The Two Torcs (26 page)

There was no help for his father, or the next noble who was already signing the scroll. Will didn’t know if they would be freed even if John was killed. Maybe the mark would kill them, and drag them to Hell along with him.

The room had been cold a short time earlier, but he was sweating profusely, almost as if he could feel the fires of Hell lapping at the edges. He tore his eyes from the line of men who were busy sealing their fates, and looked around again.

There, just inside the one door, he saw Chastity. Her skin was pale against the crimson color of her dress, and even through his fear and horror he couldn’t help but notice that she looked beautiful. Between them, though, stood four soldiers. One of them glanced at Will and took a step in his direction.

He cursed under his breath.

“Good men of the kingdom, listen to me!”

Will twisted his head to see Alan standing on top of a table, harp in hand. His blood ran cold at the sight.

* * *

Alan-a-Dale drew himself to his full height. His hand struck the harp on his shoulder, drawing out a clash of notes, discordant and brash enough to lock everyone’s eyes on him.

“Men of Avalon!” he shouted. “Heed the word of the True Bard of the Everlasting Isle!”

John raised his arm to point, and Alan struck his harp again. The noise made the prince wince and draw back.

Alan lifted his hands, arms out to show the splendor of his clothing. He knew the sight of it would spark the spirit of the men gathered before him. They were Celts from the blood of Celts, and their hearts would sing with the bard.

“The time has come to end this charade,” his voice cut through the chaos. “There is an usurper in our midst, a sickness to be cut out. The throne, the very sovereignty of this mighty island, rests not with weak-blooded men, not with those who would turn to dark ways. This is the Summer Kingdom, a kingdom of light. Your rightful king has not forsaken you, so do not forsake yourselves. Feel the Awen spark in your soul. You are bondsmen of the king, guardians of this kingdom.”

He pounded the harp and it roared out thunder from its strings.

“Rise up! Gather ye steel to ye fists and paint your face with woad! Hear the song of sovereignty! Hear the song of righteousness! Hear the song of England!”

* * *

All eyes were on the bard, who Will knew was beyond his help. He could not waste the distraction that the man had provided, though. He walked right past the soldiers who were staring from Alan to John and back again.

As he reached the door he heard John roar an order. He forced himself to keep moving. He made it out of the room and into a corridor. He had only taken half a dozen more steps when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” a soldier growled at him.

Will spun out from underneath the man, leaving his half cloak in the brute’s fist. He sprinted down the hall.

Time had run out.

Ahead of him he saw a flash of crimson disappear around a corner. Chastity, it had to be. He skidded around the corner just in time to see her yank a dagger from her bodice. He stopped, reached out, but she didn’t see his hand.

A moment later the soldier ran around the corner and Chastity plunged her dagger into the man’s throat. Blood sprayed everywhere as he fell. She shoved the bloody knife back into her bodice, and then grabbed Will’s hand and pulled him down the corridor.

She wasn’t leading them to the front of the castle. It finally dawned on Will that they were headed for the kitchen. They burst into the room and found a dozen servants hastily preparing the menu that Will had actually chosen for the night’s dinner. Once the nobles had finished signing, the devil was going to throw them a party.

Only the head cook looked up as they made their way through.

“You haven’t seen us,” Chastity whispered to the woman as they raced past her.

Seconds later they were outside. There were no soldiers to be seen, and Will guessed it was because the majority of them were inside.

“Marian?” Will asked.

“I’ll get her,” Chastity said. “Meet us at the edge of the forest.”

Will shook his head. “No, I can’t leave without her.”

“Go,” the girl insisted. “I promise we will join you shortly.”

He was about to object when she suddenly stood up on her toes, grabbed his face in her hands, and kissed him.

She pulled away a moment later, skin flushed.

“That’s a promise, too,” she said, her voice husky. She turned and ran back into the kitchen.

* * *

Marian’s imprisonment wasn’t common knowledge, and she wasn’t sure how John planned to explain her absence, but at least it gave her an opportunity to escape unobserved.

