Flight From Blithmore (12 page)

Lord
Oslan was not slow to recover from his tumble. Being a taller, but much thinner
man, he threw himself on Henry. Henry’s hand stopped inches from the sword’s
hilt. Lord Oslan scrambled to get it, but Henry used his free hand to prevent
Lord Oslan from gaining the advantage. Both men grunted as they grappled on the
floor, rolling back and forth, nearer and then farther from the sword.

Oslan’s
bony elbow caught Henry in the eye, and Henry’s left eye saw nothing but white
and black spots for several seconds. The telltale sound of metal scraping on
wood told him Lord Oslan had gotten the sword. Henry got to his feet. He
swallowed hard, but his throat was dry. At that moment, the front door to the
house opened loudly.

“Hello?”
The announcement came from someone Henry had not heard in many months.

“James!”
Henry yelled while keeping his one good eye on the sword. “Up here! Now!”

Lord
Oslan’s stance faltered only a little before he thrust again. Henry leaped
backwards into the wall to keep his distance. James’ footsteps thundered
through the house until his silhouette appeared in the door and with all the
training of a soldier he tackled the mysterious man with the sword pointed at
his friend.

“Get
off me, James!” Lord Oslan shouted. “He’s trespassing in our house and has
stolen Isabelle.”

James
jumped off of his father as if the old man was on fire. “Father? I didn’t
recognize you in the dark. What is going on here?”

Lord
Oslan hollered orders at his son, but Henry, knowing he could not waste another
moment, spoke loudest. “Your father has made a secret arrangement with Emperor
Krallick. She’s been injured, and I am taking her away, but I must leave now!”

“No!”
Lord Oslan countered. “Stop him, James. He—he lies!”

James
looked back and forth between the two panting men, one his own father and the
other almost a brother. Henry had forgotten what a large man James had become.
He was taller than Henry and more sturdily built. Years of military training
had turned his face into a stony fortress that kept almost all emotion locked
inside.

“James,
come with me and I will prove to you the truth,” Henry pleaded.

Something
settled James’ mind. With a withering stare at his father, he said, “I may
return here, Father. If what Henry says is true, that will be a dark and
terrible day for you.” Then he followed Henry, who picked up Isabelle’s pack
and left her room.

Norbin
was in the den when Henry and James entered the room. At the sound of them
entering the room, he looked up. His cheeks were red and wet. “Master Henry,
are you alright?”

Henry
nodded and came to the old man’s side. He felt an overwhelming surge of
gratitude for the good-hearted servant who’d done so much for him and Isabelle,
even at personal risk.

“How
is Miss Isabelle?” Norbin asked.

“She—she’s
fine, too.”

“The
pack, Master Henry, he wouldn’t let me leave the house. I’m so sorry. He
wouldn’t let me leave the house!”

James
clasped Henry around the arm. His hands were large, even by Henry’s standard.
“Where will you go with my sister?”

“We
intend to leave by a route which I won’t speak of here.”

“Then
I’ll go with you and see you safely there.”

Fortune
was smiling on him. There was no greater asset he could have than James. “Grab
your things,” Henry said. “We must go now.” Then he turned to Norbin. “Do you
wish to come with us?”

Norbin
smiled, his bright eyes filled to the brim with new tears. “I will be fine
here, but thank you for your concern.”

“Be
safe, old friend,” Henry said as James reentered the room with his travel bag.

“Hello
and farewell, Norbin,” James added. “I hope you’re well when we meet again.”

The
white moon beamed overhead as the two men hurried onto the lawn in the cool
quiet night. Henry heard the sounds of wagons tumbling at a fast pace along
nearby roads.

“Those
sound like guardsmen’s wagons,” James told him. “Are they coming this way?”

“Probably,”
Henry said as he increased his pace to a jog. His legs were tired after all the
running he had done tonight.

“Are
they headed for your house?” James asked as he followed Henry’s lead again.

“Probably,”
came the reply with Henry now at a run.

“Are
they coming for you?”

“Probably.”

“Henry,”
James said as he adjusted his bag, “what have you gotten me into?”

Seventeen
-

A Cut on the Nose

Henry
and James
reached the house at a sprint, both toting large traveling
bags. Ruther waited for them inside the stable.

“Where
in the—” Ruther started to ask, but then he saw James. “And what’s he—?”

“We
have to go now. Take this!” Henry said, shoving Isabelle’s bag into Ruther’s
arms.

“I
know we have to go now,” Ruther replied, still eyeing James’ large frame, “but
how are we traveling with five people?”

“Is
Isabelle in the carriage?” Henry asked.

“Yes.”

“Maggie
drives. The three of us ride horseback.”

“I
need to get Sissy,” James said.

“Who?”

“My
horse.”

“No,”
Henry said. “I have two for the carriage and three to spare.”

“Including
mine,” Ruther added.

“That’s
fine,” James said, “but I’m not leaving my horse.” He gave his bag to Ruther.
“Pack this, too. I’ll meet you on the street.”

Henry
knew better than to argue with James. “We need to saddle the other horses,” he
told Ruther. “Has Brandol left yet?”

Ruther
nodded back over his shoulder. Henry’s eyes followed. There, cowering in the
shadows like a scared puppy, was his journeyman.

“Brandol,
can you help us saddle the horses?”

“Master
Henry, I ain’t wanting no trouble,” Brandol said in a small voice.

“I’m
the only one in trouble,” Henry explained, “but not for having done wrong. Your
help . . . please. No one will have to know you saddled the horses unless you
tell them.”

Brandol
got up slowly and came to help. Ruther mumbled to himself as he struggled with
the bags. Henry led Brandol to the horse stalls. The horses stamped and
whinnied as though they sensed the tension of their owners. Henry found his
fingers to be unsteady as he tightened the saddle and bridle straps to his
horse, Quicken, but Brandol fumbled his straps even worse. Maggie, who had been
keeping a look out from the driver’s seat of the carriage, ran back into the
stable.

