Flight From Blithmore (13 page)

James
looked in on his sister. “She’s sleeping,” he reported, but there was no
mistaking the deep concern in his voice. Henry put a hand on his arm, but James
did not react. “I’m going to go back to Oslan Manor and duel my father. I will
need a second.”

“We
don’t have time for that!” Ruther said.

James
looked to Henry. “He injured my sister, his own daughter. I cannot let that
pass.”

“I
understand, James. I do. At any other moment I would be behind you, but not
now. We need to be fleeing, not fighting.”

James
took Henry by the shoulders and faced him squarely. “Swear to me that if you
ever cross his path again, you will avenge Isabelle if I cannot.”

Henry
had no qualms with answering. “I swear it to you.”

Ruther
spoke up next. “Well, part one of our plan went almost as wrong as it could,
and we still have one great problem. What are we going to do with this guy?” He
jerked his thumb at Brandol, who kept his gaze fixed on the horses drinking.

“I
don’t want no trouble,” he mumbled, glancing at his master. Hearing the fright
in his journeyman’s voice made Henry’s guts twist up inside. “And—and I don’t
wanna leave neither. Can’t I stay here and—and find a new master?”

“I
don’t know.” Henry lied out of pity. “Ruther? James?”

A
gust of wind howled through the woods, rustling trees and leaves. The sudden
sounds spooked Henry. Maggie and Brandol started, too. Henry felt cold for the
first time since early spring, and was reminded how late the hour was getting.
Several seconds passed before the wind died down.

“Why
can’t we turn ourselves in?” Maggie asked. “Witnesses were at the inn tonight.
They must have seen Isabelle slump over. If we show her like this, tell them
about her father, about the Emperor—we’ll tell them everything. How could they
not believe us?”

Brandol
nodded his head at this idea, but James motioned the opposite. “Even if we had
ironclad proof that you are innocent, do you really believe anyone would take
your side over an Emperor? And what? Risk starting a war over some impoverished
nobleman’s daughter? No, put that idea out of your head. If we are arrested
before we leave these borders, our heads will roll.”

“So—so—so
there ain’t nothing else for me?” Brandol asked, his panic now growing.

“Can
you accept that like a man?” James’ question almost sounded like a demand.

“Relax,
James, the kid’s almost ten years younger than you,” Ruther said. “Brandol,
whatever he says, you don’t have to salute him. Understand?”

“Please,”
Brandol begged Henry. “Please, Master Henry. It’s nothing against you and
yours, but I want to—”

“Stay?”
James said before Henry could respond. His tone softened, but not enough to
mask the years of military service. “I know what will happen better than anyone
here. There will be an investigation. It will begin with Henry and spread to
his family. They will find a detailed description of Maggie, and that description
will match the ones provided by any witnesses who saw her driving this carriage
tonight. Next the search will spread to Henry’s employees. You. If you return,
you will be brought in to answer the King’s agents. If you hadn’t been dragged
out into the street, things might be different, but now the guardsmen who
chased us may recognize you. They may not, but they will interrogate you. And,
no offense to you, I don’t think you could fool anyone.”

Brandol
simply stared back at James.

“I
know you didn’t mean to let yourself be seen, but that’s the way things are.
Now be a man about it. Remember, if you are caught, and they discover who you
are, you’ll either be dead or you’ll spend your youthful years in a cold dark
prison thinking about committing suicide.”

Brandol’s
face turned white and his eyes went wide. Everyone else stared at him with
pity.

“Wow,
James,” Ruther said, watching Brandol. “I don’t think you quite made your
point.”

“It’s
only the truth.”

“No
matter,” Maggie cut in. “How long should we wait before moving on?”

“We
don’t wait,” Henry told her. “We go now.”

James
straightened at this. “I agree. The worse thing to do would be to give them
more time to regroup and search. I trust you want to take back roads?”

