The Two Torcs

by Debbie Viguié

  “We have to help Marian escape tomorrow night,” he said, “while the festivities are taking place.”

  Will blinked. “That’s going to be easier said than done.”

  “Nevertheless, it needs to happen,” Robin insisted. “I will see you tomorrow night.”

  Before Will could reply, he had slipped into the darkness and vanished.

  “I just hope it doesn’t get us all killed,” Will said to no one in particular.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Locksley had grown to dread the King’s gatherings. People always died. John was dangerous and, worse, unpredictable. He recalled the hanging of Lady Minter and her daughters. That had taken place under the guise of a public concert.

  This particular gathering was supposed to last a week, which meant more opportunities to be killed.

  He hoped the opportunities would be just as plentiful to organize the other nobles into some sort of resistance. Not that he thought it would actually work. The families still had children who were being held by John, and as long as that was the case, no one would dare oppose him.

  In that regard Locksley was one of the lucky ones. He had no children to threaten. Yet he still had people who depended upon him. People who could be hurt. Thus, whenever he left home, he instructed that if he didn’t return, each man, woman, and child under his care was to be given food, a weapon, some gold, and sent away.

  His steward had remained behind to execute this last wish, should it be necessary, before fleeing himself. At least this way his people couldn’t be used as an example, just to frighten others into submission.

  There were dozens of people milling about the great hall. Locksley didn’t move among them, nor did he seek to make his influence felt. This evening he simply watched, looking for anything that might provide a clue as to why they were all really there.

  Despite a roaring fire, the air was chilly. After half an hour, the only unusual thing he had observed was the number of soldiers who had filed into the room, lingering near the exits. It boded ill, and he was glad he’d worn his sword. It wasn’t the ornamental one used for ceremonies, but rather the one that had been carried into battle by five generations of his family. Its steel had been stained with the blood of many enemies, and it would stand him in good stead should the worst occur.

  He turned this way and that, taking in more of the room, and his eyes lit on John’s toady, Will Scarlet. The man was making his way through the crowd toward him. Locksley felt his eyes narrow. He had no argument with Scarlet, but there was no love lost between them. Will was a cousin to Robin. Worse than that, he was a silver-tongued serpent who could smile and lie to your face while stabbing you in the back.

  “Pleasant evening to you, Lord Locksley,” Scarlet said as he came to stand before him, a fake smile plastered firmly in place.

  “I seriously doubt it, Scarlet,” Locksley growled. “You’re John’s constant companion. Why don’t you tell me what he has planned, and spare me the surprise.”

  Will raised an eyebrow. “You mean he hasn’t told you?”

  “No, and I’ll wager that the only ones he might have told are you and the Sheriff.”

  Scarlet chuckled. “You flatter me, but in this instance, I am not in his confidence.”

  “Then maybe you should be as worried as the rest of us,” Locksley suggested. He had to admit that he wouldn’t be entirely sad to see the man’s perennial smugness wiped away by a hangman’s noose. Scarlet frowned suddenly. Locksley turned to look behind, wondering what he had seen. More soldiers were quietly entering the hall, moving along the walls. They were all heavily armed.

  “I don’t like this,” Locksley said.

  “You’re not the only one,” Scarlet said so quietly that Locksley wasn’t sure for a moment the man had actually spoken.

  Before he could say anything in response, however, a trumpet sounded, heralding the arrival of the king. They both turned to look.

  John swept into the room, arrogance rippling off him. One step behind him was the cursed Sheriff. The man frightened him, far more even than John. They were both evil, but there was an unnaturalness to the Sheriff that was unnerving. Next to the Sheriff walked Glynna. Locksley felt his chest constrict at the sight of her, so clearly consorting with the monster.

  John ascended to the throne in the center of the room. Two chairs were close by, and Glynna took one. The Sheriff elected to remain standing for the moment.

  Behind them walked two servants carrying an ornate table, which they put down close to the foot of the throne. Everyone took a couple steps forward to get a better look as the servants stepped away. On the table lay several scrolls and some pens that gleamed strangely in the light.

  Locksley could hear the muttering around him. He disliked what he saw even more than the rest. Some of the nobility present were from the far reaches of the kingdom. A couple, at least, were being exposed to King John for the first time. He couldn’t help but wonder what they were thinking. He hoped some of the others would have warned them already about what to expect.

  Somehow this table wasn’t what he had expected.

  John looked suddenly at Locksley, as though the weight of his thoughts alone had drawn the twisted prince’s attention.

  “You are wondering what these are for,” John said. It wasn’t a question, but was stated as fact.

  “Yes,” Locksley said, feeling compelled to answer.

  “You see, tonight is a very special night,” John continued, scanning the room. When he spoke again, his words were louder. “Tonight you will do something that will bind us all together. You will swear a blood oath of fealty to me.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence.

  All around him the nobles exploded, voices raised in anger and frustration.

  “Give us back our children first!” one shouted.

  “After what you did to the monastery?” someone else bellowed. “You’re insane!”

