He wanted to believe that those wounded had gotten better, but he did not. Instead, he thought it more likely that those poor souls had succumbed to their wounds despite the healers’ efforts. A dark thought, perhaps, but one that seemed to be substantiated by the grim expressions on the faces of those remaining caretakers—who looked little better than those they tended—and by the innkeeper herself who moved among them like a troupe manager backstage, always there when she was needed to direct, assist or console the wounded and those who cared for them.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Chall staring at him, something like compassion in his face. “Come, lad,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing we can do for them.”
“B-but…you’re a mage, aren’t you?” Matt asked hopefully. “Can’t you…I don’t know, cast a spell or something?”
The heavy-set man winced. “My magic, I’m afraid, is not the useful kind. Now, come on. The others are waiting for us.”
And indeed, they were, for a quick look showed the man, Priest, they’d called him, and Maeve standing by the door. They both looked tense, ready, but if they felt any of the overwhelming terror that was currently gripping Matt then they hid it well.
The mage started toward them. Matt hesitated, looking back once more at those wounded, wishing he could help them somehow. In the end, though, he moved toward the others who were currently engaged in a hushed conversation.
“—haven’t seen him, yet,” Maeve said.
“He said he would meet us,” Priest replied, “and so he will be here.”
Chall grunted. “I don’t like this, not at all. Feledias is almost here and—”
Maeve glanced over, seemed to notice Matt for the first time, and made a shushing noise, cutting the mage off. “Did you get some good sleep, Matt?” she asked, obviously making an attempt to force cheer into her voice.
“I-I guess,” he said, glancing between them. “If they’re almost here, the men hunting me, I mean, then what do we do?”
“First,” Chall whispered, glancing behind him, “you speak quieter, boy. There’s no need to go making a scene. And after that…”
“We wait,” Maeve said. “For Cutter.”
No sooner had she finished speaking than the door opened and standing in the dark doorway as if his name had called him, was Cutter, the man Matt had known since he was a child and who he was recently realizing he had not known at all, not really. His hulking form filled the doorway, and he was forced to duck under the lintel as he stepped inside. Cutter noted his companions immediately and moved toward them.
As he approached, Matt couldn’t help but notice fresh spatters of blood staining the man’s front and his hands, noted, too, that the big man’s knuckles were raw and scraped.
“We were wondering when you’d decide to show up,” Chall said.
Maeve looked the man up and down. “Trouble?”
Cutter grunted in assent. “Feledias isn’t on his way to the village anymore, he—”
“But that’s great,” Matt interrupted, feeling a heady sense of relief. “If he isn’t—”
“No, lad,” Chall interrupted, watching Cutter’s face, the grim expression on it. “He isn’t on his way—he’s here alrea—”
The door burst open again, and they all spun to see the guardsman from the gate. The man was panting and coated in sweat, and, Matt was surprised to see, grinning. The innkeeper hurried forward. “What is it, Rolph? What’s happened?”
“It’s High Prince Feledias, Netty!” the guardsman exclaimed through panting breaths, a wide grin on his face.
“The High Prince?” the woman asked, frowning. “What about him?”
“He’s here, Netty,” the guard said.
“Here?” the woman asked, clearly surprised, and Matt couldn’t blame her. After all, he had lived in Brighton, a village about the size of Ferrimore, for his entire life, and they had never once had the prince visit. Except, of course, for when he did come and burned the village to the ground.
“Yes, here,” the man said, “in Ferrimore. Or, at least, just outside of it. Guardsman Pender was speaking to them when I left, thought I’d come ahead and give you warning, so you could get the place ready or…” He shrugged, taking a deep breath. “Or whatever.”
“But why?” Netty asked with a frown, apparently not as ready to celebrate as the guardsman. “Why would he come here?”
“Well, it’s obvious, ain’t it?” the guardsman asked. “He must have heard of our troubles with the Fey, that’s all. Must have heard of it and come to help us. He’s come to help, Netty!”
There were shouts of excitement from wounded and caretaker alike at that, and the guardsman, grinning, moved off toward them, speaking on as those who could gathered around him.
The innkeeper, though, remained, and when she turned to look at Cutter, she was not smiling. She moved toward them, her frown deepening with each step. “Two princes in as many days,” she said, watching Cutter as if searching for something. “Ferrimore’s never been so popular.”
She watched the big man silently, perhaps waiting for Cutter to respond, but he said nothing, only letting the silence speak for him.
The innkeeper grunted, giving a single nod as if she’d just had some suspicion confirmed. “And you lot, it’s not just bad timin’, you all leavin’ in the middle of the night just as your brother’s arrivin’ at our gates. Is it?”
“No,” Cutter said. “It isn’t.”
The woman nodded again. “Heard some tale about you two brothers bein’ at odds, though can’t say I know the specifics, can’t say I’ve ever felt the lack of not knowin’ either. We got our own life here in Ferrimore, with plenty enough to worry about on our own without gettin’
