Inside the keep of Larchester Castle, just beneath one of the turrets, was a small chamber. It wasn’t a bad sort of place, really. Cramped, yes, but hardly miserable. The stone walls were covered over with white plaster, and in one corner there was a very small fireplace which was more than adequate to heat a room of such diminutive size. There too was a small but warm bed, a table with a candle, and even a proper chair rather than a simple stool. Yet despite these modest comforts there was little which could alleviate the oppressiveness of the place, for it was after all a prison.

For two days Joan had been confined to this place, never seeing or speaking to anyone except when she was brought her meals. No one ever harmed or mistreated her, yet solitude and despair were tortures enough by themselves. And worst of all was the boredom. There was a tiny window which was more than just an arrow slit, but still hardly enough for an interesting view. Nevertheless, Joan had spent most of her time with her chair drawn up beside it, watching what little she could see of the courtyard below while always keeping one desperate eye on the sky, hoping vainly that at any moment she might catch sight of the Bird, or perhaps a flying carpet, or anything which she might imagine that could save her from her misery and restore her to her friends.

Suddenly, from behind her there was a grinding of keys within the door. Save for the changing shadows outside Joan had little sense of time in her prison, yet she was fairly sure that it was not the usual hour for someone to be bringing her meal.

The door opened to reveal the usual turnkey, a rather musty man who was ordinarily tasked with attending to Joan’s sustenance. He gave way without speaking though, and through the door there now stepped a finely dressed canon of the cathedral, who addressed Joan curtly.

“His Lordship the Bishop of Larchester has commanded that you be brought to his personal chambers.”

Joan felt her breast heave as her breath quickened. At last she was saved from the monotonous agony which had been slowly killing her for two days. Yet there was little relief, for anguish had been replaced by fear, and she trembled a bit as she arose and compliantly followed the canon out the door.

Outside were two men at arms dressed in the Bishop’s personal livery, and with the canon in the lead Joan was marched down through the winding passages of the keep and out of the castle to the Bishop’s palace. This time, the canon bypassed the anteroom Joan had visited before, instead leading Joan deeper into the more intimate recesses of the great house. At last, the canon came upon an isolated room with a heavy door, and opening it ushered Joan into the room as he softly announced her arrival to his master.

To one side of the room there was a narrow sort of daybed set along the wall and partially hidden from view by a heavy curtain of a dark green cloth. Most of the room’s perimeter was lined with similar curtains of identical fabric, which was pulled aside and left open in many places to reveal shelves and cabinets piled high with books and scrolls. In the center of the room was a great writing table placed beneath the light from a row of narrow arched windows filled with opaque glass, and beside this was another table, set with a scant meal which was yet largely uneaten. In marked contrast to the rest of the palace Joan had seen so far, the this room was starkly austere and utilitarian, the only decoration being a single wooden crucifix which hung in a place on the wall above the curtains. It was not actually a bedroom, nor was it a proper study or even a dining room, but sort of a blend of all three. It was a place when one might go to work and somehow never leave, and Joan was left with the impression that the Bishop perhaps spent more of his time there than in any of the other far grander apartments of his residence.

The Bishop himself was seated at the writing table, a pair of hinged wooden spectacles resting precariously on the bridge of his nose as he read. Looking at the man now in the privacy of his spartan sanctuary, Joan suddenly had the sense that she at last understood the Bishop for what he was. He was not a particularly saintly man, but neither was he really a wicked man. He was a preoccupied man. Across the great spectrum of human virtue, there are those who are good, those who are evil, and those who are simply busy.

The Bishop now looked up at his visitors.

“Ah, Joan Greyflower. Do come in.”

The Bishop then nodded to the canon.

“That will be all.”

The canon bowed respectfully, and then stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Joan was now alone in the Bishop’s private chamber.

The Bishop had removed his eyeglasses now and was twiddling them in his hands, folding and unfolding them at the hinge as he gazed curiously at Joan.

Joan decided that it might be best to start the conversation in a diplomatic tone.

“How may I serve you, my lord?”

She had a sudden sensation that she might have been better served to have selected a different expression, given the intimacy of her surroundings. However, the Bishop seemed wholly unmoved, and continued to regard her thoughtfully.

“My lord?”

Finally the Bishop stirred.

“I have summoned you, Joan Greyflower, to inform you of tidings which are significant to your situation. Your ally, the outlaw Robin Goodfellow, has surrendered to His Majesty the King.”

Joan felt a wave of horror and shock hit her, and as her mind reeled under the assault her heart sank as if it had be crushed beneath her breast.

“No! That can’t possibly be! Hae-jin would never have done that!”

