Mark of the Black Arrow

by Debbie Viguié

  “I should imagine it would increase your prospects.”

  “Quite the opposite. No one wants to see herself in competition with you.”

  “They mock me.”

  “Only because they fear you,” he said. “Mockery is the only weapon they have.”

  Marian forced in a deep breath as she reminded herself that, in the end, it didn’t matter what the others thought.

  “On a happier note, our friend is safely on his way,” Will said, his voice low enough that it couldn’t be heard by anyone else. To someone standing nearby, it would appear as a lovers’ spat.

  “That makes this easier.” Marian relaxed a little. “Tell me something.”

  “Anything you want.”

  “The things you said about me to the Sheriff. Were any of them true?”

  Will sighed. “Most of them. It’s why my words were believed.”

  She nodded, considering the answer.

  “I’ll tell you something you didn’t ask,” he said, “if you want to hear it.”

  “How would I know?”

  “As lovely as you are, and you have been beautiful since childhood, you have always belonged to another.”

  “I’ve belonged to no one.”

  “Are you lying to me, or to yourself?”

  “You are a scoundrel, Will Scarlet.”

  “It has been said before.”

  Will put his hand to his forehead, rubbing it and scowling.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “It’s just… hot in here. I think I’m getting a headache.”

  Despite the number of people who were present, the room most certainly was not hot. If anything, she had noticed it seemed a bit chilly. Then again, without the tapestries on the walls, it always felt that way to her.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I think I need some fresh air.”

  “Do you need me to get you something?” she asked. He didn’t look right. Perspiration glistened on his forehead.

  “No, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he said. He started to walk away, but after six steps his knees buckled. Marian started forward, but Will caught himself before he fell. She moved in front of him and put a hand on his arm, concern outweighing any thought of how it would look that she was touching him.

  He was sweating more profusely now, and his eyes had gone glassy.

  “Marian, I don’t think I’m doing too well.” The words slurred together. Then she noticed a red spot on his neck that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Even as she watched, it seemed to grow. Moments later a second one appeared.

  She involuntarily crossed herself in fear.

  “I think you’ve been cursed with the pox,” she whispered.

  * * *

  Robin found himself struggling to stay awake and stay on his horse. He remembered very little since fleeing from Prince John’s chamber. Most of it was random images that seemed to come to him unbidden. He could see Marian’s face one moment, then Will’s. Over and over in his head, though, he heard Marian begging him not to die.

  For her sake he would not.

  Will was responsible for getting him out of the castle and onto the back of a horse. At least, he was pretty sure it had been Will’s doing. They were headed now for the monastery, and from the brief snatches of conversation he heard between the two monks who were escorting him, he guessed that the conditions there had to be awful. More people were being struck with the pox.

  They were moving at a snail’s pace, and at any other time it would have made him unlivable, but this evening he was grateful to have the gentler stride. His wounds were barely holding themselves together, and he didn’t want to do anything to risk opening them up.

  If only he’d been able to kill the prince.

  They had not understood the true nature of their enemy, yet Robin would not make the mistake of underestimating him a second time. He just hoped the cardinal would know of something, anything that could kill a dark sorcerer.

  He kept fading in and out of consciousness, which made it hard to judge the passing of time. At last, though, they arrived at their destination. Robin considered it a minor miracle that he was actually able to walk inside under his own power. He had to find the cardinal, and tell him what he’d learned.

  The man was in his study, his face pinched with worry. Robin moved inside, struggling not to fall down, and the cardinal looked up at him.

  “What in hell did you think you were doing?” he asked bluntly.

  “I tried to kill the prince, and put an end to this nightmare,” he replied.

  “I’m not sure which is worse, the fact that you did something so foolhardy without consulting me, or the fact that you failed and have therefore put him on even higher alert.” A vein in the man’s temple was pulsing, and his face was twisted in rage.

  A dull ache throbbed through his body, making him edgy.

  “What I did was right. I’m only sorry I failed,” Robin said. “But in failing, I’ve learned far more about our enemy than we had guessed. He has dark forces at his command, shadows—demons. They attacked me, and I barely escaped. Even though I wounded John, it was nothing to him.”

  The cardinal cursed under his breath and Robin pretended not to hear him.

  “Things have taken a turn for the terrible,” the holy man muttered. “The first part of what you have said does not entirely surprise me. The fact that you wounded him and nothing happened, that is cause for a great deal of worry.”

  “How can we stop a man we can’t kill?” Robin asked.

  Robin turned his head slightly, having noticed something out of the corner of his eye. There, lying on a pad on the floor, unconscious and covered in red marks, was Friar Tuck.

  “Cardinal, I need to speak with you!” a familiar voice said, pulling his attention away from the monk. Moments later Marian appeared in the doorway, and she started at seeing Robin. Her cheeks were red, as if made that way by the wind.

  “I’m so glad you’re alive,” she said, stepping toward him.

  “As am I.” To his surprise, however, she turned her attention back to the cardinal.

  “I have just come from the castle,” she said. “Something’s happened, and it couldn’t wait, so I rode here as fast as I could.” She paused, then added, “Will has been stricken with the pox.”

