the shell flew overhead, whistling as it went. But the cannon's aim had been spoiled by the prang, and it flew over the top of the group. It cut through the mist, and exploded somewhere off in the trees beyond. But it was enough to blow those who weren't already on the ground off their feet, dust mixing with the mist coming in from the forest.
He had no time to check whether Mary, or indeed any of the others, were okay, because the hatch of the AFV was opening. A soldier, probably the driver, was climbing out. Or rather, was being
Robert swore loudly, then got up on one knee. Bullets came again and he rolled, sideways this time, so that he would end up underneath the AFV — out of the driver's range.
He waited under there, knowing the man would come down eventually, knowing that he would have been issued with precise orders to finish off The Hooded Man. Robert was only one guy, after all, and he had no gun. Sure enough, he saw two boots drop to the ground and the driver bent, shoving his pistol underneath.
Robert prodded his sword through the gap in the tyres, feeling the now familiar resistance of flesh against tip. There was a grunt. The gun went off, but it was already falling from the man's hands. He fell to the ground, clutching at his wound.
Robert scrambled back out, catching sight of a shadow disappearing into the mist off to his left.
He got up and, as quickly as he was able, gave chase.
The blast from the shell caught them all off guard.
Tanek let Bill go as they were both blown over — black smoke from the flames covering them along with the mist. From the far off hint of yellow and red, Tanek could see that the forest was on fire, or at least this part of it. Tanek coughed, then immediately surveyed the area to assess the situation. Hood's people were already stirring, as was Mary. Adele was laying motionless a little way from Hood's woman.
It was time to retreat.
The whole thing had gone to shit and he needed to get De Falaise's daughter to safety. He'd promised. Tanek got up, kicking the farmer across the face and grabbing his crossbow as he made his way to Adele.
'Time to leave,' he told her, taking her by the arm and lifting her to her feet. She didn't complain, a ripe bruise flowering on her chin and eye. It seemed that Hood's woman still had some fight in her after all.
Tanek pulled Adele towards a jeep which had one working headlight. But, just as they were about to climb in, the sound of gunfire came from somewhere across the way — from the direction the shell had originated. Somebody was being shot at. Tanek hoped it was Hood.
Adele slumped forward, hanging heavily in his arms. She was staring up at him, as if shocked. When Tanek shifted his position to help her into the vehicle, he felt the wetness at her back.
More shots — only these were closer, in tandem with the others. Tanek traced them back to Mary, who was sitting upright, holding one arm with her other hand and shooting the Peacekeeper. Once the gun was empty she slumped — only having enough energy to perform that one, last act.
Adele was bleeding heavily from the wound in her back. Tanek lifted her into the vehicle and ran round to the driver's side. Gunning the engine, he pulled the jeep round and retreated, urging Adele to stay awake, telling her he'd get her back to the castle, get her fixed up.
'Hold on,' he kept repeating as he drove past the stuck AFV and back onto the main road, cutting a swathe through the fog. He knew once he got far enough away from Sherwood, the mist would clear.
'Everything will be okay. Just hold on!'
As he stumbled through the undergrowth, the mist thickening, The Tsar couldn't help thinking that this was just like one of the old folktales, something parents would tell their children to stop them running off. Don't go into the forest, especially after sunset, because something might just come for you. Something might just be
Well, something was definitely hunting him.
The Hooded Man, on his own turf. He knew every single one of these trees, whereas The Tsar was completely and utterly lost. They might only be within spitting distance of the road, but he couldn't see a thing. He ventured on, stumbling through the fog, his great coat flapping behind, waving his Cossack Officer's shashka blade ahead of him.
The Tsar tripped and crashed into a fence, breaking through the wood. He rose, tumbling forwards, the ground less grassy here. He banged into another fence and when he looked up, he gasped. The figure of The Hooded Man was towering above him. He was about to swing his sword when he realised it was just a statue, that the representation was holding a staff and was fighting with another, much larger figure. That the hood was down instead of drawn up.
The original, not this… this copycat who'd come along centuries later.
Even so, that mimic had managed to cripple his forces. Now had him on the run. The Tsar was searching for the warrior within himself, the man who'd fought so valiantly in the '80s, who'd beaten people up for protection money, taken assassination jobs.
It was the first time in years he'd heard that name, his true name. Not Lord, or Sire, or The Tsar. The name he'd had as a child, an orphan. The name he'd used in the Russian army.
He remembered all those battles now, the bloodlust that had been in him, and the way he'd got rid of those enemies of the mafia during peacetime. Actually doing the damage himself instead of just watching others in a ring beating the hell out of each other.
The Tsar gnashed his teeth and trudged on, feeling his way along the sides of buildings, then up along an overgrown path. Suddenly, ahead of him, he saw the fire. His fire. The one he'd created with the explosion. He'd got turned around somehow and gone in a circle.
The fire was spreading through the trees, hopping from trunk to trunk, branch to branch.
'I'm coming for you, Tsar!' shouted a voice that echoed all around, full of fury. He'd invaded Hood's country, his city, killed his men and taken his women hostage. Now this: The Tsar had set fire to his beloved Sherwood.
But an angry man makes mistakes.
He stood up straighter, then called back: 'Then come. I am read-'
The shape leaped out of nowhere, out of the flames. It dove headlong into The Tsar, shoving him sideways into the nearest tree. His shoulder stung as it connected with the wood and he let out a cry. Swearing, he shrugged off his greatcoat.
'What's the matter? Too warm for you? I used to be afraid of the fire,' said a gruff voice from under the hood. 'Afraid of the memories.'
The Tsar stood again, swiping sideways with his curved sword and hitting thin air. 'You should be afraid of me!'
'I don't think so.' Hood lashed out now with his weapon, and The Tsar met the thrust. They exchanged blows against a background of mist, smoke and crackling flames. Then Hood rammed him up against a tree, this time crossing the blades so that they were either side of The Tsar's neck. Even as the man was doing this, The Tsar couldn't help noticing a wince of pain when Hood raised his arm. Some wound at his shoulder? A weakness?
The Tsar pressed the man back, then twisted the crossed swords so he could angle them sideways. He gave another push and the hilts smacked into Hood's shoulder. He let out a howl, fell back, and dropped his sword. Then he dropped to his hands and knees, gasping.
