The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (37 page)

Kerrin wanted Mam to climb into bed with him, stroke his hair and whisper in his ear that everything was all right. But she wasn’t there. She might not ever be back. That thought made him feel sick and he punched the bed angrily. Why couldn’t he have saved her? Why couldn’t he learn how to use a sword? Why did he have to be so useless? He knew he wasn’t as fast or as strong as the other boys in the village. When Dad looked at him with that disappointed expression he wanted to run away and not stop. He did not know how to make him happy and it added to the sadness that he carried around in his chest like a huge stone. He wanted to joke and riddle with Dad, he wanted him to smile at him, but he didn’t know how to make it happen. He was always so busy and angry.

Caley gave him a lick and he lay down with her. He didn’t know what he would have done without that dog. He hoped he would not have bad dreams again that night. If they came, he was scared to tell his father, in case he shouted at him again.

“Where are you, Mam? Please come back to me,” he whispered into the night.

Fallon was woken by what sounded like a battle going on. He was out of bed a heartbeat later and raced out, sword in one hand, shillelagh in the other, to see Brendan confronted by a pair of scared-looking servants.

“What in Aroaril’s name is going on?” he demanded, blinking sleep out of his eyes. He had been woken by Kerrin crying in his sleep, but the boy had not come over and he had not wanted to go and see what was happening. Perhaps he was learning to deal with the bad dreams on his own.

“These bastards wanted to grab me!” Brendan said indignantly.

“What?” Fallon demanded.

“We were just asked to measure you up for new clothes,” one of the servants squeaked.

Fallon stared at them suspiciously, until Cavan walked out.

“Ah, here already! Excellent!” the Prince said. “They need to measure all of you. It is not enough to merely
be
my guards. You have to
look
like them.”

Everyone needed several new pairs of tunics and trews, as well as surcoats. And then there were the weapons, swords and knives from the castle armory, which even Brendan had to grudgingly admit were made well. Of course their decoration was far above what he considered necessary. “They look prettier but the old ones would kill just as quickly,” he said.

As for him, he insisted on keeping his old hammer and no servant dared touch it.

And the whole time servants arrived with food for them. Even Kerrin seemed happy, sampling all sorts of things on the plates.

“Highness, is it usual to have so many servants running in and out of here? What if some of them are in the pay of your brother?” Fallon asked, watching perspiring men arrive with platters.

“Normally we would not do this. But I will need to present you to my father this afternoon and we still have much to do,” Cavan replied absently.

“Really? What more? Surely I just walk in and bow, then walk out again. He’s not going to want to talk to me,” Fallon said with a smile.

“It’s not that easy,” Cavan said. “You have to understand what is going on in the court. Sit down.”

Fallon stopped for a moment to grab Kerrin. “Go and see Padraig and Rosaleen. Tell them to keep an eye on you – and an eye on those servants. I reckon at least a few of them are spies for Prince Swane. Tell them that, understand?”

“Are they dangerous?” Kerrin asked, his eyes troubled.

“Not to us. Besides, Caley will bark if one of them is Kottermani,” Fallon said, putting his arm around his son’s shoulders. “You are safe. Understand? Now, don’t let me down.”

He saw his son’s face fall, then he nodded. “Aye, Dad.”

Fallon wondered what he had said wrong, but his attention was grabbed by the Prince.

“Fallon, this is important,” Cavan said gravely, showing him into his personal room and shutting the door, so they were alone. Fallon looked around Cavan’s bedchamber with interest. It was richly appointed, as he expected, but there was little softness. It was strange but he got the feeling that the prince had never entertained women there. The Crown Prince should have been fighting off the court ladies with a stick, or at least making them form an orderly queue.

“What I am about to say must not leave this room. But you need to know it in order to do your job,” Cavan said heavily.

“Go ahead,” Fallon said warily.

