The Bloody Quarrel (The Complete Edition)

by Duncan Lay

  “But surely they can just go out the other side?” Bridgit asked.

  “That’s a locked gate, strong enough to hold back an angry bull. And the passageway from there to the city gate will be filled with animals. It’s a dead end. Truly.”

  “Well, we can’t let that happen. Where is everyone?” Bridgit said.

  “Rosaleen and her priests are out in the streets, trying to save the wounded – she won’t come here while there are men she can save. The Kottermanis have split Devlin and Gallagher’s men off from Brendan and Fallon. They think to destroy Fallon first and then will turn on the smaller group,” Padraig said. His face was glistening in the torchlight and she did not think it was from the rain. For a moment she worried about the strain the magic was putting on him, then pushed that aside. There was no time to spend on that, or on fears that one or more of Gannon’s men were traitors or that she should not be leading men out into a battle. It had to be done.

  “Our friends and family are out there fighting and dying. It’s time to save them. Follow me!”

  *

  “I’m out of crossbow bolts,” Gallagher said.

  “You don’t even have a crossbow. You left it on a roof somewhere, you careless bastard,” Devlin replied.

  “All my men are,” Gallagher said. “That’s what I meant.”

  Devlin ripped his sword out of a Kottermani stomach and kicked the shrieking man backwards.

  “What was that?” he asked. “Didn’t hear you.”

  Gallagher tugged at his gutting knife, which was jammed in a Kottermani eye socket. He put his boot on the dead man’s head and ripped it free with a curse. “I said we’re not crossbowmen any more, because we have no bolts!” he shouted.

  “You need to draw swords and fight, because I think you’re out of bolts!” Devlin called.

  Gallagher jumped at a Kottermani threatening to dash his friend’s brains out. He crossed his knives to make the block, feeling the impact shake him from his arms to his toes, then Devlin hooked the soldier’s legs out and the man fell with a crash and vanished into the press of soldiers.

  “We can’t break through. We need to pull back!” Gallagher yelled in his friend’s ear.

  Devlin grabbed at his ear. “There’s no need to shout!” he called. “My ear’s ringing like a bell now!”

  Gallagher would have smiled but he did not have the time. Since meeting up with Devlin the pair of them had been trying to force their companies through to Fallon. They could hear the horn calls and they could reply but they could not find a way through. Every street they tried was blocked by Kottermani soldiers.

  “Maybe Fallon can break through to the castle?” Devlin asked hopefully.

  “Aroaril, we’ll be lucky if we can,” Gallagher muttered.

  *

  “Where in Aroaril’s name is Gallagher? Those bogging Kottermani archers are killing us,” Fallon cursed.

  “What now?” Brendan asked.

  Fallon tried to look down the road, through the gusts of rain and wind. Despite his best efforts, people were still looking out to see what was going on and at least the firelight spilling out of the windows was giving some light to the street. As he’d feared, daylight had only turned the sky from black to dark gray. What both revealed was not pretty. A Kottermani force had got ahead of them and blocked the road to the castle. Behind him, his rear guard was fighting off the main Kottermani force and he did not have much time to break through this new blockade.

  “Breaking them will not be easy,” he said. “Maybe we should go down that street there and try and circle around. Casey, where does that lead?”

  The young officer peered down the narrow street, then stiffened. “We don’t want to go down there. That only leads to Slaughter Square,” he said.

  Fallon spat. “So that is their plan. Get us in there, trap us and either kill us or force us to lay down arms. Once we go in there, we don’t come out again.”

  “Can we get over the roofs?” Casey asked.

  “Without any ladders, while carrying fifty wounded men? I don’t like the chances of half of us making it far enough to get away,” Fallon said, racking his tired brain for an answer. There had to be an amazing way out of this. He couldn’t let the bastard Kottermanis beat them. That was the thing he came back to, time and again. “Let’s break through that shieldwall,” he said.

