The Coming of the King (Watchers Book 1)

It is 1745, and the long awaited night has come.The BloodKing calls his army to battle and will bring them South to claim his birthright; the throne of Britain.Only the young Watchers on the old wall stand in his way.It is time for them to face their destinies - to whatever end that might lead them. "...horrifying Highland vampires from the bloodline of the diabolical Stuarts. This first novel...offers excitement that never slackens." -- Margaret L. Carter, author of the Eppie Award-winning vampire novel DARK CHANGELING"...superb story. Thoroughly enjoyable from the first word to the last. William Meikle has a wonderfully unique style..." -- The Eternal Night Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror"Breathtaking, Scary and Original. A must read. An impressive blend of horror, history and imagination." -- Dave Dreher, Horror News Network"I was captivated from the very first scene...Very well written." -- Patricia Altner, author of Vampire Readings: An Annotated Bibliography

From the Publisher

From the author of Island Life and The Johnson Amulet and Other Scottish Terrors.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

They were a rag-tag bunch for an army. From his vantage point Sean saw kilted Scotsmen, the red-tunics of those who had once been in the English army, the tattered woollen overgarments of farm workers and, down there, just beginning to climb, the recently animated bodies of fellow officers of the watch killed in the last attack. They made up little more than a screaming, disorganised, mob; men, women and older children all united in just one common cause - to get over the wall and feed. He aimed the nozzle of the bellows down at them and pressed the handles together. The stench of garlic suddenly filled his nose and brought tears to his eyes. As the water hit the attackers they fell back, hissing and mewling, leaving long trails of greasy marks as they slid back to the earth. Screams rent the air, inhuman screeches of pain. Some of them, only their heads touched by the liquid, kept trying to climb until being hosed down further. And still the throng pressed forward, walking over the bodies of the fallen. And everywhere that water touched it brought boiling lesions to the skin and fresh screams in the air. "This is no way for a man to fight." The Warden shouted, and Sean had to agree with him, but anything that killed the Others so efficiently was welcome at a time like this. He saw that the Warden was managing to pump nearly double the volume of water that he was capable of; the huge muscles of his shoulders and arms bunched and knotted tight under his overshirt. The Others had fallen in their scores below him and he was now beginning to create an empty buffer zone. However the enemy were getting smarter, and more of them were moving in Sean's direction, where the flow of the killing liquid was less. "Close up," Sean shouted, and the Warden moved nearer. Sean kept pumping water down over the wall, and further along he could see another doing the same, and the Others kept coming, and they kept dying. The smell that came off the hissing, bubbling bodies stung his eyes and threaten to make him gag as it hit the back of his throat, but he kept pumping. "Check the barrels," he shouted at the Warden. "We can't let them run dry." "Too late," the big man replied. There was a sucking sound as his pump brought up air. He dropped the bellows. "To me," the big man shouted. "More water. More garlic." At the same time Sean's bellows began to wheeze. He turned, and saw a convoy of children labouring with buckets and gourds, heading for the wall, but it would be long seconds before they would be able to replenish his weapon. One final squeeze left barely a dribble coming from the spout. Sean dropped the bellows and unsheathed his sword as the black swarm began to slowly make their way up the wall over their twice dead.

About the Author

William Meikle is a Scottish writer, now living in Canada, with twenty novels published in the genre press and over 300 short story credits in thirteen countries. He has books available from a variety of publishers including Dark Regions Press, DarkFuse and Dark Renaissance, and his work has appeared in a number of professional anthologies and magazines with recent sales to NATURE Futures, Penumbra and Buzzy Mag among others. He lives in Newfoundland with whales, bald eagles and icebergs for company. When he's not writing he drinks beer, plays guitar, and dreams of fortune and glory.

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