Paul Kane - Arrowhead

The question was: Who?

That particular mystery was cleared up when the person in the hood stepped up onto the platform and revealed their face.

Jack let out a sharp breath. "Mary? What the blazes is she doing in there?" As far as he knew she was with one of the other strike teams about to hit the front wall of the castle, or at least that had been the strategy. When had that changed, and how come Robbie hadn't informed the rest of them?

Where the devil was he, anyway?

The sound of gunfire broke into his thoughts. Mary or Robbie, it made little difference to the plan – it was still a distraction. What could mess it up completely would be if their men were already being shot at, as appeared to be happening somewhere.

"Time to kick the bad guys' butts," he shouted and opened the door. The men behind Jack covered him with a hail of bullets and arrows, as he ran and tossed two grenades at the barricade. The explosion blew the metal inwards, buckling it and causing the side gates to swing back on their hinges. Jack ran towards them, staff in hand. Two soldiers with rifles were firing at him through the smoke, but he dropped to the ground, rolled, and came up sharply – jabbing with his staff to catch one in the face, then swinging it around and knocking the legs out from under the other.

"You've just been Jack-Hammered!" he said to the felled soldiers. Then he rose and led his team into the grounds of the castle.

At the same time all this was going on, three more teams were making their assault on the castle from the front, springing from buildings that ran adjacent to the wall.

Reinhart could see them, but couldn't take them all out at once – especially when he had his rifle trained on the site of the old Middle Bailey. He was only one man. Then there was the explosion, and more of The Hooded Man's – woman's? – men were pouring in from the side entrance. It was impossible to keep up with what was happening in several different locations at once.

You should not be here – any of you! Reinhart shouted inside his own head. He was used to one, two, maybe even three or four targets at once, not multiples from many different angles. Luckily there were men on the walls that were shooting at the other assault teams; they could hold them off for a little while. That's what this castle was good at, defending against invaders.

Just then he heard something – a faint sound in the distance. He turned to see the dot on the horizon… which was reducing the distance between them fast.

And there was the distinctive sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air. They must have been keeping low, out of his range, waiting, hiding, before rising up to let themselves be seen, Reinhart thought to himself. Clever. Very clever.

But it did mean that his targeting options were now more simple. He had to focus on the helicopter, which was obviously designed to give support to the men on the ground. They didn't have anything they could put in the air to meet it and no one else was ready to fire on it. He couldn't take the chance that it wasn't armed, either.

The choice had been made for him.

Reinhart swung his rifle around. He looked through the scope to see a man in a checked shirt, with a tatty tank top pulled over it, piloting the chopper. The scope was so good that he could even see the man's ruddy features, an indication that he'd spent a lot of time outdoors – a lot of time at Sherwood. But he wasn't alone. In the passenger seat was another man, younger, wearing the cobbled-together uniform of De Falaise's men, albeit slightly bloodstained. Another traitor to the cause? Something told him different. It wasn't just the fact he had a bow and arrow with him, because many of Hood's men were carrying those ridiculous weapons: it was something about the way he held it, something about the steely look of determination in his eyes.

This was Hood, the real one. Reinhart had never been so sure of anything in his life. He aimed at the man, then remembered De Falaise's orders about wanting to take out his enemy himself. Were they still relevant now that chaos reigned down there?

And what about afterwards, when they're all dead and you have to explain to De Falaise how you killed his prize? What will he do to you then? Reinhart thought. Take down the chopper, but don't kill them. Cause them to make an emergency landing and then radio De Falaise to let him know.

It was a plan indeed. After all, what harm could they do from this distance? Put an arrow in him? Hardly.

Reinhart smiled and closed one eye, aiming for the side of the helicopter. "Time to bring you down to earth now, birdy."

He squeezed the trigger.

A couple more shots rang out in the cave entrance. Granger saw the muzzle flash and ducked, but nothing flew past him. Raising his head slightly, he heard more bangs – saw the cave light up – and it was then that he realised the shots were on the inside.

Then there was silence.

Nothing moved in the cave entrance, no rifles poked out and took pot shots at the men spreadeagled on the ground.

"What's happening?" shouted one of the men behind him.

"Not sure," Granger called back. "Stay down." He got up, keeping his bow raised in case a sudden volley was let loose – and wondering what good it would do him anyway. Then a figure appeared at the gate, a woman with auburn hair that he recognised.

"Hold your fire," he called out.

"Gwen!" This was Tate, who was already getting up, albeit with a little difficulty, using his stick for support.

"Reverend?" came the reply.

Granger watched as the woman who had been De Falaise's love slave worked to open the door with keys she'd taken from the felled soldiers. He motioned his men to move forwards, but still keep low.

When Tate reached the gate, Gwen had it open already and she fell into the holy man's arms.

"My God, I can hardly believe it. Are you all right?" he asked her when they separated, but she didn't answer. Instead she shouldered the still smoking rifle she'd used to dispatch the men laying on the floor, and pointed up the sandstone steps.

"You can get into the grounds this way – it's pretty clear. I got rid of any soldiers you might run into between here and there, but can't say there won't be more once you leave the caves. They're bound to have heard the shooting." When Granger and the other men looked at her blankly, she said. "Look, follow me. But promise me one thing when we get there."

"What's that?" asked Granger before Tate could.

She looked at him. "I know you, don't I?"

"I used to be here at the castle before-"

"Yes, I thought so." Gwen unslung her rifle, as if to shoot him.

"Wait, wait…" Tate put himself between them. "Things have changed since Granger was in the Frenchman's army. Unlike the Sheriff, Robert – the person you know as The Hooded Man – gave him a choice. A real choice," Tate explained to her. "Granger's here of his own free will. He's here to fight De Falaise. So are all these men who once served him."

"He killed the best friend I ever had," Granger told her. "I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to help you when you were here, but I'd have been killed on the spot. You know yourself that he never needs much of an excuse. But…" He shrugged. "Well, I'm here now."

"I could have… should have been dead by now," she said, but Granger saw her eyes soften, and the rifle lowered. "We'll discuss this later. We're wasting time." Gwen turned to lead them up the steps.

"Hold on," said Tate. "You didn't finish what you were saying, Gwen. What did you want us to promise?"

The auburn-haired woman cast a glance over her shoulder. "To leave the Sheriff alive," she said in a serious tone. "At least until I get to him. He's mine!"

De Falaise had flinched when he heard the first round of gunshots. But that was nothing compared to the explosions down below at the castle's side gates.