Flight From Blithmore (31 page)

“At
the Church of the Holy Carpenter’s Son we take in homeless, naked, and lame.
Doesn’t that man look lame to you? These eyes of mine have never seen lamer.”

“I
sent for the friar to have this man sheltered for the night,” James said, still
using his ask-me-no-questions voice.

A
pause told Henry that Ranger Thompson was trying to decide what to do. Finally,
the decision came. “Friar, you may escort this man to the church so long as you
keep him there under close watch. We may summon him for further questioning.
Newsome!”

“Yes,
sir!” yet another soldier said with a snap. This one Henry hadn’t even known
was there.

“Go
back to headquarters and search for someone who can make an inquiry on First
Guard Wilmore. I will remain with him until you return.”

“Yes,
sir!” was followed by the sound of horses departing at full speed.

“Leave
now, Friar,” Thompson ordered.

Henry
felt James’ and the friar’s strong hands helping him onto the horse behind the
friar.

“Wait
a minute!” Ranger Thompson’s command froze everyone.

“Yes?”

“What
need does an old friar have of a sword?” Thompson’s voice had become
interrogating once more.

The
old friar replied, “You need to read the Bible more, young man. The good Lord
said ‘I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.’” Then Henry felt the old man
move quickly—very quickly—and unsheathe his sword. The sword cut through the
air followed by what Henry could only guess was the sound of the flat edge of
the blade striking the soldier’s head.

“And
I am His disciple.”

Thirty-Seven
-

The Jeweler

Ruther
let James
lead the way back to camp. James took them on a long,
tortuous route, stopping every few minutes to check for signs of being
followed. Henry clung to Ruther as they rode. Ruther wanted to say something to
comfort his friend, but didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t remember the last
time he’d been so frightened or felt so guilty.

After
Henry had been taken by the soldiers in the market, Ruther had finished the
purchase of the grains and headed back to camp as fast as he could manage all
the horses. Brandol wasn’t there, but James was in the carriage changing into
his guardsman uniform.

“James
won’t speak to us,” Maggie said. Tears streaked her face and her cheeks bore
imprints from her fingernails. “Please tell us what’s going on!”

“Is
Henry alright, Ruther?” Isabelle asked. “Where is he?”

“I’m
sorry, but I don’t have time to explain,” Ruther told them as he opened the
back compartment of the carriage, grabbed his monk’s robe and sword, then
closed it again. “Hurry, James!”

“Head
back to the market,” James barked back like he was a soldier giving orders.
“Find Brandol and figure out where Henry has been taken. I’ll meet you at the
east end.”

Ruther
found Brandol, who had secretly followed Henry to where he’d been taken, then
returned to the spot where James had been stationed. After telling Brandol to
head back to camp, Ruther met up with James at the east end of the market. It
was James who came up with the plan to rescue Henry and executed it with
perfection. Ruther had to admit he was impressed with James’ improvisation.

Now,
after two hours of riding and checking to be certain they weren’t being
followed, Ruther, Henry, and James approached the camp. James paused once more
to survey the area for any pursuers. This time, there was one. Brandol, as pale
as the white horse he was riding, appeared not more than a stone’s throw away.
James cursed to himself, and Ruther knew why. Brandol was riding one of the
carriage horses, which meant the horse had not been harnessed to the carriage,
which meant another delay before they could leave. And the last thing their
party needed now was more delays.

Ruther
whistled to Brandol, who turned and rode to them. His face was dirty, his eyes
wide and still watery. “Everything’s yellow and black,” he muttered almost is
if James and Ruther weren’t there. “Yellow and black and dying.” When he saw
Henry clutching to Ruther’s waist, he started to cry.

“Where
have you been, Brandol?” James asked.

“Lost,”
he groaned. “I didn’t know where to go after you said to go back, because I—I—I
was scared! So scared! Master Henry, is you alright? I’m sorry! I was scared!”

After
calming him down, the four men returned to camp. Isabelle and Maggie came
running when the men approached. Ruther had never seen Maggie so distraught.
Her face, puffy and pale, revealed red eyes and deep worry lines carved into
her skin. Her fingers pressed into her cheeks, and when she saw Henry behind
Ruther she cried even harder.

