The Place of Dead Kings

by Geoffrey Wilson

Genres: Science Fiction; Alternative History sci-fi; Historical Fantasy

Synopsis

It is 1855. The English revolt has failed, and brutal General Vadula governs England now. Only a few small bands of English rebels still hold out against the Rajthanan empire. Jack Casey survives in remote Shropshire, training young rebels to use the conqueror's magic. But he is gravely ill, with only two months to live . . . Then refugees bring with them news of a rogue Indian sorcerer in Scotland. Mahajan has discovered a mysterious power in the uncharted country to the north - a power that could be the legendary Holy Grail. The Rajthanans have already assembled an army to capture Mahajan. Jack has with nothing to lose now. He agrees to lead his own men, disguised as porters for the conquerors, on the same gruelling march. Their hope is to find a weapon that will free England from her oppressors. But they will find something even more powerful. 'This impressive debut fuses fantasy with alternate history, reversing the British Empire's conquest of India. Wilson's version of 19th-century England has been invaded and conquered by the Indian empire of Rajthana, which rules all of Europe with vast armies and a magical source known as sattva . . . The mix of Arthurian legend and Hindu mysticism make this breakneck-paced adventure a rich and engaging read.' Publishers Weekly on Land of Hope and Glory

Release date: October 11, 2012

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 417

Sample

Saleem al-Rashid scrambled through the tangled woods. The night was so dark he could barely see the way ahead, the forest nothing but a suggestion of interlocking branches. Thick bracken grasped at him, twigs scratched and vines snared his legs.

But he stumbled on. He had to deliver the message to Colonel Drake. And he had to do it quickly.

Artillery fire punched off to his left. He saw the momentary flare of the blasts through the trees.

A round shot whistled overhead, then thrashed through the leaves like a giant bird. Another shot cracked through branches and thumped into the earth. The missiles were falling all around him, but he couldn’t see them in the dark, just hear them shrieking and slashing at the forest.

His heart pounded and sweat filmed his face.

Would he be hit? There was no point thinking about it. There was nothing he could do to protect himself anyway. He had to keep running. That was all.

‘Allah is great,’ he whispered under his breath in Arabic. ‘Allah is great.’

‘Saleem,’ Yusuf called behind him.

Saleem spun round. His comrade stood more than thirty feet back, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

‘What is it?’ Saleem shouted.

‘My foot’s stuck.’

Foot’s stuck? What was Yusuf talking about? Here they were on an important mission, with shot falling all around them, and now Yusuf had trapped his foot. They would both be smashed to pieces. They wouldn’t get the message to Drake. The enemy would overrun them all and march on through Wiltshire—

A ball shredded the foliage directly above. Twigs and scraps of leaves twirled down.

He had to stay calm.

Allah is great. Allah is great.

And he shouldn’t think badly of Yusuf. His comrade was a fellow soldier and a fellow Muslim. Saleem’s father had always taught him to respect others, to show self-restraint, and to be patient even in the most trying situations. These things were laid out in the Quran, and you had to follow the Quran even in the middle of a battle.

Saleem took a deep breath and hurried back. Yusuf was crouching and frantically trying to pull his leg out from where it was trapped between a pair of tree roots.

Yusuf looked up. A gun rumbled on the far side of the valley. The glare fingered its way through the branches and lit up his face for a moment. His skin was pale and shone with sweat, while his wild eyes darted around constantly as if the enemy were about to appear out of the shadows at any moment.

Yusuf was eighteen, only a year younger than Saleem, but this would be his first taste of combat. Saleem found it strange to realise he was a veteran by comparison. Three years ago he’d fought at the Siege of London, surviving a bombardment worse than that being hurled at the forest now. Remembering this somehow reassured him. Made him feel more like a real soldier. A knight.

‘It’s all right.’ Saleem put his hand on Yusuf’s shoulder. ‘I’ll get you out.’

Saleem bent and investigated Yusuf’s leg. The foot had somehow forced its way into the hole and now refused to come free. Saleem stood again, tensed, then slammed the sole of his boot into one of the tree roots. The root shifted a little but not enough. Saleem leant back, then kicked again. The root cracked and Yusuf yanked his foot out, tripping backwards.

‘You all right?’ Saleem asked.

Yusuf put all his weight on the foot. ‘It’s fine.’ He glanced up and smiled. ‘Let’s get moving.’

Saleem grinned back. But then felt a twinge of shame. Hadn’t he been arrogant in thinking he was a veteran? Did he think taking part in one battle three years ago made him a knight? Did he think he was so much better than Yusuf?

The Quran taught humility – his father had often told him this – and yet he’d let himself get carried away with thoughts of grandeur. He looked down, feeling his face redden.

They set off again, fumbling through the mesh of undergrowth. Saleem’s knife-musket bounced on his shoulder and snagged on bushes.

