by Paul Kane
Simultaneously, both pulled their swords out. And, simultaneously, they fell.
Robert looked over to where Tate lay. The Reverend nodded that he was all right. Switching his attention to what was happening in front of him, Robert spotted that Mark and Sophie needed help. But his main priority was Mary.
He gestured for Tate to help with Tanek, while he made for Mary and Adele... even as he heard the Peacekeeper go off.
Robert feared he might already be too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
FROM HIS POSITION inside the AFV, the Tsar had witnessed everything.
The death of his men; his precious Xue and Ying, killed by their own hands. He’d warned Xue not to follow her sister. Now they were both dead, and who would protect him?
You’ve spent too long letting people do that anyway, he told himself. Why, even now he was hiding inside this hulking metal beast while others fought. What had happened to the warrior who’d fought in Afghanistan? Who’d been one of the Mafia’s most dangerous men? Who’d gone onto the streets armed only with a pistol and machine gun (all right, a huge PK machine gun) and built his own kingdom from the ground up? Was he hiding inside the Tsar?
If so, he wasn’t coming out right at that moment. Ordering his driver to put the AFV into reverse, the Tsar set about giving the players in this little drama a leaving present. There was nobody left out there he cared about. Even the woman Adele was a delight he would have to do without savouring. She would probably have remained loyal to Tanek anyway.
The Tsar could still remember how to load up a shell.
He would blast them all to high heaven, then return to the castle where the rest of his army was waiting.
It was a grand plan, sure to succeed.
BILL SHOOK HIMSELF.
It felt like a rhino had hit him at full speed, throwing him up and over into the trees. For a few seconds he’d flown without the aid of his helicopter. Might even have broken some ribs, if it wasn’t for one of those vests Robert had given him. That Tanek was as strong as he was fast, and he was mad as hell. Hardly surprising, seeing as they were responsible for almost killing him.
Bill tottered to his feet. He felt like he was still in the air, unable to feel the ground beneath him. His hand was killing him, but he bit back the pain. Thank God the bolt had grazed it rather than going through. He started walking in the direction he’d come from, picking up his pace when he reached the edge of the mist and saw what was going on with Mark and Sophie. Tate looked like he was coming to help, but it’d probably take all of them to bring down Tanek, and even then it wouldn’t be a walkover.
He spotted his discarded shotgun and snatched it up, then raised it, hoping to get a clear shot at Tanek. But the big man kept dancing round, desperate to dislodge Sophie from his back. Bill couldn’t chance hitting her by mistake.
By the time he reached them, Tate was already there – and had delivered a blow to Tanek’s stomach with his stick that should have doubled him over.
Tate nodded a welcome to Bill as he joined him, and they both set about attacking Tanek; Tate with the stick, Bill with the butt of his rifle. He jabbed the man in the places he thought might hurt the most – including a wound on his upper arm that was still bleeding.
At last, Tanek managed to get a grip on Sophie, bending forwards and throwing her over his head to land in a heap on the floor. He was about to stamp on her when Mark crawled between them and caught Tanek’s foot.
Grimacing, he pushed and, with the help of Tate and Bill’s battering, toppled the giant. Bill struck him in the face with the butt of his shotgun. “Ram me, would ye?”
Tanek took the beating and more, holding up his huge forearms to protect himself. Then he reached up to swat away the annoyances. He grabbed Tate’s stick and shoved, knocking the holy man over backwards. Then he rose and took hold of Bill by the throat, squeezing hard as he got first one knee beneath him, then both legs.
“Now, I finish this,” he said, his face only inches from Bill’s. So near he could smell the big man’s fetid breath.
It was then they both heard the whistling sound.
ROBERT WAS ON his way to help Mary.
Not that she needed it. Somehow she’d come to, and was grappling with Adele. Mary was trying to wrestle the Peacekeeper out of the short-haired woman’s grasp. And, as Robert watched, Mary punched her in the face, hard. He recognised that look; Mary was furious. Enough to spur her on, tackling the woman who’d been a thorn in her side since day one.
Then came the noise. The sound of one of the armoured vehicles backing up, its eight wheels spinning, creating smoke that was soon lost in the mist.
Someone is still inside one of those things. Has to be the Tsar...
Robert saw the cannon on top swinging in their direction. The mad Russian was going to fire; obliterate him and his core group in one decisive stroke. Robert guessed Tanek and Adele didn’t mean a thing compared with a win like that. Anxiously, he looked from Mary to the AFV.
He started after the vehicle, running as best he could with a leg that was far from healed. The AFV was reversing, backing into the mist. But it drove into the hidden wooden posts on the left-hand side of the entrance, where it juddered to a halt.
At the moment of collision the cannon spat its load, and Robert dropped to the ground. All he could do was watch as the shell flew overhead, whistling as it went. But the cannon’s aim had been spoiled by the prang, and it flew over the top of the group. It cut through the mist and exploded somewhere off in the trees beyond. But it was enough to blow those who weren’t already on the ground off their feet, dust mixing with the mist coming in from the forest.
