Mortimer’s Mill wasn’t particularly far from the respective abodes of the other yeomen, but it took a fair bit of time nonetheless for young Tom Oates to reach them and arouse their occupants. In the meanwhile, Hae-jin and his fellows waited beside Mortimer’s fire, while the miller recounted the events in Linster over the last week since Joan had departed with the Bird for Harin’s Vault.

The last time anyone had seen Watt the farmhand was the day Joan had left Linster to break the curse of Gurth. The very next day a detachment of Gurth’s men had come to Mortimer’s Mill, demanding to know the whereabouts of Joan. They ransacked the mill quite thoroughly before they left, and had returned twice in the days since then.

In the meanwhile, Gurth had been very busy elsewhere. It started when Gurth’s men seized the granaries at Leighshaw and Elmstead, occupying them and preventing any of the food stores from being removed. Other bands of Gurth’s men had since begun roving the countryside seizing food and burning crops wherever they went. Anyone caught working the fields or transporting food would be waylaid and seized, with the food taken to the occupied storehouses and the farmers themselves being thrown into Gurth’s slave pens. Reportedly this pattern was being repeated all across the country. The slave pens were close to bursting now, and at the rate at which Gurth was seizing food and laborers half the country would soon be on the brink of starvation. According to rumor Gurth had recently issued an ultimatum to the king demanding the surrender of several key castles and armories in exchange for releasing a portion of the captured food back to the population.

All this though was coming on the heels of a situation which was already getting out of hand. For months Gurth’s demand for slaves had been steadily increasing. The supply of labor had become ever more strained as the slave pens became ever more full. Gurth’s crackdown over the past week had finally driven the common folk to desperation and the entire countryside seemed on the verge of boiling over.

“Frankly, I don’t see what option the king has but to give in to Gurth”, Mortimer speculated, “It’s the only way he can avert a general uprising. The king and the nobles are scarcely more popular than Gurth these days. Their own necks are as much on the line as his. Much as it will harm them I don’t think they have any choice other than to acquiesce to Gurth’s demands, which won’t end at a few castles, mark my words. I’ll warrant Gurth won’t stop until he’s blackmailed the king into handing over the privy seal itself, at which point it won’t matter much whether the curse is ever broken or not.”

Joan shivered in the firelight.

“I still can’t believe that Watt would have betrayed us to Gurth.”

“Neither can I, but he disappeared right before Gurth’s men first came around looking for you. Unless he’d betrayed us there is no other reason for him to have gone.”

“Did he take anything with him?”

“Nothing but the clothes on his back, so far as I can tell. Most of his belongings are still here.”

“Perhaps he was kidnapped by Gurth instead. Perhaps he was tortured and forced to betray us.”

“That would have been remarkable timing indeed. It wasn’t very long after you left that it happened.”

“But by that time Gurth might already have known what was happening; his men were at the vault after all.”

“Which means that they must have known in advance exactly where you would be. If it’s not Watt, then it must be one of the others. And if that were the case then why has Watt gone missing? No, I’m afraid we must accept the fact that Watt has indeed betrayed us, as incredible as it seems.”

Suddenly from somewhere outside there came the noise of a faint whinny and the muted clop of hooves. It sounded to Hae-jin as if a horseman had just arrived. Joan quickly arose and made her way silently to the door. She peeked out tensely for moment, and then with a quick sigh of relief she flung the door wide to admit a man.

The newcomer was a man who looked to be in his mid to late thirties, of medium height and a compact, athletic build. He was dressed in tight fitting red hose and a padded linen jacket, over which he wore a russet colored leather coat covered in a pattern of brass studs, which clinked and shifted in a peculiarly rigid manner which betrayed a layer of overlapping steel plates lying beneath the leather. At his side he carried a broad, machete like sword and a small round shield, while opposite this there hung a large, nasty looking dagger. The man had clearly come prepared for trouble. As he was about to cross the threshold he abruptly halted in his tracks as his observed the room packed with a bizarre assortment of creatures (not the least of which was a colossal bear). On the other side of room Mortimer stood up and waved languidly to the stranger.

“Come on in, Sykes. Nothing to worry about here. The Good Folk have just sent Joan back to us along with Robin Goodfellow and an army of demons and familiars.”

The man called Sykes made his way cautiously into the crowded room, warily eyeing the peculiar beings which were now surrounding him. Sykes picked his way carefully past the animals and wogs, but paused when he came to Hae-jin. For a moment the two men regarded one another. There was something about Sykes which seemed at once familiar; his features and attire were foreign, but there was something about his deportment which Hae-jin instantly recognized. The quality of the man’s weapons and armor were a testament on their own, but the way in which he bore them and carried himself all suggested to Hae-jin that the man before him was a professional soldier (or had been one in the past). In the person of this otherwise alien man Hae-jin nonetheless saw a partial reflection of himself. And so also it seemed did Sykes, who now addressed Hae-jin cordially.

“Robin Goodfellow, I presume?”

“My name is Moon Hae-jin.”

“Well met, Moon Hae-jin. You’re a long way from home, I’ll warrant.”

