by Paul Kane
Tate had dismounted and was leading a team across the square. A couple of the Rangers had engaged the Servitors in swordplay, taking advantage of the fact they were fresh from fighting the Germans. The Reverend was limping towards Gwen and her saviour, and calling for the man to release his hostages. Gwen wanted to explain, to tell him he'd got it all wrong, but even if she did have the strength Tate probably wouldn't have believed her. The man who'd come to her aid looked from Gwen to the Reverend, and he finally let Clive Jr down to be with his mother.
Then he ran, calling for the other Morningstars to retreat as well. Tate attempted to stop him, swinging his stick, but the man easily dodged it. Within moments he and the other robed figures were gone.
Though it was agony to do so, Gwen put her free arm around Clive Jr, growing weaker by the minute. That final bolt had done something to her, torn something vital inside, she realised, and part of her wondered if that was why the Servitor was crying? She couldn't help looking at the bodies of the fallen all around, clearly visible now the smoke was gone, and thinking that soon she would be joining them. Gwen cried again, this time not because she'd been reunited with her son, but because she'd have to say goodbye to him shortly.
As Tate came over - concern etched on his face and calling for medical assistance - she also wondered if Clive Jr would have been better off with the man who'd really saved them? It was clearly what the Servitor himself had been considering right at the end.
But one thing comforted her as she lay there, bleeding out from her wounds.
At least she knew her boy wasn't with that bastard Tanek.
Tanek wondered what exactly had happened.
One minute everything had been going brilliantly, according to plan. The villagers were being worn down, they had pretty much been removed as any kind of real threat. The woman Gwen was on her knees in front of him, where she belonged, and De Falaise's child was his for the taking.
Then... they'd arrived, out of nowhere. The Morningstars. Tanek simply couldn't get his head around it. He'd not seen a single one of those freaks since the battle at Nottingham Castle; they'd fucked off and left the rest of them to it, abandoning the Tsar to die at Hood's hands. Now this. Why had they stepped in? What was their argument with him? Or the Germans for that matter?
It just didn't make sense.
But Tanek believed in the evidence of his own eyes. Back there, with those Servitors all around him, their machete blades cutting him in at least half a dozen places, he hadn't questioned the fact that they were there; that they were attacking for no reason. He'd fled, ensuring his own survival. If he lived, then there was always another chance to capture the boy. A good job he had too, because he'd only narrowly avoided a run in with some Rangers on horseback, riding in like the fucking cavalry. It was definitely time to beat a hasty retreat, put some distance between him and the Morningstars, and the Rangers. Once he might have actually stayed and slugged it out with both, despite the superior numbers, but Tanek was on to a good thing with the Germans. And he'd figure out another way to get to De Falaise's child at some point.
His way had been blocked to the jeep so he'd had to escape on foot, losing himself in the woodland area that surrounded the village. Tanek kept looking over his shoulder as he went, nursing the cuts on his arms and torso, trying to stem the bleeding because it would leave a trail.
Tanek didn't like being the hunted, didn't even think of himself that way now. He wasn't some vulnerable prey, and even if they caught up with him they'd wish they hadn't and-
There, in the trees: a noise. Tanek stopped, bringing the knife up and shrugging his crossbow off his shoulder.
There was definitely someone... Yes, movement. There! Tanek fired a bolt, then set off in the opposite direction. There was a rustling from behind, the sound of someone coming after him. Just one or several? He couldn't tell. Tanek was a good distance from New Hope, so they really must have been determined, to follow him this far. But who was it, the cultists or the Rangers? Maybe he should just make a stand, get this over with, use the cover the woods afforded him to turn the tables on his-
The ground suddenly fell away, and Tanek found himself tumbling. Down into a deep hole that had been concealed, just like the secret exit and entrance to New Hope. Whoever had created that must have made this one, he thought as he hit the bottom, hard. It wasn't the Morningstars' style to do something like this.
It was more like Hood's.
Tanek shook his head, attempted to get up, but found he couldn't. He touched the base of his skull and his fingers came away wet. He didn't have long before he blacked out.
A lone figure appeared at the edge of the pit he'd fallen into. Tanek made to raise his crossbow but realised both that weapon and his knife must have slipped out of his grasp during the fall. It didn't matter, he couldn't focus properly on the man anyway. What he could see, though, was that he wasn't wearing red or green. He was wearing black, from head to toe. In fact, as Tanek gazed up, it looked to him very much like a shadow was standing there.
"Hello, Mr Tanek," said. He had a very distinctive accent. "I have been waiting for you."
Tanek attempted to reply, but found his grasp on language was about as good as his grasp on his weapons.
And now he was falling again, into another deep pit.
Filled with darkness.
Filled with shadows.
Chapter Twenty-One
"Can't this thing go any faster?"
Jack's driver - a Ranger called Doherty - shook his head. He was already coaxing all the speed he could out of the jeep, one of the few German vehicles that had survived their attack on the Dragon's power base. Jack gritted his teeth, and slammed his fist on the dashboard. "Damn!"
