Robyn Hood: Fight For Freedom (14 page)

I breathed in before blowing three, quick blasts on my horn.

Within seconds Ryan and Lobb were with us.

“I sent the other Merry Men back to camp to get help,” Ryan said, running along side Will Scarlet and
I. “They should be here soon.”

Lobb piped in, “Robyn, what on earth are you wear—,” he got out before he was trampled by Crafty, who was bolting for me.

Crafty crow hopped and narrowly missed kicking Scarlet before he slowed to a prancing trot.

I lunged out of Will Scarlet’s arms, shrugging out of the horse pelt before I scrambled onto Crafty’s back, working hard to keep from impaling either of us with Sir Guy’s weapons.

“Keep going,” I ordered, turning Crafty in the direction we were running from before blowing three times on my horn, again.

Ryan retrieved the horse pelt and stopped after Will Scarlet and Little John
screeched to synchronized halts. Lobb was twisting over his shoulder to watch me and ran into a tree.

Crafty and I charged ahead. I notched an arrow on Sir Guy’s bow and release
d it, hitting a pursuing soldier in the shoulder. But he was only one of a dozen foresters that chased after us.

Crafty plunged straight into the swarm of soldie
rs, scattering them like geese. Behind me I heard Little John break off branches for himself and Will Scarlet before the duo got to work, bludgeoning soldiers over the head while Ryan calmly shot our enemies with his bow. (Lobb was still stunned and on the ground.)

I took out a second
soldier with Sir Guy’s bow before Crafty lunged at another man, barely moving in time to avoid an arrow that nearly got me.

Then there
was the screeching twang of harp strings breaking. I flattened myself against Crafty’s back.

Alan-A-Dale had appeared, ten Merry Men with him. In order to subdue a soldier Alan had knocked o
ff the man’s helmet before slamming his harp down over the man’s head. The soldier looked pretty dazed as the harp swung around his neck like a large, wooden collar, the broken strings curling indignantly.

“Alan, what are you doing here?” I barked.

“You called, so of course I had to come!” Alan sweetly said.

I grumbled under my breath before sitting up on Crafty. I brandished Sir Guy’s sword over my head, nearly dropping the blasted weapon on my head. “Come on men, let’s turn the tide! Capture the Sheriff!” I yelled above the skirmishes.

The Merry Men around me shouted as we overpowered the few remaining soldiers.

As we hurried back to the meadow more Merry Men, this time led by Will Stutely, gathered at my side. It was everyone Will had taken to set up robberies on the road.

“Sheriff’s a bit earlier than expected, eh Robyn?” Will Stutely laughed in a carefree matter I found very irritating.

I didn’t answer and blew my horn three times, yet again, before heeling Crafty.

He was off like an arrow, and we careened into the meadow where the Sheriff, waited with no less than thirty five or forty soldiers.

George, Maxine, and the Sheriff stared at me, wondering why I had crashed back to the meadow, seemingly alone.

I tossed Sir Guy’s sword away, the blade was practically useless anyway. It was far too heavy for me. Instead I scrambled and notched another arrow in Sir Guy’s brutish bow.

“Give up Sheriff,” I called, easing the arrow onto his fat figure.

The Sheriff was white for a brief moment before he remembered all of his soldiers. “Are you
mad
?” he chortled. “You are but one man.
Alone
. No, it is you who should give up,” the Sheriff said.

In spite of the Sheriff’s confident words George was gazing around the meadow with shifty eyes
, clearly sensing back up was on my trail.

“One last chance Sheriff, take your men and return to
Nottingham,” I ordered. Inwardly I was cursing my stupidity. I had scrambled out into the open without my men. True, they couldn’t be far behind, but it wouldn’t take long to make me into a pin cushion.

“Never, you rogue!” the Sheriff proudly snorted.

George glanced at his armed escort and made several covert motions. A row of archers in the back slowly loaded their bows, trailing their arrows onto me.

I swallowed, keeping my arrow on the Sheriff while Crafty snorted and danced sideways beneath me.

My heart thundered in my ears.
What was taking them so long
?

That was when I heard it. The distinct whistle that belonged
to Much. He was terribly bad at whistling, so he sounded like a dying sparrow gurgling with salt water. I could recognize that noise anywhere! Several feet behind me in, in the shadows of the forest, I heard the whine of broken harp strings.

A triumphant
smirk crossed my lips. My men had the meadow surrounded. “Very well then,” I shrugged. “Have it your way.”

“Men!” George shouted, raising an arm to cue his archers.

“ATTACK!” I yelled.

Crafty abruptly burst forward, ducking in front of the cloud of arrow
s that rained down from the sky.

I released my arrow, which hit the Sheriff’s
leather hat as a warning mark, knocking it straight off his balding head.

Behind the Sheriff
Much, leading thirty Merry Men, charged out of the tree line. Merry Men poured out of the shadows from every direction. There had to be over a hundred of them!

In the back of my mind I wondered if anyone had stayed behind to guard the camp.

“Robyn! Your weapons!” Much shouted from across the meadow, brandishing my prized bow in his left hand.

“Coming!” I shouted, heeling Crafty. We plowed straight through the Sheriff’s men. There were a few close calls, I was sliced on the thigh with a sword, and Crafty got a wicked looking cut on his rump, but we avoided being shot/impaled by the time we popped out at the other end of the crowd of soldiers.

I threw Sir Guy’s bow into the chaotic mess before swooping down to liberate my weapons from Much.

I carefully settled my quiver on my back before I started notching and releasing arrows in a string of fluid movements.

