The Bloody Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (27 page)

A Guildsman staggered in front of him, disoriented, and Fallon knocked him to the ground with one blow, then lifted his knees high and jumped down onto the man’s chest, hearing ribs crackle under the impact.

“Get him!” Aidan was trying to staunch the blood flowing from his cut cheek and Swane was supporting him but everybody else was running now.

Fallon picked up a fallen shillelagh, flicked blood off the end and pointed it at the King. This was for Cavan, for Bridgit and to pay back these bastards who had grabbed Kerrin and wanted him dead.

But that gesture was too much for Swane, who grabbed his father’s arm and turned and ran, hauling the King back towards the door and safety.

“Guards! Get guards!” Swane howled.

Fallon began to chase after them but that shout cut through the red mist in his head. Kelty might be dead but there were still more than enough guards in this castle to kill him. Even his shillelagh was no match for a crossbow or two. And, once he was dead, there was nothing stopping Kerrin from going to sacrifice.

Instantly he spun and raced back to where Kerrin was tied up. His knives were lost among the chaos but beside the Fearpriest, who was lying on his back, trying in vain to hold himself together with ever-weakening fingers, was the obsidian blade.

The hilt was wrapped in some strange skin, which made Fallon’s bloodstained fingers itch, but the strange stone blade was razor sharp and the ropes holding Kerrin back parted under it in moments.

“You’re safe now,” Fallon said as he ripped off the gag, even though that was not true, and hugged his son to him, feeling the boy’s sobs. He wanted to hold him longer but there was no time to waste.

“We have to go. Are you ready to help me?” Fallon put his hands on Kerrin’s shoulders.

He felt as though his chest might burst with pride as Kerrin wiped his eyes with grimy hands and nodded. “I told you I would be ready and I am,” he said.

Behind him, he could hear the muffled screams of Feray and her boys and he and Kerrin swiftly cut their bonds, freeing them from the sacrifice tables.

The two boys fell into their shaking mother’s arms, all three of them sobbing.

“We have to go! Get up!” Fallon told them harshly.

Feray turned away from him and he could only imagine what he must look like, covered in blood and soot.

“They will not get you while I live,” he told them. “But unless we move now, that may not be long. You have to be strong, for your boys.”

He saw the effort of will that it took to get her to stand and take her sons’ hands.

“Come on!” he urged them and together they half-ran, half-stumbled towards the back of the chamber and the door there.

The chamber was now empty, except for the dead, the dying and the unconscious, and was filled with the smell of burning flesh as the Earl of Meinster slowly roasted under the weight of coals.

For a moment Fallon felt terror at the thought of what might be on the other side of the door, or that it would be locked. But he hauled on the door ring and pulled it open to reveal a simple passageway.

“Stay close to me,” he ordered and crept through, the obsidian blade in his belt, shillelagh in his hands. He could feel Kerrin at his left, holding on to the cloth of his trews, while Feray was right behind him, so close he could feel her frightened gasps for breath on his back.

Yet the passageway was empty.

Fallon slammed the door shut behind them and slid the locking bar across. Hopefully that would buy them some time.

He hurried down the passage, the others at his back, turned the corner and came to a series of cells. Instinctively he glanced inside and gasped in horror to see small children there, huddled against the back wall. They wailed at the sight of him, then stared at Kerrin, Asil and Orhan stumbling along behind them.

“Aroaril, what are they doing here?” Feray hissed.

“Nothing for Aroaril,” Fallon said grimly. “They were to be sacrificed by that Fearpriest.”

“We have to free them!” Feray cried.

“We have to get ourselves out of here first,” Fallon grunted, but he was already looking for a key.

There were six cells, all had at least two children inside, which must have been making the noise he had heard the last time he was here. He could not find a key and thought he could hear noises behind them from the chamber they had escaped.

“We have to come back for them,” he told Feray. “We shall come back and free you,” he told the children.

But that made them rush to the bars, holding out their hands, crying and begging to be taken along. Fallon could not bear to leave them but could not see how he could break into the cells either. He was wondering if the obsidian blade might work when something, or someone slammed against the chamber door they had locked.

