Wyldingwode by J Tullos Hennig

Author:J Tullos Hennig [Hennig, J Tullos]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fantasy, Historical Fiction
Publisher: Forest Path Books
Published: 2020-07-19T16:00:00+00:00

THE PEOPLE of Tickhill saw prospective invasion coming long before they could ascertain how many actually sought that invasion. The approaching group flew no banners, rode no formations. Their horses bore no wagons behind, only riders astride and stirrup men in plenty. Chainmail and weapons glinted, dull, in the sun.

In short, they gave no hint of being anything other than what they were: marauders.

“Warrant the gates!” Otho shouted down. “Warrant all approaches!” His orders returned in tens of different voices, confirmation echoing down and around the circumference of Tickhill’s outer wall.

Any remaining clouds had fled to the horizon. One of the women had brought Marion a wide-brimmed hat to shield her from the late morning sun. Otho had, several times now, tried to convince Marion to retire into the gatehouse—or at least into one of the hoardings that hunched, several lengths of protective wood and arrow-loops atop the front bastions. Marion had merely climbed the gatehouse stair and stood sentry there.

David rolled his eyes at Otho—he knew better—and followed her. Grumbling, Otho too followed.

“Twenty-four of them,” Marion muttered; she’d the longest sight. “Mercenaries, all right and…”

And.

The words stoppered off into a whimper, and she clutched at the merlon beside which she stood. It was either that or fall.

“Marion, what is…?” David asked, and almost at the same time Otho swore.

“God’s teeth!”

He, too, had seen what rode amidst the marauders.

Ian, his sandy head bare to the breeze, his horse being led—on a taut, careful crosstie—by two others. And besides that, astride the pommel and snugged in the meaty grip of a swart fellow that made five of her, rode Aderyn.

“It can’t be,” whispered Marion. “Nay, nay, nay!”

As they came closer, the children became visible to everyone atop the ramparts. Curses echoed now, up and down the stones. Closer still, and Aderyn’s eyes sought her mother’s, wide and fearful.

Marion whispered, invocation and curse both. Aye, and if she had her way, these Motherless sods wouldn’t see any coming dawn.

The final approach seemed forever. Finally, the cadre of horse spread beneath them, with the front rider holding up a hand. The troupe came to a halt just beyond a telltale scar in the earth.

Once it had been the no-one’s land of another siege. Seven years now past, King Richard’s siege of Tickhill had gone into legend and hearkened not only its castellan’s—Otho’s—disgrace, but Gamelyn’s reclamation of the home denied him.

Beginnings, aye. But also an end, in its way, of an outlaw band led by Robyn Hode.

The scarred ring of earth lay just outside the range of any crossbow.

Marion’s fingers stung; she realised they’d scraped and left a carmine smear upon the crenelated, white- and ochre-washed stones. To her right side, David also muttered promises into threats.

You said she was safe! Marion flung outward.

More like they’d abandoned her. Again. But nay, no such luck.

What is safety, Mother-Maid? Where is safety, when you bung yourself in stone, deny Our Lady and My forest?

I have never denied you, or the Wode! You would punish our child

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