They lay in the dew-laden grass, their forms nearly invisible amidst the green blades. They had been lying so for hours now, and Feledias’s impatience was growing by the second as his anger, his thirst for revenge gnawed at his insides like some voracious, hungry rodent. A hunger which would never be sated until Bernard, his traitorous brother, was killed, he and all those who had chosen to follow him.
They had lain concealed so for hours, yet no one spoke, no one gave vent to the tired yawns which boredom often produced. Neither did they give voice to groans from aches and pains often occurring when men remained so still for so long. Not a single complaint was uttered, a single moan loosed, for many of those near fifty men with him shared Feledias’s hate for his brother, had been wronged by him in some way. As for those who did not share his hate, they, too, remained silent, for they knew well what would happen to them should they jeopardize this opportunity—the best they’d had in years—to finally catch and punish the fugitive prince.
And so they lay still, the minutes ticking by, and with each that passed, Feledias’s impatience, his anger, grew, until it was a rodent no longer but some great beast writhing within him, ripping and tearing at him in its anxiousness to get the thing done.
And into this silence, into this tense mood of anticipated murder, a man came. The horse on which he rode was a large beast, one considerably bigger than those coursers which the prince had ordered picketed some distance away so as not to reveal their position. A beast used not for war but for hard labor, and the man on it much the same, not a warrior, Feledias could see at a glance, but a man who, judging by his calloused knuckles and protruding gut, was a laborer, likely a farmer or woodcutter.
Feledias, while angry at the man’s intrusion, was grateful, at least, to see that though the newcomer rode within a dozen paces of several of his troops, he did not notice him. He considered letting the man pass, had decided to do exactly that—after all, it would be his brother’s luck to be happening out of the Wood only to see several dozen men rise from the tall grass and accost the rider—but then the man spoke.
Or, more accurately, yelled, his gaze turning this way and that. “Prince Feledias?” he shouted.
The soldiers nearest Feledias, including Commander Malex, shifted the slightest amount, glancing at Feledias as the man’s shouting continued. Feledias was angry now, for even should they not show themselves, if his brother was close, he could not help but hear the man shouting his name, and even if they did not appear, his brother would likely not be willing to risk it, choosing to either go farther south in the Wood before exiting or, alternatively, to back track.
“Prince Fele—” the man started again, then let out a shout of shock as Feledias rose, followed a moment later by his soldiers, all of them seeming to appear out of the grass like phantoms, blades in hand. The man’s mount, sharing its rider’s surprise, backed up several paces, the man, in his shock, struggling to gain control of it. Feledias understood the man’s discomfiture, one minute thinking himself alone, the next being surrounded by armed men, all ill-tempered from hours spent barely daring to move, to do anything but breathe, hours that might well have just been squandered by this fool with the bruised face.
“P-prince,” the man said, his eyes wide, trembling.
“I am High Prince Feledias,” he said, smiling without humor as he noted the way the man’s eyes tracked to his bared blade and the bared blades of his soldiers around him. “And you are?”
“C-Cend’s my name, sir, I mean, Prince…my lord.”
Some farmer hick, a man who, in the right, natural course of things, would have never found himself in the presence of a royal horse let alone the kingdom’s ruler. A reminder, if any was needed, of all that was wrong with the world, all caused by his brother’s betrayal. “Cend,” Feledias said, allowing some of his anger to creep into his tone. “And what, exactly, has brought you here to disrupt me and my men at our work?”
“W-work, my lord?” the man asked.
Feledias bared his teeth. “Bloody work, farmer. Now, before you become a part of it, tell me why you have come, why you ride a cart horse and shout my name.”
“F-forgive me, my lord,” he stammered, “I did not mean to…that is…”
He trailed off, and Feledias glanced at his troops, sharing an amused smile before looking back to the man. “Out with it, farmer. We are busy men and have little time for your stupidity.”
“O-of course, Prince,” the man managed, looking far stupider, in that moment, than the weary mount on which he rode, ludicrous really. The peasant cleared his throat, glancing nervously around. “I-it’s your brother, my lord.”
The dark humor which Feledias had been feeling vanished in that moment. At least, the humor did. The darkness, as ever since his brother’s betrayal, remained. “What of him?” he said, moving forward, and there must have been some hint of his sudden change in mood either in his movements or his voice, for the man’s face grew pale.
“I…that is, you’re looking for him, aren’t you, my lord? Your brother?”
Feledias frowned, his eyes narrowing. “And if I were? Speak quickly, farmer. Have you heard some news of my wayward brother’s whereabouts?”
“N-not as such, my lord,” the man managed.
Feledias let out a growl and, reading his desires, two of his soldiers surged forward and in another moment the farmer was letting out a squeal similar, no doubt, to one of those barnyard pigs he likely raised as he was ripped off his mount and thrown onto the ground, two bared blades poised at his throat.
“Then why,” Feledias hissed, “have you come?”
“I-I
