Lionhearts

by Nathan Makaryk

  It was all Quill could do to summon words back to his command. Lord Beneger had no need to be armed at all—he could simply request an audience in the castle and be welcomed with the honorifics of his station. If he was expecting to be stopped, that spoke volumes of his reason for being here. “Your lordship, one moment please. You know me—”

  “What did I just say?” Lord Beneger snapped, every inch of his face twisting red. He slashed his knife riotously across the stairwell where it sparked against the stone wall and shattered in his hand. He pushed forward, swinging the broken hilt and pressing into Quill, and Jacelyn heaved against them both until they clattered down a few more stairs. Lord Beneger’s eyes were wide and unfocused, his hand bled freely, he clambered to his feet but slipped, driving upward, and Quill felt a pit of horror in his stomach. The man was untethered—but at the same time, driven with spectacular precision.

  “Your lordship! Lord Wendenal!” he shouted, trying desperately to align his own face into the man’s line of sight. “Look at me, your lordship! You know my family, I mean you no harm!”

  “Family?” The word seemed to burn him, but his pupils constricted as they found Quill’s. “Family? Who are you to tell me … who are you … who in hells upon hells are you?”

  “Quillen Peveril, your lordship,” he said, as calmly as he could justify. “The Peverils. I have been to your estate with my father many times. We went hunting together for midsummer, three years ago. You showed me how to lay snares when I was a boy.”

  He fumbled for other memories. He did not want to say, I was at your son’s funeral, and you were not.

  Wendenal fumed, but his senses returned. “Peveril, yes. I do know your father.” But that swung him into a far more exacting direction. “And your father knows me. And if he knew that you stood in my way at this moment, in this very place, then he would not grieve to hear that I dashed your skull against the wall without a thought. So stand out of my way, boy, while you can.”

  Though his words were sharp, Quill knew the man to be a better arbiter of judgment. He was a true force of will in Derbyshire, with indomitable resolve.

  A natural leader. With an ironclad purpose.

  “Move,” Lord Beneger repeated.

  “You misunderstand me, your lordship.” Quill readjusted his stance. “I do not intend to stand in your way at all. If you tell me you’re headed to Sheriff de Ferrers’s office…” he took a breath to notice Lord Beneger’s twitch at the name, confirming his calculations, “… then I intend to show you the way.”

  Wendenal stared at him, unmoving, probably wondering if the offer could be trusted. From behind him, down the short stairs that led to the training yard, a commotion simmered. The lord’s name was being called with some immediacy. Curiosity forced Quill to glance out a slivered opening in the stone wall, where he could see a semicircle of Beneger’s men protecting the entrance of the stairwell below. Their weapons were sheathed, but a crowd of Nottingham’s Common Guard began to gather, wondering if they were expected to do something about it. The defensive circle tightened slightly, allowing three of its members to disappear into the stairwell, where they would come across Quill in mere seconds.

  Their voices arrived before they did, but if they affected Lord Wendenal’s decision in any way, he showed no sign of it.

  “Please, your lordship,” Quill whispered. “Let me help you.”

  A quiet eternity passed, and then the tiny space was all too crowded with intense men. But Wendenal raised a hand. “Alright, Peveril,” he said, straightening himself. “Lead the way. Just the two of us.”

  Quill nodded solemnly to Jacelyn, who was left in the impossibly awkward position of staring at the three Derbymen in the middle of the stairwell, each of them unsure who was supposed to have the advantage. He led the way back to the high tower toward the current Sheriff’s office, bringing along the man who—if Quill had calculated correctly—would command it next.

  FIVE

  MARION FITZWALTER

  SHERWOOD FOREST

  MARION KNEW SOMETHING WAS wrong the moment they returned to camp. The sounds were off, there was anticipation in the air like a lightning storm. At first she thought it her imagination—a paranoia that something would undoubtedly ruin the tremendous news she’d come to share. But Sir Amon clearly sensed it, too. His blade was already drawn, and he motioned for her to stay back.

