The Bloody Quarrel (The Complete Edition)

by Duncan Lay

  Brendan swung his hammer up in a huge blow, striking the last guard’s lower body and lifting him three feet into the air with the impact, his ribs turned into a scatter of splinters.

  “Is that it?” Devlin demanded, wiping his face clear of blood and looking around.

  The alleyway looked like a slaughterhouse and stank like one, with blood, brains and shit covering the cobbles. Kottermani guards rolled in their own gore, moaning and screaming, or begging in their own language. None was able to get to his feet.

  “Where’s Fallon?” Brendan asked, painted in blood, his hammer encrusted with pieces of men.

  “We’d better find out,” Devlin said. “Follow me!”

  *

  Fallon sprinted after the fleeing Prince Kemal. He trusted his friends to finish off the guards but all that was for naught if their prize got away.

  Kemal was showing quite a turn of pace and Fallon pounded doggedly after him, not narrowing the gap but at least keeping him only about five yards in front. Surely the man must tire soon – he had been stuck on a ship for half a moon or more!

  But Kemal’s pace showed no sign of slacking – until a pair of villagers stepped out from a doorway to bar the way, shields held low.

  Fallon expected the man to back off but Kemal actually increased his pace. Fallon stretched his own legs, suddenly fearful his careful plan was about to come apart.

  *

  Kemal ran easily, conserving his energy. Surely a trap prepared so cunningly as this one would not allow him to simply run away. But he had to get away – and then come back with a full army. These Gaelish would not get away with treachery, he vowed. He could not allow the sacrifice of so many good men to be in vain.

  He was tempted to turn and take Fallon with him, at least, but the man held that strange staff and had shown uncanny skill with it earlier. If Kemal had his sword he would have been delighted to match his skills against the traitorous Gaelish but, with only a knife, he dared not risk it.

  Then he saw the final act of the trap, as a pair of men stepped out of a doorway, barring his escape and blocking the way ahead with shields. Kemal did not hesitate. Behind him were only dead and dying guards and more pursuers. Ahead was the only way out, but maybe they would not expect him to realize that. He lengthened his stride, angling towards the one on his left, hauling out his dagger in the same move.

  That man ducked down beneath his shield, bracing himself for the impact. But Kemal did not try to ram his shoulder into the wooden shield. Instead he jumped high, using his left foot to drive the shield down and push the man away and also catapult himself back across to the right. The man there tried to turn and get his shield around but Kemal was coming from the wrong direction and he was able to drive the knife over the top of the shield and into the man’s chest. The mail stopped the blade from driving in but the force of the blow sent the man staggering backwards, gasping for breath.

  Kemal let go of his blunted knife as he landed and kicked out again, his foot slamming into the shield of the first man, sending him staggering back across the alleyway and opening the way to freedom.

  With a flare of triumph he turned to run, ready to sprint for freedom, when something smashed into his legs.

  *

  Fallon watched in horror as Kemal took apart his two men and gave himself a chance to escape. He was still a couple of paces away but did not like his chances of running down the fleet-footed Prince. Maybe ten years back but certainly not now. So he drew back his arm and hurled his shillelagh, sending it spinning towards the Prince’s legs. The staff hit Kemal’s right leg and the Prince stumbled, keeping his feet only with the greatest of efforts. By the time he straightened, Fallon was upon him.

  In desperation, Kemal grabbed the shillelagh and swung it like a club, trying to knock Fallon out. But Fallon simply ducked beneath it, letting the staff pass over his head, then drove forwards, ramming his shoulder into the Prince’s midriff. The breath whooshed out of Kemal and he folded over Fallon’s shoulder as Fallon kept his legs pumping, picking Kemal up and back-slamming him to the cobbles, driving him down with the full force of his weight.

  Already winded, the Prince could only manage a strangled croak as he hit the ground and lay there dazed.

