once again began to crank the handle. The machine coughed its brutal roar. Great gouts of earth sprayed from the ground, arcing a curved path towards the Prince.
‘Get down!’ screamed Wynter.
Alberon twisted his body to shield the little boy, and ran. Oliver’s horse staggered under another rain of fire. Oliver spilled lifelessly to the ground. The horse fell.
Shots followed the Prince’s hunched retreat, biting the ground at his heels. Wynter reached for him, as if to pluck him from death’s relentless path. The smoke bit her eyes and throat as she drew breath again to scream. Alberon jerked. Blood erupted from his shoulder. He jerked again. Blood sprayed from his hip. Anthony’s small hands flew up as the two of them spun. Blood flew from Alberon’s mouth and he hit the ground, Anthony still clutched to him like a doll.
Alberon rolled, once, twice, three times, then came to a stop, still shielding Anthony with his body. For a moment, rigid tremors shook him. Then, to Wynter’s horror, her friend seemed to deflate, and both he and his little servant lay corpse-still on the smoky ground.
The machine cranked on. The earth puffed up in a series of lethal explosions as the shots arced a path from Alberon to Wynter. She ran towards them, her mind filled only with Alberon’s lifeless, sprawling body; the horrible way the ground was darkening where he lay. Something hit her, shoving her sideways, and the ground spat up by her foot as the arc of the machine passed by.
She was tumbled over and over, a band of iron clamped around her waist. Then a slim weight pressed upon her, holding her down. A lilting voice in her ear shouted above the noise. ‘Stay easy, you bloody fool!’
Christopher was lying across her, pressing her into the ground as he jerked his crossbow up and took aim. She struggled against him, trying to reach Alberon, and Christopher elbowed her hard in the ribs. ‘Stay still!’ He took aim, fired, and Wynter looked up to witness one of the machine crew lurch back, Christopher’s arrow jutting from his brow. There was a brief pause in the firing as the machine crew regrouped, and Christopher rolled onto his back, trying to reload.
Wynter began slithering beneath the smoke to Alberon.
‘Razi!’ bellowed Christopher. ‘Stop!
’ Wynter twisted, gaping back over her shoulder.
Running from the curled body of the King, Razi had leapt onto his horse. With a cry, he pulled the terrified animal around and, just as the machine began to shoot again, galloped straight for it.
Wynter lurched to her feet in horror. Christopher, still lying on his back, took aim and fired. Another of the machine crew fell, and the machine temporarily dipped its nose, shooting aimlessly into the earth. Men who had been working in the background ran forward with the fresh-loaded barrel-ring, heaved it into the ready position, then took their fallen comrades’ place. They pulled the muzzle around to aim at Razi and fired.
Razi kept going. Wynter saw shots tug his tunic. Saw one shred the corner of his doctor’s bag. Razi leaned forward in the saddle. He settled against the horse’s neck, and Wynter realised he was going to try to jump the wall.
She began to run, waving her arms. ‘Stop firing!’ she screamed. ‘Stop firing!’
Behind her, Christopher leapt to his feet and took aim again. His bolt clattered harmlessly against the metal carriage of the machine, but the men swung the weapon in response and drew down. Wynter skid to a halt as the gun’s multiple eyes turned to stare at her.
The machine fired, BAM BAM BAM, the shots running towards her in a straight line. She leapt aside. The ground puffed by her foot. Shots cut a path from her to Christopher.
‘GET DOWN!’ she screamed.
He did not get down. Instead he stood, legs akimbo, slapped the bow to his shoulder and fired once more. A gunner sprouted an arrow from his chest and fell from sight. Christopher went to reload. The last round hit him. He dropped, and the machine fell silent as it ran out of shots.
In the ringing silence, Christopher curled on the ground, his eyes bulging, his hands clenched around his thigh. Blood poured from between his fingers. Wynter skidded to his side, snatching her scarf from her neck, and wrapped it tightly around his wound.
‘You fool!’ she cried, knotting the scarf. ‘You fool!’
‘Razi!’ he yelled, struggling to see over her shoulder. ‘Stop!’
The men at the machine were scrabbling to reload. Frantically they