The Successor
by Jennifer Campbell


None of the characters belong to me, unfortunately. I'm just having a little fun and will return them, no worse for wear, when I'm done. This story takes place early in Series 1. No beta, so blame the typos on me.

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Mist swept across the ground with a life of its own, despite the total absence of wind. It obscured the lush undergrowth as it spilled down a hill to Robin's feet, and a hush descended over a forest usually teeming with the music of life. In all, it was an eerie feeling, as though this tiny slice of the world had slipped out of reality. Robin of Sherwood -- formerly Robin of Loxley -- knew well what the mystical occurrence heralded: Herne was approaching.

At one time, not so long ago, visits from the forest god had filled him with apprehension, and maybe even fear. But those days were gone. Now, Robin merely planted his long bow firmly on the forest floor and leaned against it casually as he waited. Moments later, the familiar antlers came into view, atop the hill. Herne raised his arms in benediction, barely visible amid the swirling mist, and Robin bowed his head in greeting to his master.

"A man is coming to the forest," Herne pronounced. "One intended to follow in your steps."

The words threw Robin back a step. "A man? What man?"

"When you meet him, you will know," Herne replied. "He has strayed too far from his destiny. You must help him to find his path once more, or all that you have worked for will be lost."

"I don't understand," Robin called out. "Who is this man? What do you mean he will follow in my footsteps?"

Herne lowered his arms and spoke quietly then, though his voice easily carried to Robin. "It is enough. All will be made clear in time. You must go now, my son, but do not forget. The future rests in your hands."

A bright flash exploded atop the hill like a small star, and Robin instinctively shielded his eyes. When the light vanished, Herne was gone. The mists cleared quickly, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Nearby, a bird began to sing cheerfully. Sherwood once again became the forest Robin had learned to call home.

Yet he hardly noticed the resumption of life as he replayed Herne's directive in his mind, as had become his habit. He gripped his bow tighter in frustration. Riddles. More riddles. For once, he wished Herne would forgo the obscurity and speak as all men do. Yet, the horned one -- he wasn't a man. Not entirely. He stood a step apart from the mortal world, and he saw things. The future. A man to follow in Robin's footsteps.

A successor.

With a troubled heart and heavy feet, all too aware of what Herne's words meant for his own future, Robin headed back toward camp.

===============================

At the edge of Sherwood, two young men reined in their horses and peered under the canopy of trees. The road curled around a bend and vanished into the forbidding darkness. The fair-haired boy, no older than seventeen, urged his mount forward a few steps, right to the place where grass surrendered to forest. His companion dropped back.

"Come on, Kyle," the fair-headed one teased. "Are you afraid of a few trees and rabbits? Or perhaps you are the rabbit, to turn back now."

"We shouldn't be doing this, Robert," Kyle replied nervously. "We should be getting back to Huntingdon before the earl finds out."

Robert's lip curled in a sneer. "My father wouldn't notice unless I went missing for several days, and that's not going to happen." He paused. "Then again, maybe that's not such a bad idea. At least then he'd pay me some attention."

"He'll certainly notice that his sword is missing." Kyle's eyes strayed to the ornate hilt protruding from the scabbard at Robert's hip. "Come on. We don't want to get in trouble."

"And what if we do? It's going to be my sword someday, anyway, by right of succession. I ought to get used to it now, don't you think?"

"Yeah, well, nothing will happen to you if we're caught. They can't touch you because you're the earl's son. But Lord Edgar is sure to give me a whipping."

Edgar, Robert's uncle, trained all the young pages and squires of the castle. He proved a harsh taskmaster, quick to punish when his boys disobeyed but also generous with his praise when it was warranted. Robert hoped to earn much of that praise on this particular day, and no one, not even his best friend and appointed companion, would deter him from his path.

"I'm going in."

"Robert, this is insane," Kyle pleaded. "What makes you think we can even find Robin Hood, let alone kill him? The Sheriff has been trying for months, and he hasn't succeeded."

With a scornful glance at his friend, Robert pressed his horse forward a few more steps, past the first line of trees. "Are you coming or not?"

Without waiting for a response, he rode forward. Kyle muttered some curses, but soon he was riding by Robert's side. They followed the road around a bend and left the safety of civilization behind. The sounds of the forest surrounded them -- birds singing, small animals rustling through the undergrowth, wind whipping through the branches high above. A virtual symphony of life, and somehow comforting to Robert. In a strange way, it felt more like home than Huntingdon ever had.

"This is not a good idea," Kyle muttered.

"Oh, be quiet," Robert admonished.

"What do you want to find out here, anyway?"

Robert grinned. "Once we kill the wolfshead, our names will be known across England. We'll be heroes. King Richard himself will thank us."

"I never wanted to be a hero."

Robin urged his horse to a trot, with Kyle following reluctantly behind. Eventually, by virtue of chance, they would stumble across the outlaws, those unkempt barbarians of the forest. They wouldn't stand a chance against the superior battle training of an earl's son and a squire. And then, well ...

Then glory would be his.

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Marion poked restlessly at the ground with a stick, punching tiny holes in the dirt that caved in all too quickly. She glanced up again at Robin, her sullen husband, barely visible through the thick foliage. He had shrugged them all off after returning to camp, refusing to speak about what Herne had revealed to him. Not even to her. He sat outside camp and had hardly moved for hours.

Most of the others had grown tired of waiting and had gone hunting. Only John had remained with her. They had been here for what seemed forever, keeping a silent vigil over their mysterious leader.

She stabbed again at the dirt, harder this time.

If only he would open up to her. Share some of the weight pressing down on his heart. She would happily accept the burden, if only to spare him the pain of carrying it all alone. Certainly, he shared many things with her: His hopes and dreams. His passion. His love.

Still, sometimes his eyes turned remote, and cold. He folded in on himself and no one could coax him from his shell. Not until he wanted to come out. Right now, that was obviously the case. Whatever Herne had told him, it had disturbed him greatly.

She looked up as Will crashed into camp. He stalked closer and sat across from her, twirling a knife impatiently in his hand. "Has he moved yet?"

"What do you think," she answered, more a statement than a question. She looked up at him, not bothering to hide her frustration.

"So, that's a 'no,' then."

She sighed. "He hasn't moved."

Will leaned forward intently. "What do we do if he stays up there all day? Answer me that. Do we just sit here and wait?"

"He'll come down," John said as he sauntered over. He crouched beside Marion and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He has to come down eventually."

"I just wish he'd open up to us," Marion murmured.

"I know, lass," John soothed. "Give him time."

"Well, what if we don't have time?" Will insisted. "What if we're supposed to be out there doing something, and he's not telling us about it?"

"Will ..." John's voice dripped with warning.

"No, Will's right," Marion looked at both of them in turn. "Robin can't stay up there all day. We have a right to know what's going on." She rose to her feet and brushed the twigs from her skirt. "I'll talk to him."

Before either man could respond, she turned and marched up the hill, toward her husband. She sat beside him, gingerly. His dark eyes flickered toward her, but still he refused to move. He sat, still as stone, his chin resting on his folded hands.

"Robin?" she asked quietly. "Is everything all right?"

He hesitated, then said, "I'm fine, Marion."

"You're not acting fine. We're worried about you." When he offered nothing more, she dared to press harder. "What did Herne tell you? Please, if there's anything I can do to help ..."

"There's nothing to be done," he murmured. Then he shifted, turning slowly to face her. "Herne said ..."

He stopped, tightened his lips and bowed his head. Almost sadly, Marion thought. She set her hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"I'm here for you, Robin."

He smiled softly. "I know. It's just -- I might not always be here for you."

She drew back, as though burned. "What do you mean?" she asked sharply.

"Herne said that one was coming who would follow in my footsteps. I'm to help him find his path."

"But, that could mean many things," Marion offered. She tried to sound supportive, but inside, her spirit wilted. How could Herne even think of replacing Robin, so soon after calling him?

"It is my successor. He is coming."

"I don't believe it," she said, with more resolution than she felt. "No one can replace you, Robin. No one. Not in this forest, or in our hearts. You are our leader, and we wouldn't accept anyone else."

At that, Robin's gaze slowly came to her face, and he ran his fingertips tenderly along her cheek. His eyes burned with so much love that she caught her breath. How could she ever believe in anyone else like she believed in him?

"My beautiful wife," he whispered. "Thank you."

His eyes darted back toward camp, to the anxious men who waited there, and he rose slowly to his feet with a groan. In the ash tree above them, a startled bird took flight. Robin stretched his arms lazily over his head, and Marion rose beside him.

"I need to take a walk," he said.

"I'll come with you," she quickly responded.

"No," he said, then softened the rejection by brushing his lips against hers. "I need time to think. Alone. I'll be back before dark."

"Be careful."

He nodded, and then, with one more kiss, quickly vanished into the forest. He moved so silently that in moments, she heard nothing of his passing. She sat down again, dejected, and rested her chin on her knees.