  The news was like a slap in the face, and the world swam before him. Robin grasped the edge of a table.

  “So has Friar Tuck,” the cardinal said, indicating the large man’s form. Marian cursed.

  The cardinal shook his head. “This is very bad.”

  “How long will he live?” Marian asked, her voice hardly a whisper.

  “A day, maybe a little more than that, and then they will be lost to those of us left here on earth.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “There has to be a cure,” Robin said.

  “There’s not,” a new voice said. Alan-a-Dale came in, closing the door behind him. “Some things are best discussed in private, even now,” he said. “Especially with the bishop prowling around.”

  “Quite right,” the cardinal agreed.

  “What’s happening?” Friar Tuck asked, struggling to sit up. “Why am I lying on the floor—it’s filthy down here.”

  “You’ve been stricken with the pox, old friend,” the cardinal said sadly. “Please, conserve your strength.”

  “Bring the bishop here,” Tuck replied. “I’ll try to give it to him.”

  “Alas, I’m not certain that would work,” Alan said. “I cannot detect how it is spreading, or how it is choosing its victims. The only thing we can confirm is that for every three people, one is sick or has died. What’s more, Locksley and his men are pillaging the homes of the dead.”

  Robin cursed. “I should have killed him years ago.”

  “It’s too late to worry about the past—all we can do is try and salvage the present. So there will be a future,” the cardinal said. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Robin. “Tell the
others what’s happened to you.”

  Robin quickly related the details of his attack on John, and how he had nearly been killed by the prince and his dark creatures. Alan turned pale when he described the invisible demons.

  “Your wounds were terrible,” Marian said. “Chastity and I did what we could to clean and bandage them. As it was, we were afraid you wouldn’t live out the night.”

  “It would seem Robin has a wealth of natural resilience,” the cardinal mused.

  “I still hurt,” Robin said.

  “His guardian angel was watching over him,” Alan said, casting a significant look at Marian.

  “So now we are faced with the fact that the prince cannot be killed. At least, not by conventional means,” the cardinal said. “Our task has become that much more impossible.”

  Robin couldn’t stand any longer. His weak legs were about to betray him. Rather than collapse on the floor next to the friar, he found a chair.

  He had always been one to heal fast. Given the nature of his wounds, however, and from whence they had come, he wondered if they would heal at all. The cardinal would know, but he didn’t want to ask about it in Marian’s presence. She had enough worry on her mind and a heavy enough burden on her shoulders without adding his troubles, as well.

  As the others discussed the latest developments, Robin found that he was becoming light-headed. He struggled to bring his focus back to bear on the conversation, even though all he really wanted to do was find a quiet place to lick his wounds and go to sleep.

  Then suddenly something he had heard pierced through the fog that seemed to be enveloping his brain.

  “What did you say?” he asked, turning to look at the large monk.

  “Much, the miller’s son, brought in a servant girl he’d found on the road. She had been sent looking for help.” Tuck paused, as if struggling to find the words. “The pox has reached Longstride Manor. She said that your mother and sisters were infected. I’m sorry, Robin.”

  Everything seemed to stop.

  His mother. His sisters. Will. Friar Tuck. All of them had just days, maybe only hours to live, unless this thing could be stopped. Alan had said there was no cure, but he had to be wrong. If the curse was brought on by dark magic, then surely there was a way to break it.

  “There has to be something we can do,” Robin said. “I will not stand by and watch all of Nottingham wither and die because of this monster.”

  “I know you’re a fighter, Robin,” Marian said, “but what we need right now is a healer, or someone who can manipulate magic in order to fight back.” Her voice was soft and her eyes shimmering with unspent tears.

  “Then let’s find someone who can do that,” he said. “It’s either that, or learn to wield magic ourselves.” He waited for a word of admonishment from either the cardinal or the friar. Instead the two men exchanged curious glances.

  “Indeed, gentlemen, I believe you are right,” Alan said.

  What? Robin thought, and he turned to look at the bard. “What are you talking about? They didn’t say anything.”

  “No, but they were thinking it.” Alan leaned forward. “We have long been discussing whether or not to use magic to fight back. The problem is with magic there is often a terrible price to pay, and we have not been certain until this moment that it was worth it.” He paused as if reluctant, and then continued. “Legends speak of all sorts of powerful magics, most lost to us today.”

  “Most,” the cardinal said, “but not all.”

  “What do you know?” Robin demanded, leaning forward in the chair. Shifting his weight made the wound in his side howl in agony. The pain was good, however, since it helped him focus. “What have you been keeping from us?”

  “There are many relics of the old world that have been guarded by Sherwood and, indeed, by this very monastery,” the cardinal said. “These are things of power, infused with different types of mysticism.”

  “Since the pox struck, we’ve been focused on seeking the answer to a single question,” Friar Tuck said. “Is there something that can combat this terrible assault on the realm?”

  “We think there is,” the cardinal interjected.

  Alan nodded. “There are stories about an elixir that can turn ordinary water into a powerful healing potion. But it can also be used as the deadliest of poisons.”

