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XXXIX. Split Decisions



Drustan Liddel, baker for the vill of Palavia Parva, sat dejectedly in the dirt, his back against the clay daub wall, while his wife and three daughters mixed and kneaded dough that was to rise overnight for tomorrow’s baking. Two loaves, the last of the day, browned in the oven. Drustan was supposed to be slicing some stale bread into tranchers for the others in the vill, but his heart wasn’t even in that. The cruel knights that were keeping the entire vill prisoners had taken Wilkin, son of his brother Odel, and not returned him.

It had almost been his youngest daughter, Annora, but Wilkin had interfered, shoving the lead knight back out the door and daring the two of them to take him instead. They’d obliged the lad without hesitation. It seemed it didn’t matter to them who they took. In fact, when Drustan worked up the nerve to ask why they were doing any of this, the knights said it was to punish his other brother, John, which made no kind of sense. John was an outlaw who had not spoken to Odel since the day he’d gone off with Robert Hodde, that terrible little man, an awful influence who’d convinced John to choose the rough life in the forest over anything remotely civilized. The wonder was John hadn’t yet been arrested and hanged, drawn and quartered. Drustan wasn’t much closer to him, either.

They’d killed Wilkin; he knew it, although none of them would say. But with the loss of Wilkin, Drustan’s resolve had deserted him. He just couldn’t keep baking as if nothing had happened.

Five knights had taken over Palavia Parva. Where they came from was a mystery, but there was something unnatural about all of them. For one thing, they were dressed in suits and hoods of mail as if for a crusade, with surcoats displaying a yellow cinquefoil, which he recognized as the badge of Nottingham’s Sheriff Passelewe. Very odd that Passelewe would be engaged in something so far from his town. Even the Keepers of Sherwood didn’t visit here.

Drustan wasn’t certain he believed they were men. They seemed more like creatures carved out of wood, often standing motionless, sometimes for hours. Other times their actions seemed identical, like it was one man instead of five.

After two had taken Wilkin that morning and despite their warning to stay inside, Drustan had sneaked from the bakery to his house behind it and, once they’d passed the mill, followed them a ways. As the sun balanced on the horizon, they marched Wilkin straight toward it through the orchard. Oddly, the lad, who’d just defied them, went along willingly, clearly under a spell.

On the far side of the orchard, they’d created some sort of green fire—at which point Drustan thought he’d been seen, and fled back to the bakery. Whatever he’d seen, his nephew had not returned, nor been anywhere about since this morning. He feared they had burned Wilkin alive.

Recalling the strange business in the orchard, he was utterly astonished when a spot of that very same fire appeared in the middle of the air. He blinked, then became fearful that the knights or the queer fire itself had overheard his thoughts and now came for him.

The spot sizzled and began to grow.

Young Annora gasped. Peripherally, he saw his wife react, putting a hand to her breast before gathering all three girls to her.

The green spot became a line and then expanded into a circle. Inside the circle was some other place, woods as far as he could see. In the center of the space stood two men. The first was down on one knee, having made the circle with whatever he was holding. His brown hair was perhaps longer, his beard scruffier, but there was no mistaking it was Drustan’s brother John. Behind him, with a drawn bow as if about to kill Drustan, stood a black-haired and bearded man with wintry blue eyes and a determined expression that only relaxed as he took in the scene in the bakery. He lowered his bow. “You did it, John.”

John stood up. “Was the smell of it did the trick. Can’t forget smell of ’is bakery.” He grinned and, as if it were nothing, stepped into the bakery from the forest. Seeing his brother, he opened his arms wide. “Drustan,” he said. The girls waddled their mother closer without letting go. “Girls,” said John brightly, and he let go Drustan to bend and hug his nieces.

“An’ who’s this, then?” Drustan asked of the stern man who stepped through after.

“He’s Robyn Hoode, come to take tha from here.” Over his shoulder he said, “This be all of them.”

With the bow strung across his back, Robyn Hoode crossed to the ovens and used two long-handled paddles to slide out two brown bread loaves. “No point in letting these burn,” he said. “Don’t want the bakery harmed when you know you’ll be returning, once we’re rid of your knights.” Then he finally smiled a little. “Besides, these loaves might be all we have to eat today.” He handed one of the paddles to Drustan. “Come on, John. We need to vanish before those elves come calling.”

