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No, wait—that was Alan-a-Dale, who literally hummed a tune near me as he swung his sword like a proper rogue prince from one of his songs.
Atonement caught a guard in the jaw on my upswing. His jaw broke, his bottom teeth shoved into the roof of his mouth, cracking all over, and blood spurted from his nose.
He went down in a heap, and then Discipline was moving to my right, cleaving me to the next guard.
I stood atop the stage for everyone to see, alongside Will Scarlet and Alan-a-Dale. My comrades and friends.
Madness had broken out below us in the town square. I couldn’t get a good look at who was fighting who, but it didn’t matter. Anyone wearing Nottingham colors, wielding a sword, shield, or spear, or the emblem of the town guard on their shoulder, earned my iron knuckles across their face.
I had plenty of targets to choose from.
Pain ignited behind me, in the meat of my leg.
I twirled around with a roar.
A guard I recognized, whose family I had given alms to in the past, stared at me in horror.
I elbowed the lad in the side of the head before he could react, and he collapsed. Made sure not to stick him with the permanent damage Atonement and Discipline caused by rupturing brains and breaking bones. In this instance, flesh was more helpful than iron.
Now my fucking elbow stung something fierce, though, and my leg was bleeding when I glanced down.
Another guard charged toward me, climbing the stairs, yellow teeth snarling with a spear leveled at his hip.
I stepped around the dead, pincushioned body of the executioner in the center of the stage and tried to spin into the guard of the spear-wielder.
I misjudged my timing—
Another jolt of agony shot through me, in my hip this time. “Fucking hell!” I roared, angrier at myself than this poor sap. I’d grown slower in my older age. The lack of exercise and surplus of drinking made my body move more sluggishly than my mind. It was my own damned fault for catching that spearhead above the precarious bone of my hip.
I stumbled forward, barreling into the man and wrapping my arms around him.
He shouted as we both went tumbling down the stairs, the guard having no chance to bear my weight without falling backwards.
The world tilted upside down, and when it was righted at the base of the stairs I straddled the guard and lifted my hand to wail down on him.
I paused, noticing the unnatural bend of his neck, the glazed expression in his open eyes. I frowned. “God forgive you,” I said, and pushed off his chest to wobble onto my feet.
Someone came darting in from my left—just a blur before I turned to face him—
And he was cut down from behind, sword still raised to strike at me.
Crisp took up space behind the dying soldier, yanking his sword out of the guard’s back. The comrade I had knocked unconscious a fortnight ago, who had been given a taste of Discipline for how he talked about Robin, nodded at me.
We stood back to back, arms raised, weapons up, to take on whatever came next.
I gritted my teeth, blood rushing through me growing heavy in my veins. My eyes scanned the stage—Will Scarlet spun his dance of death, using two daggers to make up for his lack of swords. The lad was a marvel to watch, but I couldn’t keep my eyes on him for long until Crisp and I had our own problems to deal with.
Two guards recklessly charged at us. We made quick work of them with a flashing blade in the midday sun and the glint of iron bands around my bloody knuckles.
We were panting afterward, staring at one another grimly.
Crisp gave a slight smile before swinging the blood off his sword and staring forward—
As an arrow lodged itself into his forehead.
He staggered sideways into my arms, and I hugged him close to keep him upright. “No, Edmund!”
His eyes were wild, glazed over and rolling as blood trickled down the bridge of his nose in two rivulets. He became dead weight, and I went to my knees to hold him.
