Gianfranco Mancini’s Reviews > The Red Hand > Status Update

"You dress as a man of God," said Tancred, finally.
"Yes," said Took, holding his head up.
"And yet you choose to fight amongst these... people." Tancred looked about him at those gathered there.
Took rose to the challenge. "Eat, sleep and fight," he said. "And proudly so." He raised his voice and gave a glance about as he proclaimed this.
But none were bold enough to respond.

On the battlefield, empathy was an unwelcome
companion. And that was John Lyttel's deficiency. He offered milk, when what they craved was blood.
Things had shifted with the rise of the monk Took. He had ideas. He was a man of reading, versed in philosophy, yet not afraid to act. He was good with a sword - that fact had won him respect within the first week of his arrival.

All stopped dead, and Günther - lost in the fray once the mêlée had begun - was once again revealed. He and his men stared in amazement.
Standing in the space, sword in one hand and mace in the other, her hair wild, was Mélisande, bloodied men sprawled all about her.
*Well, there goes the secret identity," muttered Galfrid.

"But there's another thing..." said Gisburne. "Yesterday - quite independently, it would seem -
that same place was visited by another friend of ours."
Galfrid couldn't think of any friends; and if Gisburne meant enemies, the list was too long to even contemplate.
"Bearded," explained Gisburne. "Extremely tall. Likes to put on armour and bash people's brains in..."
"He was there?"

Hood spread his hands. "Magic tricks. Remember those? I remember them. People always loved my magic tricks."
"I've no time for your mindless riddles," said Gisburne. He turned again and hammered his fist on the door. "Guard!"
"You see, the essence of a magic trick," persisted Hood, wagging a raised finger, "is that the most important thing of all is happening while
everyone is busy looking somewhere else."

Now, as Simon-Over-Lee laid his last arrow upon the bowstave, ready to take his shot, Gisburne saw the archer's obscured face turn briefly
beneath the shadowy cowl - towards the royal stand, and back again.
And he knew.

"You are Guy of Gisburne?" he said.
"Sir Guy of Gisburne."
"And you serve Prince John?"
"I do."
Fitz Ailwyn huffed. "That is a mixed blessing."
"It is the same Prince John who granted Londoners the freedoms they now enjoy," said Gisburne, holding Fitz Ailwyn's hard gaze. "Who allowed them to have a mayor."
Fitz Ailwyn narrowed his eyes. Gisburne saw the muscles of his jaw clench.

"Just tell me how we can stop him," he said.
Hood leaned forward, and raised both wrists, the shackles turned towards his interrogator.
"Take these off," he said. "And together we'll catch him. I won't run.
Cross my heart and hope to die..." His chains clanked as he crossed himself. "Come on, Guy! It'd be fun, wouldn't it? You and me against
this crazed killer. We'd be the talk of the town!"

He shook his head in dismay and swigged from his ale cup. "It's said they rob from the rich to give to the poor."
Locksley roared with laughter, slapping his thigh. "What an idiotic idea!" Several of the men joined in.
Gisburne raised his cup to him. "Here's to you. You're lucky to be alive."
"Luck?" said Locksley, his laugh dying away. "It wasn't luck."

A giant. A dragon. A demon. A pagan Norse god... Gisburne fought to banish thoughts of them all from his mind, staring hard at the gigantic footprints, telling himself this man -
whoever he was - was as real, and solid, and fallible as he was. He breathed air and drank water, and blood ran in his veins. And he could be stopped, and killed - if only he could determine how.