The Bloody Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (13 page)

“Once again our city was under threat and once again it was saved by Captain Fallon and his gallant men!” the King boomed and crowd roared back at him.

“We can all sleep safe thanks to Fallon!”

On and on it went, until Fallon felt his face would crack from keeping the smile on.

Finally the King sent the crowd away, allowing Fallon and the others step away from the cheering people. But Aidan did not let Fallon go, instead beckoning him across to the side of the gate.

“You were everything I hoped,” Aidan said seriously. “More than a hundred dead, for the price of two of yours. There’s few who could have done better.”

“I had nearly a score of wounded,” Fallon said stiffly, although all of those would live, thanks to Rosaleen’s work.

Aidan smiled. “Results are what matter. Who will remember the names of a couple of dead guards in a year’s time? But your name will live on in the scrolls. The people will follow you and my guards believe in you.”

Fallon bowed, not knowing what to say.

Aidan patted him on the shoulder and turned away. “All is ready,” he said contentedly. “We just have to wait for the Kottermanis now.”

Fallon dearly wanted to know what the King meant by that but he knew asking questions would be foolish and, besides, Kerrin was sprinting towards him.

“You’re safe, Dad!” he cried. “I was going to give them one more turn of the hourglass and then I’d come looking for you.”

Fallon smiled. “Were you now?” he asked.

“I am ready,” Kerrin assured him.

“Well, that’s good to see.” Fallon grinned. “Let’s get out of here.”

*

The castle seemed to come alive with the knowledge there was a banquet for the nobles on again. Servants were working like dogs to prepare for it, while there was a never-ending stream of carriages arriving, disgorging brightly dressed nobles and their mistresses.

“Are they the same ones? Or new ones?” Brendan wondered, looking out of a window to the gaudy nobles below.

“The women? Why would you bring another one to such a night, after what the King did the last time?” Gallagher said gruffly.

“I don’t think that bothers those bastards,” Devlin said.

Fallon paced around the room, saying nothing. After days of Regan seemingly turning up every few turns of the hourglass with another mysterious test, they had been left alone to talk endlessly for the last couple of days about the King’s plans and what he had in mind for them. They were no closer to the heart of it.

“Will you calm down and sit?” Brendan asked.

“Am I bothering you?” Fallon asked sarcastically.

“Yes, you are,” Devlin said. “Go and spend some time with Kerrin. We’ll send word if Regan arrives. But if he was planning to make us come along, he has left it late. We haven’t seen him for days. Maybe he’s forgotten about us.”

Fallon glowered at them, then nodded. He felt like a bear with a sore head. The thought of going into the King’s rooms filled him with fear and yet he could not sit there and wait for the maniac’s next move, be a piece in whatever foul game Aidan was playing. He had danced to his mad tune for long enough. Now it was time to change the music.

He walked into his room, wondering what Kerrin would say this time. He still felt torn between wanting to kill Aidan and wanting to keep Kerrin safe. He did not know what he could say to the lad.

He found Kerrin throwing knives at a straw target, sending one after another into the red circle drawn in the center.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I told you, Dad. I am practicing. I have to be ready to rescue you and Mam.”

“Do you now! How often are you practicing?”

“Every day. At least two turns of the hourglass,” Kerrin said proudly.

“It’s paying off,” Fallon admitted, admiring the target. “You are a better thrower than some of the men!” He looked at his son. “And have you been doing anything else?”

“Loading the crossbow, push-ups and sit-ups, like you showed me. Every chance I get,” Kerrin said. “If you get in trouble, like Mam did, I can save you. And then I can rescue Mam.”

Fallon sighed. He was about to go off and risk his life once again. “Your mam wouldn’t be happy with the way I’m looking after you,” he admitted. “I’m sorry I haven’t been the father you deserve.”

“You are the one I want,” Kerrin said stoutly.

“I have to go out again tonight. If they catch me I shall be lucky to get away with my life.”

“But they won’t catch you. You’re too good.”

“But if they do—”

Kerrin whirled and threw, the knife thumping into the heart of the target. “I shall get Mam back,” he said fiercely.

Fallon hugged his son and felt his throat close up. “I’ll do all I can to get back safely, I swear to you. I want us to be a family again more than anything I can say.” He felt the new lines of muscle in his son’s arms and shoulders and did not know whether to be pleased or sad. “How about we try a riddle while we wait?” he asked.

“Yes!” Kerrin cried.

Caley the dog was the first one to make it up onto the bed and Fallon finished with her on one side, Kerrin on the other.

“What sleeps all day, drinks all night, wears armor all the time but, if you stick a knife in its side, can give you treasure?” he asked.

Kerrin scratched his head. “What wears armor and gives you treasure? Is it a knight?”

