The Place of Dead Kings (48 page)

A shaft of pain struck Jack in the chest. He winced and struggled not to double over. Within seconds the sensation passed, but it reminded him of the desperate situation he was in.

Today was the day Kanvar’s cure was supposed to wear off. Today was the end of the two-month reprieve.

And yet he was still alive, still walking and talking and able to prepare for the battle ahead. He was sitting on a rock polishing the scimitar and watching the warriors pack away their things in the fuzzy morning light.

Soon, the war party would separate. Rao, Domnall and the other chiefs would lead the bulk of the men towards the castle. Jack would march his force of three hundred warriors across the hills. They would travel through the night and hide near the castle. Tomorrow, at noon, they would attack.

But would he survive until then? Or would the sattva-fire finally finish him off?

Whatever happened, he knew he would never see Elizabeth again. Even in the unlikely event they were able to defeat Mahajan, he would die soon from his injury anyway. The journey back to Shropshire would take weeks. He would never make it.

For a moment he remembered when Elizabeth was born. It had been in the middle of the night and Katelin had lain on the bed, broken with exhaustion. But he’d lifted the tiny form of his daughter up to the candlelight so that he could stare for the first time at her perfect face.

He wished he could speak to her one last time.

But there was no point feeling sorry for himself now. He had to still the rippling pool of his mind and focus on the task ahead of him.

‘Here, take these.’ Rao walked across to Jack, holding out the last of the pistol bullets.

‘You have enough?’ Jack asked.

‘Plenty.’ Rao patted his pocket.

They’d already shared out the powder, even emptying the musket cartridges Jack had taken from the castle to make sure they both had enough for the assault.

Jack accepted the bullets and put them in his satchel.

‘So.’ Rao studied his hands. ‘This is it.’

‘Seems so.’

‘I’ve been speaking to Domnall. We’ll be off in a few minutes.’

‘Good.’

Rao shivered slightly and hugged his cloak closer.

‘First big battle?’ Jack asked.

‘Yes. If you don’t count us being attacked on the way up here.’

‘You’ll be all right. We’ll win this. I’m certain.’ Jack was very far from certain, but there was no point letting anyone know that. The Mar had an absolute belief in the Great Shee. So long as Rao believed too, there was a chance they’d take the castle.

‘I’ve been thinking.’ Rao stared into the distance. His breath clouded around his mouth. ‘About what you said a few days ago.’

‘What did I say?’

‘You know, about Mahajan taking these lands.’

Christ. Jack didn’t want another argument now. ‘We can talk about it some other—’

‘No, no.’ Rao raised his hand. ‘I agree with you. This place is the home of the Mar. They know every bit of it. Like Cormac said, it’s inside them. If that’s how the English feel about England, then maybe the empire wasn’t right to annex the country.’

Jack sat back. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t believed a Rajthanan could ever say such a thing. ‘You’ve had a change of heart.’

‘You got me thinking. You know, long ago the Rajthanans were conquered. Mohammedans from the north took our lands. But Jaidev Chauhan and the siddhas led us to victory against the sultans. We freed our lands and Rajthana has never been invaded since.’

‘I’ve heard about it a few times.’ Jhala had told Jack the story on numerous occasions.

Rao nodded and looked straight at Jack. ‘I just wanted you to know. In case . . .’

‘It’s all right.’ Jack patted Rao on the shoulder. ‘I understand.’

J
ack heard the harsh rasp of a crow. He peered through the leafless trees. Thick mist had settled over the countryside during the night and rubbed out most of the world. He could only see clearly thirty feet ahead of him.

The crow cawed again.

The Mar warrior beside Jack cupped his hands around his mouth and gave a return cry that was a perfect imitation of the bird’s call. When the crow in the distance rasped again, the warrior grinned, grasped Jack’s cloak and pointed excitedly into the mist.

Jack understood what the man was trying to tell him and in less than a minute three Mar warriors materialised in the fog, scrambled down the slope and entered the trees. It was Cormac and the other two who’d gone scouting earlier.

Jack crossed himself and mumbled a Hail Mary. The three of them had been gone for so long he’d started to think they’d run into trouble.

He glanced behind him at the three hundred warriors who crouched in the forest in a scattered line. With their cloaks drawn over them, they were well camouflaged against the muddy earth, rocks and undergrowth. They gripped their spears and stared around them, their faces silvered. Wooden ladders lay along the ground beside them. They’d built these the night before, binding the branches together with whatever they could lay their hands on – rope, vines, pieces of cloth.

Pain flared in Jack’s chest. He grunted, shut his eyes, and waited a few seconds for it to recede.

Cormac and the others clambered through the woods and squatted beside him.

‘See no Cattans.’ Cormac panted. ‘Safe to move.’

‘Good,’ Jack said. ‘Looks like we’ve made it without being seen. And the castle?’

Cormac pointed ahead at the dark smudge of a saddle between the hills. ‘Over there. Other side.’

‘The castle’s on the other side of that slope?’

‘Aye.’

Jack looked up. The sun was lost behind the fog, the light diffuse, as if coming from no particular direction. ‘You think it’s noon yet?’

Cormac looked up. ‘Aye. Noon now.’

Jack trusted Cormac’s judgement. The Mar were even better at living in the wilderness than he was. They were no doubt used to gauging the time in these conditions.

If it were noon, then it was time to move. All going well, Rao and the rest of the Mar would now be looking down at the castle from the far side of the valley. Mahajan and his men would have seen them massing in the hills, but that was all part of the plan. At Rao’s command, the Mar would pour down the hill and rush at the castle gate. Cormac had found another warrior who knew enough English to act as a translator, but it would hardly be necessary. Rao just had to point and say one word: ‘Charge.’

