CHAPTER TWENTY

 

 

SHE’D BEEN GONE for hours now. And while they all knew the trip to Nottingham was quite a trek, things were growing desperate at New Hope.

People were sick of the periodic attacks on the walls since Tanek arrived – scared that at any moment, the Germans would just come crashing inside – and their friends were dying. Graham and Andy weren’t doing well at all, in spite of Jennings’ best efforts. One of the bolts Andy caught had caused internal injuries that the doctor couldn’t do much about. “We need to get him somewhere we can operate. Otherwise I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

Gwen had gone to see Andy, at his request, and they’d talked: about the old days, about what had happened to New Hope, about the direction she was taking. “Y-you have to promise me,” Andy said, “that you’ll turn away from this course you’re on.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she’d told him, avoiding his eyes.

“There’s so much hatred inside you now, Gwen. This...” Andy winced. “This isn’t what Clive would have wanted for you.”

She’d said nothing. She wanted to get up and leave when he started talking like that, but she owed him her time. Owed him the opportunity to get whatever this problem was that he had with her off his chest. Regardless of how things were with them now, Andy had done a lot for New Hope. He’d been there with her and Clive right from the beginning, just like Darryl, just like Graham. And this might be the last chance he’d get to say his piece.

He’d reached out for her hand and she’d let him take it. “You promise me, Gwen. Don’t let it eat you up inside. I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t need to be. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Andy insisted. “You –”

“Listen, I should go and see what’s happening out there. You get some rest.” Gwen removed her hand and let Andy’s flop back down on the bed. “Look after him,” she told Sat, the doctor’s assistant, as she left. She looked back just once to see Andy staring at her. He didn’t believe for one minute she was all right, but she didn’t know what to do to convince him. More than ever, she felt guilty for striking him when they were interrogating the prisoner. And, in a way, Andy had been right; they’d gotten nothing more out of the man, even after she’d gone back again.

During the last session overnight, she’d dismissed the guards keeping an eye on him and got down to business. “Just you and me now,” she’d told the soldier. “I know who your boss is, outside.”

The man had laughed. “You know nothing.” That earned him a punch in the face which broke his nose. He hadn’t been laughing then.

“Me and him go back quite a way, did you know that?” Gwen said. “There’s not much love lost between us.”

“Go to Hell, hure!”

“You first, fucker!” She’d kicked him hard in the side, where his injuries were, and smiled as he’d howled in pain.

They’d gone on like this for about an hour, until Gwen was satisfied she’d get no new information. In the end she’d wound up kicking the chair over, placing her foot on his windpipe and threatening to crush it just to try and get some answers. “Why does he want my son?” she’d spat into the German’s face. He’d remained silent, either not willing to say or because he didn’t know.

Gwen left the room, calling the guards back in and giving them specific orders not to fetch Jeffreys when they saw the state of the prisoner. “We might still be able to use him if push comes to shove, but it won’t matter what condition he’s in. He’s alive, that’s good enough.”

Was there a part of her that connected Andy’s words with her actions? No, she felt them entirely justified. She was protecting her village, protecting her son at all costs.

When she looked into the faces of those villagers, however, she didn’t think that they felt the same. Yes, they wanted to keep this place safe, but she wasn’t convinced they wouldn’t just fling Clive Jr over the wall to save themselves. She’d thought about telling them: “I know Tanek. He’ll kill you all anyway, then, just for fun. The only thing keeping you alive right now in fact is that he wants my son and daren’t risk storming in and harming him.” But they wouldn’t have listened. She’d need to keep a close eye on them, especially when it all hit the fan. Darryl was still the only one she trusted to keep watch over her child, and she was pleased to see he’d almost fully recovered from giving his blood to the German.

Gwen had been on her way from seeing Andy when she heard her name being called. “Come quickly,” came the cry, and when Gwen reached the part of the wall it had originated from, she got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was the section directly overlooking the opening of their tunnel’s hidden trap door. The man who’d called her across – Henry Collins, a middle-aged ex-veterinarian who helped look after their livestock – was crouching, holding his rifle and jabbing his finger in the direction of the secret entrance. Gwen climbed the ladder to join him, not liking the stern look on his face.

“What is it?”

“See for yourself,” he told her, taking off his glasses and rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.

Gwen peeked out through the gap, and spotted it instantly. A group of German soldiers at the opening. They’d uncovered the camouflage Karen had replaced and were pointing down at the door. One was running some kind of wire from it.

