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  The fact that Sophie was giving him the run around when all he wanted was… to show her how much she meant to him suggested that she must have feelings for someone else. What right did he have to interfere with that? If he hadn't been able to love Paige, then perhaps he couldn't love anyone, even Sophie.

  Dale shook his head, this wasn't what he should be thinking about at the moment. The discontentment and the griping of the men; and whether he should talk to-

  "Jack!" he was shouting to the large man before he realised he was doing it. "Hey Jack!" Now he was getting up and waving, grabbing his guitar and dashing down the steps to catch Jack as he came out of a side door of the castle.

  "Hey Dale," replied his superior. As always, he had his staff resting over his shoulder. "You haven't seen Adele on your travels, have you?"

  Dale told him he hadn't. And though he couldn't help it, a picture of that woman now flashed into his mind: her short, black hair, full lips. How he wished he'd been the one to save her that night in York rather than Robert.

  Stop it, can't you see Jack fancies her?You just can't help yourself, can you?

  "Not to worry," Jack said. Dale could tell he had more on his mind than where Adele was.

  "Is everything okay?" he asked.

  "Hmmm? Yeah. Well, no, not really. Did you want something?"

  Dale thought about whether this was the right time, about whether he should even be speaking to Jack rather than Robert, but the words were escaping before he could contain them. "It's the men."

  Jack turned to him. "What about them?"

  "They're… I don't know how to say this."

  "Just spit it out."

  "They're overstretched, tired. They're beginning to moan about the workload, about patrols, about the last time they had any time off."

  "Time off?" Jack said it like the concept was completely alien. "This isn't a damned holiday camp."

  Dale held up his hands, his guitar flying out sideways. "I know that, and they do too. But, look, with this new thing — the cult — they've been run ragged trying to fight them. They're only human."

  Jack gave a reluctant nod. "I understand. I just don't know what we can do about it. Maybe when we've got on top of this-"

  "I don't know if you've got that long."

  Jack sighed. "If you only knew." His face betrayed him. Dale could see he knew something else he wasn't passing on… or the troops.

  "What? Tell me." He didn't really have the right to demand any kind of information, but was hoping Jack might tell him anyway.

  "I'd rather wait until… Robert!"

  Dale followed Jack's gaze down to the gate, where Robert and Mark had appeared on horseback, returning from their visit to Sherwood.

  Jack made his way briskly down to the riders, Dale not far behind. He ignored the glare from Mark, using Robert's second as a justification to be there.

  "Robbie, I'm so glad that you're back," shouted the big man.

  "So am I. In some ways," Robert said, then looked over at Mark. Dale realised that more than training had occurred in Sherwood. More secrets he wasn't yet privy to.

  "I've got something to tell you," Jack said, walking up to the horse and stroking it. "But maybe it should be someplace more private, y'know?"

  "Could I just say something first?" Dale cut in.

  "No," answered Mark without hesitation.

  Robert gave the boy a severe look, then turned to Dale: "What is it?"

  He studied them each in turn. "I know something's kicking off here. I just thought you ought to be aware that you could have some walkouts on your hands if you're not careful."

  "Dale was just telling me that the men aren't too happy."

  "Is that so?" Robert said, as he dismounted.

  "I don't want to go behind anyone's back or anything, just thought you needed to know the score." Dale told him.

  "To be fair, they are being stretched a bit thin, Robbie. Possibly even thinner soon."

  That was another slip, and now Dale was desperate to know what Jack had discovered. If they were about to face something else on top of the Morningstars, then he and the others had a right to know. They were the ones putting their lives on the line.

  "Okay, Dale," said Robert finally, "we'll sort this out later." Then before he could say anything else, the man in charge added: "I promise. Right now I need to speak with Jack, probably as much as he does with me." Robert turned to his right hand man. "Fetch Tate and Mary, too. If you're about to tell me what I think you are, they should hear this as well."

