“Steady!” the crier called. “Let fly!”
Marian let fly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the arrow of one of her opponents go completely wild. Her own shaft flew true and made it to the second smallest ring, just short of a bullseye. Not bad considering the sudden nerves she was experiencing. Still, she could do better. She had to do better.
“Archers, ready second arrows!”
She pulled her next one from her quiver, notched it, and worked to still her breathing. With the first arrow she hadn’t had it under control, not enough.
“Steady… let fly!”
She loosed her second arrow. It hit between her first arrow and the bullseye. Better, but still not where it needed to be. She was settling down, though, she could feel it. Her mind was calming, clarifying. The world around her fell away until there was only her, and the target.
“Archers, ready third arrows!”
As she pulled the third shaft from her quiver, she could hear the man next to her begin to sob and was forced to push the sound from her mind. She focused on the bullseye. In her mind she saw the arrow flying to it. She notched the arrow, took a breath, held it.
“Ready!” the crier called. “Let fly!”
Marian’s arrow flew straight and true, striking home in the bullseye. No cheering greeted such a feat, as would normally be customary. When she straightened and turned, the crowd was silent, watching in spellbound horror all.
The man next to her had missed completely with one of his arrows. The other two had hit the outermost edges of the target. Tears streamed down his face. She bit her lip and focused on the pain of it to keep herself from crying for him. Further down the line, only two others looked to have done well enough to remain. That was small comfort, though, since she would still need to remain in the top three after the next round.
Screaming rose from voices in the audience, and wailing as the crier announced the round’s winners and the Sheriff’s soldiers marched forward. The two who had tried to run were the first led off. The man standing next to her went third, and three other contestants were also led away, all of them looking stunned and helpless. None resisted, however.
She wanted to yell to them to fight, but it would only get them killed immediately, when she had no chance of helping them. Better to delay their sentence by even an hour, to give the rebels time to maneuver. That left Marian, two farmers, and Henry’s three soldiers still in it. She drew a steadying breath.
You can do this, she told herself.
She didn’t look at the crowd, from which there came only stunned silence, while a few of the spectators wept openly. She couldn’t risk seeing someone she knew, as it might break her concentration.
Six of the targets were moved and she shifted over, taking the spot of the man who had stood weeping beside her. Marian found herself standing next to a farmer, who looked composed despite his ashen complexion. On the other side of him was one of Henry’s soldiers, a man with thick gray hair, a deeply tanned face, and a scraggly gray beard. He’d done well in the first round, and had a determined look to him.
“Archers! The targets are now set at fifty paces,” the crier called. “You will have two arrows in this round. Ready your first arrow!”
Marian pulled the shaft. She notched it, sighted, and then checked her breathing. In… out. In… out. In. Hold it.
“Steady! Let fly!”
The arrow sailed straight and true. It hit the bullseye, and she let out the breath she’d been holding. Her second shot couldn’t get any better than that. It had to be enough to get her into the finals.
“Archers, ready second arrows!” Marian pulled the arrow loose from its quiver.
“Good luck to you,” the man next to her whispered. She glanced quickly at him. There was something in his eyes that made her pause. He knew he was done, yet there was a light in his eyes that burned intently. She couldn’t look away as he notched his second arrow.
“Steady!”
Marian quickly turned her attention back to her target. She notched her arrow just as the crier shouted.
“Let fly!”
Her arrow sped away. It wouldn’t be a bullseye, but suddenly that was the least of her concerns. The man next to her spun on his heel with a shout.
“Death to demons!” he shouted as he let his arrow fly straight at the Sheriff.
It struck his target directly in the chest, forcing him back. There were shouts from some—including Henry—but the Sheriff calmly pulled out the shaft and snapped it in half. He shook his head at the archer.
“Not the best use of your arrow,” he called.
Murmurs and gasps came from all around them as she stood, heart pounding. Before that moment, not all of these people had seen for themselves the Sheriff’s true nature. Now they had—including Henry and his soldiers. While the king didn’t seem as surprised as she might have expected, the soldiers were another matter. All three of the ones in the competition stared openly, then glanced uneasily at one another.
“Long live King Richard!” the farmer shouted as a dog soldier walked up behind him. Marian braced herself, waiting for him to be beheaded. Instead, the soldier knocked him unconscious and hauled him off the field.
Soldiers then came for the other farmer and dragged him off. Some of the Sheriff’s men moved toward one of Henry’s soldiers, a young fellow who gaped in shock. When the Sheriff’s men laid hold of him he turned to fight, and they promptly knocked him out with a sword pummel to the head.
It took a few moments for the clamor to die down. Marian and the two remaining soldiers shifted again, so the one with the scraggly beard stood next to her. On his other side was a large man with a commanding presence. This had to be a commander in the invading forces. He turned to stare at both of them, and she kept her gaze averted so he couldn’t get a good look at her.
“I don’t like this one bit,” he said, softly enough that only they could hear. She knew then that she had to seize the chance while she could. She made sure to whisper and continued to make her voice sound hoarse.
