The defending troopers only had time for one volley. Two of the horses stumbled and fell, but their riders rolled with the fall like acrobats and kept coming. Martin and Fitz were able to turn their weapon on the two prone horses, but they were unable to stop the rest of the attackers from crashing through a cart like it was matchwood. Troopers tried to jump on to the attacking horses, but they were moving too fast.
“They are after the weapon!” Fitz cried. Martin saw that he was right. Without a thought he abandoned the bellows and threw himself after the last horseman. He was vaguely aware that a trooper had jumped up beside Fitz and that they were trying to turn the bellows around, but they would be too late…the Others were already halfway across the circle.
Two other horses were brought down in a rapid volley of shots, and one of the riders was doused, flamed and staked in a matter of seconds, but there were still three horses and five Others in the band that smashed into the small group of defenders around the weapon.
Martin caught up with one of the unhorsed riders. It never knew what had hit it. Its neck was broken and it was staked before it hit the ground. Another horse fell, its leg taken from under it by a large axe. When it fell, it took six troopers to keep it down, and the spray of blood from its heart covered them all in thick red gore.
Martin saw the first of the water cannon’s defenders fall, his hand bitten off by the savage teeth of one of the horses. He put on an extra burst of speed when he realized that it was Edward Hillman who had stepped into the man’s place.
The boy’s face looked as pale as an Other as the great horse bore down on him, and Martin thought for sure the boy would be killed in an instant. But when the horse opened its great mouth Edward pumped the water sac under his arm and sent a long draught of garlic and silver straight down its gaping throat.
The beast exploded, as if blown out from the inside.
Martin had no time to stop and wonder, but he did register the grim smile on young Hillman’s face.
The defender who had tackled the last horse was not so lucky. The horse trampled over him and had reached the water wheel in two strides. It made one quick turn and kicked the wheel into pieces just as Martin rolled under it and grabbed it by the neck.
Woodsman, if your gift was a true one, I have need of it now, he thought. And his prayer was answered. His hand became rough and hairs sprouted once more, but it was the talons he used to tear the beast’s heart from its body. The animal fell on him, but it weighed little more than a child, and he was able to push it away. He stood, splattered in blood and gore, and surveyed the carnage the attack had wrought.
The attackers had all been put to the final death, but the damage was done…the water wheel lay in pieces. Young Hillman was already on his knees, assessing the damage.
“I can fix it,” he said as he turned to Martin. “Keep us alive for five minutes and I can fix it.”
“If I can get you those minutes, I will,” Martin said, but in truth he was not sure they would last that long.
The throng that had been held back by the water were even now inching their way forward, and Fitz had only just managed to get the bellows back around facing the attackers. Martin strode quickly over to where Fitz was getting ready to send the first spray over the moor.
“Young Hillman needs five minutes. Can we give it to him?”
Fitz looked out over the moor and rubbed his mouth with his good hand. He looked for several moments, then shook his head.
“They are too many.”
Martin nodded grimly.
“As I thought.”
He jumped up into the cart beside Fitz and called out into the dark. “Rollo. Gord Rollo. In Stirling you wanted to fight me in single combat. Are you still man enough yet for a chance?”
At first there was no reply, and the Others kept coming forward. Martin wondered in dismay whether Rollo had been one of the Others dispatched in the earlier attack.
But a hush fell over the night, and the Others parted as Rollo stepped forward.
“Come down then, young wolf, and let us have at it,” the Other said. “I have seen you fight… I have nothing to fear.”
Martin stepped forward, but was stopped as Fitz put a hand on his shoulder.
“He is mine by right,” the innkeeper said.
“That he is,” Martin replied. “But you would kill him quick and we need five minutes. I can keep him dancing for a while. And if he takes me, then you can offer yourself next. Either way, we will get Hillman his time.”
Fitz nodded.
“Just don’t make it easy on him,” the innkeeper said. “The bastard broke Megan’s heart, and I’ll never forgive him for that.”
