Flight From Blithmore (11 page)

The
people around her were distractions. Henry had asked her to focus on discerning
the intentions of her host. Occasionally she caught glimpses of patrons
entering, sometimes in groups and sometimes alone, like the monk who limped in
slowly, aided by Isabelle’s same escort to a small table not far from where she
sat. Seating for him must have cost extra, because when the old monk sat down,
his trembling hand pressed a small number of double crowns into the escort’s
waiting palm.

“You
must be thrilled beyond words for this meal,” Emperor Krallick said, pulling
Isabelle back to the conversation. At first, she thought she hadn’t heard him
correctly, then he continued. “Let me assure you that the real thrill belongs
to me. I consider myself fortunate to meet you.”

Isabelle
tried to smile at the Emperor’s words and was ultimately successful. “May I ask
a frank question, your Majesty?”

“Yes,
of course you may.”

She
realized that when he looked at her, his gaze focused more on her lips than her
eyes. Was that a normal custom in Neverak?

“Thank
you. How did you come to know about me? Was it my father?”

Emperor
Krallick chuckled, put a slice of bread on his plate, and topped it with
blueberry jam. “Berries don’t grow as well in the north, of course. I do enjoy
Blithmore blueberries. Please help yourself to anything you see. I insist on
it.”

He
held the bread while wearing his gloves. It was against the custom of Blithmore
to eat while gloved, but he took a large bite of his food, anyway. He chewed
slowly, as if to demonstrate to her how delicious the bread tasted.

“Now
to your question. The answer is yes. Your father came to my country and sought
an audience with me. When I granted his request, he came to my throne with only
your portrait and your story.”

As
he spoke, Isabelle gave into the temptation of the food and chose carefully
among the selections the dishes she most preferred. The Emperor watched as she
made her selections and seemed pleased with her decision to sample the roasted
duck.

“My
story?” she repeated.

“Yes,
of course.” He put a small morsel of lamb into his mouth and savored its
flavor. “I’ll admit, I was moved. He told me of your family’s financial state,
the tragedy of your mother’s early death, and your inevitable marriage to a
wealthy craftsman who is trying to take advantage of your father’s poverty. May
I inquire as to the taste of the duck?”

Isabelle
took her first bite and swallowed. “Delicious,” she replied. It was the truth.
In fact, she had never tasted better.

The
Emperor sampled a piece for himself. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? I prefer the lamb,
of course. We raise hundreds of thousands of them in the colder climate of
Neverak, but all the meats here are very tender.”

“Your
Majesty,” Isabelle began, “I’m afraid—I am sorry to tell you my father may
have—have . . . misrepresented many facts to you.”

“I
think you are being modest,” the Emperor said as he tried the green beans, “and
there is no need.”

“No,
I am telling you—”

“Do
you mean to deny that your father is all but a pauper-nobleman?”

“No,
not—”

“Or
that your mother recently passed on?”

“What
I’m saying—”

“Or
that you are not about to announce your engagement to a man beneath your
title?”

“Yes!”
Isabelle cried a little louder than she meant. “I do intend to marry a man, but
out of love, not compulsory means.”

Emperor
Krallick was truly surprised at her statement and his eyes narrowed on her as
he chewed another bean. “A man you . . . love?”

“Dearly.”

“Certainly
not enough to refuse the offer of an Emperor.” He gave her a small grin, as
though they shared a private joke.

“Yes,”
Isabelle replied, her eyes on her food. “Even that.”

“You
don’t even know me yet.”

When
she finally looked up, she thought he appeared very disappointed at her
confession of affection. “I have no doubt you’re a wonderful person, your
Majesty, and I know most women would think me utterly mad for doing this, but I
can’t accept your offer.”

Emperor
Krallick sat up straight with a small sigh and put his fork down. “I had hoped
this wouldn’t happen. There is no way you would willingly go with me? Live in
my enormous palace for the rest of your life? Have your every need met in an
instant?” He snapped his fingers loudly, as if to show her exactly what he
meant.

