Reign of Outlaws Read online

  For Alice, Iris, Liam, and Will

  Also by Kekla Magoon

  Shadows of Sherwood

  Rebellion of Thieves

  Contents

  Chapter One: The Fire

  Chapter Two: Sacrifice

  Chapter Three: Ready

  Chapter Four: Promises, Promises

  Chapter Five: Seventy-Two Hours

  Chapter Six: Breakfast with Crown

  Chapter Seven: Laurel on the Run

  Chapter Eight: The Moon Lore

  Chapter Nine: Bullet Points

  Chapter Ten: Rumors

  Chapter Eleven: The Crescendo

  Chapter Twelve: Lost

  Chapter Thirteen: Intentions

  Chapter Fourteen: Best-Laid Plans

  Chapter Fifteen: A Store So Big

  Chapter Sixteen: Impromptu Heist

  Chapter Seventeen: Successful Shopping

  Chapter Eighteen: Arrows in Everything

  Chapter Nineteen: Family Reunion

  Chapter Twenty: Paint the Town

  Chapter Twenty-One: A Familiar Tune

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Context Clues

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Resigned

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Over the Airwaves

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Static

  Chapter Twenty-Six: No Road Map

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Message on the Books

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Live Oaks

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Interrogation

  Chapter Thirty: The Showcase

  Chapter Thirty-One: The Storm

  Chapter Thirty-Two: A Show of Force

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Fragments and Followers

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Behind the Wall

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Cracking the Code

  Chapter Thirty-Six: Unintended Consequences

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: Warnings

  Chapter Thirty-Eight: Perimeter Peril

  Chapter Thirty-Nine: Reunited

  Chapter Forty: The Secret of the Sphere

  Chapter Forty-One: All the Possible

  Chapter Forty-Two: According to Plan

  Chapter Forty-Three: Showdown

  Chapter Forty-Four: Sacrifice

  Chapter Forty-Five: Surrender

  Chapter Forty-Six: The Arrow of Truth

  Chapter Forty-Seven: Power to the People

  Chapter Forty-Eight: Home at Last

  Acknowledgments

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Fire

  A fire blazed in the heart of Sherwood County, in the heart of Tent City, in the heart of a single girl.

  Robyn Loxley gazed into the flames. Their heat lapped her face, a welcome contrast to the cool morning air. The red tongues danced upward, fierce and unending. Untouchable.

  She knew she should leave. It wasn’t safe to be out in the open. There was a price on her head, and the Military Police patrolling the area would not hesitate to take her into custody. Or worse.

  But still she stood there.

  This fire, in this spot, had burned for hundreds of years. Maybe longer. In the moon lore prophecy, the fire represented the center of things, a place from which life sprang, and a place to which life returned. A union of Shadows and Light.

  She should leave, and quickly. But the fire drew her closer. If she could truly take it into herself, truly become like the flames, she would understand what needed to be done.

  Standing here, in the warmth, all things felt possible. To save her parents. To help Sherwood. To rid Nott City of Governor Crown once and for all.

  A gentle wind blew, and the flames nipped higher. As if they could hear her thoughts.

  As soon as she stepped away, things would become harder again. She knew it.

  Robyn fingered the scrap of silver cloth in her hand. Another puzzle to solve. Part of the moon lore? There were more questions than answers in the world, it seemed. She fought the sudden urge to toss the cloth into the flames, never to know its mysteries. Never to have to try.

  Robyn’s throat tightened. It would be easy to get stuck thinking about all the things she had lost.

  Her attempt to rescue her mother had gone awry.

  Her friends Laurel and Tucker had sacrificed themselves so that Robyn could get away.

  Sheriff Mallet had stolen her pendant, a gift from her parents and the key to the moon shrine, Robyn’s private refuge.

  And worst of all—

  The heavy sound of boots on pavement startled Robyn out of her spiraling thoughts.