  Rebellion was in the air. Finally John had pushed them too far. Now was the time to take action, to strike while their blood was up. Perhaps it was a chance to put a stop to the madness.

  “Enough!” Locksley roared, striding forward with a hand on the hilt of his sword. Scarlet tried to grab his shoulder, but he shrugged him off.

  The crowd parted before him like water, and within moments he was standing before King John, who stared at him through narrowed eyes. The man looked more like a serpent than he usually did.

  “You have something to say, Locksley?”

  Locksley considered his words. Considered the cost. The decision weighed on him as he felt the pressure of everyone’s eyes on him. He could sway the room with whatever he decided to do next.

  He took a deep breath.

  “What you are asking is treason,” he said so that all could hear. “No man here can swear any kind of fealty to you, while King Richard yet lives.”

  “A situation that will be shortly remedied, I assure you,” John said, his eyes opening wider with confidence.

  A chill ran through Locksley. He and Richard had encountered their differences, but the king was a thousand times better than his brother.

  The thought occurred to him now that John might have an ally in Richard’s camp, someone intent on making sure that the king never came back to claim his throne, or save his people.

  If that was true, then it was up to him and the rest of the nobility to save England. Someone shouted something behind him, but he had eyes only for the usurper.

  “Long live King Rich—”

  * * *

  Will winced as the Sheriff cut off Locksley’s head with one clean blow. The body slumped straight to the ground and the head bounced twice, then rolled to land at John’s feet.

  So intent had the noble been on John that he had never seen the Sheriff move around behind him. Will had tried to shout a warning, but Locksley must not have heard him.

  All around him the other nobles flew into a panic. The soldiers that had been lining the ro
om now moved forward, pressing inward, slowly driving them toward the table with the cursed scrolls and pens.

  One man stepped forward and laid his hand on a pen, hissing in pain as it cut into his flesh. Blood ran down his fingers to the tip, and he signed his name to the scroll. As he did so the blood lit with a tiny flame, burning itself dry with a stench filling the air.

  Will just stared in horror. He wanted to shout, to scream, to run forward and drag the man back and tell him not to be a fool. He did none of those things. Instead he just watched as his own father was the first to swear fealty, sealing it with his blood.

  Shame washed over him. Was his father that much a coward? Surely he could see that John and Nottingham were the very essence of evil. Will’s uncle would never have signed. Nor would Robin.

  Nor can I, he thought, realizing that John would likely require it even of him. He started moving, backing slowly toward one of the side doors, trying not to catch the attention of the soldiers. He glanced around, looking for Alan or Marian. He saw neither. He kept casting his eyes back and forth, desperate to find his allies. They needed to get out of there, and now.

  His father stepped aside, and the nobles began to line up. Will could see him staring at a black mark that swirled up from his fingertips, wrapped itself around his wrist, and then disappeared beneath the sleeve of his shirt. Foul magic. He had signed the devil’s scroll in his own blood and now he was bound.

  There was no help for his father, or the next noble who was already signing the scroll. Will didn’t know if they would be freed even if John was killed. Maybe the mark would kill them, and drag them to Hell along with him.

  The room had been cold a short time earlier, but he was sweating profusely, almost as if he could feel the fires of Hell lapping at the edges. He tore his eyes from the line of men who were busy sealing their fates, and looked around again.

  There, just inside the one door, he saw Chastity. Her skin was pale against the crimson color of her dress, and even through his fear and horror he couldn’t help but notice that she looked beautiful. Between them, though, stood four soldiers. One of them glanced at Will and took a step in his direction.

  He cursed under his breath.

  “Good men of the kingdom, listen to me!”

  Will twisted his head to see Alan standing on top of a table, harp in hand. His blood ran cold at the sight.

  * * *

  Alan-a-Dale drew himself to his full height. His hand struck the harp on his shoulder, drawing out a clash of notes, discordant and brash enough to lock everyone’s eyes on him.

  “Men of Avalon!” he shouted. “Heed the word of the True Bard of the Everlasting Isle!”

  John raised his arm to point, and Alan struck his harp again. The noise made the prince wince and draw back.

  Alan lifted his hands, arms out to show the splendor of his clothing. He knew the sight of it would spark the spirit of the men gathered before him. They were Celts from the blood of Celts, and their hearts would sing with the bard.

  “The time has come to end this charade,” his voice cut through the chaos. “There is an usurper in our midst, a sickness to be cut out. The throne, the very sovereignty of this mighty island, rests not with weak-blooded men, not with those who would turn to dark ways. This is the Summer Kingdom, a kingdom of light. Your rightful king has not forsaken you, so do not forsake yourselves. Feel the Awen spark in your soul. You are bondsmen of the king, guardians of this kingdom.”

  He pounded the harp and it roared out thunder from its strings.

  “Rise up! Gather ye steel to ye fists and paint your face with woad! Hear the song of sovereignty! Hear the song of righteousness! Hear the song of England!”

  * * *

  All eyes were on the bard, who Will knew was beyond his help. He could not waste the distraction that the man had provided, though. He walked right past the soldiers who were staring from Alan to John and back again.

