Everliving Kings (the Heroes of Darkness Saga) (13 page)

14

It was just before dawn when the heavily armed caravan rumbled out of the fog of the forest road and into the heart of the small village
of Wickham. Scarlet, the leader of the Nottingham wolf-pack, put his right arm up to halt the group and dismounted his horse, drawing a barrage of complaints from Lord Rathbone.

“Is this truly necessary? We can reach No
ttingham castle by noon from here! I must insist we press on!”

Scarlet turned to face the
Lord and grumbled his response, “I told you already, O’Connor needs to meet wit’ our tribal speaker. Once that is done we will move on…not before.”

“Damn you all you bloody Saxons and your fool superstitions!”
Lord Rathbone grumbled. “If that beast gets loose we are all in danger!”

Scarlet frowned but ignored the growing anger of the nobleman. Once O’Connor
had stepped out of the Lord’s coach Scarlet bid him to follow him into the forest until they came to a small waterfall. To Scarlet’s surprise the holy man of the cave was sitting on a rock with his bare feet dangling in the natural pool near the waterfall. He smiled at them as they approached and waved them over to join him at the water’s edge.

“Spirit tells me you are Shamus O’Connor, High King of the Irish Shifters
… welcome to my home your majesty.” He said with a nod of his head, in a greeting acknowledged by O’Connor with a grunt and nod of his own. “You are a long way from the magic of Eire, tell me then, what is it that has pulled you so far from your own kingdom?”

Shamus frowned unsure if the old Druid was asking him questions he already had the answers to just to test him. “Well, I am here to heal
someone that is my only wish.” He hoped this simple answer would be enough for the Druid. Like many of his kind, Shamus was uncomfortable being around anyone with the skill to cast spells or enchant items.

Perhaps the druid knew this about the Irish King as he sat silent
with his eyes closed and his head cocked to one side. “Yes,” he said at last, “I see you will be doing some healing…just not of the one you thought. I see there will be things you must consider… choices you will need to make. Those decisions will have wide reaching effects, not just for the people here and your subjects, but also for many more souls yet to be born. This is a time of change.”

Shamus seated on the flat rock near the Druid shook his head and let his shoulders slump just a bit. “So this is the change I have been
feeling? I felt a… shifting point of balance and imbalance, with one side ready to gain an advantage over the other.”

The old man shrugged in response, “Perhaps, or you have felt the return of the forest guardian.”
The wizard then raised a single eyebrow to watch the Shifter’s reaction.

The shifter King could not have hidden his surprise even if he tried. “A Hooded man? A true guardian has returned to the forest?”

Again the old Druid shrugged his shoulders before he answered. “We shall see how well it goes. One thing I do know is THIS Robin Hood has been accepted by the sword Albion.”

Shamus almost fell into the water at the Dr
uids words. “Albion!” he repeated far too shocked to continue.

Shamus knew that Albion was one of the great swords of legend, forged sometime in the remote past by a demi-god like figure known as Waylund the Smith. Legends vary from place to place
about the smith all across Europe, with both the details and the spelling of the names of those involved changing widely, but one constant factor would be the swords themselves. Some mythologies have a group of seven, some as many as twelve, but all were made by a powerful smith who used a metal from the ‘Gods’ and gave each sword magical powers.

Nobody knew if any of the stories about the
Smith were true but he was well known in many old tales from Beowulf to the legends of the Swan Maiden, so it was likely the legends were based on a real smith. This was made even more likely since Shamus knew the swords themselves did actually exist, well at least some of them do. One of them, named ‘Orias’ by the odd script forged into the blade, was kept by his Uncle Fergus under constant guard back in Ireland and was said to have all kinds of dangerous powers. Apparently another, named Albion was here in England and now in the hands of the newest of re-born guardians, Robin in the Hood.

“So I must choose to help the guardian? Or am I to stop him? How am I to know right from wrong Druid? Will I know him when I see him?”