“My father is quite mad. Some days he seems normal but others he will lose his temper for no reason. And, when that happens, people can die. He will happily order someone’s head to be taken or for them to be flogged to death. I have known him all my life and can never predict it. One moment he can be fine, the next he flips over into madness. And he can never be contradicted. Once he says something, to question it is to doom yourself. But you must give no sign that any of this is remarkable. He will often ask if an idea of his is brilliant. You must say it is, or pay the penalty, even if it is the most foolish thing you have heard. He will also tell strange stories, things he has done and seen. Some of those will be true; some will seem ridiculous. If he laughs at the end, that is the signal it is a joke and you must also laugh, as hard as you can. Yet if it sounds funny and he looks serious, then you must treat it as though it were a sermon from a priest of Aroaril. Take your lead from me. Mirror my reaction and you shall be safe.”

Fallon felt his mouth sag open. “And the nobles, they let all this go on, act as if it is normal?”

“Of course. For that is the only way to survive.”

Fallon shook his head in disbelief. The kingdom rested on this? How in Aroaril’s name was he to persuade the King of the threat from Kotterman if the man was mad?

“Be very careful of the nobles. Naturally all of them are rich beyond the dreams of ordinary men but that is not enough for them. It is never enough. They are always looking for advantage, seeking new lands, new licenses for tax or trade, dispensation from levies or just the chance to deny all of that to one of their enemies. None of them have friends: they always seek to advance themselves and their counties, while pushing down others. They will do or say whatever they think will please the King and care nothing for what it might do to their people. All that matters is making themselves or their families richer.”

“And they are all like that?” Fallon asked in disbelief.

“Every single one. The Duke of Lunster was one of the better ones, but still he played the game like the others.”

Fallon sighed. No wonder the country was ripe for attack from raiders. The whole place seemed rotten.

“There are two others you must watch out for. The first is Kelty, the captain of my father’s guards. He will be suspicious of you and see you as a threat. The other is Regan, my father’s chamberlain and the man who keeps the country running. He will see you as an annoyance. You must impress both of them, or they can poison my father towards you.”

“But you are his son, will he not believe you?”

Cavan laughed bitterly. “Sadly, no.”

“So what should I do?”

“Agree with everything they say. Make it look as if you are a simple man. On no account mention anything about Kotterman or your suspicions.”

Fallon rubbed his face. “This sounds like it will be harder than I imagined.”

“That is the other thing. You keep forgetting to call me by my title. When we are alone I do not care but you must remember everyone’s titles. Fail to call my father ‘your majesty’ at any time and you will lose your head.”

“And what about Swane? Where does he fit into all this?”

Cavan’s face twisted at the mention of his brother’s name. “He is at the heart of the madness, and yet apart from it as well,” he admitted. “Once he was rarely seen in the throne room, but of late he has been not only taking his place there but trying to exercise his power. So far my father has been reluctant to take action against him without proper evidence but I hope I can convince him otherwise.”

“It all sounds more dangerous than sailing to Kotterman,” Fallon said seriously.

“You may be right.”

“Then the faster you become King, the better,” Fallon said. There was a bad taste in his mouth. All these years he had thought the nobility knew what they were doing, that there were wiser heads than his ruling, and yet they were not only fools but dangerous fools.

Cavan grabbed his arm. “For Aroaril’s sake don’t ever say that again out aloud, or your head will decorate the castle wall.”

Fallon was saved from a reply by a thunderous knock. He had the door open in a flash to see Rosaleen there, her face white.

“What is it?” he demanded, his heart pounding faster. “Is Kerrin safe?”

“I can feel agents of the Dark God here, at least two of them,” she whispered. “They must be hidden among the servants.”

Fallon spun back to Cavan. “Stay here, highness,” he ordered, then slipped out and shut the door before the prince could object. He grabbed his shillelagh, then put Brendan and a pair of men in front of the Prince’s door with orders not to open it to or move for anyone, then found Gallagher and another pair of other men.

“No blood is to be spilled. We need to talk to these spies that Swane has sent among us,” he ordered softly, then gestured to Rosaleen. “Describe them and we’ll go and get them.”

Rosaleen shook her head. “I have to see them.”

Fallon cursed but one look at her face told him there was no way around it. “Fine. But it has to be fast. I don’t want them alarmed. And stay close, I don’t want one of them sticking a knife in you.”

