Paul Kane: Broken Arrow

Then, limping towards the edge of the ring, he used that weapon like a pole-vaulter to clear the cordon. At the same time Bohuslav was ordering the guards with him to open fire into the ring. By the time they'd got their act together, the giant was already part of the crowd, crouching, moving from side to side so they couldn't easily track him.

"There!" shouted Bohuslav when he saw the tip of the pike above the mass of heads. The guards looked at each other, then at The Tsar, obviously troubled about firing into the throng. The Tsar nodded firmly and they did just that, picking off the people around the troublemaker, but not touching him. It only made the confusion worse. Those who remained panicked, slamming into each other, pushing each other out of the way. At one stage, when the giant saw he was close to being shot, he grabbed a woman and pulled her in front of him.

"Enough!" shouted The Tsar. This was only losing him subjects; it was obvious this had to be handled at closer range. "Xue, Ying." His bodyguards nodded, and ran to the viewing rail, leaping over it, into the crowd. Pockets of clear floor were opening up and in one to their left rose the olive-skinned man.

The twins drew their Hook Swords, circling him. He grimaced.

They attacked in a flurry of gleaming metal — and he blocked each and every swipe with the pike. The Tsar had never seen anything like it, never seen fighters move so fast; the giant's parries causing the girls to step up their game considerably. The space cleared much quicker and, were it not for the twins, The Tsar might have ordered his guards to start shooting again.

Swish, clack! Swish, clack! The three of them fought all the way to the base of the viewing platform. The Tsar got up and walked towards the rail, ignoring Bohuslav's gestures to remain out of harm's way.

He saw Xue duck as a pike blow whipped over her head; Ying almost ended up with the sharp end in her thigh. As confident as he was in them, he could also see that this interloper was highly trained. And people this skilled always wanted something… But what? Did he want The Tsar dead?

The giant took his eyes off the twins long enough to find his mark standing at the rail. "Call… them… off," he said, still blocking attacks, then added, "I would speak with you."

The Tsar rubbed his chin, still unsure.

Snarling, the giant elbowed one of the twins out of the way, kicked back the other — and lifted his pike like a javelin, aiming at The Tsar. Bohuslav's sickle was already out and he was about to throw it when The Tsar held up his hand.

"Wait… Wait!" Both men halted, staring into each other's eyes. The twins were about to attack again, but The Tsar ordered them to stand down. "Bohuslav, put that away. You men, lower your guns."

When the attacker saw this, he lowered the pike, placing it by his side — though his body was still tense, ready for any surprises. "I came here seeking an audience," he said in those clipped tones.

"You… you came here? You were brought here."

"I let them bring me."

Bohuslav's eyes narrowed.

The Tsar nodded; it did seem unlikely that he would have been captured on the streets if he hadn't wanted to be. "Who are you?"

"I am Tanek."

That name was familiar, but the Tsar couldn't remember why. It would no doubt come to him, but in the meantime he asked: "What do you want?"

"As I said, I would speak with you."

The Tsar frowned. "What about? What is so important that you would risk your life like this?"

The olive-skinned man brushed the long, greasy hair out of his eyes and said: "I have a proposition for you."

Robert missed the dreams.

He'd never mentioned it to anyone, because he doubted whether they'd understand — not even Mary. But God did he miss them. Those vivid — sometimes nightmarish — visions he'd experienced during his time in Sherwood had saved his life. He'd seen his friends in those dreams, before he'd even met them, and he'd seen what The Sheriff, De Falaise, had planned during their final confrontation — allowing him to twist as he plunged the knife into Robert, avoiding a fatal belly wound and taking the blade in his side instead. It had taken him a while to recover, but he would surely have been dead if it hadn't been for the tip-off.

Since moving into the castle, though, he hadn't been able to remember a single dream. Of course, you needed to sleep to dream — and that was something Robert had been doing very little of lately. The mattress he lay on seemed far too… luxurious. He'd slept much more soundly on a blanket of grass and moss, in his handmade lean-to or outside, looking up at the stars. All he saw these days when he looked up was the ceiling.

But it was more than simply missing the dreams. They were part and parcel of missing a way of life. Missing a place where he'd felt completely at ease.

Yeah, except when intruders were coming in after you with guns, or firing grenades off into the trees.

No, before. The time when he'd been alone in the forest, just him and nature — with only the birds, animals and foliage for company. He'd been happy-

Happy? You went there to escape, have you forgotten that? You went there because you didn't have anyone else in the world, not after… Now you have. People who love you, people who care about what happens to you.

People who counted on him, every minute of every day. Responsibilities the likes of which he never could have imagined; not even when he was after those promotions on the force. Everything seemed to have snowballed since they came here. He'd turned around and suddenly he was this mythical figure in charge of his very own policing network. How exactly had that happened?

Because you made it happen. You wanted people to be safe, for there to be some kind of law, some justice after The Sheriff's rule. You did a good thing, Robert.

But at what cost? Leaning up against the headboard, he sighed. If he'd had a dream about this when he'd been back in Sherwood, he might not have got involved. Who was he kidding? He wouldn't have done a thing differently. He'd still have saved Mark and Bill; been persuaded by Tate to fight, to build an army that could take on De Falaise; taken in Granger — rest his soul — and Jack.

And Mary…

He looked down at the sleeping figure, her dark hair splayed on the pillow. If anyone had told him, even a year ago, that he could fall in love again — even if he'd dreamt about it — he would have thought it madness. But then, wasn't love a kind of insanity, or so the old pop and rock songs said. Songs like Dale used to sing… still sang on some occasions when the residents of the castle needed their spirits lifting.

Robert remembered how awkward it had been at first with Mary. He'd pushed her away, the thought of being with anyone again after Joanne was just… But somehow she had broken down his defences, or rather slipped past them just as his troops had done when they took the castle. When he remembered what had almost happened to her at the hands of De Falaise, it tore him up inside.

So why was she giving him such a hard time? Why had she barely spoken to him all evening, turning her back on him when they got into bed? She had to know that there was nothing going on with him and Adele — he'd only known her five minutes! How could Mary possibly believe he was trying to replace her?

But wasn't it partly down to Mary that he was stuck in this castle when he should be out there doing more of what he'd done in York? Was it really the fact that he'd saved Adele that bothered her, that the woman was so grateful, or was it because he'd gone there regardless of Mary's wishes?

" You've been out of the game for a little while, boss. You're rusty. That psycho almost had you."