Trouble in the Forest Book Two

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  This was better than Sir Gui had hoped, though not so grand as he wished. “That is more like it.”

  “And we can offer you candied violets to finish,” said deSteny. “There is also a honey-comb, if you prefer it.”

  This was a real indulgence, and everyone knew it. “Well enough,” said Sir Gui, striding toward the High Table and gesturing to his entourage to designate those who would sit with him. “I will have the fish stew and hope for improvement as the meal goes on.” His smile was self—congratulatory, and he made sure all his men saw it. “Let each take his place according to his order, and I will be glad of a tankard of hot mead.”

  DeSteny snapped his fingers and one of the cooks’ assistants went running. “It will be as you ask.”

  “Then let us eat. I am famished.” Sir Gui was already on the dais, bound for the tallest chair at the center of the table.

  “We await the Bishop,” said deSteny, “and Sir Humphrey.”

  “Surely they must know they are wanted,” said Sir Gui as he sat down.

  “I would assume,” said deSteny. “In any case, two of my household have gone to fetch them, in case they want escort.” He thought of Jotham and Osbert running through the rain to bring the two town worthies to the Great Hall. “I have ordered Nicholas Woodhull to put himself entirely at your disposal.”

  “Then should he go to hasten your pages?” Sir Gui asked sarcastically. “No,” he answered himself. “I think he would do better preparing to assist me.” He motioned to his men who were finding places at the tables, the four he had selected for the honor joining him at the High Table, the rest sitting on the benches at the low tables. “We’re hungry and tired, and we must eat before we rest. If the Bishop and Sir Humphrey aren’t here soon, I shall order us to begin without them.”

  “That would be ... ill-received,” deSteny pointed out carefully, as keenly aware as Sir Gui was of just how great an insult such action would be.

  “Where is Woodhull?” Sir Gui asked, unwilling to remark on deSteny’s warning. He made a sign to Sir Wilem to come to sit beside him.

  “I can summon him at once. He is waiting in the corridor.” This was what was expected of him, but Sir Gui was in the mood to find fault.

  “Have him in at once. I can’t think why you should allow him such liberty.” He removed his hat and dropped it on the floor next to his chair. “It is too wet to wear.”

  His men exchanged wary glances, and one of them, a young man only recently acceded to Sir Gui’s companions, actually spoke up. “It is an example for us all.” He promptly removed his feathered hat of Italian velvet and let it drop on the rushes. Gradually all the rest did the same.

  “And where is Sir Mortimer?” Sir Gui went on with a sidelong glance at Sir Wilem.

  DeSteny had been waiting for this question, but still was distressed at having to answer it. “He is gravely ill, Sir Gui. We put him in the care of our Herb Woman, and he is being attended by monks as well, but he has a bad cough, and it is not improving.”

  “What do you mean?” Sir Gui asked angrily. “How comes this about?”

  “He arrived ill,” said deSteny, pausing as Sir Humphrey hurried into the Great Hall accompanied by a bedraggled Osbert. “Sir Humphrey, did not Sir Mortimer come here already in fever?”

  “Yes, he did,” said Sir Humphrey after he had bowed his head to Sir Gui. “The poor man was in very bad condition, with a deep cough and a fever that is as stubborn as it is hot. Our Herb Woman is doing all she can for him—even the monks agree that no more can be done—but he has not recovered.”

  “Well, it may be early days,” said Sir Gui with a downward turn of his mouth. “Where is the Bishop?”

  “He will be along directly,” said Sir Humphrey. “He has been called to attend an ill pilgrim.”

  “A pilgrim!” Sir Gui scoffed. “A Bishop should send a priest for that.”

  “The pilgrim is his uncle,” said Sir Humphrey, going to the High Table to take one of the end seats.

  “Oh. His uncle.” Sir Gui shrugged. “In that case, I suppose we must accommodate him.”

  The men seemed uneasy at this concession, and only the arrival of the castle’s soldiers and other men of rank gave them any reassurance.

