“So there is,” Marshall grunted and tried to lead his horse around the brute, but found himself blocked again. Guy cursed himself for bringing the horses into the farm. He could dress himself down as much as he wanted, but any decent horsehand would recognize Merciful as healthy and well-stabled.

But the bulk turned his blade around and offered its hilt up to Guy. “You’d best arm yourselves. Just in case.”

The sword’s pommel boasted a flared cross under several layers of caked dirt, or excrement. Meant for the Crusade, one of those from the first lost shipment. Guy curled his fingers around it, afraid it might turn around and cut him in half.

“What about you?” he asked, trying to match the man’s tone.

“We have plenty.”

Guy nodded his head slightly. He wondered where the sword had been already, whose blood it might have spilt. One reclaimed sword wasn’t much, but it might save a life.

Even after the birklands consumed the last hints of Carleton, they rode in silence. The roads here were narrow and broke awkwardly into rolling ribbons of browning heath, othertimes splitting into switchbacks dense with overgrown thicket. There was black slurry always at the edge of the road, grown into slick traps by the season’s first overnight frost.

“It’s worse than I thought,” Marshall said, since it had to be said.

“This is only the beginning of it, I’m afraid.” Guy glanced nervously back. “The closer we get, the more zealous they’ll become.”

Marshall rubbed the stubble on his head and slapped the sweat off. “How do we handle something like this? Every man we meet is an enemy.”

“No, they’re not,” Guy corrected him. Marshall had finally glimpsed the magnitude of their mission, and was rightfully rattled. “These are the people we’re supposed to protect. They’re victims of a great many things. Of the hardships of life. Of the king’s taxes, certainly, but more than that they’re victims of Robin Hood. He’s capitalized on their gullibility, purchasing their souls for a little coin. Why wouldn’t they follow him?”

Marshall shook his head.

“The few things they do have,” Guy continued, “they don’t realize they’re not free. They can trade and have the opportunity to feed themselves thanks to the county. They’re protected from invaders by the King. But they don’t see this. It’s not tangible. They don’t know how much worse life would be in the anarchy they think they want. Then Robin Hood puts a coin in their hand, and it’s something they can hold onto. He takes their vulnerabilities, and trades it right back to them for their loyalty. Convinces them a few coins will make their lives better. Hard work and integrity? Gone. What man tries to improve himself when he’s offered a quicker path? Robin Hood is taking advantage of them at their weakest.”