Isabelle
smiled, flattered by his offer. “The man I love is worth giving all that away.
To him, I already am an empress.”

“An
empress?” Emperor Krallick repeated with his eyes fixed on hers. His voice was
soothingly soft, almost entrancing. “Isabelle, you are beautiful. One of the
most beautiful women I have ever seen . . . . ”

“Thank
you, your Majesty.”

“But
an empress?”

“Yes,
it’s much to pass by, I know.” She gave him a nervous smile and wiped her lips
with the cloth napkin.

“You
could never pass it by,” he told her, his accent thicker than ever. “I have not
offered it to you.”

Isabelle
stopped chewing her small piece of bread and swallowed a large gulp of water.
It tasted bitter after the sweetness of the bread. “I don’t understand. Your
letter to me spoke of love and implied marriage.”

The
Emperor nodded, his eyes again on her lips. “I imagine it did. I hired a writer
to compose it. Was it effective?”

The
comment surprised Isabelle, but hearing it emboldened her. “No, the letter was
awful.”

Emperor
Krallick’s smile disappeared. Isabelle thought it almost laughable that he was
upset over the contents of a letter he hadn’t bothered to write himself. “That
will have to be mended. Regardless, my offer to you was not of marriage.”

“What
was your offer?”

“Simply
put that you live in my castle and be there to serve me when you are wanted.”

“A
hired servant?” Isabelle repeated with disgust.

“No.”
Emperor Krallick’s expression betrayed his surprise at Isabelle’s lack of
understanding. “Not a hired servant . . . a concubine.”

“I
refuse.” She took her napkin from her lap and wiped herself again with it. “And
I wish to leave immediately.”

Emperor
Krallick’s hand immediately rested on hers. The swiftness and gentleness of his
touch amazed her. “Isabelle,” he said in that same soft tone, and quieter than
ever, “I have already bought and paid for you.”

It
could not be true. Slavery had been outlawed in Blithmore for almost two
centuries. Slaves could not be purchased, sold, or kept. Isabelle pulled her
hand away and made to stand, but her legs did not respond. She tried again with
the same result. She looked around at the other patrons, but everyone was
oblivious to her plight. Only those men who had been watching all along knew
what was happening. They seemed amused at her horror.

“Let
me go!” she meant to cry, but sound did not accompany her mouth’s movements.

The
Emperor’s smile remained as gentle as ever with his square teeth glistening
whitely behind his lips. It broadened only when he saw her lips move without
sound. He spoke to her in a near whisper. “It’s beginning to take effect, the
poison.” Then he let out a slow sigh. “I sincerely hoped you would be flattered
by my offer. Of course, I’m not an unhandsome man. I know that. Your father
warned me you might react this way to my proposal.” He watched her obsessively
as her head dropped, giving her the appearance of being deep in thought. “Don’t
fear, Isabelle, and don’t panic. Getting upset only makes it work more
effectively.”

Isabelle’s
heart raced, and she tried to scream, but nothing would respond. She tried
getting up again, even pushing herself up, but her mind now felt disconnected
from her legs and arms.

“You
will appear very sick—as though you’ve fainted. I’ll carry you out in my arms,
take you into my carriage, and in a few days you will be with me in my kingdom.
I wish I had you there already, but these things take time to arrange.”

Isabelle’s
last attempt was to move the small finger on her left hand. Though her muscles
were sluggish, she moved it with great effort against the handle of her thin
steel goblet. It shook mightily as she felt the cold metal against her skin.
Finally, she hooked it. The goblet toppled down onto her plate in a crash,
spilling water onto the table.

Several
people looked in their direction. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the old
monk get up slowly, trembling even more than before. The Emperor made to get
out of his seat, probably to carry out his farce of helping her to his
carriage. Before he could stand, there was a flash of light at the top of
Isabelle’s vision. Emperor Krallick froze.

