Flight From Blithmore (18 page)
“Yes,
you will,” Maggie said. “How else will you stay so fat?”
The
more she ate, the more her cheeks regained their normal color. “Water,” she
said through a mouthful of her second helping of the dried pork. Maggie brought
a large mug filled to the brim. Isabelle accepted it with the same greediness.
“Maybe
we should get her more food,” Ruther suggested to Henry. “Do you think she’ll
eat the same amount of food required to sustain her for two weeks?”
James
stared at Isabelle as he whispered back, “I hope not.”
“She
ain’t gonna, you know, split or something, will she?” Brandol asked.
“Should
I say something?” Maggie offered.
“Not
yet,” was Ruther’s reply. “I once ate a whole chicken with carrots and
potatoes. It was both the best and worst experience of my life.”
“You
didn’t split, did you?” Henry asked.
Ruther
tried to suppress a snicker, but failed. “No . . . but I exploded.” He slapped
his knee as if he’d told a great joke.
James
looked away from Ruther in disgust. Sometimes he saw why Maggie loathed Henry’s
friend to such a degree. Not an instant had passed after Isabelle took her last
bite of food when she vomited most of it back up, leaning over the carriage
door and spilling it onto the grass. James jumped out of the way to avoid
getting his boots soiled. When she finished, she had a bemused expression. Her
eyes rolled into the back of her head and the plate slipped from her hand.
Maggie caught the plate as the rest of the group rushed to grab her. James
reached her first and supported her head as he laid her back.
“She’s
only sleeping,” he said after a short examination, hiding the relief he felt.
“You’re
certain?” Henry continued to examine her eyes and face.
“Yes.”
Four
bodies relaxed at once. “You’d think she could have at least warned us,” Ruther
complained. “After everything we’ve been through, would a simple, ‘I’m feeling
tired now and I’d like a repose,’ be too much to ask?”
A
cold gust of wind blew through the camp, reminding James they needed to be
moving. “Brandol,” he said, “will you take Henry’s place in the carriage again?
Ruther, you’re on watch until nightfall.”
“I
was on watch two nights ago,” Ruther said as he mounted Ghost. “It should be
Brandol’s turn.”
“Brandol
is riding inside the carriage.”
“He
can have my horse,” Ruther argued back. “Or Henry can have a turn. He’s after
Brandol.”
James
looked over his shoulder at Maggie and sighed. Henry smiled.
“You’re
right, Ruther,” James said, “but I need to speak with Henry.”
“Speak
with me and let Henry watch. Or let Maggie. I have no preference as long as
it’s not me doing the watching.”
“It’s
so refreshing to see a man willing to pass his work off to a woman,” Maggie
said from behind. “I suppose in your world, chivalry is dead while laziness
runs rampant.”
James
watched as Ruther jerked the reins of his horse in Maggie’s direction so he
could properly glare at her. “It’s not laziness, indolence, or lassitude—did
you hear all those words?” he called out, “—or lethargy or idleness or—”
“Ruther,
why don’t you save your energy for keeping a good lookout?” Maggie suggested as
she urged the horses on faster and left Ruther behind to mutter under his
breath.
It
was still morning. Henry and James trotted side by side in silence and watched
the sun peek out over the crest of the hills. Its light would soon reflect off
the wet blades of grass, making it difficult for them to see ahead without
squinting. Miles behind, dark rain clouds threatened to overtake them at some
point during the day. Sissy stepped lightly; James recognized this as a sign of
her good mood.
James
had always been fond of the prairies of Blithmore. During his time in the
Guard, he’d seen a large portion of the country: its far western mountains, the
numerous rivers, a large southwestern desert, but none of it compared to the
beauty of the bright green meadows full of wild flowers breaking the sun’s rays
into thousands of points of light.
“You’re
a good man, Henry.” James kept his eyes on the horizon and buried the emotion
he felt. “You treat my sister the way she deserves.”