“Think about it. What would drink all the time? Where would you be to keep drinking?”

Kerrin’s brow, which was furrowed in concentration, smoothed over. “In the water! Is it a fish?”

“Nearly. What might give you a treasure when you open it?”

“An oyster!” Kerrin laughed.

Fallon patted his back. “That’s right!”

“Tell me another!”

Fallon thought for a moment. “Why would the King make me into a hero and talk about fighting the Kottermanis in one breath, then say he is going to make a deal with them to get Mam back?”

“Is that a riddle?” Kerrin asked.

Fallon snorted a laugh. “It’s one I am trying to work out. Now you think up a riddle for me while I go and try to find the answer to mine.”

*

“Why do they not call their people to prayer like we do?” Feray asked.

Kemal chuckled. They were standing on the deck once more as their ship slipped into Berry’s harbor. It had been a long journey and he would normally have been happy to see land, but the smell of Berry was enough to put anyone off. “They only go to church once every quarter moon and some do not do even that,” he said lightly. “They are a strange people.”

“Why do they not love Aroaril like we do?” she wondered.

Kemal slipped his arm around her waist. “You know, I think that is not true. They have priests and priestesses of Aroaril who can call upon the god’s power and heal people. Our priests, for all the time they spend in prayer, cannot do that.”

“Why should they need to? We have skilled doctors and apothecaries who can treat any with sickness.”

Kemal sighed. “True, yet it is also disturbing. We look down on the Gaelish because we pray three times a day and they but once a quarter moon. And yet it is their priests who are showered with God’s favor, able to save their people. So why is that? Is there something we are doing that Aroaril disapproves of?”

His wife shifted in his arms. “Well, the Gaelish do not keep slaves, as we do,” she said gently.

He nodded. “That is true. But our whole society is built upon the slaves. They are the grease that keeps things moving. Without them, the desert would start to claim some of our cities and the water would begin to dry up.”

“And, anyway, we do have doctors, while the Gaelish don’t,” she agreed, with a smile on her face.

Kemal chuckled. “That is not entirely a source of pride for us then. We have found a way to get around angering Aroaril.”

“So perhaps all we need to do is pray once a quarter moon then?”

“Yes, I am sure that will do it!”

“When will you go to see their King?”

“There is no rush. He knows what my arrival means. We shall rest and then tomorrow I shall watch him bow down to me. Then my father will rejoice, for Gaelland will be ours.”

She shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked. “The sun is much cooler here. Do you need a shawl?”

“No,” she said. “I just had the strangest feeling when you said that.”

“Put aside all worries. We will soon be the rulers here.”

The sounds of music and laughter echoed faintly through the castle. Fallon found himself walking lightly and trying to stay close to the walls, although almost every servant in the castle would be down there, working hard and praying to Aroaril that they did nothing to offend one of the nobles. He wondered what Swane was doing and hoped he was suffering somewhere. Padraig had used his magic to send the dozen guards watching their door into a deep sleep, then to draw back the bolts from the other side.

“I can only hold so many asleep for a turn of the hourglass, so be quick,” the old wizard warned.

That was ringing in Fallon’s ears when the sound of footsteps on the stone flagstones made him stop and slip into a shadowed alcove, where he stayed while a guard strolled past, head down and not bothering to look what was happening around him. Fallon smiled to himself. Luckily the guards around there were not the most vigilant. But who would expect anything to happen in the heart of the castle?

Fallon waited until the footsteps had echoed away and then hurried off in the other direction. Unlike the hard leather boots that made such a noise on the stone, he was wearing soft leather slippers, which were almost silent. They were not good for running but he hoped that would not be needed this night.

The closer he came to the King’s rooms, the more he thought everyone else could hear the hammering of his heart.

But there was nobody around and, a quick glance confirmed, no guards waiting outside Aidan’s rooms. No doubt they were all downstairs and enjoying the night off. Or maybe … He stopped himself thinking as he eased up to the door and tried the handle. If it was locked he had brought a set of lock picks, which Padraig had enchanted. He had never opened a door that way before but the old man swore they would be all he would need.

Yet the handle turned easily and he opened it slowly. The fire was still going, giving the room some light, but it had died down and was casting more shadows than brightness into the room. For a terrifying heartbeat, he imagined there was someone in the chair by the fire, but a second look revealed it was just a discarded robe. He stayed in the doorway for what seemed like an age as his heart slowed, then ducked into the room, shutting the door quickly but quietly, touching the wood to wood and then releasing the handle slowly and carefully.

He waited by the door, hands sweating, but no alarm sounded. He breathed a sigh of relief and then got to work, not wanting to waste any more time.

