Page 128 of Queen of Sherwood

I imagined a disastrous break: stepping the wrong way, or stamping on a loud branch on the ground, and waking the entire fucking pasture. Neighing and whinnying and snorting alerting everyone on the other side of that hill that we were here.

Shoving the thought aside, I continued on. My hand kept close to my hip, where my scabbard swung loosely, though I probably should have had it attached to the bow and quiver over my shoulder.

I let out a deep breath as we crossed the halfway mark of the meadow, with some of the horses so close I could see the white puffs of breath from their muzzles.

My eyes scanned in front of us. John and Will nearly crept shoulder-to-shoulder with me, while Alan and Tuck meandered a different path through the soft ground next to Robert, Gregory, and Briggs.

Will held up a fist, and everyone abruptly froze.

My eyes widened, then narrowed, trying to squint ahead to find what he was seeing. Our best tracker had always had the best eyesight, so I couldn’t make it out.

Then he turned over his shoulder to us, crouching, and held up a single finger. He pointed ahead, then made a sign of pulling back a bowstring.

I nodded and moved forward—

But Robert streamed past me before I could make it to the front of the group, already shrugging his bow off his shoulder.

I pursed my lips, scowling at him. He didn’t smile back or tease me. His face was serious—everyone’s was.

I suppose you’re just as good of a shot as I am, brother, so I’ll let it slide. Perhaps even better, Oliver, if the tournament is anything to go by.

Will took Robert by the shoulder, gripping tightly, and pointed ahead. Robert scanned, neck veering left to right along the dim horizon—

Then he nodded vigilantly and froze. He pulled out an arrow, pulled back his bowstring, and aimed at something I still couldn’t see.

He took his time. My heart twisted and squeezed.

After this, there is no going back. If we kill a guard this close to their camp, then we’ve locked in our motive. We can only move forward.

The arrow loosed, whistling through the air.

A second later, a dark spot in the distance dropped soundlessly from my vision, with little more than a soft thud on the slightly muddy pasture.

We stayed silent and still for a long moment. All eyes out, watching for more guards.

The soldier had been placed among the steeds and cattle, to watch George’s southern flank. Either that, or he’d been simply watching the horses to make sure everything stayed nice and tidy.

When we passed the body a few minutes later, I looked down and saw he was facedown in the mud, with Robert’s arrow lodged in his neck. Better that way, so I don’t have to put a face to him.

He hadn’t made a sound, a gurgle, or a cry when he dropped. Our cover was still intact. Friar Tuck made the sign of the cross as we passed the man, but we had no time to spare.

Our group made it to the southern copse of thick trees that led up the incline of the hill. It was a gentle slope.

By this point, the blood rushing in my ears was deafening. My anxiety reached new heights, yet I managed to stuff it down and turn it into acute awareness, letting my instincts take over.

I felt like a wolf prowling through a sheep herd. Picking my lone target to take down with my pack.

The thicket was larger than it had looked far away. It held a few glades, I noticed, and even a small trail made for foot traffic.

We pushed through the dense forest, came to an open heath, and hurried through it. Completely exposed as we ran through the glade, I felt our collective hearts rose with anxiety and then fell to a normal rhythm once we were back in the woods.

There was another glade ahead we had to go through before we reached the base of the hill. More gnarled branches and knobby limbs to swipe out of the way as we slunk in silence.

We came to the entrance of the next glade—

And a man stepped out from behind a thick oak tree, sword and shield in hand.

My throat hollowed and I inhaled a gasp.

---