The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (33 page)

Fallon stared out at the sea, wondering if Bridgit was seeing the same waves or even the same sky. They had made good time out of Lunster, heading west and then north towards Berry. Gallagher had not even bothered about trying anything fancy with his course. There was nothing in Lunster’s harbor that could catch them. The only danger was the giant ship Kerrin and Padraig had seen that fateful night – but they would have all welcomed an encounter with that. Now they were heading into the harbor at Berry. Time was still vital. Although Duchess Dina could not catch them by sea, a fast rider could be at Berry only a day after they docked. And, while Fallon hoped that Gannon’s actions back at the harbor had shown he was enough of a friend not to betray them, it would not take much thought to work out where they were going.

“Dad, what are we doing?”

Fallon turned away from the sea to draw Kerrin into a hug. The boy had been quiet and withdrawn for the last few days as they sailed north, finding solace only in Caley’s company. It had not helped that the traditional Gaelish weather had closed in and it had rained every single day. The hold was fairly dry, the Duke’s cabin far more, but it was little fun for anyone.

Neither Kerrin nor Fallon had been getting much sleep either, for Kerrin kept being woken by nightmares, usually about people coming to get him, or insects crawling over his skin. On the first night Fallon had tried to explain to him how it was natural and nothing to be worried about. As Bridgit would have, he tried to comfort his son and calm him down. By the second and subsequent nights, his patience was in short supply and he told Kerrin to be quiet and go back to sleep because everything was safe. He was not sure that Kerrin actually did go back to sleep but at least he was quiet, which was a blessing.

He wanted to spend more time with Kerrin but kept getting drawn away by other people. Everyone wanted to talk to him, to get some reassurance they were not all doomed but would indeed get their families back. The earlier enthusiasm had been dampened by the passage of time and by the rain. All that was exhausting, before he even began with Kerrin. He decided he had to toughen the boy up. That would be the best for everyone. So when the skies finally cleared and the rain stopped, he got Kerrin up on deck.

“We are going to save your mam,” he said. “To do that, we need help from the Crown Prince. So we are going to see him now. Understand?”

Kerrin nodded. “Aye, Dad. But what happens when we catch up with the other ship?”

“We fight,” Fallon said fiercely. “And we get her back.”

“Can we beat them?”

“Of course. Look, the lads are training even now.” Fallon pointed down to the main deck. He had not wanted the men to brood, so ordered them to practice as if they were at the fyrd training. They had been fighting up and down the deck for the last few days, even in the rain, and Sister Rosaleen had been kept busy with a variety of minor wounds taken by the more enthusiastic ones.

“Those dreams you have been having, do you think they might stop if you learned how to fight, so you could stop anyone taking you away?”

“I think so,” Kerrin said uncertainly.

Fallon smiled and clapped his son on the shoulder. “Of course they will. And I shall teach you.”

“Really?” Kerrin asked, his eyes shining for the first time since Fallon had found him hidden underneath the tool chest.

“I think that will be the least of your mam’s worries,” he said. “Now, we need to find you something to practice with.”

Two lengths of pole were chopped off and the ends hastily shaped.

“When I get near a forge, I’ll make you a proper sword, just for you,” Brendan promised as Fallon and Kerrin shaped up.

“Now, it takes time to learn the sword. And lots of practice,” Fallon warned. “Don’t lose heart if you are slow to begin with.”

“I won’t. And besides, you’re the best swordsman in Gaelland!” Kerrin said excitedly.

“I’m not the best. Not even close,” Fallon said, thinking of the way Prince Cavan’s bodyguard had humiliated him in Lunster. “But I know enough to get by. With training, you could be better than me.”

“Give him a few days and he can fight someone his own size – Devlin would do,” Gallagher said.

Fallon waited to hear Devlin make some joke in response but the farmer merely shrugged. Fallon sighed to himself. The ship had been silent and unsmiling since the morning they found their families gone. Gallagher and Padraig were doing their best to raise spirits, but they all needed good news and a dose of hope from Prince Cavan.

“Get your weight on your toes, sword hand forwards, and be ready to move back or forwards. As I move my sword, raise yours to block,” Fallon said.

