Not far from the borders of Linster, there was a tree. There was nothing at all interesting or important about it, save that on one of its branches there was perched a Hawk. There was wasn’t anything especially important about the Hawk either, save that there weren’t many of his kind in that particular land. Virtually all the wild things around the countryside were but simple creatures. The wightbeasts themselves made their abode in far more distant and lonely places forsaken by men, for they preferred to keep nothing in common with humans.
The sun was getting low in the sky now, and the Hawk was peering out into the meadows. He had been watching for signs of small, delectable creatures suitable for fine dining when abruptly a flicker of movement from an entirely different direction caught his eye. With a snap he turned his gaze skyward, and there beheld the most extraordinary sight.
Six winged horses, just visible as they sailed high in the sky, headed northward towards Linster. In a few moments they were out of sight, and the Hawk shook his head to himself as he returned his attention to his previous task. Peculiar things were afoot these days, that was for certain. It seemed that all manner of noisome wights were taking to the air these days, all apparently headed to Linster or Tollardy, or one of the other nearby kingdoms up north. A fortnight ago there had been practically a whole army of them mounted on great winged reptiles. And before that there had been those queer folk riding what looked for all the world like a rug. All very irregular. And disturbing. If things continued in this way, the solitary Hawk thought to himself, he might be well advised to move to a less crowded place. What’s this? A mole? Rather small perhaps, but it it would do. In a flash, the Hawk had shot away from his perch and dived to the ground in pursuit of his supper.
Far away, the six winged horses soared onward under the golden light of the setting sun. For two days and a night Lindsey had been traveling to Linster in the company of her erstwhile rescuers, pausing only now and again to rest and refresh themselves and their winged horses. During that time, the Sauvlanders hardly ever spoke at all, and Lindsey never even learned any of their names.
As night fell on the second day the Sauvlanders had made only a very short pause before pressing on into the night, for they were now nearly upon the marches of Linster and they wished to reach their destination before dawn so as to enter the country under the cover of darkness. As the faint glimmers of orange light cut across the horizon, the Sauvlanders made an abrupt turn and began to spiral downwards towards the gloom of the earth below.
They alighted in a small yard adjacent to a darkened farmhouse. Those saddled with passengers remained aloft at first, while the three remaining horsemen landed ahead of the others to secure the farmyard. From above Lindsey watched as they made their descent. They circled the yard twice, making a measured inspection of the premises, and then landed, rolling off their horses lightly and drawing their swords as they did so. After taking another quick look around the yard on foot they knocked on the door. A ray of light appeared as the door was opened, and a moment later the men on the ground signaled to their comrades above, and in a moment Lindsey herself joined them on the ground with the others.
Silhouetted in the door of the farmhouse was a woman. She and the Sauvlandic woman were speaking together in hushed tones, and a moment later Lindsey was called over along with Dackery and Falknir. After a few more muted words, the Sauvlanders returned to their horses and Lindsey and Dackery were ushered into the house. As Lindsey stepped through the door she took a last look into the yard, just in time to see the last Sauvlandic horsemen spur his steed into the sky and disappear against the darkness.
The interior of the farmhouse was comfortable, if rather spartan. A great roaring fire on one end filled the place with an orange light, and Lindsey now looked briefly to her comrades. Dackery appeared somewhat the worse for wear, which was understandable for a man of his size who has been obliged to share a saddle with another for many long hours. Falknir, however, was blithely glib as usual.
“Taciturn folk, those Sauvlanders. Remarkable, really. Up to now I had never met one, and I wasn’t even sure they existed.”
“But who are they?”
“That’s the sticky question, really. Stuff of legends, those folk. Legends and rumors. Supposedly they come from a mountainous country somewhere in the Hinterlands. It is believed that the Sauvlanders have some kind of peculiar relationship with the Good Folk, but the details are all terribly murky, and the stories about them are often contradictory.”
“Apparently they’re good enough friends that they gave us a ride when Elred asked them to.”
Lindsey now turned her attention to their new host. The woman had now taken a seat at a high backed chair. Behind her stood a grizzled looking man dressed in farmers clothes, yet his bearing was oddly stiff and refined, more like that of a nobleman’s servant or bodyguard than that of a peasant. The woman now beckoned silently, and Lindsey stepped over and took a seat on a stool beside the fire across from her hostess.
