Free Rise of the Wolf by Steven A McKay

each week. He had a very good chance of winning, should they be allowed to enter the competition without anyone realising they were wolf's heads. That didn't seem too big of a threat: neither had been to Nottingham any time recently so the guards wouldn't recognise them and both were unremarkable looking so they could lose themselves in the crowds.
    Gareth might have wanted to head into the city to look for strong alcohol, but Allan was looking forward to performing in front of a crowd again. It had been nearly two years since he and Robin had entertained Lord John de Bray's guests in the great hall of Hathersage manor house. He missed the excitement, the nervous tension, that feeling of uncertainty that even the most experienced of minstrels felt when they put themselves in front of an audience. Shooting in the archery competition, before what would surely be a huge gathering of locals, would be much like playing the gittern for a hall full of rowdy nobles.
    He smiled and revelled in the warm spring breeze as they walked.
    This was going to be fun.
     
    * * *
     
    Tuck had ridden at a leisurely pace when he left the outlaw's camp, not being in any great hurry to return to Lewes like the prodigal son the prior had never expected to see again...
    The friar was no fool. He knew de Monte Martini wouldn't look kindly on him when he showed his face there again. Not only had he 'lost' the prior's priceless artefact years earlier, but he'd then allowed outlaws to steal his superior's cart full of money and, to add insult to injury, Tuck had joined the outlaw gang who had gone on to further humiliate de Monte Martini when he and the Sheriff of Nottingham had tried to capture them.
    The kindly clergyman grinned. Ah, but it had felt good to get one over on the nasty prior, it truly had. The smile fell from his fleshy lips, though, as he contemplated the welcome de Monte Martini would have for him when he appeared unexpectedly in Lewes. The fact that he was returning the lost relic – something the prior had paid an obscene amount of money for – would, he hoped, mollify the senior churchman and allow him to stay with the Benedictines at least until the Church found some other place for him, within his own order perhaps.
    At the very least, Tuck hoped he'd survive the reunion.
    “Hey, priest! Get off the fucking horse, now.”
    The harsh voice jolted Tuck back in his saddle and his hand strayed instinctively to the heavy cudgel he habitually carried within the folds of his grey cassock.
    He pulled gently on the palfrey's reins, bringing it to a halt, his eyes scanning the area as he calmly assessed the situation. He'd gone along with Robin and the others often enough on robberies just like this to have a good idea of how things worked, so he knew urging his mount into a gallop would probably result in an arrow in the back.
    He remained in the saddle, waiting for the would-be thieves to show themselves. Moments later, three men appeared from the thick foliage on either side of the road, while at least one other man coughed from behind him, letting the friar know he was covered on all sides.
    “I told you to get off the fucking horse!” the man in the middle of the trio on the road ahead spat. He was a small man, bearded and dirty looking, with a slight build while the two that flanked him were much larger. Tuck had met men like this outlaw before – the maniacal gleam in his dark eyes suggested what he lacked in physical stature was made up for in violent lunacy.
    Although his comrades were much bigger, they deferred to the little dark man. Tuck knew he had to be very careful if he didn't want to lose the coin-purse he carried inside his habit. Or his life. He dismounted, making a show of his clumsiness and clutching his back as if he was in great pain from riding. 
    “What can I do for you, my son?” he asked, smiling deferentially at the little man. “A blessing? Do you seek –”
    “Enough, priest,” the robber growled,