by Paul Kane
They appeared in a miasma of colourful scenes, taking on shapes: wolf, the bear, the buffalo. The creatures of this forest were pitted against them, led by the stag, not felled as its body was, but strong and majestic, a symbol of the old god’s power and dominance. For now. It was a battlefield unlike any other, way beyond anything ordinary humans had ever witnessed. Beyond guns, tanks and helicopters.
Mighty hawks swooped and fought with owls, spinning over and over in the technicoloured clouds. The stag rammed its antlers into the bear, just as it had done with Shadow, only for the wolf to leap on its back and begin tearing at it. Even the smaller animals, like badgers and foxes, fought – pitting themselves against the creatures of the desert, like the rattlesnake.
Shadow marvelled at the complexity of it, then at the simplicity: a glorious contradiction. The fight seemed to rage for hours, but there was no telling the passage of time. The only way Shadow realised it was over was when the bear picked up the stag and held it aloft, delivering it to him.
Shadow gave thanks to the Great Spirit, just before the connection was severed. He managed to crawl out of the lodge – staggering a few yards with a bottle of water he’d grabbed – before collapsing.
But he knew that no harm would come to him now. He was protected by the new keepers of Sherwood. And Hood was soon to find out exactly what it was like to be the prey instead of the predator.
A trap would be set before long, and as Shadow drifted off into unconsciousness, he realised exactly where he would find the bait.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SOMETHING WAS VERY wrong.
It had started with the dreams. It sounded crazy, but he’d accepted that the forest was giving them to him. They hadn’t begun until he’d moved to Sherwood. Then he’d moved out of the forest and into the castle to run the Rangers, and the dreams had deserted him for a spell – which had almost cost all their lives. The forest had also – and this sounded even crazier when he thought about it – healed him at least a couple of times, even brought him back from the brink of death.
He’d come to realise that he needed to return there every now and again, to recharge. His excuse was the trips he took young Mark on to teach him hunting skills, but wasn’t the lad starting to feel the forest, as well? He’d certainly spoken to Robert about strange dreams he’d had while he’d been there.
More and more, though, over the last year especially, Robert had come to understand that he always carried a part of that special place with him wherever he went.
In fact, that was literally true these days, since he’d struck upon the idea of making himself a little reminder of home. His true, spiritual home. In the pouch he wore on his belt were twigs, earth, stones, grass, bark and leaves he’d gathered from Sherwood – and copying him in all things, Mark had insisted on making one as well. When travelling or on a mission, and in times of great stress, he’d find himself clutching the bag unconsciously. It eased his mind. And while he’d been carrying it, the dreams had never deserted him again.
Until now.
It had happened last night while he slept, out under the stars with Mary beside him. He’d refused the offer of staying at a hotel Bill had commandeered for himself and the rest of the Rangers. Instead, Robert and Mary had found a local park and bedded down there; she was more used to sleeping outdoors now, since the Christmas surprise he’d given her of a night out in Sherwood. So, falling asleep with the pouch in his hand, it hadn’t taken long for the dreams to visit Robert.
His eyes opened and at first he’d thought he was still in the park. But the sheer mass of trees and greenery soon told him otherwise. It had to be the dreamscape, and it had to be Sherwood. He was walking through familiar surroundings, enjoying being back once again, when there was a disturbance in the trees up ahead. At first he thought it was some kind of animal, but when the trees themselves began falling he realised it was something much bigger. Flashes of red appeared between the trunks, then the trees directly in front of him parted.
And he saw a monster.
It looked like a dinosaur, but was nothing so mundane. Robert recognised it from the tales he’d read as a kid. It was a dragon, its scaly crimson hide tough and impenetrable. And it was huge: as tall as the trees in Sherwood.
It breathed out fire, burning the trees.
