The Two Torcs (35 page)

Robin didn’t answer, moving to the left and up a small rise. The creature still towered over him but he was on more even footing.

The thing turned, black eyes gleaming as it closed in.

Robin swung the sword over his head.

The creature lifted a massive arm to block the strike. The limb was covered in ancient symbols, painted in woad.

Cannily Robin changed the direction of his strike, whipping the long blade down and lunging forward, low and fast. The edge of the sword sliced against the thing’s knee, biting deeply. Robin felt the impact up the blade, up his arm, and into his teeth.

The skin parted, but did not bleed.

Had this thing been mortal, then the razored steel would have sheared through not only skin, but also muscle, tendon, and bone.

The creature reached for him and he spun away, big, blunt fingers dragging unsuccessfully across the back of his cloak as he rolled down the rise, using the natural shape to aid him. He came up on his feet to the side of the creature and thrust, using his body weight to drive the blade into the spot where a man would be soft, the hands-breath of skin between hipbone and ribcage.

The point dug in, puncturing skin only a finger-width deep, then slipped away as if he’d driven it into an iron pot.

This time the hands snagged his cloak.

The creature jerked him back as if he were a toddler, lifting him off his feet and swinging him around to slam into the ground. All the air rushed out of his lungs and tried to take them with it. His vision went black as he was lifted again, dragged by his cloak as if it were a leash.

Or a noose.

His eyes were blurry but clearing. He was held aloft as if he were a baby rabbit, and nothing more.

“That is a good sword,” the monster observed. “It cut me. It was crafted by an artisan, not simply a smith.”

Robin couldn’t respond. He was doing all he could to keep conscious.

The creature reached toward his throat, pushing the knotted cloak away to reveal the iron torc.

“I’ll take that.”

The creature grabbed the circlet of iron, fingers digging into Robin’s throat, cutting off his air, and pushing him further toward the darkness.

The hand twisted and yanked it off Robin’s neck, then dropped him to the ground. Looking up, he saw the thing turn and grab something from the air, no… some
one
.

Marian had launched herself at the thing, knife in her hand, as it stood over him. The thing caught her as if she were a child and held her aloft as she thrashed and twisted, trying to put her blade into its eyes.

Robin struggled to his feet, moving to help her.

The creature casually swung the iron torc against Marian’s head. The metal connected and she went limp in his arm.

Robin lunged forward.

The torc sang against his skull, and the world went dark.

* * *

Friar Tuck sagged in relief as Robin’s eyelids flickered, and then opened.

“Where?” Robin asked.

“We are in the backup camp location.”

“Marian?”

Friar Tuck shook his head. “We were hoping you could tell us. All I found at the old campsite were you, Little John, and Marian’s fox. You must have been attacked by the monster we abandoned the camp to avoid. Alan believes it could be an ancient elemental entity called Guy of Gisbourne.”

“He took Marian and the torc,” Robin said, struggling to sit up. “We need to get them.”

“You’re not going anywhere in the shape you’re in,” Tuck said, putting a hand on Robin’s chest and managing to push him down with hardly any effort.

“I have to,” Robin protested weakly. “You don’t understand. The torc bestows kingship. John can’t be allowed to possess it.” He peered up, desperation in his eyes. “Tuck, there’s no telling what he’ll do to Marian.”

Still the friar did not move his hand.

Robin closed his eyes and for a moment Tuck thought he had lost consciousness again, until he spoke.

“What of John Little, does he live?”

“I do, and I look a fair sight better than you,” John said shuffling up behind them.

Tuck looked at Little John. The man was a mess, limping, beaten, but still standing. He was looking down at Robin with a strange expression on his face. Tuck couldn’t read it, but he did know it was the first time in a long while that the giant hadn’t looked at Robin with hate in his eyes.

“I’m guessing you ran into the same thing I did, with no better luck killing it.”

Robin opened his eyes and slowly shook his head. “I won’t fail again.”

“If this Gisbourne took Marian to John,” Tuck said gently, “then what do you think you’re going to do? You couldn’t defeat him when you were whole. How will you do it as you are now?”