  She forced herself away from the fire circle. She strode determinedly through the cardboard shelters, her ears perked for the sound of MPs. They would not take her down. Not today.

  Not ever.

  The moon lore spoke of a child who could be as the fire. Occasionally, for a second, Robyn could almost believe it was true of her. Most of the time it felt too big a task to fall to her alone.

  “I’m not alone,” she whispered. But it didn’t feel true.

  It had been hard enough to believe in these new friends in the first place. And now they had lied. Key and Scarlet had been plotting with Chazz behind her back the whole time. Chazz, who didn’t like or trust Robyn, and kept trying to send her away altogether. They’d kept Robyn in the dark about their real plans. The rebellion was already much bigger than she realized. But they’d let her believe she was important.

  Robyn eased her way around each cardboard wall, trying not to let her racing thoughts distract her from avoiding the MPs. All this time, she had been trying to help her parents, and it wasn’t only for selfish reasons. She thought they needed her parents to get the rebellion back on track. She’d been trying to do something, trying to understand the new world she’d been thrust into. And instead of giving her the real answers, her so-called friends had let her make a fool of herself.

  Who was she kidding? How had she believed that her silly Hoodlum antics could really make a difference to Sherwood?

  When she reached the edge of the tents, Robyn looked both ways. This was the most exposed part of the walk. A long expanse of pavement with nothing to hide behind except the two tall stone pillars that marked the fairground entrance.

  Robyn marched through the fairground gates, unsure where she was headed.

  Her friends had lied to her. She had turned her back on them and run.

  It was okay, though. Alone was better.

  Alone was her way.

  Running was also her way, sometimes. To escape seemed only logical, when the whole world was closing in.

  The note her father had left her along with the keys to his old moped suggested she run far and fast. Get out of Nott City. Maybe it was time to do that.

  It was close to dawn. Not close enough to lighten the sky, but close enough that the first wave of workers was headed to the borders. Most of the working-class men and women of Sherwood crossed the county line into neighboring Block Six each morning. The quarries, factories, lumberyards, and industrial complexes centered there employed thousands.

  “Employed” was becoming a stretch, under Governor Crown’s rule. Hours were longer, wages lower, and fists tightened all around. The changes had been gradual but significant over the past few months.

  Everything was getting harder for the people of Sherwood. But that would change if the rebellion had anything to say about it.

  Robyn pushed the thoughts aside.

  A few days ago it had felt like they could take on anything, together. Now she knew the others didn’t really want or need her. They had only let her believe she was a leader, while they worked behind her back the whole time. The betrayal stung.

  Key, Chazz, and Scarlet could have their big rebellion. Obviously they didn’t need her. Probably they were all still at the tree house, where she’d
left them, planning things without her. Robyn was best on her own, anyway. How had she managed to lose sight of that?

  A static squawk echoed overhead. The loudspeakers mounted high on lampposts around the neighborhood prepared to broadcast.

  “Good morning, residents of Sherwood.” Governor Crown’s cold, pinched voice came through the air, sending shivers down Robyn’s spine.

  “This is a message to the hoodlum known as Robyn. We know who you are. We know what you were looking for when you came by tonight. Turn yourself in or it will be destroyed.”

  Crown was threatening her parents!

  Robyn raged. Her heart burned with fresh fire.

  It? How dare he call her mother it?

  “You have seventy-two hours,” Crown concluded. As the broadcast cut off, the city clock tower chimed. It was six a.m.

  If Crown expected Robyn to deliver herself to his doorstep, ever, he had another thing coming.

  Her hands closed into fists. Something soft in her right hand … oh. The section of cloth from Floyd Bridger.

  Robyn tucked the silver scrap into her pocket. The fabric was just like the curtain in the moon shrine. In the moonlight, it might carry a message.

  Perhaps she should have thrown this new scrap into the flames after all. The first moon lore message had led Robyn toward friends in the first place.