But this wasn’t the only monster in Sherwood. Another parting of the trees and on Robert’s right was a giant black spider, its multitude of eyes bulbous and glassy, regarding him with both hatred and longing. The dragon saw the spider and roared; the arachnid, for its part, made a series of clicking noises and weird shrills. Somehow Robert instinctively knew it was female, and although he was no expert he would have bet his life on the fact that the species was a Black Widow.
These were the opponents he and his men were facing at the moment, or at least that’s what they represented. Gaining power, becoming bigger and stronger, they would take over soon unless something was done to stop them. No sooner had he thought this than Robert’s Rangers flooded the scene, loosing arrows at the two behemoths and swinging their swords. Robert looked on as the Dragon crushed a couple of his Rangers underfoot, while the Widow stopped others in their tracks with webs they couldn’t break. She then turned on one poor soul and began to eat him, starting with the head. Robert winced at the sight, but didn’t – couldn’t – move.
Faces he recognised now were tackling the threat: Dale and Jack on his left, leading the attack against the Dragon; Bill, Azhar and Mary on his right, trying to avoid those webs and deadly mandibles. Mary turned, urging him to join the fight. They couldn’t do this without him. Robert tried to move again, but still couldn’t.
Then he saw it. Something, someone striding out between the two creatures, ignoring them as if they didn’t matter. A man, but not quite a man – indistinct and shadowy, his body like fog. He was carrying something above his head. Something with antlers.
The stag. The thing Robert had often become himself in the dreamland. Was that meant to be him there, defeated? Dead, even? There was blood dripping from the body, he could see that now. As the man came closer, his features grew clearer. He looked Native American, but Robert didn’t have long to take in the sight of him.
Everything happened so quickly. The Dragon and the Widow shrank back, diminishing as something else was revealed behind them – an unclear shape, pushing, or manipulating, them. Next, the shadow man started to grow, becoming stronger, more significant. As he did so, the stag he was holding caught fire – perhaps from one of the Dragon’s blasts, Robert couldn’t tell. The stag burnt fiercely for a second or two before raining down on the ground as ash.
Robert thought something terrible might happen then. Often the dreams had shown him his own death, in an effort to try and prevent it. But what actually occurred was that everything went black. It was like a TV being put on standby, the picture telescoping away into nothing. At any second Robert thought he might wake up, but he didn’t. Nothing happened. He’d lost the connection somehow, the information out of reach.
He awoke not long after, Mary stirring when she heard him.
“What is it?” she asked, half mumbling.
“Nothing,” he lied.
She rolled over, snuggling up to him. “Good. Go back to sleep, love.”
It was good advice, and he tried, for a long time. He’d finally nodded off before dawn, long enough usually to bring back the dreams. But again there was nothing but darkness.
Over breakfast back at the hotel, Robert was agitated, but refused to discuss it with Mary. She’d come to understand that Sherwood was a special place for him, but still didn’t really get how special. Nor how much of a role it played in keeping them one step ahead of their enemies. When she looked hurt, Robert had given her hand a squeeze and told her not to worry; he didn’t want her thinking he was shutting her out again. But at the same time he wasn’t in the mood to talk about what was going on with his dreams.
“So,” Bill had asked, “any idea what we�
�re going t’do about the situation?”
They’d questioned the captured raiders and found out more about the Widow. The conclusion they’d drawn was that her men were devoted to the woman, fanatically so in fact. She was power hungry and, not to put too fine a point on it, completely insane. The raiders didn’t mind telling them about her, in fact they quite relished it, fuelling the rumour that she ate human flesh, that she was into black magic and that she could never die. They were less forthcoming about her defensive capabilities. Loyal even under pressure – if not the kind of pressure De Falaise and his goon Tanek put their prisoners under – they gave Robert and Bill nothing in the interrogation sessions, apart from the location of their base: Edinburgh Castle.
That had been when Mary stepped in with the sodium pentothal. Picked up during routine searches of medical facilities for supplies that she and the trainee nurses back home could use, Mary was the only one allowed to administer this drug, and even then only in extreme circumstances. It was surprising how much looser their tongues were then, spilling information about lookout positions dotted around the city, guard changes, patrol patterns.
