Arrowland (2 page)

Just as
she
had promised.

Towards the back of the truck were more sacks. But as Osgar swung in and approached them, he seemed to stop, cock his head, then stumble backwards. Neas, directly behind him, moved towards his companion - then was catching him as he fell.

Ceallach frowned. What the fuck was happening in there?

Neas fell back as well; it looked for a second like he'd lost his footing and both men were about to tumble out of the truck. Ceallach angled his bike slightly, just in case - signalling the others not to get in the way. Then Neas straightened up, but let Osgar go at the same time. Neas was reaching for his pistol, but even before his hand was at the holster, he was spinning as if he'd been punched. Ceallach inched his bike closer to see what was going on.

It was then that he saw what was sticking out of Neas. Thin wooden shafts, with feathers at the end, embedded in his shoulder and midriff. Neas had fallen to one side, providing a better look at who'd done this. There, rising from under some covers, hidden amongst the sacks, was a man.

But not just any man. This one wore a hood and held a bow in his hand - and Ceallach knew immediately who he was. The man whose legend had spread across this entire island over the past couple of years; the man who had dispatched that Frenchman at Nottingham Castle; who'd led his troops into battle against the might of the Tsar's forces, armed with only arrows and swords. Some of it was made up - had to be! Christ, how could one man take down attack helicopters using that kind of weaponry? To hear people talk, you'd think he was bullet-proof or something. Rubbish. Yet Ceallach felt a twinge of fear when he looked at him, especially when he saw the man's eyes under that cowl. It felt as if he should be ordering a withdrawal before it was too late.

Osgar, who had been wounded in a similar way to Neas, clambered to his feet again, clutching the parts of his body now punctured by The Hooded Man's arrows. It was a clumsy attack by an already defeated opponent, and Hood dodged it easily enough. But then he did something else, something he probably wouldn't have if Osgar had stayed down.

Hood shouldered Osgar, almost giving him a fireman's lift, then he bent slightly before throwing him out of the back of the truck. Just as his aim had been true with the arrows, so it was with this man's body, which struck Garbhan's bike full on, knocking the rider off and dragging the bike itself into Flannagan's path. Ceallach swallowed hard as he saw Flannagan hit the obstacle, the still moving bike tipping up and pitching its rider over the handlebars.

The result, which Ceallach left behind him, was a tangled mess of bodies and machinery. Hood stepped forward, standing on the edge of the truck, taking aim at the final rider and his bike.

Ceallach manoeuvred sideways, avoiding the arrow by centimetres, and drew his pistol to fire a couple of rounds. Hood took cover behind a crate, while more of Ceallach's bullets bounced off the metal of the entrance.

Another close call with an arrow convinced Ceallach to veer off, hopefully out of the Hooded Man's line of fire. Then he accelerated, gesturing wildly to Torradan, who was still on the roof.

"Inside!" shouted Ceallach, but knew the man couldn't hear him through the mask. He pointed his own gun downwards and pretended to fire, hoping Torradan would get the message. The man shook his head in bemusement. Ceallach couldn't blame him - who would have expected there to be a man with a bow and arrow in the back of the truck they were hijacking?

"Shoot!"

Torradan pointed downwards.

"Yes, for fuck's sake! Through the roof!" shouted Ceallach, knowing again his words would be lost. An arrow whipped past the side of Ceallach's head and he struggled to keep balanced. He swore, spitting the words into the mask. But at least it had the desired effect of getting through to Torradan, who now began shooting down at the roof of the truck.

"Now," whispered Ceallach, "let's see if you really are bullet-proof, Hooded Man."

Robert Stokes looked out from the back of the truck.

The biker who'd been firing at him had skirted round the side, trying to get away from the arrows Robert was loosing in his direction. He'd keep for a moment or two, while Robert scanned the horizon, searching vehicles that they'd left behind in their wake. Looking for -

There!

