Robin leaned his chair back as he rested his feet on a little table. Even after three years of witnessing recruits marching into camp, he still could not decide what he hated more: the dust or how young some of them seemed. Or, perhaps, it was the lost, forlorn look in their eyes. Despite being completely surrounded by other fighters, most, if not all, of the people trooping through camp seemed alone. They had marched nearly a hundred miles from Beirut to get here. The commanding officers, who had pushed them so hard, now showed them a little mercy, letting the men drag their feet. Even though they marched out of time, out of rhythm, they all were in sync. The same vacant look in their eyes, the same weary dragging of the feet, and the same pale, awed cast of their faces.
Robin felt his lip curl back in disgust. “It”s rather unsettling, Much,” he observed loudly over the clamor of men and armor.
Much lifted a corner of his knit hat off his icy blue eyes. “That depends on who is observing whom, master,” he replied philosophically.
Robin snorted and turned his pale green eyes back to the recruits. He could feel the horse approaching before he could see it. The ground shook slightly as a monstrous beast galloped into camp. Yet, it was not the horse that made Robin stare in wonder, even though it was a rather large Arabian at least fourteen hands tall and as black as night. What made Robin frown in confusion was the rider. From this distance, the man appeared lithe and acrobatic. A rough, white cloak billowed about him as his horse slowed. He wore dark leather armor that hugged his body closely emphasizing how thin and wiry he was. From time to time, the sun would glint off of something metal tucked into hidden pockets. The oversized hood of his cloak hid the top half of his face in shadow while a black veil covered everything from his nose down. All that could be seen was a thin strip of light skin where his fierce greenish eyes glared about him.
The horseman reined in his huge horse with efficient ease. His eyes darted to and fro as though looking for someone or something. His gaze rested on Robin for a beat longer than necessary before continuing the relentless search. Robin could easily tell that this was no ordinary recruit. He had the air of a well-trained, well-travelled soldier. The loud, unruly military sounds did not faze him as it did the others. His horse seemed like a well-trained warhorse, as well. It neither balked nor cried at the unending swarm of men.
The horseman urged his horse forward moving closer to Robin and Much. For some reason, Robin felt his heart catch in his throat as if he might choke. He wanted the horseman to speak to him, but dreaded what would happen. Before the stranger could get very far, Sir Wayne appeared out of nowhere and grasped the bridle tightly. Neither the horse nor the horseman flinched. Robin watched closely as a low, quick conversation took place between the two. With a curt nod, the stranger whirled his horse in a circle and tore out of camp.
Both Robin and Sir Wayne stared after the swirl of dust. With a sort of disbelieving shake of the head, Sir Wayne turned his back on the receding figure. He caught Robin”s eye, which quickly turned away, before striding up to the little resting area. From the little cot, Much opened one eye in order to make out the features of the weathered general.
“Locksley!” Sir Wayne barked in his all too familiar gravelly voice.
Robin casually lounged back in his chair. “Yes, sir?” he asked lethargically.
Sir Wayne actually smiled at Robin”s relaxed nature. The old, graying veteran remembered a time when he had been a carefree youth. “Inform me or the King the second that rider returns to camp,” he ordered.
Much yawned obnoxiously, forcing the others to look at him. “If I may ask, who is he?” he asked carefully.
Sir Wayne frowned at Much”s impertinence. “You will find out when the time is right, Much,” he said shortly. With a curt nod to Robin, he marched off into the throng of people.
Robin glanced at his friend. “Curiosity killed the cat,” he commented simply.
Much shrugged his thin shoulders, closing his eyes and falling back to sleep. Robin smirked as he turned once more to the road. In the distance, a small cloud of dust trailed after the mysterious horseman. Closer at hand, the new recruits were raising enough sand to make a sandstorm. Robin sadly watched the men file by, each one looking even younger that the last. One man at the end of the column looked as though he could not be older than fourteen.
Claire Whitley can be reached at [email protected] or on Twitter @Cewhitley24