Flight From Blithmore (25 page)
Wilson’s
wife smiled brightly at her husband and Henry as they took their seats around
the magnificent table.
“I
did,” Henry said, “It was the piece I crafted to be made a master in the
guild.”
Wilson
asked Ruther to give God thanks for the food.
“I
heard you hollering before I saw you, Henry,” Wilson said once the prayer had
ended. “Your voice sounded familiar, but it was the striking resemblance your
work bears to your father’s and your infamous reputation that gave you away. I
known it was you at once. In my head, I said, ‘That’s an original Vestin if
I’ve ever seen a scrap a wood in my life.’”
“When
did Mr. Vestin make this table for you?” Isabelle asked.
Wilson
glanced wistfully at Becca. “That was her,” he said, gesturing to his wife.
“When
Wilson asked me to marry him, I made one request he couldn’t refuse.” Becca
took her husband’s hand and squeezed it.
Henry
silently prayed that Ruther wouldn’t make a gagging sound.
“I
wanted a beautiful table with chairs to match it. So, we looked all over.”
“And
I mean, all over!” Wilson confirmed.
“I
couldn’t find anything I liked,” Becca said. “Finally we heard about this young
man in Richterton who was—what was the word, Wilson?”
“Curiously
brilliant,” he said.
“Yes!”
Becca said. “That was it. Even though we’d already been up to Richterton once,
I insisted we go again. We loved what we saw the moment we set foot in your
father’s shop.”
“How
long ago was this?” Henry asked.
Wilson
answered while scooping a large helping of venison onto his plate. “I’d say you
was a wee boy, no more than two or three.”
“My
father became a master right before I turned three. You may have been one of
his first customers.”
“He
was awfully glad to have us in his shop,” Becca said. “I feared he might shake
Wilson’s hand clean off.”
Wilson
laughed at her comment, and Henry had no doubt what she said was the truth. In
fact, he could not stop himself from laughing as well. They talked more of Henry’s
father, but the conversation soon returned to Ruther’s tale. Henry watched
Wilson while Ruther spoke, wondering why his host, who almost always smiled,
seemed less than pleased whenever he looked at Ruther.
The
tale and dinner finished about the same time. Wilson set his boys to the task
of cleaning so the adults could finish their conversation around the fire.
After another hour of talking, Maggie and Brandol were both nodding their
heads, and Ruther couldn’t seem to stop yawning. Isabelle had already fallen
asleep on Henry’s shoulder.
“Looks
like it’s time for bed,” Wilson suggested. “I’ll have the boys bring you out
some more blankets and such so you can bunk here in the great room.”
“I’ll
check on the horses,” Henry told his friends since he guessed no one else would
want to go back into the cold.
He
wrapped himself back in his cloak, now much drier, and stepped outside the
house. The snowfall had lessened, but with the conditions they’d already
endured, that didn’t mean much. The wind felt like ice on his skin, and he
quickened his step to hurry into the shelter of Wilson’s barn.
The
first thing he checked was not the horses, but the gold. To lighten the load of
the carriage, they had long since abandoned Lady Oslan’s coffer and put the
bags of gold underneath packs of clothes, bags of supplies, and in the storage
compartment of the carriage. Everything inside looked untouched. As he went to
check on the horses, he heard a creak from the same door he’d used to enter the
barn.
“Hello?”
he called out, holding his lantern out in front to cast more light in that
direction. A black shape moved from the doorway toward him. “Who’s there?”
Wilson’s
face came into the light. “Henry,” he spoke in a quiet voice, “I’m glad I
caught you out here alone.” His expression had changed, now much more grave.
His eyes looked to the door and then back to Henry. “We need to have a word
about Ruther.”
Enemies of King and
Country
The
same day
that Wilson received Henry and company into his home, the King of Blithmore
welcomed Attikus at the steps of Germaine Castle with great fanfare. The
reinstated general had sent advance word to King Germaine, and in transit to
the castle received a reply expressing the King’s ecstatic emotion at the
opportunity to get reacquainted. Attikus’ reception at the doors was far
superior to what the Emperor received at the Feast of Rulers. Besides the King
himself being present, a full complement of servants and soldiers lined the
way. The castle had been scrubbed up and down to the darkest corner, and
Richterton’s best cooks had prepared a fine meal, finer than any the Emperor
had received in the last few years.
The
soldier driving the general’s carriage stopped so the door lined up perfectly
with the middle of the procession, and before Attikus could even think about
opening his door, his footman opened it for him. The general found it very
droll how even after eight years of retirement, his subordinates continued to
venerate him.