“I’m afraid he already has. I must confess, I was rather surprised myself. Even with you as a hostage I did not believe he would yield.”

Tears of desperation were now beginning to fill Joan’s eyes, and she fought to hold them back as she spoke.

“Hae-jin would never have surrendered, not for my sake, not for anyone’s.”

“Perhaps your confidence is misplaced. Or perhaps not. As it is, Robin Goodfellow has sworn to present himself at the city gates at noon tomorrow and hand himself over to the king.”

“I can’t believe that!”

“Indeed, but it is true. The terms were quite specific. Robin Goodfellow agreed to capitulate on the condition that he shall surrender personally to the king before the high altar of Larchester Cathedral in the presence of myself, the king’s officers, Gurth and his allies, and the councilmen and officers of the city. And also yourself.”

Joan swallowed hard.

“I couldn’t bear to witness that.”

“Yet these were the terms. And I have prevailed upon the king to accept them in the interests of peace.”

“You will never gain peace in this way.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.”

The Bishop set down his eyeglasses now and leaned back in his chair.

“Tell me, Joan Greyflower. Why do you suppose Robin Goodfellow surrendered under these terms?”

Joan shook her head mournfully.

“My lord, I truly do not know.”

“Neither do I.”

The Bishop regarded Joan silently for another moment, a quizzical, puzzled expression still on his face. Then he dismissed her, and Joan was led back to the tower and restored to her cell to await the coming day.

The following morning the streets of Larchester were abuzz with anticipation. The name of Robin Goodfellow was both feared and acclaimed, and news of his surrender had torn through the city like a ravenous blaze fueled with fairy fire. Now the streets were choked with people as the citizens of Larchester gathered to see the spectacle unfold. Indeed, many were simply curious to see what the notorious man looked like.

As noon approached there was a cry from the city gates. Murmurs rippled back and forth across the crowd as the crisp commands of the guardsmen could be heard faintly on the wind. At last, the anticipated moment had arrived: Robin Goodfellow stood now before the gates of Larchester.

Hae-jin dismounted his horse where he had halted. He stood now on a wide stone bridge, an avenue in its own right which passed through the base of a great fortified tower built into the walls of the city. Before him was a triple column of the city guard, and behind these Hae-jin could already see other men at arms gathering.

Nearby, the Earl of Donnock had also dismounted, and stood beside Hae-jin. Likewise too were the three Wogs and the great Bear Ursilda. Hae-jin had insisted that not only should he surrender, but so too should the nobles and his select captains. The Bird and the Fox Hae-jin had sent away, while Sykes had been instructed to remain with the other yeomen and keep order in Elmstead, but the remainder were to accompany Robin Goodfellow on his final ride. Of the nobles only Donnock had agreed to join him. Wickhowe, Swinstoke, and all the others had flatly refused and remained fortified in Elmstead. Now, men at arms harnessed in the livery of William of Bradlaw approached and Robin Goodfellow and his party were put into lowly shackles, the young earl included. Even the Bear was fettered as men at arms approached her with trepidation before casting a great chain about her neck and binding her jaws with a muzzle. Yet none offered any resistance, and in short order Robin Goodfellow and his accomplices were duly marched before the fascinated crowds through the long winding streets of Larchester all the way to the cathedral in fulfillment of the king’s agreement.

As Hae-jin at last mounted the steps of the cathedral he took a deep breath and gazed up at the vaulted portico above him carved everywhere with the images of heaven. Absolutely everything now depended on the success of the forthcoming encounter.

Inside, the cathedral nave soared above like a stately forest of amber stone with it’s fanning vaults spreading wide overhead like a canopy of leafless branches. Far below, the aisles were packed with the gentility of the city, the wealthier merchants and householders as well as the lesser officers of the district. And there too were also the king’s supporters. Gentlemen, squires and knights, all daughty men at arms who had pledged their allegiance to their monarch and gazed now upon the rebel with hardened eyes. Hard, yet curious, for the queer party of rebels elicited no small amount of wonder as they passed through the nave to the chancel. Now they approached the foot of the high altar. And here now at last, the career of the renegade Robin Goodfellow would end.

The high altar was a great marble sarcophagus beneath which the first Bishop of Larchester was buried, covered in gilded sculpture and capped with a great slab of fine imported marble intricately engraved with sacred inscriptions. The altar itself rested atop a great raised dias, before which was assembled a host of the most exalted persons of the land, scores of nobles comprising the staunchest of the kingdom’s peerage who had heeded the King’s call. Likewise the council and elders of the city were there, and the Bishop of Lachester himself stood to one side on the steps of the dias surrounded by priests and deacons. And there also, standing just off the steps of the altar, as if the sanctity of the place were somehow hazardous, was Gurth arrayed in fine attire. With him were several officers, men dressed in dark velvet and tall robed captains whose cowls only partially concealed their hideous Zardish visages. And last of all were a group of Drixi officers dressed in silken robes of crimson banded vertically with black, cradling winged helms under their arms with each man bearing an eye painted in the middle of his forehead.