Henry
did not respond right away. James wondered if he had caught him off guard. As
children, Henry, Maggie, and Ruther had called him
General James
because
he’d fit the role so well. He knew no one had been surprised when he announced
his intentions to join the King’s Guard the very day he met the age
requirements. He had the perfect temperament for a soldier, and would forever
miss that life.
“Thank
you,” Henry finally said. They rode together for several seconds in silence.
James had the feeling Henry wanted to say more, so he waited patiently. “I feel
as though I’m being punished.”
“By
whom?” James asked.
“By
God.”
“Why?”
“Hey!”
Ruther called from way behind. “I want to be part of your conversation.”
“For
my negligence of Isabelle’s safety. For yielding to the wishes of your father
when I knew I should flee with Isabelle. For allowing my cowardice to prevent
me until the situation turned so grave, I had no choice if I wanted to protect
her.”
“I
agree with whatever Henry is saying!” Ruther shouted before James responded.
Henry
drew himself up in the saddle. James saw a resolve on Henry’s face that he
hadn’t seen in many of the men serving the King. “So I’ve made a solemn oath to
never be guilty of inaction again. I want you to teach me to fight whenever we
have a moment.”
James
had never cared about class and nobility as his father had. Such things
mattered little on a field of battle. Enemies would not shoot fewer arrows at a
man just because he was a noble. And here was Henry, a man who thought himself
to be a coward, but was, in his own way, one of the bravest men James knew. He
had the courage to recognize his mistakes and change.
“You’re
not alone in your guilt, Henry. Now that I know what a state of disorder my
family was in, I realize I was remiss in my duties.”
“No—”
“Yes,”
James insisted. “My father has painted a black smear over my family’s name. If
I’d known all these things when I arrived at my house, his blood would have
stained the floor the moment I saw him.
“Through
everything,” James continued, “you’ve stood by my sister. My father believes
our family’s worth is greater than yours, yet I believe the truth is the
opposite. Vestin is the most honorable name I have known. When we reach the
border I will take my leave of you, but I want you to know that should you ever
need me, all you have to do is send word.”
“Thank
you, James, but I don’t understand. Why not come with us? You are implicated as
much as we are, especially since I mentioned that you held the flaming arrows
aimed at the physician’s house. What is so important here that you’re willing
to risk your life for it?”
James’
gaze broke from the horizon and went to the ground a foot in front of him. He
stroked Sissy’s mane as he wrestled with his thoughts. Some emotions were
harder to bury than others. “I have unfinished business here.”
Henry
did not to press for more information. He chuckled hard and asked, “Do you
remember when we caught that skunk and put my sister’s book inside the trap?”
James
allowed himself a small smile. “When your mother gave us our next reading
lesson, and your sister found her book, she burst into tears.”
“‘
My
book died, Mommy! My book died!
’” Henry laughed so hard it startled
Quicken. “I’ve never smelled anything so terrible.”
James
looked back at Maggie, who had no trouble overhearing them. She, too, smiled at
the memory. Her well-formed lips and brilliant white teeth gave her smile a
radiant quality that lit up her whole face, even making her brown-green eyes
shine brighter.
“It
was awful!” she mused. “Even now, I can remember the stench perfectly.
“Your
mother caught us—” James began.
“By
smelling your fingers,” Maggie finished, “that’s right.”
“She
cancelled our lesson,” Henry added, “because she was so mad.”
“Your
father gave you quite a lashing, if I remember.”
Henry
laughed even louder, and the smile on James’ face grew. From far behind, Ruther
laughed, too, though it was obvious he did it only to extend himself forcibly
into the conversation.
James
spurred Sissy to a faster trot. Henry followed suit. The sun broke over the top
of the farthest hills, and James had to shield his eyes in order to see a
hundred yards ahead. They made small talk about the possibility of the storm
coming toward them. Henry mentioned his desire to try a hand at hunting if they
spotted some game. James liked the idea. Henry needed to learn. In James’ mind,
hunting was one of life’s great joys. A loud curse came from the back of the
group, Ruther’s voice. He was turned around staring into the distance. Henry
and James stopped to see what was the matter.
