The Ransom Knight by Jonathan Moeller Page B

the leg. Mandor died three days later, weeping and feverish, as the remnants of his army straggled north.
    “Ah,” said Mattias, sipping at his ale. “My deepest condolences, my lord knight. At any rate, Lord Malden - and Sir Mazael here, I might add - prevailed over the Dominiars, and I resumed my wanderings. I visited Swordor, and spent some time in Redwater and Ravenmark shortly before the old Lord of Ravenmark disappeared. I performed in the Crown Prince’s great city of Barellion for a time, and fortunately left before those riots burned down half the city. Dreadful, that. Then I traveled across the Green Plain during the succession struggle, and just in the last year made my way to the Grim Marches.”
    “Quite a journey,” said Gerald.
    Mattias laughed. His gray eyes glittered. “Ah, my lord knight, it is nothing. In my time, I have visited half the world, I fear.”
    “You seem to have had singular bad luck in your travels,” said Mazael. “The war in Mastaria, the succession troubles in the Green Plain, the uprising in Barellion...why, it’s as if troubles sprout where you walk.”
    “I pity I cannot make wheat and barley sprout where I walk,” said Mattias, grinning. “Why, the lords of the Green Plain would shower me with riches to tramp about their fields, and I never would need work again.”
    Mazael and Gerald laughed. Wesson even smiled a little.
    “And now, it seems, my bad luck has struck again,” said Mattias. “Rumors of war sprout in the Grim Marches.”
    Mazael grimaced. “You must hear more than most. All we’ve heard are peasants’ gossip, each word more outrageous than the last.”
    Mattias laughed. “I fear knowledgeable peasants are as numerous as flying sheep, my lord. Every mercenary in the kingdom is making for Castle Cravenlock. The rumors say that Lord Mitor plans to rise against Lord Richard, the way the Dragonslayer rose against old Lord Adalon.” Mattias frowned and continued. “Those living near the Great Forest claim that the Elderborn—” Mazael thought it odd that a jongleur would use the wood elves’ proper name, “—plan to march from their forest and take bloody vengeance. And the closer you get to Castle Cravenlock, my lord, the wilder the rumors get. I met a peasant who swore that a malicious wizard was stirring up trouble. I have heard tales of ghosts rising from graveyards, and of snake-cults worshipping in cellars.” Mattias snorted. “To believe these fools, you’d think that the Old Demon himself haunted the Grim Marches.”
    “Aye, well, my father sent us as his emissaries,” said Gerald. “I know not what is happening, but with the gods’ blessing, we can end these disturbances without bloodshed.”
    Mattias sighed and rubbed his salt-and-pepper beard. “Ah, your hope warms my heart, my young lord, but I know otherwise. When lords quarrel, the law is set aside in favor of swords. You know those peculiar blood roses that bloom in the Grim Marches?  Well, the peasants say that only blood can irrigate those flowers, and we’ll have blood roses as far as the eye can see before this business is done.”
    Mazael blinked. For a moment, it seemed as if he could see blood; not drops or pools, or even streams, but a sea of blood stretching as far as his eye could survey. He blinked again and shook away the disturbing vision.
    “What makes you say that?” he said at last.
    “Your family, my lord knight, and the Mandragons have hated each other for centuries,” said Mattias. “Every child in the Grim Marches knows as much. Should it come to war, and I do hope that it does not, these proud lords will settle their differences with arms, not words.”
    “We’ll not know until we try,” said Gerald, crossing his arms, “and I am determined that we shall try.”
    Mattias smiled. “Ah, forgive me, for I am an old, old man, and I have forgotten the hopes of youth. I wish you the best of luck, my young lord, and hope all goes well with you.”
    “If