by Paul Kane
Robert himself jabbed the blunt end of his axe into another guard’s stomach, bringing it up and knocking the man backwards, taking him down without serious injury. He refused to do as Tanek had and just kill the armed men surrounding them. That was the difference between them, and always would be.
There was gunfire as the remaining guards attempted to get the gladiators to move back into position. To fight each other again, not them. Robert ducked and rolled, lashing out with the handle of the axe to knock a rifle out of a guard’s hand. Then he whacked another over the head with the flat of the blade. Twirling, he saw a gunman draw a bead on him and fire, so he raised the axe, holding his breath as the bullets pinged off the metal. “No, you idiots!” Bohuslav screamed from above. “I want them alive. If they will not kill each other, then I will have the satisfaction of ending both their lives!” He ordered one of his personal troopers to gun down the pit guard who’d fired on Robert. At least that would work in their favour, thought Robert; the others wouldn’t dare shoot to kill now.
More gunfire, this time from behind him. Tanek with the first guard’s rifle, spraying bullets into the air, sending the crowd into a panic. It provided necessary cover, but then he shot at more guards on the lower level, hitting chests, heads and stomachs.
“No! Wound them, Tanek. Just –”
Another burst told Robert the giant wouldn’t listen. Life meant very little to Tanek, and it was too late to try and change him. For a second Robert wondered what would happen if it came down to him and the giant? If he couldn’t take him alive? Would he himself do as he’d done to De Falaise, to the Tsar? Kill, to rid the world of another monster? And wasn’t there more than a hint of good old-fashioned revenge, as well? Didn’t he want retribution for all the things Tanek had done to them, to Mark and Jack in particular?
Another smattering of machine-gun fire, now targeted at the viewing platform. Robert looked up to see the Native American withdrawing; this wasn’t his fight. But Robert needed something from him, wanted back what the man had taken.
He looked around and saw Tanek’s discarded shield on the ground. He slipped it along one arm until it covered his shoulder, then made a play for the platform, ducking beneath the cordon. Robert pushed through both the guards and the crowd.
“Hood!” roared Tanek. “Leave him!”
Robert cast the axe aside and began to climb towards the ledge. It was a struggle, his muscles and shoulder on fire, but he had to get up there and follow the man in black. It was more important right now than anything else, even getting his hands on Bohuslav.
Bohuslav’s guards were now leaning over the rail, firing at Robert. He pulled his arm across, letting the bullets bounce off the shield. They sparked around him and he wondered how much more the metal could take. In the lull of changing magazines, he urged himself upwards. The threat of being shot at again was a distinct incentive.
Just as one guard was about to open fire, Robert put on a final spurt and grabbed the barrel of his rifle, pulling him over the ledge. Another man turned and aimed at Robert’s head, but was slashed across the back of the neck by Bohuslav. He wanted to kill his captive personally, which was warping the Tsar’s judgement, and for that Robert was grateful.
“Hood!” he heard Tanek shout up again, and risked a look over his shoulder. He saw the giant making his way through the panicking throng.
Robert pulled the shield down to his forearm and struck an oncoming guard full in the face, sending him crashing onto his back. There were now only a couple left – and Bohuslav. Robert bent when one of the remaining guards attempted to restrain him, lifting the man and pitching him over onto the ground before kicking him across the face. The final one he dispatched by bringing up the shield again and catching him under the chin.
There was a swishing sound and Robert leaned to his right as Bohuslav’s sickle came down. Then he ducked a sideswing, aiming to catch him across the face. “I was intending to savour this, but I should just get it over with,” Bohuslav told him. “Now, where did we leave things last time? Ah yes, I was about to end your life.” The mad Russian lashed out again and Robert brought up the shield to block him.
“Hood! He’s mine!” came Tanek’s distinctive rumble from beneath them. It said a lot for what Tanek thought of Bohuslav’s chances against him.
Robert brought up the shield again, deflecting another blow. “You can have him,” Robert answered, then pushed forward, taking Bohuslav to the very edge of the rail.