  Yet, even as he looked around at his men, he doubted they could do it. They were exhausted and almost all had one or more wounds. Yet it was a better chance than if they went down that ominous, dark street to Slaughter Square. “Follow me!” he shouted, his voice cracking.

  *

  Kemal was feeling much happier about the way the battle was going than when he had been forced to inspire his men to stand firm. His losses were still terrible and the Gaelish had astonished him with their tenacity. He had never seen a battle before but, from all the histories he had read, no other foe had fought so hard. He was stepping over the evidence of this with every pace.

  He watched as a small group of Gaelish were cornered in a side alley. They drove back his men with swords and spears, leaving his soldiers screaming on the ground, until they were brought down by a volley of arrows and left to thrash and bleed in the rain.

  Thanks to Abbas and his men, Kemal’s companies were hunting through streets they had never seen before as though they had grown up there. Now they almost had the main group of Gaelish, led by the bastard Fallon, in their grasp. Then all the suffering and sacrifice would be worth it. “Pass the word. I want to be there when Fallon is brought to bay,” he ordered.

  *

  Fallon drew his sword slowly. All the fighting had blunted it and he was not even sure if it would cut parchment, let alone Kottermani armor. But he could not lead a charge with a shillelagh. “Brendan, stay to my right, Casey my left. I’ll crack a hole in their line and you go through,” he said.

  “Let me do that,” Casey said. “Sir, they’ll all target you and kill you!”

  “No, let me do it. My hammer will open them up,” Brendan said.

  “I led us into this. I have to lead us out,” Fallon said. “Come on!”

  He broke into a shambling run, his men forming a pyramid shape behind him. Maybe it would be enough to break the Kottermani line. Maybe not. For a moment he thought bitterly how cruel it was to have won back Bridgit and then be lost to her. Then he forgot about everything but the Kottermanis.

  “Kill them!” he howled and sprinted at the solid line.

  The invaders had locked shields and that line bristled with sword points, while he did not even have a shield. But he persuaded himself that was enough. Besides, dying here was better than falling into Kemal’s hands for his revenge. Perhaps the Kottermani might be satisfied with just his head, and leave Bridgit and Kerrin alone. He used that thought to fill himself full of fury and he picked out his man, a towering Kottermani with a fearsome moustache. He braced himself for the impact with the Kottermani line – and then it dissolved.

  He slowed as another force hit the Kottermani company from behind, turning them from an ordered, disciplined formation into a rabble in an instant.

  “Come on!” He sped up again and raced into the fight as the Kottermanis turned to meet their surprise attackers.

  Caught between two sides, the Kottermanis were destroyed, the handful of survivors throwing down their weapons and cowering at the side of the road.

  Fallon sheathed his sword on the second try, astonished he was still alive. Then he spotted some familiar faces.

  “Devlin! Gallagher! Thank Aroaril you got here when you did!” He grinned.

  “Don’t thank us, it wasn’t our doing – it was her,” Devlin said, stepping aside and pointing.

  Fallon blinked rain out of his eyes and gasped as Bridgit strode forwards, a tall, blood-spattered yet familiar figure guarding her side.

  “Bridge? What in Aroaril’s name are you doing here? And what is he doing here?” he cried.

  “Saving your
foolish skin,” she said. “I saw you needed every sword we had, so I called on Gannon and his men to prove their loyalty. Which he has just done.”

  Fallon grabbed her arm and whisked her to his side. “He cannot be trusted,” he said. “They lie to your face, you turn your back and they sink the knife in!”

  “He has had plenty of chances and not taken them. And he just saved your life,” she pointed out. “And if you won’t listen to reason, listen to this: he is under my protection.”

  Fallon bit back angry words. “We can worry about him later,” he said. “Now we are together, we can fall back to the castle and fight from the walls there.”

  “No,” Bridgit said softly, so only he could hear. “They will only turn on the people then, slaughter them until we are forced to come out. I have a better idea.”

  “Since when have you become a war captain?” Fallon asked incredulously.

  “Since you got trapped and needed saving. Listen to me and we’ll end this without killing most of your men.”

