The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (38 page)

The man revived slowly, his eyes dazed and unfocused.

“What happened?” he mumbled, his voice slurring a little.

“I got you out of there but now they have us trapped,” Fallon said in a hiss, ducking low and keeping behind the man’s shoulder. “I shall have to leave you if I am to get away. You have done well, brother. Is there anything you would have me tell Prince Swane before your end?”

“These new guards are too stupid to use. But the captain is a possibility. He has a boy. We can use that to get to him.”

Fallon stopped, shocked at the man’s words, any further questions drying up at the thought of being singled out by Swane, and what that might mean not just for him but for Kerrin. What did the man mean? Did they intend to kidnap Kerrin and so force Fallon to do their bidding?

“Where are we?” the servant continued. “I don’t recognize –”

He turned around to see everyone behind him and awareness returned to his eyes. “You have killed me,” he whispered.

“No, we can protect you,” Cavan said, trying to step forwards but being blocked by Brendan’s bulk. “Come with me and speak to the King about what my brother plans and I shall see that –”

But the Prince never got the chance to finish. The servant surged up out of his seat. Fallon jumped forwards, his shock giving way to fury. They dare threaten him? He prepared to pound the man to a pulp.

But the man did not make a move towards Cavan, towards the door or anything else. Instead he dropped back into the chair, blood pouring from his nose, his ears and even his eyes.

“Dear Aroaril, what happened to him?” Cavan cried.

Rosaleen stepped forwards briskly and laid a hand on the man’s neck. “He is dead. I fear that it is because he began to reveal his secrets to us,” she said grimly.

“But how could they know? We are the only ones in here!” Fallon protested.

“It is the work of a Fearpriest. That is the only answer,” she replied.

“But how can they be so powerful? I’ve never heard of a wizard or a priest being able to do something like this,” Cavan protested.

“That is because they have limits,” Rosaleen said. “A wizard, man or woman, can only use as much magic as their body can hold. Everything that they take from the magic flowing around us all and use must be replaced by their own energy. Do too much and they will collapse, maybe even die. As for priests and priestesses of Aroaril, we are only granted power from God to use as He sees fit, in return for prayers and good works. Without those, our power is reduced or even taken away completely. Fearpriests are different. The more they kill, the worse they get. Judging by this, plenty of blood has been flowing lately. We have to stop them, or they will grow so powerful that we won’t be able to.”

“Surely not,” Gallagher said. “I refuse to believe that gods can rule our lives like that.”

“Believe it or not, it is happening. And a Fearpriest will kill you just as swiftly whether you believe in him or not,” Rosaleen said coldly.

Fallon waited for Gallagher’s sneering reply but the fisherman said nothing.
It looks like what we are going through is changing us all
, Fallon thought. “The answer is to stop Swane before it is too late. I say we drag the other man in and give him a look at his friend, show him what to expect.”

“And if that does not work?” Cavan asked.

“Then I’ll beat the bastard until he does talk,” Fallon spat. “I’ll use Brendan’s hammer on him, start with the toes and then work up until he talks.”

Next moment Cavan had grabbed his arm. “I thought you only scared prisoners, not tortured them,” he said.

“That was before. Now I’ll do anything to get some answers,” Fallon vowed.

“Wait, please,” Cavan said softly. “Let’s see if Sister Rosaleen there can unlock with her power what brute force could not.”

“I can try, but I cannot promise anything,” Rosaleen warned.

“All we can do is try. If it fails then maybe we turn to Brendan’s hammer,” Cavan suggested.

Fallon dragged the servant back in, the chair scraping across the stone floor, then put him face-to-face with the dead man.

“Do you want to talk to us, or join him?” Fallon invited.

“You must know this is useless. I will never talk,” the man said.

Fallon glanced over at Rosaleen but she hesitated, doubt written all over her face.

“Go ahead. We are here with you,” Gallagher said softly, placing his hand on her shoulder.

That seemed to help her and she placed both hands on the servant’s head, closing her eyes and muttering prayers as she did so.

For the first time, Fallon saw fear appear on the man’s face.

“What are you doing to me?” he asked, an edge of panic in his voice.

“Saving you,” Rosaleen said through clenched teeth.

The man began to shake and jerk around in the chair, as if trying to throw her off. But her hands remained clenched around his head.

A strange moan began to come from deep inside him, while his teeth were also chattering together.

“Keep going, something is happening,” Cavan cried encouragingly.

“I can feel something moving; I think I can drive it out of him,” Rosaleen said, her breath coming in short, fast gasps now.

