The Two Torcs (29 page)

When they made it to the clearing in the woods, Marian tried to dismount. All her muscles seized, though, and she started to fall. Robin caught her and set her on her feet. She grabbed hold of her horse’s saddle, leaning against the beast for support as she tried to get her limbs to stop shaking.

Around her she saw tired, defeated faces. Most of them were covered in blood. Worst of all was Alan. His face had pulled into a rictus, the muscles twisted around his mouth. Blood darkened his jaw like a beard, dried into a thick crust from the line of his lips to his collar. To take a bard’s tongue was inhuman.

It would have been far kinder to kill him.

“Lenore, has anyone seen Lenore?” Friar Tuck called. He must have guessed the truth, because he began to weep.

They had lost too many today. Not the least of which was Will. There was a good chance Chastity was dead as well.

Marian made it to a seat on a tree stump and tried to gather her wits back together. All around her she could hear the sounds of weeping. Not loud, but heartfelt. She watched as Robin added a couple of drops from a small vial into a cup of water. She suspected that it might be the last of the elixir that had saved so many from the pox.

A minute later her suspicions were confirmed when Robin bade Friar Tuck distribute it to all who were injured. Tuck took the cup and poured a few drops into Alan’s mouth. The friar then turned and began ministering to the others.

Robin stood for a moment, hands clenched into fists at his side. Marian recognized the look on his face. Hopelessness. She knew that had to be what it was, because it was what she was feeling deep in her own heart. He stood another few seconds, then turned and melted into the forest.

He probably wanted to be alone. She could understand that. The urge was great to slink off quietly by herself. However, if there was one thing she knew at that moment, it was that none of them should be alone.

She glanced around at the others. Everyone had someone they were speaking with or attending to. They kept one another warm, and did their best to cope. She couldn’t tell if any of them had even noticed that Robin had gone. She lingered a few seconds, then rose and followed him into the woods.

The darkness of the forest wrapped around her as soon as she stepped from the clearing. The trees loomed above her, sentinels keeping guard over the goings on beneath their branches. Sherwood had fascinated her as a little girl. There was something about it that had always felt comforting, reassuring to her.

Yet there was a little part of her that was afraid when she was within its borders. She always had the sensation that there were a thousand eyes on her—birds, beasts, even trees. Then there were the others.

Fey.
That’s what people called them. The creatures that lived in the wood that were neither man nor beast. Most were said to be imbued with some sort of magic. Even as a young child she hadn’t been able to dismiss the stories as easily as others. She had always felt deep down that there was truth to them. She’d also wished she was brave enough to run off to find them, and have adventures.

She’d nearly done it once, not long after her parents had died. She’d been on her horse and she’d outrun her keepers. She had stopped at the edge of Sherwood and stared into it, unblinking, for what had seemed like an eternity. She could swear she heard voices whispering, calling to her…

Marian.

“Robin?”

She turned, thinking she’d heard someone say her name. There was only the dark of the forest, though. She realized that she had been walking for a couple of minutes, so lost in thought that she didn’t know where she was or even how to get back to the camp.

Her heart began to beat a little quicker. Lost in the forest, just as she’d dreamed about as a young girl. She spun slowly in a circle, breathing in the rich, heady aroma of earth and trees, growing things and dying things. As she completed her turn she accepted that she was entirely lost.

She could shout. Hopefully someone at the camp would hear her and come to bring her back. She remained silent, though. Even though it was night and she was tired and dark things lurked in the shadows, she felt no fear. Robin called this forest home, and she refused to be afraid of Robin’s home.

“Robin,” she called again, her voice barely a whisper that floated on the air for a moment, and then vanished.

Something moved behind her. She didn’t hear anything, but she just
knew
there was something there. Something brushed against the back of her hair, and she turned to stare into Robin’s eyes.

He was looking down at her, his lips parted slightly as though he were on the verge of saying something.

She expected him to drop his hand, but instead he stroked her hair lightly as he continued to stare at her.

Around them the forest was alive. She could feel it like a singing in her blood. She took a step closer to him and pressed a hand against his chest. He bent down and kissed her, his lips feather soft against hers.

She gave herself over to the kiss and, for a moment, all the pain and the fear seemed to vanish. She let herself lean into him, relishing the feel of his warmth and strength as his arms went around her. She wished they could stay that way for an eternity.

It was Robin who broke the embrace, and for a moment she felt a loss that was overwhelming. He smiled at her, though, in a way that made her heart quicken. One arm still around her, he led her to a fallen log, the remains of a once mighty tree. Together they sat, side by side. He kept his arm around her back and she leaned her head against his shoulder.

“I was so worried for you,” he said. “I’ve never in all my life been that afraid.”

“I knew you’d come for me,” she said, though she didn’t mention the cost. Robin already knew that. She wanted to say something about Will, but she couldn’t bring herself to, not yet.

“Chastity gave the book to Friar Tuck,” Robin said. “The one Cardinal Francis told you we needed to take to the heart of Sherwood.”

“Yes,” Marian said, wishing that such unpleasant things could be put off for later. However, she knew they couldn’t. Time was running out for all of them. It was still night, though, and the darkness of the forest was near absolute. They were both exhausted from the fight too. As much as she felt an urge to set out immediately, she knew they needed to wait, at least until it was daylight and they’d had a chance to rest. As it was, she knew she needed sleep before she could make such a journey, and she was sure Robin did as well.

“We should rest and set out in the morning,” Robin suggested.