Kerrin nodded back, his face a mask of concentration, and Fallon began to take him through the moves that were like second nature to him after all these years. But while he had expected Kerrin to take some time to develop the strength and timing to meet his blows, he was shocked and disappointed by how bad his son was.

“No, lift the sword!” Fallon snapped as Kerrin missed a block yet again and Fallon had to adjust his stroke so as not to hit him.

“I’m trying!” the lad protested.

“You need to try harder,” Fallon said without thinking, then cursed silently at the expression on Kerrin’s face. He prided himself on being able to encourage and help new recruits and had even been able to teach the likes of Sean and Seamus – the most useless brothers in the village – some technique. Why couldn’t he do better with his own son?”

“Let’s slow it down,” he suggested.

They went through the basic blocks and then the basic sword strokes, each one accompanied by the whack of wood on wood at a ridiculously slow pace. Fallon exaggerated each stroke and even then Kerrin was only just able to block it.

Fallon was losing patience and, when he tried to speed it up a little, Kerrin missed a block and he jabbed his son in the ribs.

“Owww!” Kerrin howled, dropping the wooden sword and clutching at his side, tears rolling down his face.

Instantly Fallon was at his side. “I’m so sorry, son. Are you all right? Where does it hurt?” Fallon asked urgently.

For an answer, Kerrin just howled.

“I’ll get Sister Rosaleen; she’ll be able to put you right,” Fallon said, hating himself.

“No!” Kerrin cried.

“What?”

“I’m not hurt,” Kerrin sobbed.

“But I thought … you’re crying as though I cracked a rib!” Fallon said.

Kerrin turned away from him, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m not hurt,” he said thickly. “I’m just useless with a sword.”

“No you’re not,” Fallon said immediately, although he had been thinking exactly that a few moments ago.

“I’ll never be any good. I might as well give up now.”

“Now, you can’t be like that,” Fallon said, his guilty feelings giving way to anger. “Nobody ever got good at things right away. You have to practice.”

“What’s the use? I’ll never be good enough. I wanted to be able to protect Mam, but I never will.”

“That’s not right. Now pick up your sword and we’ll go again. We’ll keep working on it until you get better,” Fallon said firmly.

“We’ll be going for a long while then,” Kerrin said, making no move to pick up his wooden sword.

“If that’s what it takes, then so be it!” Fallon roared. “Now pick up your sword!”

Kerrin turned around reluctantly and picked up his sword but, from the expression on his face and his body language, Fallon knew this was going to do more harm than good. He glanced over to where his friends were watching, serious expressions on their faces.

“Might want to stop that for a while. We’re coming into Berry and they might wonder what is happening with so many people fighting on board a ship,” Devlin said, saving him.

He winked at his friend with relief then held out his hand for Kerrin’s sword. “We’ll do it again tomorrow and we’ll do much better then.”

Kerrin said nothing, instead sitting down with Caley, burying his face in her fur.

“You have to give him time. The lad has been through much,” Devlin said softly.

“And you don’t think I know that?” Fallon replied sharply.

“I thought we were going to stop fighting? We’re almost there,” Gallagher interrupted.

Fallon patted Devlin on the shoulder in apology and then shouted at the rest of the villagers, getting them to stop and prepare to enter the harbor.

“Fine work. You are wasted on a fishing boat,” he told Gallagher.

His friend smiled back tiredly. His eyes were red and shadowed from long days at the tiller. Others had taken their turns, allowing him to eat and sleep a little, but he had insisted on staying close and usually took the tiller back after just a turn or two of the hourglass.

“You can really rest when we get to Berry. Once I have seen the Crown Prince, we’ll know what to do next,” Fallon continued.

“Well, I’ll happily sail anywhere you need. But a proper sleep would be a help,” Gallagher admitted.

“How many of us should head ashore?” Brendan asked.

“A few more than last time. I reckon a dozen of us should do it. The biggest and ugliest we have,” Fallon said.

“And Devlin. He may not be the biggest but Brendan can pick him up and hit people with him,” Gallagher suggested.

Again they waited for Devlin to make a joke, but he merely looked out at the harbor. Fallon pulled out his sword and checked it was sharp before heading down to the waist of the ship with Brendan, Devlin and a group of the biggest men on board.

