The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(95)
Catsby swatted his horse’s flanks and came closer to present the note bearing the royal seal. Owen accepted it, using his replenished Fountain magic to detect weakness or trickery. There was no poison on the note, nothing but ink and wax. He used his power on Catsby and found that all the man’s weapons were clearly visible. Catsby was not that capable a soldier, and Owen sensed the man’s secret fear of his own reputation with a sword.
He broke the seal and quickly read the message declaring the king’s surrender.
“What does it say, my lord?” Ashby said in an undertone.
Owen felt a surge of relief flood his heart. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until this very moment. The words were definitely Severn’s. There was plenty of spite in them. His accusation that Owen intended to rule the realm was particularly vengeful. But the king still had the boy, and Owen needed to separate them.
“The king has surrendered,” Owen said with relief as Kevan and Farnes drew near.
“Truly?” Farnes asked with surprise.
“Read it for yourself,” he said, handing the note to him. He nodded for Kevan to do the same.
“There is no cause for bloodshed,” Catsby said. “I am authorized on the king’s behalf to negotiate his surrender. Is it your desire to execute him? He especially wishes to know your intentions on that front.”
Rather than relief, Owen felt a strange sensation of dread. A feeling of heaviness had settled on him. Years earlier, Ankarette had told him a story that had never left him. A story about how a prince had persuaded a rebel army to lay down its arms. In the moment of relief that followed, the prince had broken his word and attacked his unprepared enemies. The leaders were all taken to the river and drowned because they were wearing heavy armor.
Owen remembered being stricken with shock—his young mind had struggled to understand such deep lies.
He still remembered the look of sadness on her face. That is the way of princes and power, Owen. That is the nature of the kingdom of Ceredigion. In truth, it is the nature and disposition of most men. So think on this. If you were one of the rebel leaders and the prince promised you forgiveness and reward, it would matter, very much, if you had discernment. He needed to make a decision based on what type of man he believed the prince to be. Was he a man of honor? Or was he willing to say anything, do anything to help his father keep his crown? That is why discernment is the most important thing you can learn, Owen. It takes time and experience. Sadly, one wrong judgment can lead to . . . well, you heard the end of the story.
Yes, he knew the feint well.
“The king sent you with this note?” Owen demanded hotly. “He intends to surrender?”
Catsby looked confused. “He told me so himself, Lord Owen, in no uncertain terms. He will surrender to you. He sent me to negotiate the terms. I swear it!”
The man’s face was convincing. His words were convincing. And Owen felt magic in his words—magic pressing against his own in an effort to persuade him the king’s words were true. But Owen’s magic prevented others from controlling him this way.
“Well, this is the best news that we could possibly have received!” Farnes said with triumph. “I’m quite relieved, to be honest.”
“It’s not true,” Owen said, shaking his head. “This isn’t a surrender. It’s a trap.”
“Are you certain, my lord?” Ashby asked him with a worried tone. “The king knows he’s been trapped.”
A cheer arose in the distance. It sounded as if it came from the walls of Dundrennan itself. Horns began to blow. Not war horns, but the blasts of victory.
Owen discerned what was happening. The king had also sent word to Evie and Iago. He had used his magic to convince his messengers that he was serious. That the surrender was true. Catsby’s manner was not that of a duplicitous man. He appeared convinced that a surrender truly was underway.
“Trumpets?” Kevan asked with concern.
Catsby nodded. “The king sent word to the castle. Our soldiers are half-frozen. He’s asking if they can fall in with the garrison after we’ve concluded the negotiation. I tell you, Lord Owen, the king is sincere! He put his hand on my shoulder and told me most emphatically that he was surrendering. He wanted to be sure I convinced you he was in earnest. All that is required is—”
“Captain!” Owen interrupted. “Marshal the sergeants. We’re about to be attacked. Do it now! I want archers and pikemen lining the road. Prepare for battle!”
Catsby looked outraged. “How dare you!” he shouted. “This is bloody murder! The king has surrendered, I say!”
“Then why is his army marching up behind you!” Owen snarled as the ranks of archers jogged up the road in the distance. He unstrapped the shield from his saddle horn and snugged it up his arm. Then he drew the blade, Firebos. As it cleared the scabbard, the sky rumbled with thunder.
Blood seeped into the muddy snow. Owen’s arms were weary from combat, but he gripped the hilt of Firebos tightly to counter the thrust of a spearman. The magic of the blade thrummed when he brought it down on the haft of the inferior weapon, and a blast of power sent the spearman flying backward as if he’d been struck by a battering ram. Owen’s ears rang with the feeling of power that came from his blows. Several archers had aimed for him specifically, but their arrows had pierced him without bringing him down. The scabbard’s magic was burning white-hot against his hip, keeping his wounds from bleeding.