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XXXV: Return to
King’s Houses

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Within the hour, the three Keepers came around. Little John remained unconscious, but Thomas wouldn’t leave him alone, else lose him, too. Carrying him was much more difficult than the other three. He dragged him down the stairs and propped him up at the bottom.

Once they were all situated, he hurried to the kitchen and requested the servants bring them some water.

When he returned, the first thing Isabella wanted to know was why Maurin wasn’t with them. Thomas explained to them that the Yvag called Zhanedd had taken Maurin as a tithe to Hel.

Adam glared at him. “How do you know that?” he asked weakly.

Before he answered, the serving girl, Edme, arrived with a pitcher and cups. She went first to Adam and offered him a cup. He knocked it aside, which soaked Will, who fell out of his seat trying to get away from it.

Thomas took the water pitcher from the girl and set it down on an empty bench.

“Don’t let her go,” Adam said. “She’s not what she seems. One of those things.”

Thomas looked her over. Then he reached for her hand and held it. There was not the least hint that she was Yvag. “She’s not,” he said, and gestured for her to go. He picked up the pitcher again, sniffed the contents, swirled it around, then drank a cup. “Water’s cold. Fresh.” He offered the cup to Isabella. She looked darkly into his eyes as she accepted it. He asked, “What happened? Tell me everything.”

She described their arrival, a false Edme who’d met them and how she’d given them a potion in the water she brought. Having climbed the steps up the motte, Isabella had suddenly felt dizzy and tried to reach her private chambers. The others had been tricked the same way.

“John and I were greeted by a false Isabella.”

“False Isabella?” Isabella repeated, then said, “Oh.”

“She and your husband put on quite the performance for us. They tried to dose us with the same potion, I think. In our wine. John’s thirst got the better of him, which is why he’s still asleep, but I switched mine with D’Everingham’s drink.”

“If he’s asleep upstairs, I want to kill him before he wakes.”

“He is a skinwalker, for certain. I think this was all about capturing you,” he told her. “But he’s gone, hauled through an Yvag gate by the one that impersonated you.”

For a moment she remained silent. Then she said, “You promised to catch us up at Retford.” Her tone accused him.

“And lucky for us all that I didn’t, or arriving together, we would surely have succumbed to the same treachery. I wouldn’t have known the serving girl at all, but I recognized that you weren’t you. The Yvag was the same one as at The Pilgrim, that wanted to hand me over to Passelewe. She’s the one who named you as a target of one of the spinners. Also, she knew nothing of the word inaudita.

The word drew her glance. He smiled, but it was not returned.

Across the room, Little John yawned, which sounded more like a bear than anything human. Thomas walked over and offered him a hand to pull him up. “How did you sleep?”

“Woodwose! Was it you set me here or did I walk?”

“I put you here.”

“Good job, then. For how long have I slept?”

“Hours. It was intended to be your final sleep, too.”

John, spying Isabella watching him, said, “Your ’usband imports a mingin’ wine. Speakin’ of, where would our host be lurking? I have an urge t’ thank him proper for ’is hospitality.”

“Gone, I’m afraid,” said Thomas.

“So what’s our plan now, then? Back to King’s Houses?”

Across the room, Lady Isabella said, “We who were almost taken by demons would like a meal first.”

John leaned around him and waggled his fingers in greeting.

Thomas concentrated on his boot. “All right. A meal and then we go. We’ll be riding at night, though.”

“Don’ get dark nar till compline.”


Isabella went to the kitchen with instructions. The others climbed the stairs up to the dining hall, at which point Thomas excused himself and returned to the dark room where he and Little John had collapsed. His empty toolbag still hung on a peg there, and he grabbed it in passing.

Then, standing in the center of the room, he pulled up the pouch around his neck and drew the ördstone it contained. He closed his eyes to picture the interior of the King’s Houses chantry, the pews, the ornate arch fronting the altar, the candlesticks and cross. Eyes closed, he cut the air.

When he looked again, there was the chantry before him, the shadowy chapel space empty.

He stepped through the ring, crossed past the pews, and knelt before the altar. Lifting the cloth, he felt for and removed all three dights. He dropped them into the bag, smoothed the cloth back into place, and stepped back through the ring. He sealed up the gate and returned the stone to its pouch. Hung the mason’s bag on its peg again. The room had been searched, the bag found to be empty. It seemed the safest place for them. At that moment John entered.

“I wondered where ye’d gone,” he said.

For an instant Thomas scrutinized and listened to him. Zhanedd might impersonate someone other than Isabella, and it would be foolish to think the creature would only don the guise of women. Kunastur had portrayed both Passelewe and Mary of Clipstone. It was Thomas who thought of Zhanedd as “she” because of the striking resemblance to Innes. Who knew how many others she’d been and of what sex? In any case, there was no hint of oddness to John’s manner. He was the very essence of John. Doubtful anybody could mimic that. Still, the first rule now in every encounter must be to trust no one to be as they appeared.

He said, “I just recovered the—what does Will call them? The spinners. A good name for them.

Little John, with a worried look, said, “Tha had ’em here all this time?”