“We must go. But we shall be back, I swear on my wife,” Fallon said, grabbing Feray, who was crying as the children wailed at her. “Feray, think of your sons!”

That was enough for her to step away from the cell door and follow him as he raced down further. One more turn and they were at the place he remembered, with a second passage and an iron door. This was also unlocked and he ushered the others through and then swung it shut. This time there was no Padraig to lock it and speed was their only hope. The hammering against the other door was getting louder and he did not know how long it would hold.

“Run! Run as if your lives depend on it!” he told the boys.

They needed no further encouragement.

*

Feray was puffing and wheezing as she ran, each breath coming harder than the others. The boys had been used to running around and playing but she had not done anything more strenuous than walk up and down the stairs a few times since her capture and, before that, had been stuck on board a ship with little chance to exercise. She usually prided herself on her strength and fitness but the running on top of the stress and fear had left her short of breath, her legs aching. When the King’s men had hauled her out of the makeshift prison she had actually been pleased, thinking that the King would have to release her now and that she could be on her way back to Kotterman with a merchant that very night.

But, instead of the honor due to her station, she and her sons had been dragged downstairs and tied to tables by terrifying men. At first Feray had feared rape, then she understood her fate was something worse. She recognized the Fearpriest as something out of her nightmares. At least her sons did not know what the hooded man with the strange knife meant, even if she did. The short time lying there had been the worst of her life, outstripping even the time when Fallon had held a knife to Orhan’s face.

When Fallon came in the room, she had been torn between hope and more fear. Yet she had not dared to hope, not until he produced knives and turned the room into a slaughterhouse. She could have embraced him when he freed them and she believed him when he swore he would protect them with his life. She glanced over at him as he helped Orhan along and marveled at the contrast to the first time she had met him.

But that thought was washed away by a simple desire to breathe. Her lungs felt full of liquid and she worried she would doom them all.

“Keep going. Just get my boys away,” she wheezed.

He looked at her and she almost drew back from his blazing eyes. “I made a promise to keep you safe. I will not break that while I draw breath,” he said shortly. “Now move!”

The two older boys were still running easily but Orhan stumbled so Fallon slung him over one shoulder, while also keeping tight hold of Feray’s right wrist, dragging her along. She had just enough energy to reflect how strange it was that she was trusting their lives to the man who had threatened them.

“Not far now,” Fallon told them, as they hurried down a set of stairs. “Stay strong!”

It was dark down there and stank of blood and decay. Then she slipped on something soft and tumbled over, coming face to face with a dead child. The boy’s face was gray and something had eaten his eyes.

She screamed, unable to stop herself, then Fallon hauled her up.

“We are too late to save them. We have to save ourselves,” he said roughly.

They stumbled and slipped through a pile of rotting bodies, hearing creatures race away into the darkness and trying not to imagine what else waited for them. There was a slim trace of light coming from ahead and they headed towards that. If she had been alone, she did not think she could have made it through that nightmare but Fallon took her arm and guided her onwards. They reached the light to discover it was sunlight coming in underneath a door. Fallon let go of her arm and she cried out, then he fumbled with a locking bar and rammed the door open with his shoulder.

Next moment they stumbled into the sunlight and her eyes adjusted to see they were in some of castle garden.

“My men are training just outside the gate. Once we are there, we are safe,” Fallon said, his chest heaving. “Come on!”

But Feray was struggling to put one foot in front of the other and then they heard angry shouts coming from above.

*

Kerrin wished he had his crossbow. Or even a throwing knife. He had spent so much time training with them and now, when he really needed them, they were back in his room.

They had been playing with the ball when Kelty and a score of his men had raced into the Guild square, smashing down Devlin and the other villagers, then grabbing him, Asil, Orhan and their mother.

Now all they had to do was run away and Kerrin knew he could do that. He had been practicing, after all. The castle gate was no more than fifty paces away and he imagined he could see Dad’s army out there, ready to come in and save them.

“There’s no guards there!” he cried. He pointed, in case the adults had missed it, then tugged Asil towards it. “Hurry Dad!” he cried.

But Dad was not moving fast, with Orhan over one shoulder and a shillelagh in that hand and trying to pull along the Kottermani Princess with the other.

“Kerrin, run and find Brendan. Bring him back here,” his dad said.

