No, he was going south, that much was certain. And if he did not wish to remain in the Black Wood for long, he would be forced to abandon their relative safety soon. But he would not do so without a plan. No, he would head for the safest place he could. Feledias grinned, turning to Commander Malex. “Get everyone on their horses—we ride for Valaidra.”
Commander Malex looked perplexed. “Sire?”
“He will not tarry long in the Wood, Malex. No, my brother is like an animal on the run and seeks only safety. If he cannot disappear into the wilderness—and he cannot—then he will try to hide in plain sight, to be only another face among thousands. And as you well know, Valaidra is the only city of any size near us. We will wait for him outside the Wood and will catch our quarry when he leaves the Fey lands.”
The man bowed his head. “As you command, Highness.” Then he stepped away, motioning to the troops and growling orders. In moments, the soldiers were preparing their kits, mounting their horses.
“Not you, Dalen,” Feledias said, and the tracker turned.
“Sire?”
“You will continue to follow them, discover where they are, exactly—see them with your own eyes, do you understand?—then bring news back to me. I believe I know what my brother will do, but I could be wrong, and something as important as this cannot be left to chance, do you understand?”
“Of course, Highness, but there is a risk…should I get too close. Your brother is known for his cleverness, for being difficult to catch, and if he senses—”
“You are worried about what my brother might do to you, is that it, Dalen?” Feledias demanded.
The man paled, but said nothing, made no move to argue with him.
“Oh, but you need not be, Dalen,” Feledias said, his voice an angry simmer, “for if you do not do this thing for me, or if you should fail, then whatever fate my brother might have chosen for you will be eclipsed a thousand times by the pain and suffering I visit on not just you but your family. You have a sister living in the capital, do you not? Perhaps I will have my men pay her a visit, to take the measure, you see, of her hospitality.”
The man swallowed hard, quivering with fear or rage or both. “I will leave at once, sire.”
“I thought you might,” Feledias said dryly. “Now go. And leave your horse. The beast will give your position away.”
“As you command, Highness,” the man said, bowing his head.
Feledias watched him disappear into the wood, then he turned to the rest of his soldiers, all waiting on their mounts. He strode to his own beast and in one smooth motion leapt into the saddle. Then he turned and nodded at Commander Malex. In another moment, they were riding out of the woods, an anticipatory grin on Feledias’s face.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Fearsome Five, they were called.
The number was not always correct—sometimes there were more, sometimes less, for even the world’s greatest heroes might die in battle.
And heroes they were. There were others, of course, during the Fey Wars, but none so respected, so feared, as Prince Bernard and his closest companions.
And wherever they went, men and women bowed and scraped before them.
Heroes, yes, men and women of incredible prowess in battle.
But sometimes, even heroes can become villains.
—Exiled Historian to the Crown, Petran Quinn
“Ah, but I’ve missed the smells of the city,” Chall said from beside her, taking in a long, deep breath.
Maeve frowned over at him. She was annoyed. For one, her tailbone hurt, and she was sore in places she didn’t remember ever being sore before. She was not accustomed to riding in the back of jouncing wagons, and her body ached from a day and a half of it. She told herself she was going soft, that the last fifteen years had done her no favors, but it wasn’t only that. Even back when she had traveled with her companions, during the Fey Wars, she had never been reduced to riding in the back of wagons.
Indeed, no one in their right mind would have ever expected to find Maeve the Marvelous so humbled. No, she had ridden at the front of great companies of troops, only surpassed in her majesty and the love of the crowd by her lord. They had ridden into cities—those they had conquered and those they had saved—to the adulation, sometimes real, often feigned, of its citizens, and flowers of all colors had been thrown at the feet of their mounts. While Maeve regretted many things of her past, and while she was glad to have most of the features of those days long behind her, existing now only in memory, she could have done with some flowers just then, would have even settled for a simple pillow for her aching backside.
And she decided then that it wasn’t just her backside that hurt, but her pride, too. She hadn’t thought she’d had much of the stuff left, to be honest, had thought she’d left it behind her, if not when she’d fled like a coward in the night when the truth of her lord’s betrayal had come to light, then certainly abandoned at the altar when she’d chosen to marry Hank. But as it turned out, her pride, like so many of her sins, had followed her, refusing to give her a moment’s rest.
She thought that Chall, given his gross overweightness and the trousers which she did not think she imagined were already beginning to peel away at their tortured seams, must have surely enjoyed the trip even less than she, yet he was not complaining now. Instead, he stood beside her, just inside the city gate, smiling widely at the buildings and those who passed them like a fool, either unaware or uncaring of the