"Well, what did he say?" John asked as he approached, Will close behind him.

Marion opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut again. What Robin had shared had been for her ears alone. The others, they didn't need to hear about a possible successor. Not now, just as they were coming together as a team. As a family.

"Are you going to tell us or not?" Will asked impatiently.

"He said ..." She hesitated. "He said he had some thinking to do and he'll be back by dark."

Will threw his arms up. "Well, that's just great, ain't it. We're stuck here all day while he sulks."

"Give him time, Will," Marion said quietly, an unintentional echo of John's earlier words. Her eyes strayed back into the forest, to where Robin had vanished. "Just give him time."

===============================

"Do you even know where we're going?" Kyle asked.

Robert looked sidelong at his nervous friend. The boy, only a year his junior, made a wonderful companion for castle living. They could sneak into the kitchens better than anyone else, snitching bits of food between meals. And only Kyle could match Robert's proficiency in weapons training. Yet out here, beyond the gates of Huntingdon, Kyle was proving a poor choice of comrade, indeed.

They had stopped for a short break, to water their horses at a small stream. Robert had unbuckled his father's sword, and it now lay on a flat rock at the water's edge. He stretched out beside it, enjoying the sunny afternoon.

"If we keep going that way," Robert said, pointing down the road, "we eventually come to Nottingham. Back the other way, Huntingdon."

"But we're not going to Nottingham."

"No."

Kyle sighed. "How I wish I were back in Huntingdon right now. You've met Margaret, haven't you? One of the serving girls? She promised to meet me in the stables today. But instead I'm riding around Sherwood with you."

Robert grinned. "Ah, now the truth comes out. She's the reason you keep wanting to go back, isn't she?"

"I'll lose her to that oaf, Carlisle, after this." He sighed again, in mock regret. "She's very pretty, you know, with hair that shimmers like the sun."

"You won't lose her," Robert said confidently. "Not when we come riding home with the body of Robin Hood."

Now it was Kyle's turn to look sidelong at his companion. "Why are you doing this, Robert?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why this sudden urge to play the hero?"

Robert shrugged. "I guess I'm just tired of doing what everyone tells me to do. So for once, I'm going to do what I want to."

Kyle snorted. "No one tells you what to do. You're the earl's son."

"Are you kidding?" Robert asked in amazement. "Everyone is always directing my life. 'Read those books, study that scroll, act like a nobleman. Rule over all those worthless peasants that aren't worth the trouble. Better do a good job, because you're stuck with it for the rest of your life.'" He groaned at his own misfortune. "You have no idea how much I wish to be free of it."

"And you think this little adventure will help?"

"No. No, I don't." Robert shook his head sadly. "Nothing can free me of my destiny."

They sat in silence then. Robert pushed all thoughts away, letting the soothing gurgle of the stream dull his sudden melancholy. The forest, he realized, had a rhythm to it. Every movement of the trees, every sound, it all fit into a greater pattern. He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him, knowing deep in his soul, he could stay here forever and be happy.

Then, a twig snapped. Out of tune, out of order. Robert's eyes snapped open.

"Did you hear that?" he asked softly.

Kyle's eyebrows furrowed. "Hear what?"

"I think someone is there."

Robert cocked his head, listening for another break in the forest rhythm, but nothing came. Maybe it had only been his imagination. He chided his own foolishness as he rose to his feet, buckled on his belt and sword, and gathered the reins of his horse in hand. Still, his uneasiness remained.

"Come on," he said. "It's time we were on our way."

Kyle nodded without words, his eyes darting about the forest in the wake of Robert's warning. As they mounted and continued down the road toward Nottingham, Robert glanced back over his shoulder. Something had been there, watching them. Listening. Biding its time under Sherwood's lush cover. He was sure of it.

===============================

Robin tracked the two young men after they left the stream. The road twisted and turned, but Robin took a more direct route through the trees, easily keeping pace with the horses. He watched, and waited.

Both of them must be of noble birth, he decided. Their fine clothes ... much finer than anything one could buy on the streets of Nottingham. The dark one carried a bulging money pouch, and the flaxen-haired one had a sword. Ah, that sword, now that was the real prize. Even from a distance, Robin could make out the tiny jewels reflecting on its hilt. A sword like that could feed a village for a year, or maybe longer.

What they were doing, riding through Sherwood without an escort, he didn't know. Nor did he care. They had riches they hadn't even bothered to hide -- the fools -- and they were ripe for picking.

Robin all but flew across the forest floor, so much like the wild animal his enemies claimed him to be. He pulled ahead of the riders, climbed an obliging tree that draped over the road, and waited. A minute later, his prey came around the bend. Under his branch. And he jumped.

The dark-haired one crashed to the ground with Robin atop him. The boy's head thudded against the unyielding forest floor, and he grew still. Robin launched himself at the other, who was staring in wide-eyed amazement. He had only managed to half-draw that fine sword before Robin threw him from his saddle. Both horses reared and then trampled back down the road, the way they had come from.

Robin straddled the second victim and held a dagger to his throat. White-blond hair, cut similarly to his own, spilled across the road. The man began to struggle, and Robin pressed harder.

"I don't want to kill you," Robin growled. "All I want is your money. And the sword."

The man gasped. "That's my father's sword, and you won't have it, wolfshead! You'll have to kill me first!"

The venom behind the man's words surprised Robin, and he looked closer at his prey. He was young -- younger than Robin had first thought. Yet his eyes burned with a passion far beyond his years. Something about that gaze held Robin in thrawl, that ageless look resonating to the deepest part of him. Herne's words echoed though his mind.

A man is coming to the forest. One intended to follow in your steps. ... When you meet him, you will know.

"The one," Robin whispered. "You're the one. But you're only a boy."

The struggling stopped momentarily. "You're Robin Hood, aren't you?"

Robin nodded. "What's your name?"

The boy's gaze became defiant. "Robert of Huntingdon, the earl's son. And if you don't release me, my father will send a thousand men into Sherwood and crush you."

Robin's eyebrows raised. "An earl's son? Interesting."

"Release me!"

"If you'll stop writhing around like a fish for two seconds, I might just do that." Robin smiled approvingly as the boy's struggles ceased. "Good. Now hold still a moment. I promise I won't hurt you."

In one fluid motion, Robin removed the dagger from Robert's throat and drew the kingly sword from its scabbard. He rose to his feet and walked a few paces away, examining the workmanship of the weapon. As he had thought, dozens of tiny jewels, green and red, decorated the hilt. The blade itself felt light in his hand, well-balanced. It was almost as fine as Albion. Almost.

Robert scrambled to his feet, ran to his companion and felt at the unconscious boy's neck for a pulse. Robin merely watched, amused.

"He's alive," Robin assured him. "But he'll sleep for a while."

"I will have your head for this," Robert spat. "Return my sword."

"No." Robin hefted the weapon in his hand. "Not until we call a truce."

Robert blinked, the anger in his expression suddenly replaced with confusion. "A truce? I don't understand."

"I give you back your sword, but only after we've had a talk." He scanned the area thoughtfully. "Not here, though. We would need to leave the road. Agreed?"

Robert merely gaped. "You attack us, hurt my friend, lose our horses, steal my sword, and now you want to talk?"

A smile curled at one corner of Robin's mouth, and he nodded. He set the sword's tip lightly against the ground and held it before him like a cross, a deliberate reminder of what was at stake.

Now that he had seen the boy, Robin almost felt like laughing. His earlier worries of Herne replacing him seemed a silly, childish fear. After all, Robert of Huntingdon, the earl's son, was hardly ready to move into Sherwood and lead a band of outlaws. Whatever Herne wanted of the boy would not happen for many years yet. It set Robin's heart at ease, and made the coming task that much easier.

Herne had directed him to set the boy on the correct path. Robin's own path. He had to make Robert understand the importance of this struggle to defend and protect the people, to fight for true justice and not the mockery most lords made of it. It wouldn't prove easy, to help a young Norman lord to feel sympathy for Saxon peasants, but Herne wouldn't have set the challenge before him if were it impossible.

Robert's expression grew distrustful, and he studied the outlaw closely. "How do I know that as soon as we're deep in Sherwood you won't kill me and take my sword?"

Cautious, Robin thought approvingly. The boy was cautious, and smart.

He set the earl's sword on the ground, drew his own blade, and approached Robert. He held the sword across both palms, in an unthreatening manner, and offered it to Robert. The boy stared at the weapon warily.

"Take it," Robin said.

Robert reached out slowly, slowly, and wrapped his fingers around the hilt, hefted it into the air. The look on his face showed his amazement, and he closely examined the blade that he held upright in his hand.

"Albion," he said, reading the inscription. He pointed at the symbols etched into the blade. "What does all this mean?"

