The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (10 page)

But the servant merely bowed. “Would your highness like something to drink after your exercise, or are you ready to go now?”

Cavan spat on a soft bearskin rug in reply. “Come on, I need to get out of here,” he said roughly, wanting to punch Ryan but knowing that would enrage Swane past the point of no return.

Niall and Eamon caught up to him by the time he had reached the door out of Swane’s rooms.

“Highness, are you feeling all right? Should I perhaps call for a physician?” Niall asked.

“Is there something you should be telling us about your brother?” Eamon asked.

“I feel fine. And there is nothing I want to say about my brother,” Cavan said shortly.

“Then what was all that about?” his bodyguard insisted.

Cavan said nothing until they were a long way down the corridor, and the door had been barricaded behind them. “That was about discovering Swane is involved in this somehow. There was someone in there he didn’t want us to see, someone we just missed. And he had food and drink enough for two, while he is also dressing better and taking more care with his appearance. He even looks better, by Aroaril, although such a thing has to be impossible!”

“You think he has found a woman?” Eamon asked.

“I wish that were the reason. Even true love will not change somebody’s face like that.”

“Surely you are imagining it, highness,” Niall protested.

“I’m not imagining anything. I know what he looks like: he’s my brother, for Aroaril’s sake! And I tell you his face has changed.”

“Well, what could do that?” Eamon asked.

“Nothing good,” Cavan said grimly. “We need to get through that door in his rooms and see what’s beyond.”

“I don’t think he is going to give us another chance to get in there. And Ryan will have messengers running to King Aidan now, telling him we are not at the ship launch and instead have wrecked Prince Swane’s rooms,” Niall said worriedly.

“Then we should go to the launch. Now,” Cavan said strongly.

“Excellent idea, highness! I am pleased you have –”

“And afterwards we are going to go for a ride around the city, see what we can find.”

“Oh,” Niall said miserably.

Neale so wanted a new cloak. As the youngest of five children, all he ever received were the worn gear his brothers had grown out of. The market stall had every type of cloak he could imagine, all of them in soft, comfortable wool, arranged in a variety of colors. So while his mother and siblings walked on, looking for a new cooking pot, he stayed behind, looking wistfully at the cloaks.

“Keep up, Neale! Don’t you know there’s witches about, ready to grab a child by themselves?” his mother shouted at him.

He waved in reply but lingered a moment longer before hurrying after them. He and his brothers and sisters had been deliciously terrified by the thought witches were hunting children in the city. The market was abuzz with stories of the witches and seemingly half of the stalls there were selling some sort of charm guaranteed to protect you from dark magic. They were all made from iron, and looked funny. Neal and his siblings inspected the strange necklaces and amulets with interest. Not that they had money for such things. Their father had put old nails into their front door and the windows to keep out the witches but that was all they could afford.

“Stay together. If a witch gets you, they will drain your blood, for nothing gives them more power than the blood of innocents,” his mother said.

“So we should try to be as naughty as we can, so the witches don’t want our blood?” Neale said, then winced as she slapped the back of his head.

“I thought Aroaril banished all the witches and they don’t exist any more,” Neale’s oldest sister Myrna said accusingly.

“That’s what the church says. But do the witches know that?” their mother said warningly. “I remember my grandmother telling me you had to put out a piece of iron on your door to keep the witches away, because they could not abide the touch of metal.”

“Well, can I carry the pot then?” Neale asked, then ducked as his mother slapped him again.

“But I heard they burned the witch, and she’s all gone,” Myrna said.

“Children are still going missing. The King and the church can say what they like but I knows what I knows and something dark is on these streets. Now come on, we’ve wasted enough time here.

She led the way out of the market. Neale brought up the rear, rubbing his head where his mother’s rough hand had caught him twice. He clutched his threadbare cloak around him and could not resist one last longing look at the new ones before realising the others were again leaving him behind.

Neale thought he heard someone chasing after him and looked behind to see three men on horseback. They didn’t look like witches but he didn’t like the way they were watching him, so he broke into a run. Next moment, something flipped his legs out from underneath him and he was hauled, screaming, into the air.

