Fitz saw his meaning immediately and nodded as Martin continued.
“And if we made it through, then the Maid must have done likewise.”
“Then let us ride faster!” Fitz called. “He will be searching for a place to hole up in the day.”
“No,” Martin said. “He heads West. There is something there that hurts him.”
Martin didn’t say it, but somehow he knew what waited in the West. Sean Grant needed him…an officer of the Watch needed him…his friend needed him.
Sean Grant dreamed, of a family, of children, of a gray-haired Duncan Campbell with a grandchild on his knee and a story in his heart. Mary Campbell wept hot tears, and he comforted her as they slept.
Five minutes later Martin caught his first sight of their quarry. They had come down off the moorland and were heading for the coast, and, about half a mile distant, the small band of Others could be clearly seen.
Martin spurred his horse on faster still.
Sean Grant dreamed, of a world without Others, of a world where he could walk the land of Campbell’s birth, of a world where night held no terrors but those of man’s own making, of a world in balance with itself. In his dream Sean smiled and Mary Campbell smiled along with him.
Martin could see where his quarry was heading. The squat tower showed up almost black against the silver estuary behind it.
Martin’s mount was tiring, and suddenly Martin felt urgency, a sense of doom and foreboding. His limbs felt like they were on fire as he threw himself from his horse and began to leap across the stony ground. He ran on two legs like a man, but inside his head he howled, and his joy in the chase echoed around him.
He was closer now, and could see the Others clearly. The Boy-King still ran ahead, and was less than a mile from the black tower, but the guards had fallen back and were a hundred yards or so behind. Martin howled his joy to the moon, and to the West his gray brothers answered in unison. The hunt was on.
He felt more alive than he ever had in his life. It was as if the wind spoke to him, of joy, of freedom, of wild places. He howled again, just for the pleasure it gave him.
He was closing in on the Highlanders fast. He carried no weapons, but he remembered how he had torn through the Boy-King’s flesh.
I am the balance, he said, and once more he felt the rough hair run the length of his arm. This time he didn’t fight it…he let it take its course. His chest thickened and his teeth suddenly felt too big for his mouth. Everything became sharper…he could see the face of each Highlander clearly, he could smell the stench that came from the Boy-King…and he knew Sean Grant was in the tower…a changed Sean Grant, but one that needed help.
But first, he had to finish the hunt. He sped across a patch of firm grass and launched himself at the nearest Highlander…just as the Boy-King entered the black tower.
Sean Grant dreamed. He was in bed, with Mary Campbell, his wife. She had been having a nightmare, but she was calm now, and the child she cradled suckled at her bosom. She was very pale, and so was the child, but Sean promised to do something about that…he would take them somewhere…somewhere that would bring color to their cheeks and joy to their hearts. What husband would do less for his family?
He was dreaming of warm climes and sunny skies when the intruder burst into their bedchamber, a wild-eyed Other with blood-red runnels of gore running across its face.
The highland Other raised a sword, but Martin feinted to one side and stepped inside it. It fell, full dead, its neck broken, before Martin had time to step aside and engage the next one. His mind was racing…Kill, break, eat.
There were few other thoughts in his head.
I am the balance, he told himself, but there were too many Others. The Highlanders surrounded him, their swords jabbing at him in hot flame. He felt a sudden white flare in his shoulder, then the pain was gone as he tore at the Other’s neck with his teeth. Cold blood flowed, but it did not satisfy him and a sword thrust took him in the side, and he howled once more, in pain this time.
And the pack answered.
Sean Grant dreamed. The wild-eyed Other stepped forward towards them.
“No!” it screamed.
It bent forward, and tried to lift the child from between them.
He is mine, a voice said.
Sean thought that he should recognize it, but it didn’t sound like anyone he knew from Milecastle.
It was a dream, and Sean knew it to be so, but still, even in dreams, actions were sometimes required. He forced himself away from his bride, and stood between her and the intruder.
Martin turned and pulled a sword from the hand of one of his attackers. The Other hissed at him, like a snake defending its eggs. Without a conscious thought Martin threw the sword in the air, spinning it through one hundred and eighty degrees. He caught the hilt as if he was a practiced juggler and stepped forward into the thrust. The Other fell, full dead, even as Martin threw the sword aside and leapt forward, under the arms of the encircled guards.
The intruder was still trying to reach the child.
He is mine, the voice said again.
“Who are you to decide,” Sean heard himself say. “The child is of the balance. Surely he should have an opinion on the way of the swing?”
The intruder laid a hand on the child.
He is chosen. He is the one.
“And what if he decides to be a child, and only a child?” Sean said.
That is not for him to say, the intruder replied.
“No,” a new voice said. “But his mother might make that choice for him.”
A blade thrust downwards and hit Martin high on the shoulder beneath his collar. He squirmed to one side, and saw the flash of silver as the blade came up again.
I am the balance, he said, but still the blade went up, and the blade came down.
The intruder stepped back as Mary Campbell stood between it and the child. You are mine, the intruder said. Mary Campbell smiled. “I never was,” she said, and stepped forward. “But there is a place in my heart for you.” She grabbed the intruder in an embrace.
A gray shape came from Martin’s left and took the blade meant for Martin. Then another gray, a large wolf, almost tore the Other’s head from his shoulders. Suddenly the air was filled with snarling, snapping, and the sharp coppery odor of blood as the wolf pack finally caught its quarry.