  Fallon glanced over his shoulder, breathing heavily, to see his villagers regain their feet, one of them cursing loudly at the huge bruise he had growing under his dented mail.

  “Come on, let’s get him away from here before someone comes looking,” Fallon puffed.

  He felt exhausted and his legs were trembling in the aftermath of the fight but he was filled with exultation all the same. All the answers he needed were right there, lying at his feet.

  CHAPTER 17

  Bridgit stepped back into the shadows, drawing the hood further down over her face, so that there would be no pale reflection of skin in the light of the torches the guards carried.

  She had slipped out of the house at prayers again, using the same trick and rope as before. This time, however, she was not trying to memorize a map and find the places where her people were being held. She had accepted that was too difficult and the risks of capture too high.

  The plan of freeing one group at a time had been thrown away. Instead her idea was to gather everyone together and then get out. That was hard enough but would only get worse once they were in the city. Tonight she was looking around the harbor and particularly the defenses it held. After seeing the huge bows on the land wall of Adana that had put paid to the foolish plans for escape of Sean and Seamus – and, also, their lives – she had been worrying about the same thing happening as they tried to sail out of Adana. Those giant crossbows could cause havoc on a ship packed with people.

  The docks were quiet at this time of night but she was wary, all the same. The last time she had roamed through the city, she had been forced to kill a man. Once again she had a sharpened chair leg as her only weapon and she prayed she would not need to use it.

  The patrol walked past, two men talking to each other and not even looking around. She waited until the sound of their footfalls had echoed into silence and then slipped out of her hiding place behind a pile of barrels and headed along the harbor wall that stretched out into the sea and protected the ships in the port. This was in two parts, a short, straight arm and a long, curved one that would force all ships to turn almost on themselves as they passed it to reach the open sea. It reminded her, with a pang, of the shingle hook at Baltimore. But, as she feared, this wall had several of those giant bows, all placed where they could strike at ships coming in or out of the port. There were no guards actually manning the bows and she was able to go right up to one, see the huge bolts, each one the size of a spear, which sat in barrels, ready to be loaded in. The weapon was unloaded but it would be a slow sail out of the harbor and guards would have more than enough time to reach these weapons.

  At the far end of the harbor wall, lights burned and men were moving around. But they were more than a hundred paces away and she took the time to feel and test the cord that had to be drawn back. It felt like animal hair, twisted and spun to form a cord as thick as her wrist. It would take a fearful effort to draw that back but, without it, the weapon was useless. On the night they left, a group would have to come along here and cut these cords while the children were loaded on board. Or it could still end in disaster.

  A loud laugh from further up the wall made her hurry back, keeping to the shadows. The good news was, there were few guards around the ships and certainly not enough to stop a band of desperate Gaelish. Now she just had to get back safely and get the rest of her plan moving.

  After endless nights of talking, she had decided the way to do it was to gather everyone together a few nights before the adults were to be sold off as slaves. She would ask Gokmen for a farewell celebration, and hope the slave master would give them that, at least.

  She knew there would be plenty of guards, but they had the sleeping potions to slow them down, while the slings were prep
ared and ready, as were a few other surprises.

  It would be risky but there was no other way she could see.

  “What about the lads? Fallon, Brendan and the others?” Nola had asked.

  “We cannot wait. If they arrive in time then we shall be ready but I will not stake everything on that.”

  “You realize this could end with us all dead, or wishing to be dead?” Riona asked gently.

  “Better dead than slaves,” Bridgit said. “But I still think we can do it. Trust me.”

  “We will,” the others agreed.

  CHAPTER 18

  Feray was watching her sons practice their swordwork, trying to keep the fond smile off her face, when there was a huge commotion on the deck. She tried to watch it out of the corner of her eye while keeping her face impassive, but could feel her control crack when Abbas approached, his face gray. She sent her sons below with a quick word.

  “Highness, we have terrible news. Your husband and our Lord was attacked and captured by the Gaelish. His surviving guards told me they walked into a trap and were attacked from above.”

