The cask suddenly jumped in his arms, pushing against his chest with a sharp snap that made Kyle shout in surprise. He dropped it to the ground, scared it might light afire in his hands and roast him like a pig. But as it rolled over he noticed an arrow sticking out of its side that clearly hadn’t been there earlier, its head buried in the wood not a few fingerwidths from where Kyle’s right hand had been. Then there was noise all around, footsteps in the sloggy earth and the rustling of bodies, and Kyle looked up at a man holding a longbow loosely in one hand, his face completely covered by a dark brown hood.

“Another present from the Sheriff!” the stranger shouted. All around him, bodies revealed themselves from the trees, and Kyle had to admit it would have been much nicer if they hadn’t. The bowman led Kyle back to the wagon, which the outlaws had circled and were claiming as their own, casks and all. Kyle half recognized a good number of their faces. There was the bald friar whose arm he had broken in Bernesdale, and the giant man who fought with the quarterstaff. A bearded villager, who had once promised to bring them information. Poor Arable was there, who he’d miss seeing around the castle, and the one they called Lady Marion. All of them had weapons out, even Arable had a bow in her hand. Further off, Quill and Jacelyn were on their knees, their hands on their heads. A few other men behind them drove the horsecart away. Another long walk back. Kyle could feel his legs hurt already.

“Thank you for the delivery, gentlemen,” the hooded figure bowed gracefully.

“What’s wrong with you?” Kyle scolded the man. “Shooting an arrow at this?”

“Oh, you’re fine,” the stranger laughed. “Besides, I need you alive, to send a message to the new Sheriff.”

“A message?” Kyle groaned. Seemed messages were all anyone cared about anymore. “What message?”

“You let him know this isn’t over,” the man said in an angry whisper. “Not by a long shot. We tried to be civil, to only take back as much as we’d lost. We tried to play fair, to help the people, and in return you hunted us down and named us outlaws. A funny thing, when the people running Nottingham are the filthiest thieves of them all. But that’s fine. You want to make us criminals, then we’re only happy to oblige. You tell your new Sheriff this—you’re not ready for my brand of outlaw.”

Kyle stammered to remember it all. “What are you talking about? Who … who are you?”