“No... Wait...” said Bohuslav, but Robert shoved again, harder this time, tipping the man over.
Bohuslav managed to grab one of the bars, his cape flowing behind him. Robert placed his boot on Bohuslav’s fingers. “You two deserve each other,” he told the man, then removed his foot. “Happy landings!”
Leaving Bohuslav to fall, Robert headed off through the doorway of what had once been the office, in search of the Native American.
It led out into a corridor, and Robert now realised he was in some kind of abandoned warehouse. Checking doors left and right, holding the shield up in case there were more guards with guns inside, he ventured up the corridor, following the trail of the man who’d brought him here. The man in black had a head start, that was true, but Robert had to hope he’d just carried on in a straight line, since his tracking abilities were all over the place at the moment. For all the Native American knew, Robert was still occupied downstairs; with a bit of luck, he hadn’t tried to hide his trail too much.
And suddenly there he was: up ahead, a shadow amongst the shadows. Like the professional he was, the Native American felt Robert behind him, casting a quick glance over his shoulder, then picking up his pace. There was a bend coming up, which the Native American negotiated quickly.
Damn, I’m going to lose him, thought Robert, speeding up.
When he rounded the corner, he found the man in black had waited. The first blow struck Robert across the chin; a warning. “Do not follow me.”
“Like Hell. You have something that belongs to me.”
The man grimaced, then came at Robert again, this time with a knife suddenly in hand, slashing furiously. Robert could do nothing but use the shield to fend off the attack. The blows rained down hard, knocking the battered metal from his arm. “My quarrel is not with you,” the kidnapper told him.
“You should have thought of that before,” Robert replied, grabbing the Native American’s arm, bringing it down on his knee and forcing the weapon out of the man’s grasp.
The response was a fighting move Robert hadn’t come across before, somewhere between wrestling and kung fu. It took Robert’s legs out from under him, coupled with a swift elbow to the stomach. “I will not say this again. Do not follow me.”
Robert was getting ready to rise again, so the man in black gave him a kick to keep him down.
“Hey, you,” Robert heard a voice. “I think we’ve got unfinished business.” A fist slammed into the Native American’s face, hard. It knocked him back against the corridor’s wall. Robert couldn’t see who’d delivered it at first, uitil a hooded figure stepped out, following up his first move with a roundhouse kick. “I owe you this!”
The figure pulled back his cowl and it was Mark, his son, last seen tied to a tree, his head covered in dried blood. Robert didn’t question it; he got up, and while the man in black was still disoriented, Robert snatched his bag he’d been carrying – the one the Tsar’s guards had given him. Mark had his bow and arrow out already and was covering the Native American at close range, the tip of the arrow pointing directly at the man’s head. “So much as a twitch,” warned Mark, jabbing the weapon even closer. “Go on, try me.”
Robert smiled; the boy had come on in leaps and bounds since his training had begun and, given the circumstances, he was proud. “Now, let’s see what this was all about.” Robert opened the bag and looked inside. He looked up, puzzled. Then he took out the single object inside: a stone.
“This is what you sold us out for?”
<
br /> “I don’t expect you to understand. You do not even understand your own heritage.”
“I understand enough. What did you do, out there in the forest? How do we put things back to... to normal?”
It seemed a strange thing to say and Mark glanced at him, but they both knew what he meant. It wasn’t exactly normal to dream about things that were going to happen, to have a connection with nature that gave you strength and health, but it was their normal. If Robert had been a superhero, then this man had found his weakness. He looked again at the stone he was holding. “Is this it? Is this the way to put things right again? Destroy this?” Robert made as if to drop it on the floor.
“No!” shouted the Native American, holding out his hand. Mark drew back his bow even further. “No... please don’t do that.”
That got his attention anyway, thought Robert. “Okay, so tell us, or I really will break your precious stone.”
Shadow sighed, slumping back against the wall. He reached down to his belt. Mark tensed, but Shadow held up one hand to show that he was only reaching for another small pouch.