"I don't know," Robin answered softly. He retrieved the earl's sword and slipped it into his sheath. "I won't abandon or hurt you while you hold my sword, and you will grant me the same trust. We are bonded through our blades. For the time being. Will you come with me now?"

Robert snorted. "I don't have a choice, now do I?" He nodded toward the still, prostrate form in the road. "What about my friend?"

"We'll carry him off the road and leave him. If he doesn't wake on his own, we'll return for him later."

"And where are you taking me?"

Robin smiled. "You'll see. Come on."

He dragged Robert's friend off the road, hid him in a small thicket, and waited patiently for Robert to gather his courage and join him. The boy eyed him cautiously, as though Robin were a snake about to strike, and Robin couldn't blame him. He had not trusted Herne when they had first met, but the bond between them had been undeniable. Just as he could sense a bond between himself and Robert. They were the same, no matter the different paths their lives had taken. Trust would grow. Herne would see to that.

===============================

The wolfshead lead Robert deep into Sherwood, so far from the road that Robert knew he could never find his way back unaided. They weaved among the trees, crossed small clearings, even jumped a stream -- but where they were going, he didn't know.

Robin seemed to belong to the forest, Robert mused as he watched the outlaw walk ahead of him. He moved with the grace of a wild animal, silent and deadly. The undergrowth seemed to part before him, while it snapped back into place for Robert, making his passing next to intolerable. He stumbled over rocks and roots, ran headlong into whiplike branches, and crunched leaves with each step. He would be covered with bruises by morning.

With some concentration, though, after they had walked for quite awhile, he began to get the feel of moving silently. It wasn't as difficult as it looked. Not by far. Soon, he was making hardly a sound, although it required great focus. The wolfshead turned back once to smile and nod, and despite himself, Robert felt proud for the approval.

"So what brings an earl's son to Sherwood?" Robin asked.

"To kill you." He half-smiled at the irony of it, and Robin chuckled. "I could attack you now."

"Yes, you could. But you won't."

"Why not?"

Robin smiled mysteriously. "I just know."

Robert licked his dry lips, cleared his throat. "Where are we going?"

"To visit Wickham."

"And who is that?" Robert pressed. "One of your outlaw friends?"

Robin laughed at that, obviously amused, and Robert felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment. He didn't care to have this man laughing at him. No one dared such impudence in Huntingdon.

"Wickham isn't a person," Robin explained. "It's a place, a village not far from here."

"Why are we going there?"

"Because there's something in Wickham that I think you need to see."

Robert glanced around them, at the lengthening shadows. Already, he felt a slight chill in the air. "The sun will set soon."

"We'll be there before nightfall." Robin glanced back at him, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Don't worry. I won't let you get lost in the dark."

"I am not frightened," Robert retorted.

And strangely enough, he really wasn't scared, although he suspected he should be wetting his pants. He had essentially been taken hostage by the most notorious criminal in the land, and yet, as much as he wanted to hate this man -- this enemy of the king and all things lawful in England -- he found himself drawn to him, instead. Like a moth to the flame, he thought ruefully. Certain to get burned but helpless to stay away.

Robert couldn't quite understand it, but he felt a connection to Robin Hood, as though something more powerful than either of them was pulling them together. It was a strange, uncomfortable feeling, that he had no control over his own fate.

Not much later, just as twilight began to fall, they crossed a stream at a narrow footbridge, climbed a hill, and there was Wickham. It looked like every village on his father's land: a pathetic collection of thatch-roofed buildings and tiny gardens. People walked every which way, going about the daily business of life. Even at this distance, Robert imagined he could smell the stench of them, an entire village that had probably never seen a proper bathing tub, let alone used one.

He stopped at the treeline, his eyes taking in everything about the small community. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to go another step, and Robin looked back at him in confusion.

"Come on," the outlaw said. "We're almost there."

"I know," he said, yet still he hesitated.

"What is it?"

"I don't feel right about this, going into that place. I'm a nobleman and they're ..."

"Peasants?" Robin prompted. At Robert's nod, he sighed and led them back amid the trees. "The people of Wickham are no higher or lower than you. They are human. We all are. And the sooner you understand that, the better." He half-smiled and clapped Robert on the shoulder. "Now, come on."

This time, Robert took a deep breath, gathered his courage and followed. He couldn't help but notice the strange glances of the people. For Robin, their expressions held only wonder and adoration, but when their eyes strayed to him ... well, they looked confused, and wary. Robert felt almost under attack, as though he could hear their hateful thoughts, yet no one said a word. He breathed a relieved sigh that his fine clothes, which might have spawned even more hostility, were dirty and torn. Unrecognizable as those belonging to a nobleman.

A few men tended a fire at the village's edge; they seemed to be cooking some meat, and Robert's stomach growled at the aroma. Only then, he realized he hadn't eaten since morning. A few chickens and a goat wandered nearby, and a mill wheel turned lazily at the largest building in sight.

As they neared the village center -- Robin in the lead with Robert only a couple of paces behind -- a man approached. He was tall and slender, with a close beard. He grinned and shook Robin's hand in greeting.

"This is an unexpected visit," the man said. "What can we do for you?"

"Good to see you, Edward," Robin replied. "I'd like you to meet someone. This is--"

"Thomas," Robert quickly interjected. Robin gave him a startled glance, but he ignored it. Some instinct told him that to share his true identity would be a mistake. "My name is Thomas, of Lincoln."

Edward took his hand in a firm shake. "You're a long way from home. What brings you to Wickham?"

"I do," Robin said. "Can we go inside, somewhere where we can talk in private?"

Edward's eyes flickered nervously, but he nodded. "Of course. Follow me."

===============================

"He should have been back by now," Will proclaimed to the others, all gathered around a small campfire for dinner. He leaned over to Nasir, sitting next to him. "He should have been back hours ago."

No one responded, or even acknowledged Will's words, because they all knew the truth of it. Marion, for one, couldn't bring herself to speak because then she would have admitted to their worst fear: Something unthinkable had happened to Robin. She took another sip of Tuck's rabbit stew and firmly banished such evil thoughts from her mind.

Will, though, would have none of it. He jumped to his feet, agitated. "It ain't right that he should be gone so long."

"We know," Tuck answered gently. "Now sit down and eat."

Will muttered angrily under his breath but obeyed, stuffing an oversized heap of stew into his mouth. Across the circle, John stirred his makeshift spoon in his bowl without eating a bite. Much and Tuck stared forlornly into the fire. Only Nasir seemed calm, yet even he, Marion noted, occassionally glanced toward the outskirts of camp in a futile lookout for Robin.

Marion pulled her blanket more closely around her shoulders, hoping to ward off the chill that swept through her every time she thought of what might have happened to her husband. Captured by Gusburne and the Sherrif, or injured and helpless to return to camp. Perhaps he had met this successor Herne had spoken of. Perhaps they had fought and Robin ...

No. No, she would not think of such things. Robin was alive. He had to be.

"He said he'd be back by dark, right?" Much asked.

Marion nodded. "That's what he said."

"But it's dark now."

"I know," Marion answered, struggling to keep her voice level, for Much's benefit. The boy had known Robin longer than any of them.

"So where is he?" Much's eyes pleaded for an answer -- one she could not give.

"I don't know," she finally responded, "but I'm sure he'll tell us when he comes back."

Will snorted. "If he comes back. And I say that if he's not here by dawn, we go after him. Agreed?"

They all nodded, Much more enthusiastically than the rest. Marion huddled deeper under her blanket. The uneasy band of outlaws finished dinner in silence, around the smoldering remains of their fire.

===============================

As Alison gathered their empty plates, young Matthew kept them entertained with another of his impressions. He screwed his face into a tense, tight-lipped expression, with one eye bulging larger than the other. He couldn't hold it for long, though, and soon broke into a wide grin.

"And that's the Sheriff," he explained. "I saw him do that once when he came to collect the taxes, when he got really angry."

Robert chuckled, finding the comparison funny even though he had never met De Rainault. Robin and Edward, though, laughed uproariously, and Robin even ruffled the boy's thick hair. Thoroughly please with himself, Matthew giggled, too.

Edward's son couldn't have been older than six, and he reminded Robert so much of the younger children in Huntingdon: Energetic, playful and much too perceptive for his age. Robert liked him immediately, as he liked Edward and his wife. They had treated him with graciousness and hospitality, offering what little they had to a complete stranger without hesitation. The revelation that he had come to respect this small family surprised him, that he could have such an attitude toward Saxon peasants.

Then again, he had never really bothered to know any peasants before. He had always been taught they were too far below his station to warrant his attention.

"I'm sorry we don't have more to offer," Alison said as she finished clearing the roughly carved table. "We would have had even less, though, if Robin's men hadn't brought in all those rabbits earlier today."

"So that's how they spent the afternoon," Robin mused. "I had wondered."

"There's no need to apologize, Alison," Robert offered, rubbing his satisfied stomach. "The food was delicious. Thank you for such a feast."