And in the center of it all, pacing too and fro like a caged animal, was William of Bradlaw, King of Linster.

The king was a compact sort of man in his late twenties, athletic of build with a shock of red hair and a full beard to match. His features were handsome in their own way, and his eyes were sharp and wary, and bound close at his side was a great war sword on which he rested one hand with a determined grip. All in all, the king reminded Hae-jin of a captive leopard, a specific animal in fact which had once been a fixture in the court of Hae-jin’s own former king in faraway Zhongyang and spent its days bound to a pillar beside the throne with a golden chain about its ankle.

There was a slight commotion to one side, accompanied by the clatter of armor. A portion of the crowd gave way now to a detachment of men at arms. In their midst was Joan, tearful but composed, her hands shackled together with irons. For a moment Hae-jin looked at her, his heart overwhelmed with grief as her met her haggard eyes which cried out silent in anguish and reproach. But each said nothing.

Having come to the cathedral as agreed, the king now wasted no time with further pleasantries.

“So this is Robin Goodfellow, the bandit imp and servant of my enemy?”

Hae-jin looked briefly towards the place where Gurth stood a safe distance from the altar, and then returned his gaze to the king.

“I was under the impression that your true enemy is presently standing a short distance behind you. I am no servant of his.”

“Treason and disloyalty are my greatest enemies, Robin Goodfellow, and so are you.”

“I am none of these things to you. I am a foreigner and a betrayer to none in this land, and my quarrel is with Gurth alone.”

“Then you are an invader, and an accomplice of traitors. Where indeed is the coward Wickhowe, who sends you in his stead?”

“I do not come in the name of the earl, nor do I come in the name of any save Linster itself. I myself a foreigner am come to deliver the people of this land from a foreign oppressor. And I entreat you as king of these very people to do the same.”

From the assembly Gurth now stirred and spoke, appearing to Hae-jin visibly perturbed.

“Your majesty! Why do you tolerate such insolence from this beggar? Slay this thief now, and put an end to his lawlessness!”

“It is you, Gurth, who have usurped the King’s authority and imposed your own law upon this land, and it is I who seek to end it and restore the King’s law.”

“Fairy fiend, consort of goblins! You defile this land with your presence.”

“You Majesty, are you going to allow this witch to speak for you?”

“Villain! Elf-screed!”

“Enough!”, the King bellowed

The King’s voice reverberated through the soaring vaults and echoed through the halls of the cathedral as silence followed in its wake.

The King now looked Hae-jin in the eye.

“I am the defender of this land. I alone stand between Linster and all her enemies. It is not mine to choose between law and liberty, but to safeguard one with the other. And by my sword I shall preserve the liberty of this land and strike down the lawless each in their turn.”

“Then break the chains of lawlessness, my king, and destroy your greatest enemy now while you still can!”

The King hesitated a moment. Then, he raised his fist, and from the galleries around men at arms now stepped forward and converged on the place where Robin Goodfellow stood.

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the cathedral

Far down near the upper nave several persons had been hurled into the aisle. Two men had rammed their way through to the front row of the assembly and were now shoving distinguished looking burghers about.

Then abruptly the people gathered in the chancel were thrown into confusion, as a young boy pushed his way through their midst and began running helter skelter through the crowd, dodging dignitaries and soldiers and making a mad dash straight for the altar as above the tumult of voices Gurth could be heard screaming out in an unnatural voice.

“Stop her, STOP HER!!!!”

But the boy was already mounting the steps of the altar, and as priests, soldiers and Zard scrambled and grabbed, he reached the top and slammed his hand down on the altar’s stone surface.

A blast of thunder tore through the aisles hurling everyone in the vicinity flat to the ground as a blinding flash of golden light emanated from the altar and filled the cathedral before plunging again into darkness.

As the darkness lifted Hae-jin pulled himself up on his side and looked around.

Everywhere people were scattered on the polished floors, a few unconscious and most already recovering and blinking bewilderedly. Gurth was nowhere to be seen, and headed away through the galleries Hae-jin saw several Zard and Drixi making a speedy exit. The altar itself was smoldering slightly, and a great chunk of marble had broken off the corner where it had been struck.

And there standing beside the battered altar was Lindsey, massaging her right hand while still panting with adrenaline.

“Well, there’s your stinking curse taken care of! Now what are you going to do about it?”