The Two Torcs Read Free

outlaw!”
    Out of the darkness of the wagon rushed soldiers, armed to the teeth and with murder flashing in their eyes.
    The first soldier out was a giant, arms bulging under a mail shirt, quilted tabard emblazoned with the Locksley coat of arms. Behind him came three of his sword brothers, all wearing the same royal-blue tunic sewn with the same rampant lion.
    The sword in the giant’s skull-crusher hand was long steel with a vicious point left from the days when savages from the North came to rape, pillage, and plunder. It was thick and heavy and made for killing. He swung it with a roar that would have made the blade’s original barbarian owner proud, the cold, cruel blade aimed to cleave the Hood in two before he could raise his bow.
    Quicker than a blink the Hood drew and shot, his wicked arrow
thunking
deep into the dirt of the road, sinking halfway up the arm-length shaft.
    Right through the foot of the soldier.
    The giant’s roar broke, becoming a scream of pain. Pinned to the earth by the arrow, he faltered. His body twisted, drawing up in agony.
    The Hood swung the longbow, stout yew cracking across the giant’s temple, driving him to the ground with a splash of mud. The arrow shaft broke and pulled free in a boot-darkening spurt of blood.
    The other three soldiers stopped, watching their sword brother fall right in front of them. They looked at him as he lay sprawled at their feet, then up at the man in the Hood who stood almost casually in front of them.
    Will lowered his hands, watching.
    “Surrender.” The Hood’s voice came from under his cowl.
    One by one, their eyes narrowed as anger sparked between them. Will could almost see the thoughts forming in their skulls as hands tightened on weapons.
    Who does he think he is?
    There are still three of us and one of him.
    He shook his head.
    Fools
.
    A soldier, young but already battle-scarred with a livid line that ran from his brow, around his eye, and across his cheek, pointed at the man in the hood. He stepped over his fallen companion.
    “Who do you think you are?” he demanded. “There are three of us and—” A fist crashed hard and savage across the soldier’s jaw.
    The man dropped to the ground, a puppet on cut strings.
    So predictable.
    Before the other two could move the Hood spun, driving his boot deep in the stomach of the man on the right. The soldier bent sharply in half as he lost his breakfast on the road. The bow whipped down, clubbing him across the back of his skull. He dropped to his knees, slowly falling to his side.
    The man in the hood flipped the bow in his hand as he turned. The last soldier was just raising his sword when the bow fell, hooking over his head. The Hood leaned back, jerking the bowstring tight across the soldier’s throat and yanking him off his feet. Planting a foot across the soldier’s shoulders, the attacker pulled up, bow bending sharply in his hands.
    Will began counting in his head.
    He didn’t get past twenty before the soldier stopped struggling, and was out cold.
    The man in the hood held the bow tight for another three-count before releasing the pressure. He unhooked the string from under the soldier’s head. Straightening slowly, he kept his head down in his hood, shoulders rising and falling as he breathed deeply.
    He’s tired.
    Will pulled his rapier from the scabbard without a sound.
    Behind the man in the hood the merchant snuck, jagged knife in hand. Piggy eyes glittered in their flesh pockets, jowls split wide with dark, murderous lust. The knife swung back, ready to strike, to bury itself hilt-deep in the kidney of his target.
    The butt of Will’s sword bashed across the back of the merchant’s head, splitting the skin wide below the edge of his cap.
    The soft man dropped like a felled ox, mud splashing as he struck the road face first.
    The Hood whirled, hand drawing an arrow from the quiver across his back. Then he stopped, staring at Will and the deadly point of the rapier, hovering