  “How do they know he was captured?” Feray asked immediately, proud of the way her voice was steady, despite the turmoil inside. She had known this was a trap! There had been something about that Captain Fallon that she instinctively distrusted …

  “Several of them saw him being dragged away by the Gaelish. What are your orders?”

  Feray thought swiftly. “So they wanted him alive. That means they have a purpose in mind for him. Arm every guard we have and get them ready, swordsmen on the dock, archers on the ships to give them cover.”

  “Highness, should we not flee and alert the Emperor? We can return with an army and demand his return or slaughter every one of them,” Abbas suggested.

  Feray shook her head fiercely. “No,” she said. “We do not return without word from him. They want something from him. Once we know what that is, we shall decide whether to pay the price, go and get him, or go and get the army.”

  “Pay the price, highness?”

  She glared at him. “We will give them any amount of gold they want. For we can come and take it back in the spring. But getting him back is the only thing of importance. Or do you want to be the one to tell the Emperor how we left his son in the hands of the Gaelish and fled to save our own skins?”

  “I shall prepare the guards, highness,” Abbas agreed. “Do I send someone to talk to King Aidan and demand my Lord’s return?”

  “No. We say nothing and ask for nothing. Act as if nothing has happened. See to the wounded and hide the dead.”

  “Your will, highness.”

  “And send out every agent you have. Let them know I will give them their own weight in gold for news of my husband,” she told him.

  *

  Fallon watched as the hood was yanked off Kemal’s head and the bruised Kottermani Prince blinked at the sudden light. He let the Prince look around him, see the chair he was tied to was the only furniture in the room and that it sat in the middle of a huge dried bloodstain. He grudgingly admired the way the Prince did not react, merely staring at Fallon coldly.

  They had hooded him and then hustled him through the backstreets until they reached the Moneylenders’ Guildhouse. Most of the villagers had returned to the castle then, leaving just Fallon, his friends and a handful of others to keep a careful watch. Fallon had thought about killing the wounded Kottermani guards so no word could reach Kemal’s people of what had happened, but instead loaded the dead and wounded into a cart and let the dazed survivors take them back to the docks. There was plenty of evidence of a fight but nothing for Regan’s agents to take back to the King.

  Fallon said nothing, wanting Kemal to feel the tension and fear in the air, let his imagination go to work. After all, he had been a pampered Prince, used to his every whim being obeyed. This had to be making him uncomfortable. Finally, Kemal could obviously take it no longer.

  “Release me, return me to my people immediately and I might be able to overlook what you have done,” he snarled.

  Fallon smiled down at the Prince, his arms folded across his chest. There was no humor there. Even if this was not the man who had attacked Baltimore and carried off their families, he could get them back.

  “Don’t you realize what you have done?” Kemal demanded. “You think this is clever? I know what you have done. Your Prince Cavan has been pretending to be with me against his father when all the time he was with King Aidan. But fooling my agents will avail you all nothing. Harm me and my father will take this country apart. We would have left one of your own to sit on the throne and able to make some decisions. But that chance is slipping away with every heartbeat you hold me.”

  “You are the one who has been fooled, Prince Kemal,” Fallon said harshly. “Your men have been meeting with the agents of Prince Swane. Prince Cavan is dead.”

  “You fool,” Kemal scoffed. “I know the evidence of my own eyes. I embraced Prince Cavan not a day ago!”

  “That was Swane, made to look like his brother with the use of dark magic,” Fallon said. “You think you are in control of Gaelland? It is an even bigger trap than the one you walked in to with me.”

  Kemal just sneered at him. “Why should I believe anything you say? You have already proved yourself to be a liar.”

  Fallon whistled and Caley trotted in.

  “This is my dog and she hates Kottermanis. You can be her dinner if you like,” he told Kemal.

  The Prince watched Caley warily as the dog caught the smell of him and began to growl, thick, vicious noises that made the hair on the back of the neck rise.

