by Louise Bath

FEEDBACK to Louise

So, Loxley.
You thought you'd beaten me. Defeated my power at last.
Wrong. So wrong.
Oh, I can understand why you believed you'd won, Son of Herne.
Lilith failed her Master. And paid the price.
Herne broke my spell and the Silver Arrow returned to him.
You lived.
Your followers -- a little battered, battle-weary and smothered in choking masonry dust, it's true -- emerged from Castle Belleme unscathed.
They lived.
Your Sheriff and his lackey lived.
But I drove them away and they lost men. Saving their own miserable skins was more important than capturing the Wolfshead.
How nice for you.
But your victory was hollow.
What may have seemed to be my misfortunes were nothing of the kind. Azael taught me to see that although I could not be the instrument of your destruction, any victory you may have won would not last.
Listen and learn, Robin of Loxley.
De Rainault would have taken you had it not been for me. I would have deprived him of his longed-for prize. But Herne interfered and forced me to change my plans.
But Herne's victory was empty.
And you know it, Herne's Son.
Castle Belleme still stands.
Azael gives me power still.
I live still.
And my power grows ever stronger.
I sit and wait and plot and scheme.
Until the hour when I can finally bring about the downfall of the Forest God and use his Silver Arrow for my own fell purposes.
I had thought to meet with you again, Son of Herne, Son of Frey, Child of the Forest with the jade-hue eyes of the wild cat.
But I was cheated of my desire.
Not that it matters.
It would have been -- pleasing to me to pit my wits against you once more.
To tease you. Entice you to step into my web. Into my dark labyrinth; my black chamber of pleasure.
To trick you into a game where there are no rules. A game of which I alone have mastery.
To bring about your end. And to tear out your heart at midnight as I had planned.
Azael would have granted me this reward.
But for one thing.
Another enemy faced you. One whose need, it seems, was greater even than mine.
So be it, wood-child with the feline eyes.
After all, cats have only nine lives.
We both knew that one day even your allocation would run out.
As it did that day on the tor, as you died under a blood-red sky...
...And through the agency of the Sheriff's men Azael and I had victory over you at last.

And so.
And so to you.
To Herne's...replacement.
We have not yet met, Huntingdon.
But we will.
Have no fear.
I look forward to it.
Beware, boy.
What could he have been thinking of, this god-made-man?
I presume, then, that the task of bearing the mantle of the god is an onerous one?
That it has addled his wits and led him to choose one such as you?
Azael and I laughed long and loud at the man-god's choosing.
You will be an easy prey to kill and devour, golden child.
As yet, you do not know of my power.
Your ignorance is my bliss.
But then --
What does an earl's son know of life?
What does an earl's son know of my strength and capabilities?
What does an earl's son know of Azael and His unlimited power?
What does an earl's son know of anything?
At least your predecessor knew to fear me.
No, we have not yet met, Huntingdon.
But have no fear.
We will.
I know we will.
I look forward to it.
And then you will know that you are facing your greatest enemy.
Your worst nightmare.
Then you will fear me.
Then it will be as it should.
Then you will fear me.
As you should fear me.
As you must fear me.
And you know it, Herne's Son.
Castle Belleme still stands.
Azael gives me power still.
I live still.
And my power grows ever stronger.
I sit and wait and plot and scheme.
Until the hour when at last I destroy the Forest God and use his Silver Arrow for my own fell purposes.
Yes, we will meet one day, Son of Herne, Son of Balder, Child of the Forest with the grey eyes of Winter.
And this time I will not be cheated of my desire...

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