“It won’t let itself be drawn in futility.”
“That explains little… but how do I pull it free?”
“You don’t pull it free. If it has buried itself, you must burn it free.”
Robin cut down another attacker.
“You couldn’t have told me this before?”
“You were in a hurry.” Robin glared at the man, who finally shook his head. “And I thought it would find its way back to the forest long before this.”
“Well, thank you for the help,” Robin said sarcastically.
The man dipped his head. “You now know what I know.”
“Somehow, I doubt that,” Robin grunted as he parried another attack.
“What else do you wish?”
“Well, at the moment, the location of the nearest fire.”
“We’ll all know that,” the Guardian said, “and shortly.” His eyes widened suddenly as he stared past Robin. There, spreading out from the castle, was a thick veil of billowing darkness that blotted out the sky and soon would block the sun. Robin spun, staring in horror at the dead demon soldiers around them.
“What is it?” the Guardian asked.
“They’re all going to come back to life,” Robin said hoarsely. “We’ll be overrun. Given the numbers of those we’ve cut down, we’ll all be dead within the hour.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Friar Tuck stared in horror as darkness spread from the castle and rapidly covered the sky. It was magic. It had to be. He looked around at the bodies of the Sheriff’s men. They’d be rising again.
Heaven help us all.
There was no victory to be had here. There was only death. The battle was over where they stood—at least for the moment. He feared that moment would be very brief. Glancing down at Haylan, he was struck by the thought that he would watch the boy die, and it was too much for him. He couldn’t do this, not any longer.
“We’re not soldiers,” he muttered. “We shouldn’t die here.” He grabbed Haylan’s hand and began to drag him away from the battlefield, trying to get clear of it. Yet everywhere he turned there was a sea of bodies.
There was no way to escape, not before the monsters started rising. Nearby he saw the fingers on one twitch and he jerked the boy away. The sword slipped out of his blood-soaked hand and fell to the ground as terror seized his heart.
Haylan looked up at him, and in those eyes there was wisdom beyond his years. He suddenly reminded Tuck so much of Alan that he let out an involuntary sob.
“Every man should do that which he is born to do.”
Tuck blinked at him, taking in the child’s words. They were so simple yet so profound.
Out of the mouths of babes.
Tuck fell to his knees there on the bloodstained earth and began to pray as he had never prayed in his life. Beside him Haylan pulled the harp out of his cloak and began to play, a song of hope and faith while surrounded by despair and loss.
The darkness rolled over them, blotting out the sun. Out of the corner of his eyes Tuck could see more of the fallen demons starting to move. Around him he heard shouts of terror from Henry’s soldiers and their own men. A few high-pitched cries rang out as well that could only have come from fey.
The demon fighters would now outnumber them all, two or three to one.
Through his roiling thoughts he kept up a steady torrent of prayer to God. Only a miracle could save them now. Yet all around him he heard the sounds of battle beginning anew, and he could feel the defeat that hung heavy in the air.
It couldn’t end this way, it couldn’t.
Look up.
The voice spoke in his mind, and he did. There in the dark shone a light. It was distant at first, but it grew nearer. It wasn’t in the sky but was hovering just above the ground, becoming brighter and brighter still, then separating into different shafts of light, distinct from one another. He stared, wondering if a group of angels had come to rescue them.
“It’s King Richard!”
* * *
Much charged behind the king, wielding one of the glowing swords. This was a darkness that couldn’t defeat him, and he ran as fast as he could, eager to destroy the Sheriff’s demons.
“For God and King Richard!” Old Soldier shouted beside him.
The shout was taken up all around, and Much joined his voice to theirs, these soldiers of the king. He was one of them now, at least for this battle. If only his father could have lived to see him.
Ahead of them the demon soldiers formed up, preparing to meet the charge. The king’s men broke upon them like a wave. Much slashed at each of the monsters, insane with the joy of knowing that whatever monster he so much as cut, he killed. He hit as many as he could, knowing that many of the men coming behind him didn’t have the specially blessed swords, and so did not have the same advantage.
All around them the smell of sulfur rose up, mixing with screams of agony as demon after demon was sent back to hell. Satisfaction roared through Much as the creatures actually winked out of existence time and time again at the touch of his blade.
* * *
Robin raced for the castle, from which the darkness was coming. That was where the Sheriff would be, but there were a lot of opponents—living and reviving—between him and his destination. He had to stop him once and for all, or this wouldn’t be the end of it.
When he finally skidded into the main hall of the castle he was surprised to find it empty. There was a dark haze on the staircase, and he knew where he had to go. Making his way to the nearest torch, he thrust the front end of the black arrow into it. The flesh on it sizzled and smoked and finally caught fire. Robin held it there until the shaft was free.
Holding up the arrow, he marveled that the fire had caused it no harm. The Guardian had been right. Now he knew another of the weapon’s secrets.
Spinning he made his way to the staircase and bounded upward, taking the stairs two at a time. Plunging into the billowing darkness, he covered his mouth and nose with his arm and sprinted down a hallway, winding through the corridors until he came to a bedchamber he knew all too well.
