Alex Scarrow - The Doomsday Code

They began to make painfully slow progress along the forest track, little more than a shuffle that kicked dust into the air and filled their eyes and mouths with grit.

Another man went down, howling in agony and clutching at an arrow shaft through his shin.

‘This is no good!’ shouted Liam. ‘We’re not going to get very far!’

He saw Eddie nodding under the shadow of his shield, its thin metal peppered with gashes and dents through which rays of sunlight streamed.

‘We could make a break for it, sire!’

Liam chanced a quick look up the trail. Some of their attackers had spread across the track, a thin line of men in rags casually stringing arrows and firing opportunistically their way. More than a dozen up ahead, but none of them armoured, none of them equipped for close combat.

Eddie and his remaining nine could probably take them, break through, and then after that it would be every man for himself: drop shields, drop swords and just run for it.

‘All right,’ Liam nodded, his mouth dry. ‘Yeah … L-let’s do that, then.’

Eddie cleared his throat and spat. ‘Men! On my word … we charge down the archers ahead! Clear?’

Several heads nodded. A mixture of young and old faces. Some of them he knew had seen a fight before, most of them hadn’t; they were little more than farm workers who’d been taught how to bear a shield, swing a sword and march in a straight line.

‘Make ready!’

Liam felt naked, no chain mail, nor shield or sword. He unclipped the robe from his neck and let it fall to the ground. It was only going to slow him down. He pulled a ceremonial knife from the belt round his waist. An ornate dagger with a beautifully decorated haft and a pointlessly blunt and useless blade. Still, it felt better than having nothing in his hands.

‘Sire?’ Eddie nudged him gently. ‘Ready?’

He nodded, working his tongue round his mouth, trying to find some spittle in there.

The hell I am .

He saw Eddie doing the same and realized in that moment that he wasn’t the only one scared out of his wits. ‘On my word we rush them,’ Eddie’s voice rasped, ‘and make as much noise as ye can, lads. We’ll scare the devil out of them.’

A couple of the older faces grinned at that.

‘Right, then …’ Eddie took a lungful of air. ‘AT ’EM!’

Without hesitation, the men he’d been drilling these last few months, uneducated field hands that he’d managed to build a bond with, surged forward as one, a defiant roar coming from every mouth.

Liam found himself sprinting forward, shoulder to shoulder with them, his own screaming voice filling his ears.

The thin line of archers, twenty yards ahead of them, regarded them with comically round eyes. He saw a couple of them fumble to string and then drop their arrows in panic. Others fired hasty and ill-judged shots that whistled too high over them. But then as the gap quickly closed, he saw one, then several, then the rest, take the first faltering steps backwards which swiftly turned into a full-scale rout.

‘GO ON! RUN, YE COWARDS!’ screamed Eddie, a wide manic grin stretched across his face.

Ahead of them, the archers pelted down the forest trail like startled rabbits. Liam chanced a glance over his shoulder and saw more of them emerging from the woods behind them, loosing off arrows their way, many of them falling short.

We’re gonna do it , he found himself thinking, for the first time daring to wear a defiant grin on his own face.

But then, on to the trail ahead, a tall figure emerged.

1194, Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire

It stood calmly in their way as the bandit archers streamed past. Seven feet tall, a giant swathed in dark robes and a cowl that hid his face in deep shadow.

The sight of the figure caused their charge to falter, and Liam heard the men curse under their breath.

‘The Hood !’ yelled one of the younger soldiers. ‘God help us, it’s the Hood !’ He dropped his sword and shield.

‘’Tis but a man in old cloth!’ Eddie snarled angrily. ‘Pick up yer weapon!’ But the young boy was already gone, scrambling off the trail, through brambles and ferns, and very soon lost from sight.

Their charge was halted now. Just ten nervous men standing in a forest trail, cowering beneath shields. The occasional arrow coming from behind, and the solitary hooded figure ahead of them, blocking their way.

Eddie turned to his men. ‘Come on, ye fools!’ But Liam could hear even in his voice a wavering uncertainty. It might just be a mortal man … but it was still a huge mortal man, and in his hands he held a broadsword that glinted sunlight as it swung casually back and forth.

The figure suddenly began to stride towards them. The way it moved — long, even, regular strides, arms calmly down by the sides, no sense of flinching or cowering — reminded Liam of Bob. Reminded him of the economical and purposeful way he moved. A memory flashed through his mind, a memory that seemed to come from another lifetime: Bob calmly moving through a prison camp, executing every guard in his way, a pulse rifle blazing in each hand.

Liam reached for the discarded sword and shield. Fumbling and dropping the sword nervously so that he had to pick it up again.

‘Just run!’ he hissed at Eddie and the other men, suddenly certain he knew what was approaching them. ‘You can’t beat this thing! Just do your best to get past it!’

Several of the men took Liam’s word for it, dropped their shields and swords and ran for the treeline either side of the track. But Eddie and four others remained, bunching up close together around Liam, presenting a shield wall to the figure.

‘Run, sire!’ shouted Eddie over his shoulder. ‘We’ll hold him!’

The hooded figure suddenly broke into a run and covered the last ten yards in a silent sprint. He collided with Eddie and his men, bowling them backwards. A roundhouse sweep of his broadsword lopped one of the men’s arms off at the elbow, sending it spinning into the air, hand still clasped round the sword-hilt.

One of the other men thrust his blade at the side of the Hooded Man. The black cloak collapsed inwards, and Liam heard a clunk as the blade met something hard beneath.

The hooded figure reached with a gloved hand for the blade and snapped it with a sharp twist, tossing the broken metal off into the woods. It cocked its head for a moment, studying the man holding nothing but the broken hilt of his sword in his hands … and Liam would swear blind later that he saw the figure wag its finger at the man before picking him up by the throat and hurling him like nothing more than a bundle of twigs off into the trees.

Its head turned back and beneath the shadow of the hood Liam sensed its gaze was locked specifically on him.

Eddie’s remaining two men broke and ran, leaving him alone in the middle of the trail beside Liam. The hooded figure strode past Eddie as if he simply wasn’t there.

‘Sire! Run! ’

Liam realized the thing had fixed on him for some reason. He did as Eddie said, dropped the shield and sword he’d picked up and backed quickly away towards the treeline. He saw Eddie lunge with his sword at the hooded figure’s back, ramming it hard into the space between its shoulder-blades.

The figure lurched in response — and Liam thought he heard some sort of wheezing whine come from beneath the hood. Eddie’s blade must have found some chink in the armour beneath. The figure spun round to face him, the blade of the handle protruding from its back.

The response was a savage thrust with the broadsword that punched a hole through the jagged and pockmarked remains of Eddie’s shield, the long blade continuing on into the man’s chest.