Twisted Justice

Chapter 8…The Fake Lord

Robin would have said she'd flown away from the courtyard, but she felt her feet hitting the ground like lead…and there was no one in the corridors to speak to, so she didn't.

Her bow – her fathers, and his fathers before him, and so on – hung ready in her hand as she jogged down the hallways.

The feeling of homecoming was soured by the smell of death that seemed to rise from the ancient stone, and was diluted by the feeling of change. This place had very little of the old Avonsleigh. About the only thing unchanged were the walls and the stones in them. Any valuable item, and many invaluable ones had been either taken, sold, or destroyed.

Hadn't she expected it? Robin had to admit, she had known it would change. But she had known with her head. Her heart had still expected to find everything as it had been, her mother waiting for her patiently, her father dozing before the fire. Her older brother pulling childish faces.

But…there was nothing.

It was so desolate. Without the sounds of the fief humming happily around her…she wondered how Finn could stand it. It was barren, lifeless, and in her eyes, almost worthless now.

The pain was both greater and less than she had expected. She didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or stand frozen with shock. Everything inside her was so…muddled.

No, not everything.

Burning hotter, higher than any other emotion was the solid feeling of frustration. Her gut wasn't knotted by it – it felt solid, as though it had been filled with cold steel. White hot anger pulsed through her veins. Now, the confusion was forgotten, and the only thing that existed was her burning fury.

Her feet faltered. Her muscles were clenched in her rage.

She forced herself to relax. It wasn't easy to run with every fiber of your body held tight.

Her feet carried her along a path she once walked a hundred times a week: to the indoor training yards, where she would pretend to sew while watching the men. She took un-armed fighting lessons. She also did archery and riding…but not staff- or sword-fighting.

She stilled, looking around. The indoor courts were well lit, one side opening onto a garden. Why she had come here was beyond her. She had followed her feet.

Time to start following my head. She thought, as was almost drowned by a thick wave of depression that swamped her.

Yet, it was a few moments before she could force herself to move.

The castle wasn't empty. She turned a corner and almost died upon an enemies naked blade. She slung her staff out to block it just in time. Never would she be able to face little John in the next world if she'd been slain by chance, after all her close calls.

She bought one fist up to punch the enemy solider, neatly breaking his nose. He grunted, surprised. By the smell, he was deeply in his cups.

Robin freed her staff and hit him between the eyes with its butt – he fell, more from the force than her correct technique. She stepped over him. He wouldn't move for a feew hours, at the earliest. Not that her future seemed to matter now. She had been brutally reminded of her own mortality by the soldier. Now she realised she had little chance against a hardened warrior like Finn.

She moved along the passages like a wraith. The stone walls of the keep seemed to be closing in on her, after being so long with just natures walls, and the flimsy walls of the tents.

She took an arrow from the quiver slung over her back. When she ran her palm along it, checking its quality, it felt slick. She glanced down.

The scarring on her fingers was broken and was bleeding, only a little, but enough to make her grip precarious.  Taking another few steps, she walked into the room her mother secretly called the 'dust collector's room'. Robin looked quickly around. High windows illuminated the room. It was indeed dusty, though in Robin's memory it never had been. The usual collection of a nobleman's armor, blades, and tapestries inspired by some bloody battle or another adorned the walls. Against either wall there were long pits. Once flowers had grown in them, a sort of indoor garden, clashing horribly with the warrior's times on the walls. Now the pits were filled with coals, glowing brightly.

Robin hardly noticed. Her eyes were trained on a man sitting on a roughly carved throne-like chair. He was arguing with someone, but anger didn't register on stone-cold features. He was a man of icy control.

Robin knew he had an icy heart as well.

She swung the bow easily up and shot the man not on the 'throne'. Anyone who tolerated such a man as Finn, sitting disdainful as any king upon his cheap seat deserved a worse death.

Finn turned towards her.

She had entered by a side door, not the main one. Now she had given up the advantage of surprise. But she didn't want to surprise him…she wanted him to know why he was dying, and at who's hand. So she didn't mourn the lost advantage.

"Keeping well I see." Robin let the bow hand causally to her side. "What a shame."

"Leave, boy." Finn looked her up and down. "Go back to hiding behind your mother's skirts."

Robin took a step towards him. "You don't know me, then? You don't remember?" She lazily took an arrow from the quiver on her back.

Finn stood, his hand going to his sword hilt in an automatic gesture. "Remind me." He said, quietly, eyes hooded.

"You killed my family." She said, her voice breaking with barely concealed emotion. Her arrow was fitted to the string.

"Well, that narrows it down." Finn replied icily.

"Robin!" Robin turned her head to look for the caller. A dagger missed her by cenimeters. Had her breasts been unbound, it would have hit her.

Instantly she forgot the caller, her attention snapping back to Finn. "You…snake!" She fought to keep from shaking with rage. "You take my father's place by force. You hunt me through lands that should be mine, enslave people I should be protecting." Her hands, steady now, released the bow. Quickly she took the necklace from under her clothes. It, and the ring on it, came into sight.

"Ah." He looked at her for a moment. She wondered fleetingly is he was going to throw another dagger. "Lady Marion, is it?" He frowned, stepping closer. "You you're the youth who was leading the pitiful resistance."