He burst into the room and found the body of a man in gray monk’s robes. Peering past him he saw a smoking cauldron set near the window, spewing its dark poisonous night out into the sky. Next to the cauldron was the body of a woman. By the twisting of his stomach he knew without seeing her face that it was his mother. It was her spell, and by the looks of it she had given her life for it.
He scowled and twisted his head, looking for a sign of the Sheriff. Suddenly his enemy seemed to materialize out of the shadows. He swung a wicked looking dagger and Robin barely thrust his arm upward in time to block it. The Sheriff kicked out and swept Robin’s legs from under him. He landed hard enough to knock the wind out of him, but held onto the arrow. The man in black had something in his other arm that he was clutching to his chest.
Robin looked up, expecting him to attack again.
Instead the Sheriff bolted from the room.
With an oath Robin made it back to his feet and gave chase. He heard the Sheriff running down the stairs and followed, clattering down and leaping the last few. He made it to the great hall just in time to see his father and King Richard burst through the front door with glowing swords held high.
Something dark covered in fur seemed to leap off the Sheriff and charged at the two men, fangs bared. With a shout of surprise Philemon shoved Richard out of the way of the creature, twisted, and managed to thrust his blade through its neck. It let out an unearthly scream before turning to ash.
The Sheriff drew his own sword and attacked them with wild ferocity. Robin had never seen someone move a sword so fast. He hung back, waiting for an opportunity. It only took a moment, though, to realize that the Sheriff was besting them both.
He twisted and Robin finally got a good look at what he was holding—it was a child, the spawn of the Sheriff and Robin’s mother. His skin crawled at the realization of the unholy thing. It also explained why t
he Sheriff was fighting even more fiercely than would be expected. He was protecting what was his.
There was a terrifyingly rapid flurry of blows, and Robin’s father went down on his knees. Before the Sheriff could finish him, though, King Richard stepped in. Once again the Sheriff’s resolve gave him the upper hand, and before long the king began backing away.
Robin moved to step in, hefting a sword in one hand and the arrow in the other. As he took the first steps, though, there was a clatter of boots coming from the direction of the kitchens.
“My love!” Marian screamed.
She threw a bow through the air. Robin dropped his sword with a clatter and grabbed it. He notched the black arrow, turned and fired.
The arrow sped straight and true and punched through both the Sheriff and his child. The man in black gave a hideous roar, then crashed to the floor. King Richard stepped in, lifted his sword and brought it down. The bodies disintegrated instantly, sending forth a foul stench and leaving a pile of ash on the floor.
The black arrow fell onto the pile along with something circular, made of metal. Robin blinked in shock as he recognized the iron torc, the mate to the one Marian wore.
* * *
There was no time for celebration, and Marian dashed toward the door. There were more enemies to kill. As she bolted through the entrance, she froze. Everywhere she could see, the surviving demon soldiers were collapsing. Once again the ground was a sea of the dead.
It had been the Sheriff’s will that gave them life.
All around the crusaders continued to hack at the creatures, as if to make certain they wouldn’t again rise.
She saw one of the nobles who had been trapped under the fealty oath. He had fallen to his knees and looked to be waking as if from a terrifying dream. More could be seen, some collapsing to the ground, others standing there weeping openly. Marian hoped they had no memory of what had occurred—what they had done—but she feared that was not the case.
They would live with the horror the rest of their lives.
What was left of Henry’s army was rallying to Jerome. He spotted her and gave her a salute, then nodded toward the platform. There was a body there, and Marian surmised that Henry had met his fate—at the hands of whose blade she didn’t know or much care.
Now that the spell had ended, the blackness began to dissipate. Dark haze gave way to blue sky and normal white clouds. The pervading fear gave way, though for the moment it was replaced by a sort of numbness.
It was over. Silence began to settle over the battlefield. Slowly the tension began to leave her body. They had worked so hard and long for this, that it was hard to believe that they had truly won.
The girl fey with the pink flowers approached Marian. All around them the creatures who had survived were picking up those who were injured or dead. Tears came to Marian’s eyes.
“Will you be able to rebuild your numbers?” she asked.
The girl shook her head. “Every generation, fewer have been born, and none of late,” she said softly. “One day we will all be gone, I fear. But today we were happy to serve. You led us against the darkness, and we prevailed.”
Her answer tugged at Marian’s heart.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Queen Marian, your home is in Sherwood,” the girl said. “You may call upon any of us any time you have need.” Then she bowed and turned to go. She hesitated and then turned back, her large eyes open wide. “I’m very glad you did not drown in the river, or get eaten by the monster,” she said.
“So am I,” Marian said with a smile.
With that the girl was off. The fey took their leave all at once, slipping away quickly and quietly. Even Marian had a hard time tracking their going. She did notice, though, that when none were left in sight, she felt a bit hollow for it.
* * *
Much was sad to see the fey go. He had been awed to watch them. Maybe he would see them again someday. But he knew there was a lot that had to be done, before such a day could come.
