It was late the next night, or rather relatively early in that day's traveling, when the four riders crested a hill and came across a low valley and then a deep, dark wood.

"Is that Aberwood, then?" Enna asked Endrit.

Her brother nodded and reined his horse in to a halt. "Before we head into the forest, a few precautions."

"Oh, Endrit," Enna sighed. "We'll be fine."

"Nevertheless, as your guide, I must insist."

Aramir gave Enna a chastening look, drawing his own horse in. "Whatever you say, Lord Endrit."

"Let's start by trying to look as little like nobility as we can." He dismounted. "Enna, Aramir, and Lady Tamlyn, I hope you brought a change of clothes. You're rather conspicuous in your palace attire."

"Very well," Enna sighed. Aramir offered her his hand, and she took it as she dismounted.

Tamlyn followed clumsily, and began rummaging about in Enna's satchels before pulling out a long gown. "Will this do, Majesty?" she asked.

"Aye, very well," Enna replied. "Tam, did you bring any clothes?"

The girl blushed and shook her head. "I didn't think about it, Majesty," she said breathlessly.

"It's no matter," Enna said, unpinning her cloak and draping it over her horse's saddle. "Just find one of mine that'll fit you."

Tamlyn stood rooted to her spot.

Enna stared at her as she went around behind the horse to change. "What is it, Tam?"

"I—I couldn't possibly," Tamlyn managed.

"Why not?" she replied. "They'll be a bit long in the arm and skirt, aye, but I am a good deal broader than you, so you needn't worry about the fit."

"It's hardly that."

"Then what is it?" Enna threw off her fine green palace gown, now stained with dust and mud, and put on the more comfortable, nondescript traveling frock.

"I couldn't wear a queen's gown…"

Enna blinked at Tamlyn. "Oh, don't be a silly goose. I do consider you a friend, Tam, and you were very noble in volunteering to come along to Calormen. The least I can do is let you wear one of my frocks so we don't get ourselves robbed and murdered. Now pick one out."

With that neat logic in front of her, it did not take long for Tamlyn to find a suitable gown and change.

Endrit and Aramir were waiting patiently when Enna and Tamlyn stepped out from behind the horse. Aramir had changed, too, and was wearing an Archenlandian tunic of such uncluttered ivory that he seemed to glow in the moonlight. "You might want to hide that fine shirt of yours, Aramir," Enna said lightly, the sight of him dressed so plainly and neatly not unpleasant to her eye. "You look far too nice in it to be a peasant."

Aramir grinned and ducked his head bashfully.

"I have to agree, Aramir," Endrit said. "Rub some earth on yourself, or something."

"Oh, don't," Enna sighed as Aramir reached down to pick up a clod of muddy dirt.

He stopped mid-stoop and looked up at her. "Does this displease you, Enna?"

"I just think it is a waste of a perfectly nice shirt," Enna replied. But really, she wanted Aramir to remain as clean and attractive as he looked at that moment—just him, unburdened by that inconvenient dirt and reminders of war.

"Don't be silly, Enna," Endrit said, jarring her out of her abstraction. "If that rogue Robehod sees how clean Aramir's tunic is, he will certainly conclude we are not peasantry. Now, take off your bow and arrows, and hide them in something. A peasant woman would not carry weapons."

"You are quite the spoilsport sometimes, brother," she grumbled, unbuckling her quiver and rolling it and her bow up in a blanket. Aramir muffled a laugh as he rubbed dust into his shirt.

"Aye, well, being a spoilsport might help us stay alive," he retorted. "Lady Tamlyn, kindly remove your earrings."

Tamlyn wrinkled her nose, but meekly took out the baubles.

"Dirty your sword, as well," Endrit told Aramir. "Robehod might see the gold leaf."

Aramir, who had been so mildly following orders, stood up straight at this, suddenly towering over Endrit. "That, sir, I will not do," he said adamantly.

Endrit blinked. "Why—whyever not, Aramir?" he blustered. "It's a perfectly reasonable request."

Aramir crossed his arms over his chest, his freckled face calm but resolute as he said quite firmly, "I will not soil my scabbard."

"Let him be, Endrit," Enna said.

Endrit, clearly not happy with this refusal of his orders, thinned his lips, but nevertheless nodded sharply. "Very well. But hide it with your cloak, if you will."

Enna smiled. Aramir relaxed, looking pleased, and took his cloak and pinned it neatly at his shoulder, sending her a wink.

"I suppose we ought to make a jab at it now, then," Endrit sighed.

"Better now than later," Enna agreed, and swung up on her horse.

And so, one by one, Enna, Aramir, Tamlyn, and Endrit urged their mounts down into the darkling valley. It was eerily silent, at the bottom of the hill; the slopes at their backs kept out the noise of the wind, and the birds were all asleep. The only sound was that of the forest, the branches and leaves brushing against each other. A worn pathway, wide enough for a four-wheeled cart, stretched into the darkness of the wood.

"You ought to go first," Enna said to Endrit in a low voice, chastened to a whisper by the unsettling darkness of the trees.

He briefly loosened his sword in its (dirty) sheath before nodding quickly, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on the forest. Enna, Aramir, and Tamlyn followed breathlessly, drawing their cloaks closer about themselves.

Soon, the trees swallowed them up. The moonlight that had so brilliantly lit their way while they were in the hills had all but disappeared behind the high, vaulting roof the arching branches made. Tamlyn drove her horse close to Enna's side and clutched at her hand, nearly falling from the saddle as she did so.

