to keep a watchful eye on them. Especially Robert, who never seemed to take a bit of notice whenever Tate told him to be careful. And asking the Lord to look after His humble servant, trying to bring His word to those who were building this new world.
As Tate got up, relying more heavily these days than ever on his stick, he began his slow and steady walk back up towards the castle, and considered the rebuilding they'd done here after The Tsar's attack. That had been such a horrible time.
While Robert and his men had been going through Hell on the battlefield, Tate, Jack, Mark and Sophie had been trying to keep invading forces out of the castle grounds - and failing miserably. If it hadn't been for Dale arriving with more Rangers, this place would look very different. Russian troops would be guarding the walls and the gate instead of Rangers, and they'd probably all have been hunted down and killed. Tate liked to think it was the power of prayer that had helped Robert recover enough to finally defeat the Tsar.
Whichever way you cut it, they owed the Almighty a big one... Two, actually, if you counted that other battle for the castle when they'd put an end to the Sheriff's reign.
But it seemed as though no sooner had they tackled one insane dictator than another cropped up. The Widow in Scotland, for example, or the potential threat of this Dragon character across to the west. In this post-virus world everyone was staking a claim on their own territories - and other people's. The only thing standing in their way was people like Robert and his Rangers.
As Tate hobbled further up, joining the path, he remembered what the castle had looked like earlier the previous year. The gardens torn up, the castle pock-marked - even a hole in one part of the wall where Adele, De Falaise's traitorous daughter, had left her mark.
The attack had left not only the castle and its grounds devastated, but their souls as well. Left them questioning if they were actually doing any good, or just fooling themselves. Luckily, God had shown them the way. Drawn more people to their cause, who wanted to join Robert's police force. Brought folk with even more useful skills, or given them the ability to learn these, enabling them to repair the damage done.
The physical damage, that was. Mentally, it was another matter.
Yet some of his friends and, yes, family - because that's how Tate thought of them now - had thrived in the months after the attack. Mark and Sophie, for example, had finally acted on their feelings for each other. As if on cue, he saw the boy, walking with his new girlfriend. Boy. You couldn't really describe him as that these days, he'd grown so tall. Tate could remember the first time he'd met Mark, back when Bill had been running the floating markets. He'd only come up to the holy man's chest then, and he wasn't exactly tall himself. Mark had also filled out somewhat since he'd started his Ranger training, working out whenever he wasn't spending time with Sophie or practising his archery and sword skills. By all accounts, the youngster was turning into a pretty decent Ranger, modelling himself on Robert, of course - still going with him on those private trips to the forest.
Tate raised a hand and both of the young people waved back. They looked so happy. For Mark and Sophie things had actually improved since the Tsar's attack.
The same was also probably true of their older counterparts, Robert and Mary, who were closer than ever. Tate cast his mind back to their wedding the previous summer, a small affair but attended by all those who mattered. Tate had presided over the ceremony, where the old bandstand was, and everyone had clapped when he'd finally said: "I now pronounce you man and wife. Robert, you may kiss the bride." There had been little time for a honeymoon, as a spot of trouble with a new wannabe gang in Chesterfield had required their attention, but both had gone off to tackle the problem together. Tate firmly believed
As Tate got up, relying more heavily these days than ever on his stick, he began his slow and steady walk back up towards the castle, and considered the rebuilding they'd done here after The Tsar's attack. That had been such a horrible time.
While Robert and his men had been going through Hell on the battlefield, Tate, Jack, Mark and Sophie had been trying to keep invading forces out of the castle grounds - and failing miserably. If it hadn't been for Dale arriving with more Rangers, this place would look very different. Russian troops would be guarding the walls and the gate instead of Rangers, and they'd probably all have been hunted down and killed. Tate liked to think it was the power of prayer that had helped Robert recover enough to finally defeat the Tsar.
Whichever way you cut it, they owed the Almighty a big one... Two, actually, if you counted that other battle for the castle when they'd put an end to the Sheriff's reign.
But it seemed as though no sooner had they tackled one insane dictator than another cropped up. The Widow in Scotland, for example, or the potential threat of this Dragon character across to the west. In this post-virus world everyone was staking a claim on their own territories - and other people's. The only thing standing in their way was people like Robert and his Rangers.
As Tate hobbled further up, joining the path, he remembered what the castle had looked like earlier the previous year. The gardens torn up, the castle pock-marked - even a hole in one part of the wall where Adele, De Falaise's traitorous daughter, had left her mark.
The attack had left not only the castle and its grounds devastated, but their souls as well. Left them questioning if they were actually doing any good, or just fooling themselves. Luckily, God had shown them the way. Drawn more people to their cause, who wanted to join Robert's police force. Brought folk with even more useful skills, or given them the ability to learn these, enabling them to repair the damage done.
The physical damage, that was. Mentally, it was another matter.
Yet some of his friends and, yes, family - because that's how Tate thought of them now - had thrived in the months after the attack. Mark and Sophie, for example, had finally acted on their feelings for each other. As if on cue, he saw the boy, walking with his new girlfriend. Boy. You couldn't really describe him as that these days, he'd grown so tall. Tate could remember the first time he'd met Mark, back when Bill had been running the floating markets. He'd only come up to the holy man's chest then, and he wasn't exactly tall himself. Mark had also filled out somewhat since he'd started his Ranger training, working out whenever he wasn't spending time with Sophie or practising his archery and sword skills. By all accounts, the youngster was turning into a pretty decent Ranger, modelling himself on Robert, of course - still going with him on those private trips to the forest.
Tate raised a hand and both of the young people waved back. They looked so happy. For Mark and Sophie things had actually improved since the Tsar's attack.
The same was also probably true of their older counterparts, Robert and Mary, who were closer than ever. Tate cast his mind back to their wedding the previous summer, a small affair but attended by all those who mattered. Tate had presided over the ceremony, where the old bandstand was, and everyone had clapped when he'd finally said: "I now pronounce you man and wife. Robert, you may kiss the bride." There had been little time for a honeymoon, as a spot of trouble with a new wannabe gang in Chesterfield had required their attention, but both had gone off to tackle the problem together. Tate firmly believed
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