The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (42 page)

Until Rosaleen called them all over urgently. “I think this is it,” she said.

“Can you get us in there?” he asked Padraig.

The old wizard ran his hands over the stones. “It is done beautifully, with great skill and power,” he whispered. “I feel that a door is there but cannot sense its outline.”

“I can,” Rosaleen said. “It stinks of dark magic and Zorva. Here, let me show you.” She ran her hands over the surface, the occasional intake of breath her only reaction, until she had marked out a rough door-shape.

“How can you sense that?” Padraig asked.

Wordlessly, Rosaleen held up her hands to reveal them. Even by the soft light of Fallon’s torch, all could see her hands were reddened and sore, as if she had clasped a pot of boiling water.

“Aroaril! Does the dark magic do that to you?” Gallagher asked, revolted.

Rosaleen nodded, then closed her eyes. The skin on her hands healed as they watched.

“Let’s see what I can do,” Padraig rumbled.

He placed his hands on the wall. Nothing seemed to happen, although they could hear his breathing getting heavier, as if he were running, while sweat began to appear on his face, running down his nose and dripping into his beard.

Fallon was about to tell him to stop, they would look elsewhere, when the stones of the wall made a deep grinding noise and slid aside, revealing a perfect doorway.

Padraig staggered and Fallon had to steady him. “Good work, old man,” he said.

“Bugger the praise. Give me some food and something to drink before I fall over,” Padraig snapped.

Wordlessly Gallagher handed him honey cakes, which Padraig stuffed into his mouth.

“Are you ready? Or do you need to wait here?” Fallon asked.

“I don’t like the dark. I’d rather come with you,” the wizard mumbled through a full mouth.

Fallon shrugged and stepped inside, the light from the end of his shillelagh lighting the way. He had expected the passageway to stink and probably be dripping with strange and foul liquids, but it was both dry and clean and all they could smell was a trace of spices.

“Someone’s been cooking for Kottermanis,” Devlin muttered.

Fallon signaled for quiet. Who knew how far noise would travel down there? The further they went, the more the back of his neck itched. The sound of music was faint but unmistakable now. There was something about it that set his teeth on edge – and a quick glance behind him showed that it was having the same effect on the others. It wasn’t just the alien tune, so different from the jigs he was used to, but more the tone of it. It sounded threatening, ominous even –
Or maybe that is just my imagination
, he admitted to himself.

The tension grew with every step but now there was another noise coming through the music, one that was even worse. Fallon finally stopped as it grew too much for him. He could swear it was a child crying.

“Can anyone else hear that?” he hissed.

“The crying child?” Rosaleen whispered back.

He nodded convulsively and they kept moving, unconsciously easing to the sides of the passageway. Fallon could feel his heart pounding and eased one hand down to the hilt of his knife. He held the shillelagh already but it felt too much like a torch and not enough like a weapon now.

“Smell that?” Devlin hissed in disgust.

Fallon was about to say he could smell nothing when it struck him and he recoiled in disgust. It was a sick, rotting smell that coated the back of his throat.

“It’s coming from down there.” Gallagher pointed to a crude doorway leading to a set of steps.

Fallon could feel a definite breeze coming up from below, bringing with it the stench of death. Something had died and was rotting down there, no question about it. They stood at the top, sleeves pressed over noses while he tried to decide what to do. The smell alone was enough to put him off, yet it also said that there was something down there they needed to see. It should have been an easy decision, except the sound of the crying child was getting louder, and it was coming from further down the passageway.

Far below there was the sound of a door slamming and then the breeze stopped, the stench dying away with it, until it was more of a taint than an attack on their noses.

“We leave it for now. Whatever is down there is not going anywhere. I have to find the child, if child it is,” Fallon said softly. “Gall, watch behind us in case anything comes up those stairs.”

Before any of them could say anything, he hurried on down the passage. In his mind were Cavan’s words about the gangs of child snatchers haunting Berry’s streets and he feared what they had discovered was that the children were being sacrificed to Zorva to bring power to Swane and his Fearpriest. The discovery of dead children under the castle would certainly bring an end to Swane and his schemes. But, tempting as that was, Fallon’s first duty was to the living.

Unconsciously he quickened his pace, wondering just how long these passages went for and where they might be within the castle now.

Then he turned a corner and stopped dead, brought up by a heavy iron door that barred the corridor. From the other side, the sound of music was louder, louder still if he pressed his ear to the cold metal. As was the crying of the child. In fact it sounded as if there were more than one now.

“How do we get it open?” He waved to Padraig as he looked it over, seeing neither handle or lock.

“It is sealed with dark magic. Yet this feels different. I fear that opening it will alert whoever is on the other side,” Rosaleen warned.

