Catsby. The third person was the king’s personal squire.

“Interesting,” Ashby said under his breath.

Owen wondered if the king would surrender or summon them to battle. The king had the Wizr set, which meant he would be difficult to beat. He also had Drew, the boy he believed Owen was positioning to be king. But did Severn truly understand the importance of his advantages? Did he know that the board possessed powers of its own? That the boy in his tent was the only other person in Ceredigion who could use it? Owen hoped not. He’d considered sending a man to steal the set and rescue the lad, but if the man were captured, it would reveal too much. Owen knew his next moves needed to be very careful. He couldn’t risk the boy’s life. Nervous energy raced through him as the trio arrived.

“My lord Catsby,” Owen said, nodding in wary respect.

“My lord,” Catsby said. “I bear this message from the king. He told me to entrust it to no man but you.”

Owen smirked. “He knows I’m alive?”

Catsby looked as if he’d tasted something sour. “He knows you aren’t dead. He realizes he’s surrounded, on unfavorable ground, by a rebel force that is likely larger than his own. You’ve cut off our supplies and all hope of succor. The longer this farce continues, the more damage the true enemies of our realm will do. I saw him write the note myself. I can assure you, it is his will.”