The raiders who were checking the backs of trucks, of carts, were getting just as much of a shock as the two who'd broken into this one. Because there were his Rangers - trained men and women - waiting, hidden, unbeknownst even to the drivers of this convoy, and now jumping up to tackle the armed men.

At the same time, the jeeps that had accompanied the bikers were being set upon by Rangers on horseback - horses that
were
used to the noise - led by one of his best men: Azhar. They were springing their own sneak attack. Mirroring what the bikers had done, the horses were carrying Rangers, who were jumping over onto the jeeps to fight the gunners.

Satisfied his men were handling the situation, Robert risked a peek around the edge of the truck. He spied the remaining biker, making hand gestures to the raider on the roof. Confident the rider was distracted, Robert leaned around and fired off an arrow. His aim was thrown by the movement of the truck, though, and the projectile went wide. But only just.

More frantic hand gesturing followed, then the first shot through the ceiling. Robert retreated just in time to avoid it, pressing himself up against the wall as three more came in quick succession.

He primed his bow and fired upwards. There was little chance of an arrow going through that metal, especially at this range, but thanks to the idiot above him, there were now several small holes in the trailer's roof. Robert's knack with the bow and arrow had always been good, but since he'd stepped out from behind his desk back at Nottingham Castle - to fight the Tsar and The Morningstar cult - it had improved beyond measure. So it was no problem now to guide his arrows through those holes, returning the favour to the man above him.

For a second or two everything was still, and Robert thought he might have incapacitated him. That theory was shattered when more bullets raked the ceiling. Fruit and vegetables exploded in all directions, crates splintered.

He had to leave that confined space, take out the guy on the roof. Thinking quickly, he looked towards the back door. Robert grinned, then shouldered his bow and ran at the open space.

At the last moment, he grabbed one of the harpoon ropes still dangling there, attached to the roof. Robert swung out of the trailer just as another round of bullets were pumped into it. When he reached a certain height, he arched his body around, twisting so that his booted feet slammed against the top edge of the door. The rope taut, Robert pulled himself upright then onto the roof of the truck, crouching on one knee.

When the raider looked across, his jaw fell open. Robert saw that the man's combats were torn at the knee, a wound bleeding there.

A bullet whizzed past Robert, but not from the raider on the roof. His companion on the bike, riding alongside, was providing covering fire. But before Robert could do anything about that, the truck was already veering sideways, causing the raider on the bike to swerve and avoid a collision. Robert made a mental note to thank the driver of the truck when this was all over. Both Robert and the raider on the roof had staggered sideways, but Robert was the one who recovered first, leaping at his enemy before he could raise his pistol.

Robert grabbed his arm, trying to keep the gun down. A shot almost went through Robert's left foot, forcing him to step back a little. It gave the raider a chance to bring the gun up sideways, though Robert still had a firm grip on his wrist.

Robert let go with one hand and punched the man in the stomach. The raider bent, allowing Robert to wrestle the pistol from him. It clattered onto the roof and disappeared over the side.

The raider retaliated by bringing up a fist, which struck Robert's cheek and caused him to reel. Then he drew his claymore, attempting to run his opponent through - but Robert met the blow with the sword he always carried. Metal struck metal, the vibrations going up Robert's arm. The raider wasn't exactly a novice with this weapon, forcing Robert to meet a couple of crafty swipes that almost opened up his throat and belly.

Pushing the raider back, Robert suddenly had the advantage - slashing across the man's blade and kicking out at him at the same time. He was about to deal the winning blow when bullets raked the side of the truck. More heavy duty than the biker's pistol, they could only have come from one of the mounted machine-guns on the jeeps. As Robert was pitched sideways by an erratic swerve from the driver - there'd be no thanks for that one! - he saw that one of the raider jeeps had broken through his Rangers and was attacking.

Another lurch, and Robert found himself going head over heels, losing his sword in the process and slipping over the side of the truck.