She had packed a small bundle of warm clothes, including the trousers she usually used for riding. She had her secret dagger strapped to her leg, and the book carefully tucked into her bodice. Champion was asleep in the crook of her arm. She was ready to go, and the excitement and fear had worked together to make her sick to her stomach.

When Chastity unlocked the door Marian pounced.

“We have to go, now,” Chastity said, face strained.

“Lead the way,” Marian said, and she didn’t waste time asking what was wrong.

She had expected Chastity to be stealthy, and for the two of them to spend a long time making their way out of the castle. Instead the girl took off at a run. Marian was surprised, but she sprinted after her.

Chastity took a few turns that led them away from the main entrance, and soon they were racing toward the kitchen.

They were running past one of the walls that bordered the throne room when Marian gasped and nearly doubled over in pain. She could feel evil emanating from the chamber, thick and malignant, and her entire body seized, her muscles cramping, her throat constricting. Everything about her reacted to what was happening.

“Come
on
, Princess,” Chastity hissed, grabbing her arm and trying to pull her forward.

Marian wanted to go, wanted to run, but her legs gave out, depositing her on the floor. Her body started to convulse. Terror filled her. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before.

She looked up, and it was as though she could see black tendrils snaking their way out of the throne room, through the very walls. Everything they touched turned black, and they snuffed out torches as they passed through them.

She wanted to cross herself, but she could barely lift her arm. Chastity leaned down and tried to pick her up, but it was as though Marian’s limbs were all leaden, and she couldn’t help her.

Chastity sobbed in frustration.

Marian forced her arm upward. She was able to grab the book and push it into the girl’s hands.

“Take Champion and go,” she said, her throat tight and her tongue thick. The words sounded like gibberish to her as they came out of her mouth.

Chastity must have understood, though. She took the book, scooped up the fox, and ran for the kitchen.

The girl was out of sight when Marian heard the sound of running footsteps, coming toward her from the opposite direction. It took every ounce of will and all of her strength to turn her head.

The Sheriff’s soldiers were racing up to her. They seized her, lifting her in their arms, and carried her into the throne room.

Inside the walls appeared to be a shimmering, moving black as though the shadows themselves had come alive. The only lights in the room were dim, failing a little more with each passing second, their flames dwindling.

There was a line of nobles in front of the throne, faces pale, eyes glazed. Black marks swirled up their hands from their fingertips, and on the throne John sat, simpering, enjoying his victory. He looked at Marian, and a cruel smile twisted his features.

“So nice of you to join us, my dear.”

Lenore’s insides were twisting with hate. She was hidden in the bushes that lined the road leading from the castle. Lights blazed throughout the structure and people had been arriving for hours. Her hands were slick with sweat. In the left one she clutched a small dagger.

Something important was happening tonight. She knew that from what she’d heard Friar Tuck say to other people when no one noticed that she was listening. There were men inside that castle who had killed her parents. Men inside who had killed all the brothers at the monastery. If something was happening tonight, if there was a chance to kill them before they killed anyone else, then she wanted to be a part of it.

A sudden rustling in the brush behind her startled her, and she turned just as Much stepped through.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Wondering what
you
are doing here,” Much said. “Friar Tuck wouldn’t approve.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said, showing him the dagger.

“Do you know how to use that?” he asked.

She thrust the dagger at one of the plants and then sliced off the leaves of another.

Much hunkered down beside her, nodding in approval.

“You’re going to use it on someone,” he said.

“Yes.”

He nodded again, but didn’t say anything about trying to stop her, which was good.

“So, why are
you
here?” she asked.

“Something’s happening. I’m here to help if I’m needed,” Much said.

“You do that a lot,” she said. “Help.”

Much shrugged. She had known him as long as she could remember and she’d never thought much about him. The last few days, though, he seemed older to her, wiser somehow. Lord Longstride trusted him. That had to mean something.