Martin clasped Fitz on the shoulder, nodded once, and jumped down out of the circle. He removed his long coat and took a single stake from the harness around his neck before passing it and the coat back to Fitz. Then he took vital seconds in rolling up his sleeves before stepping out onto the moor.
The eye held Sean in its grip.
I have memories of a time when the works of man were no more than daubs on a cave wall. The blood of my blood was made in the home of the red serpent, where my father’s father’s father was given dominion. For centuries, nay, millennia, the Blood Kings have waited, waited for the stars to be right so we could take our place above the cattle.
And now, when we are on the path of victory, you come, with the blood inside you. I know you frighten the blood of my blood. But you do not frighten me. I have met your like before.
Sean was powerless to stop the visions that rose up in his mind.
They are in the desert, three of them, of Arab blood, but with skin as pale as alabaster, their eyes blue pools with no white showing. They have been following a sign, a blazing ball of light in the sky. For three months it has been leading them on, far from their home in the high eastern mountains. They travel light, wearing only thin robes and carrying their gifts…of garlic, silver and stake.
A new king would be born, the signs had foretold it…and they intended to be at the birthing.
Eventually their travels bring them to a small town deep in a dry rocky waste. The people of the town are all enslaved, their expressions dull and lifeless as they gather around a small stable. The three make their way to the center, where a child lies in a manger, still bloody from its birth. Four soldiers in bronze armor stand around the child, while a tall Other feeds from the ravaged, lifeless body that had been the babe’s mother.
The three do not hesitate; they move forward and draw thin silver swords.
They never stand a chance. The Blood-King raises his head from his feeding, and spears them with his stare. They stand still, as if frozen to the spot, while the new Boy-King’s guards start to cut them to ribbons. Mortally wounded, the last yet living manages to raise his head.
“The Pharaoh will have your head, I have seen it,” he says to the tall Other.
“Aye,” the Other replies grimly, “But my son will be King of Kings.” The three like Sean die, cut to death by the guard’s swords.
“So, you see,” the voice said in Sean’s head, “You have not the power to defy me.”
“You forget,” Sean replied. “I am an Officer of the Watch.”
He leaned forward and lifted the bloody eye from the chalice.
Rollo stood thirty yards from the defender’s circle, a broad smile across his features, his fangs showing brilliant white over his lower lip.
“First I will drink from you,” he said. “Then I will have the wolf tamed. What do you think? Will I make a good guard for my King?”
Martin did not speak at first. His officer training had come to the fore, and he realized he was looking for a quick kill. He purposefully made himself slow down. He stopped moving forwards, coming to a halt five yards from the officer.
“You’d make a good arse-licker for your Maid. Tell me…is his shit sweet?”
“Sweeter than my good Mother’s. Tell me,” the Other said. “Has she opened her le
gs for you yet? Or has she forsaken you for the new boys? She always did like them young and succulent.”
Martin nearly moved forward then, but Rollo seemed to enjoy listening to himself talk, and he was gaining valuable time for young Hillman. He was amazed that the Other was not pressing his army into attack; but if there was one thing he’d learned about the Blood-King and his “children” it was that vanity was by far the strongest of their vices.
“So are we going to have at it?” Rollo asked, “or are you going to just stand there and admire me?”
“I was merely wondering if you fight as well as you talk,” Martin said. “It took a lot more of you and yours to subdue me in Newcastleton.”
Rollo laughed, and behind him the Others in earshot laughed along, a dry, throaty thing with no humor in it.
“I think I have the besting of a whelp like you,” he said, and finally moved forward.
Martin let him come. The Other had no weapons on him, sure of his own ability. Martin believed that he could take the Other down in a matter of seconds, but now was not the time to be showing off his skills. He feinted to the right and thrust the stake forward. When the Other moved to avoid it Martin punched him in the head, hard, sending Rollo staggering to the ground.