The man now bucked and thrashed but she kept her hold on him. “Stop! Please stop, you’re killing me!” he moaned.

“No, I am saving you,” Rosaleen said fiercely, sweat running down her face now.

The man sat up bolt upright, his eyes darting wildly from side to side, but he was no longer making noises.

“She’s going to do it!” Cavan cried.

Next moment the man’s skull exploded, blood and brains splattering across the table, over everyone and soaking Rosaleen’s face and hair and clothes.

“Aroaril!” Fallon said with feeling as they all stood around, looking with horror at the remains. Blood was dripping onto the floor and he wiped off a chunk of jellied brain that had struck his shoulder.

Nobody seemed able to do anything and it was only a knock at the door that broke the silence. Before anyone could say anything, Devlin opened the door and strode in, talking conversationally.

“There’s a fellow at the door who says he’s King Aidan’s chamberlain and wants to – What in the holy name of Aroaril happened here?” Devlin’s voice climbed several levels as he took in the scene before him.

Fallon shook off the shock that had gripped him. “What does the chamberlain want?” he demanded.

Devlin seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the grisly bodies. “He wants to meet us. Or at least you. And he wants to find out what is going on up here.”

“Aye, well, if he comes in here he’ll find out more than he bargained for,” Fallon said.

“Tell him we shall present ourselves at the throne room in one turn of the hourglass,” Cavan said.

“Quick!” Fallon urged him.

Devlin backed out and slammed the door shut behind him.

“We need to clean this up,” Fallon said.

“How do we clean it up? It’s all over me,” Rosaleen whispered, wringing her hands together, her eyes wide in a blood-spattered face.

“You did all you could. And you proved to us the power of the Fearpriests,” Fallon said soothingly. “Gall, take her away and help her get cleaned up.”

“Me? Why?” Gallagher hissed.

“Because I said so. Now do it.” Fallon shoved his friend towards the priestess. He hoped it might be good for the both of them. “Now, highness, is there some back way we can get these bodies out of here?”

“There is nothing,” Cavan sighed, wiping blood off his cheek with a shudder.

“Then we need to get some large rugs, wrap them up and deliver them to your brother. His Fearpriest might have blocked us but getting back two dead spies might give him something to think about.”

Cavan smiled weakly. “He did something similar to me. It would be poetic, at least.”

“It’ll be messy at least,” Fallon corrected him. “They’re his men; let him work out what to do with them.”

“Good. Because we have bigger problems. Like what you should wear when you meet my father.”

“That is a bigger problem?” Fallon asked with a slight smile.

“It might be.”

Fallon pulled at the tight collar on his tunic and stretched his arms. This new outfit had been made impressively fast. He was used to watching a new tunic take shape over a quarter-moon or so of hard work by Bridgit. To have one whipped up in less than a day was amazing, although it did not fit as well as he would have liked. Still, he had to admit having so many servants was useful. Not only had they produced new tunics and trousers, they had brought a cart to take a “gift” of rugs down to Prince Swane. Whoever unwrapped that little bundle would be in for a nasty surprise, Fallon reflected. Although, from Cavan’s constant warnings, it sounded like there would be nasty surprises enough for them all.

“Keep your answers brief. Most of the time he won’t be listening to you anyway, as he only hears what he wants,” Cavan instructed them nervously.

As well as Fallon, he had brought Gallagher, Devlin, Brendan and Padraig. After what she had seen and done to the servant, Rosaleen was in no condition to face the King. Instead she and the rest of the men were back at the rooms, with orders to let nobody inside.

“Keep it brief. Smile and bow,” Fallon repeated.

“And be prepared to meet Swane. His careful plan to kill me failed so no doubt he wants to see how it went wrong. He will probably try and talk to you. Do not be provoked by anything he says. He will see how you react. Don’t fall into his trap.”

“He will speak to us?” Devlin asked in disgust.

“Gloat, more like it. Anything he can do to tempt you into attacking him in front of my father’s guards. That will be his plan.”

Fallon nodded grimly. “We will not be tricked by him. And two can try and spring a trap.”

“No!” Cavan exclaimed. “Far better for him to think of you as a simple man and therefore no threat to him.”

Fallon did not like that idea. The thought of bowing to the man who was behind all this, the one who had sold their families to Kotterman, was enough to make his fists itch. But he could see the sense in Cavan’s words.

“Whatever happens, understand that I shall one day make it right,” the Prince said forcefully.

Fallon looked around his friends and gave them a weak smile. “Ready then, lads?”

“There better be something to drink in there,” Padraig said with a wink.