"I'm sure he'll be okay, sir," Doherty told him.
Jack appreciated the sentiment, but there was no way of knowing. Nobody could see the future, except that mad bat up in Scotland that Robert, Bill and Mary had just seen off, if the rumours about her were correct. There wasn't much to choose between her and the Welshman by the sounds of things. Just thinking about that man's secrets sent a shiver down Jack's spine. In all their years of doing this, standing up to people like the Sheriff and the Tsar, Jack had never come across somebody as deranged as the Dragon. Someone so unbalanced he thought his family was still alive even though they were just a collection of bones. There were so many horror movie references he could have made - the Dragon gave Norman Bates a run for his money for starters - but seeing that in real life... It just proved that fact was stranger than celluloid.
Thankfully, they'd seen the last of him, and the rest of the operation had just been an exercise in clearing up. With a decent amount of Rangers to hand, it hadn't taken them long to seize control. And because the Dragon had deprived the Welsh Rangers of their HQ, it seemed only fitting that they should take over the Millennium Stadium now instead.
"Think of the training you could do on that pitch," Dale had said, after commenting that he'd loved to have played there when it was still used as a concert venue. Dale had been a marvel throughout; not only during his undercover work, but also afterwards, offering to stay and help with the setting up of the new Ranger base. How much of that was to do with Sian, Jack couldn't say - or indeed whether they'd be seeing Dale back at their own HQ in Nottingham again anytime soon - but the lad deserved a break. Why shouldn't he spend it with that pretty gal? Jack reckoned she'd been through just as much, so maybe they could make each other happy.
"You know, I think Meghan's taken quite a shine to you as well," Dale told him.
"Hey now-"
"All I'm saying is think about it, mate. She's really nice." And Jack did have to admit he had a point. In fact she'd even come down to the entrance to see Jack off.
"I hope things work out okay," she told him, then kissed him on the cheek. "I don't know how I can ever thank you and Dale for what you've done."
Jack had felt his face reddening, just as it had once done when he'd helped rescue Adele from t
he Morningstars. It was those kinds of memories which held him back, forced him to keep Meghan at a distance. Not that he was saying she was a traitor or anything; she was far from that. But Jack still had trust issues and they weren't going away anytime soon. "It was all in the line of duty, ma'am," he told her, "nothing more."
But he'd spent the first few miles of travel regretting that cool response. Hoping maybe someday he'd get to put that right. Perhaps get to know Meghan better, become friends, then - No, he wasn't about to jump in again. His poor heart couldn't take another battering like the last one. But Jack was lonely, he had been for some time.
Not that any of this was a priority at the moment; just something to take his mind off his real concern of the day. It was funny; all that fighting, everything that had happened with the Dragon, and the disappearance of just one boy could send him into a tailspin. But then Mark was a very special young man.
They'd always had a connection, Jack and Mark. He remembered their first meeting, when Jack and Robert had fought because the Hooded Man had mistaken him for an intruder in Sherwood. It had been Mark who'd recognised him as The Hammer, a former professional wrestler who the boy had followed on the circuits. Robert had taken Mark's word when he vouched that Jack was one of the good guys, and a good fighter to have on board. Jack had returned the favour by teaching Mark, training him whenever Robert wasn't able, taking him under his wing and showing him all his own moves, plus a few more besides. Mark was family, like Sian was to Meghan. Jack had always thought of himself as an uncle to the boy. Which was why when he'd heard about the kidnapping, he'd told Mary he was on his way back to the castle ASAP.
"Bill's already been told," she explained over the radio, "and he's coming back here. Jack, we need you."
"I'm already there, little lady."
Except he wasn't. It was taking forever in this piece of shit, designed more for protection than speed. It wasn't just the fact that Mark was missing, although that was bad enough. Robert had gone in after him, alone; heading to Sherwood like the note said. Who the Sam Hill was 'S'?
"I'm coming with you," Dale had said when he heard, but Jack had shaken his head.
"You're still getting over being pummelled by the Dragon. No, you stay here and do what you said you were going to do: look after Sian and get things in motion for setting up the base."
"But-"
"You're more use to me here, Dale," he'd insisted, then clapped the lad on the shoulder. "Please." Jack had put him through enough already, sending him on this mission, he didn't want to be worrying about him all over again. They'd hugged and Dale had told him to look after himself. He could tell the kid was worried about Robert and Mark, just as much as he was. Now that they'd got over their difference of opinion about Sophie, those two had become quite good pals.
The radio crackled into life and Jack looked at Doherty. You know what they say about the best laid plans, Jackie-boy. He picked up the receiver and identified himself. It was Mary again, calling from the castle, but he was having trouble hearing her.
"Say again. Over."
"Found... I repeat... Mark... unharmed...."
"Sounded like you said Mark's been found? Over."
"Affirmative."
"Wahooo!" Jack removed his cap and slapped it on his thigh. If he'd been out in the open he might have thrown it into the air. But he was celebrating too soon.
"...missing now..."
"Didn't catch that, Mary. Could you repeat? Over."
