I'm sure you're all wondering why it took me more eons than usual that update, so I'll try to summarize in 3 main points:
(A) incompetent father ordering new computer
(B) incompetent father ordering we save all files from old computer on floppy disks for further use on new computer
(C) incompetent father neglecting to order floppy drive for new computer
And then fictionpress was being a pain and I couldn't get my beta-er's e-mail for this chapter because my old address book on Outlook was gone w/the new computer and…..bleugh. So apologies for the tardiness and un
But Flogging Molly's starting up their tour again! And I got their new CD!
And I won my heat (in my event - JV 600) at my last track meet!!!!
And I updated!
The Chief Forester lumbered through the well-trodden paths of Sherwood, flanked by the younger and less important foresters. It was time for him to get his final revenge on the Saxon whelps that had been plaguing the king's forest for so many months. He looked around him at his tall comrades, all bearing quivers on their strong backs and bows in their muscled hands. They were ready to rid themselves of the outlaw menace, even those who had sided with the bandits at first. At least that was what the Chief Forester hoped. If these men were traitors to the crown he would be the first they went after. For he'd been sure to make a good number of lives miserable, it was amusing, and there were quite a few young foresters out for some revenge.
Suddenly, over a score of rag-tag ruffians dropped from the trees like tattered crows.
Outlaws.
Nearly in unison, each outlaw shot a slender fist upwards from the once-green rags that cloaked it. Half-bare arms stood stark in the scarce light of Nottingham High Road, clenching staves in stupid defiance. Beneath their hoods, they smirked at one another, knowing that intimidation tactic had taken full force. No play group could put on quite the show that Sherwood's outlaws did. Behind them came the coal miners and peasants, their dirt-lined fingers gripping table legs and hoisting heavy stew pots overhead. They hardly knew enough to put on a show, but they were frightening in themselves - a fierce, starved loyalty blazing from behind their hollow eyes.
And at the head of it all stood a dark-haired woman. The sleeves of a scarlet tunic hung from her thin arms, making it obvious that the dress below it was hers, and the tunic belonged to someone else. She grinned wickedly, dark hair held back from her pale Celtic face. Later one of the foresters would remark that she looked like a witch. Devilish grin twisting her, she dropped both wrists to a belt holding five more sharp knives. "Why, a good day to you, my foresters! Where do you think you're off to this day?" She arched a single thick eyebrow as Sherwood's archers stepped behind their infantry. "Eh, my buckos? The sheriff remove your tongues for you, did he?"
The Chief Forester finally managed to catch his wits, which had dropped out of his mouth in the initial gasp of surprise. "We come to take Robin Hood and his bandits, filthy Irishwoman! You and your peasants shall remove yourselves from this path this instant!"
The dark-haired woman brought her dagger forward, eyebrow arched. "I am Sara of the Beltaine Moon, lady outlaw of Robin Hood's Seelie Court, and I move for no mortal man." David rolled his eyes beneath his hood; Sara loved playing with people's superstitions a bit too much.
A foolhardy young forester lunged towards her, sword drawn. She flicked her wrist once, sending her dagger into his weapon arm with deadly precision. The man staggered backwards in shock, clutching at his arm. Three of the other foresters immediately grouped around him protectively, watching Sara worriedly. They hadn't seen her wince.
Catching their looks, she grinned wickedly. "And you thought Robin Hood was good," she sneered, flipping another dagger from her belt, watching lazily as it spun in the air to land hilt-down between her deft fingers. You heart isn't racing quickly, woman. These men do not scare you. Look at that one on the left; he's thinner than David. This is nothing to fear. It's only…it's only…swords against staves? Lord, we are in too deep a pit now.
The peasants and outlaws came closer behind her, gripping both chair legs and staves with equal ferocity. "Kill only if you must," she reminded under her breath. They were in trouble; she wouldn't deny that. Their only advantage was a mediocre knowledge of the woods…and the coming element on surprise.
She twirled her dagger once more and caught it effortlessly, trapping the foresters in its light. Jesus Christ, this had best work. Her head snapped round viciously, and she met eyes with the Chief Forester.
"Get the hell out of our forest."
The outlaws had scattered. Camp was deserted. The children and the ill were taken to Tuck's River by the friar of that name.
And I was tied to an oak.
I struggled with the coarse ropes binding my wrists, but my useless fingernails failed to free me once again. I tried wiggling my wrists, but they were too clever to bind me so loosely. I was stuck in place and none of them knew where Robin had gone. I kicked the tree stubbornly in irritation.
And something loosened.
Of course, not those ropes locking my wrists together; that would be much too kind of Fate; but those binding my locked wrists to the tree began to give way. I smirked wickedly and kicked the trunk three times more. I was nearly free. I finally yanked my bound hands away from the tree, cord dangling from the bonds on my wrists.
After that it was simple matter. I quickly slipped my legs between my joined arms, and now my bonds were in front of me instead of behind me. Grinning, I worked at the knot with my fingernails and teeth. In a matter of minutes I had them figured out. God bless David and his simple knots. I threw the cord to the ground and stood up, blinking at the empty camp. Everyone had cleared out quickly, some running to hide the children near the waterfall, others taking the elderly by the river bend. And the rest…off to fight the foresters.