Alison raised her eyebrows. "Such manners. Robin, you should have this young man teach your men a thing or two about courtesy."

"I might just do that," Robin answered, winking at Robert. He stood and gestured to Edward. "And now if you'll let me borrow your husband for a moment?"

Alison nodded, and Robin and Edward stepped outside the small house. For the first time all evening, Robert felt slightly uncomfortable, being left alone with Alison and Matthew, two people he hardly knew. Then Matthew tugged on his sleeve in an easy familiarity, and the tension vanished.

"Do you really live in Lincoln, Thomas?" Matthew asked excitedly, using the name Robert had given them upon his arrival in Wickham. "Father says you're from Lincoln."

He nodded, inwardly wincing at the lie.

"I've always wanted to go to Lincoln. It sounds so big and exciting," the boy said. "And London, too. Have you ever been there?"

"A few times," Robert answered with a small smile.

"Will you tell me about it?"

Alison laid a hand on her son's shoulder and smiled apologetically at Robert. "I'm sorry if he's bothering you, Thomas. Ever since we took him on a trip to Nottingham, he's been obsessed with seeing other places."

"It's all right," Robert assured her, then looked to Matthew. "London is amazing. Probably the biggest city I've ever seen. The streets are lined with shops, and there are people everywhere."

"Boys like me?" Matthew interjected.

Robert nodded. "Yes, boys like you. And grownups. And even lords and ladies, lots of them. When their carriages go by, all the people clear out of the way to watch them pass."

Matthew's eager expression fell. "Oh," he said dejectedly. "I don't think I'd like London, then."

"What do you mean?" Robert couldn't figure out what he had said to upset the boy. He had been trying to make London sound as fantastic and magical as possible.

With a sad pout, Matthew bowed his head and refused to answer. Alison sighed as she pulled him into her arms, into the comforting embrace only a mother can give. "He's afraid of Normans," she explained, her voice hushed, as though not to further upset her son.

"But why?"

Matthew sniffled. "They come here and hit Father all the time. They're mean, and they take our food and our money for no reason."

"The Sheriff's men do this?" At Alison's solumn nod, Robert huffed. "But that's impossible. The Sheriff is sworn to protect and serve the people. Why would he act so unjustly?"

From the doorway, Edward spoke. "Greed. Greed and power. The Sheriff, and Gisburne, care nothing for those who are so far below them. Just last month, they arrested a man from a village not far from here for letting his goats graze in the forest."

"But they let him go ..." Robert prompted.

Edward shrugged as he sat by his wife. "If they did, we've heard nothing of it. I suspect he's still in the Nottingham prison."

Alison nodded, and said, "And just last week, two soldiers chased a 10-year-old boy for a mile for picking berries. They might have done something horrible if the boy hadn't found a hiding place."

Robert could only gape in amazement at the stories. Such improbable tales, and yet, these people had no reason to lie. So if it were true, and the Sheriff allowed these things, why was it happening? How could De Rainault, a man sworn to uphold the king's laws, abuse his power so shamelessly? To chase a boy for a mile, just for gathering food ... well, that simply wouldn't do.

"Someone should bring this to the king's attention," Robert pronounced. "He'll have the Sheriff replaced."

"And will he also replace every other sheriff and lord in England?" Robin asked. "De Rainault's tyranny is not unusual."

My father isn't like that, Robert wanted to say, but he bit back the words. Here, he was Thomas of Lincoln, not the son of a Norman lord. For the first time he could remember, he felt ashamed of his noble upbringing, and of the ruthlessness of his people.

"Something should be done," he muttered.

"Something is done." Edward clapped a hand against Robin's shoulder. "At least here in Sherwood, we have Robin Hood and his men. They bring us food and money, and they protect us from bandits and from the Sheriff himself. If not for Robin, we would not survive as well as we do."

"I -- I'm sorry." Robert looked at each of them in turn. He suddenly felt the need to apologize for his entire class, although he knew that was impossible. "I didn't know."

"Nothing to be sorry about, lad," Edward said. "There's nothing any one man can do to curb the Normans' power. Unless, of course, you're Herne's Son."

===============================

Robert sat in the half-firm mud outside Edward's house, hardly noticing anymore the grime that further ruined his clothes. Stars splashed across the clear sky, and a light breeze ruffled his hair. Most of the village huts were dark now, indicating the people had all gone to bed. Robert, though, could not sleep, not with these troubled thoughts.

He wrapped his arms tight against himself, pulled his knees to his chest and stared blankly at the stars. The night wasn't cold, but he felt a chill in his soul.

Were all Saxons like Edward and his family, trying to scrape by despite the brutal treatment of their lords? Living a life that was no life at all? No, they couldn't all be like Edward. Only an exceptional man would have welcomed Robert into his home with so little reservation. Still, no man, Saxon peasant or Norman lord, deserved worse treatment than the castle livestock.

No man deserved it. Robert half-smiled at the thought. What was it Robin had said? The people of Wickham are no higher or lower than you. They are human. We all are. Maybe so, yet it defied everything Robert had been taught. It defied his very upbringing, and the blood flowing in his veins.

The sound of a soft footstep drew his attention, and he glanced around, only to see Robin, watching him with questioning eyes. The outlaw squatted beside him, rubbed his hands together and looked up to the stars.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" he said casually. "I see them every night, and yet I never get tired of them. When I was boy, I believed my father must be up there, watching over me."

"He's dead?"

Robin nodded. "He died when I was about Matthew's age. Killed by the Sheriff and his men."

Robert lowered his eyes. Yet another travesty of his people, yet another wrong-doing to weigh heavily on his heart. "I'm sorry."

"Why? You were no more than an infant when it happened."

"Because ..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "Because it's my people doing these things. I would have never believed it except that, somehow, I always knew. There are things that happen behind closed doors, and everyone who could stop it looks the other way. I guess, in a way, I've always been afraid to face it."

"You can't carry the burden of every Norman who ever cuffed a man for an impudent word." He laid a broad hand on Robert's shoulder. "All you can atone for are your own mistakes."

"Then I'm sorry for all the times I didn't stop soldiers from hurting the people who live on my father's land. I'm sorry for not caring about their position. And I'm sorry that I intended to kill you." He eyed Robin frankly. "I've been so selfish, thinking only of my own misery and desire for glory." He all but spat the last word. "All I knew about Robin Hood were stories of an outlaw breaking the king's law. I didn't understand why you did it."

"And now you do?"

"Not entirely. But I'm learning."

Robin nodded with a weary sigh. "Most Normans, they're blind. They go through life without ever seeing what is really happening right under their noses. Or maybe they don't want to see because they couldn't live with the guilt."

"Well, here is one less Norman for you to worry about." Robert spoke with all the sincerity of his tired heart. "My eyes opened tonight to the truth, and I won't ignore it. Not anymore."

"Good man," Robin murmured, then rose to his feet. "Edward has offered to let us sleep in the mill tonight, so I suggest we turn in. It's been a long day, and we must be up early tomorrow."

Robert obediantly stood, brushed what little dirt he could from his pants, and followed Robin across the village square, toward the mill. Today had been traumatic enough, with its unexpected twists and revelations. What more could tomorrow bring?

===============================

For all his young life, Robert awoke to the rooster, crowing in the castle courtyard at the dawn of another day. Yet in Wickham, either the rooster neglected his duty or there was none at all, and so Robert slept long past sunrise, curled up in the mill loft and blissfully unaware of the teeming village around him.

Finally, two men entered the building to tend the wheel, loudly discussing their plans for the day, and Robert slowly struggled to consciousness. His stretched out on the hay and groaned, every part of his body in agony. He was accustomed to hard riding, but the previous day's long walk through Sherwood -- and a night without his soft bed -- had strained underused muscles past their endurance.

"Hello?" said a voice from below. "Is someone up there?"

Robert leaned over the loft edge, slowly, so as to not further aggravate his body, and waved at them. "It's only me."

The men looked at each other in confusion, then back at Robert. "And who are you?"

Oh, yeah, Robert thought. He had only met a handful of people here, and obviously not these men. "I'm Thomas, of Lincoln, here with--"

He stopped short at that and looked around the empty loft. Robin had stayed with him last night, but now the outlaw had abandoned him with no warning. Then again, Robin Hood probably didn't make a habit of sleeping in villages. He'd be back, though, seeing as Albion was still sheathed in the scabbard by Robert's side.

"You're here with who?" one of the men prompted.

"Edward." Robert named the villager for lack of any better plan. "I'm here at Edward's invitation. Do you know where I can find him?"

The men visibly relaxed, and one said, "He's in the fields with the others. It's planting day, you know."

"How do I find the fields?"

