“Maybe we shouldn’t,” he said, trying to keep the squeak of fear from his voice and not altogether succeeding. “Maybe there’s another way. We could send a message to him or…”
Maeve barked a laugh without humor. “A message? And who would carry that message, Chall? You know as well as I do that no messenger would travel into the Black Woods, not for all the gold in the world.”
“Which just goes to show that not all men are fools after all,” he snapped.
Maeve sighed. “Look, we’ve come this far. Anyway, it isn’t as if we intend to cut down some trees, maybe build a house—”
“Don’t even joke about such things!” Chall snapped. “Damnit, woman, these are not normal trees, don’t you get that? And this is no normal wood. These trees think, and what they think…” He shook his head, heaving a ragged sigh.
“Oh enough bitching,” Maeve said. “Anyway, this is where you said he’ll be, right? According to your vision, he should be close to the edge—with any luck, we won’t have to take but a few steps in until we find them.”
“With any luck,” Chall muttered, “we wouldn’t be here at all.”
“Forget it,” Maeve said. “Priest and I will go. You just stay here, how’s that? Who knows,” she went on, grinning evilly, “perhaps Feledias will be along directly. I imagine he’d be pleased to see—what was it he called you again? Oh, that’s right, his brother’s ‘pet magician.’ Who knows? Maybe he’ll throw a ball for you—or an execution. After all, unless my memory fails me, I seem to recall your name being on the list of those of us he means to kill.”
Chall shuddered at that, scowling at the pleased look on the woman’s face. “And what of the Fey?” he challenged. “Somehow, I doubt they’ll exactly welcome us with open arms—why, I’m certain that if they find us, they’ll kill us just as quick as Feledias would and with just as much energy.”
Maeve grunted. “Best we not be found then, isn’t it? Now, come on. Daylight’s burning.”
With that, she gave her horse a kick and after shooting him a look of compassion, Priest did the same. Chall watched them for a minute, thinking that, if he somehow survived the next day or so, he was really going to have to make some better, safer friends. Like a pack of wolves. Or a bear, maybe. Then, he gave his horse a soft kick, and the beast snorted in anger, trying—and nearly succeeding—to buck him off before starting toward the forest. A stupid animal, that was sure, but not so stupid that it didn’t hesitate, requiring another kick, before it walked into the forest. Which was fine—Chall just wished there was someone there to kick him.
***
They were heading east, now, toward the forest’s border. Cutter had led them south for as long as he dared, and he knew that coming out of the wood should put them into the fields outside Valaidra. He should know, after all, for years ago, during the war with the Fey, he had traveled the lands often on one campaign or another, most often at the head of an army.
The boy had said nothing for a while, but then he did not need to, for Cutter could feel his anger, his hate, coming off him in seething waves. He told himself that was fine. Let the lad be angry, if it helped him. What was important was that he lived to be angry.
The forest was silent as always, the only sounds that of him and the boy breathing and their footsteps crunching in the snow. They had been traveling east for several hours when another sound intruded on that silence, and he held up a hand, ordering the boy to stop.
“What?” Matt asked. “What is it?”
“Quiet,” Cutter hissed. He unlimbered his axe from the sling at his back and turned, glancing back. “Stay here,” he mouthed. “Don’t make a sound.”
And then he was moving. Cutter’s father, long ago, had insisted on training his sons in woodcraft the same way in which he had insisted on training them in so many other things, and so his footsteps were nearly silent as he moved through the woods, using the great trunks of the trees as cover as he inched forward.
He walked this way for several minutes, was beginning to think that he had imagined the whole thing, when he heard another noise, what sounded like a muttered curse. He ducked low, turning, and caught a flash of color, what might have been purple, from a short distance ahead. Then it was gone again, covered by the thick trees and undergrowth.
Men, that much was sure. Another, in his position, might have waited, might have let whoever it was go by, but Cutter did not, for he knew that any mortals who dared venture into the Black Woods could only be there for him and the boy. Feledias must have sent another scouting party, that was all. After all, the man had plenty enough resources as well as the motivation to do so.
So instead of waiting, Cutter charged, running on the balls of his feet to make as little noise as possible. The man was guiding a horse. There was another, a woman, walking in front of him, but Cutter paid no attention to her. One at a time—it was the only way to get the thing done. The man let out a squeal as he finally became aware of Cutter’s approach and