  “You are a welcome sight,” said one of Sir Gui’s suite to Quain as the huntsman took his place on the bench beside him. “It is not going to be an affable meal, I think.”

  “Taken a pet, has he?” Quain asked quietly.

  “All the way here,” said the young dandy.

  “Well, not that he hasn’t before,” said Quain.

  “It’s his missing bride, or so he says,” the young man told the huntsman.

  Quain looked up toward the High Table where Sir Gui and Sir Wilem were laughing together, their hands just touching. “So he says.”

  How Hood employed his Scholars

  THE GLADE before the barrow of the Old Ones was boggy underfoot, making it difficult for Hood and his men to cross; unseen rivulets ran through the tall grasses, as insidiously enervating as the last fingers of sunlight that penetrated the barren twigs and branches overhead. Piles of drifted leaves provided some footing, but offered no protection from the running water. All the undead went cautiously, wincing with every mis—step. The Red Friar lagged behind the rest, his face twisted with discomfort.

  “Hurry there, Friar,” Hood admonished him. “If I can walk here, so can you.”

  The eight men with Hood kept doggedly on while Hood reminded them, “You would rather face a little water than my wrath.”

  “Very true,” said Scarlet, and motioned to Little John to move a little faster.

  “This is a very strange place,” said Little John.

  Boyes looked up toward the boughs of the trees. “It isn’t full dark yet,” he marveled.

  “That is the Old Ones’ doing,” said Wroughton. “They used to be the rulers of the forest night, but when Hood came back from the Holy Land, he bested them.”

  “Well said, Wroughton,” said Hood. “You are a most useful fellow.”

  Wroughton coughed uncomfortably, and paid no heed to Scarlet’s nasty chuckle.

  “Why have the Old Ones taken the scholars?” the Red Friar asked.

  “It is more why the scholars have gone to the Old Ones,” said Scarlet.

  “But why?” the Red Friar persisted.

  “DeGlisson insisted,” said Hood brusquely.

  “And that is enough?” Little John burst out.

  “It is,” said Hood in a voice that encouraged no further comment.

  They were almost to the barrow. They stopped, waiting.

  Finally Royce lumbered to the entrance of the barrow. “What do you want?”

  “I must talk to your brethren,” said Hood impatiently.

  Royce blinked slowly. “I will tell them you have come,” he said, and turned away.

  “How long will they keep us waiting?” Scarlet asked of no one in particular.

  “As long as suits them,” said Hood, annoyed. He folded his arms, his red eyes shining in the dark halo of his hood.

  The nine vampires stood in the soggy dusk, eight of them unwilling to speak and brave the wrath of Hood, who was aggravated by the delays that were being forced upon him. Boyes took his dagger from his belt and used it to cut his fingernails, all the while humming a tune he had heard Alan-a-Dale sing when he had last passed through the forest. It was a considerable time before Aylmer deGlisson and Penrod Lugenis came out of the barrow to face Hood and his men.

  “You were lax in providing us sustenance,” said deGlisson, accusingly. “We have gone days without blood.”

  “It has been hard times in the forest. Travelers are becoming more cautious and we cannot always find something for you. I must think of my hunters before you,”
said Hood abruptly. “We cannot always bring down as much as we need, let alone what you require.”

  “That is not an excuse,” said deGlisson. “You must provide for us, or we will have to provide for ourselves. And you know what that would mean.”

  “This forest is large, but it cannot support two such bands as mine,” Hood admitted. “We have agreed on that.”

  “Before you drained the Old Ones and made them undead husks.” DeGlisson glowered. “It has done great harm to them, and they haven’t forgotten.”

  “Keep that in mind, Hood,” Lugenis said. He was pale and haggard but there was no lack of authority in his voice. “We will cooperate with you only so long as you fulfill your bargain.”

  “I will do,” said Hood, his eyes smoldering. “You may rest assured.”

  “The Old Ones are not entirely powerless,” deGlisson reminded him as he refused to step back from Hood. “They may be weakened but they aren’t as diminished as you think. If you fail to live up to your bargain, they—”

  Hood was becoming angry. “Are you going to do as I ask or not?”