“No, hidden elsewhere. I worried the false Isabella or her husband would find them if I brought them in that old bag with us. She would have, as it happens.”

“Too much blood’s shed over them things already. I wish we could smash ’em.”

“That is the truth.” Isabella and Sheriff Orrels, too, had called them spinners. It felt right. What was “dight” to anyone but an Yvag, after all. “And so you and I will know they’re back in our possession, but let’s not mention it to the Keepers. Adam would certainly do something foolish if he knew.”

“Oh, aye. He’s a narky one, all right.”

Thomas tied up the mason’s bag again. Slung over his shoulder, it looked as empty as before. “Now I’m ready to tackle that meal.”

“That’s good, for I came to tell they’ve got venison pie and rabbit in gravy for tha.”

Just hearing the words caused his stomach to rumble. “Lead the way,” he said and followed John out.


It was twilight when they arrived at the King’s Houses again. The two Waits they’d left there had returned to Nottingham. The houses were empty.

Isabella hadn’t spoken to him for most of the ride, furious over the loss of Maurin. He couldn’t disagree with her—in thinking they were coming for Little John, he’d all but given Maurin to Zhanedd. More than that, in Barnsdale he and John had disrupted the Yvags’ capture of a teind, so it was doubly on his head that the boy had been sacrificed.

Isabella wanted to go after D’Everingham. Upon departing, they’d found his horse gone from the stable. Thomas concluded that Zhanedd had simply opened a gate down to one of the eighteen houses inside the largest curtain wall of Laxton. That was in keeping with his as-yet-unproven notion that skinwalkers could not be hauled off to Ailfion when their host was here, not without perishing. A local gate, though, appeared to be a different matter.

Isabella said, “I have a fair notion of where he would run, and other men who would side with him. But what do I do when I catch up to him? It would be my word against his. Even if I could get him arrested—”

Thomas replied, “You’d have to kill him. There’s no way to separate him and the Yvag that’s taken up residence in him, no unbinding I know of that doesn’t destroy the host. And he will come back after you until he has you.”

Her mouth compressed into a thin line. “I suspected as much.”

“The situation will never return to how it was before the Yvag invaded your life.”

“It’s you invaded our lives,” Adam snarled.

“Adam!” Isabella snapped.

“No, he’s right,” he said. “Under any other circumstances, we would have said a few words at The Pilgrim and gone our separate ways. Might have met in Barnsdale, but we will never know. And if I could point the elven, the demons, in some direction other than yours, I would do so gladly. But too well do I know them and they will not let you be until they have what it is they want of you.”

She said, “And that’s me.”

“One of the dights, the spinners as you call them, was designed with you as the target. One for the bishop of Leicester. One for Simon de Montfort. I’ve no idea what schemes they have for the other two, but you’re the Warden of the Keepers of Sherwood. It’s a position of influence. I think they turned your husband in the mistaken notion that your title would go to him. They misjudged the line of succession, and now they need to correct that error.”

“So they’re coming after us again.”

“You today, and tomorrow assuredly Adam. Of that much I’m sure.”

“And what of you? What do you want out of this? I know you want something,” she insisted.

Thomas looked to John, who shrugged. This wasn’t his argument. Thomas said, “When this all began—when Robert Hodde died in my hut—I would have told you that all I wanted was to continue to be left alone in Barnsdale.”

“But no longer?” asked Isabella.

“Now I see that, like it or not, I’m a cumber to their schemes. If I go back to living in the forest again, a hermit, they will roll right over everyone and everything else hereabout like some sort of fearsome siege engine. They become inaudita again, something unheard of, with no one paying any attention, no one recognizing the pattern of their cruelties and manipulations. They’ve only come out because of the spinners, which must be terribly precious. My time for withdrawal from the world because of what was done to me is over. You’re both welcome to be furious with me—you’ll be no more angry than I am with myself. Blame me for everything you care to, but don’t allow that fury to blind you to what the elven are doing and who it is they’re replacing.”

Will Scathelock had sat silently through the arguing. He suddenly piped up. “Fine. What do we do about that?”

“We need to recruit the outlaws of Sherwood Forest and beyond to our cause.”

Isabella spluttered, “You what? You want me to pardon the very people I’m obliged to arrest and punish under forest law? Criminals? They will get their way, your demons, if I do that.”

“Listen to me. You and they disagree on how the resources of Sherwood and Nottinghamshire should be used. Some of them are merciless bastards, no question. But many are just hungry and providing as they can.”

She started to respond hotly. He held up one hand to stop her.

“I’m not trying to undermine you. I’m saying just that this is their land as it is yours. You’re willing to protect it, to fight for it. I’d argue they’ll do the same. They’re the ones under direct assault by these creatures, after all. Their bodies adorn the wheels along the King’s Way. That’s another burden on me. They’re dying because I choose to protect you in thwarting the plans of the Yvag. So, we have a common enemy. And not just the outlaws. The Waits, even Orrels and any other local sheriffs if they aren’t skinwalkers already. Especially those with martial training.” He wondered again if Sir Richard was still about somewhere and if they could locate him.

“You make it sound like a war,” she said.

