The King of Insects leaned forward and blasted Hunter with a stream of bees that roared from its mouth like bullets. He dived out of the way, but the few that hit him brought up red welts on his neck.
As he danced backwards and forwards, looking for a way past the King of Insects’ defences, he heard his name called in an insistent, frightened voice. He turned to see Samantha sprinting towards him from the cover of one of the buildings.
‘Go back!’ he yelled, but she wasn’t about to be deterred. He abandoned his attack on the King of Insects and ran towards her. Another of the Lament-Brood broke past the Wild Hunt into Samantha’s path. Hunter reached it just in time, taking off its head with one blow, then hacking through its chest for good measure.
But as he turned back to Samantha to protect her, he just caught a fleeting glimpse of another of the Lament-Brood coming up behind her. He started to call a warning, but it was too late. A spear-head burst out of her chest and her face took on a startled, not-quite-comprehending expression.
Fury and desperate grief fighting for control, Hunter charged forward and dispatched the attacker with brutal ease. He hacked off the spear shaft and Samantha slumped on to her back in the churned-up grey snow. She coughed, and a bubble of blood trickled down her chin.
Hunter’s heart hammered so loudly in his chest that it drowned out all sound of the battle. Ignoring his own safety, he cradled her head. He had seen enough deaths to know that she had little time left, but this was the first one that had affected him so profoundly.
‘You’ve got to get to Hal,’ she said. Her eyes were wide and staring, still not understanding what had happened to her. The shock had eliminated all her pain.
‘Don’t talk,’ he said, though he was really saying it to himself. Don’t talk, don’t think, don’t see what you’re seeing.
‘No,’ she croaked, ‘you don’t understand. Hal’s been arrested…’ Another cough, another bubble of blood. ‘Reid’s got him… trying to frame him. Hunter, they’re going to execute him-’
‘When?’
‘Don’t know. Probably soon-’
‘Is he being held under Brasenose?’
But she was already gone. Hunter scooped her up in his arms and ran to the edge of the street, where he placed her gently in a doorway. He allowed himself one last look at her, but no emotion. Then he bounded back into the fray as if nothing had happened. ‘We have to wrap this up quickly,’ he yelled to Mallory.
The King of Insects was sagging now. Mallory took out another chunk of torso, releasing a further cloud of flies and wasps. They buzzed briefly before dying in the cold.
‘Why?’ Mallory gasped. ‘You just want to spoil the fun.’
‘We’ve got to stop them from killing Hal. If they do, it’s all over.’
Mallory eyed him curiously. ‘Is he the fifth?’
Hunter said nothing, but his silence was answer enough.
Just beyond the King of Insects, Ruth directed the lightning and wind like a goddess come down to earth. Her face registered no emotion, but her eyes would have broken anyone’s heart.
Finally the King of Insects expired in a gush of flying creatures and a burst of purple mist. Even then Caitlin didn’t stop; she crushed carapaces underfoot and chopped at what remained of the thing’s form until there was nothing left but an ugly smear in the snow. Finally, the frighteningly intense cast of her face lifted to reveal the gentle, hopeful Caitlin who had been waiting within.
There were no more standing Lament-Brood in the street, though others were beginning to arrive at the far end. The Wild Hunt charged down to meet them head on.
While Mallory gathered his strength, Hunter ran over to Ruth. The winds dropped and the lightning faded away.
‘Why?’ was all he said.
‘There’s no escape from responsibility,’ she said bitterly. And this time Hunter knew exactly what she meant.
‘Church would have been proud of you,’ he said.
‘If he was still alive, I would have thought that worthwhile.’
Knowing there was nothing else to say, Hunter returned to the others, not realising the desperate pain that Ruth had suffered in the silence of her sanctuary after he and Laura had left her alone in Lincoln, not comprehending her grief at the memories of the man she had loved and lost, and what that man would think of her for ignoring such a call. As she had left Lincoln on horseback, a part of her had even hoped that she would die so that she could be with her love again. No one would ever understand the depth of her despair that she still lived on, to suffer more. Icily, she set off to seek out more Lament-Brood. She wouldn’t rest until they were all driven back to the darkness or torn asunder. And even then there would be no peace. If only she could see Church again, she thought. If only she could feel his strength, and his wisdom, and his sensitivity. But wishing achieved nothing.
In the complex deep beneath the echoing, empty corridors of Brasenose and Lincoln, the General sat in a bleak room, struggling with a half-remembered notion of a similar occasion when he had been surrounded by other hard men. The memory was elusive, and could well have been a dream, but it only added to his sense of desperation.
On the table before him was an ivory-handled pistol that had once belonged to his father. The knowledge that he had been called on in Britain’s darkest hour and found lacking was almost impossible to bear. He’d wrestled with his terrible failure for too long. The honourable thing would be to pay the ultimate price for losing the country to the invading force, yet he’d even failed there. He wished he was in his comfortable office in Magdalen, with its atmosphere of tradition and history, the wall of war art that spoke of his responsibilities; it would have been easier to make the decision there.
He thought of his family and wondered where they were. Still alive? He’d failed them, too, in so many ways.
All he wanted to do was to make amends, but the only option left to him would change nothing. No one would even know he had pulled the trigger.
Absently, he flicked through the very latest intelligence report that Reid’s department had prepared for him. It was about the gang of thugs who wore black T-shirts marked with a red ‘V’. They’d terrorised the country for months, growing in number with each passing week. All of them had now gathered in Hampstead to carry out some kind of crazed ritual in the belief that they could bring Ryan Veitch back from the dead. The population was dying in their millions and a bunch of nutters had decided to turn some rotting Brother of Dragons into a messiah. The whole world had gone insane, the General thought. What was the point in any of them carrying on?
Reid breezed in. He glanced at the gun and then at the General, but if he had any understanding of the situation he didn’t show it; he probably didn’t care, the General reflected.
‘The men need a pep talk,’ Reid said.
‘What’s the point?’
‘It’s not over yet.’
The General fixed a cold gaze on the spy. ‘Have you got something planned?’
‘Come on.’ Reid marched out, ignoring the question.
The General sat for a second in thought, then pocketed his pistol and followed. There would be time for honour later.
In the Divinity School, the survivors chatted with incipient hope that victory had been achieved. Thackeray, who knew the worst was yet to come, did nothing to dash their optimism — after all they had been through, these people deserved at least that. Instead, he quietly found Caitlin, who was squatting in one corner, catching her breath. When she saw him coming, she stood up and they hugged each other, and then they kissed passionately, which was a shock to both of them.
‘They’re already talking about you in the same breath as the Five who fought at the Fall. They’re going to put your name up in lights,’ Thackeray said.
‘Only if we win.’
‘You will. I have every faith in you.’
His words filled her with a powerful sense of the responsibility that had been bestowed on her.
They were interrupted by Hunter, who urged her to come with him and Mallory to the high-security wing under Brasenose. Laura approached, her hand now fully healed. ‘I’m coming, too,’ she said.