Soon, with Albion clutched in his hand, Robert was passing through the square and heading out of the village, back toward the footbridge he and Robin had crossed the previous day. Sunshine beat down from a clear sky, infecting Robert with its cheerfulness. He felt refreshed, and free of the confining walls and rules of Huntingdon. Now, if only he could find Robin, this morning would be close to perfect.

He soon found the villagers working in a vast expanse of loose dirt, creating shallow ruts, dropping in the seeds and then smoothing the dirt back into place. A few of the women were singing an energetic tune as they toiled. Even children helped. Robert spotted Matthew softly patting down dirt at his mother's side.

Robert stood at the field's edge, careful not to tread on the newly planted seeds, and waved to Edward. The man wiped his sweaty forehead as he approached. He seemed exhausted from the hard labor, yet he still smiled.

"Thomas, glad to see you're awake." He clasped Robert's arm in greeting. "I trust you slept well?"

"Like a rock." He nodded toward the field. "Is Robin helping you? I don't see him ..."

"Robin left before first light. Said he had some things to do but that he'd be back before long. He also said you might be willing to get your hands dirty, out in the field."

Normally, the prospect of stooping to peasants' work would have made Robert cringe, but not this morning. Not ever again. He grinned and stretched his arms wide in preparation for, well, whatever the villagers would have him do.

"Why not. I need to work out a few kinks."

Edward chuckled. "That's not surprising. Keeping up with Robin would test any man's endurance." He gestured toward a worker in the field, who came over to join them. "Thomas, this is Ethan. He'll help you get started."

Ethan stood several inches taller than Robert, with shoulders like a bear. He looked down at Robert as though he weren't worth crushing in one beefy fist, but he nodded back toward the field.

"You better be a quick study because I don't have time to explain things," he said. "We have a lot to get done today."

With that, he returned to the field without waiting to see whether Robert would follow. Robert carefully laid Albion in the tall grasses surrounding the planting field, assured himself that it was out of sight, and then tromped out among the rows of seeds. He and Ethan started by pacing up and down, sprinkling seeds into already made ruts. It was mindless work, not to mention sweaty and thirsty, but Robert enjoyed it just the same. It made him feel appreciated, useful.

More than that, it lifted a tiny portion of the guilt weighing on his heart, and it helped him to feel free.

===============================

Robin reached camp not long after daybreak, but already his men had gone. All they'd left were the ashes of their burned out campfire, and tracks headed toward the stream. They were following his day-old trail. Robin had no doubts of their ability to track him anywhere.

Eventually, his path would lead to the road, where he met Robert, and then to Wickham. He had other concerns this morning than catching up with his gang, so he would meet them in the village later, and give them a lecture about taking off on their own -- without orders and without him.

He jogged from the abandoned camp at a comfortable, ground- eating pace. The sun had not yet reached its zenith when Herne's lair came into view. Despite the bright day, a perpetual mist hung low over the lake, as though the forest god were standing apart from the sun itself.

Robin polled a small boat across the lake, into fog so thick he could see no more than a few feet ahead of him. Yet he had come this way so many times, he could navigate it blindfolded. The boat teetered each time he shifted his weight, threatening to pitch him into the black waters; still, he managed to stay upright. The mouth of Herne's cave soon yawned before him, and he directed his unstable craft through the opening and docked.

Herne, who had shed his antlered costume, greeted him with a scowl. Without the trappings, he seemed only an old man, but Robin had learned to know better. Here in his lair, with or without his ancient symbols, Herne's power grew stronger than ever.

"I did not call you," Herne snapped as Robin stepped off the boat. "Why have you come here?"

Robin gulped nervously but refused to lower his eyes, the universal admission of wrong-doing. "I need your advice, Herne. On Robert of Huntingdon."

Herne's expression softened a bit. "What is it you wish to know?"

"I have shown him the plight of the people, and he's understood what he has seen. What should I do now? Lead him back to Hungingdon?"

"When this is finished," Herne answered, "the boy must return to his home. But the lesson is not yet complete."

"What must I do, then?"

"You can do nothing. Now, the pupil and the teacher become one and the same. You have shown young Robert the path, but only he can decide whether to walk it."

Robin's brows furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Come, then." Herne beckoned for him to follow, to the stone altar and flame at the cave's center. He lifted a full cup from the altar and set it in Robin's hands. "Drink, and more will be made clear."

Robin slowly, almost hesitantly, lifted the cup to his lips. The bitter liquid slid down his throat, like both ice and molten rock. He began to feel lightheaded the moment it hit his stomach, and his vision began to blur. He felt Herne lift the cup from his hands.

"Look into the flame," Herne directed, and Robin obeyed. "The flame will tell all. You see, how it is changing ..."

And Robin did see. Two blades, Albion and the earl's jewel-encrusted sword, drifted side by side, drawn together yet not quite making a connection ... Albion, held tight in Robert's white-knuckled fist, as two Nottingham soldiers bore down on him on horseback, their swords drawn. Robert stood alone, so very alone, and poised for a fight, as the two war horses raced ever closer, closer, closer ... Robin's own gang ran into battle, on an open field. The enemy outnumbered them two-to-one, and yet they ran in with abandon, weapons drawn ... sword clashed, as the outlaws faced soldiers on horseback, Gisburne himself fought them, an expression of grit and arrogance marring his face. One man went down with an arrow in his shoulder, yet Robin could not tell who ... the scene faded, returned to the two swords, yet this time they touched and melted into one another until only Albion remained, shining bright as the sun.

All went dark, and Robin's sight cleared to become the flame once again.

"It is done," Herne pronounced. "The seeing is over."

"Robert, and my men. They're in danger," Robin murmured. Unlike with previous visions, this one carried a terrible sense of urgency. Whatever would happen, he had little time to prepare.

"No matter what, the boy must live." Herne's expression grew intently serious. "You are the hope of the present, but he is the hope for the future. Without him, all is lost."

Robin nodded. "I understand."

"Go, now," Herne ordered, "and do what you must. My blessings go with you."

===============================

Robin's gang came to the road at midmorning. They halted beneath the undergrowth that lined the broad strip of dirt, one of the busiest roads to Nottingham, and scanned the area. No travelers or soldiers were in sight. Will was the first to walk into the open, followed by Marion and the others a moment later.

As the group stood by and watched, Nasir knelt in the road, touching his fingertips to the prints of feet and hooves still pressed in the dirt. He moved slowly, cautiously about the area and pointed to a sturdy tree branch above them.

"Two men on horses," he said. "I think Robin ambushes them from up there."

"How can you know that?" Will demanded.

"Neither horse passes that branch, and both go back down the road." Nasir knelt again to examine markings in the dust. "Three men come here, and two leave on foot." He pointed into the trees. "They go that way."

"Only two?" Will started pacing, as he always did when especially impatient. "Well, that's great. Which two, Nasir?"

Nasir calmly regarded Will. "I don't know."

Much piped up, "And what happened to the third one?"

No one answered, and Marion lowered her eyes to the scuffles and ruts in the dirt. Nasir could read such signs like a book, but to her, they meant little and offered even less comfort. Could Robin have met his successor here? If they had fought, who had won? Only two left on foot. Marion clenched her fists in frustration, fearing the worst for her beloved.

"No blood," Nasir murmured. He touched his fingertips to the dirt.

"What was that?" Will asked.

"There is no blood. So perhaps no one died. Yet one fell here." He pointed to a spot that looked much like the others to Marion. "And was dragged --"

"I found something!" John yelled from off the road.

Marion quickly hitched up her skirt around her calves and ran toward John. If this was a clue to Robin's disappearance, or if it were Robin himself ...

Just off the road, cleverly concealed in the undergrowth, curled up and fast asleep, they found a brown-haired boy. No, Marion corrected herself -- he looked closer to manhood than childhood. Not much younger than herself, in fact. He carried a sword, and tied to his belt was a purse, heavy with coins.

She breathed a sigh of relief at what this meant: If two left the road, as Nasir said, Robin was alive. Or at least he had been after a scuffle here. Still, why he had left with a stranger? If this mysterious rider was Robin's successor, where had they gone to? Too many questions, and no answers.

Tuck leaned over and gently nudged the sleeping figure with his boot. The boy shifted slightly but did not wake. "He's alive, at least."

"We need to wake him up," Marion said. "He might know what happened to Robin."

"Right." Will grinned mischievously. "Allow me."

He knelt beside him, carefully untied the purse and threw it to John. Then Will poked the boy a couple of times in the shoulder, with no reaction. He cleared his throat noisily and, with one more grin for his companions, leaned over to the boy's ear.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Wake up!"

The boy's eyes snapped open but remained unfocused as he looked at them. He blinked a couple of times, slowly sat up, groaned and clutched at his head. Then he scanned the gang again, and his gaze finally came to rest on Marion.

"What is this? Where am I?" he asked, still a little dazed.

"You're in Sherwood," Marion answered gently. She waved back the others, who had inched forward. The young man needed room to breathe, not a bunch of rough-and-tumble men huddled about in curiosity.