“Yes,”
Henry said. He put a hand on Brandol’s shoulder. His heart ached with pity for
him. “Brandol, you’ve been a fine journeyman. I’ve trusted you from the day I
brought you into my home. You didn’t deserve to be caught up in my mess. If
you’ll give me the same loyalty you’ve always given me, I’ll do everything I
can to fix things for you. Is that a deal?”

Brandol
hesitated, but finally nodded his head.

“He
should ride in the carriage with Isabelle,” James suggested. “Then we’ll have a
fresh horse at all times.”

James,
Henry, and Ruther remounted their horses; Maggie climbed back into the carriage
driver’s seat and took the reins. Brandol squeezed inside along with the
luggage and Isabelle, who was still asleep. They started at a hardy pace. Henry
led the way and carried the group’s lone lantern. The winds had calmed again.
The night air felt cool, and all was quiet as they traveled. Ruther made the
occasional comment to try to lighten the mood, but Henry could not stop himself
from looking over his shoulder every few minutes or jumping at any strange
noise.

His
life as he’d known it had ended. As to what waited ahead, he wasn’t certain.
His thoughts rested on Isabelle. He should have insisted on leaving the day of
Lady Oslan’s funeral as planned. If not then, he could have chosen to ignore the
letter from the Emperor and leave that day. It would have been better to have
committed that small crime than this great one. Two poor choices. He hoped
their consequences would not be too great. However, Ruther and James’ presence
gave him much hope. Brandol’s, on the other hand, made him feel guilty. Brandol
deserved better. Henry promised himself that he would make it up to his
journeyman somehow. For now, he tucked his fears away and pressed on deeper
into the night.

Eighteen
-

Emperor and King

Emperor
Ivan Krallick
had never been in a fouler mood as he rode in the Imperial
Carriage to Germaine Castle the day after the attack on him at The Glimmering
Fountain. His neck still stung from the wound he had received from “the
Carpenter,” as he had taken to calling his assailant. Though the Emperor’s
physician had applied a bandage of herbs soaked in water to alleviate the pain
and aid in the healing, Emperor Krallick ordered it removed when he appeared
before King Sedgwick Germaine. Wounds might be badges of honor, but bandages
represented weakness.

Impenetrable
Germaine Castle towered over the heart of Richterton as an impressive symbol of
might. Three circular walls of cement and stone, spaced one hundred yards
apart, surrounded the royal home. Guard towers had been built every five
hundred feet atop each ring. The walls stood over forty feet high and two
guards could walk abreast from tower to tower. From a bird’s view, the castle
sat at the center of a bull’s eye. Each wall had one gate, constructed of heavy
wood and iron, allowing entrance into the next ring. When the Emperor’s
carriage drew close to the gate of the first wall, a loud trumpet blew twice
and the doors of all three walls opened slowly, in perfect unison.

The
Emperor closed his eyes to think clearly. His temples throbbed from lack of
sleep, and his neck began to burn once more. He resisted the growing urge to
touch the pulsing cut. Pushing past all of these temporal distractions, he
forced his mind to a higher level. This turn of events could fit into his
long-term ambitions, but the riddle was how to control King Germaine’s reaction
to the incident. He pondered the solution as the carriage reached the front
gardens and the steps of Germaine Castle.

Ten
of the King’s servants appeared at the castle’s main gate to receive the
Emperor that morning, each of them dressed in the same uniform: white shirts,
green vests with the crest of the lion on the breast, and blue pants. They
stood as still as stones. One of them waited to open the Emperor’s door the
moment the carriage came to a stop. Another issued the formal greeting:

“Good
morning, your Majesty. His Royal Highness, King Germaine, awaits you in his tea
room.”

Four
servants lined up on the Emperor’s right, four on his left, one in front, and
one behind as Emperor Krallick allowed himself to be escorted to the King. He
had long grown accustomed to King Germaine’s lavish decorum, even if it was
devoid of any real personality or taste. Sometimes he enjoyed imagining ways of
changing the decoration of the castle and grounds if he were to become its
occupant during the winter months.