“What?” Kerrin turned.

“Go! They could be on us at any moment and then it will be too late. Only you can save us!” his dad ordered.

Kerrin straightened up. Time to make all that training pay off. He saluted and raced away.

His chest felt like it would burst but with pride instead of the usual pain from running. All those days of racing through the streets after his dad were for this and he tore through the grounds. He could see guards coming out of doorways but they did not give him a second glance and, even if they had, he was past them before they could do anything.

The gate was wide open and he flashed through it. A pair of guards saw him, too late. One made a grab for him but he ducked his head and was past them.

“Hey! Stop there, boy!” the guard shouted but he ignored them and they stayed at their posts.

The square was full of recruits going through exercises and he saw Brendan, towering head and shoulders above the young men and ran up to him, not even stopping, so he slammed into the big smith.

“What is it, Kerrin? What are you doing here?” Brendan asked, holding him at arm’s length.

“Dad – Fearpriest – castle,” Kerrin gasped.

“What is it?” His grandfather strode over and Kerrin grabbed his hand gratefully.

“Dad needs help! In the castle!” he said.

“What’s happening? Start from the beginning, lad!” Brendan said.

The other leaders, Gallagher, Bran and Gannon, rushed over as well.

“We have to rescue Dad! Now!” Kerrin insisted.

“What’s this? Some sort of training exercise?” Gannon asked.

“Or maybe a joke,” Brendan said.

Kerrin did not have the time to explain. He sensed that time was running out for Dad and it was up to him to save him. He grabbed his grandfather’s arm.

“Make my voice loud,” he said.

Padraig’s eyes widened but he gripped Kerrin’s shoulder and Kerrin straightened up.

“Soldiers of Fallon!” he cried, his voice cracking a little but echoing across the square. All activity stopped and everyone turned in his direction. He had heard Dad make speeches often enough this past moon and the words came easily to him. “Your captain is fighting for his life, surrounded by Fearpriests and traitors! Will you let him die? I go to save him. Will I go alone?”

He grabbed the knife out of Brendan’s belt then raced back towards the castle, not caring if anyone was following him.

The two guards on the gate, who had so nearly caught him, saw him coming this time and spread out, hands held low, ready. Kerrin gripped his borrowed knife tighter and prepared to cut and stab his way through, until they let him go. He would get to Dad if it was the last thing he did. He braced himself for the impact.

Then one guard grabbed the other by the shoulder. Their faces contorted in terror and they cried out, then turned and ran away.

Kerrin yelled out a challenge at them and brandished his knife.
Cowards! Scared of a boy!
he thought exultantly.

Next moment a rush of men came past him, on either side. Bran was there, sword in hand, Brendan was there too, hammer in his hands and Gallagher with his knives. With them were several, then dozens, then scores of the recruits, young men with swords and spears and crossbows, running like a stampeding herd.

Kerrin pointed his borrowed knife at the castle. “Get them!” he roared, as a stream of men poured in through the castle gate.

Fallon watched Kerrin disappear through the gate and breathed a sigh of relief. At least he was safe. He put down Orhan.

“Can you run, lad?” he asked.

Orhan nodded convulsively and he patted him on the shoulder. “Hold your brother’s hand and we shall get out of this,” he said.

But he could see guards pouring out of the castle, like angry ants from a disturbed nest. Barely fifty heartbeats after Kerrin had made it out of the gate, the way ahead was blocked off and he grabbed Feray, dragging her back towards the stables, the frightened boys with them. Without Kelty the guards were obviously disorganized and Fallon hoped that they would remain so for just a little while longer, until Kerrin returned with help.

But that hope was swiftly dashed.

“There he is, get him!” someone shouted and a squad of guards clattered across the cobbles to surround them, all of them carrying sword and shield.

They were led by a familiar face and Fallon smiled humorlessly as he saw Quinn advance on him, although the officer stayed carefully behind a wall of shields. Fallon pushed Feray behind him and took a two-handed grip on his shillelagh.

“Give up, Fallon. You don’t stand a chance,” Quinn said.

“What would you know about fighting?” Fallon sneered, hoping to keep him talking for as long as possible.