Jack couldn’t hear the sound of guns or muskets. The attack hadn’t started yet. Rao had his watch, so his timing would be precise. But the assault would come soon. In the next few minutes, Jack was sure.

Pain rushed through him again. He twisted his face.

Cormac put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. ‘Problem?’

Jack did his best to force back the stabbing sensation. ‘It’s nothing.’

Within a few seconds the worst of it had passed.

Several of the Mar muttered and pointed ahead. Jack looked up and spotted a flake of glowing ash drifting down from the sky and lighting up the surrounding mist. Further flakes followed. Soon a swarm of the shining dots sailed across the hills, bobbing and dipping before eventually spiralling to the earth.

The wind must have changed direction. He hadn’t seen any ash during the journey so far.

The warriors grumbled more loudly.

‘They say spirits,’ Cormac said.

‘Tell them not to be afraid,’ Jack replied. ‘The Great Shee will protect us.’

Cormac whispered the words to the nearest men, who passed the message on down the line. This seemed to have the desired effect as the warriors quietened.

‘Right.’ Jack took a deep breath. ‘Let’s go.’

The men cast aside their cloaks and hid them in the undergrowth. Jack did the same – it would be easier to climb without the heavy garment. A few of the Mar were dressed in padded tunics, but most wore the usual knee-length garb with bare legs.

Yet again Jack marvelled at their hardiness. The elements seemed to have no effect on these people. No wonder Rao had become so fascinated by them.

At Jack’s command, they crept forward out of the woods and into the open. Jack and Cormac were at the head of the party, while the others followed in a broken column. Jack had done little planning or given the men many instructions. They were to get over the saddle, charge at the castle, raise the ladders, fight and spike the guns. That was it.

He wondered briefly what tactics Jhala would have used. Would he have approved of Jack’s strategy? What other strategy was there? Jack had come up with the best plan he could given the circumstances. It was too late to have second thoughts now.

The scimitar swung at his side as he moved. The pistol and the knife nestled on the other side of his belt.

The mist coiled about him, brushing his face and beading his clothes and hair. The phosphorescent ash fell in curtains. One flake circled close to his face, giving off a faint ringing sound. Another descended on to Cormac’s tunic and vanished as it touched the cloth.

This close to the castle, the scent of sattva was strong again. The streams were thick and constantly sent Jack’s skin quivering.

Pain stabbed Jack’s chest. He stumbled, regained his footing and carried on. Cormac frowned but said nothing.

The scarp loomed ahead. It was a short distance to the top of the saddle, but the incline was steep and smothered in trees. It would be a difficult scramble up . . .

Then Cormac gave a sudden roar that made Jack jump. The tall man raised the side of his tunic. A hole had been torn in the cloth and an arrow now quivered in the ground directly behind him. The missile must have missed his body by an inch.

Jack heard a hiss and a second arrow slipped out of the fog. The metal head and feather flights spun as the missile plunged straight towards him.

Christ.

He dodged to the side. The arrow hummed past and speared the earth a couple of feet behind him.

The air suddenly came alive with whirring missiles. They criss-crossed the mist like flying insects. The warriors behind Jack shouted. One man thudded to the ground and squirmed, an arrow lodged deep in his throat. Another slumped to the side with a missile in his thigh. Arrows danced off the heather and rocks.

Jack scanned the way ahead and could just make out dim shapes moving at the top of the saddle.

Damn. Mahajan’s forces had somehow seen them approaching.

Cormac wailed. ‘I fail. I look. No see.’

‘You did your best. They must have been hiding near the castle and come up after you left. A patrol must have seen us. They knew we were coming.’

An arrow smacked into an ash flake and sent sparks flying. Another skipped across the ground and slid past Jack’s boot.

Jack fought back a rising tide of pain. Retreat wasn’t an option. Rao and the others would attack soon and would be slaughtered if Jack and his men couldn’t get into the castle and spike the guns.

There was only one thing for it.

He drew his scimitar, raised it above his head and did what Jhala or any other officer would have done – he shouted, ‘
Charge!
’

Then he was running towards the trees, straight into the blizzard of missiles. Glinting ash sang around him, arrows whined past and the blood roared in his ears. He kept shouting and the sound of his own frenzied voice carried him forward.

Cormac began running a second after Jack, but soon caught up and bellowed a war cry. His eyes bulged, his mouth opened in a snarl and the veins in his neck and forehead stood out like tree roots.

Jack was dimly aware that the Mar warriors were charging behind him. He could hear their shouts, the thud, thud of their feet and the occasional scream as one of them was hit.

A skirl of pipes sailed down from the hills. He was close enough to the slope now to make out the figures massing on the hilltop.

He reached the bottom of the scarp and bolted into the woods. The branches meshed about him, and the undergrowth and vines clung to his legs. He slipped, grasped at the damp ground, regained his footing and charged on.

Looking to the side, he saw Cormac loping uphill, smacking aside bushes that got in his way. When Jack glanced back over his shoulder, he saw the first of the Mar flooding into the forest and scrambling up the incline, with more appearing from the mist all the time.

A storm of arrows pelted the trees and bounced off branches. One pierced a trunk next to Jack. Others stabbed the ground or snapped on rocks. But at least the woods provided a degree of cover.

The slope steepened and Jack had to put his scimitar back in his belt and clamber up on his hands and knees. Mud and dead leaves splattered him in the face. He tasted wet earth in his mouth. His fingers tore at the ground in an effort to stop himself slipping backwards.

The pain beat like a hammer in his chest. He felt himself choking a few times and even thought he would black out.

But somehow he kept going.

A great rumble rolled through the earth. He felt it in his hands as he grabbed at the ground. Two further rumbles followed, the sound clapping between the hills.

Gunfire.

The assault on the castle must have begun.