Hooded Man by Paul Kane

down his face.
    There was a rustling off to their right and one of his group opened fire, splintering the trees. When the sound died down, there was nothing to see.
    “Where’d he go?” Rory heard one guy say.
    There was no answer to that, none of them had a clue. Then the one who’d asked the question went silently down, falling over as if fainting. It wasn’t until Rory looked more closely that he saw the arrow sticking out of the man’s side.
    More dropped like him, only a couple getting a chance to let off a round or two. Rory spun, looking for a direction the arrows might be coming from. He saw nothing. It might as well have been the trees themselves.
    Then the guy to his left let out a piercing scream, dropping his rifle and clutching his leg. There was a huge knife sticking out of his thigh; the man hissed a swear word before dropping to the ground. The group that had gone in were already half their number and the rest began to open fire randomly – in the hopes that they’d get off a lucky hit, maybe wing their enemy.
    Not much chance of that. Even as they were firing, the arrows flew – and one by one the noises died down until the last man was silenced.
    That just left Rory. He was no hero, he hadn’t signed up for this – hadn’t signed up for anything, actually – so it was time to get out of there, whether the mad German was waiting for him or not.
    Turning to run back out, he came face-to-face with the man they’d been hunting. Or rather, the man who’d been hunting them. Only he couldn’t see much of that face because it was obscured by his hood. There was a strap around his shoulder which held a handmade quiver, with a few arrows left in it – but he’d made every single one of his shots count. There was also one in the bow Rory was looking at, pointing at his head.
    He dropped the rifle on the floor, holding up his shaking hands in surrender. “Please... please don’t hurt me, I had no choice. He was going to kill me. Kill us all!” Rory was almost in tears.
    The man raised his head, looked directly at him. His eyes were narrowed, but whether he was readying to shoot or just didn’t believe a word of Rory’s excuse was unclear. Then he lowered his bow.
    “Who?” asked the hooded man.
    “What?”
    “Who was going to kill you?”
    “Th-the Frenchman. H-his name is De Falaise.”
    “Get out of here,” he said to Rory. “Take the ones who can still walk with you.” Then he went over and pulled the knife out of its home in the felled soldier’s leg.
    Rory gave a quick nod, searching for any survivors. There weren’t many: two, three at most. Rory helped the guy whose thigh was pouring with blood, half dragging him along as he seethed in pain.
    Rory risked one last glance over his shoulder at the man, who was now bending over some of the fallen soldiers. A single man, but he’d managed to take out most of their group in no time. He had never seen anything like it... and never wanted to again.
    Head down, he half-carried the injured man out of the woods.
     
     
    H ENRIK TAPPED HIS seat, keeping his eyes on the panorama ahead of him.
    He had never been very good at waiting. Everything had to come to him yesterday. It was one of the reasons he’d thrown in with De Falaise. It was a quick route to the top: to power, to influence over this new world. The man had made such an impassioned speech about his plans that Henrik would have been a fool not to listen. Yes, he could have tried to build up an army of his own, he supposed, but that would have taken longer. De Falaise already had Tanek, Savero, and a handful of other loyal followers – this would be the easier route to success. Then later, maybe...
    Things had been going well. They’d been spreading out from Nottingham, tracking down small communities that had set themselves up and obliterating any thoughts of resistance. The local people would serve them or they would die. Which was why these markets had to be stopped; free