“They’re getting ready to blow it,” Gwen said.

Henry nodded. “Bingo. And guess where they’re going once they have.”

Up the tunnel and into this damned compound. How had they found out about the door in the first place? Must have been Karen, the stupid idiot! Someone must have seen her. Or maybe the Germans had just stumbled on it by accident? Gwen hoped that was the case, because if anyone had seen Karen then it meant she’d either been followed, or killed, or both. In spite of herself, the first thing Gwen found herself thinking was not about Karen’s death, but that they shouldn’t rely on any help from the castle now.

More important even than that, their enemies were about to step the siege up a notch. If the people of New Hope weren’t going to give them what they wanted, their enemies had just discovered a way to come inside and get it for themselves.

 

 

TANEK WAS HAPPY.

For the first time in a long while, he was really, truly happy. And he was never happy. It didn’t happen. There was always something that came along to balls things up. Not this time. Luck was on their side for a change.

Even before they’d made arrangements to begin the next phase of this campaign, they’d been given an unexpected break. Determined to get to the bottom of how his man was snatched, Tanek had ordered a thorough – if covert – search of the perimeter. It was then that they’d discovered the trap door. It hadn’t been concealed properly, and was almost definitely the way they’d snuck in and out. It could have been used to go and fetch help; Tanek had to move now. They’d forced his hand. But they’d also given him the perfect way to gain entrance.

And while the villagers were dealing with German soldiers coming up through that tunnel into New Hope, Tanek and his team would concentrate on breaking in through the front door, sealing this locality’s fate. Once they were inside, they’d see just how fast the woman and her child were given up.

That moment had now come, his men preparing to blow the lid on that secret door. Tanek felt satisfied this was going to end well.

But more than anything else, he was looking forward to seeing De Falaise’s woman again.

They still had unfinished business.

 

 

GWEN HAD POSTED at least three people on the tunnel door in the village grounds. Like Karen before them, they had orders to shoot whatever came through that didn’t look like one of theirs. The only person out there was Karen, and no reports of her return had been made, more’s the pity. Even if she had come back alone, then she wouldn’t be able to get past the Germans to crawl through the tunnel.

“Chances are it’ll be unfriendlies,” she warned. “Don’t give them the chance to fire on you first.”

In the meantime, Gwen had gathered the rest of the villagers and handed out weapons to anyone who wasn’t yet armed. Whether they’d have enough firepower was another matter, but they’d bloody well try to fight those bastards off. Gwen would, at any rate – she still wasn’t sure about some of her fellow villagers. Would they turn their guns on her to hand over Clive Jr? Would she have to shoot the very people she’d been trying to look after all these months? People she’d lived alongside, fought alongside?

She’d find out soon enough, because the word came down from Henry that the hatch door had been breached and men were climbing inside the tunnel. Gwen made sure Darryl was extremely well armed – a rifle, a shotgun and two pistols – and told him to stand guard over both her house and Clive Jr, while she waited out in the street. It was the longest wait she’d ever endured; even those hours back at the castle when she’d been De Falaise’s prisoner hadn’t been as bad as this.

Gwen shook her head; such thoughts made her angry, made her want to put a bullet in every one of those men invading her home, and distracted her at a time when she needed to be focused. She gripped her Colt Commando rifle, holding it across her chest like a shield.

Although they were expecting something to happen, the loud bang still came as a shock. But what happened next, none of them could have predicted. The door to the tunnel on this side was blown clean off its hinges, but what came out of the tunnel wasn’t men. At least not at first. Grenades were tossed up, causing the villagers defending it to move back. They began coughing, as multi-coloured smoke – some of it yellow, some orange, some blue – got into their lungs.

“No, stay where you are!” shouted Gwen, running towards it. But that was easier said than done when they could hardly breathe.

The next thing they knew, German soldiers were inside. Nobody saw them climb up through the hole, they just appeared wearing gasmasks, striding through the smog, rifles held high and zeroing in on the villagers surrounding the trapdoor. Several shots were fired and men and women fell straight away. Carol Fawkes was shot point blank in the face.

Gwen opened fire on the advancing soldiers. They were spreading out, some heading to the nearest cottages and taking up covering positions – or maybe searching them? – others crouching in order to pick off the sentries up on the wall. Henry was one of the first to buy it, standing and firing on the men and being riddled with automatic rifle fire for his efforts.