“The Sheriff is an archdemon,” she muttered. “He was summoned from hell by Prince John, then killed the prince to seize power. His reign means doom for us all.” The man stood for a moment without making a reply, then he glanced back at the Sheriff.
“I’d heard the rumors, but until now...”
“He kills all who speak up,” Marian pressed. “Who but a monster kills the losers of a tournament?” They were running out of time. The targets were nearly moved into their new positions. She had to make him understand.
The other man was listening, as well, but had his face slightly turned away so she couldn’t tell if she was reaching him. It didn’t matter, though. If she could persuade one of the commanders, that was an effort better spent.
The Sheriff rose and clapped his hands together, the loud crack of his gauntlets echoing louder than it should have. When all attention was back on him, he spoke in a loud, clear voice that nevertheless made her skin crawl.
“We must congratulate our three noble finalists,” he said. “It will be truly exciting to witness your displays of skill in this final round, and discover to whom the lady Glynna will grant the coveted arrow.” As the Sheriff spoke, Marian found herself glaring at the woman and forced herself to look away.
“Good luck, to all of us,” the commander said, sincerity in his voice.
“Luck,” Marian and the other man echoed together.
“Archers! To your positions!” the crier said as the Sheriff resumed his seat. “The targets have been moved to one hundred paces. You will each get one arrow. Good luck.”
Marian took up her position and drew her arrow. She notched it and tried to shut out the rest of the world again as she stared down the shaft at the target. She adjusted slightly for the increased distance, breathed in and out, finally breathing in and holding it.
“Steady!” the crier called. “Let fly!”
The arrow left her fingers like silk and she
watched it speed toward her target. It struck dead center and she gasped. A perfect shot.
Looking to her side, she froze. The soldier next to her had hit his target dead center, as well. The commander’s arrow had landed on the line straddling the bullseye and the next ring. It was a brilliant shot… but not a winner.
“I know when I’m bested,” he said. He backed away, applauding them both. Then he turned and bowed to the platform. “My liege, I know when I have been beaten. I yield the ground to these two.”
Marian held her breath, wondering what would happen to him. She saw Henry lean over and whisper something to the Sheriff, who nodded. Henry stood and lifted a goblet.
“Well done, Jerome,” he called out. “You have earned a seat of honor at the feast tonight. You may take your leave now.”
“Thank you, my liege,” Jerome said, bowing again before melting into the crowd. Marian understood all too well the whispered words Henry had shared with the Sheriff. He knew Jerome personally. Since the commander had come with him, he could not be one of the rebels they were looking for.
That left only Marian and the soldier standing next to her. Did Henry know him, as well? She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as the crier went and inspected both targets. He came back.
“My lieges,” he said loudly, “both arrows have flown as true as they could. It is a tie. With your permission, I will offer an additional round.” Henry and the Sheriff both nodded. The crier turned and signaled, and one of the targets was removed.
“Archers,” he called. “For this last round, the target is set at one hundred and fifty paces. You will each be given one arrow, and you will fire at the same target.”
The man beside her nodded. “I will let the tinker go first.”
“Very well,” the crier said. Marian wasn’t sure if going first was a blessing or not. At least she wouldn’t be distracted by the other arrow, sticking in the target.
The target was moved and the crier gave a satisfied nod.
“Archer, take your position!” he said. “Let fly at will.”
Marian stepped up, pulled the arrow from her quiver, and examined it for a moment. She didn’t like the feel of it. She replaced it and pulled another one out. Satisfied, she notched it, took a steadying breath, then sighted down the shaft. She could feel the tension of the string between her thumb and fingers and adjusted for distance. She had never fired at something so far, but she worked it out in her mind.
Then she focused on her breathing.
In… Out. In…
Hold.
She let go and the arrow sped away. It rose slightly and then sank. Her legs nearly gave way beneath her when her arrow hit the target.
It was dead center.
She turned and stepped out of the way, feeling dizzy. One way or another this would be over soon.
The other archer strode forward. He took an arrow from his quiver and she watched him as he notched his arrow. He turned and looked at her.
“It’s time to end this charade, don’t you think?” he asked in a husky voice.
She didn’t know how to respond. He turned back toward the target, brought up his bow and seemed to pull and then release in one fluid motion. She stared in shock. It was the first time she’d been able to watch him shoot and it was remarkable. She hadn’t even seen him sighting. It was as if he just knew where to shoot.
She twisted her head just in time to see his arrow land.
It split hers in half.
Marian gaped. She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. She turned back to find him staring intently at her. He hadn’t even seen his arrow land, she realized.
He smiled at her and suddenly she saw him, really saw him. She saw past the gray hair and the scraggly beard and the soldier’s uniform. And what she saw shocked her more than she could have imagined.
She saw her husband.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Robin couldn’t help but smile at the look on Marian’s face. He knew she hadn’t recognized him at the start, even though he had seen right through her disguise, clever as it was. She blinked at him in shock, tears filling her eyes, and started to move toward him.
As much as it pained him, he took a step back and cleared his throat.
