The Two Torcs (25 page)

He swept low in a bow, unable to say goodbye, then turned and climbed quickly through the window. The wall outside seemed sheer, but was marked with a great many chinks in the stones and mortar. Climbing down would be the easy part.

Making it away from the castle would be more difficult.

* * *

The forest seemed darker, more unforgiving to Will as he rode through it. It was as though there were eyes upon him with every step, and they were not the eyes of friends.

The further he rode, the more vivid the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He would not find Robin. Maybe that was why the forest felt so hostile to him, without his cousin there.

I’m just imagining things
, he thought, chastising himself. It was the only explanation. Of course, in order to believe it, he’d need to convince himself that he hadn’t seen glowing eyes staring unblinkingly at him out of the darkness. He knew not whether they belonged to woodland creatures or fey, and was in no hurry to discover the truth.

When at last he reached the camp he discovered that he was right about Robin. He was angry, though, to discover that his cousin had gone to see Marian. Not only was it a foolish move that put both of them in danger, but it also meant Will had risked leaving the castle for naught.

He did finally find Friar Tuck, and the heaviness in his chest returned tenfold. More than anything he wished he had different news to bring to the friar. He pulled Tuck and Alan aside, so they might speak without being overheard by the others. Old Soldier and the others might be on their side, but his news was not for their ears.

“Will,” Tuck said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “it is good to see you, and to know that you are alive and well. However, I think you’ve traveled far tonight for a reason, and it’s time you told us what it was.”

Alan nodded his agreement. There was nothing to do but get to the point.

“Cardinal Francis is dead,” Will said. “John tortured him.”

“John killed him?”

Will hesitated, tears on his cheeks, before nodding and looking away.

There was absolute silence for a moment as the terrible truth sank in.

“He’s gone?” Tuck asked, swaying slightly on his feet.

“Yes.”

“He was taking a book to the Lady Marian,” Alan said. “Was he able to give it to her?”

“I believe so,” Will replied. “I only hope whatever is in that book is worth the terrible price he paid.” In his heart, he had a hard time believing that it would be. Francis hadn’t gone with them on their raiding missions as the Hood, but he had been a part of them, nonetheless—a leader if any of them were.

“I am alone,” Tuck said, his voice heavy with grief and weighed down with the burden of responsibility.

“We don’t know that,” Alan said softly. “This is just one portion of England. We don’t know that he’s destroyed the other monasteries.”

“We don’t know that he hasn’t, either,” Tuck countered, his voice breaking. “And unless we can get word to them, we’re as good as alone.”

He wasn’t wrong about that, but Will didn’t think it would be helpful to agree.

“Nobles will be coming from all over to attend John’s celebrations,” he offered instead. “Perhaps we can ask them, and get an idea of how things are in other areas.”

Alan nodded. “I’ll be attending. Hopefully I can hear the whispers, convince a few people to talk.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Will said quickly. “They know you were at the monastery, trying to stop them from burning it.”

“It will be a public event, and they wouldn’t dare touch me there. Bards are sacrosanct,” Alan replied defensively. “Our position has protected us all for centuries, and it will continue to protect me,” he added more quietly.

“Very well,” Will said, though he didn’t share the bard’s confidence. “But we shouldn’t arrive at the castle together. We don’t need anyone making the connection.”

“Agreed,” Tuck said heavily. “You should go back now. Alan can travel in the morning, to arrive with some of the nobles.”

They talked for a few more minutes, then Will bade them farewell and set out back toward the castle. He was nearly free of the forest when his horse pricked its ears forward, suddenly alert. He drew the animal to a stop, wondering what it was sensing.

“This is a surprise,” a voice to his left said a moment later.

Will relaxed slightly. “I was looking for you,” he responded. “I bring terrible news. Cardinal Francis is dead.”

Robin nodded, lips in a grim line. “I was afraid that might be so.”