Gwen barely batted an eye; she didn’t have time. The soldiers were getting closer and closer to her house – to Darryl and to Clive Jr. Hefting the rifle up to her shoulder, Gwen aimed at one of the soldiers and got him directly between the eyes. She’d become so much better with a gun than when she first used one to kill Major Javier, the man who’d slaughtered her beloved Clive.

She turned, shooting another German who was coming up on her left. Then she fired at a group on her right, breathing hard – relishing the feel of the rifle as it pumped out bullet after bullet. A smattering of machine-gun fire forced her to pull back behind the wall of a house, but she immediately bobbed her head back round the corner, firing again.

Screams filled the air, but some were taking her lead, realising that if they didn’t fight, they’d die. Two or three had taken cover behind a notice board. The wood splintered as German troops fired at them, but they ducked and returned fire, causing the soldiers to try and find shelter now. One didn’t make it; shot in the legs as he ran.

Gwen grinned, targeting the fallen man and putting a bullet in his chest to make sure he was out of the picture.

“Fall back!” she heard someone shout, and for a moment Gwen thought it might be the Germans. No such luck: it was another team of villagers, being driven into doorways by an advancing squad of enemy soldiers. They just kept on coming out of that hole. Gwen needed to put a stop to it. She moved up, sliding along the wall of the house she’d been using for protection. Then she ran across, making the most of the thinning smoke cover. She could see the tunnel entrance, and put several bullets in a German using his elbow to climb out. Gunfire raked the ground ahead of her and she dived out of the way, rolling and coming up shooting. She clicked empty and sprinted towards the bench just ahead of her, leaping over and ducking behind it as more bullets followed in her wake.

She ejected the magazine, grabbed another from her pocket, slapped it in place. Then she got up and rested on the back of the seat, firing in the direction the bullets had come from, shouting in triumph when she saw one German soldier fall to the ground.

Just when she thought they might stand a chance, there was an explosion at the front wall.

Jesus, Gwen thought. What now?

She wished she hadn’t asked when she looked over and saw the gates flung wide as Tanek’s armoured vehicle smashed through.

“Shit!”

Villagers fired at the jeep, but their bullets just zinged off. One man was caught in the vehicle’s path, turning as it was upon him; he fell under the wheels and was crushed, head popping like a melon.

More German troops entered behind the armoured car, picking their targets, not wasting a round. How did she ever think they could stand a chance against professional fighters like these?

Then there he was, climbing out of the jeep. He was even bigger than she remembered, but that dour face, that olive skin was the same. He’d only been out a few seconds and he’d already put two crossbow bolts into someone. Tanek was coming for her son, but she was damned if she was going to let that happen.

Gwen came out from behind the bench, heading back in the direction she’d just come from: heading Tanek off at the pass before he could reach –

“Shit!”

The giant was striding across, busting in door after door and killing whoever resisted. He was checking every house for Clive Jr, and he didn’t have many to go. Sam Coulson came up behind Tanek, rifle raised. Gwen held her breath, watching as Sam was about to pull the trigger, but Tanek had already sensed his presence and was spinning, so quickly Sam didn’t have time to fire. The weapon was knocked clean out of his hands and Tanek grabbed him by the throat, lifting Sam into the air as though he weighed nothing. If Gwen had been closer – and if there hadn’t been so much noise – she probably would have heard the cracking of the bones in Sam’s neck as Tanek squeezed. Sam’s eyes bulged, his tongue flopping out as he dropped to the ground, legs giving out beneath him.

Tanek looked around, hardly flinching as bullets ricocheted off the building behind. It was then that he saw her. His eyes narrowed and he pointed, as if to say ‘I’m coming for you.’ Gwen had to admit, she was scared. Probably the first time she had been since the castle. Not for herself – for her son. Because she could see now that De Falaise’s old second in command was on a mission, and he wasn’t about to let anyone get in his way. Without looking, he held his crossbow out to the side and shot another villager – a young woman this time – twice. One bolt between her breasts and another in her temple.

So much death. Too much, thought Gwen. But this wasn’t over yet.

She was distracted by Jeffreys being dragged out of the doctor’s surgery. He was pleading with the soldier who had hold of him.

“Where is the boy?” asked the German.

Jeffreys said nothing, so the soldier shot him in the shoulder. Jeffreys screamed and clasped his hand to the wound. The soldier put the gun to Jeffreys’ head. “The boy!”