The woman was extraordinarily good looking, daintily built with large dark eyes and finely chiseled, almost exotic features setoff by dark, silky hair largely hidden beneath a twin lobed hat shaped vaguely like a pair of recurved horns, or perhaps a heart. She wore a long gown of emerald green satin which was fitted tightly about her body while leaving her neck and shoulders bare, and her skin fairly glowed under the light of the fire as she draped her delicate limbs languidly over the arms of the chair. Lindsey was left with a rather uncomfortable sensation that she had just been thrown into a new and rather exalted level of society.
Linsey gulped.
“Um...hi. My name is Lindsey Fluger.”
The woman gave a slight, almost indulgent nod in acknowledgement.
“So I have been told. Your arrival has been long expected.”
“Uh huh? I guess that’s nice to hear. And you are?”
“My name is Edith.”
“Okay. Nice to meet you, Edith. Do you by any chance know a woman named Joan Greyflower?”
“I am aware that there is a peasant woman by that name, yes.”
“Um..okay. Do you also know a guy named Moon Hae-jin?”
“If you are referring to the outlaw Robin Goodfellow, then yes I am aware of his exploits.”
“Robin Goodfellow? That’s a new one. Are you sure we’re talking about the same person here? Do you know where he is?”
“At the moment, the Zhongling and his rebels are fortified in the town of Elmstead, which they occupied some days ago. Thus far His Majesty has been unable to mount a proper response to the insurrection, and Robin Goodfellow has remained unchecked. But your presence here changes everything. It is now time to escalate matters.”
“Now just hang on a second here. I am friends with Joan and Hae-jin. I have no idea who you are, or how you fit into all of this. How do I even know we’re on the same side?”
The woman Edith pursed her delicate lips.
“Robin Goodfellow and the woman Joan each have a particular role to play in this little drama, just as do you. And so in turn do I. Your task right now is to break the Curse of Gurth. Joan Greyflower’s task was to exploit her position among the peasants so that Robin Goodfellow’s rebellion would ensure that Gurth is driven out of Linster after the curse is broken. My task is to exert my own particular influence elsewhere towards the same end, and to ensure that this enterprise will carry on nonetheless should Robin Goodfellow fail. Does that answer your questions?”
“Uh, maybe. Just one more question, does the Bird know about you?”
“Up to now my part in this matter has been withheld from the others involved, including the Bird. As they say, it doesn’t pay to put all one’s eggs in one basket. After the curse is broken that will again remain unchanged. Your discretion in this regard will be expected, of course.”
“You mean you don’t want me to tell the others about you?”
“Precisely.”
“Great. The Good Folk sure do like secrets, don’t they?”
“The situation is far from secure. Even now, things could still fall apart at any moment. You and your associates will remain here tonight under the protection of my people. In the morning, you will be taken to the city of Larchester. You will then be removed to a place which I have prepared for you, where you will remain in hiding until the appropriate time. There are developments underway inside that city which will serve our purposes ideally if properly exploited. The political situation is now in crisis. It will only take a few more days before it comes to the boiling point. When that happens, I will send for you.”
The woman Edith now arose, her skirts draping advantageously about her diminutive shape as she moved with a practiced grace.
“I must now depart. No doubt we shall speak again in due course.”
With another perfunctory half-nod, the woman withdrew from the farmhouse with no further comment.
As the night wore on a thick blanket of clouds rolled across the sky, and the following day the sun was obscured beneath a dreary curtain of grey. Small raindrops fell now and then, giving only a mockery of sustenance to thirsty fields and splashing coldly on the faces of men and women hurrying about their business deep within the dense streets and avenues of the great city of Larchester. All around there was a tense sort of atmosphere. It had been many days since news had come that the Earl of Wickhowe had betrayed the king and joined with the outlaw Robin Goodfellow, bringing with him a large coalition of the nobility which was now fortified in the town of Elmstead frighteningly nearby. And now the forces of the King himself had arrived, and made camp on the opposite side of the city and joined his forces with those of Gurth. While prevailing public opinion favored loyalty to the monarchy, there was a great fear that the King was coming under the influence of Gurth, and in time all vestiges of liberty would be annihilated, whether it be consumed by the torch of rebel looters or crushed by the iron gauntlet of the witch.
Still, life went on as best it could. Much as it was in far away in the Duchy of Skora, so too in Larchester did the indefatigable forces of commerce press ahead undaunted. At the gates of the city, the guards had just stopped a pair of men leading a ox drawn cart which sagged under the weight of a several large barrels, great voluminous casks each large enough carry to a whole pig or two.
“Ho there, fellow. What have we here today?”
