The Greenwood Shadow (3 page)

The steward's soldiers. These were the men she had robbed earlier that same day.

"Okay, okay, we'll tell it again, but mix round a bit, so the others can hear," the dark soldier said in an unfamiliar accent. Probably from down toward London.

Evey looked him over with the eye of a fighter. Even sitting, he was taller than she was. He had an intelligent face and huge, muscled arms. One blow from that sword could slice her clean in two.

"Get on with it Bill. You're better at this than me," the other soldier demanded.

He was much smaller, but no less well built. Evey could tell that his muscles were honed for speed, not strength. He didn't look quite as clever as Bill, but he would have been much more handsome if it weren't for his up-turned nose.

After a long draw on his tankard, Bill finally leaned forward and lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper.

"Alright. You've all heard them stories about the ghost in the forest. I heard it called the 'forest phantom', or 'the invisible archer'. One fellow calls it 'the greenwood shadow'. Well, we was out in that there greenwood, only a few miles from this very spot. And we seen it for ourselves."

He paused briefly, and looked around.

"Yeah, we seen him. And he weren't no ghost. It was the middle of the day, right when the sun was brightest. It takes a bold man to attack in the middle of the day, but this weren't no ordinary man. Seven foot tall, he was, and broad as an oak tree.

"We was just riding along down the road, minding our own business, when a massive black arrow sails out of the woods, cutting clean through the horse's harness. Well, that spooked the horse something awful, and he took off in a gallop. We was about to ride off after him when six more fellows each took a shot. Three on each side, they struck the wagon just close enough that we got the message. They could've shot us if they wanted to.

"Me and Aldin didn't know what to do next. There was only two of us plus the driver, and seven of them, all with longbows. But we had our job. We couldn't just leave the wagon to the bandits. `There's thirty men behind us!' I calls out to `em. 'They're not a mile down the road'. Then Aldin catches on to my plan, and says 'if we signal them, they'll be here faster`n you can shoot your bows.' Then he reached for his horn to show them how he could do it.

"Well, I'd seen them shoot, and I knew that they could kill us long before any help could come. But that still left the wagon with no horse, and it wouldn't serve to kill the guards, and leave the plunder. I could tell we had got them thinkin', and they knew they wouldn't get what they came for.

"I was looking all round, trying to catch a glimpse of `em, but they was hidden away in the trees. As I sat there looking, suddenly this darker feeling comes over me. I ask Aldin, and he says the same, and so we know something's behind us that weren't there before. I turned around slow, so as not to get an arrow in me back, and there he was, all seven foot of him, dressed like a woodsman and all."

Here the crowd let out a well timed gasp. Bill certainly knew how to tell a good story. He continued in an even more dramatic tone.

"He wore a green cloak, with the hood pulled low over his face. Four bags of gold in one hand, giant bow in the other, he nods to us, as if he's just passing the time of day. Then, quicker than a shadow, he's off in the forest again along with his men. And we're left standing there, wondering what's just happened. Course, it's good luck that we fooled `em, because there weren't no party of men behind us at all.

"Now four bags of gold's no small amount, but it could've been our lives we lost, eh Aldin?" Aldin grimaced, and nodded. Then Bill went on. "Like I tell you, some says there's ghosts in these parts, but I don't think so. He's a man, real enough. But who was he? Maybe a rogue baron that's got greedy for more. Maybe a sorcerer, full up to the brim with dark magic. I don't know. But what I do know is this: afore we got on the road again, there's no arrow or footprint in sight."

Another gasp from the crowd. Several voices murmured words like 'sorcerer' and 'black magic'.

"And what's more, I hear tell it happened to another set of fellas only three or four villages over. They lost six bags of silver and a gold-hilted sword."

By this time, Bill was leaning forward and talking very slowly, so that no one would miss a word. He looked around, making eye contact with several people, and then sat back to take another drink.

"And that's the truth," Aldin added. "We was out that way just before we was here, and we heard all about it."

"True enough," Bill agreed. "I also hear that this man that goes about robbin' with his hood and bow, well, he only takes from them that doesn't hurt for gold. So maybe he ain't all bad, but that don't stop him being a thief."

The crowd jostled forward, asking questions.

Evey slipped out of the inn and headed for home, grinning widely.

"What a bunch of liars," she whispered to herself.

So that's how they explained away their ghost. Too bad it was a load of rubbish. No one would believe it.

Halfway down the lane, she stopped cold. People did believe it. Every one of those villagers had crowded in to hear the story for themselves.

She really had robbed their cart that afternoon. It was silver, not gold, and brown arrows, not black. She had also lifted six bags of silver only the week before, though there was no fancy sword involved. But none of those details were really important. Ninety percent of it was true, or at least based on the truth. Those were always the best stories.

"Clever," she muttered.

If someone discovered the rest of the truth, her secret would be out. She'd never be able to casually slip into the woods again. How would she help her village, or her uncle, if people knew who she really was?

But then again, no one in their right mind would ever confuse her for a seven foot woodsman. She wasn't even five feet tall, and no one would believe she could string a long bow, let alone shoot one. That one thing relaxed her, and she started down the path once again.

It was just a story, after all, like those told in any tavern or inn. And just like any of the others, it wouldn't last very long. That was good. She was safer that way.

All the same, though, she couldn't help enjoying the near infamy her common cart robberies had brought on. For one night, she was a living legend.

CHAPTER FOUR

When Emeric saw her in the courtyard wearing a nice-ish dress, he stopped in his tracks and gawked.

She narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"Nothing." He walked on, but his eyes didn't leave until he rounded a corner.

He didn't know about her adventure the day before. Obviously if he had, he might understand. She couldn't hunt another tax cart down until Bill's dramatic story had faded away. Too many guards made for a tough raid, even if all of them were just as idiotic. She'd learned that lesson the hard way.

At any rate, disappearing too often would reflect poorly on her household while the king's steward was there. She had her share of disagreements with him, but Emeric was still her uncle, and family was family.

The worst downside was that she had absolutely no idea what to do with herself. The hard spring labor was all but done, and the summer wheat was nowhere near ready to harvest. Not that she had anything special to do out in the forest, but being bored at home meant being bored in a dress, with Sir Robert for company.

She sighed at the thought of his comment the night before. He as much as called her an old maid. Maybe he was right, but she still felt too young. Getting married was certainly not on her list of things to do for a while. And getting married to someone related to Sir Robert was on her list of things to only do at sword point. Maybe not even then.

By supper time, Evey had gotten so antsy that her feelings against Sir Robert reached an alarming level. In her head, she knew that holding her tongue was the smart thing to do. But she rarely decided to do the smart thing.

She smiled stiffly and said, "Sir Robert? What are your views on arranged marriage?"

Her uncle slipped slightly lower in his chair.

"What about it?"

"Agree or disagree? Do you feel that the practice has merit, or should young people make their own choices?"

Robert almost spat ale everywhere. "That's a good one! Emeric, she's witty too."

"I meant it as a serious question," she practically growled.

"HAHAHA! Children allowed to choose their own brides. What next? Striped cows and tartan pigs?"

She folded her arms and tried to look formidable. "The humor was completely unintentional, I assure you."

Sir Robert turned to her uncle and raised an eyebrow in what he must have thought was a winning and humorous fashion. "You might have mentioned her sense of humor before, Emeric."

What was he even talking about? She stared at her uncle, who sunk a bit more, looking mortified.

"Yes, sir," was all he could utter.

Evey fixed her piercing stare on the steward. "I happen to be firmly opposed to the concept of arranged marriage, and adamantly refuse to participate in it myself."

He was busy tearing through a leg of pheasant and didn't notice her.

"Can you imagine what the world would turn to if all the young boys went and married whoever struck his fancy? Utter anarchy. Chaos, that's what. You are a funny girl, Evanly."

What in the name of all the saints? How could he so stubbornly refuse to get her name right? Or so thoroughly ignore everything she had just said? If Sir Robert knew how serious she was, he might have been as horrified as her uncle.

But no. She was just a silly girl. Not to be taken seriously, no matter what came from her mouth. She might even call him a lily-livered weasel, and he wouldn't realize it.

He was either the dullest man in the world, or the cleverest. Ironic, that. How the line between the two was so fine.

The steward had begun to ramble on about taxes and policies. Again. Was she even capable of loving anything as much as Sir Robert loved gold? She couldn't decide whether she wanted that answer to be yes or no.

She opened her mouth to interrupt his dissertation, but Emeric shot her a look. He silently pleaded for her to leave. She was only too happy to oblige.

A short time later, she opened her hiding place in the back building. Once dressed in her usual woodland attire, she slung her bow over her cloak. She had been inspired by Bill's story. A hooded cloak would be a much better and easier disguise than mud or axle grease. Especially as she didn't plan to even be seen up close.

Again, she smiled at the idea of being in tales. It almost made her wish that they weren't so fleeting.

She had to look very mysterious indeed, as she scaled the wooden palisade and landed on the ground with her cloak fluttering behind her. She crouched, as still as the stockade at her back, letting her eyes adjust to the dim moonlight. When she could see, she was off, following the gently swaying shadows and staying low to the ground. Even if there had been guards posted at the castle, they wouldn't have seen her.

Before long, she reached the tree line, turned sharply left along a faint trail, and jogged to her favorite campsite. Thirty minutes later she had climbed the huge oak, strung her makeshift hammock, and begun to rock gently with the night breeze.

"This is more like it," she whispered to no one. Before long, she drifted off under the stars.

Something stirred her awake. What was that? It might have been a twig breaking, or a rustle in the underbrush. Not dangerous, it seemed. Anyway, nothing could get to her up in the massive tree. But still, something was there.

She turned just enough to see the area around and below her. More noise echoed through the trees, growing in volume as it drew near. No one who was used to the forest would ever make that much noise. That ruled out any animals, and most hunters.

Eventually a flicker of light shone through the leaves. Steadily and noisily it grew closer until she could make out the silhouetted form of a man holding a torch. She couldn't get a clear look at him. If only the fire-light wasn't shining right into her face. But she could tell that he was obviously a man. A young one, and just barely average height, but definitely strong.

The young man stopped almost directly below her and leaned on the tree to catch his breath for a moment. What she could make out of his clothes gave no clues either. He wasn't dressed as a woodsman, which didn't surprise her at all.

The tunic was too nice to be a peasant's. It was even too nice for a craftsman. The stitching and the material were obviously expensive, but knights and lords didn't wear such bland colors. Or that style, whatever it was. Not fashionable, that's what.

Who on earth was this guy?

Temptation almost made her call out to him, but it went against reason. After all, he could be a criminal as easily as a baron in disguise. He looked behind several times during his rest, which confirmed her theory that he might indeed be an escaped criminal. Almost certainly, he had pursuers.

Before she could deduce anything else, he took off again at a slow jog, plowing recklessly through the underbrush. Within moments he was out of sight, though the sound of his passing echoed back long afterward.