* * *
King John spoke the final word. The spell hung in the air around him. It made the cuts in his own flesh sting as if vinegar had been poured into them. The dark energies pulsed around him.
All he had to do was spill Marian’s blood.
He looked down at her, the knife in his hand.
She stared back at him, defiance writ on her face.
She had his brother’s eyes. They were honey brown and fierce.
Glynna Longstride leaned toward him.
“The time is here. Do the deed.”
The potential in the air pulled at him, making him sway on his feet.
The blade seemed to move of its own accord.
He closed his eyes.
Something lifted him off his feet.
For a second he thought he had completed the ritual, and was floating.
Then the pain set in.
John tilted, spinning in the air.
He’d been tossed, like so much garbage. As he struck the ground he rolled, the knife flying away.
The man in the hood was at the altar. He put his hands on Glynna and pushed, knocking her down. There was a blade in his hand and he slashed apart the ropes holding Marian as she leaped off the stone.
He looked at John as if to move on him, then thought better of it and turned. Pulling on her arm, he took her away.
The magic in the spell remained, but now it was agony.
* * *
Little John was winning, he could feel it. The Sheriff was struggling less. Hold him, that’s what he’d told Robin he’d do. He was beginning to think, though, that he had a chance to kill him. He was doing his best to crush him to death, but the man was withstanding pressure no human could.
Because he’s not human, he told himself.
Suddenly he thought of all the times his mother had sat with him at bedtime when he was a child. He began reciting the Lord’s Prayer out loud as he kept trying to squeeze the life out of the creature below him.
“Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”
The Sheriff opened his mouth in what looked like a scream of agony, but no sound could emerge still. He was weakening. Little John could feel it, sense it, and he began to shout the words louder.
“Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive…”
He did not know how much time had passed. He did not know if Robin had saved Marian and ended the prince. All he knew was that he wouldn’t let go, not ever.
He heard a whisper of sound above him and sudden searing pain as a sword was shoved into his back. He cursed in his mind. The Sheriff’s soldiers, he’d forgotten all about them.
* * *
The little prince was screaming in anguish and Glynna didn’t know what to do. She looked everywhere for her love, and finally she saw him, striding toward her, armor cracked and hanging off, blood covering him. Somehow it made him look that much fiercer.
“What do we do now?” Glynna asked. Her hands went red, coated in the blood that slicked over his chest.
“We finish it.”
“Can we?”
John threw the knife and the book onto the altar. “We need her,” he shouted, his face twisted in fury. “The sacrifice has to be of royal blood. Don’t you understand?”
The Sheriff pinned him with his gaze. “I understand that fact perfectly, little prince.”
“What does that mean?” John asked, spittle flying from his mouth.
“Just this.”
A white-hot blade, smoke rising off it, appeared in the Sheriff’s hand and he struck upwards, shoving it up into John’s sternum and piercing his heart.
John’s eyes went wide.
“Did you really think that you had summoned me?” the Sheriff asked. “I whispered in your mind for so many nights until you finally knew how to conjure me, but it was not so that I could be your servant. It was so you could be my sacrifice.” He smiled. “You have served me better than most.”
* * *
Robin stopped, jerking Marian with him. They stood over Friar Tuck, who knelt beside the body of Little John. The big man had been stabbed a dozen times.
“He died for me.” Robin’s voice sounded strange.
“He sacrificed himself so you could save me.”
Friar Tuck stood. “We must go.”
* * *
The Sheriff hung the iron torc around his neck, pulling it closed.
Glynna looked at him.
“You have a question, my dear?” he asked.
“I thought something would happen,” she said “Are you now king?”
The Sheriff laughed. “No, I can only wear this for a short time. Only a human with a soul may wield true sovereignty.”
“Then what shall we do?”
“Deliver unto me the victory.”
“Tell me how.”
His hand fell on her stomach and he spoke a word of power that caused a contraction to rip through her from mid-thigh to breastbone.
* * *
As they approached the gate and freedom, a high-pitched keening sound yanked Robin’s head around. He looked for the source and then saw his mother, grabbing her distended belly and staring down at the ground.
Thick, black fluid was flowing out of her, forming a pool on the ground beneath her. As he stared in horror she threw back her head…
…and laughed.
“My love! Our child is coming!”
Fighting revulsion, he pushed Marian ahead of him beside the fat friar, and yelled to the survivors of his band of men.
“Go, go, go!”
* * *
The Sheriff caught up to them by the main gates.
Robin grabbed Much’s tunic as the boy ran past.
“Get Marian and the men back to camp!” he shouted. “I will attend to the Sheriff.”
Much nodded and changed direction, running off to do as he was told.
All Robin could do now was distract their pursuer, lead him on a chase away from the others. Fortunately, the devil’s attention was already on him. He turned and staggered toward the forest, moving slower than the rest so that the Sheriff would follow him. Given the extent of his injuries, it wasn’t a difficult ruse.