  “It was once used by the druid Merlin to fell Mordred, the wizard king who had begun enslaving the land,” the cardinal added.

  “Like Prince John,” Robin said.

  “We can only assume that there are similarities, but we don’t know the extent of Mordred’s evil and his crimes,” the cardinal replied. “What we have of the story focuses more on Merlin and the elixir.”

  “Where would I find this elixir?” Robin asked.

  “We have been trying to discern that very thing,” Friar Tuck said, and he struggled to speak, sweat pouring off of him. “It was hidden. Lost. Deep in the heart of Sherwood.”

  “If it fell into the wrong hands,” the cardinal explained, “it would be a potent weapon. Thus it is protected by the fey spirits and guardians of the forest. They will not surrender it easily.”

  “Have you not heard?” Robin said, knowing full well the irony in his words. “I am one of the guardians of the forest.”

  “Yes, you have taken on the role,” Alan said, “but I’m not sure your brother spirits will recognize you as such.”

  “Then I will force them to do so.”

  “Robin, your wounds are severe,” Marian protested. “You are too weak to go.”

  “Who else can do this?” he asked. “No one knows the forest as I do. I grew up in the shadows of its roots and boughs, and I have traveled within its bounds every day of my life.”

  “That is truth,” Alan said, “but you will need more than your skills as a woodsman and a hunter. You will need to persuade the fey to help you, and not kill you. These are creatures well outside of your life’s experience.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I don’t know what you may wind up facing, if you can find them at all, but the fey are not like us. They do not understand how fragile we are compared to them. They are rule-bound, but by their rules, not ours. They view us as children… no, as toys to be played with and discarded when broken.”

  “Perhaps Alan, as a keeper of the old ways, would be better suited,” Marian suggested, but Robin shook his head.

  “Alan isn’t a fighter,” he said, “and if the fey cannot be persuaded, then we will need to fight to retrieve the elixir. And—no offense—the bard has nothing personal at stake. I stand to lose my entire family.”

  “Lord Longstride is right,” the cardinal said. “We need a champion, a warrior. Besides, Alan has already tried and failed at persuading the fey to help him retrieve the elixir.”

  “Just tell me whatever else you know,” Robin said. “And Lord Longstride is my father.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “There is a chapel in the woods, a safe place where items can be dropped off and picked up,” Friar Tuck told Robin, his voice quavering.

  “I will take you to it,” Alan added, “but farther than that I cannot go. Even though I am a bard of the old ways it would seem there are places in this forest where even I am not welcome.”

  Robin nodded, and pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. It took determination not to collapse, but he managed it.

  “I’d like to have a word with Robin,” the cardinal said. “Alone.”

  Marian hesitated, but then she nodded, and Alan followed suit. Together they left the room.

  “I’m going to need a little help,” Friar Tuck said.

  “You can stay where you are,” the cardinal said. He moved forward and placed his hands on Robin’s shoulders. “You are taking upon yourself the mantel of savior,” he said solemnly. “It is a burden I would wish for no man to carry, but prophecy has indicated that one man must.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Robin said, not knowing what else to sa
y. He had never seen himself as anyone’s savior.

  “No, you must do better than you can,” the cardinal answered. “I know you, Robin Longstride, and despite your faults—many though they may be—you are a good man. I need you, we need you, to become a great man. That means maturing and taking responsibility, not just for your own actions, but those of the others you command.”

  “Yet I command no one,” Robin said.

  “That is where you are wrong. Though you may not see it, others follow you without question, look to you for leadership and confidence. You must accept that, embrace your destiny, or we shall all fall into darkness.”

  Robin swallowed hard. Even standing was difficult. He didn’t know about prophecies, and he certainly didn’t see himself as a leader of men. Something had to be done, though, and time was running out.

  “I will do what I can to live up to your expectations,” he said. He wanted to call the older man insane, yet he had too much respect for him to do that. What was more, every moment wasted meant more needless deaths, and brought his family closer to doom.

  “I will bless you before you go,” the cardinal said. Robin bowed and accepted the ritual. The cardinal uncapped a vial of oil. Placing some on his finger he touched it to Robin’s forehead, murmuring a prayer. When the holy man had finished Robin dipped his head in thanks. As he turned and walked to the door, it felt as if his steps were steadier than they had been when he’d arrived.

  Marian and Alan waited just outside the room. He gave Marian a slight smile, afraid to say or do anything more.

  “I will keep watch for you at the edge of the forest, by the crossing of the King’s Road and Church Road,” she said.

  He nodded, his throat tight with emotion. Then he turned to Alan.

  “Let us make haste.”

  * * *

  Scant minutes later the two men were on horses and headed away from the monastery. It was dark, but the moon was out and full, transforming the path into a silvery ribbon that they could follow. Robin realized that it was the first time he’d ever seen the bard astride one of the animals, instead of on foot.

  “You can ride a horse,” Robin said. Normally he would have preferred to travel in silence, but the pain and the exhaustion were threatening him again, and he needed something on which to focus, so his mind didn’t drift away.