Jeffreys glanced over to where Gwen was standing, and she gave a small shake of the head, pleading with him not to do it. But she could already see in his eyes he’d made the decision. He pointed at Gwen’s house. “In there. Please don’t –” His final words were silenced by the blam! of the pistol as it blew his brains out.

Gwen felt nothing at his death, the betrayal still stinging. She couldn’t even consider what she might have done in his position; could only think about the fact her son’s location had been given away. The German was already motioning towards Tanek.

“No!” shouted Gwen, training her rifle on the soldier who’d just killed Jeffreys. She opened fire, the bullets smacking into his body, so many he was lifted off his feet. Perhaps she thought that by killing him she could somehow turn back time; erase what had just happened.

But nothing could do that and, as Tanek began to head towards her home, Gwen ran. She was halted by a rain of bullets from a semi-circle of soldiers who appeared out of nowhere. Gwen fired into them, but such was the intensity of the return fire that she had to duck back behind a wall. If she fell here, then Clive Jr was as good as Tanek’s.

Gwen peered round the corner and let off a few more rounds. Then she was empty. There were no more magazines left, so she dropped the rifle and took out her pistol, cocking it. She reached down for the knife she kept strapped to her ankle.

She came out, making every shot with the pistol count, taking out four soldiers with the first volley. Gwen threw herself down and slashed at another soldier’s calves with her knife, causing him to drop to one knee. Then she plunged the knife in his ribs. He toppled over onto his face, twitching.

Gwen rose with one eye still on Tanek, who was about to enter her house.

“Gwen! Watch out!” she heard, and then she was being pushed out of the way, falling to the ground and landing awkwardly on her shoulder. She looked up as bullets hit her rescuer. It was Andy, who’d staggered out of the doctor’s, perhaps in the vain hope he might be able to help Jeffreys. Instead he’d taken about a dozen bullets for her. He turned towards her, an expression of disbelief on his face.

“Andy!” she cried. But it was too late. He was beyond hearing her.

Squeezing off a few rounds in the direction of the German machine-guns, she didn’t waste the opportunity he’d given her. She raced after Tanek, just as someone came crashing through the living room window of her house. The body was covered in shattered glass, and rolled a few times before stopping. Darryl.

“No... Christ in Heaven, no!” she wailed.

Tanek emerged from her place, carrying a crying Clive Jr – holding him by the scruff of his T-shirt and brandishing the crossbow as if daring anyone to take the child from him.

“No!” she screamed, running forward. Then, suddenly, she was aware of the fact that she wasn’t moving anymore. Her leg had given out, and a white hot pain spread through her thigh. Looking down, she saw the bolt there, embedded deep. She began to crawl, holding up her pistol with a shaky hand but not daring to fire in case she hit her son. Gwen was a good shot, but not that good, especially in this condition. Then another bolt slammed into her shoulder, causing her to drop the gun altogether.

Machine-gun fire continued unabated all around as the pain kicked in, and she realised that no one was going to ride in and save the day. Not Robert and his Rangers, not anybody. He’d probably left her to it just to spite her, assuming Karen had even made it to the castle.

“If only De Falaise could see you now,” Tanek shouted over the noise.

“L-leave my son alone, you bastard!”

“Sorry, I made a promise.”

What promise? Gwen didn’t understand what all this was about. Wasn’t really interested – all she wanted was her son back. She would give anything for that.

Tanek raised his crossbow once again, aiming at her heart. “And now your role in the story ends.”

It was at that moment Clive Jr began to wriggle and kick out. Tanek pressed the trigger, and the bolt went off target, but still hit Gwen, just below the ribs. She sucked in air through her teeth as it sank in.

At the same time there was a hissing sound. More smoke bombs had been thrown into New Hope, but they didn’t originate from the hole. And it didn’t appear to be the Germans who’d set them off. They looked at each other, mystified, as red smoke filled the area. Tanek looked over, frowning.

Gwen squinted, catching glimpses of figures in the smoke, moving through the German troops. Taking them down with the kind of skill her villagers would never possess. Professional fighters, even more professional than the Germans. Gwen grimaced from the pain, but started to feel a glimmer of hope, especially when she saw a hood. Karen made it after all! And it looked like she’d brought back company.