“This German connection wi’ the jeeps, bikes an’ guns still bothers me,” Bill concluded.
Robert nodded. “This whole thing goes beyond simple raiding parties. We’re going to have to stamp on the Widow before she gets out of control.”
“What exactly did you have in mind?” said Mary.
What he had in mind was getting inside the castle for a closer look at their operation, perhaps even tracing the Widow’s support to its source. If they were facing another invasion, then forewarned was forearmed: a hand-picked strike force, led by himself, would ascertain the level of threat, and eradicate it if necessary. He thought Mary might argue about him going, but she didn’t. All she said was that if he went, then she was going too, which was fair enough. As much as he still felt that twinge of dread whenever she wanted to accompany him on a mission, he knew she’d be feeling exactly the same about him. If one of them was going, then both should. And, as he’d observed on many occasions, Mary was one hell of a fighter. She’d saved his skin at least as many times as he’d saved hers – more, probably. If anyone was going to watch his back, Robert wanted – needed – Mary.
“Right, when do we leave?” Bill wanted to know.
Robert shook his head. “I want you to stay here.”
“What?”
“I can’t afford to have all my best people on this. I need you out here, Bill, in case we run into difficulties.” Robert didn’t call Bill a loose cannon – often literally, with that shotgun of his.
Bill argued a little – “I was the one who bloody well brought ye into all this!” – but in the end he grudgingly accepted the logic of Robert’s decision. That was probably a first. Must be mellowing in his old age, thought Robert.
“And Bill,” he said, “if we do need backup, promise me you won’t kit the Rangers out with machine-guns or whatever. No heavy stuff. Let them fight how they were meant to. How they were trained to.”
Bill folded his arms.
“Promise me,” Robert insisted.
“Aye, all right,” Bill said reluctantly. “But I still think ye’re bloody crackers.”
Robert grinned. “Nothing new there, then.”
Using maps of the castle, Robert had outlined how they were going to play this: entering the city just as they had done when taking Nottingham Castle the first time, only this time knowing exactly where to avoid, and under cover of darkness. He knew his Rangers could move silently, unseen, through the urban forest just as he had done through Sherwood. When they were close enough, they’d split into three teams of a handful each: one, led by Azhar, making an assault up the rocks on the north side, climbing over the wall at a point just down from the Argyle Battery cannons. The second, led by a Ranger called Annie Reid, would do the same on the south side, gaining access up and into the grounds near the old Scottish United Services Museum. The third group would take out the guards outside the Gatehouse, replacing them with Rangers dressed in captured raider uniforms, who would then let in the rest of that team. Later they’d regroup within the castle boundaries.
“The good thing is, the Widow doesn’t have nearly as many men as either De Falaise or the Tsar at the moment,” Robert informed his troops. “With a bit of luck, we should be able to get in there, get the job done, and leave again without anyone having seen us.”
Robert and Mary would be leading the frontal assault. “It’ll be just like old times,” she said to her husband, thinking of when she’d walked through the gates of Nottingham Castle to confront the Sheriff.
“Let’s hope not,” Robert replied. “I don’t want to take on her entire army just yet.”
Preparations were made and they’d set off on horseback for Scotland’s capital in the afternoon, timing it so they’d reach the castle itself by nightfall. Everything had gone well, they’d managed to avoid the Widow’s people watching for signs of intruders in the city, and tethered their mounts once they were close enough to make it on foot. They moved as one through the streets, and even Robert was impressed by the way his people conducted themselves – all those hours of practise had paid off. He felt proud as they pressed themselves up against walls, checked around corners. They couldn’t have been better trained if they’d been on the police force with him all those years ago.
