King Arthur vs Robin Hood: King Arthur vs Robin Hood, #1

By Sargey Ravenwood

Fantasy featuring the characters from Arthurian legend, and Robin Hood folklore.

A five year war has just ended.

Arthur Pendragon, the man who was never meant to be king, sits uneasily on the throne of Avalon. He is among a court of allies and enemies, including the loyal Knights of the Round Table and the powerful mage, Merlin.
Meanwhile, Robin of Locksley arrives at Moonhallow far to the south. He finds a military division of hostile soldiers. Robin will need to find allies in the ranks if he is to uncover the secret of Moonhallow and return to Locksley.

Disaster and treachery laps at the borders of Avalon, and forces beyond understanding draw the king and the soldier together for a fateful battle.

Find out what happens when these legends meet.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sargey Ravenwood
• Release date: Dec 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201532376

Book preview

King Arthur vs Robin Hood

Part One

Copyright © 2021 Sargey Ravenwood. All rights reserved.

Revised edition under a different author name, and with spelling and grammar revisions.

Contents:

Contents:

Forward and Thanks:

Map of Avalon and Surrounding Lands:

Chapter One:

Chapter Two:

Chapter Three:

Chapter Four:

Chapter Five:

Chapter Six:

Chapter Seven:

Chapter Eight:

Chapter Nine:

Chapter Ten:

Chapter Eleven:

Chapter Twelve:

Chapter Thirteen:

Chapter Fourteen:

Chapter Fifteen:

Chapter Sixteen:

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen:

Chapter Nineteen:

Chapter Twenty:

Chapter Twenty-One:

Chapter Twenty-Two:

Chapter Twenty-Three:

Chapter Twenty-Four:

Chapter Twenty-Five:

Chapter Twenty-Six:

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

Chapter Twenty-Nine:

Chapter Thirty:

Chapter Thirty-One:

Chapter Thirty-Two:

Chapter Thirty-Three:

Forward and Thanks:

Sargey is an indie fantasy author living in Australia, writing for fun, and hoping that it can go a long way.

This is the author’s second novel. Having previously written a fantasy novel called The Walls of Winter.

Now he is adding his own spin on two legends of old, putting them both in his own fantasy setting, set across a series of novels.

He would also like to thank anyone who read The Walls of Winter. The support has been encouraging. Also thank you to anyone who is reading this novel as well.

Hopefully, you enjoy this different take on two classic characters.

Map of Avalon and Surrounding Lands:

Chapter One:

Hood

Out of the east marched the legions of the Varan Empire. The only obstacle in the way was the hardened forces of the Avalon army protecting their kingdom from the invaders.

The Avalon Third Army protected the treacherous northern edge of the battlefront. The Vara often pushed through the Anilrien Forest to bring steel to the Third’s line, yet the Third remained unbroken.

Five years into the second Varan Invasion the men defending Avalon were experienced in the ways of making war.

In the Third, there was no squad more experienced and hardened than Robin’s Crew. They had recently returned from a scout and sabotage mission in the lands occupied by the Empire’s forces and were relaxing and waiting.

Robin relaxed in his cot.

It was a humid day in the war camp. The sort of day where avoiding activity was the best way to stay comfortable. He had a few days before the Crew were to be assigned on their next assignment, a regular patrol on the watchtowers.

A series of watchtowers and fortifications along the edge of the Anilrien were the first line of defence against any incursion. Any sign of invasion was met with delaying tactics while the Third could be marshalled.

The tent opened and a head covered in a mop of red hair looked through.

Good, you’re in, Red said.

What is it? Robin replied to his visitor.

Nothing official, but I’m getting a feeling about something. Bulldog, the medic bloke, spotted a group of knights arriving from the south. The mage started.

What’s unusual about that? Robin interrupted.

Last night I saw their arrival in a dream, he continued. The only thing my dream told me was that the group was important to us.

Thanks for the warning, Robin said, and Red departed, his message now delivered.

