The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (34 page)

He ducked under one cut, twisted desperately aside from another as he only partially blocked it. Eamon seemed able to change his sword’s direction in mid-air, his wrists strong enough to change a head-cut into one aimed for the ribs. By contrast, Fallon’s wrists felt as strong as over-boiled cabbage. Each parry made his arms shiver.

He raised his sword to stop Eamon from opening his throat, only for the sword to twist down. Desperately he whipped his knife hand down and knocked the blade off course, so instead of opening the big artery in his leg, it merely kissed the outside. Fallon cursed at the pain and took a step back. Blood was trickling down his leg but the muscle held his weight when he tested it. He did not get a chance to relax, as Eamon attacked again, sword swinging at his head. He had to cross dagger and sword to block a downward strike and was sent staggering backwards. Eamon lunged and he twisted aside desperately, feeling the sword bounce off his ribs and open another wound there. He dared not look at it or clutch his side.

He was afraid but it was not so much for himself. If he died there, what would happen to Bridgit? Who would go after her? And what about Kerrin? Who would look after him? He hoped Gallagher had the sense to keep the boy away from the ship’s rail, but could not spare the time to look. Thoughts crowded his mind and slowed his arms.

He slashed viciously at Eamon but his attacks hit only thin air and then he over-extended himself and Eamon’s sword was heading for his head. He threw up his sword more in hope than anything and while he blocked it, the force of the strike knocked the sword from his hand and sent him staggering backwards. Then he had to throw himself backwards to avoid being gutted and hit the wharf hard, losing his knife as well.

“Just like Lunster. I told you that you were not good enough to look after the Prince. You should have stayed home,” Eamon said conversationally as he advanced on him.

Fallon glanced past him to where Brendan and the others were still fighting with the guardsmen. Brendan brought his hammer down in a huge blow that split apart a man’s head, spattering everyone around with blood and brains and chunks of skull but more pressed in and there was no hope of them cutting through to him.

He could not die like this. He could not. Fallon rolled over in desperation and bumped into a stave that lay on the wharf, the one Cavan had been carrying earlier. He came to his feet with the familiar weight of the shillelagh in his hands and found himself grinning at Eamon.

“You are game, I give you that. Smiling in the face of death,” Eamon jeered.

But Fallon felt far more comfortable holding the shillelagh. He trained with the sword every day but he
used
the shillelagh all the time. As Eamon stepped forwards, thrusting with a lunge at his face, he slipped sideways and slammed the end of the stave down onto Eamon’s toes.

The bodyguard jumped backwards, cursing, and now it was Fallon’s turn to advance, staff whirling in his hands. He feinted towards Eamon’s eyes, flicking the end of the staff out, each blow as fast as blinking and making the man duck, then his left hand slapped down on the staff and swiveled it around to crunch into Eamon’s ribs, the bodyguard slowed by the blow to the foot.

Eamon snarled with pain and slashed angrily, slicing a series of cuts and reverses that would have cut the staff or Fallon in half had they landed. But at least one of his ribs was cracked and that slowed him further, allowing Fallon to dance backwards, using the iron-clad tips of the shillelagh to block, each one striking up sparks. Meanwhile he was picking his moment, and then the shillelagh punched out to crack Eamon’s elbow. The bodyguard’s mouth opened in a silent scream of pain as he dropped his sword from a numb hand.

As Eamon staggered backwards, fumbling for a dagger with his free hand, Fallon pounced, shifting his grip smoothly so he held the staff at one end and drove it into Eamon’s throat with all his anger and fear. The thud of the blow flipped the wretch up and over and he crashed onto his back on the wharf, arching his spine and drumming his feet as he fought for breath through a smashed throat, his face turning blue as he struggled to breathe. His hands clawed at the air and his desperate eyes struggled to hold Fallon’s gaze. But Fallon rushed past Eamon, eyes only on the fight that was going on at the end of the wharf.

Two of the villagers were down and the guardsmen had the others backing up. They only feared Brendan but he had to be careful too, for they were dancing around him and if he drew back his hammer for another extravagant swing they were ready to stab.