He ignored an opportunity to follow up with the stake. Instead he planted his hands on his hips, and let out a bellow of laughter. Behind him his troopers joined in, sending jeers and catcalls echoing around the moor.
“I fear Fitz was right about you all along,” Martin said. “Once a mother’s boy always a mother’s boy.”
Rollo smiled thinly.
“I will taste you soon, little boy,” he said. “Then I will feed you to my dogs.”
“Oh I know all about you and dogs,” Martin said. “Although Fitz said you were more partial to planting your member in sheep.”
The Other roared, and launched himself directly at Martin. Martin stepped aside, but Rollo had some fighting moves of his own and grabbed Martin’s arm on the way past, throwing him off balance.
Martin tumbled into a roll, just managing to avoid the Other’s outstretched arms. He slid in a patch of greasy, decomposing flesh, and fell sideways, coating the lower half of his body in noxious slime. He threw himself sideways, expecting an attack, but he turned to find the Other with its head tilted back, letting out a loud bellow of laughter.
Martin smiled grimly and stood upright. He let the Other come to him…every second gained was precious. “Is that the best you have?” Rollo asked, but this time Martin kept quiet, watching the Other’s eyes. Thus time when Rollo moved in Martin stepped inside his reach and grabbed him tight with his left hand, punching the stake deep under the Other’s ribs. He was careful to miss the heart, but not by much, and when Rollo stepped back Martin’s stake was dripping red for the last three inches.
Rollo winced as he felt around the wound.
“Close,” he whispered. “I will not let that happen again.”
The Other threw itself at Martin, so fast that it seemed to fly. Martin barely had time to get his hand up in front of him before the weight of the Other slammed into him and they were both sent rolling and tumbling in the muck, biting and gouging.
Martin got a finger into the corner of the Other’s eye, and something tore, but the Other’s fangs were perilously close to his neck. He stuck his knee up, hard, between Rollo’s legs, and was rewarded with a gasp of pain and the relaxing of the Other’s grip on him. He rolled away, and was pleased to note that Rollo was slower getting to his feet.
Now the Other did not look white…he looked ashen and gray.
“Are you pained?” Martin asked grimly. “We can take a few minutes respite if you need time to recover?”
Rollo snorted. There was little human left in his eyes, and his fingers were curved into talons as he rose and come for Martin once more.
The end was near now…the dance was over and it was kill or be killed. Martin only hoped he had gained enough time. Then he didn’t have any more time to think as the Other threw itself on him.
Sean felt the thing scream in his mind, and he felt it try to work its will on him, but his mind was like a slippery rock face and the Other could gain no hold. Sean sensed the fat Other by the fireplace begin to move, but time had slowed and folded. The drips of blood were only now beginning to fall from the gory mess in his hand.
The Blood-King can never truly die, the voice in his head screamed, for we are many who are one.
“Then I will give you the final death many times over,” Sean said. “And that I promise, for I am the doom of your kind.”
Sean concentrated his mind on the eye. At first he wondered if he was strong enough, then the blood in his palm began to thicken and dry. The white eye clouded, becoming opaque, then gray, then blackening from the edge.
No! the voice screamed, but it was as if it came from a great distance.
The eye blinked one last time, but the tendrils of command it sent out failed to grab hold of Sean.
Slowly Sean closed his fist, crushing the dry, blackened mess that lay there, until the ashes fell through his fist to sift gently in a slight breeze.
Sean felt a slight tingling in his palms, but no more than that as he blew the last of the crumbled ash away.
“It seems dead enough this time,” he said, turning towards the fat Other. “What do you think, Lord Falkirk?”
The Other took one look at Sean’s eyes and fled the room, his wailing screech trailing after him.
Rollo went straight for Martin’s neck, and was only stopped because Martin was able to get a hand under the Other’s chin and force it backwards. The Other’s fangs were mere inches from his throat.