  “She’ll tear you into pieces,” Fallon warned. “Tell us what we want to know and I’ll call her off.”

  “Let her do her worst,” Kemal invited.

  Fallon brought Caley a little closer but she would not go within three paces of the Kottermani. She hated him, that was plain enough from the way she was growling and snarling, her lips pulled back and teeth bared. But she seemed to be more concerned with protecting Fallon from Kemal than attacking the Kottermani. He sighed. It had been worth a try but she was not the sort of dog to attack anyone.

  “I wouldn’t want her to be poisoned by you,” he told the Prince, then whistled Caley away. She slunk out, still growling.

  “What now? What else do you plan to threaten me with?” Kemal asked mockingly.

  Fallon pulled the bloody quarrel out of his pouch and held it before Kemal’s wary eyes. “This is the quarrel I used to kill Prince Cavan,” he said. “He was not only my Prince, he was a friend. I was tricked into killing him by King Aidan. Now I pretend to stand by Swane in public because King Aidan has promised he will get our families back from you if we do.”

  Fallon caught the flicker in Kemal’s eyes and stepped in closer, holding the bloody quarrel under Kemal’s nose.

  You know all about that, don’t you?” he said softly. “You were the one who led the attack on Baltimore and carried our families away. Why?”

  Kemal looked up at him, eyes glittering hatred. “This is about your families? You fools, they will die in the most terrible ways imaginable after what you have done to me.” He raised his voice, shouting his next words out. “You think to use me as some counter to get their release? You will only buy their deaths. Rather than release your families in exchange for me, they will start to skin your children alive until you beg to hand me back. How long do you think you can defy my father while the screams of your sons and daughters echo in your ears? I will make sure they work on Bridgit first. Her screams will haunt you for the rest of—”

  That was enough. Fallon felt a red mist descend.

  He stepped in and began to punch Kemal, snapping the Kottermani’s head back with the force of the first blow and whipping the blows in from left and right, rocking the Prince from side to side, trying to beat away his own anger and the Prince’s arrogance.

  “Stop it! You’ll bloody kill him!” Gallagher and Devlin grabbed him
and dragged him backwards.

  Fallon fought them for a few heartbeats then subsided, wincing at the pain in his knuckles. But, looking at Kemal, that was nothing.

  The Prince raised his head slowly, blood oozing from his nose, from his mashed lip and from a cut on his left cheekbone. His left eye was already swelling shut and he spat again, a frothy mixture of blood that landed on the floor.

  “Get control of yourself, you stupid bogger! We need him alive!” Devlin growled.

  “You heard the bastard! He took our families! And he bloody knows Bridgit’s name! How does he know her name, eh? He must have seen her. Maybe he’s already killed her!” Fallon snarled.

  “They have to be still alive, or why else is he threatening us?” Gallagher said reasonably.

  Kemal looked up at them. “Anything you do to me will be paid back on them tenfold,” he said, his voice thick with blood. “I will tell you nothing. Release me.”

  “He won’t talk, eh? We’ll see about that,” Fallon said. “Brendan, give me your hammer.”

  Kemal watched them as Fallon brandished the huge hammer, its head still stained black with blood, and brown with other things none of them wanted to think about.

  “You are just trying to scare me. You dare not hit me with that, for it would kill me,” Kemal said.

  “He’s right,” Gallagher whispered. “He’s not like those thieves that you bluffed back in Killarney to get answers for Prince Cavan.”

  “Who says I’m bluffing?” Fallon asked. “Brendan, take off his left boot.”

  The big smith looked at him uncertainly but Fallon gave him a shove. “This is for Nola and the kids. This is for all of them,” he hissed.

  Brendan pulled off Kemal’s boot and held the Prince’s leg immobile, foot on the floor, just as he would do a horse for shoeing.

  “Are you going to talk to us about our families?” Fallon demanded.