They eased out into the main corridor, which had several servants bustling in and out of rooms. All looked ordinary. Fallon stared into faces but could see nothing to alert him.

“They’re in there,” Rosaleen said, pointing past his shoulder and down the corridor, towards one of the big rooms that had been opened up for the villagers.

Fallon turned his head to tell the others what he planned to do but, before he could open his mouth, a pair of men broke from the room and sprinted towards where the new main door stood open.

“Stop!” Gallagher shouted and Fallon broke into a run.

But the pair had a head start and there was only one villager watching the main door. Devlin turned, a knife in his hand, but both the servants also produced knives from underneath their tunics and raced at him.

Fallon saw instantly he wasn’t going to catch them in time and Devlin was not going to be able to stop Swane’s men without taking at least one knife wound. Even as he thought that, he put in an extra half-pace then swiveled, bringing up his shillelagh and hurling it at their legs. It spun down the corridor, flicking end over end, and tumbled into the legs of one of the running men, bringing him down in a tangle, his fall making the other man stagger and bounce off the wall as he tried to keep his balance.

Devlin saw his opportunity and pounced. Swane’s servant pushed himself off the wall and aimed a weak thrust at Devlin’s face, but the farmer blocked the knife hand with his forearm and then swung his own knife in a short arc, slamming the pommel into the servant’s jaw. The man went over backwards and dropped on top of his accomplice, who was untangling himself from the staff and trying to get up.

By the time he threw off his unconscious friend, Fallon and Gallagher were there to grab his arms and slam him into the wall.

“What’s happening?” Devlin asked.

“They overcooked the beef and got angry when we complained,” Gallagher said.

Fallon glanced at Devlin and could not see even the trace of a smile. “Rosaleen saw they are agents of Zorva, working for Swane.” He grunted as the man surged forwards and he and Gallagher slammed him back into the wall again.

“Need a hand?” Devlin asked.

“Keep watching the door – and well done,” Fallon said, then gestured with his head towards the other two villagers and the man Devlin had stunned. “We’ll see what answers we can get.”

He had both servants tied to chairs, even the unconscious one, before he was willing to let Cavan out of his room. Even then he made sure Brendan was standing between the prince and his brother’s agents.

Cavan was grim-faced when he came out of his room and his eyes widened when he saw the men tied onto chairs around the table where he would normally eat.

“Thank Aroaril we got rid of all the Kottermani furniture. I don’t think I could have stood to see it treated like this,” he said with a wink.

“Aye. Well, who knows how many of these bastards have slipped in here over the last day,” Fallon said. “But we’ll keep a much closer eye on them now.”

Cavan smiled and then leaned up against the wall where he could see the men but they had to crane their necks to look at him. “Do you want to tell us what you were doing here?” he asked.

“Bringing you food, until these fools attacked us for no reason. Highness, let us go and we shall say no more. But if your man keeps us here much longer, we shall be missed and then Regan will come looking for us, demanding answers,” the man said gently, his eyes locked on the table.

“A simple servant, eh?” Fallon sneered. “Then why did you carry knives and attack my guards?”

“I don’t know of what you speak,” the man said.

Fallon looked at the prince and rubbed his jaw. “Highness, I don’t know what will loosen his tongue. I fear even a beating would not bring us any joy. But I have an idea for the other.” He pointed to where the second man hung limply in the chair, head lolling back and a big bruise beginning to flower along his jaw.

“I doubt he will say anything,” Cavan said.

“Trust me, highness.”

He looked at the Prince, who smiled. “Then let’s see what you can do.”

Fallon sighed with relief. “Take the talking one out of here,” he ordered. “Keep him silent.”

Gallagher and another villager took hold of the chair and dragged the astonished servant back out into the corridor. He opened his mouth to yell, only to have a balled-up scarf stuck in there.

Before the door was even shut, Fallon had begun untying the unconscious man.

“Everyone stand behind him, where he can’t see,” he ordered, then dumped a cup of water into his face, following it up with a quick, sharp slap.