Will frowned inwardly. He hadn’t expected Robin to break out the sackcloth and ashes, but he had expected a little more of a display of grief. Before he could say anything, however, his cousin spoke again.

“We have to help Marian escape tomorrow night,” he said, “while the festivities are taking place.”

Will blinked. “That’s going to be easier said than done.”

“Nevertheless, it needs to happen,” Robin insisted. “I will see you tomorrow night.”

Before Will could reply, he had slipped into the darkness and vanished.

“I just hope it doesn’t get us all killed,” Will said to no one in particular.

Locksley had grown to dread the King’s gatherings. People always died. John was dangerous and, worse, unpredictable. He recalled the hanging of Lady Minter and her daughters. That had taken place under the guise of a public concert.

This particular gathering was supposed to last a week, which meant more opportunities to be killed.

He hoped the opportunities would be just as plentiful to organize the other nobles into some sort of resistance. Not that he thought it would actually work. The families still had children who were being held by John, and as long as that was the case, no one would dare oppose him.

In that regard Locksley was one of the lucky ones. He had no children to threaten. Yet he still had people who depended upon him. People who could be hurt. Thus, whenever he left home, he instructed that if he didn’t return, each man, woman, and child under his care was to be given food, a weapon, some gold, and sent away.

His steward had remained behind to execute this last wish, should it be necessary, before fleeing himself. At least this way his people couldn’t be used as an example, just to frighten others into submission.

There were dozens of people milling about the great hall. Locksley didn’t move among them, nor did he seek to make his influence felt. This evening he simply watched, looking for anything that might provide a clue as to why they were all really there.

Despite a roaring fire, the air was chilly. After half an hour, the only unusual thing he had observed was the number of soldiers who had filed into the room, lingering near the exits. It boded ill, and he was glad he’d worn his sword. It wasn’t the ornamental one used for ceremonies, but rather the one that had been carried into battle by five generations of his family. Its steel had been stained with the blood of many enemies, and it would stand him in good stead should the worst occur.

He turned this way and that, taking in more of the room, and his eyes lit on John’s toady, Will Scarlet. The man was making his way through the crowd toward him. Locksley felt his eyes narrow. He had no argument with Scarlet, but there was no love lost between them. Will was a cousin to Robin. Worse than that, he was a silver-tongued serpent who could smile and lie to your face while stabbing you in the back.

“Pleasant evening to you, Lord Locksley,” Scarlet said as he came to stand before him, a fake smile plastered firmly in place.

“I seriously doubt it, Scarlet,” Locksley growled. “You’re John’s constant companion. Why don’t you tell me what he has planned, and spare me the surprise.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “You mean he hasn’t told you?”

“No, and I’ll wager that the only ones he might have told are you and the Sheriff.”

Scarlet chuckled. “You flatter me, but in this instance, I am not in his confidence.”

“Then maybe you should be as worried as the rest of us,” Locksley suggested. He had to admit that he wouldn’t be entirely sad to see the man’s perennial smugness wiped away by a hangman’s noose. Scarlet frowned suddenly. Locksley turned to look behind, wondering what he had seen. More soldiers were quietly entering the hall, moving along the walls. They were all heavily armed.

“I don’t like this,” Locksley said.

“You’re not the only one,” Scarlet said so quietly that Locksley wasn’t sure for a moment the man had actually spoken.

Before he could say anything in response, however, a trumpet sounded, heralding the arrival of the king. They both turned to look.

John swept into the room, arrogance rippling off him. One step behind him was the cursed Sheriff. The man frightened him, far more even than John. They were both evil, but there was an unnaturalness to the Sheriff that was unnerving. Next to the Sheriff walked Glynna. Locksley felt his chest constrict at the sight of her, so clearly consorting with the monster.

John ascended to the throne in the center of the room. Two chairs were close by, and Glynna took one. The Sheriff elected to remain standing for the moment.