  Horrors filled her head, of course, that their day had finally come. It was only a matter of time before the Nottingham Guard crashed through their camp, ending with blood their winter chase—which was specifically why her news was so critical. To think that the rug would be pulled out beneath her now, when she was finally so close to saving them all, was more than she could bear.

  But as the camp drew closer, Marion’s alarm faded. The only terror evident in her companions’ faces was that of surviving another day. They were breaking down their battered tents and tying meager bundles of food into their packs. Campfires were doused. Down by the stream, deerskins were being filled with water.

  They were on the run again.

  Yesterday, it might have broken Marion’s heart. The pain of seeing her people suffer—despite her efforts to help them—had no name. Their nomadic status had degraded with each week, and the victories they’d collected at the top of winter did nothing to fill their bellies now. Most of this group had no quarrel with Nottingham, but suffered the Sheriff’s wrath, nonetheless. Yesterday, moving camps would have meant they were one rung closer to the bottom of a ladder overhanging an abyss, the Nottingham Guard stomping down on their knuckles.

  But today, it meant they’d be ready to travel as soon as possible, to the new home she’d found for them.

  “Help me gather them,” she commanded Amon, who nodded and went to it.

  She craned her head to search for Will Scarlet, but he was already upon her. His mourning beard had overtaken his entire face, his eyes barely visible like two baby birds in a nest. He rushed through an attempt to bow to her. “Sorry to interrupt your morning stroll, m’lady,” he said, all sarcasm.

  Marion had never been a mother, but she suddenly had the urge to smack some sense into her child. “I see you’re in a mature mood this morning.”

  “I see you’re in a bitch mood this year.”

  She wasn’t going to let him bitter this. She turned, searching for anyone less useless. “Tuck! What happened? Why are we moving?”

  The friar’s face flustered red as he explained, in short and accurate sentences, how the Nottingham Guard had spotted Arthur and David on the Sherwood Road. Marion considered it gravely, but it was only more reason to hasten. “We’d best be on our way then.”

  “You think so?” Will scolded her. “What did you think we’re fucking doing?”

  Marion balled her dress into her fists, but would not let him rile her. If this had been any other man, Marion might suspect him drunk. But Will Scarlet had been entirely sober since Elena’s death—that which tore at his soul came from within. He’d been particularly combative with her for weeks, off and on, ever since they’d realized they were no longer on the winning side. He’d thought that simply claiming the name of Robin Hood would compel the world to bow to him, and had grown sour that life was more realistic than that. He was good at gravelly insults and a brooding lurk—but when it came to survival, their group was still very much Marion’s Men.

  Will smirked, for reasons only he could know. “Pack up, Marion,” he ordered. “Unless you’d rather stay. Give my best to the Nottingham Guard. They’ll be here soon.”

  A heavy moment passed between them. It was so difficult to forgive his grief, and to remind herself that everyone had their own method of coping with the unimaginable. Some people like Will let it out to attack everyone, while others …

  … others preferred to stuff it into a perfectly round ball and swallow it, where it would probably kill her later.

  He started up the hill, making a show of leaving. Their squabble had thankfully alre
ady attracted the majority of the camp, mostly packed and awaiting direction. Marion’s eyes lingered on a solitary figure watching from halfway up the climb, who showed no interest in coming any closer.

  Good, Marion thought. First decision Arable had ever made that didn’t get someone killed.

  She packed it into a perfect ball and swallowed it.

  “I know that nobody wanted to travel today,” she announced, even as a few people started up the hill to follow Will, “but the good news is that we have an actual destination. Someplace we can stay. No more running.”

  John Little, who had finally joined them, lit up. “Well that’s ever good to hear! What do you have in mind?”

  She didn’t even pause. “We leave the Sherwood. We leave Nottinghamshire.”

  An unease rippled outward, infectious as a rumor. She’d expected that. They’d long decided against fleeing the county borders. Outside of the Sherwood, their group would be easy to notice, and they would be at every disadvantage. But those risks only lasted so long as they were impermanent.