“Neither of you should be here,” a voice said from the darkness. Lenore spun around and came face to face with Lord Longstride himself. The man was dressed in dark clothes. A hood was pushed back off his head. He held a longbow in one hand, and there was a quiver of arrows on his back.

He reminded her of the stories her father used to tell her about the avenger of Sherwood. Sometimes she watched him and wondered if Lord Longstride was that same man, immortal as the forest itself.

“Look!” Much said suddenly, excitement in his voice. Lenore turned back around and saw a lady running out of the castle. She was dressed in the finest dress Lenore had ever seen.

“Is that the Maid Marian?” she asked.

“No, that’s her servant, Chastity,” Lord Longstride said, his voice taking on a hard edge.

Moments later soldiers sprinted out the door, chasing the lady.

An arrow sang past Lenore, the wind of it ruffling her hair.

Lord Longstride was shooting at the soldiers.

A figure emerged from the other side of the road and ran forward, sword drawn. The woman ran into his arms, and together they turned and headed for the bushes.

A soldier swerved and put on a burst of speed. He swung a wicked-looking sword and slashed the man across the back. A moment later the soldier fell as one of Lord Longstride’s arrows buried itself in his chest.

The man and the woman made it into the bushes on their side of the road, and Lenore moved toward them with Much beside her.

“Are you alright?” Much asked the man.

“I’ll live,” he hissed through clenched teeth. Lenore stared in surprise at the woman, who was clutching a tiny book in her right hand and a squirmy fox in her left.

“Where’s Marian?” Lord Longstride demanded as he ran up behind them.

“Captured by John’s men,” the woman said with a sob.

“Likely so was Alan,” Will added.

Lord Longstride cursed. He turned back toward the castle, and then cursed again. Lenore turned to look. The Sheriff’s men were filing out of the doors. They set up a perimeter of swordsmen around the castle. On the top of the wall she could see a dozen archers taking position.

Lord Longstride turned and put his hand on Much’s shoulder.

“Much, get them all back to the camp. You’ll find two horses tied up a hundred yards down the road. Fetch the men from the camp, and bring them here. We need to rescue the Lady Marian and the bard before John kills them both.”

Much nodded. Then he put an arm around Will, helping to support some of the man’s weight. Lenore put away her knife and ran around to help support the man on the other side.

“Hurry,” she heard the lady say, but she wasn’t sure if she was talking to them or Lord Longstride.

Together the four of them moved down the road, leaving the lord behind. There was going to be a battle tonight. Then maybe she would have the chance to get her revenge.

* * *

Old Soldier paused, whetstone against the steel across his knee. Carefully he put the small stone back in its pouch and stood, keeping his sword in hand. He faded back into the thicket, and waited for whoever was coming down the trail toward the camp.

It didn’t take long for the snow-covered undergrowth to part and reveal Will Scarlet, being helped along by a voluptuous maiden and the miller’s boy. Just a few steps behind them, knife in hand, came the orphan Friar Tuck had dropped off. He let them pass, then slipped in behind them, following them to the camp. Climbing to the top of the small ridge on the westernmost side, he watched the quartet enter.

“Ho, men of the forest, awaken yourselves!” Will cried out.

The men at the fire had already turned, Will’s shout brought out the ones huddled in tents and lean-tos.

Little John strode up, thick arms swinging.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Will eased himself down onto a stump. “Everyone needs to gather their weapons and come with us back to the castle.”

“Why would we do that?”

Will shifted, wincing. The woman moved behind him, examining the wound through his cloak and tunic.

“Robin has called for you.”

“That isn’t a reason.”

Much leaped forward, closing on the far larger man. His hands had knotted into fists.

“Damn you, John Little! Heed the call!”

John looked down at Much. “Check your passion, lad. It could land you in a world of hurt.”

Much spat. “Oh,
now
you find courage? Against me?” He spat again, this time on John’s boot. “The much-vaunted man of strength, mighty John Little, with only the bravery to fight someone a quarter his size.”