He had no time to check whether Mary, or indeed any of the others, were okay, because the hatch of the AFV was opening. A soldier – probably the driver – was climbing out. Or rather, was pushed out. He was armed with a pistol, and began shooting in Robert’s direction. Robert rolled over, bringing his sword close to his body. The bullets pinged off the concrete. Robert glanced up and saw another figure climbing after the first: the Tsar, using the driver to cover his own escape.
Robert swore loudly, then got up on one knee. The bullets came again and he rolled, sideways this time, so that he would end up underneath the AFV – out of the driver’s range.
He waited under there, knowing the man would come down eventually, knowing that he would have been issued with precise orders to finish off the Hooded Man. Robert was only one guy, after all, and he had no gun. Sure enough, he saw two boots drop to the ground and the driver crouched, shoving his pistol underneath the machine.
Robert prodded his sword through the gap in the tyres, feeling the now familiar resistance of flesh. There was a grunt. The gun went off, but it was already falling from the man’s hands. He fell to the ground, clutching at his wound.
Robert scrambled back out, catching sight of a shadow disappearing into the mist off to his left.
He got up and immediately gave chase.
THE BLAST FROM the shell caught them all off guard.
Tanek let Bill go as they were both blown over, black smoke from the flames covering them. Judging from the far-off hint of yellow and red, the forest was on fire, or at least part of it. Tanek coughed, then surveyed the area. Hood’s people were already stirring, as was Mary. Adele was laying motionless a little way from Hood’s woman.
It was time to retreat.
The whole thing had gone to shit, and he needed to get De Falaise’s daughter to safety. He’d promised. Tanek got up, kicking the farmer across the face and grabbing his crossbow as he made his way to Adele.
“Time to leave,” he told her, taking her by the arm and lifting her to her feet. She didn’t complain, a ripe bruise flowering on her chin and eye. It seemed that Hood’s woman still had some fight in her after all.
Tanek pulled Adele towards a jeep with one working headlight. Just as they were about to climb in, the sound of gunfire came from somewhere across the way – from the direction the
shell had originated. Somebody was being shot at; Tanek hoped it was Hood.
Adele slumped forward, hanging heavily in his arms. She was staring up at him, as if shocked. When Tanek shifted his position to help her into the vehicle, he felt the wetness at her back.
More shots – closer, in tandem with the others. Tanek traced them back to Mary, who was sitting upright, holding one arm with her other hand and shooting the Peacekeeper. Once the gun was empty, she slumped, spent.
Adele was bleeding heavily from her back wound. Tanek lifted her into the vehicle and ran round to the driver’s side, gunning the engine, he pulled the jeep round and retreated, urging Adele to stay awake, telling her he’d get her back to the castle, get her fixed up.
“Hold on,” he kept repeating as he drove past the stuck AFV and back onto the main road, cutting a swathe through the fog. He knew once he got far enough away from Sherwood, the mist would clear.
“Everything will be okay. Just hold on!”
AS HE STUMBLED through the undergrowth, the mist thickening, the Tsar couldn’t help thinking that this was just like one of the old folktales, something parents tell their children to stop them running off. Don’t go into the forest, especially after sunset, because something might just come for you. Something might just be hunting you.
Well, something was definitely hunting him.
The Hooded Man, on his own turf. He knew every single one of these trees, where the Tsar was completely and utterly lost. They might be within spitting distance of the road, but he couldn’t see a thing. He ventured on, stumbling through the fog, his great coat flapping behind him, waving his blade ahead of him.
The Tsar tripped and crashed into a fence, breaking through the wood. He rose, tumbling forwards, the ground less grassy here. He smacked into another fence and when he looked up, he gasped. The figure of the Hooded Man was towering above him. He was about to swing his sword when he realised it was just a statue, that the representation was holding a staff and was fighting with another, much larger figure. That the hood was thrown back.
Must be in the old tourist section of Sherwood, he thought, the place where they honoured the first of his kind.
The original, not this... copycat who’d come along centuries later.
Even so, that mimic had managed to cripple his forces. Now had him on the run. The Tsar was searching for the warrior within himself, the man who’d fought so valiantly in the ’eighties, who’d beaten people up for protection money, taken assassination jobs.
You have grown soft, so used to luxury in your hotel back in Moscow, shielded from everything. Now you must fend for yourself because there is no-one else.
No-one else here to face him, Andrei, but you.
It was the first time in years he’d heard that name, his true name. Not Lord, or Sire, or the Tsar. The name he’d had as a child, an orphan. The name he’d used in the Russian army.
He remembered all those battles now, the bloodlust that had been in him, and the way he’d deal with those enemies of the mafia during peacetime. Actually doing the damage himself instead of just watching others in a ring beating the hell out of each other.
The Tsar gnashed his teeth and trudged on, feeling his way along the sides of buildings, then up along an overgrown path. Suddenly, ahead of him, he saw the fire. His fire. The one he’d created with the explosion. He’d got turned around somehow and gone in a circle.
The fire was spreading through the trees, from branch to branch.
“I’m coming for you, Tsar!” shouted a voice that echoed all around, full of fury. He’d invaded Hood’s country, his city, killed his men and taken his women hostage. Now this: the Tsar had set fire to his beloved Sherwood.