“We only want the woman and the children. Give us them and we can forget all about this,” Quinn said persuasively.

Fallon laughed at him. “Do you think the mad King will forgive and forget? He will want double the sacrifices to heal his face after what I did to him!”

Quinn’s face whitened. “You dare insult the King?”

“He’s a murderer, a Zorva-worshipper and a madman!” Fallon shouted back scornfully.

Quinn shook his head. “You have lost your mind. This is your last chance. Drop your weapon and give us the woman and children.”

“So he can sacrifice them to Zorva? I think not. I have sworn to protect them, just as I have sworn to smash your ugly face into the cobbles, and I don’t break my word,” Fallon told him.

Quinn signaled to his men. “Take him,” he said.

They eased into the advance as Fallon dropped into a crouch. Obviously they had heard about how good he was with the shillelagh, although that gave him no pleasure. He jumped forwards and punched out at a pair of guardsmen, forcing them back a step, but the others closed in and he prepared to sell his life dearly.

“I think you’re about to break your word, Fallon,” Quinn sneered.

Fallon glanced at him, then began to laugh.

“You think this is funny?” Quinn snarled.

For answer, Fallon pointed behind.

“If you think I am going to fall for that old trick—” Quinn began, then the screaming began, followed by the crash of metal on metal.

Quinn and his men all turned, to see what Fallon was enjoying. A flood of men, led by the massive Brendan, were smashing their way through any guards that tried to stop them, sweeping them away like pus from a wound.

“Form line!” Quinn cried, his voice cracking with fear.

His guards hesitated.

“Throw down your weapons if you want to live,” Fallon advised as the rush of his men grew ever closer. The last few guards between them were demolished and his men were pounding towards him – Brendan, Gallagher, Bran, Gannon, Casey and scores of the young recruits he had trained. “Time is running out!”

“Don’t listen to him! Follow me!” Quinn squeaked but his men threw down swords and shields and fell to their knees, hands over their heads. Quinn cursed, backed away and then turned to run. But he had got no more than a few paces when Brendan’s hammer swung around in a vicious blow to crush his back and send him flying into his men.

A rush of recruits knocked the guards down to the cobbles and stood over them with reddened swords and spears.

Brendan flipped his dripping hammer up onto his shoulder. “Could someone please tell me what in Aroaril’s name is going on?” he demanded.

“Where’s Kerrin?” Fallon asked.

Next moment Kerrin squeezed through the lines of men and flung himself at him.

Fallon hugged him fiercely. “You did it! You saved us all!” he whispered.

“Why were they attacking you?” Bran asked.

Fallon kept an arm around Kerrin as he straightened. “King Aidan plans to convert us all to Zorva and then make us carve him out an empire, dedicated to evil. To stay as his captain, I had to sacrifice Kerrin to Zorva.”

The growing circle of his recruits gasped and cried out in horror as they heard his words.

“And who are they?” Bran asked, pointing at Feray.

“The wife and children of the Kottermani Crown Prince. We had captured them and were going to use them to get our families back,” Fallon said. “The King found out and sent Kelty and his men to grab them. Devlin and his men are beaten up but I think they are still alive. And we found the missing children. They are underneath the castle, being held by the King to be killed on Zorva’s altar.”

There were cries of anger, and horror at that.

“Where is the Fearpriest? And where is Kelty? Those guards were even more useless than usual,” Gallagher said.

“I gutted the Fearpriest, put a knife into Kelty’s throat and smashed up the King’s filthy sacrifice room. You’ll know anyone who was there – they will have the marks of my shillelagh on them.”

Now there were growls of fury and cries for vengeance.

“What do we do now?” Brendan asked. “The ship?”

Fallon shook his head. This was a time for revenge. He had tried to avoid it and nearly brought disaster upon them again. Now he would embrace it.

“Gannon, take a squad and go and find the Duchess. We are going to need her before this day is out,” Fallon ordered.
To answer some questions from Rosaleen, if nothing else,
he added silently.

The big sergeant saluted and ducked into the crowd, calling out for his men.

“Gallagher, stay here with three squads, Kerrin, Feray and her boys. Keep them safe and we shall find them proper quarters after this. Bran, take a squad and find Devlin and the others, bring them back here for treatment if they are alive, for burial if they are not.”

