Read Online Rise of the Wolf by Steven A McKay - Free Book Online Page B

eyes with his fingers. “Where's Allan?”
    The minstrel's voice was often the first thing the outlaws heard each day, as he went about getting ready for the day whistling a tune or singing, depending on how hungover he and the rest of the men were. Today though, there was silence around the camp, broken only by the back-and-forth tweeting of a pair of blackbirds hidden in the trees overhead.
    “Dunno,” Little John grunted, shoving a lump of bread into his mouth, crumbs already lacing his unkempt brown beard. “Must have gone off hunting or something. I haven't seen him.”
    “Gone off?” Robin helped himself to some of the ale from the barrel they'd broached the previous night and sat on one of the fallen logs next to John and a couple of the other early risers. “That's not like him.”
    The giant shrugged, but Will Scarlet had learned from bitter experience not to ignore Robin when he made an observation about one of their men acting out of character. He stood up and moved around the camp, counting heads.
    “Gareth's not here either,” he reported, returning to the rest of the men and grabbing some of the loaf John had almost devoured already. “Where d'you think they've gone without telling anyone?”
    “Maybe they did tell someone,” Stephen suggested. “You'll need to ask the rest when they wake up.” He took a sip of his ale, not being overly fond of the brew this close to dawn. “You think something's up?”
    Robin shook his head with a confidence he didn't really feel. “No, Allan's a big boy. I just don't like it when anyone leaves the camp without letting one of us know.”
    “Allan might be able to handle himself,” Will growled. “But Gareth can't, and if he's been on the drink again he could stir up a lot of mischief we could do without.”
    Robin momentarily held his palms up in resignation. “We've no reason to think anything's amiss yet,” he told them. “They've probably just gone off hunting as John says.”
    “Aye,” the big man nodded. “Gareth might be a skinny wee bastard, but even he can set a rabbit trap well enough. Give it till lunchtime; they'll be back with something nice for Edmond's pot later on.”
    Robin smiled but he remembered the look on Allan's face when they'd talked the day before about the value of the silver arrow. He prayed the minstrel hadn't decided to try and win them all the pardons they craved...
     
    * * *
     
    “Why did you want to come anyway,” Allan-a-Dale asked his companion, who shrugged and looked away evasively.
    “I'm fed up with the forest, feel like seeing the big city for a change,” Gareth replied, fingering the coin-purse he carried hidden under his gambeson.
    “Hoping to find some of that grain drink you got from the barber in Penyston, eh?”
    “Nah,” the younger outlaw shook his head nonchalantly. “Can't handle that stuff, I'll stick to ale. At least I don't get cramps in my guts with ale.” He grinned over at the minstrel but Allan saw through the protestations.
    Gareth wasn't much of a travelling companion, and he wouldn't even be entering the tournament since he was too weak to draw a longbow or wield a sword very well, but Allan hadn't wanted to head into Nottingham by himself so he was glad when Gareth had offered to come along to keep him company.
    “What d'you think Robin'll do when he finds out where we've gone?”
    Allan had wondered that himself, but he wasn't sure of the answer. “Either he'll go crazy that we've not followed his orders to stay in the camp, or he'll accept that we're all our own men and can do what we want.”
    Gareth didn't reply as they hurried along the road towards Nottingham.
    “He'll cheer up when he sees the silver arrow I've won, though. Then we can sell it and win pardons for us all!”
    The two men grinned at that. It wasn't such a fanciful idea – Allan was an excellent shot, his skills honed to a fine point by the hours of practice Robin insisted the fighters in the group performed