Chapters (76)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- PROLOGUE
- PART I
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- PART II
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- PART III
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- INTERLUDE
- PART IV
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- INTERLUDE
- PART V
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- PART VI
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- INTERLUDE
- PART VII
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- PART VIII
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
“You’re right. Or you would be, if all we wanted to do was storm down there and kill them. But like the Captain said—that’s not what we do. We’re here to end this peacefully, and to get Jon Bassett back alive. If we ride down from where we are now, they’ll see us coming. They’ll have a chance to prepare, they’ll be ready for us, and they might even kill Jon before we get there. Or they’ll put a sword to his throat and make us all strip down to our privies before stealing our horses and running off. Your plan only works if we don’t care about Jon’s life.”
“It doesn’t matter, boy—” the knight bellowed.
“On the other hand, we can take an hour and reposition to another side. We approach from on top of that hill where they can’t see us, and slip down the sides of the overhang. We’ll be inside their camp before they have any clue. A few of us can stay here with the horses, so that we can storm down on them just as you described. But that’s not the real attack, that’s just the diversion.”
Reginold and Bolt nodded to him, there was a pride in their approval. Guy gave him a wink.
FitzOdo alone hated it. “That is a waste of time.”
“It’s better than a waste of life,” Guy said, with finality. “Let’s make it happen.”
TWENTY-ONE
MARION FITZWALTER
SHERWOOD FOREST
“I THOUGHT THE SWORDS were bad, John,” Marion said, her eyes strained and aching. They had volunteered to watch over the wounded Guardsman in shifts, though Marion stayed nearby even when it was not her turn. He had not yet awoken in nearly a day, which seemed a bad sign, but at times he would stir in befuddled agony long enough for them to force some water into his mouth. If he ever woke, Marion wanted to be the first to speak with him, to try to convince him he was safe.
“How’s that, then?” John Little asked.
“The swords,” she repeated. “I thought that was as bad as it would get. I was wrong.”
“Ah,” he said, his mouth closing quickly. He bore the burden of this awfully, and she had not meant to shame him. John insisted he only struck the Guardsman once in the chest, but the force of his quarterstaff had clearly broken something important. “I’ve made some mistakes lately, there is that.”
“You’re just out of practice,” Marion tried to lighten his mood. “It’s been some time since you’ve brought a lady gifts. We’re not fond of swords, John, and we’re not fond of dying Guardsmen, either. Try flowers.”