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With great care, the three forged their way downstream and onto the opposite bank. They galloped across an open field and entered a tall dark wood.
Christina shivered against Ransom, and suddenly half a dozen men with drawn bows were around them.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“Brankin!” shouted Ransom in recognition.
“Ransom, is that you?”
The man moved closer. “Why I’ll be, it is you. Is that Annabeth?” he asked, nodding towards Christina.
“No, Brankin. I would like you to meet Prince Alfred and Lady Christina.”
“So, you couldn’t find her? Eh. She was too elusive even for the great soldier, bounty hunter, tracker, Ransom.”
“No, I found her. She’ll be here later with the famous minstrel, Song Lark.”
“You are a bounty hunter?” asked Alf, suddenly ill at ease.
“Among other things,” answered Ransom calmly, with a smile.
“Well, come on, you are wasting time and your father will be delighted to see you, Prince Alfred,” said Brankin
“What? My father?” asked the Prince, baffled.
“Yes, your father. When he found out there was trouble here he came back in disguise and asked King Harold for his help. His men just finished fighting a war, and he doesn’t want to send them into another.”
Coming through the forest, they arrived at a bustling camp filled with a ready army. Swords were being sharpened, arrows fitted with feathers and notched into bows, and armor polished to shining perfection. They came to the largest tent surrounded by guards. Dismounting, all were given immediate entrance.
Ransom watched as the father and son reunited. A lump rising in his throat, he glanced at his king who motioned him into the adjoining tent.
“You have anticipated my next request, but failed my first.”
“Annabeth will be here by tonight, your majesty. We were being followed and decided to split up.”
“Well, that is good, because we need her.”
Ransom’s brow wrinkled. “What? I am sorry, sire?”
“We need to know everything she knows about Anondorf, and then we will have to turn her over to Eliot.”
“I don’t understand, your majesty.”
“Eliot has managed to make himself Raburn’s new captain of the guard. Unfortunately, he has not been able to get into the castle to let us know what the fortress is like, and I am unwilling to send in my forces without knowing the layout. From what I have heard, the place is a death trap.”
“You aren’t thinking of letting him turn her in.”
“I don’t see that I have much of a choice. None of his men will defect. They are terrified of the man and I can’t blame them, but I am not about to send my men into the lion’s jaws without the layout of the place.”
“Sire, I was there. I can tell you what it was like. Song Lark was there; he will tell you, and Annabeth—she knows every corner of the place. You don’t need to turn her in to get the information. Eliot doesn’t have to do anything, just get out.”
“You really think that you can tell us everything we need to know?”
“A good deal of it.”
“Start mapping it out,” he said, pushing quill and parchment towards Ransom. “I’ll see what kind of a message I can get to Eliot. His spy should be reporting back any time now to let me know what is going on.”
Nearly an hour later, Ransom pushed away the parchment and quill. It was in the deepest detail he could remember. Wearing the monk’s hood hadn’t helped him much; hopefully Song Lark and Annabeth would know more.
Suddenly, Ransom became restless. Something was wrong, desperately wrong. He looked at the sky. It was as blue and perfect as any heart could wish.
Pacing in front of the tent, he stamped his foot impatiently. They should arrive there at any time.
Readying a fresh horse, he decided to search for them.
“Hello, Ransom,” offered a voice near at hand as he tightened the saddle strap. “Where are you off to?”
“Just around.”
“Well, you don’t have to bother looking for Annabeth anymore.”
“What?”
The man smiled. “Eliot has her. Do you know where the king is?”
Numbness paralyzed Ransom’s heart, but he kept moving like nothing had happened, just like he had trained himself. “He was in his tent just a little while ago,” his voice said evenly.
“Thank you! We’ll have to catch up later, aye?”
He nodded and mounted. “I’ll see you around.”
Turning his horse’s head, he turned back from where the messenger had come. Ransom dug his heels into the horse’s sides, spurring him into a gallop. There was no time to lose. His heart was aching, aching unbearably for Annabeth.
Arriving at the river, he stormed up the bank, hoping he would somehow find or catch them in time to stop what was going to happen next. He found the trail, then galloped out of the riverbank and followed it.
“Ransom, is that you?” asked a husky voice.
“Song Lark?” he asked, his heart flashing up in his throat.
In a moment he had located the wounded man.
“What happened to you? Where is Annabeth?”
“They’ve got her,” he whispered hoarsely. “They couldn’t find me—not that they looked, they were too happy to have her. You’ve got to get help. Thirty of them took her—at least.”
“Thirty?” Ransom winced.
“You’ve got no chance against them. You have to get help.”
All this while, Ransom had been tending to Song Lark’s wounded shoulder; he had extracted the arrow head and was binding the wound with Song Lark’s shirt.
“We’ll see about that,” he muttered under his breath. “Drink this. Now, how strong do you feel? Can you ride?”
“Yes.”
“Good, ‘cause I am going to need your help.”
In a few minutes they had mounted double in on the horse. Ransom followed the trail and read the small battle scene for himself.
“She didn’t stand a chance. Why didn’t I just follow orders?” he muttered under his breath. Turning his horse, they galloped towards Anondorf.