Isabelle
was barely able to see what was happening as her sight dimmed. She saw the
monk’s robe behind the Emperor’s chair, and realized that the flash of light
was the reflection of the candles on a sword—a sword pressed against the
Emperor’s neck.

“Move
an inch, and I’ll slit your throat,” Henry’s voice ordered from beneath the
hood.

Sixteen
-

An Unlikely Rescue

Though
the Emperor
stayed quite still, several men around the room drew out
swords or crossbows. Other patrons cried out in fright. Those with swords moved
forward and those with crossbows leveled them at Henry. In response, Henry’s
trembling hands pressed the blade tighter still against the Emperor’s neck,
causing the Emperor to gasp.

“Order
them to stand down,” Henry told Emperor Krallick.

“Stand
down!” the Emperor announced.

A
loud
twang
rang out in the silence. An arrow flew within two inches of
Henry’s face. His startled jerk drew a line of blood from Emperor Krallick’s
skin.

“Stand
down!” the Emperor hissed again as he glanced to see who had fired the shot.
This time the order was followed by the clanking of swords dropped on the
wooden floor and the careful placement of crossbows at feet.

“Henry
Vestin,” the Emperor’s voice remained much calmer than Henry had imagined it
would be, “you will not make it out of here alive.”

Another
patron stood up. This second man had a very large blond mop of hair and an
unruly moustache. Henry didn’t react as the blond man began collecting the
swords and disabling the crossbows, but the roguish grin on his face helped
Henry think clearly.

“Who
is that?” the Emperor asked, watching this man out of the corner of his eye.

“No
one of your concern,” was all Henry dared answer.

“You’ve
killed him, too, I hope you know that,” came the reply in the same soft,
confident voice that Henry found so unsettling.

“I
said it’s none of your concern.”

“His
death should be your concern. The penalty in your country for an assault on
royalty is death.”

“I
am fully aware of the laws I am breaking,” Henry answered as he watched the man
in the wig remove all weapons from the vicinity.

“Then
you haven’t thought of your family, your employees, or your friends. All of
them will suffer prison or death if they have aided you.”

It
stunned Henry that an Emperor could know so much about him and speak with such
control while a blade was pressed to his throat. Ruther finished with the
weapons, and Henry gestured to Isabelle’s limp form now motionless at the
table. Ruther quickly scooped her into his arms, and for the first time, Henry
sensed an aura of real displeasure from the Emperor.

“Stand
up,” he told the Emperor.

The
Emperor slowly complied. “Be ready to leave the moment I am released,” he
commanded his own men. Then to Henry he said, “I will watch you die. I swear
it.”

Ruther
led the way with Isabelle in his arms, while Henry backed out with his sword
still pressed against Emperor Krallick. Henry’s fastest carriage stood ready
outside the inn with Maggie holding the reins of the horses. Getting the
carriage through the blockade had not been cheap.

“What
happened to her?” Maggie asked when she saw Isabelle’s state, but Ruther didn’t
answer. He gently placed Isabelle in the carriage, climbed in behind, and let
Henry know he was ready. Henry gave Emperor Krallick a sound kick to the
backside. The Emperor fell to his knees, and Henry sheathed his sword as he
jumped into the carriage behind Ruther.

“Drive!”
he yelled to Maggie. “Just drive!”

Though
Henry and Ruther, both in their disguises, had been required to submit to a
search by the blockade to enter this area of the city, no such examination was
necessary to leave. Shouts came from the inn as they passed the guardsmen.
Maggie urged the horses forward at full speed while Henry and Ruther attended
to Isabelle. Henry did all he could to revive Isabelle short of harming her,
but nothing invoked a response. He called her name several times, but it was
like speaking to a corpse.

“Did
you hear what he was saying to her?” Henry asked Ruther.

“No,
he spoke too quietly.”

Henry
nodded. He, too, had been unable to hear, and only the signal of the tipped
goblet had told him something was wrong. Now he hoped that his ineptitude had
not cost Isabelle her life. “Is she—I don’t know how to help her. How do I know
if she’s even alive?”

