The Two Torcs (31 page)

Tuck turned to find Old Soldier standing beside him, where a moment before there had been no one. It startled him again.

“Would it kill you to make some noise?” he snapped without thinking. He instantly regretted both his tone and his choice of words.

“It might,” Old Soldier said, nodding slowly.

“I don’t know what to say,” Tuck admitted.

“Then you’d better pray for some words,” the man told him. “Those people, they don’t need a soldier right now. They need someone to minister to them, to remind them that right is on their side and that they’re fighting for a higher purpose. I don’t think a one of them had ever seen evil quite like that until yesterday. Most are still in shock. If they’d given any thought to demons at all, it was to believe that they might possess men. I guarantee you none of them ever expected to see a devil walking around wearing its own face and skin.”

He was right. What Old Soldier was saying was true. Evil had stopped masquerading in England. It had stopped dressing up as men, and had started to wear its own face. Which meant evil didn’t think it had anything to fear.

Suddenly he knew just how
wrong
that was. He puffed out his chest, and took a deep breath. Evil was very much mistaken.

He gave Old Soldier and Alan brief nods, and then he strode toward the center of the activity.

“Good Christian folk,” he called out.

Everyone stopped and turned to look at him. Taken aback, he calmed himself for a moment. Then he pressed forward.

“Gather ’round, for there is something I must say to you.” He threw his arms wide. “We have seen the true face of the enemy, and that is how we know he can be defeated. Christ cast out demons, and he has told his servants to do likewise. We will not let the devil take root here in England. We will eradicate him, yank him out by his roots and burn him until there is no trace left.

“I know you are tired, but God says not to be weary in doing good deeds. And there are no greater deeds than those entrusted to you. I tell you this much, every man and woman of you is carrying out the Lord’s work. You’re holding this land for all good Christian men, and protecting it in the absence of King Richard, God save him.”

“God save him,” they said together, quietly.

He had their attention. Turning slowly, he sought to connect with each and every one of them. A few refused, keeping their gaze fixedly on the ground. He knew in a sudden flash of enlightenment that those who wouldn’t fight would be slaughtered like animals.

That must not happen.

“We have a plan,” he said. “Lord Robin and Lady Marian are even now doing their part to help us win the day. Now is not the time to lose heart. Now is the time to redouble our efforts, because we know the face of the enemy, and we know that greater is the God of the heavens than John the usurper.”

Around him heads nodded. He was getting through. He wasn’t the most eloquent speaker, but he had truth on his side, and righteousness, and they would speak for themselves.

“When the time comes to strike the final blow, we must be ready,” he said. “See to everything that needs to be prepared, weapons first.” He paused, then added, “I need two people to spend time with me in prayer.”

One man still had his head down, eyes on the ground. He wouldn’t fight, Friar Tuck knew that for certain. So he reached out and touched the man on the arm.

“Will you pray with me?” he asked.

The man’s shoulders hunched even more, and he shook his head. It was the barest of movements, but his intention was clear.

Tuck dropped his hand.

“I’ll pray with you.” Tuck turned to see Haylan, the youngest of the stonecutter’s boys, standing there, eyes wide.

“Thank you, my son,” Tuck said, putting a hand on the child’s head.

He turned expectantly, looking for another volunteer. To his surprise Alan stepped forward, his hand raised.

Tuck nodded, keeping a sigh to himself. A mute druid and a small boy. It wasn’t exactly what he had been looking for. The Bible did say, though, that wherever two or three gathered together in His name, that God was in the midst of them. Christ also said that truth came from the mouths of babes.

“You two, come with me,” Tuck said.

As the encampment began to buzz with activity once again, they moved a short distance away, where they would not be disturbed by the work being done. Placing blankets beneath them to protect them from the frozen earth, they settled themselves on the ground, Tuck on his knees.

Before they could begin a girl ran up to them.

“I’m told to tell you that Jonah ran away,” she said. “He won’t fight anymore.”

