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“Men!” I called out.
The Merry Men faced me as one. I quickly realized my mistake as they put their backs to the woods.
Blacksmith Benny, who had taken over for Will’s log-cutting duties, furrowed his brow. “Sir?”
Then an arrow whistled into Benny’s neck from the side, his voice cutting off on a wet gurgle.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
The trees came alive.
The Merry Men jumped into action—half of them yelling the dead man’s name, frightened and confused. The other half reached for the closest weapons.
One ginger-bearded man I’d known for ten years, named Rory, stood from a campfire and reached for his sword and shield.
He took four arrows in the chest before he was to his feet, dancing like a marionette on a string before dropping.
Our backup cook spun around from where he roasted a rabbit stew over a fire and fell from an onslaught of arrows. One went through his thigh, another through his eye.
Will Scarlet jumped into action before anyone else, picking up his swords from the ground after just throwing his shirt and sash on. He rolled in the mossy undergrowth as arrows pelted the area around him.
Stump was quick behind him, roaring like a monster and throwing half-chopped logs at the tree line, creating cover for himself while he found his own weapon.
Alan flipped over the log where he sat, belly-crawling to his nearby sword. I flung the axe toward the tree line to keep the shadows at bay, and sidestepped behind a tree. Drawing my quarterstaff, I surveyed the scene.
It was chaos. Our enemies were picking us off like fucking squirrels, hopping out from the foliage and bushes with arrows drawn before sinking back in, black garb keeping them well-hidden in the night’s darkness.
I saw where the ambush’s efforts were being focused—where the trees rattled loudest—and careened out from behind the other side of the tree I hid behind.
With my staff held behind me, I disappeared into the thick foliage, hiding as I crouch-ran, making myself low.
A man popped out from a bush, longbow drawn as he aimed in front of him at the camp and didn’t see me flanking him—until the last second, when he turned.
Spinning my quarterstaff out from behind me, I cracked it over his wrists, breaking both. He squealed and dropped his bow, sending the nocked arrow harmlessly skidding.
His mouth opened to sound the alarm, but I spun my long cudgel sideways and batted him across the cheek, breaking the bones in his face. He flopped down and I ran on, seeking my next target.
The soldier heard me coming—I was a big man, after all—and he spun to pull back his bowstring.
Inhaling sharply, I twirled out of the way, behind branches, creating cover in the dense woods.
The arrow twanged and smacked into a branch near my forehead.
I rolled low and came up with my staff drawn, jamming the hard end at him.
He swatted my attack away with his bow, backing up out of the bush where he stood. He stumbled, and I pounced, swinging over-handed with full force—
Crack!
My staff snapped his bow down the middle as he lifted it, and the momentum and force of my strike slammed the staff into his head, caving his skull.
Enemies were privy to my location now. More arrows whizzed by, thudded into the trees near me.
I had pressed my luck enough, charging this far into the fray. Begrudgingly, I growled and turned to get back to my men—
Only to run up on a swordsman in my face.
He lunged to gut me—