“It was an excellent contest, tinker,” he said loudly.
She stopped, shook herself slightly, and then nodded. He gave her a wink and then steeled himself for what was coming next.
“The soldier wins!” the crier announced.
“Time to collect my prize,” he said, putting swagger in his voice. There were a few weak cheers from an audience that was still traumatized by the brutality of the contest.
Robin had arrived back in England just in time to learn of the tournament. He’d barely had enough time to find and overpower a guard whose uniform he could steal. Knowing that the black arrow was the prize, he’d assumed one of his would enter the contest in an attempt to win it. He also knew that it had to be a trap.
The black arrow was real, though. He had recognized it the moment the Sheriff held the pillow aloft—felt it calling to him, throbbing in the mark it had given him. He still didn’t know why he hadn’t been able to pull it from the body of Guy of Gisbourne, but he was gratified to see that no one else had been able to do so, either.
He noticed the Sheriff took pains not to touch the shaft.
Robin held his bow in his left hand, down at his side. He was ready to use it again in an instant, if he had to. The crier led him up to the platform from which Henry, the Sheriff, and Robin’s mother watched intently. The commander, Jerome, stood to the right of the platform and gave him a respectful nod.
Before the tournament started, Robin spent a few minutes talking with him, hoping it might stand him in good stead. The man seemed decent, reasonable, and the Sheriff’s cruelty had surprised and upset him profoundly.
Henry leaned forward on his chair, scrutinizing Robin closely. He whispered something to the Sheriff, then when Robin stopped in front of them, he turned back.
“Soldier, I admit I don’t know you,” Henry said.
Robin sucked in his breath. Before he could say anything Jerome stepped forward.
“Sire, please allow me to present one of your finest soldiers, Reginald,” the commander said. “It’s no surprise that he won today. He’s consistently been the most outstanding archer in his regiment, as long as I’ve known him.”
Robin bowed deeply to hide his surprise. When he straightened up it was with a regained composure, and he kept his eyes fixed on Henry as one of that man’s soldiers would be expected to do. The Sheriff and his mother remained in his peripheral vision. Henry nodded, seeming to be convinced.
He said something under his breath to the Sheriff.
“We congratulate you on your victory,” the man in black said. “Before we present your reward, let us also speak with your admirable opponent.”
Robin tensed, though he managed to keep calm. He had hoped Marian would be able to melt back into the crowd, untouched by whatever was coming next. That had been a fool’s hope, though. Since the Sheriff was looking for the Hood, now that Jerome had vouched for him, the tinker was the next logical choice.
And, in a way, they would be right. Without Marian, there would be no Hood. He couldn’t let them take her captive, though, not even for a moment. His hand tightened on his bow and he measured the distance to the black arrow. Its point was still buried in a chunk of rotting flesh. He’d have to dislodge that.
There was motion to one side and he turned his head slightly as Marian joined him, then gritted his teeth. One of the Sheriff’s demon soldiers stood at her back.
“I commend you both on such a fine display of marksmanship,” the Sheriff said. He stood, a half sneer on his face. “I’ve never seen the equal.”
They both bowed their heads in acknowledgment. Out of the corner of his eye Robin saw more demon soldiers moving into place. He had no idea where Friar Tuck, Alan, or any
of the rest of them were or what the plan was should this happen. He could see a lot of soldiers, though—enough to make it nearly impossible for them to escape, even if the whole camp had been present.
If Henry’s soldiers decided to join the fray, then God help them all. He needed to do something unexpected, a distraction.
“Hit me,” he whispered.
Marian bobbed her head slightly.
He raised his chin. “My lord, thank you for the praise, but truth be told, this scum never stood a chance of winning against me,” he announced. “He should go on his way before he embarrasses himself any further.” Robin moved in front of her and sneered.
Instantly she hit him in the jaw, harder than he would have guessed, and he staggered back into the platform. There was a shout of alarm from Henry. Robin twisted and snatched the black arrow off the pillow before his mother could react.
“Thank you for the prize,” he said before spinning back toward Marian. Already soldiers were closing in on her. “For God and King Richard!” Robin shouted, holding the black arrow high.
The soldiers froze, looking to the Sheriff for orders.
“We call on each soldier here to join us and fight the demons who seek to take over this land!” Marian shouted. When she stopped, there was dead silence.
Then pandemonium broke out.
“God and King Richard!” All around them voices rose up. Everywhere he looked men and women—some of them alarmingly young—tossed off cloaks and drew weapons. Henry’s men still hesitated, but the dog soldiers moved toward the rebels, and he feared the bloodshed that would come.
Then, he froze, and saw something he had never dreamed he’d see.
The Guardian, the one from whom he’d taken the black arrow, came striding forward from the back of the crowd, cutting down demon soldiers with his sword. Their blood smoked on his blade. Behind him came fey of every size and color, some armed with weapons, others baring claw and tooth.
* * *
Marian grabbed Robin’s hand and pulled him from the platform. Around them their men and the fey swarmed the Sheriff’s demon soldiers. They needed to get to safety.
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