“This is a waste of time, highness. We should be bowing low before your father even now, explaining what went on in your brother’s rooms. Because, sure as the sun rises, he’s in there right now telling his side of the story. And I don’t think he will be saying he was at fault,” Niall said.

“I’m not going there until I have some proof he is behind this,” Cavan said darkly.

“How are we going to get that? And what is he behind? It could all be a coincidence. Or it could really be witches. My old aunt used to go on about how they liked to steal babies. She reckoned the church had never got rid of them, they just got better at hiding themselves and their dark powers.”

Eamon laughed. “Don’t tell me you actually believe this rubbish about witches?”

“It is true,” Niall insisted. “They might not have called themselves witches but that’s what they were. And they had magic. You couldn’t harm them, for they would make arrows and spears fly away. Their only weakness was metal.”

“Lucky I have my sword then,” Eamon said lightly. “Highness, tell him he is an idiot.”

Cavan sighed. “I don’t think Eithne was a witch but there is truth in what Niall says. There were people without magic, who got their powers from the Dark God Zorva in exchange for blood sacrifice. They came from some place far across the sea but the church stamped the last of them out more than twenty years ago. Tales of them linger, however. It is not something the church likes talking about, because it seems that many of them were more powerful than ordinary priests of Aroaril.”

“That doesn’t fit in with the church’s stories of how Aroaril is all-powerful. No wonder they keep silent about that and shout about donations instead.” Eamon snorted. “How come you know about it then?”

Cavan smiled briefly. “Because I will be the next King. And there are some things we need to know.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find a big pile of gold then?” Eamon asked.

“It’s not only witches who want children. I heard the Kottermanis will pay gold for a good-looking blond-haired girl,” Niall said.

“How do you know that?” Cavan asked.

“I hear things,” the scribe said. “There’s rumors some of the brothels in town sell their older ones to the Kottermanis. And there was enough Kottermani furniture in your brother’s rooms.”

“Well, I am sure Swane is behind it. Once we have proof we can find out the why,” Cavan insisted.

“Which brings us back to – how do we prove that?” Eamon asked.

Cavan sat there silently. They all had long cloaks on, with the cowls drawn up to hide their faces. The market was busy but if word got around that the fabled Prince Cavan was there, people would come flocking in from streets around and then there’d be no chance of them seeing anything useful.

“Highness?” Niall prompted.

Cavan’s arm snapped out, pointing across the square. “Follow that family. There’s a child lagging behind.”

“Well, if nothing else, at least it will help burnish your reputation. Kind Prince Cavan finds a lost child and returns the snotty brat to its mother,” Eamon said.

The crowd parted before their horses, the people knowing from long experience that a rider meant somebody important.

The family went down a side street and Cavan urged his horse into a trot. The noise of the horses’ hooves on the rough cobbles made the lagging child turn and he began to run as soon as he saw them.

“Well, this looks like a waste of time,” Cavan remarked.

Next moment, the boy was flipped upside down and hauled, shrieking, into the air.

“What in Aroaril’s name …?” Cavan cried, then clapped spurs to his horse.

The other two were right behind him and they arrived in time to see the boy disappear. The third story of the ramshackle house he had been running past jutted far out over the first two stories and had a hole cut into its floor. Normally waste was dropped down into the street below – but instead, a screaming child disappeared into its darkness.

“Get in there!” Cavan pulled his horse to a stop and jumped off, clumsily drawing his sword as he did so.

Eamon was a heartbeat behind, while Niall was slower in getting off his horse and much slower in producing a crossbow.

“Highness, we don’t know what’s in there and there’s only three of us. And Niall’s more likely to hit you or me than anything he’s aiming at,” Eamon said urgently.

“I know what’s in there – a little boy. And maybe even the evidence to prove my brother is behind the others,” Cavan growled. “I go in, with or without you.” He stared into Eamon’s eyes but it was only a moment before the bodyguard nodded.

“Then follow me,” Eamon said, and smashed his shoulder into the door.

Behind them, the shouting mother and her wailing children were racing closer, but Cavan ignored them, instead joining Eamon in driving his shoulder into the door. The old wood shivered, then cracked under their third impact and they burst through, swords held high.