He held on to the edge by his fingertips, while the raider above him rose. The man started to laugh. He held his sword aloft, then brought it down where Robert's fingers had been only seconds before. Hanging on by his left hand, Robert replaced this with the right just in time to avoid another sword swipe.

He couldn't do this indefinitely - either he'd end up with no fingers or he'd fall off the truck. Then there was the alternative of being riddled with bullets from the jeep's gun.

But there was nothing he could do. His enemy was giving no ground. Perhaps this was it, perhaps he
was
about to die.

The raider lifted his sword one last time, about to bring it down on Robert's head and cleave his hood in two; destroying both the man and the legend with a single blow.

Then there was another blast of gunfire, but not from the jeep. Not from the biker either, as the bang it made was subtly different. A sound Robert recognised immediately. There was a spark as the bullet stuck the raider's claymore, causing him to relinquish the weapon.

Simultaneously, both Robert and the raider traced the line of fire back to a woman riding a horse. She was just behind the jeep, her dark hair flowing in the wind.

"Mary," breathed Robert, still struggling to hold on to the truck.

She fired again at the raider, the barrel of her dead father's Peacekeeper still smoking from the last shot. Like Robert, she'd been a decent aim even before this past year, but had become even sharper - able to use either hand and either of the two pistols, with equal precision. The raider ducked, but in his confusion stepped too close to the edge. Quick as a flash, Robert reached up and grabbed his ankle, tipping him off balance and pitching him over.

As Robert climbed back up, he saw both the jeep and Mary swerving to avoid the felled raider as he spun over and over on the concrete below.

The gun on the jeep was swivelling in Mary's direction, the raider there fixing to take her out. But before he could do anything, Mary had urged her mount forward, pulling alongside the jeep. She jumped onto it, pistol tucked back in her belt. Robert watched proudly as she gave the gunner a right hook that looked like it would have floored a gorilla, then turned and backhanded the raider who was climbing through from the front of the jeep - so hard, his breathing mask and goggles came off. It gave her time to pull her Peacekeeper out again and 'encourage' them to surrender.

Robert smiled, but it faded fast when he saw the biker from the other side of the truck pull back so he was diagonally opposite the jeep. He had his pistol drawn and he had it trained on Mary.

Snatching up his sword, Robert ran back along the length of the trailer's roof and leapt, grabbing another harpoon rope, swinging round like a pirate in the rigging.

Directing himself at the bike, he drew back the sword and slashed at the rider. The vehicle wobbled as the man attempted to avoid the blade. As the bike straightened again, Robert was swinging back in the other direction. This time he hefted the sword like a javelin and threw it at the front wheel.

It jammed in the spokes and held the wheel fast. The rider was flung from his bike, landing awkwardly on his shoulder.

Robert was dangling from the rope, banging against the side of the truck, but he felt the vehicle slowing. The driver had obviously seen him in his side-mirrors. Mary was forcing the jeep to slow, as well. Soon both had stopped and Robert was able to let go, dropping gracefully to his feet. Finally, he peeled back his hood, revealing his features.

He looked over to see Mary kicking men off the jeep. "That's it, down you go boys." She mouthed a silent 'Are you alright?' to Robert, who nodded.

Overhead there was the sound of chopper blades. Robert looked up to see a Gazelle helicopter coming in to land between them and the Rangers cleaning up further down the road. The familiar figure of Bill hopped out, even before the blades had stopped turning, holding up a hand. He'd been monitoring the situation from above, keeping well enough back that the raiders didn't see him, but close enough to let Azhar and the cavalry know exactly when they were needed. Of course, if he'd had his way he would have brought that brute of an attack helicopter instead; the one that the Tsar's men had left behind. Robert could hear that rough Derbyshire accent in his head right now: "It'd all have been over in seconds if ye'd just let me blow 'em up." But what would that have achieved? These men were no good to anyone dead. Apart from the fact he and his Rangers weren't cold-blooded killers, Robert wanted to question them, find out for sure who'd been behind the raid. Not to mention the many others along the border and inside Scotland itself.