James
cut off Maggie and Isabelle from asking questions by stating in a commanding
voice: “Talk later. We need to leave. Brandol, help Henry into the carriage
while Ruther and I prepare the horses. Isabelle, you’ll ride Quicken. Maggie,
get on the carriage.”

Fortunately
for everyone, Maggie and Isabelle had shown excellent foresight by packing the
new supplies into the carriage and readying the harnesses. Ruther helped Henry
climb off the horse and into Brandol’s arms. Maggie tried to ask Ruther what
had happened, but James interrupted, “Later, Maggie.”

The
moment Ruther and James finished securing the horses in their harnesses, the
party began traveling east. The day had grown late, and while only two hours of
sunlight remained, Ruther knew their trek would push on late into the night. He
rode next to the carriage to be of some comfort to his friend, even if he could
not be seen or heard by him. Up in front, James spoke to Maggie and Isabelle.

“We
ain’t going to make it to no pass, Master Henry,” Brandol told Henry inside the
carriage, “they gonna hunt us down. We ain’t gonna make it. They near got you
in Bookerton, now they know we’re here. They’d’ve killed me if they caught me.
They know where we is. I don’t wanna die. Everything’s so dark now. I don’t
wanna die.”

Ruther
listened for several minutes while the journeyman muttered on and on about
colors and being caught. Brandol’s voice was quiet and high-pitched, not at all
normal, but he never seemed bothered by Henry’s lack of response. It reminded
Ruther of men he’d seen at inns and taverns when they were caught cheating and
backed into a corner, desperate to say whatever it took to save their necks.
Finally, he asked the journeyman to stop and allow Henry some rest.

Dropping
back from the group, Ruther sighed as he thought about Brandol. The one person
who had not wanted to be involved in Henry’s dilemma had been named, along with
his master, the most dangerous criminal in the country. What a lucrative tale
that would make someday! Ruther wondered why he’d never spoken to Brandol about
their identities being mistaken at The Glimmering Fountain. Then again, Brandol
had never discussed it with Ruther, either.

James,
Maggie, and Isabelle were deep in conversation as they rode side by side.
Maggie asked for Ruther to join their discussion. He urged Ghost forward until
he was next to Isabelle.

“Is
Henry really blind?” Maggie asked him.

“I
don’t know.”

“What
happened to his face?” Isabelle asked. “It’s so swollen. Did the soldiers beat
him?”

“I
didn’t see much,” Ruther said.

“But
you rode with him.”

“He
didn’t say much.”

Ruther
gave his version of what happened from when he, Henry, and Brandol left James,
carefully omitting the poor decisions he’d made which led to Henry’s capture.
Isabelle listened closely to his story, her face almost as emotionless as
James. Her constant glances to the carriage betrayed her worry. Maggie,
meanwhile, seemed unable to control herself. Several times while he spoke she
covered her face from view, sniffing loudly. When they had finished, she
whispered a word of gratitude and fell silent. Ruther did not reply. He
deserved no gratitude.

The
topic of conversation turned to the ramifications of Henry’s injuries, and what
they would do if his blindness turned out to be permanent.

“He’ll
be fine,” Isabelle said. “Henry’s intelligent. He can adapt to anything. Give
him enough time and you won’t even know he’s blind.” The care Ruther heard in
her voice made him feel small.

They
continued east at the fastest pace they could manage. The night brought a
chilling breeze with clear skies. They built no fire and carried no torches.
The moon was large and low, giving enough light that they easily kept to the
paths Wilson had marked for them on their map. Every half hour, Ruther or James
rode off from the group to check for signs of being pursued. After several
hours with no evidence of being followed, James and Ruther decided they were
safe, at least for the night. Ruther thought it ironic that he had fought Henry
about using Wilson’s advice. If anything saved them now, it would be Wilson’s
paths keeping them off the main roads.

Very
late into the night, James brought the company to a halt. “We should take turns
keeping watch. I’ll do it tonight and then sleep in the carriage tomorrow.
Isabelle has volunteered to take the second night. Brandol will take the third.
Then Maggie, then Ruther. We’ll rotate in that pattern until we enter the Iron
Pass.”

No
one argued or debated his decision. They were too tired. Ruther fell asleep
quickly despite the bumpiness of the ground and the wind blowing across his
face. His dreams were filled with shadows and angry voices; when James woke him
early in the morning, he felt like he hadn’t slept at all.

