Arrowland

by Paul Kane

  How long had it been since any of them had been outside into the real world? He couldn't remember. Must have been back during those early days when he'd got them safely away from all the fighting, the rioting, the houses being set alight. Got them somewhere safe so he could look after them. Even when they'd moved to the stadium, they'd been transported in the back of an armoured truck. Only his dad had complained, as the Dragon's most trusted aides had hefted him into the lift, taking him to the floor where a home away from home had been constructed. "Mind what you're doing," his father had shouted at the men, still not grateful for the fact that he was being looked after, taken to a place of safety.

  His Mam and Nan had been more appreciative, settling well into the routine - "Ooh, look, isn't this nice. At least we can get a decent cup of tea." They hadn't really gone out of the house much even before The Cull, whereas his Dad had at least been able to escape down the pub or to the rugby. The Dragon had thought - mistakenly - that his father might approve of the new venue. "When things calm down a bit, I'll arrange for you to watch some matches," he'd told him. Still stupidly trying to gain his approval, even though the Dragon had shown who was really in charge a long time ago. His Dad had looked at him like he was filth.

  Like he wasn't Gareth.

  But he still visited them as often as he could, given his hectic schedule. He'd fitted in this quick call after meeting with Tanek, who represented some of the Dragon's associates. "Associates?" his Nan had said, when he explained where he'd been. "Your grandfather fought in the war against their kind, you know." Her knitting needles were going like the clappers. "The Nazis."

  "That was a long time ago," the Dragon's mother had said, standing up for her son. "I'm sure our boy knows what he's doing, and what he's getting himself involved in. Don't you?"

  His father had huffed at that one.

  "You got something to say?" the Dragon asked point blank; he was done pussyfooting around.

  "Only that you'd never have seen our Gareth-"

  "Fuck him!"

  "Now dear, there's no call for-"

  "No Mam, fuck Gareth. He's not here, I am! I'm the one who looks after you, clothes you, feeds you. Without me where would you be, eh?" He was aware he was breathing hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. "Of course I know what I'm doing! Anyway, they're not really Nazis," he said, turning on his Nan.

  She said nothing, just continued to knit.

  "They're a means to an end. Once we have enough weapons and vehicles we can push them out of the picture altogether."

  "And they're just going to let you, are they?" His Dad said.

  "They won't have any choice."

  "Listen to him. They're supplying you with stuff and you're talking about taking them on and beating them. They could wipe you out like that, lad." His father snapped his fingers.

  The Dragon growled. "We could take them. Just like we did with Hood's men."

  "That's going to come back and bite you on the arse, as well."

  "How so?"

  "They won't be best pleased when they see what you did to their headquarters."

  "That was the whole idea. That's why I released one of them. When Hood sees what I've done, he'll think twice about moving against me."

  "You're underestimating him."

  His mother nodded. "He does sound like a very rough customer to me."

  The Dragon sighed.

  His Dad continued: "Remember all those stories about what he did. That man pretending to be the Sheriff of Nottingham, the Russian fella? He's someone who's not frightened off so easily."

  "And what would you know about military strategy?"

  "Please, can we stop arguing?" his mother pleaded. "I hate it when you two don't get along."

  Ignoring his wife, the Dragon's father pressed on, "What do I know? Only what I learnt on the rugby pitch, boy."

  "Hmmm, you mean the way no-one would tackle a larger opponent, someone who seems stronger, you mean? Someone filled with enough confidence to make people think twice? That's exactly what I'm banking on."

  "I think you're out of your tiny mind," his father stated, finally.

  "Oh, you do, do you? Well-"

  A knock on the door interrupted the dispute and they all looked at each other. Then the Dragon remembered he'd asked for lunch to be brought down. "Enter!"

