The only movement around the dark men were the dull lights from the fireplace that flickered upon their faces and their weapons. Cunnel glanced over at Wicksley's thoughtful face. While everyone seemed to be waiting for his decision, the hunter’s courage was slowly strengthened by an interior grace.

“If this boy is not the prince," warned Michael, "and you attempt to blackmail the King, you will have no leverage to bargain with, no shield to protect you from his wrath!”

Cunnel raised his dagger towards the huntsman.

“Wretch,” he spewed, “you know he’s the prince!”

“What he thinks makes little difference.” Wicksley reminded Cunnel.

“Make this hunter answer me!” Cunnel insisted.

“Not until you have answered him,” was the cold response. The fisherman was bewildered and nearly shaking with rage… and fear.

“Just whose side are you on?” he snapped at Wicksley.

At this, much to Cunnel’s alarm, a long sword was swiftly drawn from beneath the dark man’s cape. A flash of lightening lit Wicksley’s face. Holding it just inches from the fisherman’s nose, he whispered with suppressed emotion.

“You have brought me out here to your wretched shack in the heart of this dreadful storm, just to hear how you've senselessly kidnapped some brat pretending to be the prince? Without evidence, I don’t care if his father is a sovereign emperor! This guttersnipe doesn’t mean a darn thing to me if I can’t prove who it is that I am ransoming!”

Cunnel winced. He knew whose anger he had aroused and the penalties that followed such offenses. In his fear, the fisherman swelled with hostility and turned angrily towards the hunter. Michael met his vehement glare with calmness. There was hope growing within the hunter, and he gently struck while the iron was hot.

“No harm has been done,” the hunter said casually, then with a serious tone, “No one ever has to know.” He lifted his terrified charge into his arms. Slowly, he took one step towards the door. Between them, though, were Wicksley’s two men. Both looked at their master as the hunter approached. They obediently awaited his decision. At length, Wicksley gave a small and silent nod. His two accomplices stepped aside and Michael continued for the door.

“No!” Cunnel screamed, lunging forward in a fit of rage. He caught Michael by the collar. The unexpected attack sent both the hunter and child toppling to the floor. Michael heard Philip’s muffled screams and turned to see the fisherman dragging the boy away. Stumbling to his feet, the hunter rushed over and knocked Cunnel down. Picking up the boy, Michael turned for the door, when Cunnel grabbed hold of Philip’s sleeve. The sudden tension ripped the boy’s shirt and the hunter’s fist sent Cunnel flying to the ground. At this, Wicksley's two companions hurried forward and grabbed Michael from behind. With this aid, the fisherman wrenched the prince from the hunter’s arms. Michael struggled to free himself, but his two captors returned each effort with a sharp blow across his head. Seeing his enemy thus contained, Cunnel defiantly rose to his feet.

“So,” the fisherman sneered, stepping forward. The hunter raised his head and met his triumphant gaze straight on. Cunnel continued.

“You think you can escape my house so easily?” Without waiting for an answer, he struck the huntsman’s face. Michael’s head flew back, but he remained in the men's grasp.

“Confront me again,” the fisherman dared and thrust his fist into the hunter’s stomach. Michael lurched forward and Cunnel hit him over the head. The fisherman again struck him in the face and then his chest. Each blow released the criminal’s fury against this man who had come so close to defeating him.

Wicksley's men just quietly stood there, holding the huntsman up as Cunnel avenged himself. When at length, Michael fell to the ground, the exhausted fisherman stopped. At Cunnel’s command, the hunter was lifted up and held before the fisherman’s knife.

“If ... if the boy is so completely useless,” Cunnel panted, catching his breath. “We won't keep either of you.” He brought his knife under the hunter's chin . The blade pressed sharply against the skin, but drew no blood ...yet. With or without Wicksley's approval, Cunnel was ready to be rid of this man once and for all.

Michael, however, far from intimidated, turned his eyes from the fisherman in search for the prince. He found him lying on the floor, still bound, a short distance behind Cunnel. Wicksley, seemingly intrigued, had stepped towards the young captive and grabbed him by the shoulder. Addressing the boy’s current captor, Michael sought to reason with him.

“Come now,” the hunter said, glancing down at Philip. “It really isn’t worth having a murder on your hands for a mere - ”

“ - Prince.”

Wicksley’s abrupt statement took Cunnel by surprise. He quickly turned around to find Wicksley holding the boy with one hand and a small chain in the other. The hunter went pale. He stared at the golden medallion swinging before the dark man’s face. Wicksley too was studying the ornament. But his eyes quickly fell on the hunter. The thin lips curved in triumph at the huntsman’s defeat. He signaled to one of his men.