Tuck nodded heavily. Without asking, he knew who Jonah was, and he wasn’t surprised. He wondered if Old Soldier had sent anyone after him, to bring him back. The location of this place was a secret. Still, the Sheriff and his demons could not enter the forest, so perhaps it wasn’t as great a worry as he thought.

“Thank you, child,” he said.

“May I pray with you, too?” the girl asked, eyes wide.

“Of course. Sit down here. What’s your name?”

“Esther, my mum’s a cook in the castle,” she said, eyes wide as she sat down and folded her hands.

“That’s a good name, Esther. She was a strong woman who saved all her people with her courage,” Tuck told the girl who beamed proudly at him.

Alan unfastened his harp. It was a miracle that while the monsters had been cutting out his tongue, they had not destroyed the ancient instrument as well. The bard’s fingers touched the strings so gently that the sound was but a whisper, as of an evening breeze. Still, Tuck felt the music wrap around him, emboldening him. He had been wrong. Even without his tongue Alan was still a force to be reckoned with.

Friar Tuck bowed his head and began to pray. He could hear the children joining in from time to time, and underneath it all he heard the golden melody of Alan’s harp. There was a lesson in this, too, for him. It mattered not how small or weak the group of faithful who prayed. What mattered was the mightiness of their prayers.

* * *

The mighty oaks of Sherwood might as well be made out of straw, for all the notice Guy of Gisbourne gave them. His antlers scraped the lower branches, and occasionally sent one crashing to the snow-covered ground.

Only the thickest, mightiest of trees did he bother to walk around. The rest he walked through. Animals fled before him, but he let them go. They were not the prey he sought.

At last he heard something walking through the forest that did not sound like an animal. It wasn’t as swift and sure of foot as the deer and the rabbits. Nor was it as stealthy as the fox or the wolf. This creature walked upright on two feet, instead of four.

He had found a man, one which had become separated from its fellows. One which was not at home in the forest, and knew not its paths nor how to walk them. Guy breathed in deeply. He could smell the creature’s fear and desperation. It was a heady aroma, and he breathed deeply.

The man was nearby and coming toward him. Guy concealed himself behind a fallen tree and waited. At last his prey drew nigh. He leaped out from behind the tree, grabbed the man’s shirt, and hoisted it high into the air.

“Where are the others?” he roared.

The creature in his hand screamed, and then went limp. Unconscious. Guy dropped it with a snort of disgust. Now he’d have to wait until it regained its senses, before he could torture the location of the others out of it.

* * *

“Amen,” he said.

Friar Tuck’s knees were killing him. He and his small band had been praying for several hours. His stomach rumbled angrily, reminding him that he had missed a couple of meals. They would grab some bread and cheese, he’d see how things were progressing, and discover where his help might be needed.

“Amen,” the two children said.

Friar Tuck rose unsteadily to his feet. There was a flash of light so intense it nearly blinded him. It drove him back to the ground.

He gasped as he saw the antlered man-beast from his vision. It was the creature the imps had told him would kill Robin. The thing had a name.

Gisbourne
.

His muscles went tight. His eyes were frozen wide as the vision unfolded itself to him. He saw the monster walking through the forest, a mighty scythe in its hand with which it cut down both tree and shrub with equal ease. Then it entered the very clearing in which the camp was located.

Shouts of alarm went up too late. Five men ran forward, led by Old Soldier, and in a moment they were all dead, necks snapped like twigs. The monster roared. It was looking for Robin, but he wasn’t there, so it began to kill all who came within its reach. Including the little boy who had been praying with Tuck these many hours.

Hot tears coursed down his cheeks but he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, all he could do was watch as the vision continued to play itself out. Then, suddenly, it was over. All his muscles went slack at once and he fell face forward onto the winter grass.

Then there were hands grabbing at him, trying to lift him. Failing that, they pulled him over so that he was on his back staring up at the sky. Slowly his eyes focused, and he saw worried faces looking down at him.