“Beer. A gift to the cathedral cloister from the Lady Edith.”
“Again?”
“Aye. The Lady Edith has taken a vow to bequeath the nuns five barrels of ale every week for a year so that she may blessed with a betrothal by next Pentecost.”
“Ha! Fine shopkeepers, those nuns. From what I’ve heard, I doubt the Lady Edith needs any help snaring a husband, the nuns will hardly have to pray at all. Would that the rest of us could be so profitably employed. Pass on through!”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
And with a lurch the cart moved over the knobbly cobbles into the city, making its way awkwardly through the crowded streets to the cathedral, where it turned into a small side yard attached to the cloister. The men knocked on the door, and in a few moments a women in clerical habit emerged. After a brief conversation the men began unloading the cart and ferrying the ponderous barrels one by one into the building. When they were finished, they took their payment and departed.
Inside the gloom of the convent, a group of nuns were now gathered around the barrels, whispering to one another. One of them then knocked sharply on the surface of one of the barrels. She paused and listened for a moment, and then knocked on another. And this time, something inside knocked back.
The nuns burst out in another round of animated whispers and began flitting around the room gathering all manner of superfluous tools, while the one who had done the knocking had already seized a stout iron bar and was assertively prying the lid of the barrel off. In a moment the lid was gone, and as the nuns gently tipped over the barrel Lindsey rolled out onto the convent floor.
Lindsey had seen plenty of movies in her time where people got packed into barrels to be smuggled in and out of various places. But she until now she had never quite appreciated what a uniquely hideous experience the whole thing really was. She gasped for air as she lay on the stone floor, barely conscious after her ordeal and hardly aware of the gaggle of cooing nuns which were now fussing over her. In a few moments the other barrels were opened as well, and Dackery and Falknir were deposited on the floor beside Lindsey in equally poor condition.
As Lindsey’s mind slowly came back into focus she found herself lying on a bench, her head propped up on a temporary cushion and her view of the room obscured by a round, jolly face surrounded by a wimple.
“Gah! Where the hell..I mean where the heck am I?”
The nun patted her on the cheek with a soft, plump hand.
“There there, dearie, you’ve had quite a time I’m sure. Just take a wee rest for now. Here, have some warm beer.”
Bit by bit Lindsey felt life returning to her cramped limbs, and in a while Lindsey was taken to the officer of the mother superior. For the time being, Lindsey, Dackery and Falknir were to be housed in the convent. Separately, of course. In point of fact, in a spirit of strict propriety the two men were put up together in a tiny chamber about as far away from quarters of the women as possible, whereas Lindsey was lodged together with the nuns. And there the three of them remained, secreted within veil the of the cloister literally at the backdoor of Larchester Cathedral itself.
The days passed wearily, with many long hours of tedium. Lindsey at least had the company of the nuns, and could occupy some of her time helping out with odd jobs around the convent. Dackery and Falknir were worse off, being largely restricted to a few rooms set apart from those frequented by the women. At least they had access to the nuns’ copious supply of fine beer with which to console themselves. All the while they waited for word from the Lady Edith, or The Bird, or perhaps even Elred himself. But none came.
Finally, one night as Lindsey lay quietly in her chamber she was awaken by a soft, persistent knock at the door. Outside was one of the nuns, one with whom Lindsey had become friends with over the last few days. A few hushed words later, and Lindsey was ushered to the office of the mother superior. Then at last, Lindsey was informed that the time to act was upon them.
Hae-jin, who up to now had been leading a rebellion under the name of Robin Goodfellow, was about to surrender himself to the king. At noon the following day he would present himself at the city gates, after which he would be brought to the cathedral and handed over to the king in the presence of the city council, the bishop, and as many of the prominent personages of the kingdom as could be gathered. This was to be Lindsey’s moment to break the curse. The medallion which she had taken so many weeks ago from Harin’s Vault was to be publically delivered to the cathedral and set upon the high altar with the most august officers of the land as witnesses, including the king himself.
Yet even at this juncture, they were taking no chances. With Gurth’s agents spread throughout the city, Lindsey was to proceed in secret until the last possible moment. As high noon approached Lindsey, Dackery and Falknir were taken together through the winding corridors of the cloister to the Cathedral itself. A small side door was the only access point, which led to a secluded portion of the building which was virtually an extension of the cloister itself where the nuns were accustomed to attend high mass while still remaining sequestered from the rest of outside world. Again, the only passage to the rest of the building was a small janitor’s door, through which Lindsey and her comrades were ushered.