“Elves,” repeated Drustan. It made weird if perfect sense. He was right about the knights.

John propelled the women to the circle, at which point they balked. He picked them all up and carried them into Barnsdale Wood. Annora shrieked.

“Oh, that’s not good. Drustan, you have to go now.” He pushed the paddle to herd the dazed baker over to and through the opening, then stepped through himself. “Now, John, finish it,” he said, and Drustan watched his brother kneel and begin erasing the opening with a slow diagonal wave of the sparkling black stone as he rose to his feet. One final green spurt and Palavia Parva was gone.

Robyn Hoode patted Drustan’s back. “Bring it with you,” he said of the bread. Then he took the stone from John, who looked desperately happy to give it away. “We’ll need to use this one more time.”


Around midday, Little John rode undisguised into Palavia Parva. The vill appeared uninhabited, and he decided the elven knights had discovered his brother’s absence and slaughtered everyone else in retribution. He rode slowly up the main road, fearful that he’d entered a trap or was about to encounter a pile of corpses.

By now Drustan and his family should be at King’s Houses and all well. They were far away and safe with Robyn, which was what mattered. He was going to have to stop calling him the Woodwose after this adventure.

They’d used that magic stone of Robyn’s to travel. He had not. He never wanted to touch one of those stones again, and anyway from the limewood camp it was only a couple hours’ ride to the vill. Those stones were the devil’s handiwork, or elves’ according to Robyn; also according to Robyn, no danger awaited John in Parva. The Yvags had invested in him specifically. If this ploy worked, they would redouble that investment. “The important thing,” Robyn had reminded him, “is that, no matter how angry they might make you, do not kill any of them. Not yet.”

He rode past the mill, across the river bridge and on to the well. His brother’s bakehouse, in which he’d stood only hours ago, lay dark and quiet. A dissipating ribbon of smoke rose up from the oven as if everything inside was normal. At least it hadn’t all burned down. John drew up and dismounted. He dragged out a bucket of water from the well for his horse.

In the central hall the door opened and an old man shuffled out. Robyn had warned that anyone he didn’t know might likely be a glamoured Yvag, but short of killing the old man, John doubted he could tell.

He carried his satchel. Despite what Robyn promised, he knew full well there was a slim chance the greedy elves would kill him before he showed them what he had, so he called out, “I’m here t’bargain wi’ those killed my nephew. I got some’a what they want but not the lot. We’re gunna have t’strike new arrangement, you an’ me.”

The old man paused, glanced around himself as if expecting a trap, then shimmered into the shape of one of Passelewe’s soldiers. “We do not bargain,” he said. Except for the different design to his surcoat, he might have been one of those John had met on the King’s Way. His smugness annoyed John.

“That so? Then what d’you call killing my nephew and more t’get the spinners?”

“Spinners? Oh, I see. The dights, you mean.”

John reached into the satchel and flung the single spinner into the dirt at the knight’s feet. The Yvag almost went to his knees to keep it from hitting the ground. The creature seemed to revere the device. The knight glanced up, golden eyes glowing in the shadows of his helm. “The other two?”

John grinned. “Well, that’s where tha learn to bargain. I ain’t yet got ’em. Have to ride back to King’s Houses to find where they be hidden.”

Getting to his feet, the knight shook his head. He wouldn’t allow it.

Reading the gesture, John said, “All right, then, and best of luck to ya.” He turned toward his horse.

The Yvag called out, “Wait.”

John fancied he could feel them talking to one another, probably forging a list of conditions. He didn’t give them the opportunity. He turned back and promoted his own. “I’ll bring other two if I can find ’em, but you kill no more people here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, tha ain’t got my brother and his family no more.” He gestured at the bakery, and from the knight’s look read that they had been unaware of their absence. “Ya want your spinners, ya leave off threatening the others hereabout. I know ’em, every one,” he lied. “I’ll know an’ tha harm any.”