“I come from Zhongyang.”

Sykes whistled.

“That’s a long way off indeed. You might just as well be Robin Goodfellow after all to have come all that way. What in the name of The Twelve Kingdoms of Arthur is a man like you doing out here in the Hinterlands?”

Hae-jin shrugged.

“Apparently the Good Folk felt you needed the help of a soldier.”

“Frankly, the way things are going we could likely do with a thousand of them. Your company is welcome of course, but one man will hardly be enough to sway fate in our favor. Unless you’re one man who is equal to a thousand.”

“I would never claim to be that, although once upon a time I commanded ten thousand.”

Sykes whistled again.

“That’s quite a host indeed. I served the king as a bowman during the last war with the Tollards, and even in those days the largest army we ever mustered was scarcely twice that. The Good Folk have sent us more than a soldier, they’ve sent us a captain. Consider yourself very welcome indeed, Sir Robin Goodfellow.”

It was a bit longer before the last yeoman arrived. Will Little proved to be a man in his early thirties, the youngest of the yeomen and likewise the poorest of the three. He came wearing a sword and carrying a longbow, but he possessed no armor and his sword was rather old and pitted. And unlike Sykes and Mortimer he did not own a horse, and had been obliged to ride to the mill with young Tom Oates. The latter was a red headed stripling of about thirteen, the foster son of Mortimer. Tom Oates was skinny but strong for his age. The burden of maintaining Mortimer’s homestead and mill was largely left to just him and Watt, for Mortimer himself was frail and a widower whose health and family had been taken long ago by the want and pestilence brought by the Curse of Gurth.

And there, crammed together inside the modest great room of Mortimer’s house, the whole assembly of men, wightbeasts and wogs held council together for the first time.

The yeomen were dismayed at the news that the Curse of Gurth was not yet broken. It had been three years since Joan and the yeomen had first conspired to seek the aid of the Good Folk, and the news that the culmination of all their efforts had failed to bear fruit thus far was taken hard. Of all of them, Sykes was at first the most bitter about the matter, for he had spent many long and weary days and nights roving the countryside alone in search of any sign of the Good Folk. Still, Joan’s return in the company of such an extraordinary ensemble of characters proved decisive in convincing them that the Good Folk hadn’t abandoned their cause. Although Linster was a place where wightbeasts and other fey creatures were largely unknown (though for their part the Wogs would likely raise eyebrows wherever they went), it was ultimately the Bird himself who made the greatest impression. His eloquence notwithstanding, his extraordinary appearance alone was quite enough to dazzle all and sundry. In the end, it was Sykes who rebounded from his disappointment the fastest.

“Whether the Good Folk come through for us or not, the fact is that something has to be done, and done now. We can no longer wait. If we do we will surely lose any chance we have of ever being free from Gurth.”

“We all realize that”, Little interjected, “the problem is, what can we do? If the king and the nobles can’t resist Gurth, how can we?”

Up to now Hae-jin had been listening attentively to the conversation, observing the yeomen carefully and attempting to gauge their reactions and response to the news which had been brought before them. One of them could still prove to be a traitor, although there was nothing in anyone’s manner so far which particularly raised his suspicions. But more than that, Hae-jin wanted to assess the character and personality of each man as much as possible, for he knew that he would be relying on these men in the near future. But now, it was time. Time for Hae-jin to begin what he had been brought to Linster to do.

Hae-jin now arose and spoke.

“The present situation in this land may be dire, but Gurth’s malevolence is also our opportunity. At this moment, Gurth’s men are ravaging the countryside and driving the people to the brink of starvation. This must be stopped, and the desperation of the people is the weapon with which we will do it. Desperation breeds valor, and the desperation of one breeds the valor of one. But when harnessed together, the desperation of many can be forged into the valor of a nation. The fire has already begun to burn. It must now be fed and its path guided until it blazes like an inferno at the very gates of the enemy. If the king will not oppose Gurth, then his hand must be forced to oppose him. If he will not be forced, then the king himself must be overcome.”

Sykes was looking keenly at Hae-jin as he spoke. “That’s all well and good, my friend. But how do you propose that it be done? Who is to guide the blaze?”

Hae-jin looked Sykes in the eye.

“Look at my face. I am an alien, I am not one of you. But I will pledge my own life to you and your kingdom’s cause. The question is, will you follow me?”

There was a steely glint in Sykes eye as returned Hae-jin’s gaze and a resolute smile began to play across his lips as he spoke.

“Aye, I’ll follow you. My sword and bow shall be yours to the bitter end. What say you, my fellows? Will you also follow our Robin Goodfellow?”

Mortimer stirred uncomfortably, but Little slammed his fist into the table with a hearty “Aye!”, and the boy Tom belted out his assent as well.

Hae-jin looked at the Bird, and though the avian’s features were by nature a bit inscrutable, the creature nonetheless replied with half a wink, as if to say he knew what Hae-jin was thinking: It had begun.

In that very moment, a rebellion had been born.