“We need the fisherman’s boat!”

A broad smile lit Cunnel’s face. He explained where to find his boat by the river. The downcast hunter listened without protest. They had their evidence... the prince was captured.

“It’s not far,” said the fisherman assuringly. Cryle, however, awaited his master's orders.

“Go and get it.” Wicksley said with a smile. “We have our prize.” The man hastened away, leaving Harkeyl to hold the huntsman. Wicksley turned towards Michael now with an approving look.

“It was a fine performance,” he nodded. “You were very convincing.” He held up the chain, “But gold convinces me faster.” Philip’s turned from Wicksley to Michael and, for a brief moment, their eyes met. Although he received neither the reproach nor the anger he had expected from his friend, Philip was crushed. Looking back at the medallion, the prince recognized it as the one he had so eagerly put on to prepare for his sword fighting lessons.

I guess I never took it off, the boy thought to himself. He had completely forgotten all about it. Cunnel, on the other hand, was exuberant.

“I told you!” he bragged to Wicksley. Then, quickly thinking the better of it, he aimed his victory at the huntsman.

“I told you!” Cunnel sneered in the captive’s face. “Did I not say he was the prince? And you!” He yanked the man’s beard. “You tried to lie and cheat me from my prize. Thought you almost made off with your 'little lost lamb,' did you?" He spat on the ground.

Wicksley examined the golden disc in his hand. He displayed the back of it to Michael.

“Do your children always wear the emblem of Philip III?” Wicksley inquired sarcastically. Turning towards the prince, he added, “Or will you try to tell me you stole it?” Then, releasing the boy, he struck him hard and the prince fell to the floor.

In the corner of his eye, Wicksley watched for the huntsman's reaction. Harkeyl, too, had braced himself and tried to restrain the hunter. After an initial struggle, Harkeyl suddenly met no resistance and quickly pinned Michael's arms behind him. Cunnel sneered at his weak opponent, while the latter received a revengeful blow from his captor. Michael shut his eyes and the two men laughed at the 'coward', little suspecting the intense self-restraint responsible for the hunter's 'weakness'. Outnumbered by the traitors, with his young companion as their captive, Michael knew that physical tactics would be not only useless, but harmful to the prince.

Cunnel, meanwhile, made sport of the hunter's patience and proceeded to mock him while yanking the him about by the beard. Harkeyl only laughed, keeping a strong hold on the prisoner's arms.

Wicksley, all this while, had skillfully observed the hunter’s self-control. Secretly admiring his courage, he again sought a means of winning him over. Raising his hand, he signaled for Harkeyl. Immediately, Michael was pulled away from the fisherman and brought before Wicksley.

“Think now,” said Wicksley. “It is pointless to resist. See, we have the evidence now and the prince is in our possession. You are a clever man...” He added thoughtfully, almost to himself. Michael saw the intention in his eyes, and quickly sought to change the topic.

“You think you can escape?” the hunter asked sharply. Cunnel’s eyes flashed. How dare he threaten them! Michael saw this and addressed the fisherman thus.

“Do you believe your king will allow his son to remain prisoner in his own land? Do you think he will pay for his son when you will be arrested before you can even write the ransom note? Oh, but you have chosen a poor time to kidnap the prince. On returning from war, his majesty will have little patience for such traitors as thee!” The words came out like fire. And yet there was complete control in his passion, no frenzy in his anger.

The fisherman’s initial reaction was to strike Michael. But even as he swung his arm, he stopped and a taunting smile spread across his shaven face.

“Your only defense is your lying tongue.” Cunnel sneered. “And even when defeated, you still find the gall to hurl insults at me. Do you think I am as stupid as you?” He stood staring at Michael, and then broke into a scornful laugh.

“Ha! You think I would hire a petty kidnapper to take possession of the king’s son? Or that I would demand a trifling ransom in exchange for the prince’s life? You believe me to be such a fool that I would hold my prize within the king’s reach? What little you know,” the man scoffed. “It is you who are the fool!” Stepping back, the fisherman gestured over at his dark companion. “This man is no ‘traitor’ to our king.” Cunnel said, mocking the hunter’s voice. “He owes him no allegiance.” Michael looked at the man in question. The fisherman continued, eyeing the huntsman’s face. “You think his name is Wicksley? You received a poor introduction. This is Valdigard, kin to Lord Missetheon. His brother in fact. Have you heard of him?” he added with a sarcastic grin.

At the mention of the tyrant with whom his father now waged war, Prince Philip’s blood froze. Looking up at his captor with new eyes, the boy saw his doom. Slowly it dawned on him. This man wanted more than money or even the life of Amadeum's prince.