  “Where?” Tuck asked. “You said your home was too dangerous…”

  “Not my father’s estate, no,” she answered before he could finish the thought. Her grandfather’s lands were too far, and carried too many complications. “That will never be an option. But I’ve been communicating with Lord Robert, Earl of Huntingdon, and he’s consented to take us in.”

  It had been no easy feat, and the news should have been greeted with celebration. But she knew the journey would sound daunting. Huntingdon was, as far as most of this group knew, on the other side of the earth.

  “Huntingdon?” Will coughed.

  “He seems downright eager to have us,” she laughed. “Lord Robert has been one of your primary supporters, though most of you would never know it. He was the one who purchased most of the jewelry we took in the autumn. He loved knowing it came from his political rivals.”

  “Huntingdonshire is two counties away,” Arthur said, somewhat delicately. “There’s no way a group this size can travel that distance in secrecy.”

  “And the days are still short,” warned David.

  “You don’t have to do it in secret,” Marion answered, hoping to encourage them. Her group would need all the manpower possible to make the journey. “The Earl Robert will welcome you openly.”

  “Openly?” Tuck asked. “What is he offering? This Earl Robert?”

  Marion wished there was a way to make this more exciting, but there was very little thrill in what lay ahead. “I won’t lie, it won’t be an easy life. You’ll work. Huntingdon is struggling to pay its share of the ransom as well, make no doubt. But you would have safety as his vassals. Work his land, or his estate, each according to their ability. You would be … people again. Instead of outlaws.”

  Will had not moved. “You want us to give up on everything.”

  She didn’t look at him. “I want you to consider your options. Your real options. This is a chance to live a peaceful life again. Not just what you had at Locksley, but before that. Lord Robert is being very generous with his offer. It is, without doubt, the best opportunity you will ever have.”

  “And all we have to do,” Will’s voice rose, “is pretend none of this ever happened.”

  “All you have to do,” Marion matched him, “is walk away before anyone else is hurt.”

  “Walk away and let them get away with it.”

  Marion’s temper flared before she could grapple it down. “Yes, Will. Actually, yes. They’re going to ‘get away with it.’ Everything they’ve done, they’ve already gotten away with it. There is no scenario in which we ‘win.’ They have the power, and it doesn’t matter if you think that’s unfair. That’s how the world works. Grow up.”

  Unsurprisingly, he didn’t. “Well then. You just said it. You don’t think we can win.”

  It was hardly an opinion, and she was sick of pretending otherwise. “Look around. Where are your victories, Will? I wanted you to succeed, God, more than anyone! But I see burnt trees. I see starving people. How can you not see that?”

  She didn’t ask the rest of the question. How could he not see that it was his fault?

  “Of course I see that. But I see the rest, too.” He thrust a finger at the nearest tree trunk. “I see the trees that are still standing, that would have been burnt if not for us. I see the people still living, who would have died if we hadn’t fought back. You’re only seeing failures because they’re all you’re looking for, Marion.”

  That ball, she could not swallow.

  Will cooed. “You don’t understand. How could you? You come and stay in the woods with us for a week or so and then go home—or to Huntingdon, apparently! This is our life, that you choose to visit on holiday. You think of us as your little playthings, Marion’s Men, for you to move around where you want. Fuck that. Keeping us on a short leash, keeping us from doing anything that will actually make a difference.”

  He started to circle her, playing to the crowd.

  “God’s teeth, you had us roaming village to village giving out coin rather than putting that money to real use. I wonder if we might be doing a bit better now if you hadn’t made us throw it all away?”

  She’d long run out of patience in correcting this particular argument. “Put it to real use?” she echoed his phrasing. “You never recognized that our charity was a strategy. It was a bribe. You’re only as safe as the first villager willing to sell you out. When you stopped helping the people, you stopped giving them a reason to help you. And you wonder why you’re hunted everywhere you go now, you wonder why you cannot steal as much as you used to.”