“Are you alright?” Old Soldier asked.

“None of us will live to see sunset if we do not leave here right now,” Friar Tuck said.

* * *

All about them was chaos as everyone tried to grab what weapons and provisions they could in preparation to abandon camp.

They decided to move a couple of miles away, to a place where a giant tree had died, but had left children standing in a ring around it. The giant tree had rotted away until it was just a stump but the ground right around it was suitable for making camp.

One that was less exposed.

Much knew the place to which they were heading. As he looked around, he realized that no one at the camp needed him to help carry anything. One look gave him a harsh truth, though. They were far too few, and they possessed far too little—they would need a great deal more, if they were going to defeat John and the Sheriff.

No one was thinking about that battle right now. The immediate concern was survival. A monster had been sent to kill them.

Someone had to think about the days and weeks to come, though.

He waited until he saw his moment and then he slipped unobserved into the trees. Once separated from his fellows he moved as fast as he could, heading for the village. It was good and right that he should do so. He was the only one who could go.

As he made his way through the forest he kept listening. The birds and the beasts who dwelt there might give him a warning if the monster was close by.

He made it to his destination without encountering anyone along the way. Once there he made a beeline for the post in the center of the village, the one that marked the crossroads. This time of day there was a good chance of finding people there exchanging goods, sharing news, or begging for scraps.

He was right, there were at least a couple dozen folks milling around.

He saw the tanner, a young man not that much older than himself who’d been running the family business since the pox took his father. Much walked up to him.

“Hello, good sir,” the other man said. “Looking for extra skins for the floor or beds this winter season?”

Much stared at him in surprise. No one had ever called him “sir” before. When last he had spoken with the tanner, only a week ago, there had been none of the deference he was now being shown.

“I hear you’re a good man with a knife,” Much said softly.

“You heard right,” the man acknowledged, giving him a look, “and I’ve heard that you’re friendly with the man who will save us all.”

“I am,” Much said, glad to hear the words. “He needs help, though. He cannot do it alone.”

“I’m not yet ready to live in the woods,” the man confessed.

“You don’t have to.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Listen,” Much said simply. “Be ready to come to our side, and fight when he calls. Can you do that?”

The tanner thought for a moment, then nodded.

“I can do that.”

“Good.”

The tanner dropped his voice even lower. “You might want to talk to Georgie. Things have gone hard on him. He might be looking to set them right.”

“I will speak with him, thank you.”

“Thank you, Much. God bless you.” He nodded and walked on, eyes searching the crowd for Georgie. Everyone he encountered gave him a little nod. He wondered if they’d all heard he was friends with the Hood, or if they were merely attempting to acknowledge the murder of his parents.

Bile rose in his mouth at the memory of finding their bodies. He swallowed it down, and pushed the images down with it. He had an important job to do, and he couldn’t let anything get in his way.

* * *

He spent the next four hours in the village, and by the time he left he had recruited more than he had hoped he could for the battle to come. It was with a great deal of pride and relief that he headed back into the forest, hoping that his friends had all safely made it to the new camp.

Marian was exhausted, and she felt like sobbing in frustration. For far too long she and Robin had tried everything they could think of in order to pass between the twin trees whose magic seemed to be holding them at bay.

They had tried walking backward through the space, but their feet froze just as fiercely to the ground. Robin had attempted to fire an arrow with a rope attached to it, so they might pull themselves through using their arms, but the arrow had stopped before passing between the two trees, clattering lifeless to the ground. They had even tried getting down on hands and knees to crawl through, but with no success.

In a fit of desperation Robin had even tried going behind the trees to see if he could walk through from the other direction. They had discovered, though, that when he went around the trees they disappeared from sight. Wherever the path between them led, it was somewhere that was beyond this area of the forest.

Now twilight was upon them, and it was becoming much harder to see. She was getting desperate. They had spent a whole day and if they didn’t manage to make it past the first guardian how could they ever reach the heart of the forest in time to thwart John?