  Dale watched as Mark got off his horse, and the three of them made their way back up the path. Things hadn't quite gone as he'd expected them to. In spite of jeopardising his standing in the ranks by telling Jack and Robert about the unrest, Dale still wasn't part of that inner circle. He'd been noticed by the talent-spotters, but not signed to a label yet. What made it worse was that Mark was turning as the group led the horses away, looking over his shoulder and glaring at Dale again. He was automatically included in the talks, as one of the core band that had come here. Could Dale's hard work all fall apart again because of a girl? Because of his messing about with Sophie, and Mark's feelings about that?

  But Robert had promised to talk to him later, so he'd no doubt find out what was going on then. Better late than not at all.

  Dale sat down on a bench and began to strum his guitar. One day when stories were written and songs sung about their exploits, Dale still intended to feature prominently.

  They gathered in one of the rooms inside the castle: Robert, Mark, Tate, Mary and Jack. All the original members of Robert's team, barring one, but it wasn't long before he was mentioned.

  "This afternoon we received a radio message from Bill," Jack told them. He'd kept up with his CB interests after moving to the castle, as a way of keeping in touch with places beyond Nottingham. "Actually, it wasn't from Bill himself, it was from one of his… I dunno what you'd call 'em, staff?"

  Robert shrugged his shoulders. Bill was a bit of a sore point with him.

  "Anyhow, turns out there's a force that's hit the coastline up near Whitby, Scarborough, Bridlington. They used hovercraft to get their vehicles ashore: tanks, jeeps, the whole deal. And they've been striking villages and towns as they make their way inland. Bill's been monitoring the situation through his network of markets, getting to places that have been struck and offering help. Otherwise I think he would have come here in person to warn us."

  "I know," said Robert simply, and Jack, Tate and Mary all looked at him. "About the army, I mean."

  "Me too," added Mark, and they switched their focus to him.

  "How?" asked Jack. "I only got the call a couple of hours ago, and you've been off in the forest."

  Robert looked at Tate, who blinked his understanding. "I think you've just answered your own question, Jack," the Reverend said, though the American looked none the wiser. "They were in Sherwood."

  "The man in charge is Russian, I think," continued Robert.

  "I'll be God-damned," Jack said, blowing out a breath. "The radio message mentioned Russian troops."

  "There's another thing." Robert walked around the room; Mark was biting his lip in anticipation of what was about to be said. "Tanek's with them."

  "What?" said Tate, having to rest on his stick.

  "It's true, Reverend. Robbie's three for three. That was also part of the warning."

  All the colour had drained from Tate's face. "Dear Lord. And they're making their way here… this force?"

  "Seems like," said Jack.

  "If Tanek's involved, he'll probably be out for revenge," Robert said.

  "I need to warn Gwen," Tate suddenly announced. "He'll be coming for her without a doubt. She should be brought to the castle, don't you think? Her and Clive Jr?"

  "If she'll come." Robert said.

  "This is all we need on top of the cult," Jack said. "And if the men really are thinking about quitting-"

  "What?" Tate virtually shrieked this. "
They… they can't. We need them, now more than ever."

  "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Robert said. "We can't afford to lose a single fighter at the moment."

  "Give 'em one of your patented speeches. Do the whole Braveheart bit," Jack suggested with a half smile, but there was little humour in his voice.

  "The other thing is, we were attacked by members of the cult while we were in Sherwood. It was co-ordinated, intended to put me out of the picture." His eyes flitted across, searching for some kind of reaction from Mary, but there was none. She hadn't spoken, had barely been able to look at him since they'd all entered the room.

  "You've rattled their cage," Tate said.

  Robert ignored this and dwelt on Mary. "You've been very quiet, don't you have anything to say to all this?"

  Mary looked him in the eye then, before speaking. "What's the point? You were in danger again in Sherwood. I know what you're going to do now about the army heading our way. It doesn't matter what I have to say, does it? You'll do what you have to do."