I latched onto the oak slab that John had jammed into the cave entrance and flung it vengefully to the ground. I needed a blooming sword. The storage cave was damp with moss, and the wet air smelt strongly of tanned leather. I wrinkled my nose in the dark damp, eyeing the hides that various outlaws had scattered along the cave floor. When not in use, their wooden bows were wrapped in the hides to keep them from rotting, but in the rush for self-defense, bows had been stripped of their cloaks. The barrels of spare hunting arrows had been torn open and hastily emptied, split shafts and scattered barbs strewn about. I ran to the far corner and ripped a light blade from the neglected pile of rusting metal. Robin had no great love for swords, the nobleman's weapon, and he only took them from nobles to keep them out of peasant hearts. I stared curiously at my weapon of choice - slightly rusted on the left side, but at least it was solid in the hilt.
I sprinted for the High Road. Allan had said he crossed the High Road, hadn't he? And he had said - I looked frantically around me. Good Lord, where did he go? There had to be some sign of passage - Heavens, Rob, don't tell me you used your talent when it could turn against you. Nay, nay, nay.
A muffled battle sounded some ways down the road, cries and curses trailing down the road like the smell of burnt wood. I gulped back guilt, thinking of the outlaws fighting the foresters. But they had each other and Robin was alone somewhere in the woods, staring down Gisbourne.
I shut my eyes and whispered a soft prayer. Ave Maria, gratia plena. My eyes shot open, and I smirked. There across the road, in clear view, was a path in the greenery - recently chopped by something. And last time I'd check, arrows did NOT make slices like that.
Gisbourne knew bloody well how to leave a trail; I'd give the flaming dung pile that much credit. There wasn't a single twig or mushroom that the man hadn't tried to crush or kill. But his enthusiasm obviously wore out a few rods into the woods, because the hacking, tearing wreckage of before suddenly dropped into quick footprints and tousled leaves.
Oh, Heaven's Own. I knelt down and stared at the two different paths before me. Who left them? Gisbourne? Or some forester? I scrabbled frantically in the earth, eyes darting between each trail. Gisbourne's feet would be heavier, wouldn't they? Oh, but he was running and the forester was probably just walking along on patrol, so mayhap the heavier ones belong to the forester. But what if the forester were running after an outlaw? What if he were running after Robin? What if I followed Gisbourne and it was the wrong path and meanwhile the forester was---
A short cry of pain sounded ahead of me. Robin. I dashed forward, breathless and praying to the saints, until the sound of swords clashing was loud enough for me to hear. Oh, let him live. Let Gisbourne's sadism hold out. Please let him breathe.
Oh, he was breathing, aye; I could hear it from here.
They were fighting in a glade often used by the deer for grazing, but now it was a battlefield of men. The ground was an odd brown color, that of dried blood, and the usually tall grass was lying limp under pacing feet. Robin was gasping beneath his snarl, and I could see full well that Gisbourne had struck him more than once. The knight was driving him around the clearing, forcing him backwards and then retreating to bring him forward. He was playing with him; wearing him out with all the movement. I grit my teeth. Flaming whoreson.
Gisbourne's mail was stained with blood, but it was not his own. And he was laughing beneath that disfiguring Norman helm. Robin held up his sword in a perfectly stable parry, but Gisbourne sliced effortlessly through it. "And you – you are the plague our sheriff does complain of?" he sneered, advancing. Robin aimed for the man's face, and the two of them locked hilts as Gisbourne parried. "A fine blade you have," Gisbourne sneered, and I suddenly caught the sarcasm.
Bloody Hell.
God love Robin for his kindness, but this was one time it worked against him. Devon the blacksmith could hardly make a decent sword with one hand, but he wanted desperately to be useful, and so Robin had let him make swords that it seemed no one would ever use. But even a man with two hands cannot weld a metal blade to a wooden hilt very well; I doubt you're even supposed to make swords that way. I shut my eyes. The left-handed gap between metal and oak had not come against Robin until now. But Gisbourne was ruthless, and if he could not kill through weakness in the man, he'd find weakness in the weapon.
Snap.
Gisbourne had snaked his own metal pommel between the blade and hilt of Robin's sword. The weak welding of a cripple broke under the pressure of his weapon's handle. Robin's eyes went wide as they looked up at Gisbourne's triumphant gaze. I grit my teeth. The knight's grin was so obnoxious; so broad and mocking. My hand went to my hilt and I stood. If he even tried to---
Holy Heaven. My hand darted forward uselessly as Gisbourne's sword tore towards Robin.
No shield.
No chain mail.
No chance.
Gisbourne plunged the sword deep into Robins' shoulder. Oh, Lord, sweet Lord. Oh, please tell me it hadn't --- I breathed a quiet prayer of thanks. Gisbourne had not sent it full through him. Not yet. There was chance of life; thank the skies there was. So why was Robin's face so bloody calm?
For a moment, it really seemed as if nothing had happened, and even Gisbourne seemed to wonder if he'd missed as he drew his blade back. Even as Robin hit his knees we wondered if he could be hurt with such impassive bravery on his shuddering face. But then he gasped against the urge to sob, sword hand quaking with what little fight he had left. Gisbourne's wicked smirk lit him as he grabbed Robin's chin and brought it close to his. "That wound, outlaw? That is for daring to raise your arm against me." He peered disdainfully at Robin's fingers, which still stubbornly clenched the useless hilt. "Oh, that IS sad." He dug his hand into Robin's, seeking out the hilt, and flung the crude thing across the clearing. With one last sneer, he brought his own elegant blade high above my outlaw's head.
A/N: I know I'm an evil person to leave another cliffhanger, but I promise to update much sooner cuz we won't be getting any new computers any time soon.