Cavan rapped on the big double doors, which were pulled open from the inside, and Fallon led the way in, Devlin and Gallagher at his shoulders, then Cavan and Padraig, with Brendan bringing up the rear.

Fallon’s first impression was of unbelievable luxury. He had walked into the meeting hall at Baltimore many times and had the place go quiet, every man and woman in there turn to look at him. But they had never looked like this. All of these people wore beautiful Kottermani clothes, silks rather than coarse cottons, and Fallon offered up a silent prayer he had not brought Caley along. The dog would be barking fit to raise the roof at such sights and smells. And the jewels! Gold, silver and rare stones glittered around necks, wrists, arms, on heads or, strangest of all, dangling from the ears of the women. Fallon had only ever seen that once before, on the ears of Duchess Dina, and it looked just as strange now. The stone walls were almost covered with beautiful tapestries and rich velvet drapes. All of it must have come from Kotterman because they looked like nothing he had ever seen before. It was like stepping into another world.

Towering over all was King Aidan on his throne, looking balefully at them as they walked in. In contrast to the rest of the throne room, the throne itself was brutal in its look. It was well carved, a fine example of Gaelish artwork, but crude and basic compared to everything else. Yet in its simplicity and size lay power. Fallon could feel sweat sticking his new tunic to his back and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he looked at Aidan. He looked like the image of a perfect King. His jaw was firm, his eyes were clear and his grey hair was close-cropped and held back by a thick golden circlet. Like all other men in the room he was dressed well; his tunic and trousers were of flowing golden silk, emphasizing the size of his shoulders. Unlike many of the nobles, he was not overweight either, but still looked fit and strong. Yet there was something about the way he was sitting that seemed wrong. He was restless on the throne, seemingly unable to get comfortable, as if he were itching to jump up and do something.

The crowd parted before Fallon and he walked forwards, struggling to feel his feet and wondering if this was a dream.

As he drew closer to the throne, guards in the King’s livery of green and white stepped out from beside the dais and barred the way, spears crossing over. Fallon stopped perhaps two paces from them, about seven paces from the throne itself.

“Highness, your men cannot be allowed near the King carrying swords. All know of this rule,” the guard captain said, no trace of apology in his voice.

Fallon looked at his hard face and knew this must be Captain Kelty. He looked like a man who would happily order his men to charge into a mob of unarmed peasants but who would be mystified by strange raiders haunting the coast or bands of child snatchers disappearing into the night.

“But none of us carry swords, captain,” Fallon said evenly, meeting Kelty’s eyes.

“No swords?” The King stirred on his throne. “So how are you going to protect my son, the Crown Prince?”

“Give me the weapons you have. They will be returned to you when you leave this room,” Kelty said.

Fallon reached back to the leather baldric he wore across his shoulder and pulled out the shillelagh. “Just this,” he said.

Devlin handed over a crossbow and a pair of knives, then Kelty stopped before Gallagher.

“Now those are swords,” the captain said angrily.

“Not quite,” Gallagher said, drawing out a pair of gutting knives. Each was more than a foot long and ended in a viciously curved point. Brendan surrendered his huge hammer, making Kelty grunt when he felt the weight of it, while Padraig only had a small bottle of uisge to hand over.

“So what are they using?” King Aidan asked.

“Knives, a hammer and a shillelagh,” Kelty reported, his men carrying them away.

“A true weapon of Gaelland!” King Aidan said approvingly. “But are you any good with it? I haven’t heard of, nor seen a shillelagh used properly for years!”

“I killed the traitor Eamon with it, sire,” Fallon said.

Instantly the King’s smile disappeared. “And so we come to the heart of the matter. How is it that I give my son a bodyguard and a squad of guards but hear tales of death and mayhem in my harbor? And then he arrives with a handful of peasants looking after him – yes,
peasants
, no matter how well dressed they might be!”

The King’s voice rose as he spoke and Fallon could feel terror ripple through the crowd. Men and women who had pressed close to get a better look at Fallon and his friends now backed away and suddenly there was a gap around the small group.

Then Cavan stepped forwards, shielding them from the King.

“Eamon was a traitor and so were his men. They turned on me and tried to kill me, as they killed my loyal manservant Niall. I narrowly escaped and they pursued me into the harbor, where they attacked a merchant and his men who tried to come to my aid. They had me surrounded and would have slaughtered me like a dog but for the arrival of Fallon and his men here.”

“Have the survivors been questioned?” the King asked, leaning forwards on his throne, his voice cold and precise.

“There were no survivors. They killed themselves rather than be taken.”

