Through watery eyes attempting to close, Robert saw him.
A blur at first, he blinked and, as the form took on more shape, Robert made out the man's attire. He looked so out of place here, in that sharp black suit, white shirt and black tie. But, looking beyond that, looking into the hawk-like eyes, Robert recognised what he really was: another hunter, a predator even. Not the main man himself, but one of the minions he'd seen in his dream.
The predator was holding in his hands two sharp weapons, like the Grim Reaper's scythe, only smaller and more curved. More deadly. It had been his vehicle that had run Robert over, intentionally wounding the prey. This monster liked his meat to be softened up before coming in for the kill. And Robert could tell he'd killed before, that he enjoyed it.
"Wake up, mudak!" shouted the man. He was using one of the sickle points to pull Robert's Hood back, exposing his face and head. "Yes, rouse yourself. It is time for you to die."
Robert tried to move, but every inch of him was protesting.
"Your performance was impressive, I will give you that," continued the suited man looming over him, "but ultimately you must have known you'd fail."
"F-Fail?" Robert half coughed, half laughed. "You… You must have been at a different battle to me."
"Ah, but this war is being fought on two fronts, my friend." There was a searing pain in his thigh as the man buried one of the sickle points into Robert's leg. "That's it, shout out. Let your men know all about it."
Robert clamped his teeth shut, hissing out the rest of his howl. The man twisted his blade and Robert had trouble keeping his agony to himself. But the man was leaning in, close.
Close enough to…
Even though he couldn't get up, Robert could still swing his fist — and he did just that. He couldn't get as much leverage behind the punch as he would have liked, but it had the desired effect of knocking the Russian back, and the sickle blade slid out of Robert's thigh as he reeled.
Robert struggled to get up onto an elbow, his torso and thigh in competition to see which could cause him more pain. With his free hand, he unsheathed his sword, just in time to hold it before him to meet a blow from the enraged Russian.
"That won't save you," promised the man, his piercing eyes flashing. "Nothing will." He struck again. Robert's blade clashed with two sickles this time, but he wasn't strong enough to hold them at bay. The man was leaning hard on the blades, the sickles getting lower and lower. "And nothing will save your friends at the castle, either."
Robert's elbow gave out, but he was quick enough to grab the other end of his sword. However, he was flat on his back, the man pressing down on top of him. The sickles were millimetres from his chest. Catching him off guard, the suited man suddenly put more weight on one side than the other, the left blade dropping — though not before Robert shifted slightly so that it entered his shoulder rather than his chest. Again, an excruciating white hot agony, and Robert let go of his grip on the sword.
Leaving the point of the sickle in Robert's shoulder, the man above him raised the other one high. He wasn't going for the chest any more. Now he was going to bring the sickle round in an arc, slit open Robert's throat, maybe even cut off his head.
There was a swish of air and Robert closed his eyes, steeling himself for the sickle to slice his flesh. Instead he felt something wet on his face and chest. Then came a cry.
When Robert opened his eyes he saw what had happened. Dale was standing off to one side, his sword covered in blood. The suited man was rising and backing off, clutching his hand… no, not his hand. Because that lay on the ground, still holding the sickle.
Blood was spurting from the suited man's stump and Dale was still on him. He lashed out with another stroke of the blade which the man had to duck to avoid. Robert heard him scream out something in his native tongue, cursing the person who'd cut off his extremity. Dale took no notice, waiting for the suited man to right himself before crouching and slashing crosswise. The man arched his body and it looked like Dale's attack had fallen short. Then more redness stained the white shirt, the bottom half of his tie falling to the ground as a slash in the fabric appeared. The man looked up at Dale, shocked, then down at this new wound.
Scrabbling back and holding his stomach, the man's face was growing paler by the second. Then he fell over, curling up in the foetal position.
Dale looked like he was about do some more damage when Robert let out a load groan, the first sickle still embedded in him.
"Hold on," said Dale. He put down his sword and took hold of the handle of the sickle. "Brace yourself, Robert, this is going to really hurt." He pulled out the blade, but it felt like the metal was still inside. Then Dale took Robert's hand and got him to apply pressure to the wound, while he saw to the leg. Robert heard, rather than saw — his vision was swimming — Dale rip a piece off his sleeve, tying a tourniquet around the wounded thigh.
"Son of a… I don't believe it," said Dale, getting up. Robert blinked and saw the blurry, suited man crawling back to the vehicle that had rammed into him. The Russian could just about move, reaching up in an effort to drag himself back into the passenger seat. Then helping hands pulled him inside, the driver setting off even before the suited man's legs were properly inside. Robert grabbed Dale with his free hand and shook his head.
"L… Leave him," he moaned.
Dale looked at Robert, as if about to disagree with him, then nodded. "He's half dead anyway," said the youth. "Let's see to you." He began ripping more material to tie around the shoulder wound.
"How… How are…" began Robert.
Dale frowned, then worked out what he was trying to ask. "It's pretty much over. The ones that are left seem to be scattering. We did it, we held them back."
Robert let out a breath, fighting to hang on to consciousness. His grip on the young man's arm tightened. "You… You have to gather the men…"
"I don't understand."
"Get… get them together… There's… there's another…" Robert forced the words out. "Another army heading for the castle… Tanek must be with them…"
"Fuck," Dale said quietly. "Okay, we can deal. Let's just get you sorted out first."
Another squeeze of Dale's arm, with all the strength Robert could muster. "Leave me."
"I… we can't do that, Robert."
"Leave me… Get to the castle… Mary… promise me… Mary…" Then his grip relaxed and Dale's features disappeared completely, fading from view. He'd been here before, when he'd been caught in an explosion, fighting De Falaise's men at Mary's farm.
Mary again.
He'd been saved by her that time. But now she was the one in trouble.
In the blackness, Robert heard Dale arguing with someone, with several voices, telling them they had to go.
Dale was following orders, just as he always did. Doing what Robert asked of him. "We'll send back help," were the last words Robert heard him say.
Then there was nothing but stillness — that and the smell of the English countryside — as he lost his grasp on consciousness completely.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The first sign that something was wrong came when they lost contact with the sentries on the outskirts of the city.
"Could just be a fault in the radio equipment," Jack said to Mary when he visited her room, but the look on his face told her he didn't believe that for a second. When Robert's teams had originally infiltrated Nottingham, they'd kept up the pretence that the guards were still on duty, to retain the element of surprise. If the lookouts really were gone, then it showed that whoever was on their way didn't care whether they knew or not. "But I've already begun spreading the word among the men, just in case," Jack continued.
"We'd better gather people together," Mary told him, "Just give me a second." That second had been to grab a coat and fish out her father's precious old Peacekeeper revolvers, along with the bullets she had left. Robert hadn't even bothered asking her to give them up, as he knew what the answer would be. "Okay," she said, and they walked out together along the corridor.