Broken Arrow

year's summer fete — they'd invited all the people under The Hooded Man's protection.

Robert recalled now those agonising days waiting by Mary's bedside, with Sophie telling him he should still be recuperating himself.

'I need to be here,' he insisted, and she'd left it at that.

Robert held Mary's hand and was there when her eyelids finally fluttered open, a smile breaking on her bruised, but lovely face. 'Hey…' she'd croaked.

'Hey yourself.'

'Did… did we make it? Back, I mean. What happened… with…'

'Sshh, shh.' He stroked her hair, then kissed her forehead. 'Everything's okay. We're at the castle. The Tsar's dead. Mark, Sophie, Jack, the Reverend, Bill, they're all…' He paused, but said it anyway. 'They're all fine.'

Mary nodded, then winced. 'I feel dreadful.'

'Well, you look beautiful.'

'Liar,' she said, laughing, then wincing again. 'How about Tanek… and Adele?'

Robert shrugged. 'Tanek I don't know. Adele you shot.'

'Good old Dad, all those hours hitting tin cans were definitely not wasted. Yay me. Did you find the other Peacekeeper, by the way? In the caves?'

Robert nodded. 'I know how much they mean to you, even though I don't technically approve. But yes, you have a pair again, now.' He was skirting round what he really wanted to say, so he just got on with it. 'Look, this probably isn't the right time or place, but, well, I've been thinking.'

'That's dangerous,' she said.

She must be feeling better. 'I almost lost you, and I'm not sure if I could go through something like that…' Robert let the end of that sentence float away. 'Mary, I guess what I'm trying to say is-'

'The answer's yes, you know. It always was.' She smiled back at him. 'You looked like you needed helping out.'

And that had been that. They'd set a date over the summer, a special one that marked the anniversary of becoming a proper couple, and asked Tate if he'd perform the ceremony. His answer had been: 'Nothing would give me greater pleasure.' Now, if this quiet period would just hold out till then.

They'd had no more reports of invasions, nothing about the Morningstars — it was as if they'd vanished, just as they did from the castle — no trouble yet from those prisoners that had got away, and that was how Robert hoped it would remain for the time being.

As Mary joined him on that sunny, but slightly chilly morning — still using a stick to get about — he thought about what he'd said, about almost losing her. Not even the castle had been safe; they both realised that now.

'When you're feeling up to it,' he told her, slipping an arm around her waist, 'how about we go out on a few patrols together. I know Dale would welcome the back-up. So would I.'

'You old romantic,' she said to him, slapping his shoulder. He gritted his teeth, feigning pain at the wound he'd received at the hands of Bohuslav. 'Oh, I'm sorry, love.'

'Maybe you should kiss it better.'

Mary grinned. 'I think that can be arranged. I wonder if the stables are free…' She took him by the hand and led him down the path.

As she did so, Robert realised that he didn't feel lost anymore. He been found, in more ways than one. He was both Robert Stokes — the man — and Robin Hood, the legend.

There were worse things in life he could be, and this woman had rescued him from that.

In a broken world, he said to himself, what more could anyone ask for?

The country had welcomed him back into her arms like a concerned mother.

One that also admonished him for ever wanting to leave. He comforted himself with the knowledge that none of this had been his idea. It had all been The Tsar's, the old Tsar's. Now that man was dead, along with Xue and Ying. Just as he had almost been.

As he stepped out into the cold, flanked by soldiers to the left and right, on his way to the combat arena from the Marriott, Bohuslav's wrist throbbed again, at the stump which he'd cauterised himself, almost passing out from the pain.

He felt the pull of the stitches at his stomach, the wound which would have seen his intestines spill out on the floor had it been a couple of millimetres deeper. As it was, he'd had to sew up the flesh with his one good hand — his driver useless at anything medical it seemed — dosing himself with antibiotics so there was no infection.

By the time he was fit enough to travel, news had reached them of the failure of their troops to retain the castle. Bohuslav had been numbed by the realisation that their entire operation had been a spectacular catastrophe.

There had been only one thing to do at that point. Waiting for them just off the coast were the fleet of empty hovercrafts, including The Tsar's, which he'd followed them in. He'd told his driver to radio that he would be returning, and that he would now be taking charge of the fleet — and indeed of The Tsar's entire army. They would return home to Russia to bide their time and replenish their forces.

It had been enough of a pasting to make him think twice about trying it again for a good while. Or at least without any major allies. One day, however, one day…

Because, as much as he loved his motherland, Bohuslav was also thirsty for vengeance. Not just on those who had done this to him, but also on the man who had lured The Tsar and his men across to that fated isle in the first place.

Tanek.

Even the name caused him to clench his fist as he climbed into the limo. He couldn't clench the other, as that position was now occupied by a handheld (Bohuslav would laugh at the inappropriateness of that, if it didn't remind him of the pain he'd endured) sickle, attached to the stump that was now aching so much.

Yes, one day he would meet both Hood and Tanek again. And when he did…

Bohuslav wondered where that cowardly giant had run off to after leaving his leader in the lurch. Reports were sketchy, but he'd apparently abandoned him at Sherwood after a confrontation with their enemies.

'Drive,' he instructed the man in front, once his personal bodyguards were seated on either side. (They were no oriental beauties, but he knew they would give their lives for him.)

As the car pulled out into the snow-covered road, Bohuslav cursed Tanek, hoping that wherever he was, he was suffering.

For weeks now, he'd sat there, beside her, watching her suffer.

Quite how he'd managed to keep her alive was beyond him, not with the wound she'd suffered. He could put so much of it down to his skill with the blade, his knowledge of anatomy allowing him to perform the operation and remove the bullet — which had come so very close to penetrating her heart.

After leaving Sherwood, Tanek's plan to return to the castle had been waylaid by Adele, who had finally passed out from the loss of blood, in spite of the field dressing he'd applied. He needed to get her to an old hospital, anywhere he might be able to find replacement blood quickly. Tanek already knew her type: O-Neg. He consulted the map he found in the jeep they'd taken, and decided to head for King's Mill in Sutton-in-Ashfield because it seemed to be closest to their current position.

As he'd expected, the place was run down. People had picked over the stocks of drugs, but some of the medical equipment remained and the emergency operating theatre was still relatively intact — if woefully unhygienic after years of disrepair. They weren't in a position to be choosy, though.

Placing Adele on the table, Tanek went off and gathered what he could find — including tubes and needles for a transfusion, seeing as there were no stocks of blood that he could find. Running out of time, he'd hooked himself up and conducted the transfusion at the same time he began to operate. Not ideal, but necessary. There was alcohol in the medical kit from the jeep, so he'd been able to sterilise the bullet wound that way. He hadn't needed to knock Adele out with anything as she was totally unresponsive.

Tanek had cut into her with a scalpel that had survived the scavenger hunts, searching for the bullet that was