The Bloody Quarrel (The Complete Edition)

by Duncan Lay

  “It’s all very well for you to sit here in comfort, out of the sun, with plenty of food and talk of escape. But the quarter moons slip past and nothing is happening, while we sweat in the fields,” Carrick grumbled. “Do you even have a plan for getting us out?”

  “That I do.”

  “Well, what is it, woman?”

  Bridgit crossed her arms. “My name is Bridgit. You would do well to remember it. Keep your gobs shut for the next quarter moon and I will tell you. Keep flapping your lips and I’ll be talking to the slave master instead. We are getting out of here, with or without you. Now I have sworn to the shades of Sean and Seamus that I will get you home and I would like to keep my promise. It is up to you.”

  “Why, you little bitch! How about we—?” Blaine snarled and started forwards, only for Carrick to hold him back.

  “Easy there,” he rumbled. “Attack her and we’ll never escape.”

  Blaine subsided angrily and Carrick looked sharply at Bridgit. “We want out. But you had better know what you are doing.”

  “I do. I will get us all home,” she promised. “I have a plan.”

  “Then we have a deal,” Carrick agreed and, after a few moments and a swift blow to the ribs, his brother nodded acknowledgement.

  None of them offered to shake hands.

  Bridgit walked away, leaving them to lie down in the shade, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was just as Fallon had said. They were cowards and, when pushed hard enough, they would always give in.

  *

  “How could you let us take that shite from her?” Blaine demanded.

  “For once in your life, keep your gob shut,” Carrick told him. “We swallow shit now, because there’s nothing else for it. She has the Kottermanis in her back pocket. But we are getting out of here, one way or another. And then we will be getting revenge on her. She had Sean and Seamus tortured to death. She deserves nothing less.”

  “That day will be worth waiting for.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Fallon waited for Prince Kemal. Kemal’s guards were already there, dressed in dark cloaks. They had different armor from the day before. It was still a series of overlapping layers of leather stitched to a leather jerkin but it lacked the metal reinforcement. It would offer protection but Fallon could see it would be far lighter and obviously not shine so much and attract attention. He also took the opportunity to look at their swords. They were long and curved, with a strange hilt. Where Gaelish swords had quillons to protect the hand if an opponent’s blade slid down it, these ones lacked any crosspiece. The hilt got slimmer the closer it came to the blade, so that the hand would be flat with the blade, but that was it. That grip looked like it would be better suited for slashing and cutting than defending yourself. It was an interesting thought to keep.

  Kemal had organized about 30 guards, all of them older men, all with scars and the faces that said they had fought before. Fallon had a pair of throwing knives on his belt and three of them in the small of his back, where they were hidden by the cloak he wore, while his shillelagh was in its usual place on his back as well. But his most dangerous weapon was the knowledge of the streets where he would lead them. It was the same maze where he had faced the gang of child snatchers and he had walked it endlessly yesterday evening with Caley, until it was fixed in his mind. Even Regan no longer seemed to care where they were going or what they were doing, which was fine by Fallon. He had made a point of telling the Chamberlain that they were planning a mock battle in the streets, in case word got back to Regan, but even that had not seemed to interest the man.

  The way Kemal had behaved the day before had him burning with anger. He had been tricked and lied to and betrayed and deceived at every turn. Today that would end. Kemal knew what was going on and he would drag the truth out of him and then use the bastard to get back Bridgit and the others.

  He allowed himself to imagine what that reunion would be like for a moment. His friends probably thought that without Kerrin and him, she would surely have fallen to pieces. Fallon feared that could be true but he held firm to the belief that she could find the strength within her that he knew was there. The way she had hidden Kerrin and then taken on the Kottermanis made him hope that was true.

  “Are you ready?” Kemal asked and Fallon glanced up from his daydream to see the Prince join them. He was wearing drab clothes and a simple cloak. At his signal, most of the guards slipped off the ship in twos and threes, wandering away into the crowds.