  With their help, she had become the famous outlaw, the one they called “Robyn Hoodlum” on the wanted posters.

  But she didn’t need anyone else. Not anymore.

  She could cause plenty of trouble for Crown on her own.

  The thought surprised her. A minute ago she’d been ready to give up, to run away, leave the rebellion to the others. But in her heart, she realized that wasn’t possible.

  No matter how bad it felt, she couldn’t give up on the cause. Her parents, now in prison, had given everything to make a difference. Robyn could, too.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sacrifice

  The three women clustered together, with their arms around one another. The girl stood defiantly apart. Her gaze raked across every inch of the stone walls, in search of a crack or crevice.

  There was none.

  Her small fists bound up and released, like a slow pulse.

  Mrs. Loxley studied the young girl. The one whose death-defying leap onto the windshield of a moving vehicle had very likely spared her daughter’s life. She couldn’t have been more than nine or ten.

  “There’s too much bleeding,” the youngest woman said.

  Mrs. Loxley turned back to her friends. “Keep pressure on it,” she told Verilyn.

  The third woman had grown pale with blood loss from the gunshot to the side of her abdomen. “Hang in there, Susan.” Mrs. Loxley took her hand. Susan was barely conscious. The ragged cloth of her nightdress was soaked through.

  It was hard to believe what was happening. An hour ago, the three women had been locked in a dungeon prison cell, together with about a dozen others. They’d been hungry, cold, unsettled, and vaguely ill from months spent in the dark and the damp. Some too weak to move. Most too weary to speak. All clinging to their last shreds of strength just to keep breathing.

  Then a light shone down the corridor. The women had tensed, awaiting the guards. Usually the light meant there would be trays with their meager allotment of food. Occasionally it meant someone would be taken. Questioned. Punished.

  Instead, the group that rushed into their enclosure was young and wide-eyed. A group of children, led by Mrs. Loxley’s daughter, Robyn.

  How had they found the dungeon? How had they broken through Crown’s defenses and gotten into the governor’s mansion? There hadn’t been time to find out. Everything had happened too quickly.

  Robyn and her friends had rushed the women out of the prison cells. Mother and daughter had managed a quick embrace but not nearly long enough. Time was of the essence. Mrs. Loxley hadn’t recognized any of the other children in the group, except for Governor Crown’s niece, Merryan.

  The escape plan almost worked.

  Robyn had gotten behind the wheel of a van and driven off into the night. Mrs. Loxley sighed. Her twelve-year-old, driving? Her twelve-year-old knew how to drive? Robyn had always been precocious and would have loved to get behind the wheel from the time she was a toddler. But it terrified her mother to think that she’d been pressed into doing something so drastic. The best time to learn how to drive was NOT in the middle of a dangerous escape. She couldn’t stop picturing Robyn in that van, careening in a high-speed chase away from Crown’s guards.

  Mrs. Loxley shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. The pain of re-imprisonment was nothing. Not compared to the pain of wondering how it had turned out for Robyn. Was she okay?

  She forced her attention away from what had happened earlier. Time to focus on what was happening here and now.

  Mrs. Loxley moved toward the girl. Her large brown eyes would not stop moving.

  “You were very brave,” Mrs. Loxley said. “What you did allowed the others to escape.”

  The child was skittish as a cornered animal. Understandably so.

  She inched a bit closer. “What’s your name?”

  The tiny girl stood stoic.

  “You must be very good friends with my daughter.”

  A long while passed, in stillness and silence.

  “You’re Robyn’s mom?” she said finally.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Loxley said. She tucked a strand of wild blond hair behind the girl’s ear. As her thumb brushed over the girl’s temple, the girl flinched.

  “Oh, my dear.” Mrs. Loxley drew her hand back. Maternal instincts cried for her to clutch the girl close, to comfort away the terror in her eyes. Instead she folded her hands against her stomach. “I’m so sorry.”

