Trouble in the Forest Book Two

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “I have no means to consecrate wine, even if I wished to,” said deSteny, continuing in a more moderate manner, “For the chrism to be genuine, there must first be faith, and I no longer have any.”

  “Well, some priest will do it for us, I trust. That way, the archers will be able to stand against Hood and all his horde with some hope of prevailing.” He unrolled the scroll he carried, showing many lines of careful notes, and a drawing of the roads in the vicinity of Nottingham. “As you see, I turned the night to some purpose.”

  “So you did,” deSteny said, impressed in spite of himself. “What plans have you made?”

  “A few, and none of them as complete as I would like,” said Prince John. “A pity the rain is letting up.”

  “Yes, it is,” deSteny agreed. “I hoped we would have a wet day to chase Hood’s band.”

  Prince John nodded in the direction of the window. “Alas,” he said cynically.

  DeSteny shook his head. “It may rain again later.”

  “A worthy hope,” said Prince John, touching the scroll again.

  “Why do you look to the roads in the region?” deSteny could not keep himself from asking.

  “Because they are the only prudent ways for our men to make their way in the forest, and even then, I don’t know that they are as safe as we would want them to be.” Prince John held up the scroll. “Often Hood attacks those on the roads, and that concerns me, among many other things.”

  “I can understand that it might,” said deSteny, thinking back to the scholars and merchants who had paid too high a price to travel the Great North Road.

  “We must make a strike against them, and the roads are the most readily—” Prince John began.

  “But that’s what they expect.”

  Prince John was not used to being interrupted, but he held hack his rebuke, only saying, “Has some stratagem occurred to you?”

  “I hope it may have: so far, when we have attempted to check them, we have stuck to the roads when not within Nottingham’s walls. You know we haven’t been able to stop them on the roads, not yet, in any case,” said deSteny, pursuing his thoughts with swift words. “I am sorry, Your Grace, but it seems to me we must find a new manner of attack or the vampires will be able to foil us at every turn.”

  “And you would suggest?” Prince John prompted.

  “We need to set a trap. Not so complicated a one as this was, for it could be used to their advantage.”

  “As we learned to our misfortune,” said Prince John.

  “Yes,” deSteny said. “It was a good plan, but it was not narrow enough, and there are those who have suffered because of it. We must find a way to limit what the vampires may do, so they will betray themselves.”

  “That would be most useful,” Prince John agreed. “But they are canny enough to suspect traps, as we know to our sorrow.” He sighed heavily and stared at the opened scroll.

  “Yes. We have to be much more circumspect.” He began to pace the room, his lower lip caught between his teeth. “There are older creatures in these woods, and they must be filled with ire at what Hood has done. This is their forest, or it used to be. If only there were a way to enlist them in our fight.”

  “You mean what the folk call the Old Ones?” Prince John interjected.

  “Exactly,” said deSteny.

  “The Old Ones were fairly dangerous, as I recall,” said the Prince.

  “Not as dangerous as Hood and his tribe,” said deSteny sharply. “They have been here since the standing stones were raised, and they have learned not to be greedy, or to draw too much attention to themselves.”

  “But they have preyed upon travelers, too,” Prince John reminded him.

  “They have, but not with the rapacity of Hood and his men. They have always respected their covenant with the living.” DeSteny stopped moving. “I recall that they took travelers only at the solstices and the equinoxes. They accepted sacrifices, if such were left for them, and spared the travelers.”

  “According to legend,” said Prince John with a touch of skepticism. “You know these ancient powers—they are spoken of and reported carefully, in case they should be listening to what is transpiring.”

  “That’s true enough,” said deSteny. “But in all my years of Sheriff, I have never known of the Old Ones to go beyond the limits they themselves have set. They have always honored their pledge to us.” He closed his eyes briefly, struggling to bring to mind some fragment of memory that would serve him now. “Before Hood arrived, they kept to the ancient barrows, deep in the forest. If we could find them now.”