“I think you’re reading my mind,” she said. “I’m just so weary, but we only have six days before the solstice and Cardinal Frances told me we had to complete our task before then.”

“It’s a big forest. A man could spend months walking in it and never touch every part,” Robin said, voice worried.

“We will find a way,” she said, just as much to reassure herself as him.

Sitting there with him, out of her tower and away from John and the Sheriff, she felt free and she realized she was breathing easier. Despite the unknown that lay before them, even her muscles were beginning to relax. A glorious drowsy feeling was creeping over her, and she suspected that with little effort she could fall asleep right where she was sitting. Robin’s shoulder made a perfect pillow.

Something soft suddenly nudged her hand. Startled she looked down to see Champion standing on his hind feet, paws braced against the log. She bent down to scoop up the little fox and put him in her lap.

“How on earth did you get here?” she asked.

“Chastity brought him with her to the camp. He must have caught your scent and tracked you out here,” Robin said.

She stroked the furry little beast who curled up with his tail over his face. She could tell by his breathing when he fell asleep.

“We’ll have to do something about him, so he doesn’t get lost trying to follow us tomorrow,” she said.

Growing up she’d never had a dog as a pet, and couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to the little fox.

Robin reached over and stroked his small head.

“Actually, I think you should bring him with us,” he said.

She looked at Robin in surprise.

“What if the journey is perilous? There will be guardians to face, and opponents to defeat.” She frowned at him. “I will not place him in danger, not after what we’ve just escaped.”

“I can’t explain it,” he said, ignoring her ire, “but since I became the keeper of the black arrow things have been… different. I understand the animals even more than I used to, or perhaps they understand me. I don’t know. What I
do
know is that he won’t be happy unless he’s by your side. He might even be a help to us.”

Marian bit her lip and looked down at the little creature. All her protective, motherly instincts were kicking in. However, Robin’s words had the ring of truth to them, and she couldn’t deny it.

“Maybe he is well-named, is Champion,” she said.

“It may be that tomorrow we will find out.”

They sat together a while longer, saying little. Marian kept breathing the free air with relief that outweighed her terrible sense of loss, and the sense of apprehension about what was to come.

At last Robin led her back to the camp. It was nearer than she would have thought. Things were quiet, most were asleep. Some of the men had erected a crude shelter a little way off, where she found a couple of the female servants from the castle, including her friend the cook, sleeping soundly. They must have decided it was safer to come with the others than stay behind and take their chances with John. Marian felt a twinge of sorrow for each of them and what they might have left behind. Then she curled up with Champion and within moments was sound asleep.

* * *

The Sheriff wasn’t in the mood to be trifled with, or disappointed. The Hood was dead, but his allies had escaped, taking the Lady Marian with them. They had fled into the forest where they knew he could not go—a barrier his dark practitioners had still not been able to breach. Abruptly, and rather conveniently, the leprous Scotsman had called to him saying they had a solution. When he arrived at the hut, the rest had already assembled.

“What have you found?” he barked as he entered.

The Mad Monk bowed low.

“My lord,” he said, indicating the leper with a wave of his hand, “we have found a way for you to penetrate the forest.”

“You can cast a spell that enables me to enter Sherwood?” he asked.

“Not you, but a force that you may manipulate,” Sera, a gnarled old witch who seemed older than time itself, said. “It’s old magic, very old. It took much effort to read the signs, to find it.”

“Explain,” he demanded.

“There is a force, a creature, who predates much of the magic that protects the forest. In fact, he is kindred to its elemental nature. He can be summoned, and once summoned, he can be given a mission,” the Mad Monk said.

“What kind of force?”

“A creature of pure destruction,” a painfully thin boy, the disciple of the leprous Scotsman, said, voice eager to please. “Like a storm.”

“Yes, but to raise him, it requires the darkest of spells… and a sacrifice. It bodes ill, so say the stars.”

The Sheriff turned to look at the pale, waspish man with the nervous eyes and perpetual squint, who spent all his time staring at the sky looking for signs and portents. Desmond was his name. Rumor had it that he didn’t so much as relieve his bowels if it wasn’t in the stars.

“Does this creature have a name?” he asked, turning back to the others.

“Guy, so named for the grotesque nature of his appearance,” the mad monk said.

The Sheriff looked around the room and idly wondered if any creature could be called more grotesque in appearance than those present. Even as his gaze fell upon the Scotsman who had summoned him, a bit of the man’s ear fell off onto the ground as if unable to take the weight of his stare. He rolled his eyes.

“And where can I find this… Guy?”

“His resting place is in Gisbourne bog, adjacent to the great forest. Even now he sleeps there,” the Scotsman said a bit breathlessly.

“Then what are we waiting for?” the Sheriff responded. “Let us wake him up.”

* * *

The Mad Monk and the leper lifted the loose-limbed body of Desmond, the astrologer, and tossed it into the thick, murky water. “At least I finally found a use for him,” the Sheriff muttered, mostly to himself.

For a long moment the body lay on the surface, suspended by a brackish scum nearly a hand’s breadth thick. Finally the scum cracked under the weight of the corpse and allowed it to sink below the surface.

The Sheriff stared, waiting for something to happen. Dead creatures floated on the bog’s surface, bloated and rotting, half-submerged by the weight of their slowly dissolving flesh. The air was so rank, so choked with poison, that the others were having trouble breathing.

Suddenly a man—
no, a creature
—rose out of the bog as though ascending from Hell itself. When at last it stood free of the scum-crusted pond, it was more than a foot taller than the average man.