  "Of course it matters, Mary," said Mark after a few moments, speaking for Robert because it didn't look like he was going to.

  "I hate to say it, but the little lady's right — we are going to have to do what's necessary," Jack said.

  "We're going to have to meet the army before it gets here," Robert stated. "We have to protect the people."

  Mary nodded, then left the room.

  Mark looked from the open door to Robert, his eyes begging the man to go after her, to fix this somehow. But both of them knew there was nothing Robert could say. Just as he'd been willing to sacrifice himself to save the villagers De Falaise was going to hang, now he was going to have to place himself between these new invaders and those who counted on him to protect them.

  "Jack, call Dale. I need to sound him out about what's happening with the troops. I can't afford for them to turn tail."

  "But Robert," Mark began. "Dale is-"

  "Your personal feelings about him don't come into this," Robert interrupted, and Tate and Jack both stared. "I'm sorry," Robert said more softly. "He's one of our best, and he's very popular. If they won't listen to me, they might to him."

  "He's popular all right," Mark said.

  As the meeting broke up, each of them left except Robert. He walked over to the far wall and banged his fist against it in frustration.

  What's the matter? You got what you wanted, didn't you? To be out there again, in action, in combat.

  But even he wasn't sure whether he could win this time against such odds.

  And he was frightened that even if he did, he might have already lost the one thing that meant more to him than any of that.

  Robert left the room and searched the corridor for any sign of Mary. He caught a flash of a female figure and got his hopes up, decided that he would go and talk to her — try and explain himself.

  Except as the woman moved into view, he saw it was Adele. She smiled at him, but he didn't smile back.

  Robert continued on his way to the stairs. A man with a mission.

  No, more than that. As he was constantly being reminded, he was a man with a destiny. One he could no more control than he could his love life.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It had been much quicker this time.

  He'd cut a swathe through this country again — with a little help, admittedly — crushing resistance where they found it, making their presence known. It was all part of the plan. Tanek wanted Hood to know he was on his way, while Bohuslav and The Tsar didn't care about stealth because they were so confident in their victory. Nobody could defeat them, they were certain about that.

  It was the kind of arrogance which often led to a fall, but Tanek didn't think that would happen this time.

  They'd also become aware of another faction operating in their area. Tanek had extracted information from various people since returning to these shores, taking up his old hobbies with the burning hot pokers and pressure points. It wasn't quite the same, torturing people in houses rather than caves — or dungeons, as he liked to think of the cave system below Nottingham Castle. It lacked the proper atmosphere. But, he reminded himself, he'd been torturing people most of his life and enjoyed it wherever he happened to be. He'd just been spoilt, that's all.

  He remembered one man in his forties, whose belly had hung down when stripped — and Tanek had taken great delight in snipping bits of excess flesh off with a pair of scissors to make him talk.

  Bohuslav had walked in during one of the sessions and it had made even his face turn green. "I thought I was a sick bastard," he'd said, observing Tanek at work with a block of glasspaper: rubbing one woman's fingers until they were almost down to the bone. The thing was, they'd probably have told him anyway, what did they have to hide? But where was the fun in that?

  As to the information: it seemed that a cult had sprung up in Britain. Or, depending on who you talked to, had resurfaced. They were sacrificing people in order to call forth their Lord from Hell, it seemed. What mattered was there were quite a number of them, and they were methodical.

  "They might prove an obstacle," Tanek had said to Bohuslav. He still hated dealing with the toad, but in lieu of The Tsar he had little choice.

  "Doubtful," Bohuslav countered. This was one of those times when his arrogance might stand in the way of preparing against a potential enemy. Tanek had found out what he could about their activities anyway: their preferred methods of hunting, their weapons, their skill at hiding when they didn't want to be seen (this last one could certainly trip up their forces — how do you fire at something that's made itself invisible?).

