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XLI. Seeking Balance

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Knowing what Adam intended and what the outcome might be, Thomas accepted Isabella Birkin’s invitation. He drew a chair up to her bedside.

In front of him she undressed and, then naked, invited him into her bed, expressing a hunger discrepant with the reserved Isabella he knew, whose lust had only emerged at moments in private. It was pure Yvagvoja hunger on display, as urgent as Zhanedd’s venom or Queen Nicnevin’s, the difference being that she had nothing to infect him with. This was someone he didn’t know. He nevertheless caressed her, stroked her, and did all he could to satisfy her without ever undressing and coupling with her. And it seemed to work. His touch was enough to send the Yvagvoja into a delirium of desire. Her eyes rolled back and she lost herself in pleasure that aroused him as well. He wished he could forget that this was not Isabella but Isabella displaced.

Eventually, she rolled away, naked, bawdily displaying herself, relaxed and teasing him with soft calls of “Robyn, oh Robyn,” until, finally, she lay back and drifted to sleep. By candlelight, Thomas watched her. He was not sure if he knew whether the creatures slept. He’d never before had occasion to watch one do so beyond their dormancy in crypts.

He fully intended to remain awake beside her, but he also finally dozed off. No doubt he put himself at some risk in doing so; had she been pretending, he would have been powerless to stop any attack.

He awoke to the sound of Isabella gasping. She sat straight up and almost blindly, she reached for him. “Robyn!” she cried, “Oh, my lovely puca,” and in that wording and the longing of it he knew it was she, and what had come to pass: Adam had reached Rufford Abbey and they knew now whose voja lay in that crypt.

He lunged for her even as a red mist like some scarlet ghost burst out of her and evaporated. Red glistened on her pale skin and on the coverlet beneath her. He caught her as she fell forward, her body already waxy and cold, bluish, lifeless, a lich but only recently dead and so not showing anything like the decay of others he’d beheld.

He hugged her tightly to him, and shed his tears before finally laying her back on the bed, whispering, “I’m sorry, so very sorry. I failed you.” He covered her nakedness, left her looking peaceful, and wearily rose to shuffle off to his own room, the room she had chosen for him.

One or more of the elven might have been lying in wait to kill him then and there—he had little resistance to offer—but none did. If there were any, they no doubt thought Isabella had him well in hand. Or maybe there were none in the mix at all, and all of the archers and outlaws were as they appeared. Tonight he was not going to sort that out.

On the bed he collapsed, exhausted and sick of the forever game being played. Here, at Melrose, at Wariville in France . . . Everywhere, no doubt. Now the game had pressed a young man to kill his mother, whom he loved, a woman who—

He made himself stop. Who loves her, Tom—her son or you? Or is it both? He knew exactly what Alpin Waldroup’s ghost would have asked.

Today . . . Today would he try to find some balance in the universe and save the lives of twenty or so people who were otherwise going to be executed by the Yvag to prove a point that did not need proving. Isabella Birkin, he tried to tell himself, had perished that those people and John’s family might live. She would have agreed to such an exchange if told of it. He imagined she’d gone to her death at Zhanedd’s hands hoping to have saved her son by doing so.


It was Sehild who screamed and brought everyone running to Lady Isabella’s door. Isabella was dead, evidently had died in her sleep. Will Scathelock and Little John both eyed Thomas askance. Both knew of his relationship with her; both half expected him to be in bed with her, although John at least had an inkling of his suspicions about her transformation. Sir Richard and the other archers joined the Waits and Keepers crowding the door to her chamber. Still missing from the scene was Adam D’Everingham. Elias asked what it meant that Adam hadn’t returned. Should they look for him? Thomas recommended they search the whole complex. They would no doubt find Wilkin and Edrick and so resolve that mystery. They all started to leave, but he held up Will and John. “I need to talk to you both.”

Sir Richard edged over to join them, but Thomas told him, “Go on, Sir Richard. We have duties to the late Lady Isabella to discuss.” He waited until the reluctant knight accepted this and left with the others. Then he led Will and John to his chamber. Thomas closed the door after them and said quietly, “Adam returned to Rufford Abbey and found a skinwalker in the crypt—at least, I’m assuming that’s what’s happened. Neither he nor I knew for certain what awaited him there.”