A horse galloped by, riderless. Robin grabbed the animal’s reins and yanked it to a halt. He managed to drag himself into the saddle and kicked the beast forward. The effort caused his injured limbs to sing out with pain.
He turned his head to make sure that the Sheriff was following. He saw the man grab a horse and mount it. Two dark shadows slithered down the Sheriff’s legs and dropped to the ground. His pets.
The creatures leaped forward, and Robin kicked his already terrified horse as hard as he could.
They streaked toward the nearest section of the forest. A shadow flitted past, visible out of the corner of his eye. The horse screamed in terror and reared, slowing their progress. Robin maintained his seat and kept urging the animal forward.
Something snapped at his leg and Robin kicked out to the side. Hot breath tickled the back of his neck and he swung his arm backward, knocking the other creature to the ground, where it fell beneath the clamoring hooves.
He could hear the Sheriff’s horse bellowing right behind him.
Just another fifty strides.
His horse bucked suddenly, then moved to the side, nearly unseating Robin and sending new bolts of pain through him. He ducked as the Sheriff’s sword came at him. The animal reared up, then crashed back to all fours. Robin screamed and kicked the animal again and it shot forward. Forty strides. Thirty. Almost there…
Twenty. The horse tripped and fell heavily to the ground, screaming in terror. Robin went sailing through the air. He tucked his body and rolled when he landed, doing his best to ignore the pain. As he got up he saw the Sheriff’s horse collide with his own and they both went down. Spinning, he ran for the woods.
Moments later he fell, just inside the boundary.
The Sheriff’s pets howled in rage as they reached the e
dge of the trees—the mystic wall that would not give way. Robin scrabbled backward, trying to blend into the dark, in case the Sheriff had a bow with which to shoot an arrow into the forest.
The sound that reached his ears wasn’t anything born of a human throat. The man bellowed his frustration, to the point Robin thought he could feel it vibrating up from the ground. No, not a man, he thought. A demon. As Robin dragged himself further into the forest, he vowed never to forget that.
EPILOGUE
Darkness gave way to light, and Robin realized he had been unconscious. He had crawled farther into Sherwood than he had thought. Every fiber in his being throbbed in agony, and the cold did little to numb it.
Around him he could hear voices whispering.
They were talking about him. As his eyes managed to focus, he realized that he was surrounded on all sides by fey. They were staring intently at him.
“He is a good man, worth saving,” Elian said. He was the sprite who’d given Robin the elixir. His was the only face Robin recognized, and most of the forms were shadowy and vague.
“He is no such thing,” another voice growled. This one he didn’t recognize. “Because of him, Sherwood has been desecrated by the Gisbourne. We should kill him for that alone, regardless of his other crimes.”
What crimes? he wanted to ask. He wanted to speak, to defend himself, but he was too weak. He couldn’t even force his lips to open.
“We should vote,” a third voice said. “Kill, or save.”
“There will be no vote!” A new voice rang out, cutting through the rest. Murmurs of surprise filled the air.
A moment later Marian stepped into his sight. At least it looked like Marian, but she was somehow transformed. Light seemed to be shining from her, or through her. Champion walked by her side, but the fox seemed changed as well.
“We shall save him,” she said, “but we will let the world think he is dead, so that none will look for him while he heals.” One by one the fey bowed their heads, deferring to her edict.
“Marian,” he managed to whisper at last.
She bent over him, her hair free and loose.
“Don’t worry, Robin of the Longstride, I won’t let you die too.”
* * *
In the harbor, under the thin light of a half-moon, a battered ship coasted to a stop against the charred remains of the dock.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to James for being such a great collaborator and fellow bringer of mayhem. Thank you to Steve Saffel, a terrific editor, for all his support. To the entire team at Titan, you are the best band of Merry Men we could hope to work with. Thank you to Howard Morhaim for being a terrific agent. Thank you to Scott, my love. Thank you also to my family, friends, and fans for all your love and support without which none of this would be possible.
—DV
Thank you to Debbie, my co-conspirator. Thanks to D.E.O. Steve Saffel who did drive this book further down the road than we were originally going to go. Thank you to Howard Morhaim and his staff. The behind the scenes Titan posse. Thank you to every Merry Man out there no matter your gender, you are welcome one and all to our Sherwood.
I couldn’t do any of this without my own fated love, Danielle Tuck.
—JRT
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Debbie Viguié is the New York Times bestselling author of more than four dozen novels including the Wicked series co-authored with Nancy Holder. In addition to her epic dark fantasy work Debbie also writes thrillers including The Psalm 23 Mysteries, the Kiss trilogy, and the Witch Hunt trilogy. Debbie plays a recurring character on the audio drama, Doctor Geek’s Laboratory. When she isn’t busy writing or acting Debbie enjoys spending time with her husband, Scott, visiting theme parks. They live in Florida with their cat, Schrödinger.
James R. Tuck is the author of the Deacon Chalk series and a modern Lovcraftian adventure series, coming soon. He is also a professional tattoo artist, an accomplished photographer, and podcaster. He lives in the Atlanta area with his lovely wife Danielle.
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