Paul Kane - Arrowhead

The truck wove this way and that, trying to shake the chopper. Robert fought to keep her level with the vehicle below him. They were driving down a road heading along the tram tracks when De Falaise pulled his braking stunt again.

This time, the helicopter shot forward and over the front of the truck, and suddenly both vehicles clipped the side of a building. They crashed through overgrown foliage onto what had once been the fountain of the square. Robert attempted to disentangle the chopper, but that only made matters worse, and soon they were heading towards the Council building.

Grabbing his bow, Robert opened the door of the chopper. He was just about to jump clear when he remembered something else he'd brought with him, and leaned across quickly to retrieve it. He dove out just as the truck rammed into one of the once majestic stone lions, a match for those back at the castle. Whether De Falaise had been deliberately trying to crush the chopper was unclear, but Robert hit the concrete and rolled, feeling something pop in his shoulder as he did so.

From his position on the floor, Robert raised his head and looked up at the mess of twisted metal. The truck and the helicopter were fused together like a piece of modern art. A river of diesel ran all the way across the market square like a slug's slime trail. And it was spreading into a lake…

"Mary…" groaned Robert. He had to get her out of the truck.

Hauling himself to his feet, he slipped the broadsword he'd grabbed into his belt, and staggered across to the wreck. He'd only got a few feet when two figures came into view around the side. It was the Sheriff and Mary, the former holding his sabre to her throat again, the latter still out of it.

Robert slotted an arrow into his bow and raised it, wincing at the pain from his shoulder. The pair moved sideways like a crab, De Falaise dragging Mary away from the truck as if he still thought escape was an option. Robert moved with them, keeping his arrow on the pair, but not being given the opportunity to take a shot.

"Let her go!" ordered Robert as they hobbled away, though his voice lacked any kind of authority.

"I think not," replied De Falaise.

"Look around you, it's over. You're done."

"Non. It is only just beginning, mon ami. We are-" De Falaise's face crinkled up, then he let out a piercing cry.

Robert glanced down and saw Mary's hand, twisting the knife still embedded in the Frenchman's leg. She'd only been pretending to be unconscious, and was now fully awake, intent on causing De Falaise the maximum amount of torment.

He threw her roughly to the side and she hit the ground, rolling over twice. It was as she came to a stop that Robert saw what she had in her hand. Her Peacekeeper, trained on the Sheriff.

"Mary, no…!" But she didn't hear him in time. Mary fired at the Frenchman, missing him, but hitting the truck some way behind them, igniting the leaking fuel tank.

De Falaise looked behind him, looked down at the trail of diesel, and began to limp quickly away. Robert ran for Mary, but the resultant blast as the truck and helicopter exploded knocked him off his feet – pitching him backwards into the middle of the square. A streak of heat whooshed between the two enemies as the diesel caught fire, then fanned outwards.

Robert slipped in and out of consciousness. He was back in the dreamworld suddenly, back at the lake of fire – then he was here, at the market square. There seemed little difference. The Sheriff came at him, but he couldn't tell whether it was real or an illusion. The man appeared out of the flames, burnt, his clothes smouldering, but he wasn't stopping.

It was only when his sabre descended that Robert realised this was no dream. He rolled over and the blade connected with the concrete, clinking loudly. Robert struggled with his own sword, but couldn't disentangle it from his belt at this angle.

De Falaise struck again. "I will kill you," he said, his face wild.

Robert kicked out, knocking his attacker backwards and reversing the descent of the sabre. While De Falaise wobbled back, Robert clambered to his feet, and finally pulled the broadsword from his belt. When the Sheriff attacked this time, metal clashed against metal. The strokes were clumsy – only to be expected from such inexperienced swordsmen – but any one could have ended the fight, skewering through flesh.

Neither man had the strength to really fight anymore, so in that respect they were evenly matched. After several slashes at each other with the swords, they grabbed one another's wrists at the same time. Robert squeezed as hard as he could, forcing De Falaise to let go of his sabre, while his opposite number followed suit, wrenching Robert's arm forward and aggravating his shoulder. Robert let go of the broadsword and it landed with a clatter.

They locked eyes, set against a backdrop of flames. It was clear that they recognised this scene, and knew what came next. Letting go of wrists, they went for each other's throats. Both men found reserves of energy, just enough to try and choke the life out of each other. Robert had a slight edge, and could feel De Falaise's grip on him weakening.

Too late, he remembered the dream – and what the Frenchman had done in it. Robert let go of De Falaise's throat, just in time to move back and see the knife as it was shoved into him. The crazed Sheriff had torn the weapon – a sharpened table knife – from his own leg and had been aiming for Robert's gut. It embedded itself in his side instead, but was no less painful.

Their faces centimetres apart, the Sheriff snarled. "And so it ends, English."

"Everything ends eventually." Robert headbutted De Falaise, causing him to let go of the knife and stagger backwards.

At the same time, Robert reached into his quiver, taking out an arrow. He held it as he would have done a dagger, then shoved it into De Falaise's open mouth, ramming it home.

The Sheriff's eyes widened and he clawed at his throat, choking as he might have done on a fishbone.

"That was for Mark. This is for Gwen and Mary."

Robert took out another couple of arrows, and this time shoved them into those eye sockets, snapping off the ends as he did so.

De Falaise couldn't scream, so he just gargled in agony, toppling to the floor, where he writhed about.

Robert stood above him, holding his side. "And this," he said, pulling out a final arrow. "This is for the rest of us."

De Falaise held up a quivering hand, but Robert ignored it, bent down, and plunged the arrowhead into the man's heart, hard and deep. The Sheriff twitched for a few more moments, then lay still.

Breathing heavily, Robert rolled off the corpse, still holding his side. He lay beside the Frenchman, not able to move any more – and to the casual observer there might have seemed hardly anything to choose between them. Two dead men, covered in blood.

But one was alive. Even after everything he'd been through – even after willing it to happen – Robert was still alive. The difference was, today he was glad of the fact.

He felt something, someone at the side of him. If he'd had the energy he would have brought up the knife still in his side, defended himself in case it was another attacker. But he didn't. So he was glad when the face that appeared above him was a familiar, friendly one.

"Yay you…" said Mary half croaking out the words. She wasn't in a much better state, her face all banged up, dried blood at her nostrils – yet it was still beautiful in spite of all that.

Robert laughed at her words, coughing, and when he did his shoulder and side felt like they were on fire, while the actual fire on the square was seemingly burning itself out. "Yay… Yay us," he managed.

Mary smiled and kissed his forehead, her hand reaching down and helping to stem the blood flow at his side.