When the time came, they’d branched off: Azhar skirting round one side with his team; Annie taking her group round the other, keeping to the shadows at the base. And near the Esplanade – where jeeps, tanks and other armoured vehicles were stationed – Robert and Mary held back with the others. Two of their Rangers, dressed in the Widow’s tartan, handled the guards at the Gatehouse. They could have taken them out with arrows, but didn’t want to risk raising an alarm; guards suddenly keeling over at the same time was sure to cause suspicion. Better to take them out at close quarters and replace them almost immediately. Robert looked on as the Rangers crept silently up towards the Gatehouse, sneaking behind the guards simultaneously, hands over mouths, knocking them out and taking their places.
Once the nod was given, the rest of them moved forwards just as stealthily, finding whatever cover they could to reach the arch. “Good work,” Robert whispered to his troops now standing guard, as they let them all in through the front door, flanked on either side by statues of Robert the Bruce and William Wallace. Robert couldn’t help thinking that Scotland deserved the kind of freedom those men had fought so hard for, not the slavery this Widow obviously had in mind.
Inside, they remained in the shadows, making their way up towards the Portcullis Gate, the second line of the Widow’s defence. They waited patiently for confirmation that Azhar’s team had taken out the guards here, which came when the lethal-looking gate was raised.
Nicely done, Azhar, thought Robert, waving to the figures up in the building above them.
He motioned for his team to move forwards through the gate, into the castle grounds proper. This place was much larger than their castle, but that meant there were more places to hide between its many buildings: St Margaret’s Chapel, the rounded water Reservoirs, the large War Memorial. No sooner had they entered than they had to conceal themselves as a dozen or so of the Widow’s men walked past.
“That was close,” Mary said.
He nodded, but found himself frowning at the same time. It was about now that the sense of unease really hit him: his own instinct telling him something was wrong. As good as they were at this kind of operation, this was all a bit too easy.
Robert registered more jeeps outside the New Barracks – which housed the bulk of the Widow’s troops – as they moved back and round towards the Royal buildings where the woman herself would be located.
He looked around as they entered the Crown Square, then tugged on Mary’s arm. “I think we need to get out of here.”
“What is it?”
“This smells like –” He was about to say ‘a t
rap,’ but by then it was obvious. Lights kicked in from above and they were surrounded by armed guards, swarming from every conceivable nook and cranny. Ranger Madison, at Robert’s side, raised his bow and felled a couple of the Widow’s men, and was shot dead at point blank range for his trouble. Mary’s Peacekeepers were out, but Robert put an arm across to stop her from firing. It was no use, they were hopelessly outnumbered and in a confined space. Their only hope was that Annie Reid and her team might come to their aid, but that was soon dashed when Robert heard a voice from one of the open windows above.
“Welcome to our home, Robin,” said the woman with the wild hair. “I know what you’re thinking, but yer other teams are a little bit tied up right now.” The crowds parted to show them the other Ranger groups, including Ahzar’s, captured: their hands bound behind their backs. “Who do yer think let you in at the Portcullis Gate?” She laughed, and it echoed around the square. “I knew you fellas were coming even before you did.”
It crossed Robert’s mind that he could pick her off with just one arrow. Her men wouldn’t be able to stop him in time.
“I wouldnae try that,” she called down. “It’d just be a waste of an arrow – and yer life.”
Lucky guess, had to be. It was what anyone in this position would be thinking.
“What is it that you want?” said Robert, perhaps hoping to negotiate, but knowing full well this wasn’t a woman who could be bargained with.
“Yer come here in the dead of night and ask what I want? It seems obvious yer wantin’ me. You want to know ma secrets. That’s okay, because what I want is you, Hooded Man, so I’d be more than happy tae oblige.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE MORE HE explored of the place, the more he realised just how dangerous this man’s outfit was.
Take Cardiff Arms Park, for example, next door. Dale had managed to sneak a look from up high in the stadium and saw that it was filled with all kinds of jeeps, tanks, tracked and eight-wheeled armoured vehicles. They must have widened or knocked down the entrance to get them all in. And more seemed to be arriving every day, enough to take on the rest of Wales, maybe even sometime soon the rest of what had once been Great Britain. Where they were coming from, he had no idea, and he was no closer to finding out.