“What, like Passelewe?” Scathelock asked.

“Yes. He left last night and must have arrived before morning.”

Scathelock blanched. “They turned her. We let her go off alone and they turned her.”

John, distressed, said, “No, it’s I killed her,” he said. “My rash act on account of Wilkin—”

“No, John. Will.” Thomas cut them off; he’d now had hours to come to terms with how the Yvags had manipulated them all. “Do not start blaming yourselves when we were dealt choices irreconcilable. Had you and I remained here to guard her, your brother’s family would be dead right now. So, probably, would Adam and you, Will. It’s going to be terrible for Adam when he learns the news. He was hoping it was his father’s parasite asleep in that tomb.”

“These monsters,” Scathelock said sadly. “With him absent, it falls to me to accompany her body home to Laxton. Even if D’Everingham knows already, he won’t be bothered with recovering her. I doubt he’ll be on hand for the interment. It’s my duty.”

Thomas nodded, and went to where his quiver hung. “Whatever you do, don’t tell him Adam’s part in any of this. She died in her sleep is all we poor mortals know.”

Will nodded. “Adam’s life still won’t be worth a bent penny. His father wants her position—his position now.”

“That’s a problem for another day, though if you find him, bring him back with you. But you take her home, Will. And here.” He handed him an ördstone. “Take the white stallion. John and I and the rest of these men cannot tarry. She died because of this plan of the Yvags, and on foot it’s a full day’s journey to Palavia Parva. We only have two days now.”

Little John said, “Why don’t ya use magic stone, cut us a way there?”

“I can’t. We are certainly being scrutinized. The demons have opened a gateway into the stables and probably elsewhere in the complex as well. Last thing I want them knowing is that we have an ördstone or two. It might prove to be our only way out of the trap they’ve set in the vill.”

“Tha think it’s a trap.”

“I know it’s a trap, John. We hand over those remaining spinners, they’ll no longer have a reason to spare any of us or their hostages. I’m guessing we’ll encounter new outlaws joining us on our march. Sooner or later if not already, we’ll have elves in our midst.”

“All right. I’ll come back from Laxton soon as I’m able,” Scathelock promised. He hurried out but was gone barely five minutes before he returned in the company of a balding man in a sepia-colored tunic. “Says he’s the fletcher of Clipstone and that you ordered two dozen arrows.”

“I did,” said Thomas, and greeted the man.

The fletcher swung the long narrow leather satchel off his shoulder, and carefully removed the arrows in two small bundles. Thomas paid him. He bowed and departed. Will followed him out, saying, “This time I mean it.”

“’E didn’t say one word,” John observed, “that fletcher.”

“True.” Thomas drew one of the arrows. “But his craftsmanship speaks for him.” He handed the arrow to Little John.

While admiring it, John said, “You’re leading us, hey, Robyn?”

We’re leading us, my friend. The location and details of Palavia Parva are known to you, not me. You tell me what you think.”

“What I think.” John pursed his lips, his brows knitting as if thought was painful. “I think,” he said, “we’d be wise to dispatch someone ahead of us to The Saylis to watch road.” The Saylis was well known to Sherwood and Barnsdale outlaws. It offered a perfect, secluded height for concealed observation of all activity upon the King’s Great Way as it ran below Pontefract in the north. The vill lay a short distance from it. “If there be troops amassed against us, would be best to know of it.”

He expected no amassed troops but agreed to it rather than dispute John after requesting his opinion. “Ask Elias to choose one of the Waits. We’ll pretend he has to return to Nottingham.”

“Aye, that’ll work. And we’ll say ’e’s guidin’ my brother and ’is family. Him wants to come wi’ us back to Parva, but I’m havin’ none of it.”

“Good,” Thomas agreed. “I’d hate to have rescued them only to hand them back to the fiends.”

John left to speak with Elias.

Alone, Thomas thought back to the campaigns in which he’d fought, remembered the time when their captain had fallen and Alpin Waldroup had taken charge, though leadership was not what he wanted, either; he remembered Alpin calling out, “They pay us to go and be killed where we’re told, so let’s go and die as ordered!” It was an odd thing to proclaim, he’d thought at the time, but the men rallied to that honest assessment by one of their own and followed him back into the battle. He could use Alpin’s common sense about now.