  “They will meet us soon. I have another party of men, with one dressed in my gold armor, leaving now,” Kemal said, pointing to where that group was attracting plenty of interest leaving another Kottermani ship further down the docks. “So now, with the interest of the King’s men focused on them, we shall go.”

  They slipped over the side and hurried into the crowd, Kemal’s giant bodyguards falling into place behind them, another pair of hulking men moving in front.

  The Prince said nothing as they made their way through the crowded docks, although Fallon noted dark-cloaked guards shadowed them, joining up once he led them down a side road and into quieter streets.

  “Tell me something about Prince Cavan,” Kemal invited.

  Fallon had been braced for a sneering comment and this one caught him off guard. It took him a few steps to recover himself and push away the pain that simple question triggered. “He is the hope of Gaelland. He wants to make his people’s lives better, not treat them like animals, the way his father does. He wants to break the power of the nobles and the Guilds,” he said. “Everyone who meets him loves him, and feels he will be this country’s savior.”

  “Excellent,” Kemal said. “When he speaks, the people will listen. That is what we need. But you must have got to know him well, as his captain of guards.”

  “Aye,” Fallon said, his throat suddenly swollen again with grief. If only Cavan were really here, we would have some hope for the country …

  “That is good. I can see the emotion you feel for your Prince. It makes me think he is a man I can trust. Unlike his father!”

  Fallon grunted agreement. “This way,” he said.

  “When Prince Cavan is on the throne, things will be better for your country. I promise you that,” Kemal said. “It may be a hard thing for you to accept but it is what I hold to. Life will be better for the ordinary people.”

  Fallon was only dimly listening now, for this was the start of the maze and it would not do to miss a turn. This route was not going to end at Duchess Dina’s house. But, if he lost his way, it was going to end badly.

  He led them left and right, feeling a surge of relief as the little items they had placed to help him remember the way came into view. His memory held true and he threw in an extra flourish, leading them a quick circle before heading back to the planned route.

  There was nobody around now and the Kottermanis were in a tight group, the only sound the echo of their boots on the cobbles.

  “This place is like a rabbit’s warren. How can you be sure of your way?” Kemal whispered.

  “Practice,” Fallon said. He did not want to say any more, for they were very close now and adrenalin was coursing through his body.

  “I could almost swear I saw that alley earlier,” Kemal said. “Are you sure this is the way?”

  “Oh yes,” Fallon promised, glancing up and seeing a figure move into place on the rooftops above. The entrance to another alley was just ahead and he did not want Kemal’s men to take a look inside there, so he stopped.

  “How long to the meeting place?” Kemal demanded.

  “We are here,” Fallon said.

  Kemal turned in surprise. “But this is a filthy alley! Explain yourself!” he exclaimed.

  Fallon slipped his hands into the small of his back, looking as though he was stretching but really drawing a pair of throwing knives.

  “Now!” he roared.

  *

  “Do we loose?” Craddock asked, as the Kottermani guards filled the alley b
elow.

  “Not until we get the word,” Gallagher hissed back. He had two score of the villagers up on the rooftops, half on each side of the alleyway, just waiting for the chance to let loose on the Kottermanis below. Fallon was out ahead of them, a cluster of guards around him and the Prince. He was probably five yards ahead of the main body of guards, which looked too close from up there but should prove enough – if everything worked as it was supposed to. And Gallagher desperately wanted it to go as planned. Not just because that was his friend down there, risking his life. With everyone but him suffering the loss of their family, he felt he could not pursue Sister Rosaleen at a time like this. Yet she filled his thoughts, the way his wife once had, before she had been stolen away by childbirth. He wanted nothing more than to declare what he felt and hope she returned his feelings – yet he could not. Not until the families were home. That was the deal he had made with himself and he was not about to break his word.

  “Something’s happening!” Craddock hissed, breaking his thoughts.

  Sure enough, the Kottermani Prince was berating Fallon, whose hands were at the small of his back.