It would not be the first time Robin’s mage, Red, had predictions about future events. He was usually right about his dreams, and more times than not, the dreams were grim affairs or warnings to be heeded.

Robin sat up and looked around his tent. As a sergeant, he was permitted to have a tent to sleep in, keep his belongings, and make plans in.

Although unlike most officers Robin allowed the men under his command to use the tent for shelter when they wanted to. Out of respect for his command, the Crew stayed outside in their own camp most of the time.

Robin grabbed a white undershirt off his bed and put it on. His armour sat on a stand in the corner of the tent. A gift from General Lohengrim after he returned from the last scouting mission. Apart from the white company surcoat the armour he kept was simple and unremarkable leather and mail. It was better to keep a low profile when on a mission.

He pushed the flaps of the tent aside and walked out into the sunlight. He blinked through the glare of the late summer sun.

Outside Robin’s tent, a group of people played a game of cards around a table.

Red slammed his cards down on the table in frustration. He was the Crew Mage and a bloody good one at that. Red harnessed the power of his Eternarite dust to get the Crew out of tough spots. He specialized in illusions, but he could summon a mean fireball when he wanted to.

Mugsy started laughing at the mage’s expense. The bald sapper was Robin’s second in command. He claimed that he could bring down any building. Much like he had just brought down Red’s hopes of winning.

Quietly watching them with a bored expression, Gibbs collected his cards and money in preparation for bowing out of the game. He was the oldest of the lot, an experienced swordsman and a wise soldier. Also, the owner of the cards they were playing with.

Robin shook his head at their antics. But the dark-haired youth sitting behind them sharpening his sword caught Robin’s curiosity.

That’s Mordred, Red noticed Robin’s surprise. He’s been assigned to our squad.

Since when? He raised an eyebrow.

About halfway through this game.

Robin sighed. They were probably having him, and the lad, on. Although Robin wouldn’t put it past the commander to assign him a new soldier without any warning.

What can you do, Mordred. Mugsy looked over at the newest member of the Crew.

I’m good with a sword. The young man shrugged.

That will help, said Robin. Whereabouts are you from, lad?

The kid paused his polishing to answer. I grew up in the shadow of Bressa, Sergeant.

In the shadow of the royals over there, Red added.

Mordred let out a slight smile. You certainly are in their shadow.

Well, as long as you follow our lead out there, you’ll come back in one piece, Robin said. The rest of us are all from the same village, but we’ll make you feel welcome.

I’m eager to get out there. Mordred went back to his polishing.

Having a newcomer would be interesting. The entire crew came from the town of Locksley, a fishing town on the Avalon coast. The kid would be an outsider in the Crew, but with time and trust, he would be welcomed.

He would have to overcome the differences in background. Locksley was a fishing town, and a far cry from Bressa, the seat of High King Arthur Pendragon.

Red had likely caught the fish that had later been sold in Bressa.

The General said that we’d be doing a turn on the front lines soon, Mordred said.

That’s right. Robin nodded.

There’s something you can look forward to. Scoffed Mugsy.

The kid didn’t have to wait long. Within a few days, the Crew were sent off to watch the border.

The journey there took them through a battle-scarred landscape. When the war began, the edges of the Anilrien Forest were once farmlands. The inhabitants fled when the fighting started, abandoning their lands, and those who stayed perished when they were caught between the two armies. The remaining fields were now overgrown, the farmhouses stripped. Craters pockmarked the ground, remnants of bombardment from mages of both sides.

Mordred studied these wounds as they travelled the paths to the border. The Crew had seen the effects of battle before, but this would be new to the recruit.

Robin would never forget the first time he witnessed flaming rocks and magical explosions arcing overhead.

The dead, scorched landscape gave way to the tall trees of the Anilrien.

Half a league from the woodland edge a small fort perched on top of a hill overlooking the landscape.

The watchtower was a squat structure made of stone and supported with wood.

