The Place of Dead Kings (2 page)

Colonel al-Hasan had hurriedly summoned Saleem and Yusuf and sent them to call for urgent reinforcements from Drake. If they couldn’t get word to Drake in time, their Muslim brothers would be overwhelmed and Vadula’s forces would sweep across the ridge, attacking the rebels in the flank.

The soldier frowned and cast a wary look at the firestorm over the valley. ‘You’d better run.’ He looked back at Saleem and a blast lit up his face for a moment. ‘If those bastards attack from the east we’ll do our best to hold them.’

Saleem nodded. Then he and Yusuf sprinted off down a path that followed the summit and the edge of the woods. At times, he spotted rebel soldiers crouching in groups behind whatever cover they could find. Ahead, in the distance, the slope dipped towards a saddle that was hidden in shadow. Drake and his men must be down there somewhere.

A round shot thumped like a thunderbolt into a tree just ahead of Saleem. The trunk split in half and scraps of bark went flying. A broken branch swung past over his head.

The gunfire was intensifying. Shot and shells swarmed across the sky.

‘Down here,’ Saleem shouted to Yusuf.

He led the way deeper into the forest, where he hoped they would be at least slightly more protected.

They fought their way through brambles and briars, and all the while a storm of missiles threshed the trees. Explosions glimmered in the darkness and splashed the undergrowth with livid orange. Fires billowed. Twigs, leaves and shards of metal swirled in the air.

For a moment Saleem pictured his mother and sisters cowering together back in his home village, which was barely three miles away. His family would be able to hear the steady stomp of the artillery, probably even see the blasts lighting up the horizon. If Vadula’s men took the ridge, they would sweep on towards the village. They would torch huts, rape, loot and kill. And only Saleem could stop them by getting word to Drake.

Allah is great. Allah is great.

His foot struck something. He found himself flying forward and skidding through the leaf litter. He gasped and scrambled back to his feet.

Had he been hit? Was he injured?

No, he felt fine.

Behind him, Yusuf gave a loud shout.

‘I’m all right,’ Saleem said. ‘Just slipped.’

But when he turned, he saw Yusuf had backed himself against a tree and was pointing at something on the ground. Saleem looked down and now he saw what he’d tripped over – a human skeleton. The bones had been completely picked clean, and yet they gleamed a brilliant white, as if they’d just been placed there rather than lying in the forest for weeks.

‘It’s nothing.’ Saleem straightened the musket on his shoulder. ‘Come on.’ He’d seen skeletons three years ago – many of them. Once he would have reacted in the same way as Yusuf, but not any more.

‘But what’s that thing?’ Yusuf asked.

‘What thing?’

Then Saleem noticed something the size of a finger crawl out of one of the skull’s eye sockets. It looked like a large ant, except it was made of metal that had a greasy sheen in the dim light. Its head was a deformed mass of feelers and mandibles, with what looked like gills flickering on the side. It emitted a clicking sound, and a faint, shrill hiss.

A chill crossed Saleem’s skin. He’d seen something like this before in London. It was one of the Rajthanans’ infernal creatures. An avatar.

The beast stood on the edge of the skull, facing Yusuf. It raised itself up and flicked its feelers through the air. It seemed to stay poised for a long time, although it must have only been a second.

Saleem knew well what the thing would be capable of. He’d seen avatars in London kill men within seconds. He had to do something quickly, but he felt frozen, transfixed. He stood still, gazing at that glinting body with the glimmer of a tiny fire beneath the carapace.

Then the avatar squealed and darted forward. It rippled over the skull and shot across the leaf-strewn ground towards Yusuf. Yusuf cried out, but the creature was so fast he had no time to flee.

Saleem found himself moving without thinking, as if possessed by a djinn. He plucked a rock from the ground, bounded forward and flung the stone at the avatar just before it reached Yusuf’s boot. The rock struck. The creature shrieked, buzzed against the stone, and splintered into metal fragments. The head spun across the earth, the feelers and mandibles still whirring.

Yusuf yelped and jumped away. He gave small cries and danced from one foot to the other as if to avoid a swarm of invisible beasts.

‘It’s dead,’ Saleem shouted.

When Yusuf continued jumping around, Saleem grasped him by the collar and yelled again, ‘It’s dead.’