  “Ready!” Gallagher said softly, bringing his crossbow up to his shoulder. His words raced down the line of villagers, while the men over the other side of the rooftops saw their friends prepare to loose and raised their own weapons.

  “Now!” Fallon shouted, his voice booming up.

  “Loose!” Gallagher shouted in response, aiming at the main group of guards. He knew he was not half the shot with the weapon that Fallon was but, although they were three stories up, the alleyway was so tight and the guards so many that it was impossible to miss.

  The first release was out of time, Gallagher’s side going first and then the men on the opposite side loosing a few heartbeats later as they realized.

  But the effect was dramatic. A dozen guards fell instantly, spitted by the quarrels that sank into their leather armor and the flesh beyond as if the protection was not even there.

  Kottermanis shouted and screamed and dragged themselves along the cobbles, or clutched at shafts that were buried deeply in their bodies. Instantly the cobbles were awash with blood and brains.

  The survivors drew swords and hugged the alley walls, keeping low and trying to make themselves into small targets. But with villagers on either side reloading as fast as they could and picking off the guards one by one, there was nowhere to shelter.

  One brave guard rose up and raced at Fallon’s back, sword raised high.

  Gallagher cursed, trying to get a quarrel into his bow fast enough to get it around and spit the man but saw he wasn’t going to be in time. Then Craddock spotted the danger too, swiveled and put a bolt through the guard’s head, exploding the skull and spraying the wall with blood and brains and chunks of skull.

  “As good as Fallon!” Gallagher shouted.

  Craddock grinned at him as he hauled back on the crossbow string. “I was aiming for his back!” he confessed.

  Gallagher laughed and looked for a new target. The guards were pinned down. Now it was down to Fallon.

  “Stay alive, my friend,” Gallagher whispered.

  *

  As the two big bodyguards turned towards Fallon, he brought out his hands. The pair of them were so close that, even had he not spent many turns of the hourglass practicing this with Kerrin, he would have found it hard to miss. He flicked one out to his right in a back-handed throw that sent the solid metal knife whistling into the Kottermani’s throat. The man stopped instantly, blood pulsing out from around the wound and he sank to his knees, fighting desperately for breath past the steel blocking his windpipe. Moving smoothly but not rushing, Fallon transferred the second knife from left hand to right, then pivoted on his heel and whipped the second knife out in an overhand throw that slammed the blade into the right eye socket of the man on his left. This guard went down like a sack of potatoes and Fallon reached down to his belt again for the two knives at his sides, even as the Kottermanis at the front turned around, the choking noises of the dying guard alerting them to the fact something was wrong. Fallon did not even look behind him, for those guards were not his problem.

  Again he threw overhand at a guard and watched the knife punch home in another throat. The guard reached up and tore the blade out of his flesh, but the spray of blood that followed painted the wall as he staggered backwards. As the fourth man moved in, Fallon changed knives and threw again – but this time the guard was ready for it and ducked, the blade slicing a wound across his cheek but failing to strike home.

  Cursing, Fallon forgot about the knives and whipped out his shillelagh.

  “Stop! What are you doing?” Kemal yelled at him but Fallon ignored him, focusing only on the angry guard, blood streaming down his face and long sword held back over his shoulder.

  Behind him he could hear shouts and screams as his men loosed crossbows into Kemal’s guards, but he had not time to worry about that.

  As he had predicted when he first saw the sword on the guards’ belts, the Kottermani swung it extravagantly, a swing that would have cut him in half had it landed. But he merely stepped back and let it slice harmlessly through the air.

  Kemal shouted something at the guard in Kottermani. Fallon had no idea whether he was encouraging the man or suggesting he surrender, for the guard seemed to hesitate over his next strike. Fallon had no intention of giving him the chance to make a decision and jumped forwards, the shillelagh punching out.

  Again, as he had hoped, the long Kottermani sword was too slow to come around in a block and the end of the shillelagh thumped into the guard’s nose, snapping his head back. Shifting his hands along the staff easily, Fallon slammed the end into the man’s jaw, sending him flying backwards to crash into the wall and slide down into a limp heap.