The
King sat partially reclined on his couch when the lead servant announced the
Emperor. He wasted no time in standing up and assuming a dignified air.
Resplendency adorned the King in dress and demeanor. Indeed, one of the things
King Germaine had gained fame for throughout many lands was the curious
patterns his artisans regularly shaved into his gray beard. Today bore the same
pattern as yesterday: a chain of rings stretching from ear to ear and a goatee
linking the two chains. The King had retained his youth for many years, but his
age was starting to show in his face, his skin, and his hair. Though the King
once had had an imposing appearance, it had been years since the Emperor felt
any sort of deference for this man.

“Ivan!”
he said with a sad smile so perfectly executed that the Emperor could not doubt
its sincerity. “Please sit. I am grateful to be your host once more despite the
unpleasant reasons.”

“Thank
you, Sedgwick.”

“Can
I offer you refreshment? Anything you like.”

The
Emperor kept his hands carefully together and touched as little as possible. He
had a pair of clean gloves in one of his pockets, but preferred to avoid using
them if he could.

“No,
but I thank you for the hospitality.”

At
this polite refusal, the King glanced down at the Emperor’s hands and replied
with a small but knowing smile. Both men took their seats and faced the other.
King Germaine seemed to be resisting the urge to recline again.

“Let’s
not waste words, Ivan. What happened to you yesterday was terrible, and I am
already doing everything I can to bring swift justice to the offender. Now, we
already have the names of three persons believed to be involved in this
matter—”

“I
have five,” the Emperor said.

King
Germaine appeared slightly dismantled at this statement. “F—five? I have heard
of only three.”

The
Emperor held up his hand and put his fingers down one by one. “Henry Vestin, a
young master woodcraftsman. His sister, Margaret. Isabelle Oslan, the renegade
daughter of a local nobleman. It is her with whom I met at the inn. Her
brother, James, and I should add that he is a member of your Guard—”

“One
of my guardsmen?”

It
pleased the Emperor to note the King’s reaction to this bit of news. “Correct,
and the last is a journeyman named Brandol. No surname. He is a tall young man
with blond hair. My spies say the journeyman assisted Henry at the inn.”

“Yes
. . . ” King Germaine agreed, though rather reluctantly,“ . . . now that is a matter
where I must be perfectly forthright. Rumors have reached me that this—this
Isabelle—”

“Let
me finish for you. I believe the same rumors have already reached me. That she
was sold to me as a slave? That she was held at the inn against her will?”

King
Germaine nodded, but his face gave him away. Emperor Krallick liked seeing the
King look flustered. “How—?” The King cleared his throat. “You have a good
explanation for these rumors, I trust?”

The
Emperor waved off the question.

“Ivan,
I must insist that you answer to them.”

Emperor
Krallick used his softest tone as he answered. “Sedgwick, of course I didn’t
break a single one of your laws in this entire affair. I would never do
something so fiendish, and I am on the verge of being offended by your insinuations.”

“This
girl—er—Isabelle, she accepted your invitation?”

“I
have witnesses to prove it. Citizens of your city.”

The
King cast a long look at his cup of tea. “What of the other rumors? It is a
fact that many of your ancestors held slaves—concubines—whatever you call them.
Your father was the only one in a long line of emperors who refused to continue
such a practice.”

“I
did not purchase her. You have my word of honor on that.”

“It
is not your word of honor that worries me, Ivan,” the King hurried to say, “but
that of Lord Oslan, her father. His reputation is one of the worst in the
country, but because of his ancestry, I cannot strike him from nobility for two
more generations.”

“I
have little trouble believing reports of his dishonesty,” the Emperor continued
in his same articulate manner. “I met him when he arrived at my palace and spun
me a long tale about the necessity of saving his daughter’s woeful existence.
I’ll be truthful, of course, what caught my eye was the portrait he showed me.
When I arrived here for the parade, I sent messengers to confirm the portrait’s
accuracy of her likeness. At their word, I gave her an invitation to meet.”

The
King’s moustache twitched back and forth as he fixed his gaze at the floor.
Finally he looked up and cast his next question. “Yet why would this young
man—who according to my sources has one of the finest reputations of our master
craftsmen—do something so rash? Certainly he knew death would be the result.”