King
Germaine made a great sign of respect by traveling down half of the stairs to
meet Attikus in the middle. They took each other by the hands, and the King
smiled. “Attikus! You have no idea what it means to me that you are here. Your
stay will be long and happy, I hope.”
“As
do I, your Majesty,” Attikus said with a similar enthusiasm, though his posture
remained as formal as ever. They made small talk about family as they entered
the castle doors. Attikus asked about the health of Queen Katherine and their
two daughters and two sons, then answered the King’s inquiries regarding his
own three sons.
They
had their fill of lunch. Though he’d never admit it to anyone, Attikus
preferred the foods of Blithmore to anything found in Neverak. When they
finished, the King ordered away his servants and turned their attention to the
serious matters which he knew brought Attikus to Blithmore.
“All
right, let’s get this part over with.” He pushed away his plate and pulled his
wine goblet closer. “I can’t remember the last time something has both troubled
me and pleased me as much as hearing of your reinstatement. For that reason
alone, I was overjoyed when I received your letter asking for an audience with
me. Now I have to ask this question:
why
? Why has Ivan brought you into
this?”
Attikus
did not answer immediately because he didn’t know, or rather, he wasn’t certain
if his instincts were correct. And to divulge to the King what his instincts
told him would prove to be a mistake of cataclysmic proportion. King Germaine
picked out the gristles of food in his teeth while waiting for Attikus to
respond. After a nice swig of the King’s best wine, Attikus felt he had chosen
the right words. “The last time you spoke with the Emperor was the day after
his assault, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Since
then, the Emperor has grown,” Attikus again stalled to search for the most
diplomatic word, “impatient at the lack of results from your soldiers.”
“And
also his spies, I presume?”
Attikus
nodded. “And also his spies. He knows there is a lack of motivation, possibly
even from the top down, to catch the criminals who have been sighted at least
once, and as many as four times, since their escape.”
“Why
is that his belief?”
Attikus
wondered if the King really didn’t know the answer, or if he was feigning
ignorance so he could measure Attikus. King Germaine was rarely subtle, but he
was certainly more cunning than he let on.
“For
example, the bounty.”
King
Germaine showed a finger of protest. “The bounty is the standard amount the law
dictates for such an offense.”
“Upon
a nobleman,” Attikus added gravely. “Imagine, your Highness—”
“Attikus,
please.”
The
general relented for the sake of argument. “Very well. Imagine,
Sedgwick
,
if you will, that the offense had been upon a member of the Blithmore royal
family.”
“God
forbid it.”
“Yes,
but at what price would you have set the bounty to catch someone who assaulted
your son? Or your daughter? Or the Queen?”
King
Germaine began chewing the pieces of gristle more thoughtfully.
“You
see now where the Emperor of Neverak finds fault with you?” Attikus asked in a
calm tone that held no trace of accusation.
The
King spat the gristles out onto his plate. “You’re right, Attikus. Now, please,
look at the situation from where I sit. Half of my kingdom—or nearly half from
what the reports say—believes the Emperor bought the noble girl as a slave and
then her lover rescued her.”
“Have
you addressed these concerns with the Emperor?”
“I
tried, but you know Ivan. He’s nothing like his father, nothing at all, and
that’s the real problem. Emperor Peter Ivan Krallick would never have bought
slaves even though his father and grandfather did it. He would never have tried
to make an arrangement to camp his soldiers in my borders, nor mine in his, but
your young Emperor demands and demands and demands . . . . ”
“You
don’t like the son?”
The
King gave Attikus a look that told the general he should know better than to
ask such a thing. “A bold question from the man who requested his retirement on
the day of the new Emperor’s coronation.”
“What
everyone seems to forget is that my eldest son turned of age to enter the
service on the same day,” Attikus replied. “A man has no right to be the
commander of his son. War is bloody enough without nepotism.”
King
Germaine smiled in the way Attikus recognized as an attempt to get him to smile
back, but he did not indulge the King, not ever. His brown eyes dropped to his
goblet where the last of the fine wine waited for him.
“I
don’t trust Ivan, you know that.” The King’s face told Attikus he felt ashamed
of admitting his feelings. “I believe he did purchase the daughter of Lord
Oslan, and I don’t blame the foolish carpenter for doing what he did. I think
the carpenter was an idiot for not handling the situation any other way, but I’m
not going to put my kingdom into an uproar over this matter. I’m not
encouraging my armies to search every nook and cranny of the kingdom! Would
you?” The old King looked as if he was about to confess his greatest sin. “And
yet I’m afraid of what he’ll do if I don’t help him with this situation, and
I’m afraid of what’s happening now that you’re involved.”