There was only one thing wrong. Where were the arrows? Where were the bolas those men favoured? She saw a flash of metal. Yes, swords: they used swords instead of conventional weaponry. But, when one of the hooded figures appeared beside a German soldier, bringing down his blade across the man’s wrists and severing his hands, Gwen knew this wasn’t Robert and his men. Blood pumped from the soldier’s wrists as he raised them, looking uncomprehendingly at the stumps. He didn’t have to suffer for long, though, because the hooded figure twirled and cut off his head in one quick, clean stroke. It was as the blade lowered that Gwen saw it wasn’t a broadsword he was holding, but a machete.

And the colour of the hood had nothing to do with the red smoke that plumed around the figure, because the material was red to begin with. Morningstar Servitors!

Tanek recognised this, he’d spent long enough working with them when they’d allied themselves with the Tsar. They’d thought the Russian was their chosen leader on earth or something, but had abandoned him soon after the fight for the castle.

Here and there, Gwen saw snatches of what was happening out in the crimson smog: a German soldier firing into the mist, but hitting nothing, only for a machete blade to appear in the centre of his chest; another German firing a pistol off to one side, arm outstretched, and then the next moment a blade coming out of nowhere, hacking his arm off at the elbow. It was a similar story everywhere you looked: a leg here, a hand there. The Servitors – and yes, there were definitely more than one – were everywhere and nowhere at once. Finally, Gwen saw one German staggering through the smoke, his rifle held close, eyes darting left and right – when a hooded figure materialized behind him and planted his machete deep into the man’s head, practically slicing it in two.

It was clear the Germans didn’t know quite what had hit them, and they were rapidly losing the battle. Tanek shot a couple of bolts at the approaching men, but in spite of his precision they didn’t end up anywhere near the targets. As they moved forwards, holding their machetes in one hand, they removed their cowls with the others, revealing those skull faces Gwen knew so well. Tanek shot again, but found he was out of bolts. To change the magazine, he had to drop Clive Jr. Her son began crying even louder as he was dumped unceremoniously on the ground. Tanek reloaded quickly, loosing a couple of bolts – hitting nothing. But when he reached down to retrieve the child, Clive Jr had disappeared. Gwen hadn’t seen him vanish, either; perhaps he’d got up and toddled off into the smoke?

Whatever the case, Tanek had other matters to deal with. The Servitors were closing in, and no matter where he shot, Tanek didn’t seem to be able to land a hit. It was like he was attacking the fog itself.

Slinging the weapon over his shoulder, he brought out his knife and prepared for hand-to-hand. The Servitors rushed him as one, machete blades swishing. Tanek avoided the first of the blows, grabbing one Servitor – not so insubstantial now – and throwing him into three of his brethren, who tumbled to the ground like bowling skittles. But one of the machetes caught Tanek a glancing blow across the forearm and he roared.

Gwen attempted to move, to crawl forward and search for her son, but her whole body cried out in agony. She tried to call his name, but doubted whether he could hear her. “C-Clive, sweetheart, where are you? It’s... it’s Mummy.”

She gritted her teeth, severely hampered by her wounds but desperate to find her son. Suddenly, in front of her, was a set of feet. Gwen looked slowly up, and there he was, hood removed.

It was the man who’d saved her once from the castle, this time without his skull make-up. He was here again to save her. And he was holding Clive Jr in his arms, safely returned to her. Gwen couldn’t help herself; she began to cry. “Th-thank you,” she whispered. She didn’t know what else to say, there weren’t the words to express how she felt. Gwen held up a trembling hand to take her child. But the man she’d once known only as Skullface cocked his head, frowning. It was then that she saw it: the tears tracking down his face, the humanity she’d sensed in him before. Yet still he held on to her child...

The smoke was clearing a little. The circle of Servitors remained, but there was no sign of Tanek, and there were more new arrivals. At first Gwen thought they were Servitor reinforcements, but these people in hoods were on horseback, and were armed with bows and arrows. Karen was with them, riding with a shocked-looking Reverend Tate, who immediately ordered the Rangers to shoot at the Servitors. “No, wait!” Gwen wanted to shout, but didn’t have the voice anymore. It came out as a croak.

Tate had dismounted and was leading a team across the square. A couple of the Rangers had engaged the Servitors in swordplay. The Reverend was limping towards Gwen and her saviour, calling for the man to release his hostages. Gwen wanted to explain, to tell him he’d got it all wrong, but even if she had the strength Tate probably wouldn’t have believed her. The man who’d come to her aid looked from Gwen to the Reverend, and finally let Clive Jr down to be with his mother.