  “You assume there is still something to find,” said Prince John.

  “So I do,” said deSteny. “Hood may have banished them, but I doubt he can kill them, not completely.”

  “But he could reduce them, could he not?” Prince John asked. “If their numbers are too few to oppose Hood, what use are they to us?”

  “If Hood were no longer their leader, I expect there could be confusion enough to permit the Old Ones to fight back,” said deSteny.

  “They would expect a sacrifice for such aid,” Prince John warned.

  “And we would provide it,” said deSteny. “I would willingly sacrifice myself, if it meant that we would be rid of Hood and his followers at last.”

  Prince John stared at him. “I believe you mean that,” he said at last.

  “I do,” said deSteny. “I am as serious as ever a man was.”

  “Commendable,” said Prince John after a thoughtful pause. “I can see you are determined.” He lowered his head. “I am much chastened by you, Sheriff.”

  “How is that?” deSteny asked, astonished.

  “You are willing to put yourself at ultimate risk without the promise of Heaven to protect you.” Prince John began to roll up his scroll. “Very well. Come up with your plan by mid-day and we will put it into motion. If you cannot, then we’ll arm the soldiers with wooden arrows and take to the roads in strength of numbers. If we travel in many small companies, we force Hood to divide his men, and that gives us an advantage we have lacked.” He took a long cord and tied the scroll closed.

  “Unless Hood starts to trail the companies one by one, and takes them in a single engagement,” said deSteny. “He’s done it before.”

  “Not against wooden arrows, he hasn’t,” said the Prince, his mouth set in a hard line.

  “Possibly not,” deSteny allowed. “But it is still a risk, and it endangers many. I will try to contrive some means of luring Hood that will risk fewer lives.”

  “Well and good,” said Prince John. “Now take some rest if you can. The night has been long and more than our bodies are tired. There will be Mass for the Bishop shortly—”

  “I may not attend,” deSteny remarked.

  “It would hearten many if you did,” Prince John told him.

  “Perhaps,” said deSteny, and left it at that.

  So did Prince John. “After our noon repast, come to me here with your plan and we will decide how all is to be done.”

  DeSteny reverenced the Prince. “I will,” he said, and hoped he could fulfill his promise.

  How Hood Celebrated

  his Achievements

  THE RED FRIAR was near the head of the procession as Hood’s band made their way back from Nottingham, striding beside Hood when the trail allowed, stepping behind him when it became too narrow for two men abreast. He had an unconscious man beneath each arm, and, little as he would be willing to admit it, he was troubled by what had transpired in the walled town. As he reached the grove in the heart of the forest, he put his burdens down gladly, for dawn was breaking and his victims seemed heavier as the distant sky began to brighten beyond the canopy of leaves; the last vestiges of clouds were breaking up, lending a glare to the sunlight that was uncomfor
table to the vampires, though far less unpleasant than running water would be.

  Hood was in the van of the group, with three men as his prizes—one under each arm, and one slung around his shoulders, a successful hunter bringing his prey to feed his household. Any loss of strength he might feel was compensated for by his deep, abiding satisfaction in his daring accomplishments of the night that still colored his state of mind. He laughed as he slung the man about his shoulders onto the rough planking of the vampires’ table. “Little John! All of you! Come for your share!”

  Marian deBeauchamp, striding immediately behind him and the Red Friar, carried Sir Gui and a man-at-arms whose name was unknown and unimportant to her. “What a triumph!” she shouted, disturbing the first calls of morning birds.

  “A pity we couldn’t bring all we killed,” said Hood, coming as close to smiling as he was capable of doing.

  “There were so many of them,” Scarlet said as he came in, carrying as many men as Hood. “It was hard to choose.” The wagoner, Donat, and Ramsay, the man of all work, lagged after him, each carrying three men; they were worn out from keeping pace with Hood and Scarlet, but were determined not to let it show. They slung down their burdens as they might have done with poached deer.

