The Place of Dead Kings (50 page)

Jack heard a crack as a man near him was hit in the head and fell back. A warrior slipped over as a bullet caught his leg.

There was a myriad of tings, snaps, chimes and thuds as the bullets struck metal, wood, flesh and bone. A ball severed the string of an amulet. Another clipped off a man’s finger. A third punctured a water skin.

A musket ball pinged off the head of Cormac’s spear. The tall man stumbled, growled, regained his footing and pressed on.

Jack looked up. The wall wasn’t far now – only around twenty yards away. But the musket fire was so hot he was unsure how many of his men were even going to make it that far.

A bullet whined in his ear. Another tugged his sleeve.

Just a few more yards now.

The first of the Mar were already at the wall and swinging up the makeshift ladders. The warriors rushed up the steps, the wood sagging and juddering as more and more of them clambered up. They were fearless and would have made good skirmishers in the army.

The Cattans grasped the tops of the ladders and tried to heave them away from the wall. They managed to shove one to the side, the Mar warriors shouting as they tumbled to the ground. The Cattans rammed the butts of their muskets against another ladder and forced it away. The ladder toppled backwards, the men flailing their arms and legs as they fell.

Muskets blasted. Mist and smoke whirled around the battlements and radiant ash spun as bullets scythed past.

Jack’s breath was short and the air burnt in his lungs. The pain slammed over and over again within his chest.

Just a few more steps.

And then he was there, at the base of the wall.

Cormac charged up one ladder, while Jack scrambled up another. Jack’s feet battered the creaking branches and the ladder wobbled and swayed as the men swarmed up. Bullets buzzed about him like bees. The warrior immediately above gasped and jerked his head. Something warm slapped Jack in the face. The man slipped back, swatting at his forehead, and Jack swung out of the way as he fell.

Jack smelt the iron scent of blood and something sticky ran into his eyes. He stopped for a second, wiped his face and saw a steaming mess of brains and specks of skull on his fingers.

But the warrior immediately below was already pressing up against him. Others further down were shouting, obviously anxious to get off the unsteady ladder. Jack scrabbled on up the rungs, pieces of bark coming free in his fingers and splinters catching in his palms.

He was more than two-thirds of the way up. The climb seemed to have taken only a couple of seconds, but it must have been longer. He had a sense of the wall falling away to either side and the ground reeling below, but he had no time to take it in. From a quick glance, he saw further ladders still leaning against the battlements, with men scurrying up like ants. One ladder tottered back as he watched and warriors spiralled to the ground.

Bullets shrieked in his ears. He felt them fingering the air near to him. One passed so close it burnt his cheek.

Shafts of pain coursed through him. Sweat streamed into his eyes. The sattva was so powerful his skin crawled.

At the top of the ladder, the first Mar warrior had reached the parapet. A startled Cattan, caught reloading his musket, fired with the ramrod still jammed in the barrel. The rod impaled the Mar in the head and he fell off the ladder.

But now more men were tumbling over the battlements and engaging the Cattans in hand-to-hand fighting. Jack dragged himself over the top of the wall, swung down to the walkway and skipped out of the way of the warriors scrambling up behind him.

The Mar fought with the Cattans all along the wall. Swords and axes glinted as they arced through the air. The Mar jabbed with spears and knives. Men grunted and roared. The guns stood silent in the midst of the fighting.

To his left, Jack spotted Nectan, the dark-haired Cattan commander, slicing the head of a Mar in half with a longsword.

Nectan. The man who’d captured Saleem. Jack had a score to settle with him. And more than that, the Cattans might waver if he could kill their leader.

He scurried along beside the parapet and went to grab his pistol. But Nectan seemed to sense his presence, whirled round and swung his blade, his eyes white and bulging. Jack ducked down beside a gun. The sword clanged and spat sparks as it struck the iron piece. The gun rolled back slightly on its block-shaped standing carriage.