"Peace, Tam," Enna whispered, patting the girl's trembling hand while carefully trying to prize her claw-like fingers from her arm.

Aramir, riding ahead of them, brushed his cloak aside and put a hand on Arondight's hilt. Enna hadn't felt frightened, but that understated movement made her feel rather better. As if he had heard her relief, he turned partway in the saddle to smile bracingly at her.

She had just begun to unbend her nerves when, somewhere in front of Endrit, she saw movement. Her gasp was audible, and Endrit and Aramir turned to look at her—just as shadowy figures leapt down from the trees and drew weapons.

Tamlyn let out a prolonged scream, and the horses tossed their heads and whinnied in fright. Aramir and Endrit grabbed for their swords, but someone called out, "Oy, up there! Send a light!"

And golden lamplight flooded the pathway. In front of the little band stood a group of men, all broad-shouldered and armed with staffs and bows. In the middle of the path and surrounded by his men stood a tall young man, his hands fisted at his hips, a rooster feather stuck at a jaunty angle into his cap. As nervous as she was, Enna couldn't help but stare. Was this the infamous Robehod? He hardly seemed the ruthless thief lord Endrit made him out to seem. He and his men were all clothed identically, in rich, bright green tunics and brown leggings, and his fair beard was neatly trimmed to just cover his chin. They looked like sapling trees, themselves.

"Halt!" said the stranger, once the horses had settled down a little bit. This commandment seemed to Enna quite superfluous, as they had already halted, but the man looked at them with an almost amused twist to his mouth. "Who goes there?"

"We are but swains, sire," Endrit said in a boorish accent that made Enna cringe, it was so poorly executed.

But the strangers didn't seem to notice. "At this time of night?" the bearded man asked, one eyebrow raised in a manner of skepticism that was borderline laughing.

"The heat of the day, sir," said Endrit, "is too much for my sisters."

Enna had to bite her tongue to keep from scoffing in disbelief.

"Where are you headed, good swain?" said the bearded man. His men were slowly circling around them, eyeing their horses and clothing. Enna gnawed on her lip and ducked her head, trying to look dull and delicate.

"We are going to the town of Hollycross," Endrit said. "Sir. To buy my sister's wedding dress." He motioned vaguely to Enna and Tamlyn.

"A wedding, you say?" said the stranger. "Well, congratulations. And are you the lucky groom?"

His question was directed at Aramir. "Aye, sir," said Aramir dutifully.

"Brava and felicitations," the stranger crowed. "You'll invite us to the wedding party, of course?"

"Robin does love a wedding," said a tall, burly, yellow-bearded man.

Robin Goodfellow. Robert the Hoodlum. Robert Hoad. Robyn at the Lee, Robert Hood…I've even once heard him called Robyn Hood.

Enna's fingers tensed around her reins. So it was that thief, after all.

"Indeed, indeed," said Endrit. "Well, we'd best get on our way, then…"

"Right," Robin said, and stepped aside. "Safe travels."

"Thank you." Endrit, clearly relieved, nudged his horse into motion, and the other three followed behind. Robin and his men watched as they passed, and they were nearly out of their midst when Robin called out,

"Hold."

Enna dragged her horse in much too quickly, and it whinnied.

Robin came alongside her, his keen blue eyes narrowed. "What do you have there, sister?" he asked, pointing up at her throat.

Holding her breath, Enna reached up and felt along her neck, her fingers trembling with anxiety. She could feel the tension from her companion. Dangling at the base of her throat, catching the lamplight, was the seaglass necklace Aramir had given her for Christmas. She quickly tried to tuck it under her cloak, but Robin reached up and caught her wrist in a tight grip.

"You are not a peasant," he hissed, dragging her close. "Your face is much too proud."

"Well, I never—!"

"Aha!"

At his sound of triumph, his men suddenly lunged for the horses, hands grabbing for saddlebags and satchels. "You tried to fool Robin Goodfellow," Robin called out over the din, "but you, like e-e-e-e-everyone else, has failed. Now, we must divest you of your riches. Code of honor, you see."

The burly blond reached up for Enna's satchels, but her bow and arrow were wrapped up among them, and she quickly struck out at his face with the back of her hand. He reeled back, whimpering in pain, clearly unprepared for her resistance. But as he fell away, three more took his place, until Enna felt her possessions slipping from her fingers.

"Please, don't resist," said Robin, sounding quite annoyed. "We'll have to take you captive if you do. And we do not particularly want to do so."

Aramir, next to her, finally wrenched his sword free, and set about slapping hands with the flat of his blade so they released Enna's things.

Robin let out a loud sigh. "Very well. You asked for it. Take them prisoner, yeomen."

The searching hands stopped scrabbling at Enna's things and began instead pulling her from the saddle. Somewhere else, Tam let out a sobbing scream and fell limply into the arms of the rather perturbed yeomen, but Aramir kept slapping at the hands trying to pull Enna down with his sword until somehow it was wrested from his grip.

"So you see, rich nogoodniks," Robin said at last, as they struggled against their bonds and captors, "there's no use resisting Robin Goodfellow." He sighed. "I did try to warn you. Didn't I, John?"

The burly blond nodded emphatically. "That you did, Robin. That you did."

Robin bobbed his own head until the feather in his cap bobbed playfully. "Good. Now, let's take them back, men. We'll decide what to do with them in the morning."

"Aye, Robin," they chorused, and then Enna, Aramir, Endrit, and Tamlyn were dragged off the path and into the dark woods.