“I don’t care,” Robin said. “I can’t leave her to torture and death. I love her.” He pushed away Tuck’s hand and struggled to sit back up. “If the monster kills me this time, so be it, but I can’t abandon her.”

Friar Tuck dropped his eyes. He had suspected as much. It was a good thing, the feelings Robin had for her. Right now, though, they would only get in his way.

“What you can’t do is abandon your people,” he said. “Too many are counting on you.”

“That’s why I have to go. If we lose her, if John claims the torc, we’re all dead anyway, not just those here, but their families, and their neighbors, and all the good men and women of England,” he said, pushing Tuck’s hand off his chest. “I might not be able to swing a sword right now, but I can still fire an arrow, and I’ve got one just for this occasion. As long as it doesn’t fight me,” he said, locking his jaw.

“Friar Tuck!”

Tuck turned and saw Much running toward them.

“What is it?” he asked the young man.

“I’ve had word from a friend who was delivering food to the castle. She saw the Lady Marian being brought there unconscious. However, she thinks—but she’s not positive—that John and the Sheriff might have slipped out of the castle a little later, taking Lady Marian with them. She didn’t know where or even for sure if they had gone. None of the stable boys knew either. I’ve sent for those that will fight with us, telling them to come now.”

Robin blinked at Much.

“Our young friend has been busy,” Friar Tuck explained. “Even if we have more men, though, that won’t help us if we don’t know where to send them.”

“I know someone who can find her, wherever she is,” Robin said.

“Who?” Tuck asked.

“You said you found her fox.”

* * *

Marian was bound in the middle of a circle of stones. She had never seen the place before, but it felt sick. The ground beneath her feet was dying. The grass had withered to nothing.

She didn’t know if Robin was alive or dead. He had been awfully still when the beast had knocked her out and taken her from the camp. She’d drifted in and out of consciousness, only to wake in this vile place.

John, the Sheriff, Glynna Longstride, and several others stood nearby. The others wore cloaks, and had the hoods up so she could not tell if they were strangers, or persons she knew. She looked in vain for the monster that had brought her there but didn’t see him.

Thank God for small favors
, she thought, and immediately regretted the blasphemy.

“Ah, the little princess is awake,” John said, turning to look at her. “You know, I’ve always thought it was going to be a great moment when you fell beneath my knife. Now thanks to you I have the torc, and with your sacrifice, I will become the rightful king of all of England. Neither Heaven nor Earth will dare to dispute it.”

“Do what you will, but you will never be the true king,” she said. “They will come for me.”

“Of course they will, but they’ll be looking in the wrong place. You see, we made a grand spectacle of parading your unconscious body around the castle before we left. Your friends will look for you there first—and what they’ll find instead is their doom.”

The monster
, she realized. That’s where he was—at the castle, waiting to destroy whoever came for her.

* * *

Robin struggled not to let his men see his pain.
His men
. He wasn’t sure when he’d come to think of them that way, but there it was. At any rate he needed them now more than ever.

Much had gone to fetch the men he’d recruited, and escort them to the camp. The boy had grown up a lot, seemingly in the span of a few short weeks.

“This is the moment we’ve been waiting for,” he said. “Our chance to put an end to Prince John’s reign of evil. If we fail, the chance will never come again. You’re hurting, and you’ve lost much, but this is your opportunity to take back at least some of what you’ve lost.” He glanced over at Alan. “Or, at the very least, take your vengeance for it.”

“No bloody way are we following you to another slaughter,” one man shouted angrily.

Before Robin could say anything, however, Old Soldier turned and hit the man so hard that he fell down unconscious.

“Enough of that talk,” the old man growled. He turned back. “We’re with you, Lord Robin.” Others nodded and voiced their agreement.

“So are we!”

Robin turned to see Much entering the clearing, with more than two dozen men following him. He nodded, and Much beamed at him. He’d done well. When this was over he’d need to make certain the young man received the credit he was due.

If they were both still standing.

“Marian is the key,” Robin said. “If nothing else happens, we have to get her out. The trials she survived granted her sovereignty over this land. Rescuing her is our mission.”