Lindsey’s heart raced as she crept into the vaulted aisles. Packing the nave was a great multitude, their backs to her as they faced inward towards the trancept, peering and whispering to one another while from far within chancel the King was now speaking. Lindsey had spent the morning with Dackery and Falknir planning their next move, which they were now about to put into action. Dackery and Falknir began pushing their way forward into the crowd, preparing to create a suitable disturbance while Lindsey made her way to the altar. Lindsey was on her own now, creeping through the aisles as sonorous voices echoed across the cold stone arches. Lindsey’s hand quivered as she stole inside her clothes and retrieved the medallion from around her neck. This was it. Everything depended on her now.
There ahead of her now were the backs of a lot of dressed up people, nobles maybe, while over their heads Lindsey could just make out the great square block of the altar itself. She crept closer over the slates of the floor, every limb shaking now.
Suddenly, there was a rustle of cloth, and Lindsey felt a soft hand grab her by the shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye she could just make out the shimmer of a green satin dress as a pair lips pressed close to her ear.
“Go. Right now, go right now!”
Lindsey needed no further encouragement. She bolted forward, ducking below the elbows of the crowd and weaved between the nobles. Her heart was pumping now, the world around her whirled with confusion as she ran madly through the burgeoning pandemonium. There, there were the steps to the altar. She dodged back and forth now as people tried to grab at her as she scrambled up the steps. Suddenly the visage of a Zard rose up unexpectedly before her as one of the terrible reptiles had broken off from the assembly to intercept her. She swerved aside and covered the last steps to the altar, clenching the medallion in her hand. There, she’d reached the top! With a yelp, she opened her hand and slammed the medallion onto the face of the altar beneath her palm.
With a flash, the world around her fell silent as it was filled with a golden light, the only noise being a faint sound like gentle thunder in the distance.
In a moment the levels of light returned to normal. Lindsey was standing beside the altar, of which one corner had been shorn clear off and was now lying on the floor. Yet the medallion was still resting on the broken corner even as it lay cockeyed on the floor, apparently stuck to the surface. As she looked closer, it appeared that the medallion had been somehow fused with the marble. There was also a horrible stinging sensation in her hand, and as Lindsey looked at it she saw a bright red welt on her palm which was shaped like an outline of the medallion. The image was quickly fading away even as she looked at it, and in a moment it had disappeared completely, leaving behind only a nasty sting like a bad burn.
Lindsey took a deep breath, and looked around as she massaged her hand. Scattered absurdly across the floor were all manner of exalted persons in varying degrees of shock. It was over. After all this time, after coming all this way, she’d finally done it.
“Well, there’s your stinking curse taken care of. Now what are you going to do about it?”
The comment was more or less rhetorical, but Lindsey felt a sense of satisfaction nonetheless as she addressed it to no one in particular.
Suddenly, there was a commotion far down in the nave of the cathedral. From her vantage point at the altar Lindsey could see clear down the center of the church, and hurtling through the great doors now was a great golden Bird.
The resplendent creature soared over the heads of the assembled crowd, and as it did so the the Bird cried out in an unnaturally amplified voice.
“Men of Linster! People of Arthur and scions of Albion, here these words! The Curse of Gurth is broken! The yoke of the oppressor is lifted, the shackles of black magic are sundered Linster is free from the bonds of witchcraft! Rally now to the side of your king, and drive the witches from this land! Long live the king!”
The cry reverberated back and forth between the stately columns of the great cathedral. Down below, unseen among the feets of the people, a small Fox darted through the crowd, carrying the cry to every corner of the building. Bartholomew had been running discreetly around the city for days now spreading word of the surrender of Robin Goodfellow, building excitement and anticipation for the coming events to ensure that as big a crowd as possible would be present to receive a special message when the time came. Up to now the exact nature of this message had been withheld from him; Hae-jin had simply promised that when the time came it would be obvious, and that Bartholomew was to spread it as far as possible. And so it proved to be, and the Fox now darted cheerfully and invisibly through the crowded cathedral and then out into the street, spreading the news throughout the city and rallying the people to the cause of the king and Robin Goodfellow.
Hae-jin had hauled himself to his feet, and with his hands still shackled he sprinted up the steps of the altar to Lindsey’s side. He didn’t actually hug her. His hands were still cuffed together, and besides, Hae-jin wasn’t the hugging sort anyway. But the look on his face as he met Lindsey’s eye was just as good.