They spent the remainder of the night deep in conference. There was much to be discussed and argued over. But in the end a consensus was reached, and from it a single commander had emerged.

Hae-jin stepped out of the house into the starlit night and heaved a sigh. It hadn’t been precisely easy, but in the end he had succeed. His army was a tiny one, but that night it had been forged into what he hoped would become the heart of something much bigger. Much, much bigger. Though where it would ultimately take him he couldn’t guess. For a moment, he simply had a job to do. And so far he had done it.

The yeomen had returned to their homes, Sykes having taken Little with him on his horse. There were still a few hours of the night left to them, which was a good thing as they would all be in need of sleep. There was much to be done over the next few days.

Mortimer was to put Hae-jin and the others up in his barn for the night. Joan herself possessed a cottage in the village, but it was agreed that she would be safer if she remained with the others at the mill. She, Hae-jin, the wogs and the Bird clamored up a rickety ladder into a loft filled with hay, while Ursilda stoutly refused to entrust her weight to such an inferior device and curled up in a corner on the ground floor, while Bartholomew volunteered to sleep by the door.

Hae-jin stretched himself out onto the hay, grateful for what comfort it provided. A pile of hay and a drafty barn was luxurious compared to the kind of lodgings he’d had since many days past. Come to think of it, Hae-jin hadn’t slept in a proper bed since he left his own home in Zhongyang for the last time. True, there had been a cot in the Drixi jail, but it had also come with a locked door and more or less certain doom, so he supposed that didn’t really count. Here in Linster, at least, Hae-jin had a second chance.

He had tried to resist tyranny once, and had failed. Whatever else happened, he was determined that this time he would succeed. Victory was never so sweet that it did not carry the taste of righteousness, and it was for the sake of righteousness that Hae-jin had lost everything. And only the continued pursuit of righteousness could make that loss have meaning. A home, a fortune, a reputation and rank, a nation, and even a wife. Hae-jin’s choices had ultimately cost him all of these things. And unless he remained true to those choices, it would have all been for nothing. It wasn’t the rosiest future he could imagine, but without it what else was there for him?

The loft was faintly lit as the moonlight poked through the gaps in the wattle walls of the barn. Hae-jin could just barely make out the glittering feathers of The Bird, perched with his beak tucked under one wing as he slept, while elsewhere in the darkness Hae-jin could hear the coarse snoring of the Wogs.

Suddenly Hae-jin felt a shift in the weight of the hay around him, and he realized that someone was now lying close beside him in the darkness. A soft hand stole up and clutched his arm tightly as a woman’s lips pressed close to his ear.

“Are you still awake?”

There was a tense hush in Joan’s voice as she whispered. Hae-jin nodded instinctively in reply before realizing that the gesture was lost in the darkness.

“Yes”, he instead replied.

“Are you really serious about starting an uprising against Gurth?”

It was too dark for Hae-jin to properly see Joan’s face. He shrugged.

“That is what I was brought here to do.”

Joan remained silent, but Hae-jin could sense her body tensing beside him. Perhaps she had never really realized that the path she had taken would have led to such an eventuality. Or perhaps she had never wanted to realize it. Joan now heaved a sigh.

“That’s what the Good Folk were planning all along then?”

“So it seems.”

“I wish it didn’t have to come to that.”

“Frankly, I don’t see that there was ever any other way. Breaking the curse just wouldn’t be enough, not on its own.”

Joan was silent again. Her hand stole down now to nestle into his as she shifted her weight to rest closer beside him, and Hae-jin could feel her body now pressing deeply into his with each breath.

“I’ll stand with you, Hae-jin. Whatever happens, I’ll remain beside you.”

Hae-jin made no reply. But he closed his hand tightly around hers.

Downstairs, the Fox pricked his ears up. He could hear soft voices above him, but he had no interest in what they were saying. They were busy and he had something to tend to.

Creeping softly through the door and out into the night, Bartholomew made his way to where he had hidden the mysterious object he had found earlier. He couldn’t see it any better than before, but he was quite sure it was some kind of brittle stone, like flint or obsidian. And it was imbued with a dark and powerful magic. He was just sure of it. Whoever had hidden it beside the barn had done so for a reason, and no doubt would be back to retrieve it. But they wouldn’t find it. Bartholomew gingerly picked the stone up in his jowls again and trotted out into the field. In a short while, he found a place that he liked and there he buried the stone. Chuckling softly to himself he then darted back into the barn and curled up again beside the door.

The moon had long sunk below the horizon as the night passed into its final few hours. All was still across the farmyard.

Then the door to the farmhouse was stealthily opened. A shadowy figure peeked furtively outside, looking this way and that. The figure then crept its way warily across the farmyard towards the barn.

The figure made its way to a point outside the barn, to a very particular place in the wall. He then began to feel the wattle, looking for something which would be invisible in the darkness. But whatever it was, he couldn’t find it. He began frantically casting about, feeling everywhere along the walls and crawling about on the ground, but to no avail. Whatever it was he was looking for, it was gone.

Finally, at long last the shadowy figure made its way back into the farmhouse, as somewhere in the distance a cock crowed.