Free Trouble in the Forest Book One: A Cold Summer Night by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

with a bow when he reached the door.
    “Yes. Let us pray He does, for my father is counting on it,” said Sir Gui with maudlin self-pity as deSteny closed the door on him and strode away down the corridor.

How the Red Friar fared in Sherwood

    THE BRIGHTNESS hurt his eyes, boring into his skull like torturers’ knives, and the sound of the near by stream turned his stomach. The Red Friar rolled onto his side in an attempt to shield his face from the brilliant sunlight spangling its way through the trees. He groaned as he moved, for he had never before felt so overwhelmingly weak, or so filled with lassitude that sapped his will along with his strength. As much as he wanted to be out of the direct sun, he was unable to urge himself to action.
    He noticed the pyx still lying discarded on the road, and his first impulse was to reach for it to save the sacred vessel from further desecration. But when he attempted to touch the silver, chapel-shaped box, his fingers burned and blistered, and he was taken with a bout of queasiness that made him glad his stomach was empty. He drew his hand back, hissing as he did. Why should the pyx burn him? And why should he pull away from it? That troubled him. And he could not remember hissing before. He tried to put it down to his unaccountable weakness, telling himself that he would have sworn he was stronger, but this inner protestation seemed as feeble as his body was.
    “He’s coming around,” said a voice not far away. “Should I—?”
    “No,” said another, deeper, with greater authority. “He will need no prodding from any of us. He will come to himself shortly.”
    The Red Friar looked up and saw the white-maned devil of the night before. “Welcome, little Brother, to our band.” He grinned, showing more of his sharp teeth than was strictly necessary. “Welcome.”
    A peculiar lassitude took hold of the Red Friar, as if he had no will of his own. He felt his hand extend as if tugged by invisible strings, and though he wanted to scream when the outlaw’s fingers closed around his own, he could achieve nothing more than a whimper, which made his fright all the greater.
    “Look at him,” said the white-haired creature. “He’s afraid of me.” The man laughed. It was a grating sound that had only the dreadful joy of battle to lend it merriment. “Never mind, Red Friar. You will get used to it. And when the thirst is on you, you will understand.” He tugged the Trinitarian abruptly to his feet. “We need you more than fodder, or you would be as dead as those crofters whose children you buried yesterday. We need someone who can read, someone who can approach travelers without rousing their suspicions. A Red Friar is perfect.”
    The rest of the band made low sounds of agreement.
    The Red Friar stared at the leader, fascinated by the evil emanating from him. “I don’t know ...”
    “You will learn. We will teach you.” He signaled to one of his followers, the one who had first spoken when the Red Friar woke. “Come. This is my lieutenant. He is Will. Will Scarlet. We are blood relations, he and I.” The two outlaws shared their sinister amusement without any sound.
    Will Scarlet bowed to the Red Friar. “It is good to have a monk among us.”
    The Red Friar wished he could run, but there was no way to move that did not seem impossibly dangerous.
    “And I am called Hood, for I never let open sunlight fall on me. My name is Robin. These are my men. All of my men are as I am. As you are now, Red Friar.” He went on as if addressing a child, as he gestured to the others. “That fellow there, the one in the smock, is the man you were planning to put to rest with his family. That is the crofter. We call him Hendy for he came so readily into our hands. His oldest son and his woman are with us as well, at our stronghold. They arrived there three nights since. The two men with the crossbows were men-at-arms, escorting merchants on the Great North Road. We took a few of