Martin was faced with a tall Highlander. The Other smiled grimly as it raised a sword, but it didn’t stand a chance. Martin tore out its throat and felt warm blood course in his mouth.
He howled in joy at a successful hunt as he sped towards the black tower.
Sean Grant no longer knew if he was asleep or awake. He was in the black tower, of that much he was certain, but there seemed to be a newborn child at his feet, a child so white it must be dead. Mary Campbell held an Other, the Boy-King, in a tight embrace that at first Sean took to be sexual…then he noticed that the Other’s skin was gray, and was beginning to flake. He was just about to move towards the pair when a bloodied, wild-eyed figure burst through the open doorway, and made a lunge straight for the Boy-King. Sean stepped forward and grabbed this new intruder, only to find himself staring into the distorted, blood-crazed face of his Thane. Unlike in Stirling, he knew what he must do…he could see the wrongness, see where the heart of it lay.
He took Martin by the shoulders and dug his hands deep into the flesh of his Thane’s arm. His fingers moved through tissue like a fish through water, and it wasn’t long before he found what he was searching for. He pulled, and twisted, and the source of the wrongness was in his hand.
Martin blinked and found himself staring into a pair of deep blue eyes set in a face he almost recognized. Then Sean Grant smiled.
“Well met again, my Thane,” he said.
“Sean? What has become of you?”
“I might ask the same of you,” Sean said. Martin looked at Sean, at the white perfection of his features, then looked at himself, at the clothes covered in grime, gore
and the bleeding wounds that still flowed from him.
He burst out in a loud laugh.
“God, I must stink,” he said, and Sean joined in.
“As Captain of the Watch, I was too polite to mention it.”
Sean stepped forward and took Martin’s hand.
“The Woodsman’s gift served its purpose,” Sean said. “It brought you here, to this place, at this time. But you will not need these again.”
He handed Martin three long hairs.
“It is time,” Mary Campbell said.
The thing that she released from her grasp, the thing that was once the Boy-King, staggered and nearly fell. It was little more than a dry husk…its skin flaked in a black crust, its eyes mere black pinpricks in a ravaged face.
It staggered towards them.
“You are mine,” it whispered. It came forward, arms outstretched. Sean handed Martin a stake.
“The honor is yours, my Thane,” he said. “Send him to his final death.”
Martin took the stake as the Other staggered closer.
“You are mine,” it whispered dryly.
“No,” Martin said. “And we never were.”
He plunged the stake deep into the Other’s heart, and it fell apart in a cloud of black dust that was immediately dispersed in the draft from the doorway.
Martin dropped the stake and stood for long seconds before turning to Sean, who was standing in the doorway, an arm around Mary Campbell who cradled a child in her arms. The three of them looked like a posed tableaux, a collection of statues by a master sculptor.
“It is over, then?” he said.
“For you, aye,” Sean Grant said. “For us, I believe it is just beginning.”
“Come with me,” Martin said. “Back to Milecastle. There are doctors of the blood, and…”
Sean stopped him.
“No. Can you imagine what the Duke would do to the likes of us?” he held out a pale hand and showed Martin how smooth, how perfect it was. Then he smiled, and pearl-white fangs slid out of pale gums.
“No,” Sean continued. “We are not fit company in the Protector’s brave new world. And nobody can cure what afflicts us.”
“Then where will you go, when will I see you, what…”
“Questions, questions…suddenly my life is full of them,” Sean said, and a thin smile played on his lips.
The sound of hoof-beats came to them from a distance.
“There is an old man in a cottage I must find,” Sean said. “And after that? I know not. But we must leave now, before we are seen…for we would raise too many questions.”
The friends embraced, and both had tears in their eyes as they parted.
When Fitz, Megan and the Hillman boys arrived five minutes later they found Martin standing on the dock, a hand raised in farewell at the black boat that was already well out in the estuary.
Fitz dismounted and turned Martin towards him, looking deeply into his eyes.
“You were too late, then?” Fitz said. “The Maid escaped.” “No. He is full dead. Sean Grant sent him to his doom.”
Fitz’s eyes went wide.
“And Grant? Where is he? And where is yon maiden he was pursuing. And…”
“To quote my greatest friend,” Martin said laughing, “‘Life is suddenly full of questions.’”
“And will they get answered?” Megan asked.
“In Milecastle,” Martin replied. “In front of a roaring fire, with hot pies and porter to sustain us. What say you, Fitz? Shall we become old men in our cups together?”
“I can think of nothing better,” Fitz replied.
“To horse then,” Martin said. “We ride for home.”
The Hillman boys whooped in joy. But before Martin mounted he turned and had one last look at the departing boat, now no more than a speck in the distance.
“Safe journey, my friend,” Martin whispered and, opening his hand, he let the wolf’s hairs fall from his grasp.
They flew with the wind.
End of the Watchers Trilogy
If you enjoyed the Watchers Trilogy, try Berserker by William Meikle.
Gryphonwood Books by William Meikle
The Watchers Trilogy
The Coming of the King
The Battle for the Throne
Culloden!
The Midnight Eye Files
The Amulet
The Sirens
The Skin Game
Berserker
The Invasion
The Valley
Island Life
Concordances of the Red Serpent
For a complete list of works by William Meikle, visit his website.
About the Author
William Meikle is a Scottish writer, now living in Canada, with twenty novels published in the genre press and over 300 short story credits in thirteen countries. His works span a variety of genres, including Horror, Fantasy, Mystery, and Science Fiction.
The Watchers Trilogy: Omnibus Edition Page 64