Nectan bellowed and leapt over the gun to where Jack was crouching. But Jack circled under the piece, gripping the swirling designs encrusting the surface. The iron was still warm from the earlier firings. He came up on the other side, face to face with the glaring eye of the gun’s serpent-head muzzle.

Nectan sliced his sword sideways, but Jack ducked again in plenty of time and the blade whisked over his head. He wrenched out the pistol, stood and fired. The hammer clicked down.

Nothing.

Damn it. A misfire.

Feverishly, he cocked and pulled the trigger again.

Still nothing.

A score of curses tumbled through his head.

Nectan must have understood what had happened because the expression of shock on his face slipped away and was replaced by a broad grin. His crooked teeth crept into view and his eyes narrowed. He lifted his sword with both hands.

Jack tensed his legs, vaulted over the gun and thumped into Nectan’s chest. Nectan wheezed, slipped, tried to regain his footing and fell back. Jack landed on top and had his knife out in a second. But Nectan was strong – much stronger than Jack. He gripped Jack’s wrist and forced the knife away towards Jack’s neck.

Sweat bloomed on Jack’s forehead and the pain welled in his chest. The knife edged towards him, the blade glowing softly in the misty light.

Nectan smirked and his bloodshot eyes glinted. Jack could smell the Cattan’s rank breath as he panted.

Jack couldn’t force Nectan’s hand away. He was going to be stabbed if he didn’t do something soon.

He leapt back and on to his feet, yanking his hand free. Nectan, no longer pressed down by Jack’s bodyweight, barked in Gaalic, sprang up and flew at Jack. Jack swung the knife, but Nectan deftly stuck out his arm and blocked the blow. Nectan lunged forward and slammed the top of his forehead into Jack’s face. A bright light flashed in Jack’s eyes and the world reeled about him for a moment. Pain pulsed across his nose. He fell back and knocked his head against the battlements.

Nectan grasped Jack’s tunic at the neck and punched him hard in the face. A light flashed again. Feebly, Jack lifted the knife, but he felt Nectan prise the weapon from his fingers.

He found he could only see out of one eye – the other was covered by the swelling from where he’d been hit. But he could make out Nectan standing over him with the knife raised, ready to strike.

The shouts and rings of metal from the fight beat in Jack’s ears. The tangled scent of powder smoke and sattva, acrid and sweet, mingled in his nostrils. Everything seemed still. Frozen. In the distance he could hear guns booming and thought vaguely that this meant Rao and his men were still facing stiff opposition.

A flake of ash bobbed near Nectan’s face, giving his features a greenish hue.

The knife hovered in the air.

This was the end. Jack was certain of that now. Strange. He’d been sure the sattva-fire was going to kill him. Now it was going to be a savage out in the wilds of Scotland.

Nectan jolted. His head separated from his neck and flew into the air. For a second Jack saw the Cattan’s startled eyes staring at him as the head tumbled upside down and spun away over the wall.

The headless body slumped against Jack’s chest, spraying him with warm, salty blood.

Cormac stood behind the fallen Cattan, wielding a longsword he must have wrested from one of the enemy. Blood speckled his tunic and the blade was smeared with red.

Jack managed a weak grin, shoved aside Nectan’s corpse and accepted Cormac’s outstretched hand.

Cormac spat at the dead body. ‘Evil.’

Jack mopped blood from his face. ‘Thanks for that.’

His legs were shaky and he put his hand against the wall to steady himself. He could still only see out of one eye. When he touched his face he felt the swelling engulfing the left side of his head. Looking around, everything seemed strange and unreal. The ghostly ash, pipe-infested turrets, black chimneys and mist were like a vision from some other world. Everything shifted. Nothing was entirely solid.

Jack swallowed as the floor seemed to buck beneath him.

He had to get himself back under control.

Cormac was staring at him and saying something, but he couldn’t hear properly. He blinked a few times and finally the words percolated into his head.

‘Finish,’ Cormac was saying. ‘We finish.’