Adam, he hoped, would return to them, although it might be days. After Rufford, he no doubt had ridden to Laxton Castle to learn if his father still lived. He would be devastated when Will arrived with Isabella’s body if not before, and because of the position she’d occupied, there would be an Inquisition Post Mortem before her title among the Keepers was awarded to him. If Robert D’Everingham was on hand, would he try to muddy the waters, claim that Isabella’s “death by natural causes” was in fact witchcraft and blame Adam? He did eagerly want her title, and probably enough to murder his son. The creature wouldn’t shed a tear. On the other hand, if the voja occupying Robert knew that Adam had discovered its secret, D’Everingham might make himself scarce.

A perilous situation—it was a shame they didn’t know where that voja slept. But as he had told Will and John, that was for another day.

This morning they marched for Palavia Parva.

* * *

The group of ten—archers, outlaws and Waits—headed north past Worksop to join the King’s Great Way again. Along the way, Thomas thrice paused to blow into the ram’s horn.

Elias asked him what he was doing.

“It’s an idea Will Scathelock gave me—to invite all of Sherwood’s outlaws together under one banner.”

His call went out through valleys of woods and across hillsides of heather. They went on across the Ryton and past Blyth, where he blew the horn again.

Outlaws did trickle in, one here, one there, sometimes two. They included Fouke, his wife, and son, all armed with bows. The trio looked tired, harried, ill used by the “green-fire brigands,” as Sir Richard had named them. None of them knew of the situation in Palavia Parva, but news, which had traveled freely through the forest in the past, had all but stopped, so many had fled or died at the hands of these creatures. Two women were among those joining, whose partners or husbands had fallen afoul of the “demon inquisition.” That this Robyn Hoode was taking the fight to the enemy was all the motivation they needed to join up.

At one point Thomas fell in beside tall and gaunt Sir Richard. He asked, “Does this feel like another crusade to you?”

As if it was difficult to assess, the knight considered the question awhile before answering. “What we’re collecting is as diverse a band as the Children’s Crusade was. Might even be someone else here who endured that. Still, we have no more sense of our enemy than they did. If anything, less. So I answer, yes and no.”

“At least there’s no siege machine here to drop a stone on either of us.” They both reflected upon that.

The knight glanced around at their group, now sixteen strong. “The forest is far less inhabited than when you and I met. Once, that horn would’ve brought fifty.” He walked on, silent again, awhile, then said, “Know you, it was Lady Isabella I suspected of executing my band. Instead, these . . . these demons as you say . . . well, they’re quite outside my experience. How do we approach them?”

Thomas found that an odd sentiment from one who’d been tortured by the “demons.” He answered, “I have something they want, while they hold the population of a vill to ransom. We are exchanging property.”

“Sounds more like battle lines, soldiers, than unholy creatures.”

“They are perhaps both, though their army is of another world and so has ambitions we can only guess at.” Sir Richard cut him a sidelong glance, as if shocked by the idea. Thomas added, “I would prefer not to give them what they seek, but right now I see no way to avoid it.”

“But where are you keeping this property? You’ve brought no satchel, no bag,” asked Sir Richard.

“Where it’s safest,” he replied.

It was obvious that Sir Richard wanted to ask more, but he said only, “Another riddle.” After that they walked on in silence. Eventually, the knight wandered off into the woods to relieve himself, and Thomas fell back to speak with the new arrivals. He was also listening for the buzzing of any Yvag communication, but hearing none. If Yvag had taken up with them, they were being cautious. The group were anywhere from wary to downright fearful of the inhuman enemy. One of the two women had, by green firelight, watched horrors unfold, barely escaping with her own life. Why hell was releasing its fiends into Sherwood Forest, no one could comprehend, though there were suppositions ranging from Divine punishment to hell itself overflowing to witches (known to couple with demons) having birthed such monstrosities in the wood.

That night they camped in Barnsdale. They could have pressed on, but Thomas wanted to meet the enemy after a night’s rest rather than after a long, exhausting hike. He ended the day with another blast on the horn.

The next morning, they numbered twenty-two.


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