Ahead, a speck of fire streaked down through the canopy and slapped into the ground. A flash lit up the moss-covered trees for a moment, then a sheet of flame erupted from the earth. The roar shook the woods and flying metal screamed in the dark, lashing branches and clipping leaves.

Saleem ducked and pulled Yusuf down with him. He heard a large chunk of metal whirl past overhead.

Yusuf stared at Saleem, eyes even wider than before.

‘Shells,’ Saleem explained. ‘Bombs.’

Yusuf swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

They peered over the brush and saw fire crackling where the shell had struck.

‘Come on.’ Saleem pulled Yusuf to his feet. ‘Keep going.’

They pressed on, clambering up a slight incline while the guns continued to rumble. Further shells hurtled down like tiny comets and smacked into the earth. The bright blasts sent the shadows dancing and the whiplash of metal fragments echoed deep in the forest. Flames hissed as they engulfed trees and spat sparks into the night.

Allah is great.

Saleem’s father had taught him those words. Saleem’s father had taught him all about praying and worshipping Allah, including the five daily prayers and the proper times for performing them. He’d insisted on the Arabic words being pronounced clearly and correctly, and he’d clipped Saleem on the head whenever he’d made a mistake.

Saleem felt a stone in his throat. His father had died more than a year ago, after collapsing suddenly for no apparent reason. The old man, who had seemed so tall and strong and implacable and stern, was gone. And that left Saleem alone to look after his mother and five sisters.

He reached the top of the slope and came to the edge of the woods. Figures crouched in the undergrowth around twenty yards ahead. For a moment Saleem wondered whether they were enemy troops, but then he saw they wore civilian tunics and hose. They were rebels, like him. Most people called them crusaders, but Saleem could never bring himself to use that term. The word was enough to put many Muslims off joining the struggle. Before he died, Saleem’s own father had often told him not to fight for the Christians. But Saleem knew he had to fight. He was an Englishman and he would defend his country.

Saleem ran towards the huddled soldiers. With the trees opening up, he could see he’d reached the summit of the hill.

A scene of terrible beauty unfurled before him.

A grassy slope rolled down to a dark valley, on the far side of which rose a further hill, indistinct against the black sky. An unholy thunderstorm seemed to crackle across the hill’s crest. The enemy guns flickered like sheet lightning, streaking the clouds above orange. The deep booms rocked the valleys and gullies. And from somewhere behind, Saleem heard the pounding of the rebel artillery returning fire.

The sky seethed with sparks and flashes. Shells darted across the valley like fireflies on a summer evening, while explosions roared and tore open the night. Specks of flame wheeled overhead.

Saleem swallowed, slowed his pace for a second and then ran on.

One of the rebels – a tall man with a musket slung over his shoulder – stood up and shouted, ‘Greetings.’ Then he glanced at the skullcaps on Saleem and Yusuf’s heads and his expression shifted, like the subtle movement of sand on a dune.

Saleem knew that look well – he’d seen it all his life. It was a mixture of surprise, distaste and suspicion. The expression of a Christian seeing one of the old enemies of England.

‘We’re looking for Colonel Drake,’ Saleem shouted.

‘Drake?’ the soldier said. ‘He’s with the Amesbury Battalion. About half a mile down there.’ He nodded along the line of the forest. ‘Why?’

‘Got a message from Colonel al-Hasan. Vadula’s army is marching on our position. They aren’t attacking from the west.’

The rebel forces had been retreating for days as the much larger army of Mahasiddha Samarth Vadula advanced into Wiltshire. Earlier in the day, Saleem had fled with the other rebels to their position on the hill. The rebel commanders had planned to hold the ridge, expecting an attack tomorrow in the west. But as Saleem waited in the east with his comrades in the Muslim Battalion, sentries spied a large party of Rajthanan and Andalusian troops crossing the valley. Vadula had obviously decided on a surprise night-time attack where the rebels were weakest. The Muslims were outnumbered three to one, and had no artillery.

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!’

He slapped and spurred his charger into a gallop. Yusuf yelped and did the same. The horses battered across the grass, hooves throwing up chunks of turf.

Saleem looked back and saw the avatars still racing over the summit. At least the horses were outrunning the creatures.

‘What now?’ Yusuf shouted.

A good question. Saleem didn’t have a clear answer. They’d been about to fight and die with Drake and the Amesburys, and yet now they were in fact riding away from the battle and towards the looming forest. Beyond the trees, the hills led down to the plains . . . and then Saleem’s village.

If they turned back, they would most likely die with Drake and his men. That would be the honourable thing to do. On the other hand, if they pressed on as they were, there was a chance they could escape, get back to the village, warn everyone there to flee. They could get word out to the neighbouring villages too – and with any luck save as many lives as possible.

Was it better to flee?

What did it say in the Quran about such matters? What would his father have told him to do?

He had no idea. You needed to be a scholar who’d studied the Quran for years in order to reach a decision. And Saleem was no scholar. He couldn’t even read – and, unlike his father, he hadn’t memorised large sections of the sacred text.