We finish? What did that mean? But as Jack glanced around he immediately understood. The Cattans defending the castle’s rear wall were all dead, fatally wounded or had fled.

Only twenty Mar warriors were left standing, and they were bloody and exhausted.

But they’d taken the wall.

‘Great Shee help.’ Cormac pressed his fist to his chest. ‘Great Shee give us strength.’

The warriors congregated about Jack. He looked at their stern faces through his good eye. They were amongst the fiercest fighters he’d ever come across. Their faith in the Great Shee might be naive and simplistic, but it’d been strong enough to inspire them to take a castle with nothing but spears.

These people had amused him with their lack of knowledge of the outside world. But he shouldn’t have mocked them. Their bravery humbled him.

Guns grumbled on the far side of the castle, hidden behind the convoluted buildings. Flickers of orange light wracked the mist above the towers.

They’d won this initial fight, but the main battle was still raging.

‘We fight,’ Cormac said. ‘We win.’ A flake of ash sailed near his head and his eyes sparkled in the glow.

Jack paused. Twenty men weren’t enough to take on the remaining Cattans. But Rao and the others needed their help. They couldn’t turn back now, even if they were going to their deaths.

He nodded. ‘We fight. I agree. We’ll go along the wall and get to the front of the castle. As we planned.’

Cormac translated and the warriors gave a cheer, raising their spears and the swords they’d taken from the dead Cattans. Cormac lifted the bloody longsword he’d used to hack off Nectan’s head.

‘But first we have to spike these guns,’ Jack said, nodding at the weapons along the wall.

The Mar cheered again and set to work immediately. They hammered metal spikes into the guns’ vents to prevent the weapons being fired, just as Jack had taught them to do the previous night.

Meanwhile, Jack retrieved his knife, then fired the pistol in the air a few times. The caps sparked but the damn weapon still didn’t work. Was there something wrong with it? Had the powder got wet?

He had no time to find out the problem. Instead, he picked up a musket lying abandoned on the walkway, slipped out the ramrod and prodded it down the barrel to check that the weapon was loaded. He felt the rod jam against a spherical bullet.

Good. He slung the musket over his shoulder and turned back to the Mar, who had now finished with the guns. ‘Right, then. Let’s go. God’s blessing to you all. And God’s will in Scotland.’

J
ack ran along the castle wall, Cormac beside him and the remaining warriors jogging behind. His face still throbbed, but with each step his head seemed to clear, his breathing grew easier and the pain in his chest, while constant, grew less severe. Occasionally black spots spun before him, but he was feeling much stronger than before.

How much longer would he live? Hours? Days?

He put the question out of his mind and concentrated on the row of battlements leading off into the haze.

Keep following dharma, the rightful path. Keep putting one step ahead of the other.

Jhala’s words. Why did his thoughts keep returning to Jhala?

Several of the Mar warriors shouted.

Cormac grasped Jack’s shoulder and pointed up. ‘Look.’

Jack paused and stared. The mist had lifted slightly but it still veiled the castle’s walls and towers. At first he saw nothing untoward, but then spotted a globular form floating between two chimneys. He blinked. Had he imagined it?

Then the shape swooped out from a cloud of smoke and he recognised it instantly – the giant metal skull from the bailey.

Flying.

Christ. What was that thing? An avatar?

Jack slipped the musket from his shoulder. The Mar cried out and shook their spears and swords at the head hurtling towards them.

The light from the guns rippled over the skull’s black surface. It opened its jaw slightly to reveal the rusting teeth within. Its eye sockets were dark at first, but then flame roared alight inside the cranium and burst out through its eyes and mouth. It gave a tortured, metallic screech.

‘A devil.’ Cormac lifted his sword with both hands.

The Mar wailed and cried out prayers. But, to their credit, none of them fled.

Jack pointed the musket at the skull and stared along the sights. Would a bullet stop the thing? He doubted it but there was little else he could do.