“You focus on doing that, getting in and getting her back, if she’s the key to ending all of this. The rest of us will do what we can about the others,” Little John said. “Whatever may come.”

* * *

Glynna stared at Marian, a mixture of feelings running through her. Mostly she felt glee that the princess would soon taste the knife.

It didn’t sit well with her, however, that it would be to further the fortunes of Prince John, and increase his power. Her man should be king, not the whining brat.

For the moment, it was her job to guard the prisoner while the others finished their preparations.

“Lady Longstride, please, you have to help me,” Marian said.

“That title means nothing any longer,” Glynna said, and she gave the girl a withering look. “Regardless, I don’t
have
to help you, and I won’t.”

“Think of all that’s happened because of John,” Marian implored. “We’ve all lost so much to him. You’ve lost three of your children.”

“Three? Then Robin’s dead is he?” Delight coursed through her at the thought.

Marian blinked and then frowned.

“No… I don’t know,” she said, seemingly startled by the reply. “I was talking about Robert.”

“Robert?” Glynna said. “Robert’s off with his father.”

Marian’s eyes widened. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” Glynna asked, her pleasure turning to irritation. “What are you talking about?”

“Robert is dead,” Marian said. “I’m so sorry. The king sent him back to make certain his kingdom was safe. The Sheriff… the Sheriff killed him.”

Glynna blinked at that, struck through by the thought. As much as she’d always hated Robin, she had liked her girls, in an abstract kind of way. Robert, though, had been her pride and joy. So strong, so handsome, the envy of all.

She glanced over uncertainly at her lover. If this was true, why would he not have told her?

“How do I know you’re not making that up?” she asked.

“I know where he’s buried,” Marian said. “You can see for yourself.”

Glynna took a deep breath. “’Tis no matter. If the Sheriff killed Robert, he must have had reason to do so.”

Marian stared at her in revulsion. “How can you be so callous over the death of your own children?”

Glynna settled a hand on her belly. “Herein lies my true child, the one that shall rise to a greatness never imagined by the others. He will have his father’s strength and my cunning. He will feast upon the weak and the foolish. He shall make the lesser man his footstool.” She narrowed her eyes. “He’s hungry now.”

Marian recoiled.

“My pet,” the Sheriff called.

Glynna turned, her momentary annoyance with him forgotten as her blood sang.

“Remember, my love—the princess isn’t for eating,” he said.

* * *

His men were concealed down by the road, ready to go wherever Robin would lead them. He alone had taken the small creature as close to the castle as he dared. He just hoped that the bond between Marian and her pet would allow him to pick up her scent.

He was just about to set Champion down when he turned and saw something that caused him to gasp in shock. He fought the urge to vomit.

There, mounted on a pike in front of the castle gate, was the head of his cousin, Will Scarlet. Despite the distance, there could be no doubt. One of his eyes was rolled halfway back into his skull, while the other was gone, no doubt to some scavenger. The skin was white, the lips dark as a bruise.

Robin stared for a moment, blood thundering in his ears.

Will was dead.

He had known it, but a part of him had hoped that somehow it wasn’t true. He just kept staring. In his arms Champion began thrashing back and forth. He should put the fox down, he knew, then find Marian before John could do the same to her.

He didn’t hear the whisper of sound behind him until it was almost too late.

He ducked as a sword cut through the air right above his head, whistling as it passed him. He turned to see the creature that had beaten him and taken Marian. It held the blade that had been Robin’s.

“Guy of Gisbourne,” he ground out as Champion leaped to the ground.

The thing stopped for just a moment before letting out a deep, rumbling laugh.

“I thought I killed you,” it said as if relishing another try.

“I’m harder to kill than most,” Robin said, mind working furiously as he stepped backward, trying to put distance between himself and the monster. He needed just a few feet and then he could use the arrow, so long as it would let him this time. But he couldn’t risk bringing it out in close quarters, allowing the creature to snatch it away. Maybe the arrow had been protecting itself in a similar way during the last encounter. By the time he’d gone to use it, the monster had been nearly on him.