  “We will decide when we know what it is you want,” said deGlisson without bothering to confer with Penrod Lugenis.

  Hood wasn’t used to such treatment, and it vexed him. “I am not here as a supplicant. This forest is mine.”

  “More fool you,” said Lugenis. “The Old Ones have much to teach, as we are discovering for ourselves.”

  “Tell me,” said deGlisson. “What do you want of us?”

  “I need to know what we must do to protect ourselves from the priests and the Sheriff of Nottingham. We are bound to the Fair at Nottingham, for there will be rich pickings for us there. I am not such a fool that I do not think Hugh deSteny hasn’t made plans to trap us while we are within the town walls.” Hood made an irked scuff with the toe of his boot as if to kick a small rodent out of his path. “He is clever, but not clever enough. Tell me what we must do to be safe from him and his tricks.”

  DeGlisson was about to make a quick answer, but Lugenis held up his hand. “We will need a little time to consult with the Old Ones,” he said as he cast a warning glance at deGlisson. “Come back between midnight and dawn, and we will have an answer for you.”

  Hood scowled. “Why can’t you tell me anything now?”

  “We have many things we must do,” said Lugenis. “The Old Ones might not have puissance as you do, but they know more things than any of us scholars, and we will have to consult them if we are to tell you anything useful. In order to glean all they offer, we must rouse them sufficiently to talk with them, and that isn’t readily done, thanks to you and your band.”

  Hood made a sound that was between a laugh and a tiger’s cough. “If they had accepted me, they would not have been preyed upon.”

  “So you claim,” said Lugenis. “They may not entirely believe you.”

  “Do you trust them? Do they even talk at all?” Scarlet wondered aloud, sarcastically.

  “They are mindful of their duty; you would do well to emulate them,” said deGlisson. “They will require some show of faith from you. They will not side with the living against the undead. You needn’t fear them for that.”

  Since this was exactly what Hood had been worried about, he had to accept this check for the time being. “Very well,” he said with as much courtesy as he could summon up. “We will return shortly after midnight, and we will want an answer then. If you have nothing useful to offer us, we will take vengeance on the Old Ones, and then, good scholars, on you.” He turned abruptly and made his way back across the soggy meadow, hardly bothering to see if his men followed him.

  Once into the forest again, Hood stopped and waited while his men gathered around him. “Wroughton, I want you to take Tyler and Little John and keep watch on the barrow, so we know what they are doing, just in case they attempt something against me.”

  “And what might that be?” the Red Friar asked.

  “I don’t know. If I did, I would manage differently,” Hood said overly precisely.

  Wrought on nodded slowly. “If this is what you want.”

  “It is. You and Tyler and Little John. You’re a soldier, and you know how best to patrol this place. I depend upon you.” He laid his long, thin hand on Wroughton’s shoulder. “And I will hold you responsible for everything that transpires. You will answer for any trouble that arises here.”

  Wroughton knew better than to say anything about this. He nodded twice and did his best to look Hood in the eyes as long as he could. Then he pointed to the two men Hood had assigned to him. “Tyler, you take the north—west. Little John, you take the south-east, and I will patrol between you.”

  “What shall we watch for?” Tyler asked.

  “Anything. Anything unusual.” Wroughton pointed out the two places where the men should stand. “When Hood returns, we’ll all make our report.”

  Hood had already started away into the trees. “See you remain alert, or you will not share in the bounty of our hunt.”

  Scarlet ducked his head. “You will lose more than a meal.”

  “Look to your posts,” Wroughton ordered, and waited while Little John and Tyler took up their positions, and then he began to make his way around the barrow from Tyler to Little John and back to Tyler again.

  “They’re just Old Ones, hardly more than bags of bones now,” Little John complained on Wroughton’s fourth pass. “What is there to fear in them?”

  “Knowledge,” said Wroughton. “They know a great deal. That is why the scholars elected to stay with them, or so the Red Friar told me.”

