“The Sheriff!” He pulled back. “I have to kill him!”
“Later,” she snapped. “Where are King Richard and his men?”
“Likely a couple of days behind me. We rescued him and I came on ahead as fast as I could,” Robin said. Marian cursed but kept pulling him along. They reached a patch of grass that was away from the fighting and she turned and kissed him hard.
“We’ve got this,” she said pulling away. “And you’ve got the arrow.”
Robin placed the rotting flesh on the ground, took hold of the arrow, put his boot on the flesh, and strained to pull the arrow free.
Nothing.
“Why won’t it release?” he asked, desperation in his voice.
Marian turned to look back at the fighters. For the most part Henry’s soldiers stood and stared. Soon Henry would order them to fight, however, and the tide might turn. She turned back to Robin.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe it chooses when to release.”
“Perhaps. It chose when to be used,” Robin panted, “but this is absurd. Without the arrow we can’t kill the Sheriff.” He pulled again.
“Maybe one of the fey has a weapon that could do it.”
“I pray you’re right, but we can’t leave this to chance,” he said.
She looked back at the fighting, which was furious. Her skin felt like it was crawling, and she felt as if she vibrated with a fierce intensity. This was the final fight. She knew it. She needed to be out there, taking part in it.
“Robin, there’s something I need to tell you,” she said, her hand going to her stomach.
“What?” he asked, stopping to look at her.
She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped.
“I’ll tell you after it’s over,” she said. “After we’ve killed the Sheriff.”
Nodding, he struggled with the arrow, then glanced up.
“The guardian,” he said. “I saw the guardian of the arrow—the one I had to fight for it. Maybe he can tell us how to make it release.”
“Then find him quickly, my love.”
He bent down and kissed her, and then he was off again, lost in the swirl of battle. She felt a moment of fear, terror that she would never again see him alive. She couldn’t think about that now, though. There was too much at stake. This was bigger than both of them.
“God be with him,” she whispered. Then she pulled her sword from its scabbard and headed back to the fray.
* * *
Friar Tuck didn’t know the man who’d won the tournament, but he seemed to be on their side. He and Haylan had been as far away from the Sheriff’s platform as they could be, while still having a clear view of the archers. They stood back to back now, slashing at any of the Sheriff’s men who came close to them.
The boy was brave, braver than Tuck would have been at his age. Then again the desperation could do that.
“Friar Tuck, look!” the boy shouted suddenly.
King Henry was on his feet shouting. Several of his soldiers had joined in the battle, slashing and hacking at the fey and Tuck’s friends. Not all the soldiers were joining the fight, though, and his heart lifted a bit. Maybe their strategy had worked. He hoped so—they needed every man they could get on their side. Barring that, they at least needed fewer opponents.
As it was, many of the Sheriff’s men were already down. Darkness wouldn’t come for hours, so they wouldn’t be resurrecting any time soon. If they could end this before the sun set, they had a chance.
“We might just win this thing,” he said. Suddenly there was a sound—a new roar that swept over the crowd. He turned back and his heart sank within him. From behind the castle new figures emerged. It was more of the Sheriff’s dog soldiers.
They kept coming in wave after wave.
“Dear God, spare us all,” he breathed.
There were hundreds of them—or more.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Marian did her best to hold her own. There was a mighty cracking sound and out of the corner of her eye she saw a massive boulder flying through the air. Thomas’s trebuchet had sent it flying. She turned and saw it smash into a wave of the demon soldiers, crushing at least a dozen of them. Those behind ran around their fallen comrades as if it were nothing.
At the back of the fresh wave of the Sheriff’s demons came those nobles who had sworn fealty to John, moving as if sleepwalking. They were fighting, though, which presented a new problem—they were going to get themselves killed.
Quickly that became the least of her problems.
They were losing, Marian realized, even though about a third of Henry’s forces were fighting for them. She had to increase that number, so she found the body of one of the demon soldiers and set to work pulling off its helm, then cutting off its head.
The thing was grotesque, yet she picked it up by its hair and battled her way toward the platform where Henry stood alone, abandoned by the Sheriff and Glynna. Dozens of his men had closed ranks in front of him, guarding him from the onslaught, and that left him nowhere to go to escape.
I will never reach him, she thought with despair.
Suddenly Marian realized that she was being protected. Every time she was slow to lift a sword, or found someone rushing her too quickly to parry, one of the fey stepped in. With this realization, she felt new resolve. She just wished she could ask them to protect Robin, too.
After what seemed like far too long, she reached the area where Henry’s men were clustered to protect him.
“Listen to me!” she shouted, but her voice didn’t carry far enough over the din. Only two or three of the soldiers reacted at all. She’d never be able to reach them all, and certainly not Henry.
“What do you need?” She jumped at the voice and looked down at a short fey about half her size. His voice was surprisingly deep.
“I need them to hear me,” she said.
“SILENCE!” he shouted. “ATTEND THE QUEEN!”