  The woman who came in didn't meet his eye as she wheeled in a trolley carrying a silver soup tureen, bowls and fresh bread on plates. The Dragon gestured for her to serve each of his relatives with the soup, which he saw was tomato. This particular servant was actually not doing such a bad job. He remembered seeing her for the first time, when the men brought her before him as part of a recent haul. She'd been a little too old for his tastes compared with some of the others - that silver-blonde hair a turn off. Though by no means bad looking, she reminded him a little too much of some of the teachers back at school. But he'd decided she was ideal to run about after his family, as some of the younger girls just weren't cut out for that kind of thing. It transpired she'd worked in a nursing home back before the fall of mankind, so he'd set her to work washing his father on a daily basis, changing the sheets on his bed. As much as his Mam wanted to help, she was getting on a bit herself and it was too much for her. Besides, why have servants and do the work yourself?

  Meghan, wasn't it? Yes, that was the woman's name. He watched as she set the soup down first beside his Nan, then his Mam, who both thanked her - they didn't get the whole concept of personal slaves - and then on the table beside his father. The older man said nothing, but struggled to sit himself up.

  "What are you waiting for?" The Dragon said to Meghan. "Bring a tray across and put it over his knees."

  The Dragon's mother nodded, smiling. He knew what she was thinking: See? A good boy to his Dad after all.

  As Meghan set up the tray, her hands were shaking a little. But it was as she served his Dad's soup that she spilt it on the bed, catching his leg with the hot liquid. The man cried out and Meghan stepped back, hand to her mouth. "I-I'm sorry, I-"

  "You stupid bitch!" shouted the Dragon. "Look what you've done!"

  She grabbed a cloth and started mopping up the soup.

  "Now dear, it was only an accident," said the Dragon's mother, trying to keep the peace.

  "I'll have you killed!" the Dragon screamed, and Meghan burst into tears.

  "There's no need for that," his Nan told him. She'd never really liked his father. "The lady's been doing a good job."

  And the more the Dragon thought about it, the more the idea of his Dad getting a little burnt did appeal. A lesson for arguing with him. Perhaps he had overreacted, initially annoyed that his father had personally witnessed one of his staff cock up. But there was no actual harm done, save for a bit of scalding maybe. His Nan was right: this woman had done a good job up to now.

  But the Dragon couldn't be seen to be too soft. "Get out," he told Meghan. "Wait in the hall, while I think about suitable disciplinary action."

  She left, still in tears, closing the door behind her. The Dragon's father was glaring at him.

  "What will you do to her?" his mother asked.

  "I haven't decided yet. She'll be punished."

  "Like you do to all those other women," his father hissed. "The ones you think we don't know about."

  "Ryn!" snapped the Dragon's mother.

  The Dragon ignored them both, and called for the guards to come and wheel him out. It always made him feel uncomfortable, the amount of things they knew. How they did know, was anyone's guess; quizzing the guards, quizzing the slaves who saw to them? The Dragon dismissed all this from his mind, as his guards brought him out into the corridor. There was Meghan, as he'd instructed. She was still sobbing. And something about that, the mixture of the crying and the resemblance to some of his old teachers at school, made him wonder if he'd been too hasty in relegating her to simple menial chores. He'd discipline her, yes, as he had never had the chance to do to those teachers who put him down when
he was young.

  Then, who knows.

  "Like you do to all those other women," came his father's voice again, echoing in his mind.

  It went without saying, but he could also hear the man suggesting that Gareth would never have done such a thing. He wouldn't need to do things like that to women, because he'd have had his pick - if he'd lived.

  Dead, and still speaking to him.

  The Dragon decided to take his mind off his problems for a while.

  Chapter Eleven

  It had taken some time to recover.

  The sights that he'd witnessed had exhausted him, both mentally and physically. He was convinced no human had ever witnessed anything like it, so in one way he felt privileged. In another, it made him feel small, inconsequential: a tiny cog in a massive machine. He had his role to play, obviously, and a duty to perform that they couldn't possibly complete in his realm. But in the great scheme of things...

  Shadow constantly kept checking that the pouch was still at his hip. Its contents were an important part of pulling this whole thing off. After he'd woken, and after he'd drunk a lot of water, he'd gathered the ashes at the place where the forest gods had been subdued. With that taken care of, it was time for the next part of his plan to be put into effect.

