by Paul Kane
Robert slipped in and out of consciousness. He was back in the dreamworld suddenly, back at the lake of fire - then he was here, at the market square. There seemed little difference. The Sheriff came at him, but he couldn't tell whether it was real or an illusion. The man appeared out of the flames, burnt, his clothes smouldering, but he wasn't stopping.
It was only when his sabre descended that Robert realised this was no dream. He rolled over and the blade connected with the concrete, clinking loudly. Robert struggled with his own sword, but couldn't disentangle it from his belt at this angle.
De Falaise struck again. "I will kill you," he said, his face wild.
Robert kicked out, knocking his attacker backwards and reversing the descent of the sabre. While De Falaise wobbled back, Robert clambered to his feet, and finally pulled the broadsword from his belt. When the Sheriff attacked this time, metal clashed against metal. The strokes were clumsy - only to be expected from such inexperienced swordsmen - but any one could have ended the fight, skewering through flesh.
Neither man had the strength to really fight anymore, so in that respect they were evenly matched. After several slashes at each other with the swords, they grabbed one another's wrists at the same time. Robert squeezed as hard as he could, forcing De Falaise to let go of his sabre, while his opposite number followed suit, wrenching Robert's arm forward and aggravating his shoulder. Robert let go of the broadsword and it landed with a clatter.
They locked eyes, set against a backdrop of flames. It was clear that they recognised this scene, and knew what came next. Letting go of wrists, they went for each other's throats. Both men found reserves of energy, just enough to try and choke the life out of each other. Robert had a slight edge, and could feel De Falaise's grip on him weakening.
Too late, he remembered the dream - and what the Frenchman had done in it. Robert let go of De Falaise's throat, just in time to move back and see the knife as it was shoved into him. The crazed Sheriff had torn the weapon - a sharpened table knife - from his own leg and had been aiming for Robert's gut. It embedded itself in his side instead, but was no less painful.
Their faces centimetres apart, the Sheriff snarled. "And so it ends, English."
"Everything ends eventually." Robert headbutted De Falaise, causing him to let go of the knife and stagger backwards.
At the same time, Robert reached into his quiver, taking out an arrow. He held it as he would have done a dagger, then shoved it into De Falaise's open mouth, ramming it home.
The Sheriff's eyes widened and he clawed at his throat, choking as he might have done on a fishbone.
"That was for Mark. This is for Gwen and Mary."
Robert took out another couple of arrows, and this time shoved them into those eye sockets, snapping off the ends as he did so.
De Falaise couldn't scream, so he just gargled in agony, toppling to the floor, where he writhed about.
Robert stood above him, holding his side. "And this," he said, pulling out a final arrow. "This is for the rest of us."
De Falaise held up a quivering hand, but Robert ignored it, bent down, and plunged the arrowhead into the man's heart, hard and deep. The Sheriff twitched for a few more moments, then lay still.
Breathing heavily, Robert rolled off the corpse, still holding his side. He lay beside the Frenchman, not able to move any more - and to the casual observer there might have seemed hardly anything to choose between them. Two dead men, covered in blood.
But one was alive. Even after everything he'd been through - even after willing it to happen - Robert was still alive. The difference was, today he was glad of the fact.
He felt something, someone at the side of him. If he'd had the energy he would have brought up the knife still in his side, defended himself in case it was another attacker. But he didn't. So he was glad when the face that appeared above him was a familiar, friendly one.
"Yay you..." said Mary half croaking out the words. She wasn't in a much better state, her face all banged up, dried blood at her nostrils - yet it was still beautiful in spite of all that.
Robert laughed at her words, coughing, and when he did his shoulder and side felt like they were on fire, while the actual fire on the square was seemingly burning itself out. "Yay... Yay us," he managed.
Mary smiled and kissed his forehead, her hand reaching down and helping to stem the blood flow at his side.
"You... you finished with my clothes now?" he asked her.
"Why, you going to need this old Hood again, Robin?" she asked him.