“Not like a war. It is a war.” Before mother or son could respond, he said, “And as part of that war, tonight Will and I will be in the woods north of Clipstone.”

“We will?” replied Scathelock.

“These rings, these gates, seem to open near habitation, including the outlaw camps in and around Sherwood. There happens to be such a camp above Clipstone that outlaw bands sometimes use—”

“Aw, Robyn, she don’t need to know that,” Little John complained.

Thomas smiled impishly. “She already knows it, John.”

John looked at Isabella in some surprise. She nodded to him, and he frowned.

“One thing I observed that night before we traveled to Rufford Abbey, was that numerous of the rings we saw seemed to be lighting up in the vicinity of that camp. I want to go there. And I don’t want to waste another night.”

“But me and not Little John?” Scathelock said.

“You, my friend, are likely the best bowman amongst us. If the situation required close combat with a quarterstaff, I would pick John for this. He shoots well, too, but you and I are going to kick a hornet’s nest, and while we’re kicking I want him here with Lady Isabella and Adam in case some of the hornets get in here. That’s more likely to require his staff.”

“So, we’re to do what, guard an outlaw encampment?”

Thomas replied, “No, Will. Tonight you and I are going to show the Yvags how costly it is to open these gates any longer. But because you’ll be recognized as a member of the Keepers, I need to have John accompany me to the camp first.”


In darkness, Thomas and Little John arrived outside the outlaw camp north of Clipstone. They had come to it alone, in case the encampment was currently occupied. John was the perfect envoy for encountering other outlaws here.

For years an impenetrable wall of brambles had been encouraged to grow around it through which nothing could be seen. But the smell of meat cooking on a spit rode on the air, and that told them the camp was inhabited.

They came to the entrance, marked by three stones. John did the honors, carefully reaching into a section of the berry-dotted leaves and pulling it out to reveal a low tunnel through the briary growth. They ducked into it, and John drew the clump back into place behind them. As the two of them stood upright again, they found themselves facing three drawn bows. These lowered almost immediately at the sight of Little John. Thomas in Hodde’s Lincoln green and the bycocket hat was still a stranger to them.

“Fouke!” cried Little John, and he embraced the elder of the two men and one woman. He made introductions between “Robyn” and Fouke III, Fouke’s son, and Sybil, Fouke’s wife. Thomas knew of Fouke by name but not of his family.

Their bedrolls were laid out beneath the broad canopy of a wych elm and away from the small fire where a shoulder of meat rode suspended upon a trio of skewers, its fat hissing into the flames below. The family invited the two of them to share the meal. The meat was from a hog they’d found killed beside its herder, who’d been left dangling from a breaking wheel. “Pig was going t’ go to waste otherwise,” Fouke explained. While they politely refused the food, it seemed like a perfect introduction to the subject at hand.

“We’ve been traveling with some foresters,” Thomas said.

Fouke and his son looked about themselves nervously.

“Don’t worry, we’re not inviting them in. We’ve all bigger game to hunt—namely, the creatures who hung that poor herder up like so many others on wheels all over Sherwood.”

“We’ve seen ’em. Been careful, have we, settling in each night to one of the camps before dark when them green circles appear. Lots’a others hereabouts all scared out of their wits. Some vills attacked, and camps like this one tore up. We heard de Cuckney’s abbey were molested, too.”

Thomas agreed. “They do seem to be everywhere. It’s my hope to put an end to these night terrors by facing them down.”

“Knight terrors is right. Knights come out of ’em, only to my thinking not knights at all.”

“It’s elves,” Little John said matter-of-factly.

Sybil Fouke looked between them. “I thought elves were little stubby folk,” she said.

“They’ll be delighted to hear that,” said Thomas. “Believe me, they’re as tall as you or I.”

“Elves.” Fouke scratched at his beard. “Always been dark and mysterious, ain’t they? So why are they comin’ out in the open here all of a sudden?”

Before Thomas could answer, John said, “Robbie and me held one of them up on the King’s Way. They killed young Much.”

“Aw, that simple lad,” said Mrs. Fouke, and she hugged her son to her. He looked appropriately embarrassed.

Fouke clicked his tongue. “It’s what comes to us all finally, I suppose.”

Thomas paused to let that sentiment fade away. “If you’re traveling anywhere tomorrow, spread the word, too, invite others to join us at King’s Houses or even to take heed of where these green fires appear and stop the elves on their own. We run and hide, they’ll keep coming until they’ve emptied the forest.”

“Halfway to doing that already, they are.”

“Which is why we need to stop them now.”

“Well, count on us to spread the word,” Fouke assured them. “Though to take on your elves, I would like the company of a small army.”

“So would we,” Thomas agreed. “Hence, the invitation.” He clasped their hands, while John hugged both of the Foukes and shook hands with the son. Then the two of them left the family to their meal. They replaced the brambles behind them.

On the way back to the Keepers, John asked, “If we’re not askin’ them to fight alongside you tonight, why’d we visit them?”

“Mainly to make sure they don’t respond to whatever is about to happen by coming out in the dark and shooting me and Will.”

John considered that for a moment, then said, “Good idea.”


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