  The still-nameless girl studied Mrs. Loxley in return. She was clearly now an object of curiosity in the child’s mind.

  Susan’s soft moans punctured the quiet.

  “She’s not going to make it,” Verilyn whispered. “Not without real treatment.”

  Mrs. Loxley turned back to the other women. It was probably true. If the guards came soon, they could appeal to them for help. Although, they had nothing to offer in exchange, apart from continued obedience.

  Obedience and … Mrs. Loxley stifled a gasp.

  “Sweetheart,” she said, grasping the child’s shoulders. The girl tensed up instantly, but the time for gentle patience had passed. “Do you have information? Anything that the guards might want to know?”

  The girl’s large eyes grew even wider.

  “You do, then,” Mrs. Loxley murmured. “Will they know this?”

  The girl dipped her pointed chin twice. She squirmed out of Mrs. Loxley’s grasp.

  “Oh, my dear.”

  The girl spoke for the second time. “What will they do?”

  The women glanced at each other. Verilyn spoke. “They will want to question you,” she said evenly.

  Everyone in the room knew what that meant. The girl, however young, was not so innocent to the ways of the world. Mrs. Loxley ached at that.

  “You should tell us what you know. Let them take us instead,” Verilyn said.

  The child’s chin went up. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell them anything.”

  “They may not give you a choice.”

  The girl glanced from corner to corner around the small stone cell. “They could be listening.”

  That was true enough, but Mrs. Loxley doubted it. The jailbreak attempt had put the guards on the defensive. More likely, they were out there scrambling to regroup. Giving chase to those who had gotten further in the escape.

  “You’re the first person from the outside we’ve gotten to speak to in months. Other than the guards in the dungeon who brought in our food.”

  “Tell us something of the world,” Verilyn added. “It’s impossible, not knowing.”

  “But you already know, don’t you?” the girl whispered. “For Sherwood, unite.”

&nb
sp; “For Sherwood, we fight,” Mrs. Loxley finished.

  “The rebellion is resurfacing?” Verilyn’s voice held the hope they all longed for. “The people are gathering to fight?”

  The girl nodded. “And Robyn is in charge.”

  Mrs. Loxley’s heart fluttered. So it had been told. So it had been written. Still it was hard to believe that such legends would ever come to pass. That her baby girl would be tasked with …

  Voices erupted outside the door, accompanied by the sound of keys clanging and chains dragging. A mess of sounds, unpleasant.

  The women tightened their cluster. “Get behind us,” Mrs. Loxley whispered urgently. But instead the girl leaped toward the door, pressed her body against the wall beside the doorknob, like a shadow.

  The metal slab of a door burst open. A burly guard stepped through. He had to duck to pass into the enclosed space, and once he did, his looming presence dominated the room. A second guard ducked in after him.

  Slippery as a moonbeam, the girl sprang into action. She darted between the guards and dodged around their legs, faster than they could even react.

  The rear guard turned to chase the girl, but she was a streak of light.

  Mrs. Loxley jumped up and ran around the front guard and out the door, too, giving the rear guard no choice but to subdue her instead of giving chase.

  Mrs. Loxley smiled as they crashed to the ground. Her whole body ached, and she would no doubt suffer for this moment of defiance. But she could see over his shoulder. They were no longer in the bowels of the castle. This cell opened to the outside yards. Outside the door was a brief pool of torchlight. Beyond that, only darkness. The girl disappeared into the night.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ready

  Key left the tree house at first light. He wound his way through the trees toward Tent City. He stomped along, releasing his frustration on every stick lying in his path. The cracking sound they made satisfied something deep within him. Stomp. Crack. Stomp. Crack.

  Chazz was making a mess out of everything. He was old. He sometimes couldn’t see how the world had changed. He had led the Crescent Rebellion to success a generation ago, but that was then. This was now.

  Chazz wanted to operate within a cloak of secrecy. But Key hated secrets. Secrets led to pain and misunderstanding.