The old man kicked his feet in the water and frowned, “I cannot tell you what path to take that is not my function, I am merely here to give you the clues that spirit passes on to me. The true meanings will be up to you to decide, only charlatans will tell you both the clues AND the meanings. Keep in mind however there is no wrong choice, good and evil are just sides of the same coin. You will have some time to decide and….I feel you will be sure when you get there. Trust yourself King of the Irish and you will not go wrong.” At that the old man struggled to his feet and said, “You had better get going, you still have much to do Shamus O’Connor. I wish you the best of fortunes High King, may the blessings of the Tuatha Dé Danann be with you.”

Shamus got to his feet and gave the Druid a short bow of thanks before turning and following Scarlet back down the path towards the small village. By the time the pair emerged from their short trek,
Lord Rathbone had managed to not only anger all of the shifters, but he had also infuriated the townsfolk as well.

The shifters found him and his men standing with their weapons drawn and surrounded by a shouting pitchfork wielding mob. Scarlet groaned in frustration before exchanging knowing glances with the Irish King and pushing his way through the crowd.

“All right enough! What in blazes is goin’ on!” he demanded to know as he reached the beleaguered Lord.

Rathbone shook his fist in the air in anger and spit through his clenched teeth an answer. “These bloody peasants need to learn some respect! Were I their King I would put them all to the block!” he shouted succeeding in rousing the crowd back to an angry mob once more.

Scarlet raised his hands to silence the crowd and shouted back at the Lord, “Do you want them to tear you apart? Ye ain’t doin nuffin ere’ but getin them all mad at you! Now I suggest you an’ yer men get on yer oarses an start movin! We are done ere’!”

Lord
Rathbone blinked as he tried to comprehend the shifters words that were so lost in his aggravated accent. “So you are ready to go to Nottingham then?” he asked unsure if that is what the shifter had said or not.

“Yeah Mate, that’s what I said, unless you want ta stay ere’ wif all your new friends
?”

The crowd dispersed almost immediately when they realized the focus of their anger was willing to go and not return again; the
Lord was happy to get back to Nottingham, and Scarlet would be happy to get the whole trip over with. As for the Irish King however, he was left to stare out the window of the Lord’s coach and ponder the meaning of the old man’s last words to him, “You are near to your destiny….this should be fun!”

15

“Well?” friar tuck asked as Sir Robert evaded his line of questioning again. The young noble had said very little about his meeting with the old hermit
in the cave but it was obvious the summit was still on his mind. Even the decision he had made to travel to his family estate seemed to fill him more with dread than joy. As it was the Friar could only guess at the reason for his friend’s state, or keep asking until the young man gave in.

So there the Friar sat in his saddle with his eyes wide and both eyebrows up waiting for Robert to explain himself.

Robert turned his head to look and had to giggle at the expression on Tuck’s face before giving in to his curiosity. “All right, you win!...Yes I told him I would do whatever it takes to help. So I suppose you should start calling me Robin now.”

That answer seemed to satisfy the curtal Friar
as he nodded and grinned from ear to ear. “Ah, a hero is born! So…Robin” he said with a heavy emphasis, “what is this mission all about then? I mean here we are off to your childhood estate and you are quite melancholy about it.”

Robert started to protest, “I…well,….I just want to see my family again that’s all. This choice to go against the Sheriff and the crown makes me an outlaw with a wolf’s price on my head. As it is I don’t know how long I will be able to fight for this cause but I do know if my family were involved they would be made to suffer at my expense. So I just want to take one more long distance look at the place and then I can put my life as Robert behind me.”

Tuck frowned at him, “But why did Hearne not want you to go and do this? It seems like a normal and reasonable thing to want to do.”

Robert shook his head, “He didn’t tell me not to go, he just said it might be dangerous. He said, ‘Once the choice is made you must let Robert go. Any contact with that life will cause ripples of cons
equence for anyone you knew then. It is as if you are wavering in your decision and then Spirit will act to force your hand one way or the other.’ Then he asked me not to go.” He said with a shrug. “That is why Brother Tuck you and I will amble to the edge of the forest, take one last long look, and head back to start our mission.”