  Fallon sighed. He was bone tired, soaked to the skin in blood and rain and his rear guard was still fighting furiously to hold off the Kottermanis pushing up the street. “Let’s hear it then.”

  *

  “We have them trapped in the square of slaughter!” Mahir announced, the boluk-bashi's voice betraying his joy.

  Kemal clenched his fists to contain the surge of joy. Abbas and his men had proved a Godsend. Even in the rain and dark they had led his companies, time and again, right onto the Gaelish defenders, moving them always back and across into the trap. He had worried Fallon would find some fiendish way to slip out of the net closing around him but now all that remained was to make the Gaelish surrender and ensure that bastard peasant did not die before he received the vengeance he so richly deserved.

  “I must be there. Hold them until I arrive. Quick now!” The last was to his guards, who formed up around him and pushed him up the street, through the lines of exhausted, wet troops. Yet they were soldiers of Kotterman and all, even the wounded, saluted as he went past, cheering the Prince who had led them to a hard victory in these filthy, sodden streets.

  Kemal indulged himself for a moment, imagining how the history scrolls would record this triumph and how his father would thank him for creating this new outpost of the Empire. Yes, their losses had been severe. But the histories never recorded such trivial details. What mattered was the result.

  He could see Feray’s admiring glance in his mind’s eye and could not wait to go and tell her. Nobody could deny he was a man now. Then those warm reflections were brought to a halt, literally.

  “What is going on?” he demanded.

  Nobody seemed able to answer, so he pushed his way bodily through the crush of people to find a group of Gaelish women blocking the road, trying to pull apart the mounds of bodies, while Kemal’s men shouted at them.

  “What is this?” Kemal thundered, in Gaelish. “Get out of the way or you shall join these bodies!”

  Instantly the nearest woman, a young mother, rushed over to him. “Those are our sons, husbands, brothers and friends out there. They are dying alone, in the dark and rain. What kind of monster are you that you would stop us?” she demanded furiously.

  “Get back, woman! Do you know who you are talking to?” Mahir snarled, although as he was speaking in Kottermani, the effect was lost. To emphasize his words, he drew back his hand to strike her.

  Kemal, meanwhile had glanced around the street, which was covered in bodies, most of them moving, moaning, thrashing, calling and bleeding.

  “No,” he told the boluk-bashi. “Let them care for the wounded. They were brave men and fought well. Soon they will be part of our Empire and one day they might even live to serve under you, in another part of Kotterman.”

  “As you wish, high one.” Mahir bowed.

  “What is your name?” Kemal asked the defiant woman.

  “Rebecca,” she replied, glaring at him.

  “You are a brave woman. Do what you can to save these men.”

  He left her looking astonished and hurried up the street, finally reaching the entrance to the road leading to the square of slaughter. His corbaci, Nazim, waited for him there.

  “High one, my men are in the square, holding position. The Gaelish are drawn up within in a defensive square and wait for our attack,” he said.

  Kemal looked up the street to where his blocking force was in tight ranks, their shields held proudly high. The bodies scattered over the cobbles before them showed how hard they had fought to close the trap. They raised their swords and slapped them against their shields to salute him. In return he waved back at them. Even the dawn had brought little light to the street and he could barely see them through the driving rain but he knew they would appreciate the gesture.

  “They have secured the victory,” Kemal said. “Theirs was the hardest task and we shall honor them for it afterwards.”

  That company began to march forwards, somewhat raggedly, but he could forgive them that after what they had done.

  “Shall I send them to the rooftops, so we can overwhelm them from all sides, high one?” Nazim asked.

  “It is not necessary,” Kemal said. “Once I speak to the Gaelish, they will give up. Follow me.”

  He strode triumphantly down the narrow street, his guards ahead of him. In his mind’s eye he was seeing Fallon begging for mercy on his knees and that was all he cared about. The square ahead stank of blood and waste and normally it would have revolted him. But now the smell bothered him not at all.

  “High one, the company that held the road is following us down. Shall I order them to return?” Mahir asked.