The boy shook himself. "Sherwood?"

"Yeah," Will supplied sarcastically. "Big forest. Lots of trees."

"Will ..." Marion gave him a warning look. Will bowed his head and backed away, and Marion knelt at the boy's side. "Do you remember what happened? How you got here?"

Another dazed shake of the head, then, "Robert ... where is he?"

Robert. The other rider, no doubt. And someone they needed more information about if they were to learn what had happened to Robin.

"I don't know where he is," she answered cautiously. "Maybe if you tell us who he is, and who you are ..."

He hesitated a moment, eyes narrowing. "Why should I tell you? You're bandits. ... Wait, you're Robin Hood's men, aren't you?" At Marion's nod, he gasped and scrambled away from her, up to his feet. Shakily, he drew his sword. "You killed Robert, didn't you? I'll kill you!"

They all drew back in surprise, except for Tuck, who stepped forward with hands raised before him. "We don't know any Robert, and we mean you no harm."

The boy teetered and steadied himself on a tree behind him. The blow to his head had obviously left him a little unsteady. "I don't believe you. You attacked us. You knocked me off my horse and killed Robert. You're animals!"

Will snorted. "Got that last part right, at least."

Tuck silenced Will with a glance, then stepped closer to the boy. "I'm a man of God. I won't lie to you. We had nothing to do with your attack."

The sword drooped a little. "Then tell me what happened."

Tuck looked to Marion for assistance, and she moved up beside him. "We don't know what happened," she soothed. "But we think your Robert left here with Robin."

The boy sputtered, "But that's impossible. Robert wouldn't... I mean, he --" He took a deep breath. "Robert wouldn't consort with an outlaw."

Will sighed loudly. "Look, this kid obviously don't know nothing. We're wasting our time here when we should be following the trail. If we find Robin too late ..."

He left the words hanging among them. Marion felt a chill and drew her arms about herself, and the others shifted nervously. No one finished the warning, but Marion was certain they all understood the implication: If Robin died, then his cause died with him.

Much was the first to speak. "Let's follow him, then. He can't be far."

Silence for a moment, then John said, "Much is right. We need to keep moving if we're going to find out what's going on."

The boy stepped forward, more steady on his feet now, and sheathed his sword. With an authority only one born to privilege could muster, he said, "I'm going with you, then."

Will snorted. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're --" Will caught himself, breathed out slowly and said, as though explaining to a small child, "Look, I understand your concern for your friend. But we don't have time for this. If you follow the road, it'll take you out of the forest."

"I can't go back without Robert." His air of nobility vanished, replaced with only a scared, worried young man. "You have no idea what the Earl would do to me. I have to find Robert, or I can't go back at all." When no one responded, he added, "Besides, you can't stop me. If you leave me here, I'll only follow."

"Well, you could try," Will muttered.

The men took turns looking at each other, as though silently asking anyone else to tell the boy he couldn't come. Marion merely studied the young man and knew he meant every word. He would try to follow -- and probably lose himself in the forest. All the stubbornness in the world wouldn't save him then, if he couldn't find his way out.

"You can come," she said softly, and no one challenged her decision.

"And I want my money back." He looked pointedly at the pouch in John's hands.

"Don't press your luck," Will shot back.

A low chuckle circulated the group, and they all prepared to go. Nasir started hunting for signs of passage, inspecting snapped branches and trampled leaves. Meanwhile, John approached the new addition to their group and laid a companionable arm around the boy's shoulders. Marion watched the exchange with a small smile, grateful that at least John was supporting her decision to let the boy join them.

"What's your name, lad?" he asked gently.

"Kyle."

"Well, Kyle, stay quiet, don't ask too many questions, and keep up. Understand?"

The boy nodded.

"Good." John patted Kyle's back and turned to the others. "Shall we be on our way, then?"

===============================

Robert stopped dropping seeds long enough to wipe his sleeve against his sweaty forehead. What he wouldn't give for a taste of crisp, cool water from the Huntingdon well right now, and maybe some biscuits from the kitchen. He and Kyle had been masters of sneaking food out from under the cook's notice, but they had been caught just as often.

Robert smiled at the memory. It made no difference down there in the castle's depths whether the thief was a stableboy or an earl's son, for all got the same treatment -- swept out with a broom, the cook's shrill complaints chasing after.

At the thought of Kyle, he paused again. He wondered whether his friend had woken up and made his way back to the castle. Robert fervently hoped Kyle hadn't wandered into Sherwood, confused and alone. Without a guide, the forest could prove deadly, and Robert would wish that on no one, least of all his boyhood companion.

"Keep up the pace, boy!" Ethan, his taskmaster, nudged him from behind, and Robert resumed his seed-dropping. "We can't have you dallying when the sun is already so low in the sky."

Robert shaded his eyes and looked up. "It can't be much past midday."

"Are you going to challenge me on that?" Ethan's voice dropped dangerously low, the threat obvious behind his words.

"No," Robert answered quickly. No sense in antagonizing a man twice his size.

"Good. Now get to work."

So passed the next hour. A pretty young woman, about Robert's age, occasionally brought him a ladle-full of water, along with her shy smile. She wore her long brown hair in braids, and her name, he found out, was Bethany. Robert contented himself with flashing her charming smiles and watching her blush.

Bethany had just moved on to the next thirsty worker, with one last look for him over her shoulder, as Robert reached the end of his row. A quick glance into the nearby grass confirmed that Albion still lay undisturbed.

He grabbed another handful of seeds, with a passing curiosity of what exactly he was planting -- he hadn't bothered to ask -- when he noticed a disturbance ripple across the field. The people of Wickham froze as one, heads whipping to look north. A moment later, Robert heard it: hoof beats, like a low rumble of thunder. He followed everyone else's lead and strained to see what was coming.

Men on horseback galloped out of the forest. As they drew closer, Robert made out their matching helmets and blue capes. Soldiers, probably from Nottingham. At least a dozen of them pulled up on the planting field, no care for trampling the villager's hard work beneath their horses' hooves. Most of the villagers cowered back.

Robert felt his cheeks burn in anger. How dare these soldiers have so little regard for their people! Then again, he too had viewed the Saxons as little better than animals as recently as a couple of days ago. He wanted to run forward and turn the horsemen back, but instead he waited to see how this would play out.

One soldier, dressed in finer armor than the rest, urged his horse forward a few paces and yelled, "Edward of Wickham!"

Robert's throat tightened as Edward stepped forward and bowed. "My Lord Gisburne, can I do something for you?"

Gisburne responded, in a haughty tone, "The town of Wickham is late in paying its taxes. I'm here to collect. Five marks."

"My lord, we don't have that much money," Edward said. "If we could pay, we would. But it's impossible."

"You will pay, or your pathetic village will suffer the consequences." He waved two men forward, who rode to either side of Edward and stood guard. "I'm placing you under arrest."

"On what charge?" Edward asked, anger edging into his voice.

"On failure to pay the king's taxes, of course." Gisburne raised his voice for all to hear. "We are taking this man to Nottingham. If your taxes are not paid in seven day's time, he will be executed, and we will be back for another of you. This will continue until you have paid, or you're all dead."

Villagers gasped. The two soldier's grabbed Edward's arms, and he struggled against them.

"My lord, you can't do that!" Edward protested.

"I just did."

"But how can we pay our taxes if you kill us? We must all work to earn our money."

"You should have thought of that before. Now it's too late." Gisburne waved one mailed hand at his men. "Tie him up. We're leaving."

"NO!"

The outraged declaration made even Gisburne stop and look around. Robert did the same, until he realized that the voice to yell out had been his own. Simultaneously, he noticed that he now held Albion, unsheathed, tight in his fist, although he couldn't remember going to fetch it. He gulped hard.

"Who said that?" Gisburne demanded, pulling his horse around. "Show yourself."

A strange feeling came over Robert, as though he were outside himself, watching his body step forward of its own volition. The voice that passed his lips hardly sounded like his own, cold and commanding.

"Look here, my lord," he spat. "And let Edward go."

Gisburne kicked his mount forward and stopped directly before Robert. He stared down at him from under his helmet. "I don't recognize you. You're not of Wickham."

"Does it matter?"

"Who are you?"

He raised Albion before him. "Robert of Huntingdon, son of the Earl of Huntingdon. And if you know what is best, you will let these people be."

For a moment, dead silence descended on them all. Edward stared at him in shock, as did the other villagers, but Robert gave them only cursory notice. Even Gisburne stared at him in disbelief, but then he chuckled and relaxed.

"Do you really expect me to believe that an earl's son would be helping a group of peasants plant their fields? Look at yourself. Look at your clothes. If you're a nobleman, then I'm King Richard."

Robert grinned despite himself and bowed deeply, mockingly. "Your majesty. I didn't recognize you."

Gisburne growled. "Enough of this. Kill him!"

