by Paul Kane
Tanek looked around, hardly flinching as bullets ricocheted off the building behind. It was then that he saw her. His eyes narrowed and he pointed, as if to say ‘I’m coming for you.’ Gwen had to admit, she was scared. Probably the first time she had been since the castle. Not for herself – for her son. Because she could see now that De Falaise’s old second in command was on a mission, and he wasn’t about to let anyone get in his way. Without looking, he held his crossbow out to the side and shot another villager – a young woman this time – twice. One bolt between her breasts and another in her temple.
So much death. Too much, thought Gwen. But this wasn’t over yet.
She was distracted by Jeffreys being dragged out of the doctor’s surgery. He was pleading with the soldier who had hold of him.
“Where is the boy?” asked the German.
Jeffreys said nothing, so the soldier shot him in the shoulder. Jeffreys screamed and clasped his hand to the wound. The soldier put the gun to Jeffreys’ head. “The boy!”
Jeffreys glanced over to where Gwen was standing, and she gave a small shake of the head, pleading with him not to do it. But she could already see in his eyes he’d made the decision. He pointed at Gwen’s house. “In there. Please don’t –” His final words were silenced by the blam! of the pistol as it blew his brains out.
Gwen felt nothing at his death, the betrayal still stinging. She couldn’t even consider what she might have done in his position; could only think about the fact her son’s location had been given away. The German was already motioning towards Tanek.
“No!” shouted Gwen, training her rifle on the soldier who’d just killed Jeffreys. She opened fire, the bullets smacking into his body, so many he was lifted off his feet. Perhaps she thought that by killing him she could somehow turn back time; erase what had just happened.
But nothing could do that and, as Tanek began to head towards her home, Gwen ran. She was halted by a rain of bullets from a semi-circle of soldiers who appeared out of nowhere. Gwen fired into them, but such was the intensity of the return fire that she had to duck back behind a wall. If she fell here, then Clive Jr was as good as Tanek’s.
Gwen peered round the corner and let off a few more rounds. Then she was empty. There were no more magazines left, so she dropped the rifle and took out her pistol, cocking it. She reached down for the knife she kept strapped to her ankle.
She came out, making every shot with the pistol count, taking out four soldiers with the first volley. Gwen threw herself down and slashed at another soldier’s calves with her knife, causing him to drop to one knee. Then she plunged the knife in his ribs. He toppled over onto his face, twitching.
Gwen rose with one eye still on Tanek, who was about to enter her house.
“Gwen! Watch out!” she heard, and then she was being pushed out of the way, falling to the ground and landing awkwardly on her shoulder. She looked up as bullets hit her rescuer. It was Andy, who’d staggered out of the doctor’s, perhaps in the vain hope he might be able to help Jeffreys. Instead he’d taken about a dozen bullets for her. He turned towards her, an expression of disbelief on his face.
“Andy!” she cried. But it was too late. He was beyond hearing her.
Squeezing off a few rounds in the direction of the German machine-guns, she didn’t waste the opportunity he’d given her. She raced after Tanek, just as someone came crashing through the living room window of her house. The body was covered in shattered glass, and rolled a few times before stopping. Darryl.
“No... Christ in Heaven, no!” she wailed.
Tanek emerged from her place, carrying a crying Clive Jr – holding him by the scruff of his T-shirt and brandishing the crossbow as if daring anyone to take the child from him.
“No!” she screamed, running forward. Then, suddenly, she was aware of the fact that she wasn’t moving anymore. Her leg had given out, and a white hot pain spread through her thigh. Looking down, she saw the bolt there, embedded deep. She began to crawl, holding up her pistol with a shaky hand but not daring to fire in case she hit her son. Gwen was a good shot, but not that good, especially in this condition. Then another bolt slammed into her shoulder, causing her to drop the gun altogether.
Machine-gun fire continued unabated all around as the pain kicked in, and she realised that no one was going to ride in and save the day. Not Robert and his Rangers, not anybody. He’d probably left her to it just to spite her, assuming Karen had even made it to the castle.
“If only De Falaise could see you now,” Tanek shouted over the noise.
“L-leave my son alone, you bastard!”
“Sorry, I made a promise.”
What promise? Gwen didn’t understand what all this was about. Wasn’t really interested – all she wanted was her son back. She would give anything for that.
Tanek raised his crossbow once again, aiming at her heart. “And now your role in the story ends.”
It was at that moment Clive Jr began to wriggle and kick out. Tanek pressed the trigger, and the bolt went off target, but still hit Gwen, just below the ribs. She sucked in air through her teeth as it sank in.
At the same time there was a hissing sound. More smoke bombs had been thrown into New Hope, but they didn’t originate from the hole. And it didn’t appear to be the Germans who’d set them off. They looked at each other, mystified, as red smoke filled the area. Tanek looked over, frowning.
Gwen squinted, catching glimpses of figures in the smoke, moving through the German troops. Taking them down with the kind of skill her villagers would never possess. Professional fighters, even more professional than the Germans. Gwen grimaced from the pain, but started to feel a glimmer of hope, especially when she saw a hood. Karen made it after all! And it looked like she’d brought back company.
