“Stop it.” Guy punched the table, just once—it shivered through the candles that stuck at its center. “We cannot let this break us, or they win. We have a rare opportunity here, a chance to use this tragedy as a force for good.” A feverish intensity pushed through him, the need to make things better. It was the only way for him to channel his grief. “There is tremendous goodwill coming our way, and it is our responsibility to the dead to take advantage of it. Anything less is injustice. Anything.”

The goodwill he referred to came in the form of men-at-arms, from all the neighboring counties. Yorkshire to the north, Lincolnshire to the east, Leicestershire to the south, and Derbyshire to the west. All had sent men in a display of sympathy and alliance. Squads of varying sizes and banners, they came to fortify the castle and the roads for the Sheriff’s funeral. The middle bailey already overflowed with loyal swordarms, eager to help, eager for work. Guy intended to forge a new company out of this talent pool.

The Black Guard.

A new group with a singular purpose—to eliminate the Sherwood outlaws. For five weeks, his private regiment had been crippled by policing Nottingham, managing the wharf gangs, leashed by de Lacy’s refusal to let him hunt down anything other than taxes. But a fresh crew, unhindered by any responsibilities to the city, could ferret the outlaws out of the trees in no time. Rather than scrape the gaols for a handful of gerolds, he suddenly had a bounty of dedicated men to choose from.

“But only if it happens now,” Guy calculated. “Every noble coming to de Lacy’s funeral has one desire—to see these traitors at the end of a rope. Which is, I’m sure, exactly what William de Wendenal is counting on.”

He had not yet taken to calling him Sheriff de Wendenal. That promotion had almost been more shocking than de Lacy’s murder. Guy may have disagreed with Roger de Lacy’s policies, but there was always a combative joy in their arguments. De Lacy’s opinions on nearly everything were maddeningly wrong, but he was no monster. He had respect for conversation, and there was dignity in being outmatched by him. Wendenal had none of that. His appointment proved that being friends with the King overruled all manner of logic. A week had already passed with him in charge, and every day it felt increasingly wrong.

“It does not take a brilliant man to see the strings at play here,” Guy continued. “Wendenal and Locksley, both agents of King Richard. Wendenal imbeds himself with de Lacy, while Locksley trains a bunch of common thieves into a gang of assassins. Locksley killed de Lacy on the same night he signs an edict to appoint Wendenal as sheriff.”

“That seems a little suspect, no?” Morg asked, always a little too slow to grasp the profanely obvious.