“Easy, mate. Nice and slow. We’ve both seen what you keep inside those things. I don’t fancy another nap.”
“You asked for the way. This is it,” explained the man. He threw the pouch to Robert, who looked inside.
“Looks like ash. What is this?”
“You must take it back to your forest. Release it there and the spirits, your gods, will be freed.” When they both frowned, he continued: “It must mix with the essence of your spiritual home. Now, hand me back what you have taken.”
“How do we know this will wor–” Robert didn’t finish the sentence; gunfire filled the corridor. Russian soldiers were approaching. Everyone ducked, and Robert tossed the stone over to the man in black to free his hands, then shoved the pouch of ashes in his pocket. Mark shifted his aim to fire on the Russians, which left their enemy free to nock his own bow, after tucking away his prize.
At first, Robert thought the man might actually shoot at them. Instead, he let off a couple of precisely aimed arrows at the guards. Robert nodded to him and the Native American nodded back. But then he was off, running towards the Russians, leaping over their heads. Mark was about to shoot at him when Robert placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let him go. We have other problems.”
They certainly did, as automatic fire raked the walls. Rounding the corner, Mark pressed himself up against the pock-marked plaster and shot at the men. Robert had already grabbed the shield to protect himself from the barrage and joined him. “Now what?” asked Mark.
“Fall back,” Robert told him. They backed up the corridor until they reached one of the rooms Robert had checked on the way. “Inside. Cover us.”
Hiding behind the doorframe, Mark continued to pull arrow after arrow from his quiver. Robert called for Mark, pointing to the window. His son loosed a few more arrows to buy them some time, then followed Robert as he ran at the window, using the shield to break the glass and then plummeting towards the ground.
Robert hit the concrete below badly, but it would have been much worse were it not for the shield and the thick snow covering the street. Tiny shards of glass followed, sprinkling Robert as he watched Mark bend and take the strain on his much younger knees, dropping perfectly beside him. They were somewhere round the side of the warehouse, in a deserted alley. Deserted, that was, apart from what looked like frozen statues lying on the ground. The slowly decomposing dead, who thawed in warmer weather, then refroze when the snow returned.
“Come on,” Mark said, helping him up and looking above him to where the Russian soldiers were now taking up firing positions at the window. “Time we weren’t here.”
Robert couldn’t agree more, but as they rounded the corner of the building they were stopped dead in their tracks. Assembled at the front of the warehouse was a vast collection of jeeps, tanks and other armoured vehicles, and dozens of soldiers with rifles. And they were all trained in Robert and Mark’s direction.
The air filled with the clack of weapons being cocked, as Robert saw the new Tsar stumble through the main doors of the warehouse. What had happened to Tanek, he had no clue.
Bohuslav grinned slyly when he saw the scene.
“What are you waiting for? Execute them!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE FIGHT HAD been a vicious one, but it had been he who’d been victorious.
He’d often wondered in the time since their last meeting – in the time since their first meeting, as a matter of fact – who would be the eventual winner. Both of them were sadistic bastards, quick to kill by whatever methods were available. But also, if time allowed, keen to savour the act of extinguishing life itself.
That hadn’t been an option today, but Bohuslav didn’t care. He’d tried to do this the slow way, to make Tanek and Hood perform a little before their deaths. But now it was over for at least one of them, he felt good. And he felt all the better for having got it over and done with quickly.
When Hood pushed him over that ledge, he’d thought that was the end of it. The bastard had practically kicked him off into the lion’s den. Luckily, Bohuslav knew how to fall – and who to fall on, making use of a couple of guards and civilians below. He’d walked away relatively unscathed, but that had just been the start of it.
Tanek had been rushing towards him by the time he found his feet again. Bohuslav had just about managed to dodge the first attack, stumbling over the bodies he’d fallen on. As he rose, Bohuslav wielded his hammer, aiming for the big lug’s fingers. Tanek had let out a cry as they opened in pain, his axe flying out of his grasp. With his good hand, Tanek grabbed the length of the hammer and tugged, pulling Bohuslav in for a head butt. It was a glancing blow which opened up a cut over his right eye, disorientating him long enough for Tanek to yank the hammer from his clutches.