Ruther
pulled open her eye for a moment and stared. What he did looked painful, and
Henry moved to stop him. “She’s alive, friend. I learned a trick from a man out
west in an inn once. You check the eyes to see if the hole in the center
changes. If it does, she is alive.”

“What
if she’s dying? Poison or something?”

“I
don’t think this poison, or whatever it is, will permanently harm her,” Ruther
said. “I think she’s asleep.”

“Why?”

“Think,
Henry. Why would the Emperor want to harm her?”

“I
don’t know. How long do you think she will sleep?”

Ruther
frowned at him. “I’m a storyteller. What do I know? It could be minutes or
years.”

Henry
took the monk’s robe off. Beneath, he wore his own clothes. He stuck his head
out the canvas and checked for anyone behind them.

“We’re
clear so far.” His words sounded tight. “Thank you both for all your help.
Ruther, I think your disguise fooled them. You should be safe. Just destroy
that wig.”

“Heavens,
no, friend.” Ruther folded the robe back into a neat roll. “This is too much
fun. I’m going with you.”

Henry
saw the determination in his friend’s eyes. “You owe me nothing.”

“I
know. You think if you leave me, I’ll drink myself to death. While that could
be true, if I don’t go with you, who will defend Maggie and Isabelle?”

“I
fared well tonight,” Henry pointed out.

“All
you did was hold a sword against his throat. You have no skill at swordplay.”

“This
coming from a storyteller!”

“Another
good reason for me to join you. This adventure will give me the greatest
stories to tell.”

“If
we survive.”

“The
storyteller always survives, friend.”

The
carriage pressed on swiftly. Henry tried to grasp exactly what path lay before
them. The clopping of the horses’ hooves came at a steady rhythm. Fortunately,
Henry only heard his own horses.

“You’re
giving up much,” Ruther reminded him, “and risking everything.”

“I
gain everything.” Henry’s eyes were on Isabelle as he said this. Then he shook
his head and rubbed his temples. “I can’t believe it came to this.”

“It’s
not your fault.”

“We
should have left with the money when we had the chance.”

“Only
storytellers know the sequence of events from beginning to end.” Ruther grinned
as if impressed by his own brilliance.

“You’re
really coming with me?”

Ruther
nodded, his grin not so bright now.

“I
really am humbled. Thank you.”

“What
will be done with your home and shop?”

“Master
Franklin, the silversmith, will sell it all and hold the money in trust, though
I doubt I’ll ever return to claim it.” Henry’s heart hammered in his chest.
“We’ve got enough gold in hand to build a good homestead and a better woodshop,
assuming I can find people who’ll want my services . . . and I can us get out
of this country.”

The
carriage slowed as it turned onto Shop Street. Henry and Ruther readied
themselves to act. The moment the carriage stopped in front of the house, they
sprang out the doors and rushed inside. The plan was simple and rigidly fixed:
go to the homestead, harness the horses to the other carriage, load the
remaining packs, and leave. While the men grabbed the packs, Maggie harnessed
the horses to the larger but slower traveling carriage as the lighter one was
not sturdy enough to carry all their supplies over a great distance.

Ruther
went to the pantry where their packs waited. Meanwhile, Henry crossed through
the den and upstairs into his parents’ bedroom. After closing the door quietly
behind him, he went to his father’s old desk where he’d kept record of his
ever-growing quantity of orders and receipts for customers. The bottom drawer
stored some of Maggie’s spare clothes. Henry removed all of these in one scoop.
Then he reached to the back of the bottom panel and activated a secret spring.
The panel lifted up. Henry took it out and removed a small brown leather pouch
connected to a long chain. He put the chain around his neck, tucking the pouch
under his shirt. Then he pulled the desk away from the wall and retrieved a
large roll of cloth behind it. Inside the fabric was his father’s sword. A
thump coming from the next room made him jump.

“Ruther?”
he called out, but heard no reply.