But an angry man makes mistakes. If I can just keep calm, keep my cool. The Tsar let out a small laugh at the ridiculousness of that, while all around the fire raged.
Find the warrior inside, find that same fire in your own belly!
He stood up straighter, then called back: “Then come. I am read –”
The shape leaped out of nowhere, out of the flames. It dove headlong into the Tsar, shoving him sideways into a tree. His shoulder stung as it connected with the wood and he let out a cry. Swearing, he shrugged off his greatcoat.
“What’s the matter? Too warm for you? I used to be afraid of the fire,” said a gruff voice from under the hood. “Afraid of the memories.”
The Tsar stood again, swiping sideways with his curved sword and hitting thin air. “You should be afraid of me!”
“I don’t think so.” Hood lashed out now with his weapon, and the Tsar met the thrust. They exchanged blows against a background of mist, smoke and crackling flames. Then Hood rammed him up against a tree, crossing their blades so that they were either side of the Tsar’s neck. Even as the man was doing this, the Tsar couldn’t help noticing a wince of pain when Hood raised his arm. Some wound at his shoulder? A weakness?
The Tsar pressed the man back, then twisted the crossed swords so he could angle them sideways. He gave another push and the hilts smacked into Hood’s wounded shoulder. He let out a howl, fell back, and dropped his sword. Then he dropped to his hands and knees, gasping.
That is where you should be!
The Tsar kicked him in the side, rolling him over. As Hood clutched at the shoulder wound, the Tsar spotted blood staining the leg of his trousers. He trod on the second wound, and again Hood let out a wail.
“So, you can be hurt. Not as invincible as you would have people believe, eh?” Hood lay on the ground, with the Tsar above – sword at his throat. “All this will have been worth it just to kill you, comrade. Tanek was right; one day it would have come to this. Better that it should be settled here and now.”
Hood didn’t move, apparently helpless, the Tsar victorious over him. He finally felt like that warrior again. He, who had defeated Hood after the Frenchman failed; when tanks, guns and men had failed.
Then Hood grabbed the blade with his good hand. He levered it back, though it cost him – the sharp edges cutting into his skin, slipping and causing even the Tsar to cringe.
“I agree,” said the man, wrenching his head to the side and letting go of the sword. It dug into the soil behind, holding it there fast. Hood slid from beneath the Tsar, kicking the legs out from under him at the same time.
There was nothing he could do. He was falling, knowing what was going to happen but powerless to prevent it. The spiked hilt of the sword, as smooth as it was, went into him – helped by his own bodyweight and forward impetus. The Tsar grunted as he dropped down over the hilt, and onto the blade itself. Impaled.
He was still alive, just, when Hood picked up his own sword and walked round to his head.
“You should have stayed where you were, comrade,” he told the Tsar, spitting out the final word.
Then there was a final swish and the Tsar had to concede, in the end, that the Hooded Man had a point.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
HEAT. FIRE. PAIN.
It was all he could remember of the torture session. Naturally, Tanek had left Jack a few reminders: scalding burns, and several nails still digging into his body that hurt whenever he twitched. Though not even they hurt as much as the thought he’d let down Mark, Tate and the others. Not to mention Robbie. He’d given them up – granted, because they were threatening Mary’s life, but she would have been the first to tell Tanek and Adele to take a hike. Even Mark probably lasted longer. And Jack had fallen for Adele; just how stupid was he? The daughter of their greatest enemy. Greatest till now, anyway. Not even De Falaise could have pulled off the stunts this Tsar character was responsible for.
Jack had passed out again a couple of times since the pair left, and night had fallen in the meantime. He’d also been left unguarded. They probably thought he didn’t warrant watching any more. That he’d be going nowhere considering what Tanek had put him through.
They obviously didn’t know Jack very well. He’d screwed up, big time, and he aimed to put things rig
ht. How, he didn’t know, but he’d start with getting free of this fucking chair! Easier said than done, when you were tied to the arms and legs.
He should have been freezing, stripped to his underwear. But they’d also been making use of Faraday’s furnace. Jack recalled seeing the body of their blacksmith in the corner. How many more would be counted amongst his number by the time the day was out?
During the torture, the furnace had been an instrument of terror; now, though it had died down, it was probably keeping him alive. And might just be the answer to freeing him.
Mustering what little energy he could, Jack stretched his toes – the rope tying his ankles to the chair legs prevented him from placing his feet properly on the floor. As he strained, the cords in his neck tightened, and the nails that had been banged so methodically into his torso, arms and legs sent more ripples of torment through him. Never, not even after all those rounds in the wrestling ring, had his body felt so battered and abused.
His toes brushed the cold floor, but he was going to have to do better than that. He stretched again, and this time they connected. He pushed down, enough to raise the chair slightly. Breathing heavily, Jack did it again, only this time he tried his best to lean to the side as well, angling towards the furnace. Just when he thought it wasn’t going to go, the chair tipped, pitching him on his side. It knocked the square furnace over, sending a slew of coals and ash across the floor. The nail in his shoulder was driven even further in by the fall, and he bit back a cry of anguish.