  A hand grabbed at Fallon’s leg and he looked down to see the first guard, blood still dribbling out from around the knife deep in his throat, trying to hold him back and say something to his prince at the same time, although there was no way he could get any words past the length of steel in his neck. Fallon reached down and ripped his throwing knife free, hot crimson spraying over his hands. The guard let go.

  Again Kemal shouted, pointing behind Fallon, and Fallon spun to see what was happening there.

  As he had planned, and hoped, the villagers on the rooftops were pouring down a vicious storm of crossbow bolts into the narrow alley. The Kottermani armor was no use against the heavy bolts, and they slammed into heads, chests, bellies and legs. The guards were trying to find shelter against the walls of the alley but there were villagers on both sides setting up a deadly crossfire, and there was nothing to hide in or behind – except the bodies of the already dead men.

  Half were down already and the rest were cowering but, at the cry from their Prince, they rose to their feet and raced forwards, heedless of the quarrels still flying down.

  Fallon did not wait for them to arrive. He jumped at the furious Prince Kemal, shillelagh at the ready.

  Kemal had a dagger at his belt but he did not try to draw it, instead he turned and ran, calling his guards on.

  Fallon felt himself grin in triumph, although guessed it must look terrifying with the blood of the dying guards painted across his face. He tore after the fleeing Prince, with a dozen guards in hot pursuit of him. “Devlin!” he shouted.

  *

  “Should we go now?” Brendan hissed anxiously as the first shouts and screams echoed down the alley to where they were hiding.

  “Stay! Stick to the plan!” Devlin snapped. “Fallon has to get out of there before we go in.”

  “But what if he—?”

  “He knew the risks. And the plan was his,” Devlin said harshly.

  They still waited and Devlin could feel his resolve slipping away. Was that Fallon screaming his last out there? He was about to order the men out when the Kottermani Prince raced past. A few heartbeats later, Fallon tore after him in pursuit.

  “Now!” Devlin shoute
d.

  At his signal, a score of villagers in armor and carrying shields and swords stormed out, Brendan at their head with his fearsome hammer over one shoulder. Behind them came Devlin and a dozen more, all of these with crossbows.

  Brendan’s men formed a two-deep line of shields. The Kottermani guards raced onwards, shouting their defiance, then Devlin and his men leveled their crossbows and loosed as one, the devastating volley turning the charge into a bloody horror.

  “Get them!” Brendan roared, bursting through his own line of shields. The villagers hesitated for a moment, then Devlin dropped his crossbow and drew his sword.

  “Follow him, you fools!” he howled and charged after the big smith.

  Brendan reached the first guard before Devlin’s blade had even cleared its scabbard but the smith did not need any help. The hammer swung down, brushing aside a feeble sword parry and slammed into the side of the guard’s neck with a hideous crackle of breaking bones, throwing the man through the air.

  With the backswing, Brendan came down low, crunching out the next guard’s legs and turning them into bloody fragments, the skin pierced in a dozen places by shards of bone.

  Then Devlin was beside him and, an instant later, the rest of the villagers. Devlin ducked a sword blow and rammed his blade back. The guard’s leather armor resisted for a moment but Brendan had put a wicked edge on all their blades and it punched through the leather and deep into the flesh. Devlin felt the steel grate on bone and twisted the blade viciously, provoking a howl of agony from the guard and a fine spray of arterial blood that painted his arm and face. He ripped the sword out and the Kottermani reeled away and fell.

  After what Brendan had done, Devlin expected the last handful of guards to surrender, or run. But they still pressed on, seemingly determined to get to their Prince. Villagers surrounded each one, ganging up in twos and threes. A villager would block a blow with his shield then the next one would strike. Devlin hacked his blade into the back of a guard’s neck as he hammered at a villager’s shield, making the man fall in an instant, his head barely hanging on by a chunk of skin and cartilage at the front.