by TJ Nichols
Hood and the Highwaymen
TJ Nichols
Copyright © 2018 by TJ Nichols
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Hood and the Highwaymen
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Other books by TJ Nichols
About the Author
Hood and the Highwaymen
Aubrey is a Red Hood, one of the king’s dispensers of justice. He likes that the job gets him out of the city, but he tires of seeing too many abuse the privileges of the role. After three hoods go missing in Nightlark Woods while supposedly capturing the highwaymen, Aubrey is sent to investigate. The king warns him to be careful of werewolves, but Aubrey doesn’t believe in peasant superstitions.
Lyle and Jardin are forest folk; they live in the woods not the town. They keep the trails clear and eke out an existence. For Jardin it’s not enough. He wants more than scrabbling around to survive. With his lover, Lyle, he has been robbing the rich as they travel through. Some of the coins they share with the rest of the village, the rest go into their cache for the day they leave. Jardin isn’t sure he’s ready to leave his pack—he is one of the few werewolves still roaming the woods. If he leaves, he won’t be allowed back, but he hungers for more.
When Aubrey arrives in Nightlark, he finds far more than he expected. Can he protect the wolves and serve his king? Or will he follow his heart and carve out a new life for himself far away from court intrigues?
Acknowledgments
This story was originally written on Patreon with my patrons voting on the direction of the story after each instalment. It has been put together as a whole and edited.
A special thanks to Tamsyn and Courtland for supporting this book via Patreon.
You can find out how to be a patron here.
Or join my mailing list here.
Chapter 1
Lyle stuck his hand in the pouch around the man’s waist. Dried blood stained the leather dark. The inside was sticky and cold. He pulled out several half-crowns, a gold ring with some kind of marking, and a dozen coppers that would buy a day’s bread for a family.
He wiped his fingers on the dead man’s scarlet cloak and then cleaned each of the coins on the expensive fabric. The cloak was a luxury they couldn’t afford to keep without buying trouble.
“What did you get?” Jardin leaned on the shovel, his dark hair sticking to his forehead. His shirt clung to him in all the right places, but for all the wrong reasons. They shouldn’t be doing this again.
“Not much.” Lyle put the coins and ring into his pouch. He’d examine the ring later. It was simple but might still get a good price if it was gold and not an alchemist’s fakery.
Jardin scowled. “Better than nothing.”
“Too little to be worth the effort.” He blew out a breath to dislodge the fly that had landed on his nose and tried not to think about where it had just been crawling. He’d scrub himself clean later.
“Only if we’re caught with the body.” Jardin grinned, his teeth a little too sharp and his blue eyes a little too wild.
Full moon tonight. Lyle would be sleeping alone because Jardin and the rest of the pack would be running the woods on four feet instead of two.
“Then you’d best dig a little faster.”
Lyle removed the man’s cloak—they’d burn it so if a dog or a boar dug up the body at least the man wouldn’t be immediately identified as a hood. No one wanted the dead hoods to be found. That there was more than one now buried in the woods was sure to bring bad luck. Leaving the body in the open would be worse. The wounds were not accidental. Even if they had been, Lyle doubted the King would believe the truth—he’d want vengeance.
Lyle checked the man for any other jewelry that might identify him but found none. Last time he’d had to drop a necklace bearing the crest of a noble family into the river. As much as he liked relieving nobles of their baubles, this was dangerous.
Jardin hummed as he dug the grave, as untroubled by death as he was by life. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, he just didn’t see a problem. Life was for living, and he wanted to live well, instead of scrounging for every bite and piece of clothing. It was a tempting notion. But maybe they’d listened to too many tales about how it had been before the wolves had been hunted.
It might be wise to give a half-crown to the soothsayer. She might be able to alleviate the trouble that had arrived in Nightlark Wood with summer. Not all of it could be laid at Jardin’s and Lyle’s feet.
Overhead birds flitted through the trees making the most of the evening insects. The nightlarks would wait until the sun was set before they hunted, their beautiful song at odds with their ability to hunt. That they hunted in flocks made them that much more deadly.
Jardin kept digging, his preternatural strength making it appear easier than it was. Lyle finished removing anything useful from the body. There was no sense in putting perfectly good boots in the ground. The same went for the two knives, a silver bracelet, and a necklace that depicted the god of pleasure—both of which were common and could be easily sold. Not a bad god to worship, though Lyle preferred the one of plenty, not that his prayer had ever been heard. Unless he counted meeting Jardin.
Around Jardin’s neck was tin disk stamped with a nightlark. A common enough symbol of the moon goddess—healer, life-bringer, and god of the wolves—worn by enough wolves and humans that it didn’t make him stand out.