He turned his back on Robert and rode away, but two of the soldiers started forward, first at a walk, then speeding up to a canter. They came at him with swords drawn, one on either side to cut him down.

Again, the feeling of standing outside himself fell over Robert, like he was watching this happen to someone else, perhaps on a theater stage. He wondered, detached, how it was that an earl's son had found himself in such a situation, defending Saxons against his own kind? These past couple of days were something like a dream; they couldn't possibly be real.

The soldiers came closer, almost atop him. He raised Albion.

With almost absolute certainty, Robert knew the dream was about to end.

===============================

Robin loped through the forest, so much like the wolf his enemies had branded him to be. He hurdled boulders and fallen logs, not caring when he landed in water, or when branches whipped his face and left their sting. Sweat, like acid, dripped in his eyes, and his lungs burned, but he refused to rest. In this race, time worked against him.

Faster, faster.

The vision, so sharp in Herne's flame, pushed him to run. In his mind's eye, he could see his friends charging into battle on open ground, outnumbered, and one of their number falling with a bolt in his shoulder. And he could see young Robert, so defiant as he faced down two Nottingham soldiers on horseback. It would happen soon. He had to reach Wickham quickly, to avert disaster. Should one of his men die, he would not easily forgive himself. And should Robert die ...

He is the hope for the future. Without him, all is lost.

So Herne had said, and Robin knew the truth of it. He knew he would not live forever -- he had accepted long ago that each day could be his last -- and someone must come after to carry on his fight for justice. He always had thought it would be one of his men -- John, most likely. Strange that instead, that one should be a nobleman's son, born of the very people Robin battled, but he did not question Herne's wisdom.

So he ran. Until his legs burned, and the ache in his chest became a searing pain. He heard Herne's words, repeated like a mantra in his mind.

A man is coming to the forest. One intended to follow in your steps. ... He is the hope for the future. Without him, all is lost.

Faster, faster.

===============================

The outlaws crouched in the undergrowth, eyes fixed on the open field before them. At the same time they had arrived, Gisburne and his men had galloped onto the scene, trampling newly planted seeds and causing the people of Wickham to cower in fear. The soldiers outnumbered Robin's men 2-to-1, and those weren't odds the outlaws liked. Plus, they had seen no sign of Robin. So they stayed hidden, and waited.

On Marion's left sat Will, muttering angrily under his breath, and on her right was Kyle, who shifted nervously and looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Their hiding place was too far away to hear voices, but the implications were clear enough when two soldiers grabbed Edward and held him as he struggled. At the field's edge, Alison fell to her knees and stopped Matthew from running to his father's aid.

Will clenched his fists. "They're dead men."

"Not yet," said John, on Will's other side. "Wait until they're back in the forest."

"I know that," Will snapped.

The soldiers secured Edward between their horses, and Gisburne turned his mount to leave. But before they could go more than a couple of steps, before the outlaws could regroup to follow, a voice ripped out, audible even to Marion and the others.

"NO!"

Everyone froze. Marion strained to see who dared to challenge Gisburne, and her eyes fell on a golden-haired young man standing at the field's edge, a sword in his hand. She didn't recognize him. He certainly did not come from Wickham, as the outlaws knew all the villagers by name.

"Is he insane?" Will asked no one in particular. "He's gonna get himself killed."

Kyle gasped. "Robert!"

Before anyone could prevent it, Kyle jumped up into full view. Marion, moving quicker than the others, grabbed his shirt and jerked him down to his knees. Fortunately, with all attention focused on the challenger, no soldier had noticed the outburst.

"Stay down," Marion hissed.

"But, Robert ... he's in trouble! I'm his squire, and it's my duty to help him."

"By getting yourself killed?" Marion chided, and Kyle looked at her helplessly. "Be patient. They'll probably take him prisoner, and we'll get him back once they're in the forest."

"Or maybe not," Will said, pointing. "Look."

Two soldiers had drawn their swords and were bearing down on Robert. He looked so small, standing there with his weapon raised, moving not a muscle as the horsemen drew closer. The Wickham villagers, except for Alison and Matthew, used the opportunity to flee toward their homes. Kyle dug his fingernails into his palms and made strangling noises.

At the last moment, just as the soldiers brought down their swords, Robert tumbled to the ground while slashing up with his blade, ripping apart the saddle cinch on one of the horses. The soldier slid off, thudded hard in the dirt and struggled to free himself from his stirrups. The fall had dislodged the soldier's helmet, so Robert brought his hilt down on the man's head and knocked him out.

Marion released the breath she hadn't even realized she had been holding. Robert knew how to use a sword, and was more than capable of defending himself.

So was this young man the successor Robin had spoken of? She recognized that the passion of her husband, to protect the weak and fight injustice, also consumed Robert. And she no longer feared that Robin and Robert had come to blows, not after seeing Robert face down Nottingham soldiers. No such man could be the outlaws' enemy. Still, if Robert was this mysterious successor, then where was Robin? Why had her husband led his young charge to Wickham and then abandoned him there? It made no sense.

"Not bad," commented Tuck, as Robert readied himself for another pass. "He's smart."

"Smart won't save him against all that," Will said, and Marion elbowed him in the ribs.

The remaining horseman came around for another go. Meanwhile, Gisburne barked at his men, and the entire company of soldiers drew their swords.

"See," Will said. "Told ya."

"They're going to run him down!" Kyle yelled, then scrambled to his feet and, before anyone could stop him, went running toward the field. He was bellowing at the top of his lungs, which was enough to catch the soldiers' startled attention.

John looked at his fellow outlaws. "Now what?"

For an answer, Nasir rose to his feet, drew both swords and took off after Kyle. As one, the others jumped up and followed, with Will, John and Much yelling the whole way. Marion hitched up her skirts with one hand and pulled out the sword Robin had given to her with the other.

This wasn't their best of ideas, she thought as she ran behind John. But the soldiers had redirected their attention from Robert to the outlaws, and that was good. No one who had the courage to challenge that rat Gisburne should have to face the consequences alone.

Then they reached the field, and she no longer had time to think.

===============================

All around Robert, Nottingham soldiers were drawing their weapons and closing in. One man he could take out, and maybe a few others, but he couldn't single-handedly defeat the entire group. He wished that Kyle were with him, or Robin. At least then they would stand a chance of surviving this insanity.

But wishing wouldn't make it happen, and Robert had only Albion to defend himself with against the Sheriff's men. He had to make the most of it. Running was out of the question, as the mounted soldiers would easily catch him. His best chance, he decided, was to knock as many of them off their horses as possible, and at least put them all on the same footing.

Behind him, Gisburne and his men slowly advanced. Ahead was the remaining horseman, coming fast. The cinch trick wouldn't work again, so Robert merely blocked the soldier's sword as he rode past. The impact reverberated down his arms, but he stayed on his feet. He turned to face Gisburne and his men.

The soldiers stopped. They reined in as one, horse hooves sinking into the soft planting dirt, and stared past Robert, toward the tree line. Robert dared to glance over his shoulder, and his hope suddenly returned. Several men were running up the hill, swords glinting in the sunlight, and in the lead was...

"Kyle!" Robert grinned and laughed for his good fortune. Surely this rag-tag group must be Robin's gang, and if so, then he might survive the day after all. But he didn't see Robin himself, and that made him worry. If he wasn't with his men, then where was he?

Behind him, Gisburne barked, "Outlaws! Kill them!"

Horses thundered past Robert. They seemed to have forgotten him, so he used the opportunity to cut the saddle of another soldier. The man rolled to his feet and, with an angry yell, charged at Robert.

Robert had practiced long and hard with a sword, and Albion proved the most well-crafted, easily handled weapon he had ever held. But he had never before found himself in a true battle, kill or be killed. The Earl wouldn't risk his only heir like that, but now those years of protection worked against him. His heart raced, and he experienced a terrifying moment in which he thought perhaps his training would fail him.

The soldier handled his sword clumsily, though, and Robert's confidence grew. Within seconds, the soldier had raised his sword too high, aiming a downward chop at Robert's neck, and Robert used the opening to skewer him through the stomach. Albion slid in smooth, encountering little resistance, and came out sheathed in blood. The soldier fell. Robert lost his breakfast all over the corpse. He had never killed a man before.

He didn't have time to recover, though, or think about what he had just done. Below him on the grassy hill, Kyle and the outlaws were holding their own. With no guard, Edward had gone to his family, and the three were running back toward the village. And before him, Gisburne had dismounted and was approaching on foot. Only minutes before, he had shown contempt for Robert, but now he moved more cautiously.

"The outlaws came to save you," Gisburne said. "Who are you that they would do this?"

"I've already told you."

"Son of the Earl of Huntingdon? Do you really think a bunch of outlaws would care what happens to a nobleman's brat? Or that a nobleman would care what happens to these peasants?" Gisburne sneered. "Who are you really?"

