Chapter 35 | Robin
Ihad skirted around the entire enemy company, and my men. I hated having to do it, yet I knew a distraction when I saw one. This was the perfect—possibly only—opportunity for me to advance and try to find Sheriff George.
The Merry Men holding off the enemy soldiers allowed me to vanish into the woods behind us. I shot off a couple arrows to make sure everyone thought I was still around.
I saw Alan-a-Dale drawing his bow and snapping off some shots, and I hoped people would think he was me—that I was still firing into the crowded glade, even as I shouldered my bow and sprinted left into a thicket.
I hopped over gnarled roots and bushy undergrowth. Careened through vines and low-hanging branches, brushing them out of my face as I emerged on the eastern edge of the copse.
My heartbeat pulsed in my throat. I glanced around wildly, keeping low to the ground in a crouch. I drew my sword, knowing that in thick woods like these, my bow would be useless.
No one was around. The cries and clangs of battle were fading away behind me as I made my way to the first incline of the hillside.
I had to hop over stones and navigate a swift-running stream that sped down the hill. I slipped on the slick, mossy banks, nearly tumbling all the way back from where I’d come.
My legs kept moving, not allowing my treacherous brain or frail heart to stop me. This was simply the latest deception I had made. A reckless call I knew no one would allow if I’d told it to them.
I was the leader of the Merry Men. I didn’t need to ask anyone for permission. If I saw an opening, I would take it, as my mates had taught me to do.
And there was no better opening than now.
My fingers trembled on my blade as I climbed the hill, leaning forward. The slope became steep and I stabbed my sword point into the ground to use as leverage and help me along. At one point, I was nearly crawling on all fours.
My hood bobbed on my head as I reached the top of the hill, coming to a wide expanse. I looked back over my shoulder and noticed how high I’d climbed. The battle from below was a muffled noise that could have been mistaken for the blowing wind if you didn’t know to look for it.
I couldn’t see any of my men or the enemy soldiers below, covered by thick canopies. I had no idea how my family fared, and it made my stomach twist into knots.
Can’t worry about them now. Without me there, they can fight even harder, even more recklessly, because they won’t have to focus on protecting me.
Thanks to the size of the high hill and its position between camps, the sound of battle did not carry to the other side of it. Hell, it hardly reached the summit of the hill where I stood.
That was why there were still so many lazy camps on the other side—north, east, west. No alarm had been raised. No one in the enemy camp appeared awake, for the most part. Sure, there were the occasional campsites still bright with fires, as the night watchmen stayed vigilant. But considering what was happening right behind them, the camp was quiet and undisturbed.
From my angle on the hill, I could make out at least fifty tents splayed out in the grasslands sweeping in every direction below me. They stretched to the edge of Sherwood Forest, where the woods began again and ran into Ravenshead. It was an intimidating sight, because I knew this was not all of them—only what I could see. This wasn’t even accounting the tents inside Ravenshead, which would likely be vast.
If there were two men to a tent, then they easily outnumbered the Merry Men-Oak Boys four to one.
I chewed my lip as I hid behind a tree, moving my eyes from far to near to see what I was up against on the hill.
Two tents. Only two. An unlit campfire lay ahead, ashen and smoky. It had only recently been put out, as the guards evidently went to sleep. I found it a bit odd there were no watchmen this far up on the hill. Perhaps they’re changing the guard. If that’s so, I have to act now.
One of the tents was bigger than the other. It was a four-post structure with high stakes keeping it upright.
Must be Sheriff George’s tent. He would give himself the biggest one, to compensate for everything else about him that is so small.
I flared my nostrils, breathing in a crisp blow of air across my face, and pulled my hood over my face. I stalked forward from the tree, low to the ground.
If he’s in there, alone . . . he’s a dead man.
My palms sweated, making the handle of my sword slick. Everything inside me was telling me to turn around, but I knew it was only my doubts and self-preservation gnawing at me.
I stuffed them down. This must be done. There can be no hesitation.
Drawing in a deep breath and holding it, I came to the back of the large tent. The tarp here was fortified with thick hide. I wouldn’t be able to cut my way in.
No, I had to go in through the front, like everybody else.
I stayed posted for a moment, waiting for any sound. Trying to listen for the odd leaf snap or heavy breath. Anything to tell me I was on the wrong path.
When a full minute passed and I grew impatient, hearing nothing, I slid forward into a shadow cast by the moon overhead.
I stayed alongside the tent wall, my back against the coarse fabric. Eyes on a swivel to the side. Passing the vacant campfire, I ducked and poked my head out into the small clearing between the two tents.
No one was here.
My brow furrowed.
Finally, a sound—
Bootsteps behind me.
With a sharp inhale, I twisted around—
As two soldiers rounded the back of the tent.
They sneered at me, wholly unsurprised.
I spun forward, cursing my luck, and bolted into the clearing. I needed to get into the front of the tent! Even if I died, I could still bring Sheriff George with me if he was sleeping.
Frantically, I rushed forward—
Nearly running chest-first into another guard near the front of the command tent.
I backpedaled, looking for a way out as the three soldiers approached in a unified front.
I was backing up toward the other tent now, the smaller one.
And a voice behind me, coming from the entrance of that tent, made my heart stop and my flesh break out in goosebumps.
“Look what we have here. If it isn’t a sneaky little mouse.”