The Two Torcs

by Debbie Viguié

One person.

  Prince John.

  But two sets of footfalls, one much heavier than the other, and the metallic chime of metal rubbing metal.

  The sound of armor.

  “We need to find a way to put water down there,” John said. “By the time I am at the top of these stairs, my hands have crusted over.”

  Silence, save for the footsteps.

  “I could have you haul it down,” John said.

  The steps were closer, and the light much brighter.

  “Why do I even talk to you?” John said harshly. “You are a giant lummox—no voice, no opinion. I might as well be talking to myself.”

  They were just around the corner now. Will pulled his collar up further to his face, shrank deeper into his pocket of shadow, and went as still as possible.

  The light flared, and John stepped into view on the landing, carrying an oil lamp in dark hands.

  Will held his breath.

  Behind John came a gigantic figure, hunched to avoid the ceiling. It stopped walking and turned its head toward the usurper, studying John. A sound came from it that sounded like a dog choking on a bone lodged in its throat.

  John stopped and swung the lamp toward the figure, revealing a suit of armor that covered its wearer from crown to heel, and looked very similar to what the Sheriff wore.

  John regarded the leviathan.

  “I know your purpose better than you do.”

  The figure made noise again.

  John shook his head. “You do not. I am not bound by the demands of my creation. I am a human, not a creature called.”

  The figure stood silent, but its head tilted.

  “Damn you, livestock.”

  The figure still didn’t respond.

  John turned and continued up the stairs, muttering to himself. The giant followed, clanking with each step.

  Will held his breath until he couldn’t hear them anymore.

  * * *

  He couldn’t breathe.

  The muscles along his ribs had given out long ago. He couldn’t push up, couldn’t lift his weight off his outstretched arms. Couldn’t take a full breath, only sip the air.

  He couldn’t think. His mind was in a fog of pain that chased his thoughts.

  He hung, hands long numb, and drifted in and out of consciousness.

  Someone touched him and he jerked, trying to pull away from the agony that was certain to follow.

  “Easy, easy,” a voice murmured.

  He tried to open his eyes, to look and see, but one was sealed shut, the skin around it swollen to the point of splitting open.

  The other had been plucked out on the first day of his torture.

  He couldn’t make his voice work to ask, his throat scraped raw from hours of his screaming.

  There was a noise, a click, and then a soft metallic ching. The pressure on his hands and arms lessened. His feet touched flatly on the ground, but his knees and thighs had no strength to hold him up so still he hung, waiting.

  The voice was close again when it spoke.

  “Oh my God, Cardinal Francis. How did this happen?”

  He tried, but could not speak.

  Something cold touched his mouth. He opened it and a trickle of cold water ran past his tongue and down his throat.

  It was taken away before he’d slaked his thirst, and he moaned when the cup left his mouth.

  He could hear the person in front of him, softly weeping.

  He pushed his voice, trying to be clear.

  “Who is this?”

  “Will Scarlet.”

  “You can’t be here.” Panic made his voice seize up. His throat closed and he coughed.

  It felt like his guts were being twisted from inside him.

  “Let me get you down.”

  Hands pulled at the knotted rope around his wrists, still on the hook.

  “Stop.” He flailed, throwing all his strength, despite the agony.

  Will’s voice cracked, turning plaintive. “I can free you.”

  “You can’t.” His lungs clenched like a fist. “John will know.”

  “I won’t leave you.”

  “You… will.”

  Silence fell as he gathered his strength. In the black of his blindness white spots swirled around.

  Finally he was able to speak again.

  “Leave me, Will,” he croaked, “but you have… to do something first.”

  “What?” Will’s voice sounded like a child’s.

  “I cannot bear… another visit… from John.” He swallowed. He had more to say. “Don’t let me… betray you.”

  “W-what?”

  “Please.” If tears could have fallen from his damaged eyes he would have wept with desperation. “Be faith… faithful, Will.”

  There was silence, broken only by his own labored breathing and the soft, caressing sound of weeping that quietly filled the room.

  It continued, undisturbed, then after a moment of nothing, Will seemed to be fumbling with something. Hands on leather.

  He said a small prayer for Will Scarlet’s soul, then he felt the knife in his ribs. The pain was as nothing, the warm embrace of a long-lost friend before sending him home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Marian sat by the window, waiting as night fell. Champion was curled up on the bed, already fast asleep.

  Chastity had made it back safe that morning and told her that Robin would be coming for her. Together they had worked all day with tools that Chastity had been able to smuggle in to remove a couple of the bars from Marian’s window. But the climb down was sheer, and would prove nigh impossible.

  The nobles would begin arriving the next day for the week-long festivities John had commanded. She shuddered as her mind conjured up nightmare images of the things John might be planning. Plague, hangings, torture—the prince had proved himself a maestro of evil. Whatever horrors he had arranged, he would save the worst of them for the culmination of the festival.

  For the solstice. One week. That was all she had. One week to save her country, her people. Every second that passed was an agony, an opportunity lost, as they moved steadily toward destruction.

  The key rattled in the door and she jumped, then turned to see Chastity enter, looking pale and tired.