A pause then, the knight as still as a statue. From the odd pressure that made him want to clear his ears, they must have been buzzing like a hive of bees. He admitted to enjoying this a little bit.

Finally, the Yvag reacted. “Three days we’ll give you. No more. After that all of these people are ours to dispense with.”

Not quite the bargain he had hoped for. Robyn would have to make it work. That little black stone was going to be very busy. “Three days, then,” he agreed, and climbed back upon his horse. It would be a long ride back to the King’s Houses.


When Drustan Liddel’s family arrived, Isabella Birkin busied herself immediately; first she assigned them chambers in the smaller palace, then took their partially baked loaves of bread to the kitchens.

In her absence, Thomas went looking for Edrick, only to find that the old equerry had disappeared entirely, as had the body of Wilkin, Little John’s nephew. The stall where the corpse had been laid out previously proved to be empty, nor was the body laid out in the chapel. Neither Will nor Adam had noticed anything strange. Isabella had been her usual headstrong self for the better part of his absence, but much calmer since his return, so much so that they set off for Nottingham to gather as many of the Waits as they could, and anyone else who wanted to join up, leaving her in his care.

By now, Thomas supposed, Little John had delivered the one dight to the Yvags occupying Palavia Parva. From here on he must be doubly vigilant. If they came for Isabella, there wouldn’t be long to wait.

The King’s Houses still seemed safe: Kunastur had acted alone and no one else had yet been replaced by a glamoured Yvag. He hadn’t known he was going to ride after Little John, so how could they have done? Yet the dispatching of Wilkin seemed designed to force that exact situation. Wilkin was bait and John had taken it. He had reacted predictably to the obvious threat. Second-guessing himself, Thomas worried that the obvious threat had hidden a far darker one. And why was Isabella taking so long in the kitchens over two loaves of bread?

He was about to go see, when she returned. She immediately busied herself with Drustan Liddel’s three girls and their mother. Their conversation must have encompassed the events occurring in Palavia Parva, because the girls’ and their mother’s expressions turned fearful as they spoke. All the while Isabella did not look his way. He supposed she was shunning him, still angry.

This saddened him more than he could say. She’d shown him how to feel again. It wasn’t love by any means, but a deep tenderness, and he regretted its loss. Still, whether or not she was disgruntled, with Will and Adam gone, he needed to speak with her directly. She alone had been here while he was absent.

Thomas interrupted her interaction with the Liddels and took Isabella aside. He said, “Will mentioned that you went for a walk, circling the palisade and pond. I wondered if you encountered Edrick or know what became of Wilkin’s body. I can’t locate either.”

“I’ve no idea,” she replied curtly. “I saw no body—that is, of course I saw it just after you did. But after that, I’ve no idea. You left here in such a hurry.” She reached out as if to squeeze his hand, but hesitated and drew her arm back without touching him. “Have you looked in the stables? Or the chapel?”

“Yes, both.” The only thing he could think was that the Yvags had come back while he was gone. Unable to get to the others, they had grabbed Edrick and the body. But, why? That they’d dumped Wilkin here to get John’s attention meant they knew where the dights were, at least approximately. But having left the body . . . They should have left it. The Yvags were being too tidy for their own good—which was not his experience of them. Calculating, he would have said. Look how long the prelate’s body lay ignored on the King’s Way.

He excused himself and left Isabella to the Liddel family.


Late in the cloudy evening, with a steady rain now drenching everything, Little John rode through the main gate, his horse lathered after the long, hard ride. Thomas poured him a cup of ale.

John smiled wearily at his brother’s family, rescued and safe, went over and hugged them all. Returning, he asked if Wilkin had been buried yet. Thomas answered him, “Wilkin’s body has disappeared.”

John took him aside and asked what was going on.

“Edrick and Wilkin both are missing.”

“How’s that possible?” John asked.

“Indeed. I’ve a couple of notions, but nothing yet proven. I’ve searched the obvious places and found no trace of either of them so far; it’s time I think to look in the less populated parts of the estate. Of course, they could have been dragged into Ailfion, too, so I need to seek for gateways.”

“Wi’ one a them stones?” he said. It was obvious from his tone that he had no desire to participate.