There was only one thing wrong. Where were the arrows? Where were the bolas those men favoured? She saw a flash of metal. Yes, swords: they used swords instead of conventional weaponry. But, when one of the hooded figures appeared beside a German soldier, bringing down his blade across the man’s wrists and severing his hands, Gwen knew this wasn’t Robert and his men. Blood pumped from the soldier’s wrists as he raised them, looking uncomprehendingly at the stumps. He didn’t have to suffer for long, though, because the hooded figure twirled and cut off his head in one quick, clean stroke. It was as the blade lowered that Gwen saw it wasn’t a broadsword he was holding, but a machete.
And the colour of the hood had nothing to do with the red smoke that plumed around the figure, because the material was red to begin with. Morningstar Servitors!
Tanek recognised this, he’d spent long enough working with them when they’d allied themselves with the Tsar. They’d thought the Russian was their chosen leader on earth or something, but had abandoned him soon after the fight for the castle.
Here and there, Gwen saw snatches of what was happening out in the crimson smog: a German soldier firing into the mist, but hitting nothing, only for a machete blade to appear in the centre of his chest; another German firing a pistol off to one side, arm outstretched, and then the next moment a blade coming out of nowhere, hacking his arm off at the elbow. It was a similar story everywhere you looked: a leg here, a hand there. The Servitors – and yes, there were definitely more than one – were everywhere and nowhere at once. Finally, Gwen saw one German staggering through the smoke, his rifle held close, eyes darting left and right – when a hooded figure materialized behind him and planted his machete deep into the man’s head, practically slicing it in two.
It was clear the Germans didn’t know quite what had hit them, and they were rapidly losing the battle. Tanek shot a couple of bolts at the approaching men, but in spite of his precision they didn’t end up anywhere near the targets. As they moved forwards, holding their machetes in one hand, they removed their cowls with the others, revealing those skull faces Gwen knew so well. Tanek shot again, but found he was out of bolts. To change the magazine, he had to drop Clive Jr. Her son began crying even loud
er as he was dumped unceremoniously on the ground. Tanek reloaded quickly, loosing a couple of bolts – hitting nothing. But when he reached down to retrieve the child, Clive Jr had disappeared. Gwen hadn’t seen him vanish, either; perhaps he’d got up and toddled off into the smoke?
Whatever the case, Tanek had other matters to deal with. The Servitors were closing in, and no matter where he shot, Tanek didn’t seem to be able to land a hit. It was like he was attacking the fog itself.
Slinging the weapon over his shoulder, he brought out his knife and prepared for hand-to-hand. The Servitors rushed him as one, machete blades swishing. Tanek avoided the first of the blows, grabbing one Servitor – not so insubstantial now – and throwing him into three of his brethren, who tumbled to the ground like bowling skittles. But one of the machetes caught Tanek a glancing blow across the forearm and he roared.
Gwen attempted to move, to crawl forward and search for her son, but her whole body cried out in agony. She tried to call his name, but doubted whether he could hear her. “C-Clive, sweetheart, where are you? It’s... it’s Mummy.”
She gritted her teeth, severely hampered by her wounds but desperate to find her son. Suddenly, in front of her, was a set of feet. Gwen looked slowly up, and there he was, hood removed.
It was the man who’d saved her once from the castle, this time without his skull make-up. He was here again to save her. And he was holding Clive Jr in his arms, safely returned to her. Gwen couldn’t help herself; she began to cry. “Th-thank you,” she whispered. She didn’t know what else to say, there weren’t the words to express how she felt. Gwen held up a trembling hand to take her child. But the man she’d once known only as Skullface cocked his head, frowning. It was then that she saw it: the tears tracking down his face, the humanity she’d sensed in him before. Yet still he held on to her child...
The smoke was clearing a little. The circle of Servitors remained, but there was no sign of Tanek, and there were more new arrivals. At first Gwen thought they were Servitor reinforcements, but these people in hoods were on horseback, and were armed with bows and arrows. Karen was with them, riding with a shocked-looking Reverend Tate, who immediately ordered the Rangers to shoot at the Servitors. “No, wait!” Gwen wanted to shout, but didn’t have the voice anymore. It came out as a croak.
Tate had dismounted and was leading a team across the square. A couple of the Rangers had engaged the Servitors in swordplay. The Reverend was limping towards Gwen and her saviour, 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 had the strength Tate probably wouldn’t have believed her. The man who’d come to her aid looked from Gwen to the Reverend, and 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. In moments, the 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, 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, machete wounds 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 around the village. Tanek kept looking over his shoulder as he went, nursing the cuts on his arms and torso, trying to stem the bleeding for fear of leaving 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 –
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 loosed a bolt, then set off in the opposite direction. There was a rustling from behind, the sound of someone coming after him. One or several? He couldn’t tell. Tanek was a good distance from New Hope; they 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; concealed, like the secret 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 both that 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, with a strange, 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 the others had just seen off, if the rumours about her were true. There wasn’t much to choose between her and the Welshman, by the sounds of things. Just thinking about it 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 kept his family’s bones as some sort of puppet show, to convince himself they’d never died. 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... 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 number 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 afterwards, offering to stay and help with setting up 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; maybe they could make each other happy.