Yusuf stopped moving, his chest heaving up and down. Finally, he managed to say, ‘What was it? A demon?’

‘A type of demon, yes.’ Saleem couldn’t think of any better way to describe the thing. It was a monstrous creation of the Rajthanans’ black magic. That was as much as he knew. As much as he wanted to know.

‘Come on.’ He turned to lead the way forward.

‘Wait a moment.’

Saleem turned back. What was Yusuf playing at now? ‘What?’

‘Why are there no guns here?’

Saleem was about to tell Yusuf to stop talking nonsense when he realised that his comrade was right – no shots struck the forest and not a single shell explosion was visible in any direction. The gunfire continued but it was more distant now, coming from the area they’d just travelled through. Without realising it, they’d passed into a part of the forest where there was no fighting.

‘I think it’s a good sign,’ Saleem said.

‘Why?’

‘Vadula’s attacking to the east. Why would he send artillery to the west? He wouldn’t, would he? That means we must have come far enough to find Drake. He must be around here somewhere.’

‘Suppose so.’

They set off again, Saleem leading the way back uphill. He knew that once they reached the summit they could follow the edge of the woods down to where Drake and his men were encamped.

They struggled through a thicket. And then the undergrowth cleared and the trees thinned, allowing them to move more quickly. The flashes of the distant artillery filtered through the leaves and provided enough light for Saleem to see the way ahead more clearly. When the scarp tapered to a gradual incline, they began to jog.

A sound crept into Saleem’s awareness, sneaking up from beneath the boom of the guns. He stopped dead still and Yusuf ran up beside him, panting heavily.

‘What?’ Yusuf asked.

Saleem put his fingers to his lips and strained to listen, making out an unmistakeable popping sound, like seeds bursting in a frying pan.

‘Musket fire,’ Saleem said.

‘Vadula’s men?’ Yusuf asked. ‘Here?’

‘Don’t know. Let’s take a look.’

They jogged on, the sound of musket fire growing louder. And now Saleem noticed something else as well – a familiar scent that reminded him of perfume, incense and spice all mixed together. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. It was sattva, the mysterious vapour the Rajthanans used for their black magic.

Sweat ran down the side of his face and his hands felt clammy, despite the chill in the air. The musket bounced on his back, tapping insistently against his shoulder blade. The last time he’d fired a musket in a battle was three years ago. And even then he hadn’t shot anyone. Would he have to shoot a man now?

There was a sudden screech beside him. He looked at the tree trunk where he’d rested his hand for a moment and nerves shot through his body.

Another ant-like avatar was perched on the tree near his fingers, clicking rapidly.

He lurched away, skidded on the leaf litter, then regained his footing. He didn’t stop to look back, just kept running. He heard Yusuf crashing through the undergrowth behind him.

No more than a minute later, he burst out of the trees and found himself on a grass-covered slope that led down into the saddle he’d spied earlier. At first he was confused about what he saw. A grey-white cloud smothered the bottom of the incline where the forest met the open ground, as though thick mist had descended on that spot alone. Hundreds of tiny shafts of fire stabbed within the cloud and a dense crackling sound floated up the incline.

‘What is it?’ Yusuf asked.

A cold hand took hold of Saleem’s chest. Now he knew what he was seeing. ‘Muskets.’

‘The Amesburys?’

‘Has to be.’

‘But Vadula . . .’ Yusuf said. ‘They were attacking in the east.’

‘Looks like they’re attacking here too.’

Colonel al-Hasan had believed the enemy were only strong enough to mount an attack in one location. But clearly the Amesburys were fighting below.

And that meant Vadula’s forces were stronger than the rebel spies and scouts had reported.

‘The reinforcements . . .’ Yusuf’s voice was soft and shook slightly.

Saleem tightened his lips and nodded. Tears pricked the edges of his eyes.

With the Amesburys engaged in battle, there would be no reinforcements. The Muslim Battalion would be overrun.

And his home village . . . his mother and sisters . . .

‘What should we do?’ Yusuf asked.

Saleem ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth. He became intensely aware of each groove and furrow, as if studying some fascinating rock formation.

He stared down at the boiling fog of powder smoke.

