The man froze, letting out a mewling sound of terror. “W-wait, just hold on a minute, alright? I don’t know—”
“Wait a minute,” Cutter said, grunting with surprise at the voice, for even squeaking as it was, it was one he recognized. “Chall?”
He spun the man around and, sure enough, was shocked to see the magician’s pale expression staring back. Fatter than before, older but undeniable for all that.
“H-hi.”
“What are you doing here?” Cutter said, letting the axe drop, then he turned to the woman and was unsurprised to find that her face, when she turned to regard him, was one he also recognized. “Maeve?”
“Hello, Prince Bernard,” she said calmly. “How have you been?”
Just then, there was an almost imperceptible sound behind him. “Priest,” he said, turning to regard the old man who had stepped out from behind the cover of a nearby tree, and was holding a bow that he released the tension on, smoothly sliding the arrow that had been nocked to the string into the quiver at his back.
“My prince,” the man said, bowing his head.
“Not prince,” Cutter growled, surprised by how angry it made him to be called that, “not anymore.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” the man said, “but a man can no more change who he is than a leopard might change its spots. You are a prince, exiled or not, that simple fact remains.”
Cutter sighed. “What are you all doing here?”
“Me?” Chall asked, swallowing and pulling at his collar. “Well, just now, I’m thinking that I’m going to have to find a new pair of trousers.”
Maeve shot the man an annoyed look. “We came here to help you. Feledias is tracking you.”
“I know. One of his scouts found us last night.”
“Fire and salt then we’re too late,” Chall groaned. “The man’ll report back to Feledias and—”
“No.” Cutter interrupted.
The magician shared a meaningful look with Maeve at that, then seemed to blanch. “Ah, well that’s…good, of course.”
“We came,” Maeve said, rolling her eyes, “because Chall had a vision. It’s Feledias, Prince—”
“Do not call me that,” Cutter growled, “I go by Cutter now.”
Maeve grunted in what might have been amusement. “Well. I can’t say that it isn’t appropriate.”
He winced at that and was about to respond when suddenly the underbrush rustled behind him, and the boy came out of it, his eyes widening as he took in the four of them. “I told you to wait,” Cutter growled.
“I heard voices,” he said, “and a scream. I thought…I thought something was wrong.”
“It wasn’t a scream,” Chall muttered. “More of a…ah, forget it.”
“W-who are these people?” the boy asked, his eyes wide, his voice breathy with nerves. “Is it…the men that are chasing us?”
“No, lad,” Cutter said. “These people are different they’re…friends.”
He turned back to see the three of them staring at the boy, their eyes wide. “Is this…him?” Maeve asked in a breathy voice.
“This is Matt,” Cutter said abruptly. “A boy from Brighton. His village was attacked.”
“Damn my eyes, but it’s uncanny,” Chall breathed. “He looks just like her, it’s as if—”
“Enough,” Cutter said.
“Who?” Matt asked. “Who do I look like? I don’t understa—”
“Later,” Cutter growled. “There’s no time. We have to get out of these Woods and fast. Feledias is not far behind and—”
“We know,” Chall interrupted, then seemed to quail when Cutter turned his attention on him. “I mean…it’s why we’re here.”
“Fine,” Cutter said, “anyway, we need to leave. We’ll head for Valaidra. It’s the closest city and—”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Chall interrupted.
“Oh? And why not?”
“Feledias knows you’ll go there,” Chall said. “In the vision I had, Pri—” He cut off at a warning look from Cutter, then paused, swallowing, before continuing, “What I mean Cutter, is that he’s waiting with his men. He plans to ambush you once you leave the Black Woods.”
Cutter hissed. “Very well. There’s another place—a small village by the name of Ferrimore. It’s a bit farther south.”
“Ferrimore?” Maeve said, frowning. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Nor would you have,” Cutter said. “It isn’t on any of the maps—only a few hundred people if that. Still, it will get us out of the Black Woods and give us time to figure out our next move. Now come on—we’ve wasted enough time already.”
***
Maeve watched her prince’s back as he led the group of them out of the Black Woods, and she wondered at many things. She wondered at why he had just assumed they would follow his plan without bothering asking their opinions on the matter. Wondered, too, based on how she and the others did exactly that, if he were wrong to do so. Most of all, she wondered if she was a fool. Probably, she was. After all, who else would so easily fall back into the rhythm—a rhythm which had gotten her and the others exiled with a price on their head to beggar kings—of following a man such as he?
She told herself, though, that this time was different. Years ago, she had followed her prince—the man who now styled himself as Cutter—for several reasons. For one, he had been her prince, after all, and to have disobeyed him would have been treason. Another part had been swept up by the force of his personality, but now, walking in the quiet of the Woods, the only sound that of her and her companions’ footsteps, she had to admit to herself that there had been another reason, too.
Yes, her prince had been eager for bloodshed, had seemed to wish to drown in it. He had been brutal and cruel and callous, preferring to prove his right through the strength of his arm and the keen edge of his axe. And while she had hated him for that—still did, in fact—she realized that she had not been so very different.