  “What’s wrong?” Marian asked, rising to her feet.

  “Will has left the castle to make final preparations for the festival,” the girl said, her brow puckered in worry.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Marian said.

  Chastity nodded, but the worry remained.

  With a start Marian realized something.

  “You like him, don’t you?”

  Chastity flushed and dropped her eyes slightly. “Him? I wouldn’t give him the time of day,” she said with a sniff.

  “There’s no need to lie about it,” Marian said, crossing to her friend and touching her cheek.

  Chastity looked up at her.

  “I don’t want to,” she said sincerely, “but I find he’s on my mind more often than not of late.”

  “There are worse matches that could be made,” Marian said softly.

  Chastity waved her hand, dismissing the thought. “He’s a noble and I’m a servant, and there’s only one kind of match happens that way. That’s not for me. I want something that lasts more than a night.”

  “Extraordinary times,” Marian said. “We don’t know what is and what is not possible,” she added, her heart aching for her friend. “Does Will feel the same way?”

  “Will Scarlet feels the same for anything that wears a skirt,” Chastity muttered, dropping her eyes again.

  Marian paused. What Chastity said was true, but she wanted to believe in the possibility of a happy ending. Hope was in such short supply these days.

  “It does not mean that the right woman can’t turn his head and capture his heart,” she said softly.

  Chastity looked up sharply. “Do you think that’s true?”

  Marian took a deep breath, then n
odded. “Richard once told me that my father was quite the ladies’ man until my mother caught his eye. It took only her looking at him to calm his wild ways. So, yes, I think it can happen, and I think that you’re just the right woman to tame Will Scarlet.”

  “Your father was a very handsome man.”

  “So I have been told.”

  Chastity smiled. “We both have men that need taming, just in different ways.”

  Marian smiled back. “Now, go and try to get some sleep. I know you’re tired, and we’ll need all our wits about us tomorrow.”

  “Yes, milady,” Chastity said with a quick curtsey, in one of her rare shows of decorum. She turned and left, locking the door behind her.

  Marian sighed and said a prayer for her, and for Will. She’d noticed Chastity’s growing interest in the rogue before, but now that interest seemed to have blossomed into full-fledged infatuation.

  She stood for a moment, trying to convince herself to go to bed. What she had told Chastity was true; they both needed rest so they’d be ready for whatever tomorrow brought.

  A sudden cold draft caused her to turn. She barely suppressed a cry of alarm when she saw a man climbing through the window. It took only a split second, though, for her to recognize Robin.

  He dropped to the floor in her room and straightened.

  “You sent for me?” he asked softly.

  “Yes, though Chastity led me to believe I should look for you tomorrow,” she said, forcing herself to speak. She was still startled by his sudden appearance. “How… how did you manage to climb up?” she asked.

  He gave a crooked smile. “It wasn’t easy.”

  She stared at him, feeling the need to memorize every line of his face. He was like a dark apparition that had come to her, more dream than man. She shook herself, seeking to break the spell which gripped her.

  “We need to go to the heart of Sherwood,” she said. “Cardinal Francis told me, and the book confirms it.” At his curious look, she quickly told him of the nature of the Relic Grimoire. “Once we reach our destination,” she continued, “we have a task that has been appointed for us, one which will help us save England.”

  Robin frowned, taking it all in.

  “Even I’ve never been to the heart of Sherwood,” he said. “If what you say is true, it will be a perilous journey.”

  “Yet it is one which we must make together,” she said, “and quickly. John is planning something for the winter solstice, heaven knows what, and we must complete our task by then if we are to hope to stand against him.”

  “I will go.” He looked resolute.

  “We both must go,” Marian insisted. “Apparently I am part of the key, for a reason that stems from my heritage. You need to get me there safely. Cardinal Francis was most clear on that point.”

  “Do you know what has happened to him?” he asked.

  Marian shook her head, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest at the thought of their friend and mentor.

  “I do not,” she replied. “However, Chastity told me about the monastery, the monks… I’m afraid I haven’t much hope for the cardinal, not in John’s hands. He knew the danger in coming here, though. He wouldn’t have risked it if this wasn’t our best chance at stopping the usurper, and whatever he has planned.”

  He frowned, but then nodded slowly. “We will go together.”

  “I’m ready.”

  Robin shook his head. “Not now, not tonight. I barely made it here without being seen. Two of us could not make it out. Tomorrow night when the nobles are here for the revelries, then it will be much easier to act amid all the distraction.”

  Marian moved to her bed and retrieved the book from its hiding place. She turned to Robin, clutching it with white knuckles.

  “Then take this,” she said. “If it were to fall into John’s hands… I can’t even imagine.”

  “They have already decided you don’t have it, or they would have taken it before now. It’s safer here with you for the night.”

  She hesitated then folded the object against her chest.

  “How will you leave, then?” she asked. “There’s no way out but to fight, is there?”

  “Most likely,” Robin said with a nod.

  “Then why risk coming here tonight, if we can’t act until tomorrow?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer right away.

