But such an opportunity did not present itself, and he was forced to watch until the lad put a good distance between them then turned and hurried away.
Cutter had seen many terrible things in his life, had been the cause of many terrible things, yet he had never seen anything which rocked him so heavily as watching the boy run back into the town, headed to the certain death that awaited him there.
He was so overcome by that feeling, by the terror he felt, that he did not notice Maeve’s approach, did not notice anything, really, except for the boy’s departing form. “He’s brave,” she said softly.
“Yes,” he said. “Like his mother.”
And remembering her, he was reminded, too, of the promise he’d made. Fifteen years had passed since that promise, but it felt as if it had only been yesterday. He glanced between Maeve and Chall. “I’m going back. Thank you both for your help, now and in the past. But you should run. If my brother finds you here, he will not be kind, and I am tired of people suffering for my sake.”
Maeve snorted. “As if we’d just up and leave. Gods, but sometimes I think you’re the biggest fool I’ve ever met.”
Cutter briefly considered the course of his life and grunted. “Probably you’re right.”
“Anyway,” she went on, “fool or not, we won’t leave you, not like this. Will we, Chall?” She turned to the mage, who frowned.
“Well, there is this whore I’ve heard of who I’d really like to…” He trailed off at Maeve’s frown, sighing. “But why seek pleasure when pain is in such abundance?” he asked. “I’m with you, Prince.”
Cutter looked between the two of them, surprised and more than a little touched. He wondered briefly what he had done to deserve such companions, such friends, but he did not wonder long. Nothing, that was the answer, for one thing he’d learned over the years was that men very rarely got what they deserved. Still, he realized then that he loved them, in that moment, realized that he always had.
In the past, that love had been too overshadowed by hate, by anger and arrogance, for him to notice it, to feel it, but he noticed it now, felt it now. “You’re sure?”
“Oh, let’s go already,” Chall said. “We stand here talking about it much longer, I’m liable to shit myself, and I’d rather not be buried that way, not if I can help it.”
“Plus,” Maeve said, smirking, “it’d be a shame to ruin such fine trousers.”
The mage glanced down at the purple trousers he still wore, frowning. “Sometimes, Maeve, I think you might be the world’s biggest bitch.”
She grunted in what might have been amusement. “Seems someone else’ll have to take up the mantle soon enough.”
Cutter found himself grinning despite himself, and he realized he could not remember the last time he’d smiled. Funny, maybe, that it would be here, before their inevitable deaths, that he found a reason to do so but probably for the best. After all, there wouldn’t be any more time for it, that much was certain. “Ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” Maeve said.
“No,” Chall said.
And then they were running.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
There are none more confident that they know best than the young.
And there are none more wrong.
—Common saying in the Known Lands
It did not take them long to catch up with Matt. The youth spun at their approach, thinking, perhaps, that they were some of Feledias’s soldiers. When he saw that it was them instead, he fumbled at the blade now sheathed at his side, bringing it to his throat once more. “I-I t-told you not to follow me, that I would kill myself if you tried to stop me. I meant it.”
“I know you did, lad,” Cutter said, holding up his hands. “We haven’t come to stop you.”
“No?” Matt asked, clearly surprised and just as clearly relieved. “Th-then why…”
“We’ve come to help,” Cutter said.
The youth’s eyes went wide at that. “Y-you mean it? You’ve come to help?”
“Sure,” Chall said with a shrug. “I mean, who’d pass up an opportunity to get tortured to death?”
“And y-you won’t…you promise you won’t try to stop me?” Matt asked, staring at Cutter.
Cutter was just about to open his mouth to speak, to tell the boy that he would not try to stop him and that while he had lied to him often in the past, this, at least, was nothing short of the truth. But just then there was a shout from nearby, and he spun to see two of Feledias’s soldiers moving out of an alleyway, swords drawn.
No doubt, these, like other pairs, had been sent about the village to round up any townsfolk, to also find Cutter and the rest in case they had attempted to flee—which, of course, they had. But what they did more than anything was prove that there was no reason for him to answer the boy. The time for fleeing, for stopping him, had passed.
There would be no running, not now. Feledias had caught up with him. His past had caught up with him, and there was nothing left to do but face it. Cutter stepped in front of Matt, protecting him from those men, from his own past as best as he could. He reached for the axe at his back, but before he could close the distance between him and the soldiers, Priest moved, drawing the bow from his back and stringing an arrow to it in one smooth motion. Before Cutter or the soldiers could react, the missile was whistling across the intervening space, and the next thing Cutter—and the unfortunate soldier—knew, it had buried itself in his throat.
The other soldier watched his comrade fall, his mouth opening as if he would say something, but he never got the chance, for Maeve shifted and suddenly there was a knife in her hand. She pivoted