It wasn’t a grand structure, but it provided a rampart to look out over the landscape and a bonfire to light if any attackers were spotted.

The Crew set themselves up for their stint and organised a watch roster.

Robin and Gibbs watched the forest during the day. Overnight, Mugsy. Red and Mordred took the night watch. Under Mugsy’s watchful eye, Mordred would learn how to keep watch.

Red used a spell that cast a ball of light that he controlled. Using that he was able to illuminate the darkness around them to search for anything out of the ordinary. It was a useful spell.

Their watch proceeded without incident.

In the evening of the third day, the peace was broken when Gibbs spotted three riders in the distance, approaching from the opposite direction of the forest, from the direction of the camp. Anyone still sleeping was woken, and the Crew watched them approach.

As they got closer, the riders on their huge horses could be seen clearly. All three of them were heavily armed and armoured. Each wore thick metal plate under their cloaks and face obscuring helms. On top of that, they were armed to the teeth.

The last rider carried an Avalon banner, but this failed to calm the Crew in the holdout. Carrying a false flag into battle was not unheard of. Even Robin had done it before.

Robin and Mugsy took up a position on the top of the wall, bows at the ready. Gibbs and Mordred waited at ground level, and Red perched himself up high, across from the entrance.

The horses slowed as they ascended the hill.

Is this the station of Sergeant Robin of Locksley? The lead rider called out.

Aye, the Sergeant called back, his hand tensing on his weapon. I am.

We finally found you lot. The lead rider dismounted his horse. Now Robin could get a good look at his armour. It was high-quality craftsmanship. It wasn’t a full suit of plate, such armour was rare.

Rather, this soldier had his vital areas protected. His solid cuirass looked like it had been engraved, or at least emblazoned with a symbol. Robin was too far away to make out what it was.

He exchanged a look with Mugsy. Robin wondered if these were the same knights that Bulldog and Red had reported seeing.

The knight who announced himself removed his helm, showing the Crew his blond hair and angular face. The other riders remained helmeted.

Which one is the Sergeant? Their leader called out again.

I’m Robin of Locksley. Robin stood up over the lip of the battlement. He kept his bow hidden. Who’s asking.

I’m Sir Galahad of the royal court of Avalon, sent to find you by recommendation of General Lohengrim, the knight said loudly. The king has a military order, and you’re to complete it.

Chapter Two:

Hood

Ah good, you're awake. The raggedy dark-haired man sitting opposite said.

Are we nearly there? Robin asked.

Moonhallow approaches. He said grimly.

The name of their destination filled every soldier in Avalon with dread. The High King's prison camp where his troops were sent to explore lands beyond the kingdom’s southern border.

Robin scratched at his wrists. The coarse bindings rubbed against his skin, leaving ugly red marks. His rough, brown rags were not comfortable attire either.

Shut up back there. Shouted the guard driving the cart.

Robin looked around. He couldn't see Moonhallow yet. The cart was still travelling through the forest that surrounded the fort. The absolute arse of the world as it was known. Filled with the worst the army had to offer. Robin wasn't like the other men in the carts. This was not his place.

What brings you here? The man opposite asked.

Robin stayed silent, watching for when the trees and mist would clear.

I'm a bard myself. A musician, a storyteller. The great bard Allendell. But call me Allen.

You're a thief, the guard driving snapped back. And you'll be a dead man if I have to stop this convoy to deal with you.

This shut the bard up. He wanted to keep talking. But he knew that the convoy guards didn't make empty threats.

Two nights ago, one of the Oswyn boys had tried to escape. The thought of Moonhallow got too much for him. Before he got far, the guards caught him and executed him in front of the other prisoners.

That night had quashed any hope of escape. Robin hoped that when he got to Moonhallow he could explain the situation and leave the camp. Robin did what he did because it was the right thing to do. He wasn't a thief or deserter like these others.