“The turning did not improve your breath any,” Martin said, hoping for a reply, but the Other was past speech.
Martin leaned backwards, taking the Other’s weight and turning it at the same time, rolling the Other over his left shoulder and turning himself in the same movement. For a split second the Other’s chest lay open to attack. Martin drew back the stake to strike just as Rollo’s eyes snapped wide open, and every Other on the battlefield screamed in unison. Martin punched the stake home, and spat in Rollo’s face as the life went out of his eyes.
Without looking around Martin walked slowly back to the circle where his troopers were clapping and cheering. He couldn’t hear them, for the Others were still screaming. The only thing Martin could equate it to was a wolf pack in full cry. But this was a wolf pack a thousand strong, and the noise was deafening.
Fitz had tears in his eyes as he helped Martin back onto the cart, but Martin didn’t have time to react before Megan jumped up and caught him in an all-enfolding embrace.
“I lost one son at the siege of Derby,” Megan said, her eyes full of tears. “But I am blessed, for look, the Lord has given me three in his stead.” Martin’s own eyes began to mist over, but not before he had looked over to where Edward Hillman stood, a big smile on his face and his thumb pointing skywards.
Martin turned back to Fitz.
“Are we ready?” he shouted.
“Aye!” the innkeeper shouted back. “As soon as this infernal caterwauling ceases.”
Martin looked over the battlefield. The Others stood, rank after rank of them, their faces raised to the sky, their mouths hung slackly open, the sound pouring out of them like smoke from a wet- wood fire. It had a dirge-like tone, and, even as Martin thought it, the noise abruptly ceased. Out over the moor a lone piper played, the sound drifting in the wind, as lonely as a night owl’s cry.
“Someone has died,” Fitz said.
“Aye, and the Thane killed him,” Harold Hillman said as he clambered onto the cart.
“Nay, young Hillman,” Martin said. “Don’t go making songs about this one…the pipes only play like that for the death of royalty. We can only hope that the Boy-King has gone to his final death.”
Not before you, the well-recognized voice said in Martin’s head.
And the horde of
Others leapt forward.
Sean let the fat Other go and turned back towards the bed. The four guards had still not moved, not even blinked, but Sean was not stupid enough to believe they would stay like that. He kept his distance from the bed and considered his options. He didn’t have many…he had to get Mary Campbell out, and he didn’t believe it would be possible without a fight.
Indeed not, the Boy-King said in his head, and once I deal with the Wolf Cub, I will come for you.
Martin, Sean thought, and in doing so gave the Boy-King a chance to withdraw before Sean could go on the mental attack.
Movement from the corner of his eye alerted Sean to the fact that the guards were on the move, and he just had time to get his sword in a defensive position as the first Highlander pressed an attack.
Sean was caught off balance for a second, and that was enough for the Other to force him across the room so that his back was to the fireplace. Even as he fought to defend himself he could see the three remaining guards move to lift Mary Campbell from the bed. He parried a stroke from the Other that was heading for his heart, and stepped forward into the attack.
He realized immediately that he was faster, and stronger than the Other. The Other realized it as well, and it went on the defensive. Sean understood its plan…to hold him up while Mary Campbell was spirited away. He had no time for niceties. The Other drew back its arm, and Sean stepped inside the stroke, giving the Other no room to swing. As the Highlander struggled to free itself Sean leaned forward and, letting the fangs slide from his gums, he tore a bloody hole in the Other’s neck.
It stepped back in confusion and Sean took his chance. He turned sharply and brought his sword arm round in a flashing arc. There was still confusion in the Other’s eyes as its head bounced on the floor.
Sean was out of the door and after the departing guards before the head stopped rolling.
“Master Hillman. Start it up!” Martin shouted. He saw Hillman turn a lever and the water wheel started to move, slowly at first, then with more vigor, until it was only a blur. The lad pulled a second lever, and the arc of water, silver and garlic spanned above them once more.
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