"Give the man a knighthood." Robin muttered, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Louder, she said : "You thought I'd just forgive and forget? Thought I'd flee? Thought I'd die out in the wilderness?"

"You did a pretty good job of fleeing when I killed your…um…" He squinted, as though trying to remember. "Brother, was it?" He shook his head. "No, you begged fist."

"I begged for his life!" Robin said harshly. Her control snapped. Why bother talking to this monster?

Finn saw the change in her, and his eyes widened fractionally, as though just realising she was here to kill him. She.

Robin loosed the arrow the same time the dagger left his hand. She moved, but not fast enough. It buried itself in her shoulder.

She hardly felt it as she watched Finn fall to the ground. Her arrow had flown true, through his neck. There would be no King's Justice for him, just Robin's own twisted justice.

"Robin!" The call held more than a touch of urgency. The buzzing in her head drowned out the sound of Kale's feet as he ran towards her.

He grabbed her right arm – it was the left shoulder that had been wounded. She licked her lips, trying to focus her eyes. He kept swimming before her.

Dark blue light, the color of his Gift, streamed from the hand holding her, pushing back the pain. She met his eyes, her head no longer buzzing so much. "Kale…?"

"Sh." He looked urgently around, as though he expected enemies to jump out from the suits of armor and yell "boo!" Robin saw his sowrd was naked in the hand not holding her. "We can't stay here. You know the castle…where can we go?"

Robin cast her eyes about. Her brain still worked slowly. "This way." She said, after a moment. Did she sound breathless to him? She took a step, and felt the dizziness come back. He sheathed his sword reluctantly, and lifted her right arm over his shoulder, wrapping his own arm around her waist. She led him past the dead Finn, towards the wall behind.

"Robin?" She was walking straight at the solid wall.

"Secret passage." The buzzing was back with a vengeance. She reached the wall. Carefully, she reclaimed her right arm, and pressed a brick, standing on her toes to reach it. A section of the wall swung forwards to admit them into a dark, dusty passageway.

When her knees gave way, Kale scooped her up and carried her through, into the secret hall. He set her down, then began tearing strips of his shirt for bandages. She was pale under her tan, making her look a sickly yellow, but she was still awake.

He sent a quick prayer to the gods, took hold of the dagger hilt, and pulled it out.

Robin fainted.

She seemed to float above the scene as it unfolded before her. It was a scene she replayed may times in her head, but never had she seen it from this perspective.

The sound of fighting filled the halls. "Papa!" It was a young woman. She ran into the room, her once pretty skirts covered in fresh blood. Her golden, hawk-like eyes were bright with tears. "Mama—" Her voice shook, and she fell silent as a boy, little older than her, staggered through the door behind her. She spun, catching him before he fell, and looked in horror at the deep cut in his thigh.

"Marion!" The girl's father called. His sword, unsheathed, was leveled at a man who entered. Robin recognised Finn as soon as she saw him, but to Marion he was just another mercenary. "Take your brother and go!" Marion's father screamed.

"But mama!" Marion didn't cry, fighting hard for control. "She's hurt bad."

"Go!" The man yelled. The sound of metal meeting metal filled the room as the mercenary/Finn cut at Marion's father. He stopped that blow, but not the next.

Marion watched her father fall. She watched Finn kick her father's body off his blood sword carelessly. "Hello, kiddies." He said slowly, a smile curving his lips, but not warming his eyes.

Robin screamed soundlessly. She thrashed against invisible bonds that held her in the air. She couldn't even look away.

Marion let go of her brother, and darted past Finn. She took her fathers hands in her own.

"C'mere, boy. Make it easy on yourself." Finn said to Marion's brother. The girl looked up, saw what was happening.

Tears fell down her cheeks. She scrambled to her feet, to her brother's aid. In one hand, she held the Avonsleigh signet ring. In the other hand, she held the Avonsleigh bow.

"Don't touch him!" Marion screamed. Her harsh, hawk-like face harder than ever. Finn spun, backhanding her across the face.

"Or what?" He taunted. His bloody sword was pressed against her brother's chest, rising and falling with his shallow gasps.

"Please." Marion tried to fight back the sobs. "Oh, dear gods, please—"

Robin thrashed against the bonds, harder than ever.

Finn gutted her brother.

Lady Marion had fallen to her knees. Now she stood. While Finn was gloating, she fled, something vital inside her changing, twisting, turning bitter. Robin watched as the young Lady Marion, unusually fiery, but still kind and cheerful, turned into a hard young man who would live a lie, leading the resistance against Finn.

Then, the bonds released her, and she spiraled down into blackness.          

AN: By Mithros that was a long chapter. *wipes sweat from brow* or maybe it just feels like it, since I had to write it free hand, and then type it up. Yeah, that must be it.

Thanks to my ONE reviewer *scowls at everyone but Anastazia Silverwind*  I know I haven't updated in a while, but honestly, I'm trying to sneak onto the computer, it isn't easy. The ban's been lifted, though, so I'll be updating as usual now! *cheers*

Now, go review! (pretty please!)

~Elisse