The cart rounded a corner and Moonhallow loomed over them. The camp lay nestled in a gap in the Hallow Mountains. A wall of rock that stretched across the horizon. The hills weren't tall or mountainous but there was a legend that the statues atop them prevented any living creature from passing. Leaving The Stair as the only way through.

The carts passed through a gatehouse. Solid grey stone walls surrounded Moonhallow, adorned with spikes, crenelations, and guards in watchtowers.

Moonhallow was more like a small town than a castle. A street ran gate-to-gate, the important buildings sat along here, with the Mess Hall and Great Keep in the very centre next to a yard. Around the main street were the barracks and training yards. One of those rooms would soon be mine, Robin thought.

At the end of the street were the gates to the Badlands. A tunnel called The Stair ran through to the other side of the mountains.

The prisoners watched the convoy of carts roll past. They looked grim, but every one of them was standing tall. Robin tried to appear intimidating. Hard to achieve in his current circumstances, but he refused to let the failed soldiers here scare him.

The carts stopped and the guards pushed Robin, Allen, and the other prisoners into a line. One man at a time, a guard came around and cut the bindings away.

Welcome to Moonhallow, boomed a voice. I'm General Craddock.

Robin looked up to see an old man standing on a balcony on the Keep overlooking the yard. He was old and grey-bearded, but he looked sharp as he surveyed his new playthings.

Whatever reason you're here no longer matters. This is your life now. My captains will direct you to your barracks.

Without even looking back, he returned to his Keep.

A tall black-haired man approached them.

Robin, Allen, John Liddle. Step forward. He said gruffly.

The three men stepped forward.

I'll show you to your barracks, follow me.

Robin was displeased that he would be rooming with the thieving bard, but he kept his mouth shut.

They followed him to Barrack Two, the oldest building still standing. Their room was decently sized, but like the rest of the building, it was dark and cold.

It was nearly dark outside, so the new prisoners would be joining the Mess. Tomorrow, they would be given the duties that they would do until the day that they leave.

The High King

The War was over. Avalon's enemies had agreed to a truce. Five years of peace, and they would send a trade envoy to live in Camelot to establish trade relations between the states.

Arthur sat in his solar. It had been a long journey from the front. He wanted to rest before the celebrations. Some rest before the lords and knights would get restless without their war.

The solar felt huge, and it felt empty. Since his Queen was killed, Arthur had spent most of his time abroad from the capital. Either touring or campaigning.

He missed the small touches her presence brought. Colour from the flowers she liked to keep, light and air from the windows she liked to keep open. Arthur missed her. She was the best housekeeper he could have hoped for, and she was the best assassin in his kingdom.

He looked out of his window towards the south where the moon was setting.

A knock from the door rang out, and when Arthur didn't refuse entry, it opened, and Merlin the Alchemist wandered in.

His face did not show his age. He had silver hair like an old man, but his face had the look of a man much younger. His golden eyes scanned the room as he helped himself to an armchair.

Excited about the return feast? Merlin asked.

Feasts are for the invited, not the host, Arthur grumbled.

Especially when the king barely eats what is available.

I've seen what the indulgences of royalty can do to a man, I will not be like them.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. You would rather stay a soldier in the army for life.

I would, Alchemist.

Merlin laughed. As you know I'm not here to talk about royal diets.

You have interesting news? Arthur sat up a bit straighter, paying attention.

Just the usual report from the arse of the world.

Did they find it? He asked tentatively.

The arse of the world? Years ago, my king.

Merlin knew that was inappropriate, but the Alchemist knew that Arthur would ignore it. You know what I mean.

I'm afraid not, the Alchemist shook his head. But Craddock's men are pushing deeper into The Badlands. They're not losing as many men these days like they used to.

One day, we'll find it. Arthur looked out at the rising moon.

Soon, my king. I'll be seeing you at the feast.

Without any other report or news to tell, Merlin grabbed his cane and departed.

He wasn't looking forward to it, but the welcome home feast awaited.