The first thing he checked was the desk. It was covered in scrolls and pieces of parchment and he glanced through them, seeing the expected tax tallies but also something a little more interesting: a note from each county on how many men they could bring in with the fyrd. It looked impressive and he knew ordinary people could fight, given some training and leadership, but he also knew few villages would have worked as hard as Baltimore. He shuddered at the thought of leading a mob of nervous farmers against a hardened Kottermani army.

He put those aside and went over to the shelves, where even more papers groaned and gathered dust. Just tackling some of the piles was daunting enough, and he worried he would put them back in the wrong order. He did not expect King Aidan to notice, for he knew he hated that sort of detail. But Regan would know every one of these scrolls as a father would his children.

Carefully he began going through them, looking for something to do with the Kottermanis. He quickly worked out that each shelf belonged to a different county and he moved on, looking for the shelf of Kottermani documents that had to be there. It was at the end and, worse, there were dozens of them. But there was nothing for it but to begin looking. His frustration rose with each scroll that he opened and hastily read. Regan’s writing was small and, though it was neat, he obviously wrote for himself and not for another reader. They were lists of something but he could not work out what.

Then he started on a new pile – and paused. A name jumped out at him, or rather a series of letters. BLTM. It looked like nothing but he had seen it many times before, written to describe Baltimore. Against it were written a pair of figures. One looked suspiciously like the number of people who lived there, the other very close to the annual tax they paid to the Duke of Lunster. Looking down the rest of the list, he managed to work out many other towns and villages in Lunster, all with their population and tax take next to them. They did not seem to be in any order of size that he could see but there was one coincidence: the ones at the top of the list, including Killarney and Baltimore, had all been raided.

Fallon put that scroll aside and picked up some more. It looked like every county in Gaelland was listed there, in some strange order, with their population and taxes listed. But why should this be in the section for Kotterman?

Fallon felt paralyzed by indecision. He had not known what he would find but had hoped for some obvious letter from the Kottermani Emperor, not these lists that could mean anything and proved nothing. He replaced the lists and looked again at the wall of parchment. Would the King hide the truth there or was it somewhere else? Or had nothing been written down? He did not know what to do and hesitated, cursing himself for not thinking this through.

Then he heard voices and footsteps outside and his indecision vanished. He crossed to the door and pressed his ear up against it.

He could tell immediately it was no lone guard walking a bored circuit. There were half a dozen people out there and he forced himself to think, his heart pounding. He could not be found. But there was no other way out – or was there? Did the King not use passageways to move swiftly between his rooms and the throne room?

He listened hard and realized he had no choice. From the sound of it, the banquet had been called short and the King was about to return. Aidan might have praised him to the crowd but that was not going to save him if he was found in the madman’s chamber.

He needed some time, as much time as he could get, so he carefully clicked the lock into place. That would slow them down a little. Maybe even enough.

Leaving the door he looked around for where a hidden door might wait. The wall with the fireplace faced the outer wall, so could not be anything. The wall with the main door merely led out to the passageway again and it seemed pointless to disguise a door there. He wasted valuable time on the wall covered with cases holding the parchments but everything seemed solid so he turned his attention to the back wall, which was decorated with a series of hangings. He tested the first one carefully, seeing how it was attached and if there was anything behind it. It was firmly tied to the wall, which felt like stone.

“The King!” someone shouted outside and he abandoned his careful attempts to feel behind each hanging and instead thumped on them with his fist, feeling solid stone each time.

The sound of the door handle being rattled made him turn, a dozen excuses crowding into his head, each one as useless as the last.

“Where is the bogging key? This rutting door is locked! Get me the key or I’ll have someone’s head!” he heard Aidan roaring outside the door, kicking the wood and making it shiver.

Frantic steps told Fallon that someone was racing forwards in a desperate attempt to appease a furious King. Nervelessly he backed away, groping in his pouch for the bloody quarrel there. It might be time to try to use it on a second member of the royal family.

He took a deep breath, sent up a prayer to keep Bridgit safe and prepared to sell his life dearly. Then his heel hit something with the thud of wood, not the scrape of stone.

In an instant he whirled and shoved the hanging aside to reveal a door. He ripped it open and dived through, retaining the presence of mind to close it gently, even as he heard the rattle of a key in the main door lock. He shut it and held it closed, hardly daring to breathe. Behind him, steps circled down into darkness, the only light a dim line from underneath the door. Part of him was screaming to run down the stairs and get out of here but he had no idea where it led and what the stairs were like. With no light, he feared he would fall or, worse, stumble into some guardroom.

“Those bastard Kottermanis! Trust them to arrive at just the wrong moment! The night had barely started,” he heard Aidan snarling. “Bring me some wine and make it fast!”

“Sire, they will not want to see you before morning. Their ship has merely arrived, that is all,” Regan said reasonably.

