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Chapter 1
Robin
Hooves pounded the forest floor like the erratic beating of a drum. I rode at the spearhead position, bow and quiver bouncing on my back, hood pulled up, knuckles gripped tightly on the reins as I leaned forward in my saddle.
Will Scarlet, Friar Tuck, and Alan-a-Dale flanked me on either side. Eight other Merry Men rode behind us, two to a saddle. We had more horses now than ever before, yet the majestic beasts of burden were still in rare supply.
Another handful of Merry Men waited at the rendezvous point—our advance scouts who’d trekked to the location earlier in the day.
Our entourage rode under cover of darkness, trying to make up lost time with the moon splitting silvery strands of light through canopies. It was hard riding. Quiet and contemplative. Pursed lips and scowls.
Personally, I had adopted quite a scowl over the past month, since losing Little John. We still didn’t know his condition: Alive? If so, where?
I held onto hope we were getting closer to finding answers. Maybe this score would be the one to turn our tide of luck. This mission has to work, I kept telling myself as the drumbeat of hooves drowned away.
No promising response came to my mind. Robert had stopped speaking to me long ago. I supposed finding out he was alive erased any sense of nostalgia and delusion I used to hold when thinking about my brother.
I was on my own.
My eyes flicked left and right. A rare smirk showed on my lips. Well, not quite alone, am I?
Will Scarlet struck a roguish figure atop his steed, black leathers absorbing the moonlight. I caught a glint of silver off the two blades on his back; a flowing dash of crimson from the sash around his neck. The glow of his pale face disappeared as his steed darted between trees.
Alan-a-Dale on my right stuck out more. The beautiful minstrel’s golden hair shone in the darkness. He rode straight-backed, like a dashing vagabond nobleman.
Friar Tuck, riding slightly behind Alan, had a gleaming sheen to his bald pate. His brown habit was covered by a chainshirt tunic he’d won on a gamble with a Nottingham guard a fortnight ago.
The small entourage at our backs gave me confidence. Though I had been elected as leader of the Merry Men after John’s disappearance, I needed a win to keep them on my side. I couldn’t afford having detractors.
This month had been tough. The days of planning this raid made everyone nervous, tense. If we failed, it would fall on me. As it rightly should, since I’m the one who brought this mission to the band.
At least I wasn’t alone, as my thoughts would have me believe. Far from it—I was more surrounded, supported, and protected than I’d ever been in my life.
Just as there were benefits to being a Merry Man, there were drawbacks, too. My stomach growled near constantly. As the autumn months dragged on, hunting became lean. It would get worse before it got better, with winter nipping at our heels. We subsisted primarily on nuts, berries, unappetizing stews, and the occasional small game.
Besides not knowing where our next meal would come from, we also had to brave the elements. It was getting difficult to do that while keeping a smile on our merry faces, hence the scowls and pursed lips.
It wasn’t just me who needed this job to go off well. It was the entire group.
A chirping whistle to my left brought my attention to Will Scarlet in the shrubs. His horse slowed to a trot. When he nodded his chin forward, I squinted ahead and noticed the faint flickering of a campfire in the distance.
The gang settled their horses as we came upon the camp of our comrades, hidden well in the trees near the main road.
Only a few Merry Men were absent from this mission—those holding our main camp southeast of here. Everyone knew the stakes were high.
Before we dismounted, my mouth started watering. Food waited for us—hares in a cauldron, boiling over the open fire. The rabbit stew made my belly grumble even louder.
Friar Tuck offered a hand to help me dismount. His other held a wooden bowl full of gruel for me. I didn’t need help getting off my horse, but Tuck was nothing if not a gentleman when it came to me.
Our most complex member, perhaps, the friar was both affable and dire, relaxed and troubled.
I gobbled the food down like a greedy peasant after tethering my horse to a tree. So did the other riders. Before any debriefing, we filled our bellies.
Then Will Scarlet, dabbing his clean-shaven chin with his red sash, turned to me at the fire. “Just in time.”
I cleared my throat to make sure it still worked after hours of disuse. “Always rushing, aren’t we?”
“Can’t give them any time to prepare.”