“Then what I want to know is how a
trusted bodyguard tried to kill my son in the middle of my bloody harbor
!” The King’s voice rose to a scream as he spoke, his eyes blazing madly.

Not surprisingly, there was no answer.

“I believe I have an answer, Father, but I do not think it should be spoken in this room,” Cavan said into the silence.

The King glared down at him and Fallon was proud of the fact Cavan met his father’s gaze with his back straight.

Then Aidan grunted and slumped back into his chair. “And what is to say these men are any different? Just how did you come by them? After what happened with Eamon I don’t know if I can trust your safety to just anyone. Perhaps I should select your men myself.”

Cavan half-turned to point at Fallon. “I met Fallon here in Lunster, when he helped my investigations into the mysterious raids on the coast. I offered him the position of guard captain and he came here to take it up. And the fact he fought and killed Eamon says all you need to know about his skills. I trust him, where I don’t think I can trust any others. If you want, I can say why.”

“Enough!” Aidan barked, thumping the arm of his throne. “I shall let them have the rest of this moon to prove themselves. We shall talk again after that.”

“Father, I ask for a private audience now to discuss these matters in greater detail,” Cavan said.

“No,” Aidan said. “Not now. Tomorrow. See Regan and arrange a suitable time.”

“As you wish, Father,” Cavan bowed.

“Off you go then. And I shall think about how I can see how good your man really is with his shillelagh.” The King waved at them and Cavan turned, his face pale but fixed.

“Now we go,” he mouthed at them.

Fallon let out a breath of relief, which was covered by the mass of chatter which sprang up from the nobles at the King’s dismissal.

They left the nobles behind, walking briskly towards the door, but before they reached it, a small group intercepted them.

“Swane,” Cavan greeted its leader coldly, stopping a full three paces away from him.

Fallon stepped up to Cavan’s shoulder, Brendan taking the other side, the two of them shielding the Prince from his brother. He glanced over his shoulder but the courtiers were out of earshot, and talking among themselves.

“I see you have your new men well trained,” Swane said pleasantly.

Fallon studied him carefully. He had been told the prince was both fat and ugly, but he was neither. In fact he was remarkably fair of face, while his clothes were beautifully cut to show his muscular frame. He stood at ease, a light smile on his face. In fact the only clue that something more lurked behind it was his eyes. The smile never got near them and they glittered coldly. He was flanked by six guards, all big men with hard faces and scars. Fallon would back his friends over them every time, but it would be a close thing, he judged.

“Far better than the men you sent to me. They proved useless,” Cavan said. “You misjudged badly there.”

Swane shrugged. “You had some luck. But luck cannot last forever. You can dress them up as prettily as you like but they are still just a pack of peasants from Lunster. And they want their families back, which means I hold all the advantages.”

“What do you know about our families?” Brendan rumbled before Fallon could urge him to silence.

Swane chuckled. “Nothing, really. Except they are not here and you are. By the way, talking of gifts, thank you for the rugs you dispatched to my rooms. I shall have to think of a suitable response.”

“You will fall and you will pay. You and your tame Fearpriest will burn at the stake, just like all those innocent women you blamed for your crimes.”

Swane shook his head gently. “Brother, brother, brother. When will you learn? You had your chance to join me but you refused. You can stand there and make all the predictions you like but that won’t make them come true. I, on the other hand, can see what is going to happen. And you will die within the moon.”

“I’m sure our father would like to hear those words from your mouth,” Cavan snarled.

“But he never will. Enjoy playing with your new pets.”

“Enjoy your new face while you can. Although half the court must have marked your changing looks by now and wondered.”

“Don’t count on it. The court sees what it wants and believes what it is told. As long as they stay rich, they don’t care about anything else. Farewell for now; I will see you before the moon’s end.”

Then he turned on his heel and walked away.

“How can he get away with saying those things not thirty paces from the king himself!” Fallon growled. “He as good as said he was going to kill you!”

“Well, he tried. And he failed. So let’s make him fail again.”

Cavan led the way back to the door, where they were met by Kelty’s men and handed their weapons again.

“Is there any way to get a look inside your brother’s rooms? Give me half a turn of the hourglass in there and I’m sure I’ll find the evidence your father needs,” Fallon suggested.

“We tried to get men inside his rooms – five of them. Swane killed them all,” Cavan said gloomily.

“But then Eamon was telling him everything. How well are they guarded?”

“Much better now. I stormed in there with Niall and Eamon, but he won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“He must go out. Perhaps then?”

Cavan smiled. “We’ll see what we can find out. Meanwhile we have other prey to chase.”