The
Emperor leaned forward, tired of answering the King’s questions. He sat so the
wound on his neck was visible. “Lesser blood breeds lesser men. I want him
found.”

The
King held up his hands as though he was a prisoner. “So do I, and as I told
you, we are doing everything—”

The
Emperor held up one of his own hands. “Allow me to disagree with you,
Sedgwick.” Before the King could protest offense, he continued, “You have not
done everything.”

The
hands of the King went down to his tea. “Name but one thing I have not done,
and I will do it if it is in my power.”

“Allow
my soldiers to assist yours.”

These
words, said with perfection on the part of the Emperor, had the effect of a
gong echoing in the room. Emperor Krallick watched the King closely as he
struggled to respond.

“That—that
is a very strong request, Ivan. You understand what that means in terms of our
kingdoms’ histories and the position it puts me in.”

“I
do,” the Emperor acknowledged with a slight bow of the head, “yet I am in your
country. I dined at your inn, and one of your citizens put a sword to my
throat. So must I go back to my country, with a bleeding wound on my neck, and
look like a weakling in front of my people in order to not put you in a
position?”

The
King’s moustache quivered. “Ivan, think of it! Allowing your troops in my land.
The nobles would be in an uproar.”

Emperor
Krallick’s pointed features became much sharper. “Of course, I am prepared with
several compromises to share with you. One of them will satisfy you.”

The
King shook his head, and the Emperor grew sharper still.

“Sedgwick,
I will not stand for inaction.”

“Inaction,”
the King stammered to repeat, “I—I—”

“Had
this heinous crime been done to you in my country, I would tear down every
barrier stopping me from apprehending the man. Have you thought of that? Or of
the consequences should this party not be caught?”

The
Emperor spoke with such passion that the King was momentarily speechless. “What
do you propose?” he finally asked.

“Allow
me to send my Elite Guard,” Emperor Krallick stated, and before King Germaine
could interrupt, he pressed forward with his proposal. “I will send you a list
of every person in your borders, their assignments, even their descriptions
should you require it. They will be under orders to in no way interfere with
your soldiers, your citizens, or break your laws; and should they apprehend
anyone from the band of suspects, the criminals will be turned over to you. In
short, you need not even know they are there.”

“Absolutely
not!” The King’s teacup clattered against the serving tray and spilled drops about
the table. Servants came in at the noise and began to clean immediately. “Now,
Ivan, I am equally determined to see these people receive justice—”

“Not
if you are unwilling to accept my help,” the Emperor responded with increasing
menace in his voice. “In fact, it would be a serious blow to the relations we
and our fathers have struggled to build all these years.”

“I
have no intention of doing such a thing, but I cannot allow your best soldiers
in my land. That would be madness.”

“Would
you rather make enemies among the nobles or your northern neighbor?”

“Let’s
not jump to those kinds of words. Blithmore has enjoyed peace all through my
reign, and through yours and your father’s. I see no need to let this incident
cause an escalation beyond a misunderstanding that we can remedy by catching
and executing him.”

Emperor
Krallick crossed his arms. “I am not my father, Sedgwick. Each day that passes,
and that man still lives, my wrath grows. I will be watching you.”

Minutes
later, the Emperor left the castle in a much better mood. King Germaine had
shown exactly the amount of spine expected, bending but not breaking—yet. The
small plan that had hatched in his mind was now a soaring eagle with talons
outstretched, thirsty for blood, hungry for meat. One part of the plan, perhaps
the most important one of all, was not yet in his grasp. The Emperor believed
that would change. The loss of Isabelle would be rectified. He would have her
for himself. The five thousand crowns paid to Lord Oslan represented his significant
interest and investment, and would not be wasted. The Carpenter would be
caught, but certainly not returned to the King. No, he would be tortured—in
front of Isabelle, if possible. And finally, when every other piece of the plan
fell into place, the eagle would strike.