Jardin wiped his face with his shirt. Lyle tried not to watch too closely but couldn’t look away either. He’d seen Jardin’s lean body enough times that he knew the lines of muscle and bone as if they were his own. Wolves weren’t quite like humans if one knew the signs. Their teeth were sharper, their ribs deeper, but their stomach flatter. And they were strong. Lyle was no skinny youth anymore, but Jardin could lift him and have him pinned against a tree with ease.
Lyle’s heartbeat quickened, and he glanced away. He shouldn’t be thinking about that when they were doing such a dark job. Jardin sniffed and a smile formed on his lips as though he knew exactly which path Lyle’s thoughts were on.
Lyle stood and folded the red cloak. “I’m done.”
Handling the dead was a job for priests. They could say the right words so the spirits’ displeasure didn’t cast a shadow over the lives of the living.
A wolf howled in the distance. Lyle couldn’t tell what kind of wolf it was. A true wolf or a werewolf? Jardin tilted his head, and Lyle wondered what the wolf was saying. Was it calling him to come and play?
“If you want to go, I’ll finish,” Lyle said.
They still had to walk back to the small village. Most forest folk lived in small clusters. There seemed to fewer villages each year as people moved to towns to try to get work.
Lies meant people were less willing to trade with them. When the last of them left the forest, who would walk the paths? Once, the forests had been ruled by the wolves. If the stories were true, it had been humans who’d wanted the wolves’ protection, who’d begged for help when invaders had come. The humans who lived with the wolves were held in great esteem. They were the warriors and protectors of the great people who’d once lived across the country.
His nails were crusted with a dead man’s blood, and humans had hunted the wolves for the magic in their blood and bones and fur. The forests were owned by the human king, and they were supposed to be grateful they were allowed to live there.
It could be worse. At least there were still wolves.
Jardin shook his head. “No, we’ll do this right. He still deserves a proper burial.”
“You suddenly developed compassion for a hood?”
Hoods were trouble. It usually meant the king had decided on guilt and wanted the problem gone. Why the first one had been sent, no one knew.
Jardin laughed. “No…but the dead should be treated with care. I’ll want a proper burial, so in life I give others the same.”
“True.” Though Lyle wasn’t sure the dead hood would feel particularly glad. Better to bury the body than risk an angry spirit raking up more trouble. He was definitely visiting the soothsayer in town even though it meant leaving the forest.
Jardin dropped the shovel. “Let’s put him in.”
Together they lifted the body and placed him in the hole, carefully laying his arms straight by his sides as though he were a warrior. His skin was already mottled with death. Flies kept crawling over the hood’s face, but at least they no longer bothered him. Lyle shooed a few away. Had they taken too long to bury him? Was his spirit already prowling?
Jardin piled on the dirt, and they stomped it down for good measure. Then Jardin pulled a fat seed out of his pocket and planted it—no death was wasted when it could feed new life—and gave it a little water from his water skin. Next year there’d be a tree here instead of a grave. Lyle gathered leaves and twigs and scattered them on top. After a few armfuls it was hard to tell where the hole had been dug. The hood was gone. Hopefully no more would be sent to investigate Nightlark Woods.
Aubrey bowed low to the king, extra low since the king was sitting at his desk, his heavily embroidered shoes the only part of him visible for several heartbeats. The hood of his cloak fell forward, though fortunately not over his head. He straightened before it could make another daring plunge and humiliate him.
Unlike the throne room where the king usually met subjects with a complaint, this was his small private study. This was where the kingdom was truly ruled from. Advisors did his bidding and brought the news that was discussed, and the secrets that were used against those who jostled for position. In turn, they took the bribes to keep other secrets. They were insidious and everywhere. The only table and chair was for the king.
This was not the first, nor would it be the last, time Aubrey had been called there. Though truthfully, Aubrey much preferred to be on the road than sitting around in borrowed luxury. As much as he hated being summoned, the end result would be a job and a chance for him to leave the confines of the capital city.
Who would he be sent after this time? He listened to court gossip and wandered the city to hear what was being whispered—not in his cloak, of course. No commoner would willingly speak with one of the king’s agents, Red Hoods, or Red Hands they were sometimes called. Some of the hoods did tend to kill first and get a pardon later.
He’d visited nobles who owed taxes but didn’t want to pay. Saved a young lord form kidnapping. Horse thieves…they didn’t stand a chance. He was good at his job, and most of the time he liked it. It was certainly better than the alternatives. He wouldn’t make a good priest, and he lacked the dancing skills to be a successful courtesan. And while he had an interest in alchemy, his father would never allow him to dirty his hands like a commoner.
Aubrey shifted his weight and tried not to fidget as he waited for the king to speak. He’d get away from the castle and the city after this. A few moments of discomfort would be worth the freedom. The debrief at the end would be to his captain, not the king.
But the king always gave the order to send out a hood. Only he could do that. Not the captain of the hoods, and certainly not a noble—though some tried to bribe hoods to act on their behalf, which never ended well for anyone involved.
