Rickman and four of his men strode through the grand hall of the castle, their heavy boots echoing against the stone floor. As they made their way to Rickman's chambers, a castle worker stepped forward, his expression uneasy as he delivered the bad news.

Rickman and his entourage strode with purpose through the grand hall of the castle, the weight of their presence palpable in the echoing cadence of their heavy boots against the stone floor. As they advanced toward Rickman's chambers, a castle worker stepped forward, his countenance betraying unease as he delivered the grim tidings.

“My Lord,” the man began, his voice quivering slightly, “the scouts have returned from Sherwood Forest. They report that the forest is teeming with bandits. Our men engaged them in battle, but...” He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Rickman's brow furrowed in frustration. "How many casualties did we suffer?" he demanded, his tone clipped and authoritative.

The castle worker swallowed nervously before replying, "Twelve of our men were killed, my Lord."

The sheriff's eyes flashed with fury at the news. "And how many of the bandits did we capture?" he pressed; his voice tinged with impatience.

The worker shifted uncomfortably under Rickman's intense scrutiny. "Only two, my Lord," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rickman's anger flared, his voice thundering through the hall. "I sent thirty men into the forest, and we suffered losses almost half our number, only to capture two bandits?" he roared, his frustration boiling over.

The worker recoiled, unable to meet the sheriff's gaze. "Yes, my Lord," he murmured, his shame evident in every word.

In a swift and merciless motion, the sheriff unsheathed a sword from one of the soldiers standing beside him. With a cold determination in his eyes, Rickman lunged forward, driving the sword deep into the man's abdomen.

A guttural cry of pain tore from the castle worker's lips as the sharp steel pierced his flesh, his body convulsing in agony as the blade found its mark. Blood blossomed around the wound, staining his clothes crimson as he slumped to the ground, gasping for air.

The soldiers looked on in stunned silence, their faces a mask of shock and horror at the brutality of their leader's actions. But Rickman showed no remorse, his expression cold and unyielding as he withdrew the sword from the man's body, the metallic clang of steel hitting the floor, echoing through the hall.

"Have someone clean this mess up," Rickman spat, his voice dripping with disdain as he turned away from the fallen man, his gaze fixed on the task ahead. And as the soldiers hurried to obey his command, the echoes of the sheriff's ruthless violence lingered in the air, a grim reminder of the price of crossing him.

Rickman pushed open the heavy oak door, to his dimly lit chambers his expression a mask of stern determination. But as he entered the room, his eyes narrowed in surprise at the sight of Guy Gisborne sitting at his desk seemingly unperturbed by his unexpected arrival of the sheriff.

"What are you doing here, Gisborne?" Rickman demanded; his tone laced with a hint of suspicion.

Guy looked up from the papers scattered across the desk, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Waiting for you, obviously," he replied nonchalantly.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Rickman's brow furrowed at the cheeky response, but he said nothing as Guy rose from his seat and offered it to him with a graceful gesture. Rickman sank into the chair, his gaze fixed on Guy as he awaited an explanation for his unexpected presence.

Guy leaned against the desk, his demeanor casual yet calculated. "I've heard rumors," he began, his voice low and measured. "Rumors that you've been doing some... house cleaning, shall we say?"

Rickman's eyes narrowed at the mention of his recent actions, his expression guarded. "And what if I have?" he replied, his tone defensive.

Guy shook his head disapprovingly, his gaze unwavering. "You can't go around burning down people's houses in plain sight," he admonished, his words carrying a note of warning. "If you want to do things like that, you need to make it look like an accident. You should know better."

Rickman bristled at the accusation, but Guy held up a hand to forestall his protests. "If you want my help to take control of the kingdom," he continued, his voice low and persuasive, "you need to be more discreet. The head of the castle guard can't be seen condoning such reckless actions."

"And what do you suggest?" Rickman asked, his voice tight with anticipation.

"You're not going to win these people like your brother," Guy remarked coolly, his gaze steady as he met Rickman's eyes. "He's the king, and the people love him. Burning down people's houses certainly isn't winning over the hearts of them either."

Rickman's jaw tightened at the reminder of his brother's popularity, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. "I don't need the love of the people to rule," he retorted defiantly, his voice tinged with bitterness.

Guy shook his head, his expression incredulous. "You're mistaken if you think fear alone will keep you in power," he countered, his tone firm. "Make the people believe you're on their side. Let them think you love them, and they will fall in line. That's how you'll truly rule this land."

Rickman considered Guy's words carefully, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. He knew that he needed to tread carefully if he wanted to maintain control, and perhaps there was wisdom in Guy's advice. After all, power gained through fear was fragile and fleeting, but power earned through loyalty and trust was enduring.

Rickman

scuffed at the implication, but he knew that Guy was right. If he wanted to achieve his goals, he would need allies who could help him navigate the treacherous waters of politics and power. With a begrudging nod, "Very well," Rickman conceded, a glimmer of reluctant acceptance in his eyes. "I'll consider your counsel."

Guy stood up from leaning on the desk. "I also heard of the troubles in Sherwood Forest," he stated, his tone measured. "What do you plan on doing about it?"

Rickman leaned back in his chair; his expression thoughtful as he considered Guy's question. The unrest in Sherwood Forest was indeed a pressing issue, one that could not be ignored if he hoped to maintain control over his domain.

"We cannot allow these bandits to continue disrupting the peace," Rickman replied, his voice firm with resolve. "I will send a larger force into the forest, with orders to root out these vermin and bring them to justice."

Guy nodded in approval. "A decisive move," he remarked, his tone approving. "But be cautious. These bandits are cunning, they know that forest well. It is their home, and they will not be easily defeated."

Rickman's jaw tightened at the reminder of the challenges that lay ahead, but he nodded in agreement. "I will proceed with caution," he assured Guy, his gaze unwavering. "And I will not rest until Sherwood Forest is once again under our control."

Guy responded with a nod; his expression serious as he met Rickman's gaze. "I am with you," he affirmed, his voice steady. "But don't put me in a position where I look to be siding against the King. I am the captain of the castle guard, and I can't be made to look disloyal in any way."

Rickman nodded in understanding, recognizing the delicate balance of power that Guy navigated as the head of the castle guard. "Your loyalty to the crown must remain unquestioned," he acknowledged, his tone respectful. "I will ensure that your position is safeguarded, even as we pursue our goals."

Their exchange was brief but loaded with unspoken implications, each man acutely aware of the delicate balance of power they were navigating. With a final nod of agreement, Guy turned to leave, his mind already strategizing the best course of action to support Rickman's ambitions without jeopardizing his own standing. And as he disappeared, Rickman was left alone with his thoughts, the weight of leadership heavy upon his shoulders as he prepared to navigate the treacherous waters of politics and power.