“They’re
coming, Henry!” she cried. “We need to leave!”

“Is
everything in the carriage?”

“Yes.”

“Go,
then. Take the roundabout way to the pond.”

He
looked around and saw Ruther trying to help Brandol fasten the bridle. In
seconds, Maggie had remounted the carriage and ordered the horses forward. As
she passed the stable door, she called out, “I see them, Henry! Go quickly!”

“Brandol,
get that bridle on!”

Henry’s
yell spooked the horse Brandol had been preparing. The horse trotted out to the
street half-dragging Brandol whose hand was caught under the leather strap he
had finished securing only moments before. Brandol gave a cry of both fear and
pain. Ruther chased after them. Maggie hadn’t exaggerated. The sound of hooves
and carts was too close.

A
patrol of six guardsmen had arrived.

Brandol
struggled with Ruther to free his hand, but the horse, confused by the loud
noises both nearby and approaching, stamped its feet in a circle.

“Get
on the horse, Brandol!” Henry urged.

As
Brandol yanked his hand free of the strap, he stared up at Henry. The guardsmen
were only a stone’s throw away.

“Me?”
Brandol asked.

“Yes!
They’ve seen you,” Ruther said. “Get on that horse!”

With
Ruther’s help, Brandol managed to mount the horse.

“Ride!”
Henry cried out to his friends.

With
the King’s guardsmen only yards behind, they took off. Henry on Quicken, Ruther
had his own horse, Ghost, and Brandol riding a third. James joined them at the
end of the street riding Sissy. The clopping of dozens of hooves echoed off
houses and shops all the way down the street, as if a thunder storm was right
on their heels. Brandol, not a skillful rider, had already fallen a step behind
the group.

Henry
leaned to Ruther and said, “Take Brandol on the shortest route. I’ll lead James
on a longer one. You can’t be followed.”

“Halt!
In the name of the King!” a guardsman shouted behind them.

“I’ve
been waiting for them to say that,” Ruther said. “You’d think if they wanted us
to halt in the King’s name, they’d at least say
please
.”

When
they reached the end of the street, the guardsmen’s distance behind them could
be measured in feet. “This way!” Henry called to James. They turned left while
Ruther and Brandol went right. Henry looked back over his shoulder.

The
lead guardsman did not stop, but signaled to his soldiers. It relieved Henry to
see the guardsman ordered more men to follow him and James than Brandol and
Ruther. James and Henry increased their pace; the guardsmen did likewise. A
sense of giddy recklessness rushed through Henry as he pushed Quicken to gallop
faster. He felt like a hero in one of Ruther’s stories. When they reached a tight
alley between two houses, Henry steered his horse sharply right. James
followed. A dog yelped in the darkness, scrambling to get out of the way of the
stampede. The guardsmen reached the cramped street only three or four seconds
behind James.

After
a left turn out of the alley, arrows flew at them, and Henry’s exhilaration
changed into sheer panic. Of the four guardsmen chasing, two were shooting
arrows, but those two gradually fell behind. The first arrows passed wildly
left or right, but these men were well trained, and each shot seemed closer
than the last.

Houses
became sparse, and Henry searched for a specific gap in the trees, one he’d
often taken in his youth. When he spotted it, he took a sharp right, turning
onto a narrow trail cutting through the forest. The darkness prevented him from
seeing the path properly, so he navigated the trail with nothing but his
instinct to guide him. Low branches whipped his face and hair as he leaned down
and squinted to see a landmark that should be rapidly approaching. Henry
frowned when he couldn’t find it. Had he led himself and James into death?

He
closed his eyes to allow the memories of walking and riding this trail a
thousand times tell him what to do. His need to survive helped him recall them
vividly. The moment came, and Henry knew it was now or never.

“When
I tell you to jump, do it,” he said to James, loud enough that only they could
hear. “Ready . . . wait . . . now!” Just as he ordered his horse to jump, he
could finally see the oversized log lying across the path. James did as Henry
commanded, and both men and their horses cleared the obstacle. The lead
guardsman did not.

Behind
him, Henry heard the cries of pain as their pursuers crashed to the ground.

“Stop!
Stop!” the lead guardsman ordered his men. Henry turned his head to look, but
could see nothing. A whistle through the air caught his attention, and Henry
felt something brush his nose immediately followed by a sharp sting. A loud
twang
rang out to his left as an arrow stuck into the trunk of a tree ahead of him.
Henry realized what had happened: the final guardsman, unable to follow, had
shot his last arrow and nicked the bridge of Henry’s nose. A stream of warm
blood trailed down his skin. He and James rode on, taking the trail deep into
the forest and around a large pond where Henry, Maggie, and Ruther had often
swam and skipped rocks together in their youth.

Henry
made a low, bird-like, chirping tune with his lips. In the darkness, Ruther
answered with a long high call. All was safe. And there, to Henry’s relief, sat
Maggie on the driver’s seat of the carriage. Beside the carriage, at the edge
of the pond, Brandol watered the horses. He tensed as Henry and James arrived.

“It’s
all right, it’s us,” Henry told the journeyman as he dismounted and led his
horse to the others. “Is everyone all right?”

Maggie
came closer to her brother, peering at him. “What is all over your face?”

Henry
wiped at his nose and got most of the blood from the cut. “Blood. I’m fine.”

“Is
Isabelle still in the carriage?” James asked. “I want to see her.”

“Yes,”
Maggie and Ruther both answered.

“Has
there been any change?” Henry asked.

Maggie
shook her head. “I’ve seen her eyes move, but nothing else.”