  Morrain came next, his face drawn, his steps laggard, and he carried only one man. He shoved the body onto the planks and slumped over the table. Behind him, Alan-a-Dale dragged two deeply unconscious men, his enthusiasm long since exhausted, his body worn out by the long trek through the forest. Gradually, the vampires left behind came to join those returning from the town, all of them eager to join in the feast, a few as angry as they were hungry.

  Hood held up his hand. “You will all have your turn. You needn’t save any of them. Drain each and every one. Marian is to have Sir Gui until she is satisfied, and only then may any of the rest of you touch him. Anyone who attempts to seize her prize will get none of this plenty.” He looked over at Marian. “You’ve done well, my Lady.”

  She grinned at him. “Better his death than his bride,” she said as she looked down at his bedraggled finery; it was just light enough to see that his clothes were torn and smirched with mud, there were bloodstains on his chemise, and his jaunty feathered cap had been lost during the rush from Nottingham. His limbs flopped like a broken marionette, all his gallantry gone. Marian smiled at his still, bruised face. “Poor Sir Gui. How much you have fallen. But you were never a fighter, were you? You were above such inelegant work—let those who had no sensibilities tend to war. You scorned battle, didn’t you? Perhaps you should have minded your father, after all.” Then she bent to his neck, determined to slake her thirst.

  Hood climbed onto the table, and pointed to Little John. “Come. I have work for you.” His voice got louder. “Lay the bodies out as the feast they are, and then let each of you drink his fill when all is ready. We will have all the day to rest, so do not hold back. Morrain, you will help in disposing of what is left.”

  Morrain, already pale, nodded and seemed to lose even more color. “I will,” he vowed, as if determined to show his devotion as noticeably as possible.

  “Very good,” Hood approved. “Little John, dispose the food fittingly, and choose those who showed obedience to my rule in my absence to eat first. The rest may have the dregs.” As he finished, he reached for the battered form of Sir Garland, and lifted him up as easily as he might lift an infant. Then he battened on his neck, letting a few drops of blood spill from his mouth as he drank.

  Little John selected those who would eat first and announced their names as he put out the bodies in two side-by-side rows, then pointed the chosen vampires to their places and told them, “Hood has brought you this: never forget it.”

  “And we will hunt again tonight, upon those leaving Nottingham,” Hood promised. “We will take our pleasure of them twice.”

  An incoherent cheer arose among the vampires, but it wasn’t sufficient to stop the frenzy of drinking that was about to begin. Their eyes shone feverishly and all of them crowded in around the table as Little John finished his task. The vampires, already caught up in the promise of feasting, strained to be permitted to feed. With a sign from Little John, they rushed the table, nearly oversetting Hood where he was standing, Sir Garland held close to him. The whimpers of anticipation were terrifying, but not nearly as horrible as the sounds the first onslaught of consumption began. Even Morrain, who thought himself inured to vampire ingestion, was momentarily taken aback.

  Marian relinquished Sir Gui’s flaccid body to a gangly youngster, saying, “You’ve more than earned this, lad. As you feed, think of a song to mark the occasion.”

  He took Sir Gui and studied the deep wounds in his neck. “Is there any left?”

  “Enough for you,” said Marian, stretching and yawning now that she was replete. “I’ve had my fill of him. Offer him to someone else if you don’t want him.”

  Hood gave Sir Garland over to Little John. “This one is yours, for all you’ve done. Scarlet will give you the last of his, as well. Won’t you, Scarlet?”

  “I will,” he said between strong gulps.

  Hood chuckled offensively. “How well you share your spoils.”

  The Red Friar finally set aside his chosen fodder and handed the body to one of the band who stood beside him, almost hopping in anticipation. “Be thankful the man was strong. There is much blood in him still.”