Beyond the door, the music seemed to swell to a climax, drowning out the crying child.

“Get it open. I think they are sacrificing children in there,” Fallon ordered.

“There’s only a few of us,” Gallagher warned softly. “And if we fall, what happens to the families?”

“I don’t care. I stood by tonight while a man was beaten almost to death and a woman raped. I will not stand and listen while a child is sacrificed to the Dark God,” Fallon snarled.

Padraig laid his hands on the door and took a deep breath. “Get ready with the food this time,” he instructed.

“Much more of this and you’ll turn into a honey cake,” Gallagher grumbled, but pulled a pair of them out anyway.

Once again nothing happened for what seemed like an age then, just as Fallon feared the old wizard was unable to do it, and the sweat was pouring off Padraig, the door groaned and swung open with a thunderous creak.

They all froze – except for Padraig, who grabbed the cakes from Gallagher and rammed them into his mouth.

Fallon stayed silent, hand held up. He could hear the hammering of his heart and was afraid that was the thing that could give them away. Yet the music was still playing, much louder than before, and slowly they all relaxed.

“Could you have made any more noise?” Devlin muttered.

Padraig looked outraged but his mouth was full of cake, so he was unable to reply.

Fallon looked around carefully. The passageway branched out here, going in two directions. Crying seemed to be coming from both of them and the music from only one and he hesitated.

Then the decision was taken out of his hands. The music stopped in a heartbeat, leaving merely the sound of crying children for a few moments – a noise drowned out by the pounding of feet on stone floors.

“Stay here!” Fallon turned left and raced down the first corridor, hoping he could find where the children were being held before Swane’s guards got there. But he had barely taken a dozen steps before a pair of burly soldiers tore around the corner, swords in hands. Fallon swung with the shillelagh, slamming the end into the first man’s nose, breaking it instantly and flipping the guard over backwards.

The second man hacked angrily at Fallon, who stepped back, the sword striking sparks from the wall, then he swung the shillelagh in a wide arc, making the guard back away from the flame still burning on its end. Stepping forwards, he cracked sword-hand knuckles with the other end and reversed it to bring the fiery end down on the guard’s bare head, spinning the man into a wall.

“Fallon!” Devlin bellowed, a huge sound for a short man, and Fallon abandoned his search for the children, instead racing back to see him, Brendan and Gallagher keeping four guards at bay.

Without slowing, Fallon drove his staff into the nearest guard’s kidneys, making the man arch his back in agony. Brendan swung his hammer in that moment of distraction, smashing the rib cage of another as if it were an egg, the crunching sound echoed by the noise as the guard hit the wall. The last two guards turned, unsure which threat to face first, only for Gallagher to hit one on the point of the jaw with the heavy pommel of his knife. Bone snapped like a twig and the man dropped instantly. As the last guard turned to run, Fallon cracked his shillelagh across the back of his head, sending him to the ground.

“What now?” Brendan asked.

Fallon desperately wanted to find those children and get them out. But it sounded like that was only the first wave of guards. Shouts and footfalls said a dozen or more men were running towards them. If one of them was a Fearpriest … He looked over his shoulder to where Padraig was leaning against the wall, his face grey and lined.

“Run. Back the way we came!” he ordered.

Brendan and Gallagher grabbed Padraig under the arms and hustled him along. Fallon waited for a few heartbeats and then raced off after them, keeping an eye over his shoulder.

“Wait!” Padraig dug in his heels.

“This is no time for sightseeing, you old fool,” Gallagher growled.

“The door, you idiot! I need to lock it!”

Fallon swung it shut, making even more noise this time, then Padraig pressed his head and hands against it.

“Better hurry,” Devlin warned, jiggling from foot to foot.

Padraig slumped down, just enough energy left to raise his head. “It is done,” he croaked.

Now Brendan and Gallagher had to hold him up for real, the sound of hammering against the door lending speed to their feet.

“Let’s move!” Fallon urged them on, making sure he stayed at the back, the light from the top of his shillelagh casting strange shadows as they ran.

Within a few paces the stench of rotting flesh was back with them and they could feel anew a breeze coming up from the stairs now ahead of them. Instantly Fallon lengthened his stride, going past Brendan and Gallagher.

It was just in time, for a trio of guards emerged at the top of the stairs, blades in hands. Once again the flame on the end of the shillelagh came in useful as he swung it at their faces, stopping them in their tracks. One cut angrily at the staff but it was easy for Fallon to ram one end into that man’s groin and then the other into the throat of the guard behind. The first guard fell forwards, the second backwards, knocking the third down the stairs at the same time. Devlin made sure of the first man with a huge kick that snapped the guard’s head back.