It had been a subdued event, that fortunately ended early even though it ended after dark. Everyone had only returned that morning, so they were eager to rest. Even Lancelot was in a reserved mood, unlike his normal self.

The wind was starting to lash the castle of Camelot. There was another storm tonight. He thought of his son, Armar off warding in another castle. He was frightened of the storms as a child. Many young children started scared of the tempests, but they grew used to them over time. There was no way to escape their wrath, the weather was part of Avalon life.

This storm was coming from the south. Those were the worst to listen to.

Southstorms always brought frost, much like Eaststorms, Northstorms, and Weststorms brought their own problems.

The ash rain in the Eaststorm months was the messiest. It somehow coated every surface and found its way into every crevice. At least with Weststorms, you knew to always stay indoors if you valued your life. The Weststorms marked the end of a calendar year and brought deadly mists on the west winds.

Up in the high towers of his Camelot, Arthur wouldn’t feel the effects of the storm. The wind would howl, and the rain would get in, but the castle would stand as it had done for many years before.

The people who lived in the streets, the fields, and the hills would feel the wrath of the Southstorm the worst.

But they would endure, Arthur contemplated as he drifted off to sleep, ready for what peacetime would bring for his kingdom.

Chapter Three:

Hood

The Moonhallow streets sat quiet. There were still puddles in the street from the rain that came down earlier in the day.

Earlier, one of the veterans looked at the sky and announced that it was going to snow tomorrow. He had said it with such conviction that Robin had little reason to doubt the claim. Robin judged from the reaction of the others gathered there, that the old man was usually right about this kind of thing.

Robin trudged through a slushy puddle towards the Mess Hall.

Since he had been assigned to Moonhallow, Robin had joined the construction crew. He had spent years pulling buildings down, yet now it was his duty to maintain them. The weather made it a hard task. The men working had to wrap themselves up in their black cloaks. The provided clothes were simple and often ill-suited.

He followed Allen to a free table after they grabbed their food.

The Hall was a large stone structure built around three fire pits, with the tables arranged around them. The kitchen was up the other end of the Hall from the entrance, near where the Moonhallow officers gathered around their exclusive table.

Bastards, the lot of them. John Liddle slammed his empty tankard down.

Who’s a bastard? Allen enquired.

The captains. Little John said. They should be mixing with their men.

The lieutenants are, at least. The bard pointed out.

He seemed to be right, the command table was only occupied by the officers, and the captains. The lieutenants were sitting at other tables.

Normally there were three captains and three lieutenants who ran the excursions beyond the gate. From what Robin had been told, one of the lieutenant spots had opened up after the previous office holder had died while doing his duty.

Weren’t you in the Avalon army? Allen asked.

Robin looked up from his soup. I was, why?

You might get put up to lieutenant.

Robin shrugged. There was no possibility of that. Even if General Craddock held Robin’s experience in high regard, now he was at Moonhallow, Robin was essentially starting his life over, at least until he could get away from the place.

Old Will Stutely’s been here his entire life and he’s never been close to being picked as a lieutenant, John informed them. I was on rat duty with him today, he was talking about being overlooked. The pay, quarters, that sort of thing.

I thought this was a prison. Allen raised an eyebrow.

It is, in a sense. But there is compensation.

So it’s only a prison for some of us. Allen groaned.

Missing your lute, bard? One of the captains had wandered over and was engaging with Allen. It was the black-haired man that had greeted them on arrival. Robin had later learnt that his name was Captain Gisbourne Guillane.

Not as much as everyone else is missing my music. Allen joked. Some of the soldiers around them laughed along with him.

It was a blessing the day you lost it. The captain snarled. He didn’t seem appreciative of the joke. Noticing the reaction, the surrounding men fell silent.

Maybe the captain can grace us with his musical talent in my place? As soon as Allen had spoken, Robin knew that it was the wrong thing to say.

Captain Gisbourne grabbed Allen by the collar with one hand, and with the other, he grabbed the hilt of his knife.

Leave him, Robin said quietly.