The thought made him blink, wondering what he was going to do next. He was no longer the miller’s son, since there was no miller. Nor was he an outcast hiding in the forest. Maybe he’d become the new miller. The thought seemed strange to him, but didn’t sit quite right. His father was the miller, not him.
He frowned and then put the thought aside. There would be time to think about it, and he had friends to help him figure out where they all went from here.
* * *
They set fire to the tapestries John had brought into the castle. As they burned Marian could hear the unearthly screaming, and it sent chills up her spine.
“We’ll need Friar Tuck to bless this place, drive away all the darkness,” she told Chastity.
“It might take more than just him,” Chastity said with a shiver. “There’s one thing we can do to help, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Tapestries we managed to save, when John moved in, are still safe.”
Marian closed her eyes and gave a little sigh of relief. “Praise God for small miracles.”
“That was no small miracle, princess,” Chastity said.
“True.”
“Have you had a chance to tell your husband the good news yet?”
“No,” Marian admitted.
“Niece!” King Richard strode into the room.
“Excuse me,” she said to Chastity before hurrying over to embrace her uncle. He looked down at her with unbridled affection.
“You’ve become a woman in such a short time,” he said. Then the smile left his face, and he looked stern. “I also understand that you took Robin to husband.”
“Oh, he told you,” she said, blushing.
“He did,” the king replied, and the smile reappeared. “I’m so glad you found love.”
“Thank you, Uncle.”
He nodded. “Now, come with me, we have much to do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
It was late that evening when everyone was finally gathered in the great hall. King Richard sat on the throne, and Robin couldn’t be happier. Part of him still struggled with believing that it was real.
After he’d left their company, the King and his father had realized they could use the swords to heal the injuries sustained by the men. They chose those who would most benefit, and the combination of magic, sleep, and food had restored them to the point that they could travel far faster than anticipated.
Robin had needed three days to locate a small boat and slip across the channel unnoticed. Even then he had landed in rough terrain and made his way to Nottingham. By contrast Richard’s forces had acquired a couple of large ships and sailed into the harbor, quickly overpowering the few soldiers who were stationed there. Since they hadn’t expected an assault of such magnitude, most of the guard had been recalled by the Sheriff to kill the Hood and his sympathizers.
With a mood that was a combination of somber and celebratory, King Richard was speaking, vowing a return to the light and restoration for all that had been lost. Some of the lords were present, though many still suffered from the knowledge of what they had done—what had been taken from them.
Robin was half-listening, but mostly he stared at Marian, who stood next to the king. She had found a moment to change out of her tinker’s disguise and into a simple dress of forest green. It suited her. Other than that she had been at the king’s side since battle’s end.
She should be, he mused. It was her place as his niece and heir. Still, he longed to have her by his side so he could touch her hand, feel her close. They had so many things they needed to say to each other.
“Robin Longstride, step forward,” King Richard said.
Startled, Robin walked to the front and stood in front of the king, who looked him up and down. The expression on his face was difficult to read.
“Robin, you have been accused of a great many serious crimes including robbery, insurrection, and murder.” His expression was stern, as if he was unhap
py with what he was going to have to do.
Robin glanced uneasily at Marian.
“As if that wasn’t enough, you had the unmitigated gall to marry my niece without the leave of your king. What exactly do you have to say for yourself?”
“I did what in my mind was right,” Robin said.
“Did you indeed?” The corners of Richard’s mouth twitched up.
“Aye, sire, and I’d do them all again.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” The king’s expression softened, though there was still a serious aspect to it. “England needs more men with your courage. Take a knee.”
Blinking, he knelt before the king. Richard pulled out his sword and tapped Robin first on one shoulder and then the other.
“I Richard, King of England, declare you Sir Robin, Lord of Locksley and heir to the lands and title of Longstride. You may rise, Lord Robin.”
Robin stood. “I don’t understand, sire.”
King Richard smiled. “I have made you the acting Lord of Locksley, and upon your father’s death the lands of Locksley and Longstride will once more be united, under you. Now, I know you had no love for the previous Lord of Locksley, but try not to hate the name too much, since it’s now yours.”
Robin frowned as he wrestled with the notion. Then he gave a smirk.
“I will endeavor not to, sire.”
“In addition I declare that you and Lady Marian of Locksley are hereafter the official guardians and protectors of Sherwood. You may consider that a wedding present,” he added with a wink.
“Thank you, sire,” Marian said with a twinkle in her eye as she stepped forward to join her husband.
The king picked up something from a table beside him and handed it to Robin. “You’ll be needing this.” It was the iron torc he had received in the heart of Sherwood.
“Sire, that belongs to you,” he protested.
“It belongs to the man who is wed to the Lady of the Forest.” He raised an eyebrow. “That is you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sire,” Robin said, accepting the torc. Then Marian took it out of his hand and put it around his throat. For just a moment he thought he heard singing coming from the metal. Marian smiled at him, eyes glowing softly. Finished, she turned back to the king.
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