Tuck nodded in agreement before settling back to enjoy the smooth stepping gate
of his Palfrey. The rest of their journey to the Huntington estate was quiet and pleasant, leaving no hint of what lay in store for the unwary pair.

Robert
brought his mount out of its steady gait down to a walk before stepping off and leading the horse to the edge of the tree line. He could plainly see there was a bit of commotion around the manor house and the column of armored soldiers wearing royal colors sent a chill down his spine. “Gisbon.” He said to himself as he could make out the Nottingham standards several of the men were holding. “I bet he came here looking for me!” he thought as he crouched low and crept towards the edge of the forest.

Friar Tuck tied the horses off to a tree and slid up behind Robert, peering over his shoulder to see for himself.

As they watched hidden in the woods they saw Sir Guy of Gisbon emerge from the manor house with Roberts’s mother right behind him. From where they were they could not hear the exchange but it was clear the house matron was pleading with Gisbon about something. Guy shook his head several times and then stepped to one side as a line of men carrying small strongboxes filled passed him.

Robert’s eyes
went wide in shock, “They are stealing my family’s wealth! This must me my fault Tuck! I have to stop this!”

Before Tuck could do or say anything, Robert was up and running towards them shouting for them to stop.

“I assure you my Lady Huntington I will do everything in my power to find this Robin Hood! Until then I suggest you…” whatever advice Gisbon was about to give went unspoken as he spotted Sir Robert charging towards the house and shouting at them. Gisbon stepped forward and drew his sword before turning back to shout orders to his men.

In his excitement his brain fogged over as it so often has since his childhood accident, and he stu
mbled into the matriarch of the Huntington estate.

Her eyes had been on her son and perhaps in her excitement she stepped into Sir Guy’s way
without ever seeing the blade he had drawn. The two locked eyes in an exchange of shocked looks before the Lady Huntington slid off of Sir Guy’s sword and crumpled to the ground.

“NO!” Robert
shouted, as his jog became an all-out sprint.

Guy’s men were all so stunned they simply watched as Robert ran passed them and punched Guy square in the jaw.

“Mother!” he groaned as he dropped to his knees and scooped her lifeless body into his arms.

Gisbon’s men now roused from their conf
usion moved to grab Robert but Guy shouted for them to hold. “No! Leave him. Robert…. I…”

Before he could offer an apology Robert snapped his head around and shouted, “No! Not Robert! Not anymore. Robert is dead now, I am Robin Hood! The next time I see you Sir Guy, I swear I will end your miserable life!”

Guy sat silent for a moment before simply nodding and climbing back to his feet. He waved for his men to get moving, “Go, Move!”

One of his men stepped towards him to pr
otest against leaving the outlaw behind, “But mi Lord, he just…” before the guardsman could finish lodging his complaint, Gisbon struck him with the back of his gauntleted hand.

“I said move, all of you! We have what we came here for.” With a final look back Gisbon and his armored unit turned and marched away.

Friar Tuck rushed to Robert’s side as fast as he could manage. The young noble knelt silently next to the blood-soaked form staring open eyed at death. To the Friar’s surprise Robin drew his sword ‘Albion’ and laid it across the midsection of his mother’s body. When nothing happened, he turned it over and once more sat silent as if waiting for something.

“What are you doing?” the Friar asked with concern heavy in his tone.

The young man lifted his hood over his head before lifting the now blood covered blade to inspect it and its runic writing. “This is Albion; it is supposed to be a magical blade…I was hoping it might save her. I still don’t know what it can or can’t do.” He said with a shrug.

Before either man could speak
one of the house servant girls stepped outside to find the Lady of the House. What she found instead was a murdered matron and two armed men, one of them still holding a sword covered in the poor woman’s blood. If she could have comprehended what she was seeing she might have recognized the hooded man as the woman’s own son, but she could not tear her eyes from what she assumed had to be the murder weapon. Before anyone could move she screamed at the top of her lungs. With no place else to go, Robin Hood and Friar Tuck raced back to the village of Wickham to begin their lives as outlaws.