He smiled weakly, the sound of vehicles in the distance reaching his ears. Maybe it was De Falaise's men fleeing? he thought. But when he saw Mary waving he knew it had to be his own men, drawn to the place by the smoke from the crashed vehicles.
It could mean only one thing. The battle for the castle, for Nottingham and the region, was finally over. Certainly the villain of the tale was dead...
But what of the war?
What of the future?
Those were questions for another time, another day, he told himself as he closed his eyes.
Yes, those were questions for another day entirely...
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
If he hadn't wanted to be found, he wouldn't have let her.
But Robert was getting better at allowing Mary to track him down these days - getting better at letting her in. It would still take time, and she knew that. This wasn't some magical fairy story, and he couldn't simply erase the past. She wouldn't expect him to. Though yesterday seemed increasingly distant the more time that passed and the more time he spent with her.
"They said you'd come to the forest." Mary joined him in the clearing. It was the same one she'd followed him to that night, when they'd both seen the stag - except now the leaves were turning autumn gold. He knew that once she would have said it all looked the same, but now she actually recognised the place... he could tell from her expression.
"They were right," he said.
"You're waiting for it to come back again, aren't you?"
Robert sighed. "It won't, I know that."
Mary closed the gap between them. "You miss this place..."
He nodded. It had been two months since they'd taken over the castle, but he'd come back here often. He just couldn't settle. Bill, Jack, Tate, they had things running pretty smoothly now they were all fully recovered - thanks in no small part to Mary's attentions and a few other medical people who'd stepped forward. The soldiers who hadn't fled had been either placed under arrest until they worked out what to do with them, or offered a minor post in their ranks... under supervision, of course. The dead, like Granger, had been buried - not cremated, Robert hadn't allowed that - and words had been said by their graves in the grounds, near to the war memorial. They'd done this for their men and for those who'd sided with De Falaise. After all, many of them hadn't had a choice. Some had, of course - some wanted the power that came with serving their demented master. Men like Tanek, whose body could not be found anywhere after the battle ("There's no way he was getting up after what I did t'him," Bill said, but still there was no sign of the man...). At any rate, word had gone out to the villages, and through the markets, that there was a new force in Nottingham, a force that wouldn't tolerate violence or stealing or attacks on the communities it sheltered. If the region was to stand again on its own two feet, it would need policing; it would need defending. And they were the ones to do it.
Still he'd been thinking about coming back, even though he hadn't said anything aloud. But every time he stepped foot inside the forest, he felt it. Something was missing; something had changed.
"You don't belong here anymore, you know," Mary said, her little finger brushing his. "What you came here to run away from..."
"Mary, don't," he said, but she pressed on anyway.
"What you wound up doing here... It's over. You have a different life now, a chance at a new beginning."
(Robert had a sudden flash of De Falaise in his head then, heard
what he'd said during their last fight. "It is only just beginning, mon ami...")
"There's no need to run anymore. And they need you back there," Mary went on. "Mark needs you." Now Robert saw a picture of the boy... the man who'd had to grow up so fast. He remembered the first time he got a chance to speak to him after the battle, once they'd both rested up and gained their strength back. Mark's hand was bandaged, so was Robert's side. A right pair they'd made. Robert told him how very proud he was of him, how brave he'd been holding out under torture. Mark looked at him, fighting back the tears, then he'd hugged Robert - so hard he had to suck in a breath from the pain, but he'd endured it gladly. For a little while the child in Mark had returned; it was nice to see.
"They all need you. And... and I do too."
Robert nodded slowly. "How's Gwen?" he asked, changing the subject.
"The Reverend's looking after her. She's really starting to show now; late bloomer I guess. She's still convinced it's Clive's, though. A legacy of their love."
"Better for her if she carries on thinking that." Gwen's would be the first baby born in the castle, but the more time his men spent out there in the villages, the more relationships were blossoming. It wouldn't be long before other children came along. Each one would give them all new hope.
"And how's your side today?" she asked him.
"Better. Still twinges, especially now it's turning cold, but it's okay." Mary had seen to that too. A proper little medico she'd become, whether she intended to or not.