The room was dark, a cold fireplace dominating the right side, scraps of wood on the floor the only trace of any furniture. Towards the back, another door and window were boarded up. Above them, something was making floorboards creak.

“Stairs!” Eamon led the way, Cavan half a step behind. The ramshackle stairs creaked and groaned as they raced upstairs, sacrificing stealth for speed. They turned abruptly to the right and Eamon hesitated. Cavan guessed he must be thinking he was at the mercy of anyone standing there, unable to strike back with the sword in his right hand. But there was no time for that. Cavan shoved him from behind and the pair of them crashed out onto the landing. Again there was nothing there, just a thick layer of dust. As it rose around them in a cloud, Cavan registered there were no footprints here, no sign that anyone had been through. Up here, it was even gloomier, and they took a few moments to see the ladder against the back wall, leading up to the third story.

Cavan scrambled to his feet and raced towards the ladder.

“Highness, no! It’s too risky!” Eamon grabbed for the prince but he was too quick and clambered up the ladder, sword held in his right hand as he tried to grip the old wood.

“Let me go first!”

Cavan ignored Eamon’s calls, for there was no more noise coming from upstairs. Part of him was shouting that sticking his head up through a trapdoor into a room filled with Aroaril-knew-what was a stupid idea. But he could not shake the thought this could solve the whole mystery. He reached the last rung and steeled himself to push up and into the room above. He knew he should not be doing it. But he had let an innocent woman burn to death. He had to save this boy.

Then Niall grabbed his leg and hauled him off the ladder.

“No, highness! We can’t risk you!” he cried.

“They’re getting away, Aroaril curse you!” Cavan roared, lying on his back and looking up helplessly.

Niall bowed his head, tears in his eyes. “Highness, forgive me, but I could not let anything happen to you!”

Cavan knocked aside Niall’s shaking hand and scrambled over to the ladder, the clerk trying to brush down his back as he went.

But Eamon was now on the ladder and climbing rapidly. At the top he paused and thrust his sword into the room above. Nothing struck at it, so he sprang up, rolling off the top of the ladder smoothly. Cavan raced up the ladder, climbing clumsily with his sword in his fist, and pushed himself up and into the top story of the house.

“Watch out, highness!” Eamon cried.

Cavan tried to roll swiftly to his feet but it was harder than it looked. He pushed himself upright to see Eamon standing between him and a pair of dark-clad figures, long knives in their hands and some sort of black hood covering their faces. Beyond them, a third dark figure was clambering out an open window onto the roof at the rear, the boy slung over his shoulder.

“Get them!” Cavan roared, surging to his feet.

Eamon rushed forwards and Cavan watched with grim satisfaction. He had seen his bodyguard in action too many times to doubt the outcome. Besides, these men might hold knives the length of a man’s forearm but they were nothing compared to the swordsman’s glittering steel.

Eamon cut at one’s head but the figure blocked his blow smoothly with the knife and sliced back, forcing him to dance backwards. The figure held the curved knife strangely and now attacked viciously, thrusting and stabbing and forcing Eamon to use all his speed to block the blows. The second figure moved around, forcing Eamon to circle back but, instead of attacking the bodyguard, the second one came at Cavan.

Cavan tightened his hold on his sword and gulped as the figure danced closer, long knife held at eye height. He had seen the problems Eamon had – and he was no match for Eamon. Then the knife slashed at him and he parried desperately, backing away, trying to use the extra length of his sword to keep the figure at bay. But it seemed to dance around him, moving even faster than Eamon. The bodyguard had his own problems, battling someone just as quick as him and seemingly just as skilled. Eamon glanced over his shoulder then jumped away from his foe, attacking the one threatening Cavan. His sudden change surprised Cavan’s attacker and with a shout of triumph Eamon slashed at the figure’s chest. But, while the black cloth parted, there was no blood. Instead, it was as if Eamon had hit wood: his sword bounced away. Still, the force of the blow spun the attacker around and he used the opportunity to grab Cavan and back away towards the other side of the room.