  “So be it, then. We will watch,” said Little John.

  They kept their watch long into the night, never leaving the barrow glen. The waxing moon rose overhead, imparting its watery light to the barrow and limning the forest. Wroughton kept on his patrol. He saw badgers and martens, foxes and bear, wolves and red deer. Night—birds flew overhead, and occasional bats. But nothing happened at the barrow.

  When Hood returned—somewhat past the middle of the night—he had with him two bedraggled merchants, half—dead from blood loss and terror, supported by Scarlet and Boyes. The Red Friar and three other men were with him. “I am back,” he announced, motioning to Wroughton, Little John, and Tyler to join him. “Has anything happened?”

  “Not that we have seen,” said Wroughton, trying not to look at the merchants so he would not have to feel the hunger they ignited within him.

  “That had better be so,” said Hood before he made his way through the boggy glen to the front of the barrow again. “Scholars!” he shouted.

  “In a moment,” said Royce, appearing so quickly that it was apparent that he had been waiting for Hood’s return. “Your men kept watch here.”

  “On my orders,” said Hood smugly. “So you and the rest could not flee away into the forest.”

  “Why should we do that?” Royce asked, his manner vague. He stood aside for Penrod Lugenis and Aylmer deGlisson.

  “What do you have for me?” Hood demanded as the two scholars stood in the mouth of the barrow. “What did the Old Ones say?”

  “They say very little, thanks to all you’ve done to them,” said deGlisson. “I cannot do more than listen to what they whisper amongst themselves, and tell them what I wish to know. Sometimes they want to speak of what we ask, sometimes they don’t. Tonight they spoke of their power long ago, when they, not you, ruled in the forest, in concert with the Bear, the Hart, the Boar, and the Wolf.”

  “That is why I and my kind triumphed over them; their power has waned while mine has only grown,” said Hood. He pointed to the two merchants. “I bring these to you, as a good hunter and an honest lord.”

  DeGlisson studied the merchants. “They’ll serve us well—enough for tonight,” he said. “But tomorrow we will need somethin
g more if we are to remain able to do your bidding.”

  “There are those in the forest who seek my favor,” said Hood, a note of contempt in his voice. “They will do as I ask them.”

  “If you trust them,” said Lugenis with a faint smile.

  “If they fail me, they will pay for their neglect, and they know it,” said Hood, dismissing the whole question.

  “The loyalty of fear,” said deGlisson. “It seems to me that you have it at your peril.” He bowed slightly. “This is only an observation, Hood, not a threat.”

  Hood stared at him with hot, red eyes. “For your own sake, scholar, I hope it is so.”

  How Prince John was

  received at Nottingham

  THE RAIN had let up at last, and the sky was clear and bright, with the soft autumn light that spread over the whole of Sherwood like a glowing cloak. The bare branches no longer seemed stark, but like the needlework of a whimsical giant. There was a gentle, cool breeze wandering in out of the west, enough to set the fallen leaves dancing and lending the horses an exuberance they had not experienced for most of the journey from Windsor; they kept to a steady trot without sign of flagging.

  “That’s Nottingham!” Sir Olvan shouted as he rose in his stirrups and pointed at the stone towers looming in the distance.

  “Well and good,” said Prince John, and sighed with relief.

  “And we will be there in a short while. Twice the sands in an hour—glass.” Sir Olvan seemed ill at ease in spite of this happy realization. “Plenty of daylight still.”

  “Truly. We will be within the walls well before Vespers,” said Prince John confidently. “I would like to see you merry, Sir Olvan. Our journey is nearly over and it has been without mishap—beyond the fallen tree. You seem troubled when I would think you would rejoice.”

  “I worry because we are being followed. We have been for all of yesterday.” Sir Olvan lowered his voice. “I have put Sholto and Purvis at the rear. They, being huntsmen, are more alert to the indications of pursuit. And Sir Ninian rides with them, fully armed, in case we must fight here, in the forest.”