Arrowland by Paul Kane

he had to admit. Sending his troops into the very heart of the local Ranger's nest, they'd encountered very little resistance. Taken by surprise, swords and arrows were no match for heavily-armed men storming a building. These were the only ones left alive. It was still very much a fledgling operation in this locality, and that told him Hood had a way to go before he was a force to be reckoned with outside his native Nottingham.
    What was about to happen today would make him think twice about a foothold here. Either that, or make him mad enough to come here en masse - in which case they'd devastate his numbers and send them packing back off to where they belonged.
    "The microphone," he demanded through a mouthful of chicken. "And some doughnuts."
    One of the guards passed him the mike. It carried his voice throughout the stadium. Another guard called for more food to be brought, which arrived just as The Dragon began addressing his captives. The young man who brought it was another new face to him, and one that didn't appeal much. Those soapstar good looks reminded him a little too much of the boys from school. He shooed the servant away, noting that the lad held back to watch the proceedings from behind. Oh well, let him. This would serve as a lesson to his own people just as much. You do not cross The Dragon.
    "Your attention," The Dragon said, nodding happily at the sound of his amplified voice. The Rangers on the pitch turned and looked up. "That's right, I'm up here," he said, sighing. "Now, I expect you're wondering what you're doing in this place? It's very simple. Your actions have marked you out as not only an enemy of my country, but also of me. I offer you the chance of freedom, though. I am nothing if not a fair man. You are familiar with this nation's favourite sport?"
    The Rangers on the pitch did and said nothing.
    "Even if you're not, you know the idea is to pass this..." He waited while one of his men produced an oval-shaped ball, "...forward either by carrying or kicking. Then reach the other end of the pitch and score a try without the other team taking it from you. Got all that?" Silence again. "I'll take that as a yes."
    His men began to cut the Rangers' bonds, guns still trained on them. Given any opening, these men were sure to retaliate. The Dragon noted that his new blonde odalisque - it was a word he'd 'borrowed' from the Turks, who knew a thing or two about their harems - was watching events unfold below with increasing interest. It was time to move things along so he could become better acquainted with her.
    "Be aware that you are playing for high stakes," he told them. "If my men should win and score, then you will lose not only the game, but also your lives." One of his guards motioned for the Rangers and his own men to form a haphazard scrum. There were about the same amount of The Dragon's men facing them, which meant that theoretically they could win.
    The Dragon nodded for the ball to be tossed into the heap of figures, all of whom immediately began scrabbling for it. They were a blur of reds, whites and greens. Light and dark, limbs out at all angles, they moved like a giant human spider. All were punching and kicking - not exactly within the rules of the game, but then neither was a death sentence if you lost. One of the Rangers suddenly emerged, holding the ball up. When he knew his comrades had seen him, he tucked it under his arm and began to run. Both The Dragon's men and the remaining Rangers started after him, one side to offer support, the others to attack. One guard dived, but missed the Ranger, then spun over and over on the grass. The Dragon pulled a sour face.
    The Ranger with the ball could really run, had possibly been some kind of sportsman in his former life. But so had a few of The Dragon's men. They were catching up, and he was looking for one of his mates to take the ball. He spotted another Ranger advancing on his right. The Dragon's fingers dug into the arms of his seat.