"I have no other answer to give," Robert said, enjoying the mystery that had grown around him. "Does it really matter, anyway?"

"Since I'm about to kill you ... No."

"Let's get on with it, then."

Gisburne obliged. Their swords met with an arm-numbing crash. They had traded only a few blows before Robert found himself on the retreat. He had the training, but Gisburne had experience, and it showed. Robert thrust at his opponent's stomach, in a desperate attempt to gain the advantage, but Gisburne jumped aside, grabbed Robert's wrist and brought his sword hilt down on Robert's hand. Albion fell to the dirt.

Robert didn't have time to reach for his weapon before Gisburne would kill him, so he did the only thing he could. He ran.

===============================

Robin arrived, out of breath, just in time to see a mounted soldier take aim at Will with his crossbow.

"Will, look out!" Robin yelled, but the warning came too late. The bolt hit Will in the shoulder, and he went down with an enraged yell.

Robin forced his exhausted legs to keep moving, up the hill to Will's side, just in time to block a killing blow. The soldier's eyes grew wide when he realized whom he was facing, and he turned and ran. Robin helped Will to his feet.

"'Bout time you got here," Will muttered, and he fingered the bolt sticking out of his shoulder.

"Get back under cover," Robin ordered. "You can't do any more good like that."

"Like hell I can't!" Will smirked and ran back into the battle.

Robin knew he would have to deal with that insubordination later, but now he had no time. He looked around frantically for Robert, and finally spotted him, racing down the hill at top speed, Gisburne close behind. Gisburne drew a dagger from his belt and pulled back to throw.

"Robert, down!" Robin yelled, and Robert dove for the grass. Gisburne's dagger flew overhead and hit one of his own men in the back. Robin brandished his sword and shouted, "Gisburne!"

At that, Gisburne saw Robin, grinned and started toward him. Robert took the opportunity to run back up the hill -- Robin could only assume he was going to retrieve Albion.

Robin positioned himself as best he could on the downhill and waited for Gisburne. They had fought so many times before that they knew each other's style and movement, and had trouble landing any surprises. In a strange way, it felt comfortable fighting Gisburne, like putting on a well-worn pair of shoes.

They faced off with the usual moves, blades clashing. Robin felt slightly off-balance, as he was fighting with an unfamiliar weapon, but he held is own. He slowly managed to reverse their positions, with Gisburne below him on the hill, and he pushed forward aggressively. He slipped a move past Gisburne's defenses and stab him in the shoulder. It was enough to end the fight.

"Retreat!" Gisburne yelled. He ran for his horse, and Robin let him go. The few remaining mounted soldiers galloped toward the road, and the ones on foot went searching for their mounts.

A quick scan of his gang confirmed that no one had died, and only Will had been injured. Robert was walking back down the hill, Albion in his hand. Another young man stood farther down the hill with a blood-covered sword, staring at a corpse, and Robin recognized him as Robert's companion. He breathed out heavily in relief and sent a silent thanks to Herne. Everyone had survived for another day.

===============================

Some of the villagers had taken the dead soldiers into the forest for burial -- an inconvenient duty, but they had nothing else to do with the bodies. The remaining villagers had gathered in the main square with Robin and his gang.

It had been a joyous reunion between Robert and Kyle, with the hugs and back-slappings of good friends. Marion had kissed Robin senseless right there on the hilltop, in front of everyone, but he didn't mind. He regretted having put her, and all of his men, through the ordeal of the past couple of days. But he had only done what Herne had asked of him, and no one could fault him for that.

After a whirlwind of people came past Robin to thank him and his gang for saving them -- despite the ruined planting field -- Robin ended up at the village's edge with only Marion, Kyle and Robert. He unsheathed Robert's kingly sword and, with one last regretful look at the jewel-encrusted hilt, held it out to Robert across both palms.

"Your sword," he said. "Although I wouldn't mind keeping it. These jewels are worth a fortune and could feed the villages of Sherwood for months."

Robert hesitated, but then accepted the weapon. "I would give you the jewels, except my father would disown me for the rest of my life."

"I understand," Robin said with a smile.

Robert unsheathed Albion and held it out. "This is an amazing sword. I was proud to carry it, although I didn't do it justice." He stared unseeing at the runes etched into the blade. "Gisburne disarmed me so easily. I feel like a fool."

"You're just inexperienced," Marion said gently.

"It won't happen again," Robert said as Robin took back Albion. "Next time, I'll defeat him."

"What next time?" Kyle asked with a chuckle. "You're not going to run into anyone from Nottingham in Huntingdon."

Robert set his jaw in a determined look, puffed up his chest a little and declared, "I'm not going back to Huntingdon."

"What?!" Kyle exclaimed.

"I'm staying here. In Sherwood."

"Oh, no you're not. I didn't follow you into the middle of the forest just to go back alone. Lord Edgar would beat me black and blue, and then banish me."

"Your friend is right," Robin said. "You can't stay here."

"Why not?" Robert asked. "For the first time in my life, I feel like I belong somewhere. I know that this is where I'm supposed to be, with your band, fighting for these people." He gestured toward the village. "I don't belong in Huntingdon anymore."

"The time isn't right," Robin insisted.

Robert's eyes narrowed angrily and he opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. He was staring beyond Robin, back into the forest. Robin twisted around to look, fearing to see more soldiers, but it was quite the opposite. A strange mist had gathered among the trees, and cloaked in it stood an imposing, familiar figure. Robin knew what he had to do.

"You stay here," he said to Marion and Kyle, then grabbed Robert's forearm. "And you ... come with me."

He half-dragged Robert toward the mist. It engulfed them as soon as they left the clearing, creating an enchanted scene. As always, the forest became eerily silent. At his side, Robert shivered.

"Herne," Robin greeted his master and dropped to his knees. Robert, visibly shaken and confused, followed his lead but couldn't stop gaping at the horned figure before them.

Herne raised his arms. "Welcome, Robert of Huntingdon."

"Who are you?" Robert asked, his voice steady despite the strange situation.

"I am Herne, lord of the trees, and you will know me soon enough. But that time has not yet come."

"What do you mean? That I cannot stay here?"

"Sherwood is not your home."

"But what about the others? Edward and Alison and Matthew? What about the people of Wickham? I can help them."

"They will not remember you, nor will anyone you have met since you came to the forest, except for my son. And you must not seek to return. To shift the balance would ruin all."

"I -- I don't understand. What must I do, then?"

"Have patience. And endure."

Herne lowered his arms, and vanished amid a blinding flash. As the mist dissipated, Robert blinked to clear his vision, then looked in bewilderment at Robin.

"You're his son?"

Robin quirked a smile and nodded but could bring himself to say no more. Robert would learn what was needed at the right time, but Robin hardly wanted to think of such things. It touched too close to his own death. Now that Herne had asked him to, in essence, prepare his own successor to take up the fight, that death felt closer than ever, an inky blackness hanging over his head that he could touch, if only he reached high enough.

But that death would not come for quite some time. Robert possessed the courage and inner fire, but he still had much growing up to do before he would be ready for Sherwood. And Robin had no intention of leaving this life yet.

Robin stood and helped Robert to his feet. "Stay here. I'll send your friend to you, along with a couple of the horses that the soldiers left behind." He pointed toward the road. "Follow that until you cross a bridge and reach a crossroads, then take the northern road. That will lead you back to Huntingdon."

Robert nodded, resigned. "Will I ever meet you again?"

"I don't know, but I think not."

"Then, thank you. For everything. For opening my eyes." He held out his hand, which Robin took in a firm shake.

He left Robert there and returned to the village. Kyle was sitting alone on a barrel, right where Robin had left him; Marion had wandered off to talk with Edward and probably didn't even remember whom she had left behind. Robin suspected that if Herne's magic had erased Robert from their minds, Robert's companion also would fade from memory.

"Robert is waiting for you up there," Robin said. "Take two horses with you. If you ride hard, you can be back in Huntingdon by tomorrow morning."

"So he's coming with me?"

"Yes."

Kyle nodded, relieved, and did as Robin bid him. Robin watched until they both had mounted and galloped off, unnoticed, down the road. Somehow he knew that they would make it back fine to Huntingdon, so he wouldn't worry on that account.

Moments later, he felt two small but strong hands circle his waist from behind, and he turned to gaze down on his beautiful wife.

"What were you looking at?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, smiling, and ran his hand through her red curls.

She looked at him curiously. "You're a strange one sometimes."

"But I still love you." He kissed her lightly, then took her hand and led her back toward the village center.

Robin knew death would catch him someday, and then Robert would return to Sherwood. But not today, or tomorrow, or the next day. So Robin would think no more on it and simply enjoy the life that he had. And no longer would he worry about what would happen should he die, because he now knew that his fight would carry on without him.

It gave him a sense of peace, to know that he would have a successor.

the end

January 28, 2002

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