"You'll live, eh?" She smiled. "That's my Robert... So, are we going back to the castle or do I have to stick a needle in you again?"
"I still haven't forgiven you for the last time." He laughed softly and took hold of her hand.
Mary looked down and squeezed it. "Come on, there's still lots to do - and it looks like it might rain anytime. Let's go home." Now she tugged on the hand, and for a moment or two he held fast. Then he relented, turning, walking with her out of the clearing, back towards their jeeps on the outskirts of Sherwood.
There was a noise behind them, something in the undergrowth. Robert looked over his shoulder quickly and caught a glimpse - or was it his imagination? A flash of antlers against the green. Then it was gone.
"What is it?" Mary said craning her neck to see.
"Nothing," he told her. "Nothing at all."
As they walked, Mary chatted, but he wasn't really listening to her. He was taking in the trees, remembering the first time he came here. The reason why he'd hidden away...
Suddenly he recalled what Stevie had said the first time he'd finished reading him his favourite storybook.
"Is that it? Is that the end of the adventure, Dad? What happens to them all afterwards?"
Robert couldn't answer him, nor the many times after that he'd asked, because he didn't know. Robert still didn't know. What did come after the end? Peace? Love? Or would they find themselves having to deal with another threat one day? What came afterwards?
What came next?
With his free hand, Robert reached up and pulled his hood over his head.
Then, falling in step with Mary, he walked to the edge of the forest without looking back.
Knowing that there was one - and only one - sure way to find out...
THE END
Acknowledgements
A big thank you to Trevor Preston for all the sound military and weapons help, and for answering all my niggling little questions; you're a complete star. Thanks to the staff at Nottingham Castle for the tour around the caves and especially to Pete Barnsdale who took us round the castle early in the morning before the crowds arrived. Ditto to the people at Sherwood Forest Visitors Centre and Rufford Abbey Country Park, plus thanks to Nottingham County Council for the use of the quote at the beginning of this book. Thank you to David Bamford for the help with checking historical details. Thanks to my friends and family for all their support not just while writing this, but during the last twelve years as I've been making my way in the writing biz. A special thanks to John B. Ford who gave me that all important first break and has been encouraging me ever since. A huge thank you to Jonathan Oliver who saw the potential of the idea, and Mark Harrison for bringing my protagonist to life. Thanks to Simon Spurrier for letting me play in his sandpit, and to Scott Andrews and Jaspre Bark for the opportunity of being part of something bigger than the whole. Thanks to Richard Carpenter for creating what will always be, for me, the definitive Hood in the 80s; without him my version would not exist. And lastly a 'words are not enough' thank you, as always, to my wife Marie. The first person to read this and offer such excellent advice. Love ya, sweetheart.
Paul Kane has been writing professionally for twelve years. His genre journalism has appeared in such magazines as The Dark Side, Death Ray, Fangoria, SFX, Dreamwatch and Rue Morgue, and his first non-fiction book was the critically acclaimed The Hellraiser Films and Their Legacy, introduced by Doug 'Pinhead' Bradley. His short stories have appeared in many magazines and anthologies on both sides of the Atlantic, in all kinds of formats (as well as being broadcast on BBC Radio 2), and have been collected in Touching the Flame and FunnyBones. His novella Signs of Life reached the shortlist of the British Fantasy Awards 2006 and The Lazarus Condition was introduced by Mick Garris, creator of Masters of Horror. In his capacity as Special Publications Editor of the British Fantasy Society he worked with authors such as Brian Aldiss, Ramsey Campbell, Muriel Gray, Graham Masterton, Robert Silverberg and many more. In 2008 his zombie story 'Dead Time' was turned into an episode of the Lionsgate/NBC TV series Fear Itself, adapted by Steve Niles (30 Days of Night) and directed by Darren Lynn Bousman (SAW II-IV). Paul's website, which has featured guest writers such as Stephen King, James Herbert, Neil Gaiman and Clive Barker, can be found at www.shadow-writer.co.uk He currently lives in Derbyshire, UK, with his wife - the author Marie O'Regan - his family, and a black cat called Mina.