Then he ran, calling for the other Morningstars to retreat as well. Tate attempted to stop him, swinging his stick, but the man easily dodged it. In moments, the robed figures were gone.

Though it was agony to do so, Gwen put her free arm around Clive Jr, growing weaker by the minute. That final bolt had done something to her, torn something vital inside, she realised, and part of her wondered if that was why the Servitor was crying? She couldn’t help looking at the bodies of the fallen all around, clearly visible now the smoke was gone, and thinking that soon she would be joining them. Gwen cried again, not because she’d been reunited with her son, but because she’d have to say goodbye to him shortly.

As Tate came over – concern etched on his face and calling for medical assistance – she also wondered if Clive Jr would have been better off with the man who’d really saved them? It was clearly what the Servitor himself had been considering right at the end.

But one thing comforted her as she lay there, bleeding out from her wounds.

At least she knew her boy wasn’t with that bastard Tanek.

 

 

TANEK WONDERED WHAT exactly had happened.

One minute everything had been going brilliantly, according to plan. The villagers were being worn down, they had pretty much been removed as any kind of real threat. The woman Gwen was on her knees in front of him, where she belonged, and De Falaise’s child was his for the taking.

Then... they’d arrived, out of nowhere. The Morningstars. Tanek simply couldn’t get his head around it. He’d not seen a single one of those freaks since the battle at Nottingham Castle; they’d fucked off and left the rest of them to it, abandoning the Tsar to die at Hood’s hands. Now this. Why had they stepped in? What was their argument with him? Or the Germans, for that matter?

It just didn’t make sense.

But Tanek believed in the evidence of his own eyes. Back there, with those Servitors all around him, machete wounds in at least half a dozen places, he hadn’t questioned the fact that they were there; that they were attacking for no reason. He’d fled, ensuring his own survival. If he lived, then there was always another chance to capture the boy. A good job he had, too, because he’d only narrowly avoided a run in with some Rangers on horseback, riding in like the fucking cavalry. It was definitely time to beat a hasty retreat, put some distance between him and the Morningstars, and the Rangers. Once, he might have actually stayed and slugged it out with both, despite the superior numbers, but Tanek was on to a good thing with the Germans. And he’d figure out another way to get to De Falaise’s child at some point.

His way had been blocked to the jeep, so he’d had to escape on foot, losing himself in the woodland around the village. Tanek kept looking over his shoulder as he went, nursing the cuts on his arms and torso, trying to stem the bleeding for fear of leaving a trail.

Tanek didn’t like being the hunted, didn’t even think of himself that way now. He wasn’t some vulnerable prey, and even if they caught up with him they’d wish they hadn’t –

There, in the trees: a noise. Tanek stopped, bringing the knife up and shrugging his crossbow off his shoulder.

There was definitely someone... Yes, movement. There! Tanek loosed a bolt, then set off in the opposite direction. There was a rustling from behind, the sound of someone coming after him. One or several? He couldn’t tell. Tanek was a good distance from New Hope; they must have been determined, to follow him this far. But who was it, the cultists or the Rangers? Maybe he should just make a stand, get this over with, use the cover the woods afforded him to turn the tables on his –

The ground suddenly fell away, and Tanek found himself tumbling. Down into a deep hole; concealed, like the secret entrance to New Hope. Whoever had created that must have made this one, he thought as he hit the bottom, hard. It wasn’t the Morningstars’ style to do something like this.

It was more like Hood’s.

Tanek shook his head, attempted to get up, but found he couldn’t. He touched the base of his skull and his fingers came away wet. He didn’t have long before he blacked out.

A lone figure appeared at the edge of the pit he’d fallen into. Tanek made to raise his crossbow, but both that and his knife must have slipped out of his grasp during the fall. It didn’t matter, he couldn’t focus properly on the man anyway. What he could see, though, was that he wasn’t wearing red or green. He was wearing black, from head to toe. In fact, as Tanek gazed up, it looked to him very much like a shadow was standing there.

“Hello, Mr Tanek,” said, with a strange, distinctive accent. “I have been waiting for you.”

Tanek attempted to reply, but found his grasp on language was about as good as his grasp on his weapons.

And now he was falling again, into another deep pit.

Filled with darkness.

Filled with shadows.