  As he reached the door he heard John roar an order. He forced himself to keep moving. He made it out of the room and into a corridor. He had only taken half a dozen more steps when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

  “Where are you going?” a soldier growled at him.

  Will spun out from underneath the man, leaving his half cloak in the brute’s fist. He sprinted down the hall.

  Time had run out.

  Ahead of him he saw a flash of crimson disappear around a corner. Chastity, it had to be. He skidded around the corner just in time to see her yank a dagger from her bodice. He stopped, reached out, but she didn’t see his hand.

  A moment later the soldier ran around the corner and Chastity plunged her dagger into the man’s throat. Blood sprayed everywhere as he fell. She shoved the bloody knife back into her bodice, and then grabbed Will’s hand and pulled him down the corridor.

  She wasn’t leading them to the front of the castle. It finally dawned on Will that they were headed for the kitchen. They burst into the room and found a dozen servants hastily preparing the menu that Will had actually chosen for the night’s dinner. Once the nobles had finished signing, the devil was going to throw them a party.

  Only the head cook looked up as they made their way through.

  “You haven’t seen us,” Chastity whispered to the woman as they raced past her.

  Seconds later they were outside. There were no soldiers to be seen, and Will guessed it was because the majority of them were inside.

  “Marian?” Will asked.

  “I’ll get her,” Chastity said. “Meet us at the edge of the forest.”

  Will shook his head. “No, I can’t leave without her.”

  “Go,” the girl insisted. “I promise we will join you shortly.”

  He was about to object when she suddenly stood up on her toes, grabbed his face in her hands, and kissed him.

  She pulled away a moment later, skin flushed.

  “That’s a promise, too,” she said, her voice husky. She turned and ran back into the kitchen.

  * * *

  Marian’s imprisonment wasn’t common knowledge, and she wasn’t sure how John planned to explain her absence, but at least it gave her an opportunity to escape unobserved.

  She had packed a small bundle of warm clothes, including the trousers she usually used for riding. She had her secret dagger strapped to her leg, and the book carefully tucked into her bodice. Champion was asleep in the crook of her arm. She was ready to go, and the excitement and fear had worked together to make her sick to her stomach.

  When Chastity unlocked the door Marian pounced.

  “We have to go, now,” Chastity said, face strained.

  “Lead the way,” Marian said, and she didn’t waste time asking what was wrong.

  She had expected Chastity to be stealthy, and for the two of them to spend a long time making their way out of the castle. Instead the girl took off at a run. Marian was surprised, but she sprinted after her.

  Chastity took a few turns that led them away from the main entrance, and soon they were racing toward the kitchen.

  They were running past one of the walls that bordered the throne room when Marian gasped and nearly doubled over in pain. She could feel evil emanating from the chamber, thick and malignant, and her entire body seized, her muscles cramping, her throat constricting. Everything about her reacted to what was happening.

  “Come on, Princess,” Chastity hissed, grabbing her arm and trying to pull her forward.

  Marian wanted to go, wanted to run, but her legs gave out, depositing her on the floor. Her body started to convulse. Terror filled her. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before.

  She looked up, and it was as though she could see black tendrils snaking their way out of the throne room, through the very walls. Everything they touched turned black, and they snuffed out torches as they passed through them.

  She wanted to cross herself, but she could barely lift her arm. Chastity leaned down and tried to pick her up, but it was as though Marian’s limbs were all
leaden, and she couldn’t help her.

  Chastity sobbed in frustration.

  Marian forced her arm upward. She was able to grab the book and push it into the girl’s hands.

  “Take Champion and go,” she said, her throat tight and her tongue thick. The words sounded like gibberish to her as they came out of her mouth.

  Chastity must have understood, though. She took the book, scooped up the fox, and ran for the kitchen.

  The girl was out of sight when Marian heard the sound of running footsteps, coming toward her from the opposite direction. It took every ounce of will and all of her strength to turn her head.

  The Sheriff’s soldiers were racing up to her. They seized her, lifting her in their arms, and carried her into the throne room.

  Inside the walls appeared to be a shimmering, moving black as though the shadows themselves had come alive. The only lights in the room were dim, failing a little more with each passing second, their flames dwindling.

  There was a line of nobles in front of the throne, faces pale, eyes glazed. Black marks swirled up their hands from their fingertips, and on the throne John sat, simpering, enjoying his victory. He looked at Marian, and a cruel smile twisted his features.

  “So nice of you to join us, my dear.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Lenore’s insides were twisting with hate. She was hidden in the bushes that lined the road leading from the castle. Lights blazed throughout the structure and people had been arriving for hours. Her hands were slick with sweat. In the left one she clutched a small dagger.

  Something important was happening tonight. She knew that from what she’d heard Friar Tuck say to other people when no one noticed that she was listening. There were men inside that castle who had killed her parents. Men inside who had killed all the brothers at the monastery. If something was happening tonight, if there was a chance to kill them before they killed anyone else, then she wanted to be a part of it.

  A sudden rustling in the brush behind her startled her, and she turned just as Much stepped through.