  Donat surrendered his meal next, and then Alan. The gory banquet continued, the vampires gradually succumbing to satiation as they glutted themselves on the bounty reaped in Nottingham.

  The sun was fully risen and the clouds were banished to the horizon by the time the chaotic, sanguinary meal ended, the vampires sought out their lairs, and Morrain set about the work assigned to him.

  “Take them to the barrows, near the Old Ones; have Ramsay help you if you need it,” Little John recommended. “It will be safe to dispose of them there—no cleric would go near a barrow—and it will remind the Old Ones of what we can do. Also, it will give them a little sustenance if they take the trouble to suck the last from the corpses.”

  Morrain nodded mutely, too overwhelmed by his first experience of eating to speak or to question what he was told. He worked steadily, but his strength lessened as the day advanced and sunlight began to pierce the thick canopy of leaves. It was almost noon by the time he completed his disposal of the drained bodies, and he made his way slowly back to Hood’s glen and crawled into his burrow-like hut to sleep away the remainder of the afternoon.

  On her couch near Hood’s, Marian deBeauchamp slept and dreamed, her body still tingling from the draining of Sir Gui. Her limbs quivered with vindication. That such a man as Sir Gui should aspire to wed her! She knotted her hands into fists at the renewed indignation this caused her. In retrospect, she was a bit sorry that Sir Lambert, Baron deGisbourne would have to suffer for Sir Gui’s loss, but that impulse was soon gone and replaced with lingering gratification for all she had been able to accomplish. She was pleased that Hood had allowed her to be one of the seven going to Nottingham; she hoped he would give her such opportunities again. Finally she woke just enough to change her position on her straw-filled bed before falling back into a more profound sleep than she had experienced before, a sleep in which no dreams came, and time was banished.

  * * *

  All the camp was awake by sundown, and the band was restless, the vampires looking forward to their next venture. A fire had been lit in the stone-lined pit, its flickering light giving a false movement to the trees around them. Many of the group were still yawning, savoring the rich fare they had enjoyed that morning.

  “What now? Has Hood said?” Scarlet asked as he stepped out of his hovel, the Red Friar right behind him.

  “Now we decide which of the Fair-goers we hunt first,” said Hood, ignoring the fire as he strode up and down the narrow confines of the edge
of the glen.

  “Do you know where we’re to find them?” Little John asked.

  “We must suppose most of them will seek secure shelter for the night. So we may look for a hamlet—since a hamlet lacks a church—where we may break the defenses and claim the prey we could not take in Nottingham. Those who left the stone walls behind have come to our realm and must pay the price of their decisions. It is time everyone acknowledges that we rule here, not the men of the King or the Regent.” Hood stopped in his tracks and folded his arms. “What of the place you come from, Little John? Wainford Croft, isn’t it? Might not that give us a rich harvest?”

  For once, Little John faltered before answering. “It has a stout stockade, and the people are armed for hunting.”

  “So much the better,” said Hood.

  “It is a distance from here. There are large crofts much closer,” said Little John. “Royce has scouted them out for us.”

  Hood spread his mouth into a grimace. “If I didn’t know you better, Little John, I would think you were trying to keep me away from your people.”

  Little John shook his head. “No, no. That was not my intention. You have my unfaltering allegiance.”

  “Then why your reluctance? Are you turning craven?” Hood asked as more vampires gathered around them.

  “I know those people, master, and I must warn you against them. My brother Hamm is no fool, and he is head of the villagers,” Little John insisted. “They are on guard against such as we are. They are ready to fight us, and will not hesitate to employ every device at their disposal to thwart our purpose. It seems to me, after such a triumph as you have had at Nottingham, fighting a stockaded village would demean your accomplishment.”

  “He’s got a point,” said Scarlet. “To be stopped now would not serve your purpose, Hood, and it would disappoint your clan here.”

  There were comments of agreement, and a sigh from the Red Friar, who spoke up, “If the villagers in the forest come to think that they can oppose you, then where will you be?”