  “Because you asked me to come,” he said finally, “and I did not want you to wait any longer than was necessary.” He looked sheepish. “It wasn’t the best of plans, I fear.”

  There was so much she wanted to say to him, but words escaped her. They stood there for a moment, regarding each other. At last Robin spoke.

  “I should go while I’m still able.”

  Marian nodded, not trusting herself to respond.

  * * *

  He could not remember when Marian had looked more beautiful. She wore a simple dress of forest green, no decorations or finery. Her hair was pulled back and hung in waves down her shoulders. She looked elemental, like a force of nature. He had an overpowering urge to take her into his arms and kiss her.

  He knew if he did, though, that she would intoxicate him more deeply than any wine, and he would never make it away from the castle alive. As much as it pained him, he knew he needed to go, or risk everything for which they’d been struggling so hard. There were too many others whose lives depended on them. He had to think of those others, and not himself. Whatever existed between him and the Lady Marian, it would need to wait until England was free, and their lives were not bound to fighting John and the evil he had brought upon them all.

  He swept low in a bow, unable to say goodbye, then turned and climbed quickly through the window. The wall outside seemed sheer, but was marked with a great many chinks in the stones and mortar. Climbing down would be the easy part.

  Making it away from the castle would be more difficult.

  * * *

  The forest seemed darker, more unforgiving to Will as he rode through it. It was as though there were eyes upon him with every step, and they were not the eyes of friends.

  The further he rode, the more vivid the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He would not find Robin. Maybe that was why the forest felt so hostile to him, without his cousin there.

  I’m just imagining things, he thought, chastising himself. It was the only explanation. Of course, in order to believe it, he’d need to convince himself that he hadn’t seen glowing eyes staring unblinkingly at him out of the darkness. He knew not whether they belonged to woodland creatures or fey, and was in no hurry to discover the truth.

  When at last he reached the camp he discovered that he was right about Robin. He was angry, though, to discover that his cousin had gone to see Marian. Not only was it a foolish move that put both of them in danger, but it also meant Will had risked leaving the castle for naught.

  He did finally find Friar Tuck, and the heaviness in his chest returned tenfold. More than anything he wished he had different news to bring to the friar. He pulled Tuck and Alan aside, so they might speak without being overheard by the others. Old Soldier and the others might be on their side, but his news was not for their ears.

  “Will,” Tuck said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “it is good to see you, and to know that you are alive and well. However, I think you’ve traveled far tonight for a reason, and it’s time you told us what it was.”

  Alan nodded his agreement. There was nothing to do but get to the point.

  “Cardinal Francis is dead,” Will said. “John tortured him.”

  “John killed him?”

  Will hesitated, tears on his cheeks, before nodding and looking away.

  There was absolute silence for a moment as the terrible truth sank in.

  “He’s gone?” Tuck asked, swaying slightly on his feet.

  “Yes.”

  “He was taking a book to the Lady Marian,” Alan said. “Was he able to give it to her?”

  “I believe so,” Will
replied. “I only hope whatever is in that book is worth the terrible price he paid.” In his heart, he had a hard time believing that it would be. Francis hadn’t gone with them on their raiding missions as the Hood, but he had been a part of them, nonetheless—a leader if any of them were.

  “I am alone,” Tuck said, his voice heavy with grief and weighed down with the burden of responsibility.

  “We don’t know that,” Alan said softly. “This is just one portion of England. We don’t know that he’s destroyed the other monasteries.”

  “We don’t know that he hasn’t, either,” Tuck countered, his voice breaking. “And unless we can get word to them, we’re as good as alone.”

  He wasn’t wrong about that, but Will didn’t think it would be helpful to agree.

  “Nobles will be coming from all over to attend John’s celebrations,” he offered instead. “Perhaps we can ask them, and get an idea of how things are in other areas.”

  Alan nodded. “I’ll be attending. Hopefully I can hear the whispers, convince a few people to talk.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” Will said quickly. “They know you were at the monastery, trying to stop them from burning it.”

  “It will be a public event, and they wouldn’t dare touch me there. Bards are sacrosanct,” Alan replied defensively. “Our position has protected us all for centuries, and it will continue to protect me,” he added more quietly.

  “Very well,” Will said, though he didn’t share the bard’s confidence. “But we shouldn’t arrive at the castle together. We don’t need anyone making the connection.”

  “Agreed,” Tuck said heavily. “You should go back now. Alan can travel in the morning, to arrive with some of the nobles.”

  They talked for a few more minutes, then Will bade them farewell and set out back toward the castle. He was nearly free of the forest when his horse pricked its ears forward, suddenly alert. He drew the animal to a stop, wondering what it was sensing.

  “This is a surprise,” a voice to his left said a moment later.

  Will relaxed slightly. “I was looking for you,” he responded. “I bring terrible news. Cardinal Francis is dead.”

  Robin nodded, lips in a grim line. “I was afraid that might be so.”

  Will frowned inwardly. He hadn’t expected Robin to break out the sackcloth and ashes, but he had expected a little more of a display of grief. Before he could say anything, however, his cousin spoke again.