Where were his people? Where were his troops?
There were shadows behind the man in red, stepping out. Two Asian women, Robert saw, and a man in a sharp suit. Each was holding a body by the scruff of its neck, which they threw to the ground in front of Robert. The first belonged to Tate, lifeless and limp. Then came Sophie, piled on top. Followed by Mary. Robert's entire body stiffened when he saw her tossed there, like a Guy on a funeral pyre. Her beautiful eyes looked up at him in death.
"Noooo!" he screamed. "You can't do this!"
A larger shadow emerged, carrying two bodies — one in each hand. But he could manage them well enough, the size that he was. Robert's jaw dropped again when he saw Tanek, the Frenchman's second, assumed dead but very much alive here (though hadn't De Falaise been standing there only moments before… living or deceased, it didn't mean a thing in this place).
The two last bodies were thrown over towards Robert, Tanek grunting — more with satisfaction than effort. Robert recognised who they were as they landed: Jack, defeated and deflated… and Mark. Finally Mark. Beaten to a pulp and with more than his finger missing.
Robert sank to his knees, tears flowing freely. He knew it wasn't a good idea to show weakness in front of his enemies, but couldn't help it. When he reached up to wipe the salt-water away, he found his face altered. There were antlers on the side of his head. He had a snout too. As he looked up again, Tanek was approaching with that crossbow of his raised, a bolt in the chamber pointing at him. The shot was fired and, though it entered Robert's temple, he could somehow still hear and see everything around him: the flames, the assembled war machine. Tanek crouching, letting go of the crossbow and taking out a knife with a serrated edge.
Robert's vision went black for a second then red, like a filter had been placed over a camera lens. Tanek finished his cutting, sawing, standing again with something in his free hand. Robert's… the stag's head.
He handed the gory thing to the man in leather, who took off his peaked cap and replaced it with the antlers. They looked for all the world like a pair of horns.
In spite of the fire's warmth, Robert felt cold. It spread quickly throughout his body. If this was a vision of the future, as he'd wanted, then he was sorry he'd asked for it. Better to be ignorant than live with the knowledge that they would all soon die.
"Vengeance," said a voice close to his ear, a figure he couldn't see whispering to him. It sounded… familiar. De Falaise, but not him; the voice softer.
Then he felt hands on him, moving him.
Moving his corpse.
It was a revelation when he found he could move — grabbing the hands that were shaking him. "N-Not dead," Robert mumbled. "Not dead!"
"Sshh. Keep it down," another voice, a different voice, whispered. "We're not alone."
Robert shook his head, clearing it. It had been a while since he'd slept so heavily, had a dream as intense. He'd forgotten how disorientating it could be. Mark was the person by his side — not the dead Mark with bits cut off, but the living Mark who he could still do something to save if he got his act together. Mark who had been trying to wake him for some time.
"People, circling the camp," he told Robert. "I caught a glimpse when I got up to pee. I managed to crawl across to your lean-to without them seeing, I think."
"How many?" asked Robert in hushed tones.
Mark shrugged. "A couple, maybe."
"That's the next lesson, then. Counting." Mark scowled, then Robert tapped him on his arm. "Come on, let's see what we're dealing with."
Grabbing his bow, arrows and sword, Robert emerged from the back of the lean-to with Mark beside him, using it to shield them both. Robert slipped the quiver and bow around his torso. It wasn't quite light, but the sun had started to come up over the horizon, giving everything a strange sepia look. There was also an early morning mist covering the ground, thin enough to see through close up, but out in the distance it could hide anything. Robert trusted the boy's instincts, because after years of living on his wits the lad had developed a sense about these things. He'd been the first to warn Bill about the attack on the market, and told Robert when Jack first entered Sherwood. Now he was telling him there was a potential threat in the woods and Robert took that very seriously.
This was real hunting.
Mark nudged him and gestured towards a nearby tree at 3 o'clock. He saw an elbow sticking out from behind the trunk. Robert nodded, then pointed across at another tree. He could tell Mark couldn't see it, but there was bark missing from one side, indicating that someone had scraped by it. Robert turned when he heard a noise behind him. Mark may well have dismissed it as a woodland animal, but he knew better. Even though it had been a while since he'd lived here, Robert still felt the rhythms of this place — could tell when there was something out of sync. So, he was surrounded, as in his dream. Robert just hoped the tanks and jeeps weren't about to shoot up from out of the ground.
He made a fanning out gesture to Mark, who nodded. He hated having to split them up — especially when he could still picture the boy's dead face — but he knew Mark needed to do this as much as he did. Robert pulled up his hood and began to stalk his prey, vanishing into the undergrowth.
Keeping low to the ground, he backtracked round to where he'd heard the noise. Robert closed his eyes and breathed deeply, attempting to sense where the intruder was. Where the disturbance in his forest was rooted. It didn't prove difficult, not when the attacker suddenly showed himself and charged at Robert. He opened his eyes in time to see a flash of machete blade, a painted face leering down at him. A Servitor!
Robert took hold of the rushing figure, at the same time dodging the man's weapon, then used his own momentum against him, flinging the Servitor into a nearby birch. "Damned Halloween freak," he snarled. The tree was slightly at an angle, so the robed man fell over it, landing on the other side. Robert was round it in seconds, bringing up a swift knee and clipping the cultist under the chin.
He was suddenly aware of two more attackers on either side of him. They appeared from behind trees and lunged at Robert, machete blades cutting through the morning air. He dodged one, then had to turn swiftly and duck another. But as he came up again, he brought his clenched fist with him, practically lifting the Servitor off his feet with the punch. The next swing, Robert met with his own sword: metal striking metal. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the robed man backwards until he hit a tree, winding him. Robert turned his back on the man, turned his sword around and thrust it backwards so that it slid into his attacker's side and out again very quickly, incapacitating him.
By this time the first attacker had recovered and was getting to his feet. Robert had time to quickly glance over and see how Mark was doing now their cover was well and truly blown. He saw the boy facing at least three of the freaks himself, and he'd already been relieved of his sword.
Holding the sword by the flat of the blade, Robert brought the hilt down heavily on the approaching cultist's head. It struck him dead centre and he fell to his knees. Then Robert swung the sword like a baseball bat and hit the man in the face, sending his head rocking back and a few of his teeth flying.