He
left his parents’ room and went to the room where the apprentices slept,
holding the lantern out in front of him. “Brandol?” he asked when he saw his
journeyman standing in the dark room. “What are you doing here?”

“I—I
had forgot something,” Brandol mumbled in an embarrassed tone.

“The
house isn’t safe anymore. You’d better go now.”

Brandol
nodded. Henry hurried downstairs ahead of him and went out to the carriages. As
he approached, he heard Maggie and Ruther conversing:

“We
have to get it, Ruther! Aren’t you listening?”

“We
have no time!”

“I
don’t care. It’s Isabelle’s pack, and we aren’t traveling with a coffer that
won’t open.”

Henry
stepped into the stable. “What’s the matter?”

Maggie
stepped away from Ruther. “Isabelle’s pack is missing. Norbin was supposed to
bring it and leave it on the back steps. It has the key to the coffer inside.”

“I
thought the money is in bags,” Henry reminded her.

“Yes,
and Isabelle asked me to put the bags inside the coffer and lock it.”

“Don’t
you have the key?”

“I
did,” Maggie explained, “but I gave it back to her earlier today so Norbin
could watch it while we were gone.”

Henry
looked from Ruther to Maggie. “I’ll go fetch the pack. You both finish getting
ready.”

“You
do realize who’ll be there, don’t you?” Ruther called after him. Henry ignored
Ruther’s comment and threw the wrapped sword into the carriage. “You’re not
even taking a weapon?”

“What
good would it do me?” Henry shouted back as he left.

He
knew as he jogged to Oslan Manor that he should feel some measure of fear, but
he didn’t. After holding a blade to the neck of the Emperor of Neverak, Lord
Oslan no longer seemed such an imposing figure.

He
did not bother knocking before entering. He went straight for the stairs. About
halfway there, Oslan came out of his den with a large book in one hand and a
pipe in the other. “Who is that?” he asked.

 Norbin’s
head poked out from the servant’s quarters. “Miss Isabelle?”

Oslan
smiled when he saw Henry’s face. “She’s gone now, boy. There’s nothing you can
do about it.”

Henry
ignored him and ran to the stairs.

“Where
are you going? Get out of here!”

Isabelle’s
pack rested on the floor in her darkened room. Through the floor, he heard the
movement and voices of both Lord Oslan and Norbin. After a few seconds of
searching through the bag, Henry found the key. He hefted the bag over his
shoulder. The sound of footsteps reached him. Lord Oslan pushed open the door.
Henry recognized the Oslan family sword gleaming brightly in his hand.

“You
threw me out of your house for trespassing, but I will kill you for entering
mine.”

“I
am leaving right now,” Henry said. He made to go around Lord Oslan, but found
his path blocked.

“Put
down the bag,” Lord Oslan said and gripped the sword tighter.

Henry
took a deep breath. His eyes focused on nothing but the sword, hoping he hadn’t
run out of courage for the day. “No, I won’t do that.”

Lord
Oslan moved forward with careful steps, the tip of his sword level with Henry’s
heart. The manic glow in his eyes made his intentions clear. “Isabelle is gone.
Put down that bag.”

Henry’s
blood pounded a war beat in his head as his reason melted in the place of rage.
“You are a fool. You always have been. Did you think I would send her alone?
Isabelle is at my home right now. I’ll be glad to tell her that you sent us off
with your best wishes.”

Lord
Oslan’s face fell and his hand twitched. “You will not leave with her!”

“You
are too late,” Henry shouted back, his whole frame was filled with a defiant
energy ready to be unleashed.

“YOU
WILL NOT LEAVE WITH HER!” As Lord Oslan screamed these words, he rushed at
Henry.

Henry
narrowly avoided the point of the blade as he threw himself aside, but the
sharpened edge caught him on the side, splitting a seam in his shirt and
drawing a thin line of blood. Lord Oslan’s weight carried him forward, catching
the bag, and sending them both to the ground. Henry heard the sword fall with a
clatter to the ground and lunged in that direction.