Fallon put two down in as many heartbeats with blows to the back of the neck and in the kidneys, freeing Brendan, who swung his hammer horizontally in an enormous blow that stove in one guardsman’s chest and flung his corpse into two more, leaving a pile of destruction. The others turned and Devlin used the distraction to sink his sword into one man’s neck.

The remaining guardsmen started to back away, then more villagers began dropping over the side and advancing forwards, swords in hand and hatred on their faces.

“Eamon is dead! Throw down your swords and you might yet live,” Cavan called, his voice rough.

The three guardsmen still on their feet and the two slowly getting back up after being knocked over by Brendan looked around warily. They were outnumbered by more than four to one and the odds were getting worse with every moment.

For a heartbeat Fallon was sure they would give up. There was no way they could escape or hope to fight their way clear.

One man did throw down his sword but one of his fellows cut him down, slicing into the back of his neck and dropping him instantly.

“We are dead either way, as are our families if we are taken,” he said harshly. “Fulfil your oath!”

Fallon tensed, ready to use his shillelagh to knock them down when they charged towards the Prince but, instead, they turned on each other, sinking blades into exposed throats and chests and painting the wharf red as they sank to the sodden timbers.

The wharf was silent but for the panting of the villagers and the dripping of blood into the water as everyone looked around in shock.

“Can someone tell me what in Aroaril’s name just went on?” Brendan said into the silence, kicking chunks of skin and hair off the end of his hammer with his boot.

“Do you have to do that in front of me?” Sister Rosaleen asked with a sigh, as she pushed past him and kneeled down by the two wounded villagers.

“You have a priestess with you? A real one?” Cavan asked.

“Aye. And a wizard as well. Although the priestess is far better than the wizard,” Fallon admitted. “Are you hurt, your highness?”

“Only my ankle. Look after your wounded men first,” Cavan said hurriedly but Fallon saw him looking up at the faces on the ship with interest.

Fallon looked around the bloodstained wharf to make sure they were all down and nudged Eamon’s corpse with his foot. The bodyguard was limp and not moving, his eyes sightless and his throat turning black from the blow that had killed him.

“Your highness, what happened? Why were those men trying to kill you?” Fallon asked.

Cavan sat down gingerly on a clean patch of timber and explained. “All this time I thought he was working with me but he was secretly working for Swane,” he finished sadly.

“Thank Aroaril we got here when we did,” Fallon said fervently.

“But how did you get here? What are you doing here?” Cavan asked, suspicion in his voice.

Fallon sighed. “I made a terrible mistake, highness. Eamon tricked me into refusing you, obviously having his own plans.”

“So it seems,” Cavan said, looking at the bodies on the wharf. “Did you find this out and come to warn me?”

Fallon shook his head. “Nothing so good,” he said sadly. “Our village was betrayed and sacked while we were out on this ship trying to catch the raiders who were haunting Lunster. We came here because we have to get our families back and you are the only way.”

Cavan smiled and held out his hand. Fallon took it and helped the Prince to his feet.

“After saving my life I will do whatever I can for you but I fear that will be little. I have had trouble enough dealing with the child snatchers in the city,” he said. “And my father wants everyone to think it is selkies so that he can raise taxes.”

“But we have proof it is not selkies. My son saw the ship come in and the men that surrounded the village before my wife hid him away. And they left behind their weapons – small crossbow bolts that stun, rather than kill,” Fallon said. “It has to be the Kottermanis.”

Cavan took a stumbling step towards him. “That is important but I fear what is going on in Lunster is just part of something far bigger. My brother Swane is in league with the Fearpriests of Zorva and he wants the throne. This was just the latest trap he sought to catch me in. Once I am dead then my father will soon follow and Swane shall take power and plunge us all into darkness. Somehow he is using the Kottermanis – perhaps he plans to terrify everyone so they will beg to be protected by him.”

“Why can’t we take our evidence to the King?” Fallon protested.