Henry
came out for breakfast with everyone else. He let Isabelle wash the blood off
his face, which improved his appearance a great deal. The swelling around his
eyes and nose had gone from red to purple and green, and his nose was slightly
crooked. Isabelle sat on his left, while Ruther occupied the space to Henry’s
right. No one spoke, but Ruther noted how the others kept glancing at Henry. He
knew what they were thinking. What would they do with a blinded leader? How
could Henry manage a woodworking shop with no sight?

Ruther
watched Henry pick the raisins out of his bowl for several seconds before he
actually realized what Henry was doing. Then he began to laugh. It was a
teeth-clenched snicker that turned into a full-bellied howl—one he desperately
needed. The stares went from Henry to Ruther who doubled over, clutching his
stomach.

“What
are you laughing at?” Maggie asked.

Ruther
could only point at Henry, who now had the same case of the fits.

“What
is so funny?” Maggie asked again.

Ruther
didn’t answer. Hysteria had overcome him.

“I
can see!” Henry announced, holding up the raisins. “I can see. Not very well,
but I can make out the shapes of the raisins in the bowl.”

Isabelle
shouted her joy and hugged Henry to the ground, kissing him furiously. When her
lips gave him enough room, he yelled, “Careful, my nose still hurts!”

Ruther
watched Maggie try to decide between beating Henry to death and crying. She
finally settled on going to the carriage under the pretense of searching for
something. Isabelle almost had to be pried off of Henry, and even James
chuckled at them kissing each other. Henry had transformed breakfast into a
cheerful event, and cheer was something they all needed.

Over
the next several days, cold winds blew in from the north. Henry’s improving
health and vision offset the worst of the wind’s effects on the company’s mood,
but good fortune did not warm their skin as it did their hearts. As the party
moved east into the foothills of the Iron Forest, a bitter wind crashed into
them with full force. The company remained hopeful because beyond the foothills
waited the pass.

James
remained cautious as ever, assigning a watch both day and night. On Brandol’s
second night standing watch, Ruther approached the journeyman to see if he
could take his place.

“Why
would you wanna do that?” Brandol asked.

“I
haven’t been feeling well, and I could use a day of rest in the carriage.”

Brandol
made his skepticism known by the face he made, but still agreed to let Ruther
keep watch.

It
was a quiet night in the foothills. Ruther waited two hours after everyone went
to bed before making his move. He’d intentionally tied Ghost with a weak knot
so it took little effort to undo. Then he put several double crowns in his
pocket along with a lumpy red cloth, grabbed his sword, and started off heading
south. He rode quietly, so as to not wake anyone, but after putting distance
between himself and the camp, he rode Ghost at a light gallop. A little voice
in the back of his mind nagged him about leaving the group unguarded, but the
chance of anything actually happening now was slim to none, despite James’
belief.

He
rode south for almost an hour to a small, sturdy village named Reddings. The
homes and shops were sights he had not seen in over ten years, not since moving
with his dying uncle to Richterton. As clusters of houses appeared, memories
popped into Ruther’s head. Things he hadn’t thought about since he had left.
Most of them were memories of his uncle, others were of friends he’d made or
small adventures he had been a part of that now seemed trite.

He
looked for one house in particular, the one he’d ridden all that way to see.
Not just to see, to visit. He didn’t think twice about the unwelcome hour when
he knocked four times with the palm of his hand.

He
listened for movement, but heard nothing, so he knocked again, harder this
time. A loud grumble came from upstairs along with the shuffling of feet and
creaking boards. The glow of a lantern appeared under the door, first dim, then
brighter.

“Who
in the—” a rough voice with a faded Pappalonian accent shouted as the door
jerked back and the lantern’s brightness blinded Ruther. The owner of the house
peered closer at the intruder’s face. “By the devil himself. Ruther?
Ruther
?
Is that really—?”

“Yes,
it is.”

“When
did ya turn into a small whale?”

“What
do you mean?”

The
man poked Ruther square in the stomach. By nature, he spoke very quickly. “I
mean, you’re fat. You’re a pig with red hair. What do ya want?”

“Remember
the favor you always told me you owed my uncle?”

“What
about it? You’re here to collect on it? At the most sun-forsaken hour of a
frigid night? Are ya a fool? Of course ya are! Why do I even ask?”

“So
you’ll do it?”