  That would involve travelling to the Hooded Man's other home. The castle at Nottingham. Entering the city would not be easy, he'd anticipated that. Hood's Rangers patrolled the territory and didn't leave much room for manoeuvre. But there were always ways into places. Shadow felt brave, he felt lucky, for with such superior forces guiding him how could he possibly fail?

  The Rangers were good at concealment, he'd give them that. But he'd sniffed out their presence from a mile away, enabling him to avoid patrols, keep away from the lookout posts and sneak into the city as the sun fell at his back.

  He'd studied and memorized maps of the city before leaving for these isles, and it stood him in good stead when it came to negotiating his way to the castle. Once again, Shadow was conscious of the parallels between him and the man who might have been, given different circumstances, a brother in arms. How many times had Hood done this to creep up on an enemy, taking out their defences and leaving the way clear for his Rangers? That wasn't Shadow's intention today. He was just one man, and, in spite of the backup he had on the ethereal plane, he had no army ready to move in once he opened the gates.

  What he wanted was not to bring about the downfall of the castle, unlike other visitors in the last few years. He wanted something from it. More specifically, someone. It wasn't the Hooded Man himself, because Shadow knew he wasn't here. When he'd severed Hood's link to his beloved forest Shadow had sensed that the man was quite some distance from both Sherwood and Nottingham. But there were others, people important to Hood, still present at the castle.

  It was one of these Shadow was stalking.

  He leapt across rooftops, he darted through streets, his agility second to none. Not one patrol or guard spotted him and not one alarm was raised. Pretty soon Shadow came upon the outline of the castle walls. Scaling the cliff face was one option, and held the least risk of detection. Then there were the caves at the Brewhouse Yard, although they were sure to be guarded and he would have to incapacitate the Rangers there. Unfortunate, especially if someone happened to stumble upon them while he was still inside.

  That left the walls, which again he could see were patrolled regularly, or the main gates at the side. Not an easy decision, but he was running out of time.

  As he was waiting, Shadow observed that there was an unusual amount of activity just beyond those gates. Several groupings of Rangers mounting horses, readying themselves to leave the grounds. There must be something going on, some kind of emergency. This was good timing, and good news in two ways. Firstly, there would be fewer Rangers inside, which slashed the chances of him being seen. Secondly, it offered him a way to gain entrance. Quickly, he made his way across the roof he was on, swinging over the edge. He began climbing down, just as the gates were opening and the first batch of Rangers were departing. The noise and confusion of so many horses and their riders leaving the castle at the same time was excellent cover, and Shadow was able to slip through the gates easily. He pressed his back up against the wall while another stream of Rangers flowed through. Shadow became his namesake; entering silently and unseen, keeping to the pockets of blackness where the torches which illuminated the castle grounds didn't extend. As invisible as the wind, he began exploring. It was an interesting experience. Even at night Shadow observed that the castle was a place of safety, a haven for those living under Hood's protection. He was no evil overlord, rather someone trying to bring back balance to a world that had tipped too far over the edge.

  Handfuls of Rangers - men and women alike - laughed and joked as they toured the grounds; there were families here, children. Shadow almost envied these people their existence. He had never known a proper home, never felt that he fitted in, not even with his own people. Shadow shook himself. He couldn't let thoughts like this distract him from his task. Making his way silently through the grounds, he discovered a set of steps leading to the castle itself. Then, looking left and right, he entered without making a sound.

  Mark sat staring at the radio, trying to get his head round everything that he'd been told in the last twenty-four hours. The airwaves had never been so busy, communications not only coming in from Ranger groups on routine assignments, but also from Bill, then Jack. But there was something to be said for that old adage - no news is good news - because everything they'd received had been bad: pure and simple.