  “Let them join in my triumph. After all, they secured it,” Kemal said dismissively.

  As Nazim had said, the Gaelish were drawn up on the far side of the square, locked in tight ranks. Facing them were Nazim’s men, who parted ranks to let him through.

  He stood at the front, although Mahir was careful to have men with shields on either side of him, in case the Gaelish still had crossbows.

  “Let Fallon come forth! Or does he care nothing for your lives, that he would sacrifice you all to save himself?” Kemal roared.

  There was a commotion among the Gaelish and a figure pushed his way out of them.

  Kemal felt a pulse of mixed elation and hatred to see Fallon there.

  “Time to enjoy our victory,” he announced and strode forwards, his guards closing in around him. Behind them, another company marched forwards also, until there was a solid column moving out of the ranks.

  Kemal frowned a little. It made him look as though he was afraid of Fallon and that was the last impression he wanted. “Send them back, I only need my personal guards,” he ordered Mahir.

  But, even as the boluk-bashi snapped out the orders, the company pushed forwards faster. Kemal’s guards moved to stop them, shouting angrily but, to Kemal’s astonishment and horror, the other company clubbed and stabbed the guards down.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Kemal bellowed but the soldiers did not respond, instead pressed forwards faster. Mahir drew his sword, only for a tall man, wielding not the regulation sword but a pair of long knives, to knock it aside and then slam him to the ground.

  Kemal fumbled for his own sword, shocked at the sudden turn of events, except two soldiers pounced on him. One, a bald giant, knocked his sword from his hand. The other held a sword awkwardly to his throat.

  “What are you doing?” Kemal roared.

  The soldier tugged at his ill-fitting helmet and knocked it off, revealing a mop of long blonde hair that was instantly soaked by the rain.

  “Winning this battle,” the soldier said in Gaelish.

  In the gloom and rain, it took him a moment to recognize the face and voice. “Bridgit?” he gasped, an icy fist grabbing his heart.

  “The same. And these aren’t your men. They are mine. Tell your soldiers to throw down their weapons or you will die,” she said harshly.
>
  He stared around in shock and confusion as men he had thought were his soldiers spun around, forming a defensive ring around him – except they were protecting against his real soldiers, under Nazim. The bald-headed giant of a man grabbed his arm and hustled him backwards, the rest of them coming with them, and it was only now, this close to them, that he saw the rents in the armor, the bloodstains that belonged to their former owners, and the clumsy way the Gaelish were marching. How could he have not realized earlier?

  His previous exultation was washed away in a tide of horror. This could not happen!

  “Tell your men to surrender,” Bridgit ordered.

  “Never! I would rather die first,” Kemal growled.

  Bridgit pointed at the tall soldier with the knives. “Bring that officer over,” she instructed.

  Kemal watched furiously as a dazed Mahir was dragged across.

  “Tell your friends over there to surrender or your precious Prince dies,” Bridgit told Mahir.

  Kemal was about to order Mahir to do no such thing when he was punched in the stomach and, winded, he doubled over, unable to speak.

  Mahir spoke little Gaelish but the meaning of what was going on was only too clear. Kemal felt tears of pain and humiliation trickle down his cheeks as the boluk-bashi shouted out what the Gaelish wanted.

  There was a pause as Nazim shouted back questions but Kemal was forced upright, a knife against his throat, then Mahir called again, his voice more desperate.

  The sound of Kottermani weapons falling to the cobbles was like the chimes of doom.

  CHAPTER 56

  Fallon enfolded Bridgit in his arms.

  “You were right! You did it!” he said.

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” she said tiredly. “I told you it would work. Men see what they want to see, not what really is there, especially when it is dark and raining. Walking down that alleyway with Kottermanis all around us nearly stopped my heart but we knew all we had to do was get to Kemal and we would be safe. And so it proved!”

  They had both been working solidly for the past six turns of the hourglass, through the driving rain, which was only now beginning to let up. At least it had cleaned away some of the horror from the cobbles.