Marian cringed, and had she been able she would have thrown her hands over her ears. His voice boomed so loudly that it hurt. It also cut through all the sounds of battle and startled everyone close by so much that they ceased fighting and turned to look. An eerie silence settled so that the fighting that continued seemed far away.
She pulled off her hood and yanked down her braided hair.
“I am the Lady Marian,” she called as loudly as she could. “Niece of King Richard, Queen of the Fey, protector of this land.” She turned directly toward Henry. “Cousin, you and your soldiers need to know what the Sheriff truly is, and what you are fighting for!”
She held aloft the grotesque head. Gasps rose all around.
“The Sheriff is a demon who was in league with the sorcerer John,” she said. “Together they planned to bring about hell on earth, starting with England. This is a fight against evil. Witness what his soldiers are, beneath their masks.” She shook the head, sending a spray of dark blood. “Good Christian men of England, you must stand with us!”
Many of Henry’s soldiers crossed themselves. They turned to look at their liege, who rose from his seat. He was pale and shaking, and she knew she had backed him into a corner.
He knew, she realized. But he cannot continue without the loyalty of his men.
Henry stood there for a moment, beginning to shake. She couldn’t determine if it was from rage or fear. At last he lifted his hand.
“We stand with England,” he called out as steadily as he could. “Together we will drive back these fiends from hell, who would destroy us!”
A cheer rose up, from many voices.
“Come on then, men, let’s fight!” Jerome shouted, suddenly appearing from somewhere to Marian’s left. Wherever they stood, Henry’s soldiers turned from their rebel opponents and set upon the Sheriff’s demon soldiers.
Marian dropped the head she was holding, grateful to be rid of it, and turned to thank the fey who had helped her, but he had already disappeared back into the crowd.
* * *
<
br /> Robin carried the black arrow in his left hand while he hacked through the wave of enemies with the sword in his right. Every time he caught sight of the Guardian he would lose him again just a moment later, when a new soldier launched an attack.
He twisted around, scanning as far as he could see. A short distance away a man dressed in peasant clothes was knocked down by one of the demon soldiers. Robin rushed forward with a shout and ran the creature through. Looking down, he was surprised to see Friar Tuck, and offered his hand to help the man up.
“I almost didn’t recognize you without your robes.”
Tuck glanced at him sharply, and then his eyes opened wide.
“Robin!” he cried. Throwing out his arms he hugged him fiercely, and then let him go quickly. “The king?”
Robin shook his head. “On his way, but not yet here.”
“Praise God he’s alive.” Friar Tuck looked torn between relief and despair.
“Praise God,” Robin agreed, then he asked, “Where’s Alan? Is he in disguise as well?”
Friar Tuck looked stricken and slowly shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” Robin said. There was a sudden motion to the side, and he turned in time to slash an attacker, then run it through. He pulled free his sword.
“We got Chastity back,” the friar said, “and she rescued the missing children.”
“Good news indeed,” Robin said. “We must take our victories wherever we can.” He turned to go. “Stay safe, good friend.”
With that he plunged back into the fray, searching again for the elusive Guardian. It took what seemed an eternity but he finally spotted the fey and made his way toward him, determined not to lose track of him this time.
* * *
At the first sign of trouble the Sheriff and Glynna slipped away, returning swiftly to the castle where their son was. Between his demons and the soldiers who remained loyal to Henry, there was no way their enemies could prevail. Nevertheless, he would take no chances.
When they reached the castle he made straight for their son, to reassure himself of the child’s safety. All was not lost as long as they lived. If any of the rebels had dared harm his scion, they would plead for a death that would be long in coming.
Entering their chambers, they found the child and its nurse, safe and sound. Instead of doting over her offspring, however, Glynna made a detour to a trunk in the corner of the room. She threw it open and fell to her knees, pulling items out.
“What are you doing?” he asked sharply.
“I need to help, cast a spell.”
“It will soon be over,” he growled. “Even if Henry can’t control all of his men, our soldiers are more than enough to take care of the intruders—even the fey. Henry himself is expendable—I only tolerated him this far because I thought I was going to need his men to enter Sherwood. Since the outlaws have so kindly come to us, though, he is no longer an asset.”
“I don’t think the battle is going to fare as well as you think.” Glynna’s voice was tense.
“You’re worried about your dream?”
“It wasn’t just a dream,” she said, hands balled into fists. He had seen many sides to her, but he’d never seen her frightened this way. He worried that it might make her… unpredictable.
“What are you planning?” he asked.
“I’ve been working on a spell that will bring night early, in order to resurrect any of your soldiers that have already fallen.”
He stared at her intently. “You can do that?”
“Yes, but I need some time to prepare the ritual.”
“Do you require anything from me?”
“Yes,” she said, looking up at him. “The final ingredient is a heart of pure darkness. Find me one of your little followers. Those charlatans you call magicians.”
“Which one?” he asked.
“The darker the heart the longer the spell will last.”
He nodded and left her to her preparations.