Behind them walked two servants carrying an ornate table, which they put down close to the foot of the throne. Everyone took a couple steps forward to get a better look as the servants stepped away. On the table lay several scrolls and some pens that gleamed strangely in the light.

Locksley could hear the muttering around him. He disliked what he saw even more than the rest. Some of the nobility present were from the far reaches of the kingdom. A couple, at least, were being exposed to King John for the first time. He couldn’t help but wonder what they were thinking. He hoped some of the others would have warned them already about what to expect.

Somehow this table wasn’t what he had expected.

John looked suddenly at Locksley, as though the weight of his thoughts alone had drawn the twisted prince’s attention.

“You are wondering what these are for,” John said. It wasn’t a question, but was stated as fact.

“Yes,” Locksley said, feeling compelled to answer.

“You see, tonight is a very special night,” John continued, scanning the room. When he spoke again, his words were louder. “Tonight you will do something that will bind us all together. You will swear a blood oath of fealty to me.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

All around him the nobles exploded, voices raised in anger and frustration.

“Give us back our children first!” one shouted.

“After what you did to the monastery?” someone else bellowed. “You’re insane!”

Rebellion was in the air. Finally John had pushed them too far. Now was the time to take action, to strike while their blood was up. Perhaps it was a chance to put a stop to the madness.

“Enough!” Locksley roared, striding forward with a hand on the hilt of his sword. Scarlet tried to grab his shoulder, but he shrugged him off.

The crowd parted before him like water, and within moments he was standing before King John, who stared at him through narrowed eyes. The man looked more like a serpent than he usually did.

“You have something to say, Locksley?”

Locksley considered his words. Considered the cost. The decision weighed on him as he felt the pressure of everyone’s eyes on him. He could sway the room with whatever he decided to do next.

He took a deep breath.

“What you are asking is treason,” he said so that all could hear. “No man here can swear any kind of fealty to you, while King Richard yet lives.”

“A situation that will be shortly remedied, I assure you,” John said, his eyes opening wider with confidence.

A chill ran through Locksley. He and Richard had encountered their differences, but the king was a thousand times better than his brother.

The thought occurred to him now that John might have an ally in Richard’s camp, someone intent on making sure that the king never came back to claim his throne, or save his people.

If that was true, then it was up to him and the rest of the nobility to save England. Someone shouted something behind him, but he had eyes only for the usurper.

“Long live King
Rich
—”

* * *

Will winced as the Sheriff cut off Locksley’s head with one clean blow. The body slumped straight to the ground and the head bounced twice, then rolled to land at John’s feet.

So intent had the noble been on John that he had never seen the Sheriff move around behind him. Will had tried to shout a warning, but Locksley must not have heard him.

All around him the other nobles flew into a panic. The soldiers that had been lining the room now moved forward, pressing inward, slowly driving them toward the table with the cursed scrolls and pens.

One man stepped forward and laid his hand on a pen, hissing in pain as it cut into his flesh. Blood ran down his fingers to the tip, and he signed his name to the scroll. As he did so the blood lit with a tiny flame, burning itself dry with a stench filling the air.

Will just stared in horror. He wanted to shout, to scream, to run forward and drag the man back and tell him not to be a fool. He did none of those things. Instead he just watched as his own father was the first to swear fealty, sealing it with his blood.

Shame washed over him. Was his father that much a coward? Surely he could see that John and Nottingham were the very essence of evil. Will’s uncle would never have signed. Nor would Robin.

Nor can I
, he thought, realizing that John would likely require it even of him. He started moving, backing slowly toward one of the side doors, trying not to catch the attention of the soldiers. He glanced around, looking for Alan or Marian. He saw neither. He kept casting his eyes back and forth, desperate to find his allies. They needed to get out of there, and
now
.

His father stepped aside, and the nobles began to line up. Will could see him staring at a black mark that swirled up from his fingertips, wrapped itself around his wrist, and then disappeared beneath the sleeve of his shirt. Foul magic. He had signed the devil’s scroll in his own blood and now he was bound.