  All eyes returned to Will, who tapped his fingers restlessly. “Do you notice how she always uses the word you instead of we?”

  “Your insults don’t feed people!” she snapped at him. “You want to attack me, fine. But don’t pretend that helps anyone. What’s over that hill, then?” She pointed up and out of the willowbank, where he’d been headed. “Where were you planning to take them?”

  Will shook his head. “A. Way. From. Here.”

  “Down the river a bit?” She frowned, and found a few sympathetic faces. “We’ll find another beautiful stretch of mud until we get discovered there as well?”

  At that, Will slung the pack off his shoulder and descended back toward her in contempt. “If you want to leave so much, then go home, Marion! We don’t need you anymore. We aren’t taking in any jewelry or necklaces anymore, so we don’t need you and we don’t need Huntingdon. The next time we start shopping for trinkets again, we’ll find you.” He snorted, eyeing her up and down. “Or are you worried we’d think poorly of you? If I had a castle and a featherbed waiting for me, you can bet I would’ve left a while ago.”

  Marion was undeterred. “Nobody doubts your willingness to be rid of us.”

  “Fuck you.” He quivered. “Oh, fuck you so much.”

  “Stop it!” Tuck threw his hands up between them, as if there were a risk of violence. As if Will were a danger to anyone but himself. The idea had never even crossed Marion’s mind.

  Will’s gaze was stuck on her, staring her down with alternating eyes. Marion ate up his spite. “My question stands, what better option do you have? I’m not being a bitch, Will. I’m asking you an honest question. I want to know what your plan is.” She let a few moments pass. “Do you even have one?”

  Will snorted again. “I do.”

  “Then why don’t you try answering me when I ask you a question,” Marion scolded, “instead of pissing all over the ground just to prove you’ve got a dick?”

  Arthur a Bland let out a low whistle. “Holy mother of fuck—”

  “Shut it, Arthur,” Marion said.

  “Never mind, then.”

  “You think I like roaming around the forest scavenging like this?” Will asked, his eyes moving quickly. “Barely surviving? Hiding from everyone just in case they might mean us harm? It’s pathetic. We’ve got an awful lot of mouths to feed a
nd there aren’t many of us bringing in the food. But I’m still here, so don’t you fucking tell me you think I’m trying to be rid of everyone.”

  “Fine,” Marion consented. He was right. “I’m sorry for that.”

  “We need more men, is what we need.” Will returned to a higher place on the hill, and it made him appear deceptively taller. “If the Nottingham Guard is building outposts on the Sherwood Road, we can’t stay on the defensive. If they control the forest, we’re done. But we know we can stop them in small groups, you all know I can deliver on that promise. So we can’t let them build. We have to fight back.”

  “Fight back,” Marion echoed. “To what end, Will? You’ve already tried violence, why don’t you remind me how successful that was?”

  That, apparently, struck a nerve. “We didn’t draw first blood,” he growled.

  A perfect ball.

  Swallow.

  Will just laughed at her. “I don’t know what kind of world you think this is, but you’re fucking clueless.” He paced away, then back again, speaking with his hands. “This is no children’s story where the plucky underdog wins because he’s just so plucky. This is reality, and we’re dying. I thought we’d have more time, to recruit some men from the villages, train them. But we don’t. We need men now, or we die.”

  “And so this plan of yours…?”

  “I go to Nottingham.”

  By the crowd’s reaction, Marion was not the only one shocked by this. Nottingham was literally the last place any sane person would go.

  “I have a lot of friends back there,” Will continued. “Friends who hate the Guard as much as we do.”

  “Street rats,” Marion translated.

  “Talented men,” he shot back. “Real thieves, who have the skills we need. Right now we barely have enough men to keep ourselves fed. But if I bring back even a dozen of my old crew, then we can stop these outposts before they’re built, and we turn the Nottingham Guard back cold.”