  First, Bill had informed him that they'd heard nothing from Robert and Mary since they'd taken a team of Rangers to Edinburgh Castle to check out this Widow. What had happened, no-one yet knew, and although Mark still held out some hope they might return it was looking increasingly likely they'd either been captured or-

  To take his mind off that, Mark recalled what Jack had said earlier on that day - relaying information about the Dragon from Dale. He'd been sent inside to spy on the man; a mission Mark had actually argued he was ready for, but Jack and Robert had vetoed him as usual. Even after everything he'd gone through in the field, Mark knew when they looked at him they still saw that kid with the dirty-blond hair they'd first met when De Falaise invaded England. He'd changed so much since those days. Mark was an adult now, even had a girlfriend - the lovely Sophie - which he had to admit had taken up a lot of his time in recent months. Sooner or later the others were going to have to accept he'd grown up.

  Hadn't he shown them he was ready for actual combat? What did Mark have to do to prove he was worthy? Even the dreams he'd been having since starting those trips with Robert into the forest had suggested he should be given more responsibility. He'd learnt to interpret them quite well, the symbols and meanings; afterwards talking to Robert about them, because he knew his adoptive father had them as well. The last one Mark experienced had seen him running through the forest, too close to the ground to be on human legs. His running was awkward, not coordinated - at first, anyway. But Mark found that the further and faster he ran, the stronger those legs became. And then he could see them beneath him, a browny colour with white specks. The legs of a young fawn, but one that was growing faster than usual.

  Soon enough, Mark found himself at the lake at Rufford, where he stared down into the water at his reflection. There were antlers there now, budding ones but growing at the same pace as the rest of him. Something was wrong, though; droplets of red in the water, falling from a wound Mark couldn't see. He looked up and saw a grown stag across the water, looking at him. Behind the creature was a man dressed in red, with a sickle for a hand. In one movement, he drew that blade across the stag's throat, allowing a jet of red to shoot out across the lake. Mark tried to scream, but there was someone behind him, too. He could see the shadow falling across the lake.

  Mark hadn't had time to register anything else, because he'd been woken out of the dream by Robert calling
him for breakfast by the campfire. If nothing else, the analogy was clear about growing up. Mark was almost there, and he deserved the right to be treated like a grown man. He should be-

  Mark stiffened. There was someone behind him, just like in the dream he'd had all those weeks ago. He pulled off the earphones, rising from the chair at the same time; his heart going like a piston. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Sophie standing there with a plate, holding a beef sandwich.

  She smiled. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Just thought you might like a bite to eat."

  Mark smiled back. That sandwich did look good. "No, I'm sorry. Just a little on edge is all. Ta." He leaned over, took the plate gratefully, and gave her a kiss. Taking his face in both her hands, she pressed her lips harder against his. When she pulled away, his smile grew even wider. "What was that for?"

  "Do I need a reason?"

  Mark laughed. "No, I guess not. And I'm so not complaining."

  "I just haven't seen much of you today."

  Mark pointed to the radio. "Been stuck monitoring in case anything else came in. You heard about what's going on, I suppose?"

  Sophie nodded. "I'm worried about Robert and Mary."

  "Me too. At least when we were fighting the Sheriff and The Tsar, we were dealing with them one at a time. Now we seem to be split between tackling these Dragon and Widow loonies."

  Sophie leaned on the table next to him. "What exactly did Dale say about the Dragon?"

  There was a time when Mark would have felt threatened by that question; he'd have jumped to the conclusion that Dale was on Sophie's mind. But way too much water had passed under the bridge for that. He felt secure now about how Sophie felt, knew she only saw Dale as a mate. In fact, he'd got to know Dale a lot better himself over the past year and once that initial jealousy had evaporated, Mark actually found himself liking the guy, too. "You mean what did he say about our mutual friend?"

  Sophie nodded again, more sombrely. She remembered fighting Tanek last year as well as he did - it was one of the things that had brought them closer together. "I heard he was acting as some kind of go-between, supplying weapons and vehicles. But didn't Bill also say that the Widow was being supplied with arms from somewhere?"