There was no point returning to the Muslim Battalion, and there were no other rebel forces who could provide reinforcements. He and Yusuf had few options.

Deep down, he’d always known it would come to a moment like this. Ever since he’d signed up with the rebels, he’d known the Rajthanans would eventually come. Although he’d always tried to stay hopeful, to believe the rebels could win the fight, he’d always known they couldn’t. After seeing the destruction of London three years ago, he knew the Rajthanans were too strong to ever be defeated.

‘We’ll go down there.’ Saleem nodded towards the battle. ‘At least we’ll have done our best.’

Yusuf nodded, pursed his lips, stood up straighter and puffed out his chest a little. One of his eyes glinted with moisture as he turned to Saleem. ‘Allah is great.’

Saleem swallowed, his mouth so dry it was painful. This was it. Time to fight. He was prepared to die for the cause, but the image of his family cowering in their hut kept flashing in his head. He could only hope Allah would save them. ‘Allah is great.’

He went to sling the musket from his shoulder, but then heard a series of shouts nearby. A figure came sprinting over the brow of the hill, fleeing from the battle churning below. It was too dark to make him out clearly, or to hear what he was saying, but his cries were loud and urgent.

Finally, Saleem caught the meaning: ‘
Run!
’

Yusuf glanced at Saleem, forehead creased in puzzlement.

‘Run!’ the man shouted again. ‘The horses.’

Saleem looked over his shoulder and spotted five cavalry horses picketed about a hundred yards away beside the line of the trees. A wagon and a couple of barrels stood nearby, but there was no sign of any sentries.

‘Saleem.’ Yusuf’s voice was thick. He tugged at Saleem’s sleeve.

Saleem turned back. The running man was close enough now for his green tunic and hose to be visible. He was clearly a rebel. His face was gaunt and he waved his arms about wildly as he shouted.

Behind him, a tide of darkness rushed across the grass. Saleem heard a sharp squealing and sizzling noise, and the smell of sattva was so strong now it stung the back of his throat.

He took a step back and his legs weakened.

Within the moving shadow, he could make out the glint of tiny bodies and feelers. It was a swarm of ant avatars, all racing towards the rebel soldier . . . and towards him and Yusuf.

‘We’d better get to those horses.’ Saleem’s voice was cracked.

Yusuf nodded, his face so pale it shone in the dark.

They spun round and sprinted towards the animals.

The distance had looked so short but now it seemed so far. Saleem felt as though he were running without getting anywhere, as if in a nightmare. Why couldn’t he go faster?

He heard Yusuf panting beside him and the cries of the soldier behind. The dense hiss of the avatars grew louder, cutting through the spluttering muskets and roaring guns.

Drake’s men must be fighting the beasts. There was no sign of any enemy soldiers in this part of the valley, as far as Saleem had been able to tell. That had to be part of Vadula’s tactics – march troops to the east, then hit the west with black magic to prevent any reinforcements being sent.

But the rebels had nothing with which to counter black magic. Only the Rajthanans knew how to control sattva and avatars.

The horses whinnied and trod skittishly as Saleem and Yusuf drew near. Saleem’s fingers felt fat, clumsy and far too slow as he unhitched one of the creatures. Finally, he swung into the saddle and looked across the hill.

The running soldier was perhaps fifty yards away, but the mass of avatars was almost upon him. The trilling and clicking was so piercing it made Saleem’s ears hum. The sickly sattva scratched his eyes and nose.

Yusuf mounted a mare beside Saleem. ‘He’s not going to make it.’

Saleem tightened his jaw. Yusuf was right, but what could they do?

The avatars flooded like black water around the soldier’s feet, then coursed up over his legs and rushed on to his abdomen. Within seconds the beasts had engulfed the lower half of his body. He cried out and slapped at them as they wriggled over his chest and circled around to his back. But there were so many of them there was nothing he could do to stop them. He screamed as the swarm rushed over his face. The writhing mass now encased his entire body and he staggered forward like some misshapen clay figure.

Then he toppled over.

As he hit the ground, he seemed to smash into pieces. But each fragment was an avatar that went spinning away across the ground.

There was nothing left of the man but fresh, white bones. His skull – completely picked clean – rolled across the earth, with several ants still slithering about it.

Nerves coursed through Saleem’s body. ‘Ride!’