* * *
They languished in a large chamber with walls of stone. There were benches and sleeping arrangements—certainly more comfortable than the other cells. Nevertheless, this was a dungeon, cold and damp. For their failures, the Sheriff had put them here—for how long, none of them knew.
The sounds of fighting came through the window, but it was high in the wall and offered no view of the outside. Judging from the intensity, however, this was far more than a skirmish. And there was magic in the air—the fey were close.
Suddenly the Sheriff came out of the shadows, striding into their midst and causing even more of a stir than usual. The air seemed thick around him.
* * *
As soon as he stepped from the darkness he could tell that they’d been plotting to betray him. It mattered not. After today they all would have outlived their usefulness. But one could still be of great value.
“One of you will be free of this prison today,” he announced. “But only one who is willing to plumb the depths of darkness.”
There, he thought. That should bait the hook.
Yet they hesitated, for they knew it wasn’t always the best thing to have his attention focused on an individual. Then Sera, the ancient witch, raised a bony finger and pointed it at the Mad Monk.
“Truly he has the darkest heart among us.”
“You speak truly,” the Sheriff replied, striding over and laying a hand on her shoulder. “And in doing so, you reveal your own worth.” With that he snapped her neck, and she sank to the stone floor without a sound. He turned to the Mad Monk.
“Come with me,” he said as he moved toward the door. “We have work to do.”
“Where are we going, my lord?” the man asked, yet he followed.
“To attempt the unthinkable,” the man in black replied. “You’ve always wanted to capture an angel, let’s see if we can’t make that happen.”
An insane light flickered in the monk’s eyes.
At the door the Sheriff turned. “As for the rest of you... know the price of failure.” He snapped his fingers, and winding tendrils of darkness flared up around them. Some screeched, but as they opened their mouths the darkness wound down inside of them, until all that could be heard was gurgling and the writhing of their bodies.
The Mad Monk gaped in shock as his master pushed him out the door. Before they could make their way up the stairs, however, one of his servants came scurrying up to him and dropped to his knees.
“What is it?” the Sheriff snapped.
“My Lord, the commander of your forces has sent me,” the man answered without looking up. “The tide of battle is beginning to turn. There are many dead among your enemies, but too many of your soldiers have fallen. They need more...”
“You shall have more, and shortly,” he said. “Now go, and report again if anything changes.” The man rose and scurried off, and the Sheriff pushed the Mad Monk up the stairs. There still were many hours until nightfall...
He growled beneath his breath. The black arrow was in the hands of his enemies. If they knew how to release it from its pulpy burden, it could mean the end of him. Glynna was right. They needed to do the spell, resurrect those who had already fallen, and overwhelm their enemy.
They needed to do it quickly.
* * *
At last he ushered the Mad Monk back to the chamber where he had left Glynna and their son. She was working over a mixture which reeked of death and decay. He didn’t ask what was in it, but the stench gave some clues as to the ingredients.
“How go the preparations, my love?” he asked.
“They are complete,” she replied. “All we need now is the last ingredient.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes,” she said. Then she looked up and scowled. “This? This is the best you could find me?”
“I will serve to the best of my ability,” the monk said, his eyes flashing. “You only need to instruct me, and your will shall be done.” As he spoke, the Sheriff pulled a dagger from his sleeve and
plunged it into the Mad Monk’s chest. He gaped at it, yet somehow he didn’t seem surprised.
“One works with what they have,” the Sheriff said. Moving quickly, he cut into the man’s chest. Blood sprayed as he wrestled with the body, until finally it fell to the ground. Lifting the heart, he walked over to Glynna. When he held it above the smoking mixture, it began to turn black in parts, gray in others. The mixture hissed where blood dripped into it.
“It won’t suffice,” Glynna said, and she scowled. “He was insane, but he wasn’t a true adherent to the darkness. None of them were, and that is why they failed. You need the life force of someone who is pure evil.”
He set the heart down on the ground. “You’re right, of course. You always are,” he purred. As he did, a frightened expression appeared on Glynna’s face, and she looked to her child.
“You can’t,” she said. “You wouldn’t…”
“No, I wouldn’t.” With that he took the dagger and plunged it into her breast. Her eyes went wide, but she didn’t give him a look of surprise, nor of hate, but rather one that mixed ecstasy, and love.
“For you and our son,” she whispered.
“Your sacrifice is the finest there could be,” he assured her, as he bent and kissed her. Then he cut out her heart. It came free more easily, and her body fell backward onto the floor. He held the heart above the cauldron.
It turned the deepest, coal black. With a smile he dropped the heart into the cauldron, and immediately power began to crackle in the air as the darkest smoke spewed forth.
* * *
Robin felled another enemy, spun, and came face-to-face with the Guardian. The big creature nodded in recognition, and his eyes were drawn to the arrow.
“You still wield it.”
“I could wield it a lot better if I could find a way to remove it from things it’s killed,” Robin said, hoisting it aloft.
The Guardian blocked the blade of a soldier who rushed them, then slit the man’s throat.
“The arrow has a will of its own.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Sovereign's War Page 28