The king put down his quill. “Two of my agents have been killed, and a third is missing. When my agents are attacked, it is an attack on me.” He touched his embroidered tunic above his heart.
Aubrey was certain the dead men didn’t feel that way—after all, they were dead, and the king was very much alive and enjoying his wealth and wine. “I have heard the news.”
He hadn’t believed it was true, though. The version he’d heard had been gossip filled with werewolves—which sensible people knew no longer existed—and a plan by the forest folk to take over the kingdom. The truth was in there somewhere, but it was well-buried.
The king leaned back and regarded him. “Have you heard about the highwaymen attacking noble carriages and taking off with their coins?”
Aubrey nodded. There were always highwaymen pressing their luck. Every so often there’d be a spate of arrests, but half a year later there were new highwaymen. Most highwaymen were only interested in what they could sell. They were annoying but mostly harmless, and few nobles traveled with much wealth anyway. Aubrey couldn’t feel any pity for the nobles. He’d grown up with his mother, not his father. His father hadn’t paid any interest—or any coin for his upbringing—until he owed the king and had offered Aubrey’s services as a hood.
“The Nightlark Wood highwaymen have killed my agents. I want them dragged here to face justice.”
Aubrey opened his mouth, then shut it. It wouldn’t be a smart move to question the king. But how did he know that the highwaymen had killed the agents? Had they sent word via a noble? Returned the red cloaks hoods wore?
“While you are there, I want you to remind the forest folk that they are there because I allow it.”
There had been an agreement decades ago allowing the forest folk to remain as long as they fulfilled the role of keeper and maintained the trails and kept the wolf population down. The forest folk kept their homes, and the king didn’t have to pay anyone to look after his forests. It had seemed like a good deal for both.
“I will.” Though it would be an unwelcome intrusion, assuming he could find the forest folk.
“They should be making sure the roads are safe to travel, not harboring thieves.” The king fixed him with a glare.
“I will send word as soon as I learn anything.”
“Good.” He picked up two letters. “These are from two of my previous agents.”
Aubrey stepped forward and took the offered papers. But he didn’t glance at them. Unless invited to read them, he’d have to do that in his own time.
“Are you superstitious?” the king continued.
Aubrey smiled. He wasn’t that much of a fool. “No, sire.”
But he didn’t sound as certain as he probably should. A token of his god hung around his neck for protection. He didn’t eat fish at midsummer—which was said to cause a month of bad luck. And he always kept at least a copper in his coin pouch to encourage others to gather there. Perhaps his mother’s peasant blood flowed too strongly at times.
Werewolves had been wiped out. Hunted for the magic in their pelts, their teeth, their eyes and ears, and other body parts that were said to make limp men hard. Like many in the city, he’d grown up hearing about the dangers of being caught in the forest. How the wolves would take you away. Other tales told of ferocious fighters, men who wore charms made of wolf that made them impossible to kill in battle.
All tales to warn children. He doubted that even when werewolves had been real they’d had magic. If they had, why were they now all dead?
The king watched him for a moment, and Aubrey wondered if the king had hoped for a different answer.
Finally the king nodded. “Be on your way and be sure to return.”
Aubrey hesitated. How to say what he needed without out seeming afraid? Highwaymen, murder, forest folk, and werewolf rumors…that was a lot of work for one hood.
“To be clear, I am to arrest the highwaymen, solve t
he murder of two hoods, and remind the forest folk of their place?”
“And catch me a werewolf if you find one,” the king said as though perfectly serious.
Was he being serious? How did one catch a werewolf?
“Alone?”
“The third hood is missing…perhaps you can find him and work together.” The king’s attention was already on the papers on his desk.
“And if he is dead?”
“Then you are investigating three murders. Let’s not make it four.” The king picked up his quill. “It’s not easy to replace and train hoods.”
Noble bastards were like flies on a carcass. Replacing him wouldn’t be difficult; training was another matter. Not everyone was suited to becoming a hood. Some were too open to bribes, and others didn’t like to leave the gilded cage of the capital.
Jardin raced through the trees following the old trails deeper and deeper into the forest. His four feet moved swiftly. He was faster like this, more graceful, as though this was how he truly should be. The rest of the pack was with him, all racing for the same destination. They didn’t head to the ruins, unless there was business to deal with. This was the third moon in a row they had run to where the forest was dark and the trees grew among the rubble of what had once been a city.
This was their place. He slowed as the first stones came into view. At first glance, it seemed like any other part of the forest, maybe a little rockier. The wolf in front of him leaped over some rocks that had once formed part of the entrance.
He jumped over what would’ve once been the outer wall. Now it was marked only by a small lip between trees. Not even the trees gave away the location. He sniffed—like the other wolves, he was searching for signs of humans.