“Because things are not that easy. To accuse the Kottermanis is the height of foolishness. They are welcome guests at court and my father dares not do anything that will offend them. Not only are they a valuable source of trade but they could snap us up if they so chose.”

“There are Kottermanis here in Berry?” Fallon snarled.

“Look over there. There are three Kottermani trading ships moored at that wharf. They unloaded fine wares for the nobility and are taking back wool and iron and tin. But to touch them is death. Besides, they are simple traders and I doubt they would know anything except the best price for fine furniture and good wool. Fallon, I would listen to you when it came to fighting and leading men. Please, trust me here, listen to me and we shall get your families back.”

“How?” Fallon whispered.

Cavan pointed at Eamon’s body. “This was Swane’s deepest secret. Now he has been forced to reveal it. Thanks to Eamon, he knew exactly what I was going to do. But no longer. Take up the offer I first made to you. Be the captain of my guard and bring your men along as my guardsmen. We shall stop Swane’s evil, show up his links with the Kottermanis and then force them to give back your families.”

Fallon hesitated. This was far less than he wanted and he was tempted to leave that moment, get back on the ship and head for Kotterman, begin the search there. He glanced up at the other villagers, who were either on the wharf or clustered thick about the ship’s rail, listening to the discussion.

Cavan also turned and addressed them. “I have no right to ask more of you than what you have already given. You fought bravely and saved my life; you lost families who should have been safe in my father’s protection. If you want to try and sail for Kotterman and find your people then I will happily give you a bag of gold to try and buy them back. But I warn you that the Kotterman Empire is vast. They could have been taken to any of a hundred ports and it may take you a lifetime to find them again like that. And, even if you did, you would probably return to a country run by Fearpriests and you would only lose them again. But serve me and together we can do both these things. We can save the country and then save your wives, your children. Once my brother’s evil has been stopped, I can have your families on the next ship back from Kotterman,” Cavan said loudly. “And they will return to find you all rich. There will be no more struggling to feed yourselves: you will all have the best of everything. My brother is behind everything, I know it,” he continued, looking around at each and every man. “I just cannot prove it yet. He would be the one who invited raiders to attack your village, who has organized the child snatchers here in Berry. Help me show the world it is him and you will get both your revenge for the attack on your village and your families back.”

Fallon told himself that the Crown Prince was obviously used to making speeches. But, he had to admit, it was persuasive. He looked around, seeing many of the same thoughts he was having reflected on the faces of the other villagers.

Sister Rosaleen stood, her hands bloodied but the wounded men sitting up and breathing easily now, where before they had been gasping out their last breaths. “We have to stop the Fearpriests. We think we are fighting two different enemies but I fear the Prince is right, and they are connected somehow. We gain nothing if we find our people but lose our country,” she said.

Fallon felt a new certainty. They had arrived just in time to rescue Cavan. They were obviously meant to help. “Then that’s what we shall do, lads. We are now guards to the Crown Prince!” he announced.

He could see a few troubled expressions on faces up on the ship but he ignored them. He was not going to give them the choice. They would follow him and he would follow the Prince.

“You won’t regret this, I promise,” Cavan said fervently. “Together we shall save our country.” He took another step forwards and stumbled on his ankle.

Fallon stepped in closer, allowing Cavan to use his shoulder to lean on. He offered the stave to the Prince but Cavan shook his head. “You keep it – you did far more with it than I could.”

“I might at that. Eamon told me I was not good enough with a sword but maybe I am good enough with this. So what should we do now, highness?”

“The heir to the Kottermani Empire arrives here for talks in another moon. We must have everything ready by then,” Cavan said. “There is much to do. First, get back to the alleyways and see if we can pick up the trail of the child snatchers. And then see where this betrayal came from. Eamon told me he used to be a Bruiser with the Guild of Moneylenders. I would like to talk to them and see what they know. And then I suppose we must see my father about what happened with Eamon and have you confirmed as my new guard captain.”

“Why not the other way around?”

Cavan gave a rueful laugh. “If you had ever met my father you would not ask that question! I need to teach you how to survive in his court before you meet him.”

“And what are we going to do with these bodies?”