He would have to decide for himself what to do.

Allah is great. Allah is great.

Now his eyes fell upon a pale line that cut across the hillside – it was a path, leading into the woods and away from the battlefield.

‘Down there.’ Saleem pointed at the track.

‘What?’ Yusuf shouted back.

‘We’ll follow that. We have to warn the villages. There’s nothing more we can do here.’

Yusuf glanced back at the avatars fanning over the slope. He shivered, clenched his jaw and nodded at Saleem.

The horses thundered on to the path, charged towards the woods and then rushed through an opening in the line of trees. Shadow slammed over them. The canopy clasped overhead and arcades of tree trunks receded into the gloom. The pounding guns were muffled to a heartbeat and the horses’ hooves sent echoes whispering through the leaves.

Saleem noticed that his hands were shaking and his heart was bashing inside his ribcage.

The hiss of the avatars and the smell of sattva had faded. He and Yusuf had got away. Escaped. He felt like laughing or cheering for a moment, but then he remembered his comrades, who were fighting at that very moment. While he was riding away, they were dying.

He tightened his grip on the reins.

Had he really decided to flee just to save his family and the village? Hadn’t he, in fact, been afraid all along? Hadn’t he wanted to avoid the fight?

How could he ever have thought to call himself a knight?

Yusuf gave a strangled shout. Saleem shot a look at him.

‘There’s something there.’ Yusuf pointed into the black wall of branches flickering past to his right.

Without slowing his pace, Saleem peered into the shadows, listening carefully. At first he noticed nothing, but then made out a faint, cold clicking and smelt a trace of sattva. His skin crawled.

‘Ride,’ he said to Yusuf. ‘Fast as you can.’

The avatars swept from the right, boiling up from the ground and bubbling over the tree trunks, flowing like a cloud shadow on a bright day. Saleem saw the tiny metal beasts scurrying across the branches overhead. Their piercing hiss drowned out every other sound.

Saleem slapped the side of his charger frantically, shouting at the animal to run faster. His horse was quicker than Yusuf’s and he started to pull away.

A black pool of avatars spilt across the path ahead. With no alternative, Saleem spurred his charger towards them. The pool darkened and deepened as more of the creatures slipped out of the woods. But Saleem pressed on, aiming for the left side of the track where there were fewer of the creatures. His horse squealed, rolled its eyes and galloped into the mass of squirming beasts, smashing several beneath its hooves.

And then the horse was through, leaving the avatars behind.

Saleem glanced to either side. Were there any creatures on the horse? Any on him? He saw none.

Allah is great.

Yusuf cried out.

Saleem looked back and the ground seemed to drop.

Yusuf was still sitting astride his horse, and the horse was still charging along the path, but both Yusuf and the animal were covered in clumps of avatars. The beasts swirled around Yusuf’s legs, streamed over his torso and twined about his neck. He shrieked and swatted a few of them away, but more kept rippling up from the horse’s flanks.

Saleem yanked at his reins and circled his charger round. He was about to ride back along the path when he saw the avatars engulf Yusuf’s face. Yusuf began a scream, but it was choked off by the creatures surging into his mouth. Both Yusuf and his horse were now completely smothered. The horse stumbled and fell forward, Yusuf tumbling off over its head. As rider and steed struck the ground, the avatars smashed off them, leaving nothing behind but gleaming bones.

Saleem felt a cry boil inside him.

Bile rushed up his throat, but he hurriedly fought it down because the mass of avatars was still hurtling up the track and was now less than ten yards away.

He swung the horse in the opposite direction and spurred away. The dark branches rippled past to either side, the rutted path streamed below and the wind tore the skullcap straight off his head.

Tears welled in his eyes. His face felt hot.

Yusuf.

Loud hissing sprang up to his right. Another wave of avatars flooded from the darkness and shivered over the trees.

There seemed to be no end to the creatures.

He slapped the horse hard, shouted until his voice cracked and repeated the words ‘Allah is great’ over and over again in his head. He had to escape, had to get to the village, had to save his family.

But the mass of avatars was folding about him like a giant hand.

As the shrill clicking beat in his ears and the smell of sattva wedged itself in the back of his throat, he began to realise he wasn’t going to make it.

He shut his eyes and whispered, ‘Allah is great.’

Jack Casey clasped the pommel of the scimitar hanging at his side. The metal felt cold and reassuring. The weapon had a fine blade, perfectly curved to land a deep cut with minimal effort. It had been forged in the Rajthanan military sword-mill at Christchurch, and you could always trust Rajthanan military blades.

He hoped he wasn’t going to have to use it.

He stared at the eleven men standing in a semicircle in front of him. Several bore sputtering torches that flicked sparks at the dark night. Others rested their hands on arming-swords or pistols. They eyed Jack like crows around a lump of meat.

‘The girl stays here,’ Jack said.

The men’s leader, Constable Henry Ward, stepped forward. H