Attikus
listened to all of this with a level eye and an unchanging expression.
“I’m
not like Ivan. I’m past the age of ambition, and I’ve never had the kind that
he has. His father and I, while we ruled together, we dismantled much of our
militaries so our countries could enjoy greater prosperity. We trusted each
other!”
“That
trust carries over to me, doesn’t it?”
“Certainly
it does and without equivocation, but only as a person, not as this Emperor’s
general.”
“That
trust will be needed now more than ever, Sedgwick.” Attikus fixed his eyes on
the King. “I’ve been sent to you with a prop—rather, a demand. It was an
understatement for me to say that Ivan is impatient for the capture of his
assailants. His wrath only grows. He has asked me to strike a deal with you.”
King
Germaine appeared neither surprised nor happy. He folded his hands together and
waited for Attikus to continue.
“It
goes as follows: you formally declare Henry and Maggie Vestin, Isabelle and
James Oslan, and Brandol the journeyman to be Enemies of the King and Country
with a full bounty of one thousand crowns per head, place decrees and sketches
in every town and village, demand writs of passages on all travelers, and allow
him to send five hundred of the Elite Guard into your borders to aid in the
search while he permits three hundred of your Guard around his palace. In
return, he will reduce tariffs on lumber, sheep, and wool for five years.”
King
Germaine shook his head angrily. “This is an example of what I mean. Peter and
I never made demands. We worked together. I can’t—this is unacceptable. Neverak
forces—his Elite Guard, no less—free to roam my lands? I can’t help but wonder
if Ivan has other motives.”
Attikus
knew the role his Emperor wished him to take, but he earnestly hoped it was not
for the end the King feared. “Sedgwick, why else would Ivan reappoint me? For
no other reason that I know of than to set your mind at ease. Not only will I
oversee these five hundred Elite, but I have assumed this role of my own will
and not by royal decree. What more can I say to satisfy you?”
King
Germaine spat another piece of gristle onto his plate and surveyed it with
disgust. When he looked up at Attikus, his face had only lost a portion of his
anger.
“Tell
me this: what if I refuse the Emperor’s demands and choose to do neither?”
Attikus
displayed his empty hands. “I am only doing my task.”
“Do
you think I’ve forgotten the reason why a man of your background became general
over all the armies of Neverak?”
“Did
the old Emperor tell you the reason?” Attikus asked. The last bit of his wine
sat in the bottom of his goblet like a small pool of blood.
The
King’s face fell. “No, he didn’t tell me. The rumor was—”
“There
will always be rumors.”
“Are
they true, Attikus?” King Germaine asked with such exposed curiosity that
Attikus was ashamed for him.
The
general raised his goblet as if he was poised to drink, making sure it covered
part of his face as he spoke. “No, it is not true.” Then he drank the final
measure of wine from his goblet. It tasted as bitter as guilt.
King
Germaine breathed deeply as though he had unloaded a great burden. He smiled
again at Attikus, though this time it was brief, probably because he finally
remembered from years of friendship with the general that the smile would not
be returned. Attikus didn’t smile. He had never learned how. He wished the King
would not place so much trust in him, yet he couldn’t tell him this. The future
was too shrouded, but there were signs he didn’t like. King Germaine gripped
the table with both hands, not in anger or fear, but a steady grip nonetheless.
“I
don’t want war, Attikus.” His voice was suddenly very tired, even more than the
old Emperor’s when he lay on his death bed. “What is wrong with peace? I’m no
fool, at least I hope not. It’s not a perfect world, but there’s no reason for
our countries to not enjoy decades more of prosperity and peace.”
Attikus
spoke only truth now. “I know nothing of designs for war or subterfuge, I can
assure you that. When I appeared before the Emperor to receive this appointment
I saw a man who wanted justice. No doubt he chases it too far and too hard, but
it is still justice.”
King
Germaine’s gaze pierced Attikus in a way the old general was very familiar
with. The tired face changed again to the face of a noble King whose experience
was long, tried, and tested. He surveyed the food on the table, the room in
which they sat, and maybe even surveying the whole world with that piercing
gaze. At long last he spoke. “Very well. I may be roasted for it by my council,
but I give you my permission to bring your Elite Guard.”