"I said..." And he could hear the tears in her voice. "Robert's missing... same... took him... Over." Although he hadn't heard it all, Jack got the picture.
That wiped the smile off his face. They'd been given one member of their family back, only to lose another. Mark had been the lure all along, it seemed, and Robert had been the real target. But what did this 'S' want with their leader? While it was true he had a lot of enemies at home and abroad, why now, and why take him rather than kill him? Jack wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that. There was a distinct possibility that whoever this kidnapper was, or whoever he worked for, wanted to have a little fun with Robert before finishing him off. A slow death. Jack said nothing about this to Mary, but knowing her as he did, she'd probably already thought of it.
"Took him? Took him where?" asked Jack. "Do we have any leads? Over."
There was silence at the other end, static at his. Then Mary said: "Maybe. Over."
Maybe was better than nothing. She wouldn't be drawn on the rest, preferring to wait until Jack was home so she could report in person. It was probably wise - this frequency might well be monitored by third parties.
When he hung up the radio, Jack looked out at the open country roads stretching before them, and then across at Doherty.
"Hey man, can't this thing go any faster?" he repeated.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was the smell that roused him.
This place stank of sweat, even though it was so cold. But there was another aroma he was also quite familiar with; the coppery stench of blood. Plus one that was harder to pin down, distinct and sharp.
Death. That was it. This place smelt of death.
Robert had smelled that many times before in battle. It was rank and he couldn't stand it in his nostrils for long without opening his eyes. Unsurprisingly, it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. And in that time, he felt the ache in his shoulder where the arrow had passed right through. Blinking, he reached up to touch the wound. It had been stitched. The stranger had obviously wanted Robert in one piece before delivering him God knows where. Robert also felt as though he'd slept for decades, drugged obviously, but the result was he at least felt rested.
He shivered. Robert had been stripped down to just his vest and combats, he realised. He blinked a few more times then heard the noise, the sound of people all around - not saying anything, in fact remaining as quiet as they possibly could, but giving themselves away with their breathing.
He put a hand beneath him, feeling concrete. Where in Christ's name was he?
The first thing he saw were people, surrounding him. Lots of people. Some dressed in uniform, some in little more than rags. They were staring at him, and all had that same tired and resigned expression on their faces. The hard lives they'd lived were reflected in every downturned mouth, every crease of the brow. These people were pissed off, Robert just didn't know why.
If it was with Robert, he was in trouble. Kidnapped and dumped here to be pulled to pieces by an angry mob. He couldn't hope to fight off a fifth of them, especially without his weapons, which - yep - he checked again and confirmed he definitely didn't have.
And why was it so bloody cold? Even the harshest spring in England was never this chilly.
There was a groan from behind, and Robert was suddenly aware of someone else on the floor with him. Someone not that far away. He looked around, though the effort of doing so hurt considerably.
The other man was face down on the ground, also just waking up. Robert couldn't see his face yet, but could see a bandage on the back of his head, cuts on arms that, like Robert's wounds, had also been stitched. Our Native American friend's been busy, he thought. Glad it's not just me that he's been dicking around with. Why should I have had all the fun and games?
It did beg the question: what did he have in common with this other prisoner, and could he use that to his advantage? Shadow had nobbled both of them and brought them to this place; that demanded a little payback, didn't it? If nothing else, Robert might have someone to stand alongside as the mob closed in on him and-
The man on the floor put and elbow underneath himself and raised his head. Robert's face fell. He'd seen that on two occasions in the past - when he and Bill had flown into the middle of the fight for Nottingham Castle, and then at Sherwood a little over a year later. This was one of the most dangerous people on the planet, and that was saying something these days. Robert would rather face a dozen Widows than this man.
"Tanek," he said.
Responding to his name, the giant shook his head and opened his eyes. "Hood," he snarled - not even bothering to look at anything else, not the crowds surrounding them, nor the armed guards now dotted here and there. Armed, Robert noted, with AK-47s; meant to keep the people in line, but also maybe to stop him and Tanek from escaping.
When Robert looked back at the large man, he found he was already up and ready to charge at him. Robert rose too, only just avoiding Tanek's assault - but made the same mistake a lot of people had in the past. Assuming that because Tanek was of gargantuan proportions he wasn't that fast or nimble. When Tanek swung round, striking Robert on the back with his laced fists, it felt like a battering ram hitting him. Robert was sent hurtling across the pit. He fell and rolled, wincing when the ground caught his injured shoulder.
But, as woozy as he was, Robert staggered to his feet. He couldn't afford to be lax with this big ape after him. And, sure enough, Tanek was lunging towards him again. This time Robert pretended to duck one way, only to slide the other, bringing his fists down between the bigger man's shoulder-blades. It actually hurt his hands, the man was so solid, but it did unbalance Tanek enough to send him tumbling head over heels. Robert looked around: the crowd was going wild. They weren't here to attack, they were here to watch him and Tanek fight. There was even a cordon, almost totally obscured by the throngs of people. Keeping them back and the contenders in.