“We meet again, Lindsey Ann Fluger.”
“Yep, sure thing, Moon Hae-jin. Or should I say Robin Goodfellow? I guess you’ve been kind of busy lately.”
Hae-jin shrugged.
“As have you. I am glad that we have both survived to see one another again.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Down in the crowd, Lindsey saw a bearded, red headed man who she could only guess was the king. Guards and courtiers were fussing all around him, and mingling in the king’s party Lindsey spotted a woman in a green satin dress. It was Edith. She smiled slightly as she caught Lindsey’s eye, but said not a word otherwise. As Lindsey watched Edith had accosted one of the king’s soldiers, and pointed to Hae-jin and the others as she spoke to him. With an obedient nod, the man at arms produced a set of keys and set about unshackling prisoners. Cocking an eye at Hae-jin, Lindsey nudged him by the elbow and the two of them descended the steps of the altar to rejoin their friends.
No sooner was the muzzle removed from Usilda’s lips did the great Bear begin to speak.
“Well, here you are at last, Evecub. You took long enough getting here. That silly Bird must have mislaid you quite badly indeed.”
Joan wasn’t so reserved as Hae-jin was. The moment her arms were free she flung them around Lindsey, blubbering tearfully in the process, while to one side the Wogs were already arguing over whether a hundred and twenty silver marks per day could be divided evenly by three.
The entire cathedral was now alive with voices. The Bird was still making the rounds over the heads of the people, but already everyone was babbling excitedly to one another. Through the crowd, Dackery and Falknir had finally pushed their way through and made it to the chancel where Lindsey was still engaged. At the nearest opportunity, Falknir grabbed Lindsey by the elbow and took her aside for a moment. Even after all these weeks of traveling, Lindsey still didn’t feel like she quite knew the man properly, and there was a peculiar gleam in his eyes as he spoke to her.
“Well done, my friend! You have achieved something truly great. What you’ve begun here today will have consequences, and one day we’ll take those consequences right up to the witch’s doorstep.”
Lindsey was about to ask Falknir what on earth he meant by all that, but all of a sudden there was a commotion in the crowd, and the two of them were sucked back into the action again.
It seemed that Gurth had disappeared. Up until now Lindsey had had no idea that her nemesis had been present at all, and was more than a little bit shaken by the revelation. As it was, no one had laid eyes on him since the moment the curse had been broken. His servants and officers had fled the building, but of Gurth himself nothing was known. It was if he had disappeared into oblivion.
Meanwhile, in the city of Larchester things were moving quickly. Word of the marvel which had occurred inside the cathedral spread through the city like wildfire, carried in no small part by the deft efforts of Bartholomew Fox-Goodburrow. The name of Lindsey Fluger remained unuttered and unknown, but all through the streets the people were celebrating and toasting the health of both Robin Goodfellow and the king. Never before had William of Bradlaw been so popular, and for the moment the only remaining demand of the people was a royal pardon for Robin Goodfellow and his comrades. This the king granted, and more. For despite the jubilation of the people, the king and his officers were wary. Gurth was still unaccounted for, and his army was still encamped not far from the city. In the choir of Larchester cathedral the king had gathered with his captains. The bishop likewise was there and so too were others, including a woman in a green satin dress who had somehow slipped in, whispering here and there to men of exalted status. In such council the king was prevailed upon to forge an alliance with Robin Goodfellow, and later that very afternoon Hae-jin was brought before the king at the door of the cathedral before a large crowd.
There on the steps of Larchester Cathedral, Hae-jin swore the appropriate oaths of fealty to William of Bradlaw, and as the crowd cheered Hae-jin was knighted as Sir Robin Greyflower.
As the sun was setting, a great feast had been proclaimed. All the city was breaking out in celebration, and in the great hall of Larchester Castle the king sat at banquet, with Sir Robin Greyflower seated at his right hand.
The night was not far gone when a messenger arrived. A lone rider, coming from the city of Elmstead and begging an audience with Robin Goodfellow. Hae-jin was called away from the table, and was led to a small side room.
There, standing in the flicking candle light and looking as though he had seen a ghost, was Will Little. Something was wrong, and Hae-jin had a sudden feeling that he knew what it was.
“Little! What brings you to the city? What is wrong?”
“Sire, I bring terrible news. The Earl of Wickhowe has broken off his alliance with you, and has taken most of the other nobles with him. They’ve broken camp already, and are marching now towards Beckby.
And sire, they’re joining forces with Gurth!”