“And what are we doing?” Brendan asked.

Fallon bent down and picked up a fallen sword. “The rest of you, follow me!”

The cheer that followed rattled the tiles along the castle roof.

*

They broke into the castle in several places, driving the remaining guards before them. Without any officers, the guards were confused and massively outnumbered. Some chose to fight and die but many threw down their swords and were sent to the throne room under guard. He sent fifty of the best recruits under Casey to watch them, as well as bar the door that led to the King’s staircase, the one that led up to his rooms or down to the sacrifice room. Nobody would be getting out of there.

The corridors were quiet, except for the occasional ringing clash of steel and horrible scream, which revealed that another guard had tried to resist. The servants stayed hidden.

Fallon led them up to the King’s rooms, sure he would have gone there. And there was perhaps a score of guards outside the room, the last loyal ones, led by Regan.

“Get back, traitor, before the King destroys you all!” the chamberlain spat at them, his usual air of calm torn away.

“Give up now, or you will all die,” Fallon replied.

Regan gestured towards the cluster of guards, who were packed tight around the door. “You will never get past!” he said wildly.

Fallon snapped his fingers and a score of his recruits stepped forwards, crossbows in hands. Half went down on one knee, the others stood behind, and together they brought their weapons up.

“Last chance. If you have not converted to Zorva, there is still hope for you,” Fallon offered.

A pair of guards dropped their swords and raised hands – only to be hacked down from behind by their former comrades.

“Loose!” Fallon snapped and the two lines released their crossbows.

A score of bolts converged on the huddle of guards and tore through them, then Fallon strode forwards, Brendan at his shoulder.

Regan was still alive, a bolt in his shoulder, and he lunged clumsily at Fallon with a knife. Fallon knocked it away and then rammed his borrowed blade into the chamberlain’s open mouth and deep into his neck, so that it stuck out the back. Regan dropped his knife and was held there, eyes bulging as his lifeblood pulsed out through his mouth, then Fallon ripped the weapon out and let him collapse into death.

A few of the other guards still lived, but were quickly finished off by Fallon’s recruits, then Brendan ran forwards and swung his huge hammer at the door, splintering the lock and sending it crashing open.

Fallon stepped over the writhing bodies of the dying guards and into the room.

The King stood there to meet him, as he had done not a turn of the hourglass ago, yet this time there was no smile on his face. Instead, dried blood from his cut cheek and wide eyes made him look like a madman. Behind him hovered Swane, no trace of a sneer on his face now.

“Run, Father!” he cried, and he vanished out the secret door, back down the stairs.

But Aidan did not run. “Fallon, you bastard, have you come to die?” he cried, a sword in his hand.

Fallon said nothing. His hate was too great to put into words. So he just advanced on Aidan. The King hacked at him furiously but it was easy enough to block the blows until Aidan stepped back, breathing harshly. Then Fallon advanced and, when the King swung his sword viciously but with little skill, he slipped sideways and lunged for the man’s black heart. Aidan jumped backwards and cut out once more and Fallon parried and thrust again, this time at the throat. Aidan threw himself backwards, staggering, tripping and falling. His head slammed into the desk and he collapsed limply, sword rolling from nerveless fingers.

“Finish it,” Brendan rumbled.

Fallon advanced and touched his reddened sword to the King’s throat. From there it would be so easy to end it and gain some revenge for all the King’s evil. But he could not make the final thrust. Not there; not like this. He wanted Aidan to know what was coming and, more than anything else, wanted the people to see what an evil bastard he had been.

“No,” he said. “It’s over. We’ll have the church judge him. Maybe burn him the way he did those witches. Get some rope and tie this bastard up. We shall let the children out and leave Aidan in one of those cells, give him a taste of it.” At the thought, Fallon sheathed his sword but gave the unconscious King a kick in the ribs.

“What about Swane?” Brendan asked.

“He can’t get away,” Fallon said confidently. Casey and fifty men waited in the throne room, while Gallagher and thirty men were watching the other way out in the kitchen garden. Then, with a shock of horror, he remembered the other passageway. The one they had not taken. He did not know where that went.

“Quick, follow me. And bring the King!”