Down went the man who smashed Will Scarlet in the stomach with a cudgel. Down went the soldier had just opened a wound on Alan-A-Dale’s shoulder. Down went the idiot who was strangling a Merry Man against a tree. Down went—

I yipped when Crafty abruptly jostled beneath me
and an arrow whistled past me, so close to my nose I swear I could feel the fletching brush my skin.

I twisted and spotted George frowning while notching another arrow.

Using my legs I guided Crafty in his direction. I did not fix another arrow to my bow. Instead I leaned against Crafty’s neck and whacked George in the face with my bow as we passed him.

Crafty spun around, and the whistling twang of another flying arrow told me I had just barely avoided being shot.

Crafty sidled up to George’s mount and I reached past the Sheriff’s apprentice to grab a fistful of arrows from his quiver. I tossed them out over the ground, significantly decreasing his quiver size.

“Hey!” George cried before swiping at me with a hunting knife.

Crafty danced to the side, and I nearly slipped right off him before straightening up.

I spotted Ryan having some trouble with a soldier, so I quickly plucked an arrow from my quiver, notched it and released it. The soldier topped over with a cry, hit in the left shoulder.

Meanwhile George missed hitting me with another arrow.

My heart stopped for a brief second when I felt the arrow cut through the sleeve of my shirt, but I was also a little stupefied. I was a horse length away from him,
how could he miss
?

“You really couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn could you?” I asked George.

He glared at me, and his horse lunged to the side while he thrust out with his hunting knife.

I adjusted my grip on the bow and held it out, stopping George’s blow. (Although the knife made a
thin cut in my precious bow.)

George, ever the clever boy, flicked his knife away and instead punched me square in the jaw.

I collapsed on Crafty’s neck and toppled over his side. “Sweet saints, what was that for George!” I irritably snapped, trying to blink stars out of my as I sat up on the ground. “I thought you said you followed the rules you stinking dog turd! That HURT!” I groaned.

“What did you say?” George darkly asked, pressing a sword against my shoulder when I started to stand.

I slowly looked into George’s eyes and realized I had made a horrible mistake in my calculations. I had expected George to be as honorable, kind, and chivalrous with Robin Hood as he had been with Lady Mary Gamwell. Obviously I had thought wrong.

I wasn’t a bubbly, mysterious, visiting lady. I was the
male outlaw he had spent months hunting, weeks trying to outsmart and out maneuver.

George was out for my blood.

I stared up at George and swallowed, hoping that by some miracle someone would notice my plight.

             
George smirked and removed the heavy presence of his sword, only to dismount his horse. “You’re not what I expected,” he informed me, circling me with his sword ready to strike.

             
“What, not bold and brave enough?” I bitterly asked, turning to keep my back away from him while I looked around the ground. There were a few fallen soldiers, they had to have swords I could borrow.

             
George laughed unkindly. “Oh no. It is that you are normal. You are cunning and brave, yes. But you are not larger than life. I expected someone more akin to a mythological legend. You, I can beat,” he promised, raising his sword.

             
“We’ll see about that,” I challenged, throwing myself in a roll. I ducked in time to avoid his blade and popped out of the tumble.

“Robyn,” a Merry Man cried, seeing my weaponless state. It was Gilbert. When he got my attention he tossed me a short sword, a lighter weapon better suited to me.

“Thanks,” I called to my ailing man. (Gilbert held his right shoulder, blood dripping between his fingers.)

Concern nagged at me as I hooked my bow over my shoulder, but before tending to Gilbert I would have to see to George.

              I whirled around and brought my sword up in a sad semblance of a defensive position just in time to block George’s downward strike.

             
This did not dissuade George at all. Instead he fell on me with a flurry of strikes and blows. My body reacted, remembering the seemingly endless morning drills Will Scarlet had trained me through. But in spite of this I was being pushed back on my heels.

             
I deflected a blow and took a step backwards before tripping on a dazed soldier Little John had knocked to the ground.

             
I fell to my rear but managed to raise my sword to block one last blow. George slammed his sword against mine, knocking it out of my grip. It flew through the air and fell, imbedding itself in the ground yards away.

             
I stared at the weapon with wide eyes before I struggled to ease my bow out from underneath me. I was reaching for an arrow to notch in my bow when George pressed the tip of his sword against my throat.

             
I froze, scared stiff.

             
I swallowed, and my heart thumped against my chest when I felt the weapon make a tiny cut in my skin.

             
“And so you shall fall, Robin Hood. The once Bold and Brave outlaw of Sherwood Forest,” George darkly smirked.

             
He struck like a snake.

             
One moment the sword was pressed to my neck. The next George was pulling it back to strike me dead, but it never happened.

             
“ROBYN!”

             
There was a sickening crunch when Will Scarlet stepped between George and me. He managed to deflect the worst of the blow with his sword, but George’s blade skipped off Will’s and sliced his arm.

             
My world stopped.

             
“WILL!” I shouted, rocketing off my feet.

             
With grim determination I lunged around Will. I left my bow behind but instead unsheathed my hunting knife.

             
“Sorry George,” I whispered in his face. I was mere inches away from him and held my knife to the back of his neck, my arm carelessly tossed over his shoulder while my free hand forced his sword arm down to his side.

             
George looked shocked, he obviously didn’t know I could move that fast. (I didn’t know that either, but that is beside the point.)

             
“I know you’re one of the good guys. I really do. But you
have
to stop picking on my men,” I told him in a hard voice before spinning my knife and ramming George at the base of his skull with the hilt of my knife.