  A good job then that Tanek had been with the first division to make contact. They were working their way through somewhere called Thirsk, as the light faded, when they were suddenly attacked. Tanek saw several scouts fall as they were walking up just ahead of the tanks and jeeps. The soldiers were dragged off the streets by men in crimson robes, and by the time the rest of the division reached them they were already dead — their throats slit.

  Gunfire opened up behind Tanek; men shooting at shadows. They'd gone down as well, killed by men who looked like the walking dead. Tanks and jeeps were useless against them at this close proximity, and they knew it.

  There was movement off to the side of Tanek, and he'd aimed and fired his crossbow in seconds. He nodded when he heard a muffled yelp, knowing his bolt had struck home. Then he was aware of a swish on his other side, something sharp cutting the air — about to cut into him. The clank of metal against metal followed and Tanek looked round to see that Bohuslav's hand scythe had met the machete blow intended for him. The serial killer would later explain that, should Tanek turn out to be the traitor Bohuslav thought, he wanted the pleasure of killing the giant himself.

  For now, though, Tanek was grateful Bohuslav had blocked the attack; forcing the cult member back again with a thrust of his own blade. Before the robed figure could do anything else, Tanek had put a crossbow bolt in his head.

  Confusion reigned, as their men fired into alleys, at houses, almost at each other. It was exactly what the cult wanted — exactly what guerrilla fighters would do. Tanek tried to get Bohuslav to order a ceasefire, but they were having difficulty making themselves heard. Soldiers were going down one by one. Tanek noted a guy not far away who was suddenly clutching at his neck as a powerful geyser of wet redness jetted out, a machete blow slicing neatly across his jugular, almost slicing his neck in two. Bullets riddled the robed figures whenever they appeared, but it didn't seem to deter them. It was as if they weren't bothered about dying at all. That, if nothing else, made them extremely dangerous adversaries. In spite of himself, Tanek found that he had quite an admiration for these people.

  Then, as quickly as it had started, the fighting stopped.

  Someone had appeared in the street, lit by floodlights from the armoured vehicles behind — like a magician materializing on stage. A man, flanked by two smaller figures. The man wore a coat that
flapped about in the chill breeze, and the leather of his uniform beneath creaked. He adjusted the peaked cap he was wearing, before standing with his hands behind his back and gazing around. The women, for as they adopted a defensive position it was plainly obvious they were of the female persuasion, held their swords horizontally, protecting the man in the middle of them.

  Tanek traded glances with Bohuslav, who appeared just as surprised as he was that The Tsar was present.

  The time for asking questions would come later. Right now, what interested Tanek was the stillness this man inspired. He had some balls to walk out there in the first place — looking beyond the man, Tanek realised he must have pulled up in his own private jeep — but what was causing the cult to stay their hand? His own men, Tanek could understand. They would rather shoot themselves than risk hitting their glorious leader with a stray bullet. But why were these strangers holding off? It was quite a thing to witness.

  Tanek's answer came when one robed figure emerged from a side street, and began to walk up the road. Bohuslav nervously shifted from foot to foot and Tanek was half expecting him to give an order to shoot. But The Tsar was gesturing with his hand that his forces should hold their fire for now.

  When The Tsar began talking, it was in Russian. He soon realised his mistake and switched to his broken style of English. "You speak for your people, yes?" The twins were ready to spring on the figure should he put so much as a foot out of place. They needn't have worried.

  "We are Servitor. When one speaks, we all speak." The robed figure dropped to his knees before he was anywhere near The Tsar. If the Russian was surprised, then he didn't show it. "My Lord." The man kept his head bowed, then added: "You are finally here."

  Tanek saw The Tsar's eyebrows raise just a fraction. "Yes." Whether he thought the man was simply referring to his title — after all Tanek had heard the people under The Tsar call him Lord all the time — or he actually knew what the man was referring to was unclear. But the effect was the same. "Now call your men forth."