“Keep your weapons hidden: we don’t want city guards grabbing us before we have a chance to get to the Prince,” Fallon instructed.

He looked around the group meaningfully but was irritated to see Devlin staring over his shoulder instead.

“Something more interesting happening? Not seen a docks before?” he asked acidly.

Devlin pointed. “What’s going on over there?”

Everyone swiveled to see past the docked boats to the end of a short, brutal fight near a warehouse, as a group of men with swords overran another armed with staves and knives.

“Maybe we need to take some more men,” Brendan suggested.

“Should I tell Gall to head somewhere else, away from what’s going on?” Devlin asked.

Fallon ignored them, instead watching two of the swordsmen racing after a limping figure. There was something familiar about him, but it was not until the man turned and staggered in haste down a quiet wharf that he realized.

“That’s the bloody Prince! Tell Gall to get us onto that wharf as fast as possible!” he snapped.

Devlin raced back up, shouting. Men who had been hauling in sails dropped them again and the ship picked up speed, swinging in towards the wharf, even as the swordsmen lazily pursued the hobbling Prince.

Fallon chafed at the delay, thumping the ship’s rail angrily as Gallagher tried to bring it around smoothly to meet up with the end of the wharf, their course taking them past several other ships on the way, using them for cover as they approached.

“What in Aroaril’s name is going on?” Brendan asked.

“Buggered if I know,” Fallon said softly, then leaned forwards as the end of the wharf came back into view, the Prince obviously trapped and the swordsmen surrounding him. One stepped forwards and disarmed him smoothly and Brendan swore fluently.

“That’s the prick of his bodyguard that’s about to kill him!” the smith growled.

“Not yet,” Fallon said grimly, clambering onto the ship’s rail and sitting there, holding onto a rope for balance.

He could see Eamon sneering at the Crown Prince, acting just as he had when they had crossed swords back in Lunster. The memory of that humiliation still loomed large in his thoughts but he shoved it brutally aside. If Cavan died then his hopes of getting Bridgit back quickly died with him. The ship slid past the wharf, Gallagher ordering all sails down and dropping anchors to slow it. There was still a gap between the ship’s side and the wharf but Fallon kicked clear of the rail and landed heavily on the wharf, staggering a little before regaining his balance. The sound alone was enough to make everyone turn.

“You? But how is this possible?” Eamon cried.

“Because I always knew you were a shit-eating traitor. Put down your sword and I promise you a quick death,” Fallon said, drawing both sword and dagger.

“Do you really think you can stop us? After I made you look stupid back in Lunster?” Eamon sneered.

“But I’m not alone this time,” Fallon countered.

A series of thumps and a huge bang announced the arrival of several of the other villagers and Brendan, although they were several yards further down the wharf because the ship had kept moving and was only now coming to a stop.

“Get behind me, your highness,” Fallon said, keeping his eyes on Eamon.

“Get rid of those stinking villagers. Kill the scum while I take apart this fool,” Eamon ordered.

His guards surged forwards but were met by Brendan, who swung his hammer with enormous force. The solid head took a guardsman in the ribs and stove them in with a snap and crackle, sending the dead man flying across the wharf to crash into another ship.

The two sides came together, the villagers clustering behind the bulk of Brendan and the guards being kept at bay by the smith’s power. Then Eamon was coming at Fallon and he had no time to look at what was going on further down on the wharf.

Fallon hefted his sword and knife and raced at the bodyguard, trying to use all his speed and attacking with both hands. Eamon deflected his attacks easily; even when Fallon tried to strike with both hands at once, the bodyguard simply slipped away.

“Is that the best you have?” Eamon taunted.

“Come and find out,” Fallon replied, then Eamon switched on to the attack.

The bastard rained blows at him from all angles and he had to use sword, knife and his feet to dodge them, with no chance to strike back.

The strikes arrived almost too fast to see and he cursed the time he had spent working with Kerrin, for it seemed to have slowed him down. His boots felt like they were filled with lead, his sword as heavy as Brendan’s hammer, while Eamon danced around him with ease, making him look and feel foolish.