shadow darkened his bright eyes. “Will you tell her I said thank you? And good-bye?”
Rook felt his jaw drop.
Tod said, “I’m going back to Nottingham tomorrow.”
Rook felt his insides sloshing like a butter churn. Out of the splatter he forced a single word. “Why?”
Tod stared at him.
“To be beaten?” Rook grumped.
Tod looked at the ground, sighed and slumped down to sit. Runkling rubbed against him, and he gathered the piglet into his arms.
“I don’t know what else to do,” he told Rook.
Rook crouched to glare at him.
“My father will come to find me,” Tod said. “I mean, really. He will. Sometime. And … and I don’t want him to hurt …” Tod hesitated, swallowed hard, then said it. “I don’t want him to hurt Robin. Or anyone.”
Glaring was easy. Trying to think what to say was hard. Rook continued to glare.
“Robin made me this crutch,” Tod said.
Rook nodded.
“He and Little John will carry me to the Nottingham Way,” Tod said. “It’s not far from there. I can walk the rest of the way.” He hugged Runkling, ruffled the pig’s ears, then set him aside and struggled to his feet. He looked straight into Rook’s glowering eyes. “Rook, I came to thank you for not leaving me in that man trap. I know you really wanted to. Thank you for letting me live.”
A muddy brown flood of feelings made Rook look away. He heard Tod say, “Good-bye,” but he couldn’t reply. He couldn’t lift his glare from the ground. He heard Tod starting to crutch away—
A whistle as shrill as a hawk’s scream soared over Sherwood Forest.
Rook leapt to his feet, snatching at his dagger. Tod stood like a startled deer. Maybe he remembered hearing that signal before—for his own sake.
“Is it—is somebody caught in a man trap?” he gasped, his face fish-belly pale under the freckles.
Rook didn’t answer, because he didn’t know the answer. His mind squirreled, and he couldn’t think what he should do. He knew only that something was badly wrong, and he ran headlong down the crags toward the alarm signal. One of Robin Hood’s men, maybe, had been hurt or captured. Or, far worse, could it be Beau, or Lionel, or—
No. He was a wild thing. He wouldn’t think it, or care, or feel his heart bursting with dread of—
“Rook, wait!” cried Tod.
That cry might not have halted him, but his own dread did. He turned to bark something at Tod, and saw the boy trying to run after him, his crutch flailing. Then its tip caught, and Tod pitched forward, fell, and kept on falling, crashing against stones as he tumbled down the tor, clutching at brush and rocks that ripped out of his hands. Rook saw blood even before Tod thumped to a stop against a boulder.
The boy didn’t make a sound, and at first Rook thought he was dead. He ran toward him.
But as Rook reached Tod, the boy sat up, bruised and scraped, with his lips pressed together. Rook had forgotten: The Sheriff’s son was brave.
Heart thudding, Rook bent to help him up—but another hand reached down. Rook had not seen even a shadow, had not heard so much as the scrape of a footfall on stone or a pebble rattling, but there stood Robin Hood.
“Tod, lad. Come, hurry. On my back.” Robin hoisted Tod and strode off.
Rook grabbed up Tod’s crutch from the ground and trotted after them. “What has happened?” he growled at Robin.
Robin did not answer. And glancing at Robin’s face, seeing his hard jaw and his shadowed eyes, Rook did not dare to speak again.
Tod did, his voice small and scared. “Robin?”
“Tod, lad.” Robin spoke to him gently, as always, but his voice was as taut as a stretched leather shield. “There’s been a change in plans. I’m going to have to exchange you as a hostage, lad.”
Rook stared.
Tod blurted, “Why? Who …”
“Your father has captured Rowan.”
Eleven
A t the edge of the forest near Nottingham, Robin Hood’s outlaw band had gathered, their lips tight, their hands tight on their
Rook felt his jaw drop.
Tod said, “I’m going back to Nottingham tomorrow.”
Rook felt his insides sloshing like a butter churn. Out of the splatter he forced a single word. “Why?”
Tod stared at him.
“To be beaten?” Rook grumped.
Tod looked at the ground, sighed and slumped down to sit. Runkling rubbed against him, and he gathered the piglet into his arms.
“I don’t know what else to do,” he told Rook.
Rook crouched to glare at him.
“My father will come to find me,” Tod said. “I mean, really. He will. Sometime. And … and I don’t want him to hurt …” Tod hesitated, swallowed hard, then said it. “I don’t want him to hurt Robin. Or anyone.”
Glaring was easy. Trying to think what to say was hard. Rook continued to glare.
“Robin made me this crutch,” Tod said.
Rook nodded.
“He and Little John will carry me to the Nottingham Way,” Tod said. “It’s not far from there. I can walk the rest of the way.” He hugged Runkling, ruffled the pig’s ears, then set him aside and struggled to his feet. He looked straight into Rook’s glowering eyes. “Rook, I came to thank you for not leaving me in that man trap. I know you really wanted to. Thank you for letting me live.”
A muddy brown flood of feelings made Rook look away. He heard Tod say, “Good-bye,” but he couldn’t reply. He couldn’t lift his glare from the ground. He heard Tod starting to crutch away—
A whistle as shrill as a hawk’s scream soared over Sherwood Forest.
Rook leapt to his feet, snatching at his dagger. Tod stood like a startled deer. Maybe he remembered hearing that signal before—for his own sake.
“Is it—is somebody caught in a man trap?” he gasped, his face fish-belly pale under the freckles.
Rook didn’t answer, because he didn’t know the answer. His mind squirreled, and he couldn’t think what he should do. He knew only that something was badly wrong, and he ran headlong down the crags toward the alarm signal. One of Robin Hood’s men, maybe, had been hurt or captured. Or, far worse, could it be Beau, or Lionel, or—
No. He was a wild thing. He wouldn’t think it, or care, or feel his heart bursting with dread of—
“Rook, wait!” cried Tod.
That cry might not have halted him, but his own dread did. He turned to bark something at Tod, and saw the boy trying to run after him, his crutch flailing. Then its tip caught, and Tod pitched forward, fell, and kept on falling, crashing against stones as he tumbled down the tor, clutching at brush and rocks that ripped out of his hands. Rook saw blood even before Tod thumped to a stop against a boulder.
The boy didn’t make a sound, and at first Rook thought he was dead. He ran toward him.
But as Rook reached Tod, the boy sat up, bruised and scraped, with his lips pressed together. Rook had forgotten: The Sheriff’s son was brave.
Heart thudding, Rook bent to help him up—but another hand reached down. Rook had not seen even a shadow, had not heard so much as the scrape of a footfall on stone or a pebble rattling, but there stood Robin Hood.
“Tod, lad. Come, hurry. On my back.” Robin hoisted Tod and strode off.
Rook grabbed up Tod’s crutch from the ground and trotted after them. “What has happened?” he growled at Robin.
Robin did not answer. And glancing at Robin’s face, seeing his hard jaw and his shadowed eyes, Rook did not dare to speak again.
Tod did, his voice small and scared. “Robin?”
“Tod, lad.” Robin spoke to him gently, as always, but his voice was as taut as a stretched leather shield. “There’s been a change in plans. I’m going to have to exchange you as a hostage, lad.”
Rook stared.
Tod blurted, “Why? Who …”
“Your father has captured Rowan.”
Eleven
A t the edge of the forest near Nottingham, Robin Hood’s outlaw band had gathered, their lips tight, their hands tight on their
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