The captain released his grip. What did you say, soldier?

Robin stood up from the bench. I asked you to let the man go.

Do you think you can give me orders?

I shouldn’t, but since you think threatening your men is a great way to improve morale, someone has to take control. Robin felt his anger rising.

You’re not a Sergeant in the Third anymore. You mean nothing now, and you will do as I say. Gisbourne was holding his dagger up now.

Robin didn’t back down. He had no intention to.

Enough of that. Boomed General Craddock from across the Hall.

At the voice of his commander, Gisbourne stepped back. He didn’t say a word, but his glare told a clear message. There’d be hell to pay for Robin.

Robin nervously stood in front of the door to his commander’s office. No guard was standing by the door. This gave Robin pause, was Craddock even in?

The thought of Locksley put a spur into his sides and Robin knocked on the door.

Immediately, a gruff voice bid him enter.

Robin opened the door.

General Craddock was sitting behind a large wooden desk. He had a book open on the surface, it looked like a ledger book. The General liked to handle the camp finances himself.

Soldier... he paused to think for a second. Robin from the Third?

That’s right, commander. Robin nodded.

What are you here for? Craddock asked why Robin was in his office.

I am going to ask to leave. To go home. Robin said with all the confidence he could muster.

No. Craddock shook his head.

But, commander, there was a mistake. I don’t belong here. He started to explain the mission he was on.

I will not hear it, the General said firmly. Not a word more.

Robin begrudgingly did as he was told.

Everyone here has a reason to leave, and everyone has a duty to stay, Craddock said. You are an officer, which is a rare trait here. Gisbourne was an officer before, and he is now, too.

Robin cringed at the memory of the clash with the captain.

I noticed the two of you almost recently came to blows in the Mess Hall, Craddock stated.

It seems that way, commander, Robin said.

Well stop antagonising him, he chided Robin. He is a proud man and an experienced soldier here.

Robin was about to start arguing, but he knew it wasn’t the right place to do so.

Is that all? Craddock looked at Robin.

That’s all. Robin lied.

Good then.

Robin closed the door behind him as he left. He had years to go in his Moonhallow duty, it was too long. But it seemed like that was Robin’s only option. Unless he found another way to find his Crew and return to Locksley.

The High King

More wine, Sir? Arthur offered the bottle to the bald knight sitting opposite.

I best not, my king. Sir Bedevere turned down the offer. The head of Arthur’s Guard had been busy all day. Along with the local Avalon troops, he had been preparing the castle for the Varan envoy that was expected tomorrow.

The route has been scouted and secured, Arthur. The First Sword, Lord Lancelot stood by the door of the royal solar.

I want you to be part of the escort. Arthur looked over at his First Sword, his best general. His reputation preceded him, and the Vara would be intimidated and impressed by his appearance.

As you wish, he said. I will meet them on the road and my army will join the city’s militia and secure the streets. There will be no problems on my watch.

I hope so. Arthur groaned.

The Avalon Kingdom and the Varan Empire had been bitter enemies not long ago. Facing each other across a battlefield pockmarked with craters filled with bodies and the air filled with the stench of death and the souls of the departed.

Now a Varan leader was to be welcomed into Bressa and the highest court in the realm.

Arthur slammed his fist on the table and cursed.

What is it? Bedevere asked, cautiously, though unconcerned.

I don’t trust this.

No one trusts the Varans. Lancelot spat out the name of their former enemy.

Arthur would have to keep an eye on his own men and the envoy. Many people around would harbour resentment over the war. If the envoy was harmed while under Arthur’s roof, the Empire would ensure there would be hell to pay. Every Varan soldier would be pointed at Bressa, and not even the power of the Holy Grain would be able to save them.

We have to do this right, the king looked at his generals.

They said words of understanding. Both were military men; they would be able to see the bigger picture.

Dismissed, you know what you have to do tomorrow. Arthur waved them away.

The night was getting dark, and tomorrow