In a Dark Wood by Michael Cadnum

Author:Michael Cadnum
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504019651
Publisher: Open Road Media Teen & Tween

21

The forest seemed to take a step closer to where Geoffrey stood, holding the bridle of his horse. The great oak creaked, and leaves fluttered to the ground like parchment torn to pieces and scattered.

An acorn fell to Geoffrey’s feet and spun, a lifeless knuckle, food for magpies, and Geoffrey’s throat was tight. He thought for an instant of escaping through the forest on the horse, but he remembered the death of his father, stabbed by a broken branch, and stood still in the rising wind.

He would rather die where he was. He gripped the hilt of his sword, whose pommel was imprinted with a lion. He wanted strength to flow into his body from the long shaft of steel, from the hilt, shaped like a cross, and from the emblem of the lion, the most fearless of all creatures, put on earth to remind man of his own frailty.

“I am not surprised,” said Geoffrey at last.

“You knew who I was.”

“I guessed. I wasn’t certain.”

“We can be certain of very little.”

“I could have held you in the castle, but I wanted all of you, all your men, everything that is yours.”

Robin Hood laughed. “I have nothing.”

“You have me.”

“You are not the sort of man I expected.”

Geoffrey was not interested in talk. In his last moments as a breathing man he wanted silence, so he could beg Heaven’s forgiveness for all his sins, his grimy, loathsome lusts and fears. Habit, however, the lifelong practice of conversation as a game, made him ask, “And what did you expect?”

“A much different man.” Robin Hood walked to one side, appraising the sheriff. “You are not what I expected at all.”

“I disappoint you?”

“I am difficult to disappoint.”

“How fortunate for you.” Geoffrey hated this trading of conversational taps, like pokes with wooden swords, playful and idle, like two pages waiting for their masters to arrive. When his throat was cut, he would experience blinding agony. And yet the years of idle talk carried him forwards. “Most people live lives disappointed in, if nothing else, themselves.”

“Is that how people live in their silks and splendid slippers, disappointed in themselves?”

The man was gloating, savoring his victory. Geoffrey stared straight ahead. He would give the man no pleasure. And yet, the man was unarmed. Geoffrey glanced at him. The man’s hands were on his hips as he appraised the sheriff, smiling, enjoying his prize.

Could he stand to run a man through, even now?

Geoffrey took a deep breath, into the deep bottom of his lungs. No, he could not use his sword on this man, but this man did not know that. Geoffrey drew his sword, and the gray light made the blade a hard shaft of the winter to come.

“Come now, my lord sheriff. You are not meant for fighting.”

As if this man could see into his soul!

“Besides, it would be unwise.”

A figure was in the clearing suddenly, without a sound: a man shaggy with ragged clothing and twigs that clung to his stockings and sleeves. The man was panting, but his eyes were as bright as knife cuts, and he held a sword.

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