Tanek swung it, but Bohuslav ducked, slashing at Tanek with his sickle and inflicting a wound on Tanek’s side. The giant snarled, bringing down the hammer on Bohuslav’s shoulder and almost dislocating it. Bohuslav lashed out with the sickle again, slicing open Tanek’s forearm and forcing him to drop the weapon. The larger man dived on him and they rolled over and over, the floor relatively empty now that the crowds had thinned. People were racing for the exit now that the majority of guards were either dead or wounded.
When they came to a stop in the middle of the fighting pit, Bohuslav found himself on top. Before he could embed his sickle in Tanek’s flesh, though, the giant had thrown him off, flinging the Tsar onto his back.
As Tanek was getting to his feet, Bohuslav was already crawling around him. He slashed at the tendons at the back of the big man’s ankles, severing one and cutting almost all the way through the other. Tanek dropped onto his knees, but still whirled grabbing at Bohuslav.
The Tsar had discovered the axe Hood had abandoned. Seizing it as he climbed to his feet, he ran at Tanek with the weapon. The big man grabbed it just below the blade, squeezing the wood. Bohuslav could feel the power in that hand still, even after he’d struck it with the hammer. Tanek was threatening to break the handle in his grip, or at least snatch it away from Bohuslav. It was time to finish things.
“I will kill you,” Tanek said.
Bohuslav jerked sideways suddenly, causing the end to snap off, but he’d put enough weight behind the move that the wooden shaft carried on moving... into Tanek’s chest, rammed through a good few inches. The big man opened his eyes wide, looking down at the wood. “Just... just like the Sheriff...” he said, a slight smile playing on his lips. Lips that were growing redder by the second. “No... I must live... the promise... the –”
Then he fell and Bohuslav stood over him, watching as he breathed his last. To make sure, he bent and cut the man’s throat open from one side to the other. “Goodbye, Tanek,” he spat. Then he began hobbling towards the door, leaving the body of the giant behind.
Bohuslav made it to the main entrance, the last person to leave,
and was stunned by what he saw. He’d assumed Hood had already fled, that he’d have to send out a search party to bring the escapee back: one dead, one to go. But here was the man himself, in pretty bad shape by the looks of things, being helped by one of his lot; a lone man sent in to free him. Ridiculous, the arrogance of those Rangers!
What made the picture perfect, however, was the forces already summoned to tackle him – a guard must have sounded the alarm. Even Bohuslav was impressed with the speed with which his men had assembled, the sheer force of vehicles and soldiers that had gathered.
Looking across at Hood and smiling, he gave the order to kill them.
It was only then that Bohuslav noticed the men were not wearing the grey uniforms of his own army. Yes, they were similar – very similar, in fact – but there were subtle differences. For one thing the symbol worn on the shoulders of their uniform was different. A symbol from history, familiar yet updated, formed of overlapping squares. A shape that had struck terror into millions during the 1930s and 40s. And the vehicles weren’t of Russian origin either. Not the standard issue they’d used against Hood back in England, nor those he’d been building up since. Bohuslav had become quite an expert in scavenged military gear, and he knew which army had once used these vehicles. Which country.
The deciding factor had been when their commander had ordered for the troops to turn on him: turning their guns away from Hood and his Ranger, towards the Tsar.
“Wait,” said Bohuslav, holding up his hands. “Wait a second –”
The commander shouted for them to open fire.
Bohuslav barely had time to breathe out, “God forgive me,” before the soldiers pulled their triggers.
ROBERT AND MARK’S mouths fell open.
They’d thought this was it. That death had finally caught up with them. Staring down the barrels of so many guns and cannons, how could they possibly cheat death again this time? Robert felt more sorry for Mark than for himself; the boy had never really had time to become a man, to become the great Ranger Robert knew he would someday. Now all that was about to end.