The
carriage came to a stop, and Maggie asked, “What do you see?”
“Soldiers,”
Ruther answered, his hand shielding his eyes. “I’m certain of it, and they’re
headed in our direction.”
Hiding in the Hills
James
rode
up behind Ruther. A mile or so away, lower in the hills, a long train of about
fifty soldiers galloped on horseback. Ruther didn’t think he’d ever seen people
ride with such formal posture—except James, but not even a corpse could ride a
horse as stiffly as James.
“See
them?” Ruther asked.
“They
haven’t found a trail yet,” James said. “That formation,” he pointed along the
line of riders, but Ruther saw nothing identifying about the formation,
“loosely bunched, that’s for traveling. They’re headed south, and at that speed
we’ll never cross paths. We should be safe. My guess is they are headed for
Fenley or Creighton.”
“Do
you recognize them, James?” Ruther asked.
“Those
aren’t guardsmen. They’re regular soldiers.”
Henry
joined them. Ruther noted the rapid blinking of his friend’s eyes and the way
Brandol bit his bottom lip as it trembled. Maggie brushed her dark locks out of
her face and tucked them behind her ears, which were red from the brisk morning
air. Ruther had memorized the nervous habits of his friends a long time ago,
but he always found them fascinating and remembered them for details in his
stories.
“They
are going to see our trail any moment,” Henry said.
“They’ll
probably think nothing of it. That’s heavy frost, and it has been down most of
the night, so we could have traveled through at any point during—”
“They’re
turning,” Henry said, “and that soldier in front is signaling.”
“What
formation is that?” Ruther asked as the soldiers tightened their ranks, paired
up, and fell in line.
James
stared into the distance. Steam poured from his nose as he exhaled angrily.
“Search—a search formation.”
“We
need to move,” Henry said. “What do we do?”
“We
can’t fly like mindless cattle,” James replied. “We should split into three
groups. It will be harder for them to catch us. I suggest Maggie and Isabelle
go one way, straight to the south until they come to the river. I will go with
Brandol farther east, you and Ruther go north and west and loop back.”
“That’s
not what we—” Ruther began.
“Where
we gonna meet?” Brandol asked. “How we gonna know if someone got caught?”
“We’re
only a day or so from Fenley,” James continued. “We should meet at the
easternmost edge of the town.”
“I
don’t know where to go,” Maggie said. “I don’t have a map!”
Henry
raised his hands. “Wait. If we keep moving, they may give up before they spot
us. They don’t know how long the trail goes.”
James
seemed ready to disagree, but Maggie cut him off. “I agree with Henry,” she
said.
Ruther
found it interesting that Maggie’s statement ended James’ will to argue.
Henry
and James set the pace, leading the party through the winding valleys of the
hilly landscape. They moved as fast as the carriage could manage on the grassy
terrain. No one spoke. Ruther doubled back regularly to calculate on the distance
between the two parties. He thought of Isabelle sleeping inside the carriage,
and decided her falling back asleep so soon might have been a blessing after
all. The stress of their predicament might have put a heavy strain on her
fragile health. He glanced often at Maggie, only to be impressed each time by
the presence of mind she showed while driving the carriage.
After
over a half hour of traveling, the frost still had not disappeared. Ruther
could see why. The dark clouds they’d observed in the early morning had moved
eastward, blocking the sun’s light and chilling the air. To add to this
sinister atmosphere, a cold wind howled as it sped along the valley floor in
violent gusts. Each blast of air pierced Ruther’s clothes and filled his ears
with its low moans.
“I’d
guess they’re several hundred yards away,” Ruther reported, “around the valley
bend. At that rate, they’ll know we’re here within a quarter of an hour.”