“How can I enjoy myself knowing they are waiting to see me tomorrow?” Aidan growled. “I need a clear head for talking to their Prince Kemal. The arrogant prick. I look forward to wiping the smile off his face. He thinks us already on our knees to him. I will show him the price he will have to pay to laugh at me.”

“I think we are all ready, sire. But what of Fallon and his men? Are they ready to play their part?”

Fallon leaned forwards, holding his breath as he waited to hear the answer.

“I believe so,” Aidan said grudgingly. “I would have liked to make him take the final test first but he has passed everything we have set him so far. Fallon has proved he will do anything to get his men’s families back. And his men have ability. Look at the way he got rid of the snatchers for us.”

“Agreed, sire. I did not think such a thing was possible.”

Fallon held back his anger. Did Aidan really think he would serve him faithfully? And what was this final test?

“What is your strategy, sire? Will you confront Prince Kemal immediately?”

The King paused and Fallon pressed his ear harder against the wood.

“Not on the first day. I want to hear what he offers us. Let him think he has us bent over a barrel and then the reversal will be even sweeter. I can see the look on his face now as he is forced to grovel to me!”

“Indeed, sire.”

“Well, are we ready?” Aidan asked.

“I believe so, sire. But perhaps we should talk to your son, just to be sure.”

“Agreed. Get him up here. And send a message to Fallon. He will need to be there tomorrow when we greet the Kottermani Prince.”

Fallon would have dearly loved to stay and hear the conversation between Swane and the King. That would have told him all he needed to know. But Regan was going to arrive at Prince Cavan’s rooms soon and he had to be there.

Ignoring the darkness, he began heading down the stairs, one hand pressed against the wall, toes feeling the way down each step. The stone steps curved down to the left and he prayed it would just simply end in a doorway. The little bit of light coming from underneath the King’s door was gone now and he was in darkness, just the rasp of his own breathing and the patter of his slippers on the steps for company. Then his probing foot could not find the next step down. He swept his leg from left to right but could find nothing. He eased forwards, knowing that he was on flat ground again but not knowing what was around. What he would have given for the little light Padraig had created on top of his staff that time!

He swept his arms wide, eased forwards one tiny step at a time – then cursed as his knuckles found a door. He ran his hands over it until he found a handle, offered up another prayer that it was unlocked and turned it.

It moved under his hand and he blinked at the sudden light that came through the open doorway. He peered around cautiously to see he was in a small chamber that opened to the throne room. A couple of lamps threw a fitful light into the area but, after the darkness he had been through, it seemed as bright as day. He looked around carefully but, seeing nobody around, raced across the empty throne room to the door. There were surely guards around but he had to get out of the corridors. At least there he could make up some nonsense about going for a walk.

Hurriedly he opened the big doors and slipped through, hearing them close with a noise that echoed up and down the empty corridors. His worst fears were soon realized: he had barely taken a dozen steps away from the throne room when a handful of guards materialized out of a side room. He turned, ready to come up with some story, when he saw to his relief it was men he had led into Killarney.

“Captain Fallon, what are you doing here, sir?” Bran asked.

“Just out for a walk, lads,” Fallon said warmly, nodding greetings to all of them. “How are you all? Drawn the night shift, eh? Can’t be much fun.”

“Could be worse. We could be outside,” Bran said with a smile.

“Or chasing selkies and witches,” Casey added.

“They’re nothing to worry about,” Fallon said breezily. “As long as you’re with me, you’d be safe.”

“Aye. But most of the time we’re not with you, sir, more’s the pity,” Bran said softly, to general nods from the others.

“Well, we might see about changing that soon,” Fallon said with a wink. He gave them a wave and hurried off, thanking Aroaril for such good luck.

“And where are you going, Fallon?” Quinn asked loudly.

Fallon cursed silently, then turned to see the officer had followed the others out and was now standing in front of Bran and the others. “I’m just on my way,” he said. “Sorry I have to rush off.”

“You aren’t going anywhere unless you tell me how you got out of your rooms, and why the throne room door opened just now,” Quinn said angrily.

Fallon smiled thinly. “But I outrank you, so I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Quinn took a couple of steps forwards and pointed at Fallon. “I will be making my report to the King and I will tell him of my suspicions about you. You may not answer to me but you will answer to him!”

Fallon smiled back while he cursed inwardly. His mind raced to come up with a plausible explanation but nothing was coming and, all the time, he feared that Regan was getting ever closer to delivering a message to him in a set of empty rooms.

Then his luck changed again.

“Captain Fallon is not saying anything because I asked him not to,” Duchess Dina said sweetly, sweeping around a corner, dressed in full court finery, Gannon and another pair of guards at her back.

“Your grace,” Quinn said, an oily expression on his face, as he bowed swiftly.