In time, the scout led them to behind the burned-out shell of a house, the stone scorched and stained with soot. He put his back against the corner and peered around then turned back to Cutter, motioning him forward.
Cutter crept forward, glancing around the corner.
The scene was much as Priest had described it. Even as he watched, soldiers dragged kicking and screaming villagers toward the inn entrance, throwing them inside while others stood with swords drawn at the door lest any of those terrified villagers peering out of the entrance attempted to make a run for it.
But while this was a terrible sight, what drew Cutter’s eye was, instead, the half a dozen soldiers standing in front of the building in a rough semi-circle and, specifically, the man at their front. Feledias. Cutter had not seen his brother in years, not since their falling out fifteen years ago, a falling out which had been his fault and his alone. His brother had aged in that time, that much could be seen in the gray streaks in his hair and beard, could be seen in the hard lines on his face.
Yet, in his features, Cutter could see the child he had once been, the happy, carefree child who had followed his big brother everywhere, who had thought him a hero. Perhaps Feledias was a monster now, but he had not always been so, and if he was a monster, then he was one of Cutter’s making.
An old woman knelt in front of his brother, a soldier on either side of her. Her lip was split from a recent cut, and her face was marred by a fresh bruise, but despite this, the orange ruddy glow of the torches several of the soldiers held was enough for Cutter to recognize her as Netty, the innkeeper.
“What…what do we do?” Matt asked in a hushed whisper.
Cutter considered that. They were outnumbered with no chance of fighting their way through the soldiers. If they tried, they would be cut down long before they ever reached the inn and the frightened villagers inside it. He glanced at the others to see if they had any ideas, but they offered nothing, only watched him, waiting for what he would say. He knew that, should he ask it of them, they would not hesitate to charge suicidally into the waiting troops. Well, perhaps Chall would hesitate, but the man would go nonetheless, of that much he was certain. Just as he was certain that, if he did, he would die, he and all the others. They would all die at his brother’s hands for a sin of which he alone was guilty. His brother hated him for that sin, with a hate so strong that it had warped him, twisted the once kind, benevolent man into a creature who sought only revenge, and who cared nothing about anyone else, would destroy anything or anyone who got in the way of him achieving his vengeance.
Cutter deserved to die for what he had done—there was no denying that. But his companions, his friends, did not. Suddenly, a thought struck him, and he grunted. “I’ve got an idea—a way out of this, a way we can save those villagers. But we have to be fast.”
Matt was nodding quickly, and he could see hope not just on the boy’s face but on those of the others as well. Perhaps they would have been willing to charge suicidally into the soldiers, but no doubt they preferred a less painful, less final alternative.
“There’s a back door into the inn,” he whispered, knowing they had to be fast. “I saw it earlier. Feledias will have it guarded, but not as heavily as the front. You all go, wait for my signal, then, if there are any soldiers left, take them out and sneak the villagers out the back.”
“But…where will you be?” Matt asked.
Cutter was aware of all their eyes on him, aware of Maeve’s in particular. She was clever, Maeve, cleverer than him by half and always had been. So, he took his time, choosing his words, his tone carefully. “I’ll stay here, create a distraction. When I do, you make your move.”
“A distraction,” Maeve said, watching him carefully, her eyes seeming to see right through him.
Cutter forced himself to nod confidently. “Yes.”
“But, Prince,” Chall said, “perhaps it would be better if I stayed. With my magic—”
“No,” Cutter interrupted, giving his head a shake. “If things go sideways, they’ll need your magic to rescue the villagers and make it out alive.”
The mage clearly wanted to argue the point, but he remained silent, glancing at Maeve as if for help. The woman, though, was only watching Cutter with her eyes that seemed to see so much. “And what about you?”
He felt their time, their chances, slipping away, but he forced back his impatience, giving as casual of a shrug as he could. “Lead the villagers to the north side of the village—there’s a forest a little over a mile away in that direction. On open ground, their horses will catch you and they’ll cut you down, but if you can make it to the trees, it will be harder for Feledias and his men to track you. You’ll have a chance.”
“But what about you?” Maeve asked again.
Cutter shook his head, unable to completely hide his frustration. “I’ll catch up, don’t worry about that—I don’t mean to die today. Now, hurry—there’s no more time.”
They nodded, turning to start away but Cutter caught the boy, putting a hand on his shoulder. Matt turned, looking at him with eyes as big as dinner saucers in the moonlight. “Be brave, Matt,” Cutter said. “Whatever happens, be brave. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, sir,” the boy said.
Cutter stared at him. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, a thousand