Henry
stopped and dismounted. Maggie halted as he ran to the carriage.
“What
are you doing?” James asked.
“We’re
not going to make it,” Henry replied. “Let’s try something different.”
“Get
on your horse, friend!” Ruther shouted with the first real anger he’d felt
toward Henry in some time. He looked to the horizon in front of them, wondering
how far he might travel before the soldiers caught up to Henry and the company
if he were to flee now . . . .
“Help
me make a fire,” Henry said. “James, get some food out—enough for a small
brunch. Brandol, we’ll need your help, too. While we start a fire, block the
wind so the flames won’t blow out.”
Ruther
grasped onto Henry’s idea. It was reckless, loony, and he liked it.
“What
are you doing, Henry?” Maggie asked as she climbed down from the driver’s
chair. “They’re still following us.”
“Ask
James what he needs you to do.”
They
worked efficiently. Ruther used the best and driest wood he could find as
starter for the fire. Henry attacked it at once with his flint and steel. With
Brandol using his cloak as a shield against the wind, they soon had a modest
fire crackling.
“Put
some of the greens on it now,” Henry told Ruther.
“They’re
already on our trail,” James protested as he stirred their little pot of food.
“Are you sure you want to announce our presence?”
“That’s
exactly what we want to do,” Ruther said. “I’ll keep an eye out and tell you
when they’re close.”
“I
know what you’re thinking, Henry,” Ruther heard James say as he climbed the
hill to peek over the ridge. “This is a much greater chance to take than
splitting the group.”
“Just
keep your full attention on your task, James,” Ruther muttered to himself as he
watched the soldiers follow the trail. “You don’t know everything.”
“What—what’s
your plan about, Master Henry?” Brandol asked, still holding his cloak out like
a giant bat’s wings.
“Have
you ever seen a three-horned gormont, Brandol?” Henry asked.
“No.
Never heard of it.”
“It’s
a rare lizard that can squeeze blood out of its skin when a predator nears it.
Then it stops breathing, and the blood dries over it very quickly. The predator
thinks it’s already dead and goes on to search for live prey. A clever
disguise, don’t you think?”
Brandol’s
face paled. “You mean, we’re gonna pretend dead?”
Ruther
caught Henry trying to hide a smile. “We’re going to disguise ourselves to be
something the soldiers don’t want.”
“They
see our smoke!” Ruther announced as he peeked over the hilltop, “I hope you’re
hunch is right, friend.”
“Listen
to me,” Henry said, “we have to make up a story that these men will believe. We
have to pretend to be a—a—”
“A
traveling acting troupe!” Ruther declared, scampering back down the hill to
rejoin the group around the fire.
“They’d
never believe such a tale,” James said.
“If
we’re convincing, they will.”
James
looked around for someone to agree with him. “You know me, Henry. I am not an
actor.”
“He’s
right,” Ruther said, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. “My wigs can
act better than James. Let’s all give up hope and die. I think I’ll choose
beheading as my preferred form of punishment. Less mess to clean.”
“Has
anyone got a better idea?” Maggie asked. “If so, let’s hear it fast.”
Ruther
did not think the idea was so horrible. Acting and storytelling were not too
different, and, truth be told, he considered himself to be a terrific liar.
The
smoke from the fire rose up at a slant as the wind pushed it south. Brandol
still valiantly guarded the flames even though his services were no longer
needed. Ruther noticed that the journeyman’s face had gone white and his lips
still trembled. It was understandable.
“Ruther,”
Henry asked. “What are some common names for actors and actresses?”
Ruther
tapped one of his long fingers against his chin. “You can be Bradley,” Ruther
told Henry, “Brandol is Ian. I will be Robert. Maggie will be Jennifer.”
“What
about Isabelle?”
“Also
a Jennifer—or maybe a Kate—no, two Jennifers is more catchy, and you can never
have too many. We’ll say that Isabelle’s Jennifer is sick with consumption.”
