And his legend along with him.
They were pushing the horses too hard, even Dale could see that.
But he'd made a promise — and even as he was riding his mount across the next hillside, Dale wondered how Robert was. Robert, who he'd left in that field, bleeding to death but insisting that they go because the castle was — or very soon would be — under attack. Mary was in danger, that was the man's one and only thought, but how exactly was Dale going to explain to her that he'd left the man she loved?
"We'll send back help…"
He'd shouted that as they'd left and he'd meant it. As soon as they'd assessed the situation at the castle, tackled the threat — and just how exactly are you planning on doing that? Take on another army with your own numbers depleted and no Robert to lead the charge? — Dale would do it, he'd send medical aid and-
But Lord knows how long all that would take. Robert might be — definitely would be — dead by then. He'd lost a lot of blood from the sickle wounds, had been crippled by that jeep.
Dale squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, willing himself not to think about it. But when he closed his eyes all he could see was Robert's mangled body.
Quit it! He's relying on you to get to Mary, Dale. Now, I know you've never cared enough about a woman to sacrifice yourself like that, but it's what Robert's doing. His life for hers. So get on with it, get going, get to the castle!
Azhar was pulling up alongside him, having broken away from the pack behind, and was pointing to the horse he himself was riding; telling Dale what he already knew. Dale stabbed his own finger ahead. They were not stopping. The horses could rest when they arrived.
They had to reach the castle before it was too late.
Even during his days sneaking in and out of towns and cities to gather supplies, Mark had never pulled off a getaway like this one. He still wasn't quite sure how they'd made it out of the castle grounds, let alone Nottingham.
They'd surfaced from the caves out by the Brewhouse Yard, a reversal of what Reverend Tate had done to gain access when De Falaise had been in residence. Tate had a fun time negotiating the steps, but with Mark and Sophie's help he'd got down them okay. Of course there had been men stationed in the Yard, those who'd killed the Ranger guards, but Mark managed to creep up on them and took both out with blows to the head, hitting them with a fallen half-brick he'd picked up on the way.
The jeep had proved trickier, but while Tate and Sophie waited by the gate, he managed to creep up on the driver. Most of the vehicles had already entered the grounds, with some congregating up the top or waiting down side streets because they couldn't get in. They'd been lucky to find this one, very lucky.
Once he'd taken care of the driver, reaching in through the window and landing a well-aimed punch, Mark had climbed in and backed the jeep down to where his companions were hiding.
Sophie pulled the unconscious Russian out of the passenger side, and they'd climbed in, Tate having terrible difficultly getting in until Sophie helped out. That's why they'd had to steal something with wheels, because the Reverend wouldn't have made it half a mile on foot.
Mark had kept the engine idling a good few minutes, however, at the Brewhouse gate, expecting to see Jack come bounding down those steps, Gwen, Adele and Mary with him.
No, not Mary. Mark had seen her, seen what the cave in had done. If she wasn't dead already, she would be when The Tsar's men or the cultists got their hands on her. He gripped the wheel until his knuckles were white.
He'd wiped the tears away, but not before Sophie saw them. She reached across and put a hand on his forearm. "We have to go, Mark."
"Just a couple more minutes."
"Jack's resourceful. He'll find a way to get out, to meet up with us. He wouldn't want us to get captured. Would he, Reverend?"
Tate said nothing, but Mark knew she was right. They should get away, wait for Jack at the rendezvous point.
They had to head for Sherwood.
Mark's driving left something to be desired — having only been behind the wheel a few times before. He'd been too young to drive pre-virus, and Robert and his men went everywhere on horseback. Luckily, Bill had given him a few lessons before leaving. "Never know when it's goin' to come in handy," he'd said, tapping his nose.
Mark hadn't thought about Bill in months, and it was strange that he should do so now. Because, as they pulled in to the car park at Sherwood Forest, who should they see but the man himself, standing next to his helicopter, holding his shotgun as if he'd never been away. He was pointing it at their vehicle, squinting as he tried to make out who was inside.
For a second Mark thought he was actually going to shoot, so he stuck a hand out of the window. Bill kept his gun raised, but when Mark braked and shoved his head out, he smiled, lowering the weapon.
Mark hopped out and ran towards him. "Bill? Is it really you?"
"Aye."
They gave each other a hug as Sophie helped Tate out of the jeep. When the pair came over, Bill greeted them both. "How do?"
"What are you doing at Sherwood?" Mark asked him.
"Long story. Yerself?"
Like Bill, Mark didn't know where to start. He told him about the attack on the castle, and how they'd only managed to get out by the skin of their teeth. They were still hoping that Jack would make it, with Gwen and Adele.
"Well I'll be," said Bill when he'd finished. "It's a good job I didn't take him there then."
"Who?" asked Mark.
"Listen, I'm not goin' to lie to you. The bloke's in a pretty bad way, Mark."
"Who? Who's in a bad way?"
"Robert."
"You're here with Robert?" Tate rubbed his head. "I don't understand."
"Makes four of us, then, I reckon," Bill said. Then he went on to explain how he'd found Robert after the battle, badly injured and not making much sense. "Just kept on insisting we come 'ere."
"Where were the rest of the men?" asked Sophie, and Mark knew by that she probably meant Dale. "They weren't…?"
"Reckon you lost a fair few — bloody insanity goin' up against them things in the first place." He scratched his stubbled chin. "Tho' I will say this much, you lot gave them Russkies a good hidin'. Not sure what happened to the rest. Like I say, Rob wasn't makin' much sense by the time I showed up."
"How long's he been in there?" asked Tate.
"Good few hours. Wanted to fly 'im back to Mary, but… Do y'think she'll get out with Jack, then?"
Marked opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shook his head.
"What? Is the lass all right?"
Sophie suddenly burst into tears, and turned to Mark, pressing her face into his shoulder. Mark hesitated, then wrapped a comforting arm around her. He was having trouble holding back the tears himself. "Bill, we think Mary might be…"
"What?"
"I was the last one to see her. She was… crushed in a cave-in. Happened when The Tsar attacked. I think we've…" Mark sniffed. "I think we've lost her."
"Judas…"
"No," said a voice, so quietly it might have drifted in on the wind. The three of them turned, Bill automatically raising his gun.
There, in front of them, was Robert. Or rather, The Hooded Man: features still obscured by the cowl he wore. He was standing straight, in spite of the bandage on his leg, and when he took another step towards them he was hobbling. But this was nothing like the figure Bill had described.
"Robert?" gasped Mark. He'd come up on them so silently, he'd made all of them start. But then, he was good at that; self-trained in this very place.