Thomas nodded.

John sighed while giving his brother a concerned look. “They got inside King’s Houses, then.”

“For all we can tell, they’ve been inside it all along. The one we slew knew we were coming here. Who knows how many he told. And because of how they used Wilkin, we know they know we have their spinners.”

“But they think they’re here still.”

Thomas nodded. He glanced surreptitiously at Isabella, who was sitting again with Drustan’s wife and daughters. He leaned close as John slurped his ale. “I wish I didn’t have to say this, but keep a close eye on Isabella, John. I can’t be absolutely certain yet, but I fear the worst. Just pay attention to everything she does.”


An hour later a party of seven came riding in. Everyone was hooded or keeping their heads down. Thomas went out with a bow at the ready and John with his, but the group proved to consist of Elias, Will Scathelock, Adam D’Everingham, Benedict, Calum, and two others who Elias touted as having participated in the Nottingham archery contest and who happened to have been at the gaol looking for work.

Isabella welcomed them into the hall, then led them all to the main hearth to dry out by the fire. It was the most inhabited the King’s Houses had been in quite some time.

Once they were all settled, she came up to Thomas of her own accord, this time with a creased brow, to ask if he’d learned anything further regarding Edrick’s unexplained absence. Her response, so delayed, struck him as odd, as if she had studied on the concept of being worried, concluding it would seem peculiar if she failed to express some disquiet. Instead, her sudden concern raised his hackles. “He has been gone much too long now,” she said. “He would never desert his post.” Then, eyes wide with worry, she asked, “Do you think these demons have found him?” In that moment, he recognized her expression—he had beheld it only a short time earlier on the faces of the Liddel girls. She matched them perfectly.

“I do,” he replied, and then, just to see how she reacted, he added, “They made a grave error if so.”

“Grave?”

He paused, as if thinking over how to express it, but he was provoking her eagerness, watching it take hold. “They should have left Wilkin in place.”

“Should they,” she said thoughtfully, then dismissed it and smiled, all of that concern erased in an instant. This time she laid her hand upon his arm with rekindled tenderness. He met her gaze, which seemed to be watching his expression to see how he reacted. She said, “Well, it’s no matter. Our food is here.”

The Liddels’ fully baked loaves of bread were brought to the table by Sehild and two other cooks, along with more of the bean tarts, a wedge of cheese, and pitchers of beer. Nothing in the staff’s demeanor suggested they’d noticed anything out of the ordinary about Isabella, but for dour Thomas all doubt had been erased.

While they ate, Elias sat down beside Thomas and asked what their plan was. But he in turn insisted, loudly, that Little John tell his story of Palavia Parva beginning with the delivery of Wilkin’s body at the gatehouse here.

Once that tale was engaged, he quietly retreated as if to his room, but instead descended to the first floor. He followed the covered passage to the kitchen and pantry in order to cross the yard at the closest point to the stables and mostly out of anyone’s sight.

He stood in the dark awhile, watching to see if anyone followed him in the rain.

Upon their arrival Isabella had given him the grand tour. He knew that many of the smaller buildings across the estate remained empty and unused, just as the king and queen’s chambers remained unused. There was a separate Queen’s Hall—a miniature version of the hunting palace, with its separate kitchen—and another, smaller building the name of which escaped him now. He would need to look inside both. But first . . . 

Entering the stables, he drew out his ördstone and floated it on his palm as he turned in a slow circle. The glamoured white stallion watched him, or more likely the stone, carefully.

He turned. Turned again.

A blue gossamer strand shot from the stone to a spot in the middle of the empty stable. The air there warped slightly—a gate recently sealed.

Thomas made a complete circle but from there no other threads extended. He had a grim notion now where both Edrick and Wilkin might have gone, or at least where the King’s Houses had been breached. There was, however, no point in cutting into the sealed gate, no point in pursuing when anything might be waiting on the other side. No, better to investigate the other buildings first.

He turned to leave only to find himself facing Adam D’Everingham. Lit blue by the stone’s glow, Adam, one hand gripping his dagger, stood glaring at him as if barely able to contain his rage.


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