“And
James?”
“He
will be a mute named Jimmy who makes costumes and props, a stage hand.”
“I
will not be a mute,” James said.
“You
will if you don’t want to give us away,” Ruther told him. “If you can’t pretend
to have a personality, don’t talk.”
James
held his tongue. Watching him fume gave Ruther some measure of vengeful
pleasure for all the times James had taken Maggie’s side in an argument.
Moments later, the sound of dozens and dozens of galloping hooves announced the
arrival of the troops. Brandol’s breaths deepened until finally he covered his
head in the hood of his cloak. Ruther saw Henry glance over his shoulder with a
look of doubt on his face. When he turned back, Ruther gave his friend a
reassuring grin.
Henry
nodded. “Let Ruther do the talking, everyone.”
“When
doesn’t he do the talking?” Maggie asked.
Ruther
ignored Maggie’s comment and rode out to meet the small army. Other than the
excessive sweat forming between his hand and Ghost’s reins, he showed no sign
of fear.
“You’ve
been in worse situations before,” he told himself.
By
the sheer size of the company, Ruther guessed two full regiments of soldiers
had followed them, or one brigade. Drawing closer, he could distinguish forms
and colors on the individual uniforms.
The
brigadier rode in front. He had pure white hair like a mane and bright green
eyes that stared back at Ruther. A matching large green feather poked out of
his hat, waving in the wind. The captains of the two regiments flanked him. The
captain to the right of the brigadier was much older than the captain on the
left. He raised his hand as a way of hailing Ruther. Ruther returned the gesture
and brought Ghost’s pace to a halt. When the captain dropped his hand, Ruther
trotted forward again.
The
eyes of all the soldiers were on him, most of them filled with suspicion. The
brigadier spoke first. “Young man, are you the owner of these tracks we’ve been
following?”
“I
am, sir.” Ruther maintained a humble tone and demeanor as he spoke. “We thought
these hills were deserted for miles. If I may ask, why are you following us?”
“We
received orders to search this area for a band of criminals. Perhaps you have
heard of them?”
As
the brigadier asked this question, he fixed a scrutinizing eye on Ruther. His
captains’ stares were almost as formidable. Fortunately, Ruther had plenty of
experience with tight spots and pointing fingers. He recalled the rhyme of his
uncle.
Never waiver eye to eye, and they’ll never catch you lie.
“Certainly
I’ve heard of them,” Ruther said. He smiled at the right moment, letting his
face tell the men he would help them in any way he could. “I’d like to find a
man who hasn’t. Why do you think we travel in these windy hills? People are
frightened all over, including us, but you and your men are the first search
party I’ve seen come through these parts. And I’ll tell you, it’s a welcome
sight.”
The
brigadier sat as stiff in his seat as ever. “Where did you come by your
information?”
The
large smile that grew on Ruther’s face came too easy. “Oh, people like us—we’re
all over, and we hear all the rumors!”
“People
like ‘us’?”
“Actors!”
Ruther said with a dramatic gesture that made him resemble at once both the
king and a peasant. “Performers! Artists!”
The
two captains exchanged an exasperated look which Ruther knew he had to
capitalize on at once.
“What?”
he asked in mock offense. “Do your men lack the refinement that brings appreciation
of the world’s most noble art form?”
The
brigadier continued to watch Ruther. “How many travel with you?”
“There
is myself and five others.”
“Six
total,” the brigadier said to his captains. “Take us to them.”
“Certainly,”
Ruther replied, still assuming the air of a man offended but determined to be
proud, “we’re over and down those hills. Will all of your men be coming?”
The
brigadier turned to his captains. “Pick ten men and follow.”
Ruther
accepted this as his invitation to lead the brigadier to camp. Behind him, the
captains shouted orders to their men. Ruther set a fast pace, expecting the
brigadier to stay with the safety of his men. He arrived at the group several
seconds before the soldiers.