“Keep going! Help Rosaleen,” Fallon ordered.

He brought up the rear, backing away quickly, as metallic thuds sounded down the passageway.

“They must be trying to break through the door,” Devlin said.

Fallon looked at him. “And you stayed behind against my order to tell me that?”

“They’re fine. But I don’t want to be the one who has to explain to Kerrin why his dad isn’t coming home,” Devlin said.

Fallon hesitated for a moment, then patted his friend on the shoulder. “Then let’s be away before they get through.”

“Did we find out enough to come back with the King and his guards?” Devlin asked, having to run twice as fast to keep up with Fallon.

“I bloody hope so,” Fallon replied.

“We can see land and there’s been no sign of our men. What are we going to do now?”

Bridgit thought that was a very good question. However, she didn’t have an answer to it. She had suggested to Prince Kemal the women and children be allowed out on deck in small groups, letting them feel the sun. They were eating but might sicken without fresh air. Since all were now putting on weight, he had agreed. What had begun as a treat had become a daily occurrence as the voyage wore on. It made everyone feel better but it also showed there was no other ship within sight – and now the coastline of Kotterman was close enough to see. Even the weather had changed. All could feel the heat in the sun when they went outside and they were torn between being happy to come back into the cooler darkness below decks and sick of the stuffy air in their large prison.

She should have guessed it was only a matter of time before someone began to question what was happening but she knew she could not show doubt, or weakness. “Nothing has changed,” she said forcefully. “We have to believe they are coming for us, still searching for a way to get us back.”

“But what if that is not true?”

“What do you want to do? Throw yourself over the side of the ship? Slit your children’s throats or smother them in the night? Give up, when they could be just over the horizon? We have to stay strong for the children. We have to hold to hope, for without it there is just madness.”

She strode along the lines of women and children, looking into faces and hoping they were listening to her. “Do not let them win. Do not let them break you. Stay true to who you are inside. We will be told to cook and clean and work for our lives. So what? We work like that every day. I wager these days of sailing are the first time any of us have not had to work for our food since we began walking.” That drew a few rueful smiles and she breathed a little easier. “So we keep our heads down, we do what they tell us and we keep our wits about us.”

“What about the children?”

“Those old enough will work, as they should. The young ones will be cared for. I promise you that. I will make sure of it,” she said, not knowing if that could be fulfilled.

She could see that went down nowhere near as well as her earlier comments, but what else could she say? She looked over at Riona and Nola, who gave her an encouraging nod but no more. Both of them were worried about their young children. Bridgit took a deep breath. For once, her fears had faces and names and she could argue with them. She was not entirely sure why, but that made things easier. Of course, she would have given anything to be back in Baltimore with Kerrin and Fallon. The thought of holding them again was all that kept her going.

She was saved from making any more arguments by the arrival of a pair of Kottermanis.

“Prince Kemal will see you now,” one said flatly.

Bridgit smiled and nodded, refusing to let them see she was worried. In the last day or so, she had been thinking about the Prince’s threat to use rape to break the spirits of both the men and women of the village. But she feared that would break more than their spirits: it would destroy many of them. Throwing themselves over the side might indeed be a better option. She had to find another way, one that would protect the children and the mothers.

“Will you tell us a story when you get back?” Riona’s Will asked as she walked past.

“Of course,” she said with a smile, then her confident step faltered as her mind leaped ahead. That could be the answer …

“Hurry!” one of the Kottermanis snapped.

“I’ll be there. Calm down,” she said, picking up the pace again, her mind racing.

Prince Kemal was waiting in his usual place at the stern, under the awning. She wondered if he spent all his time there or if he only came out when he had business to attend to.

“Tomorrow morning we dock in Kotterman. You will be allowed to rest and recover from the voyage then you will be sent to the slave markets of Adana and, from there, anywhere within the Empire,” he said as soon as she had been brought before him.

“I ask that we be kept together. If there is work to be done in your fields, then we can all do it together. We will be far more useful that way,” she said immediately.

Kemal’s face twitched. “And you think that will also make it easier when your husband and his friends arrive to rescue you?”

Bridgit pushed her shoulders back. “You can smile behind my back all you like but underestimate Fallon at your peril. He will not rest until we are back.”

Kemal shook his head gently. “He is not my concern. You, on the other hand, are. Within a quarter-moon I must sail back to your land to meet with the leaders there on behalf of my father. I will also be collecting more slaves that they have prepared for me. You are about to become lost in the Kotterman Empire. You have helped me in keeping a valuable cargo alive and healthy. I want to –”

“Take us back with you,” Bridgit interrupted. “Just drop us back anywhere in Gaelland and I’ll see to it that you are not harmed by anyone. We will call this a mistake and be done with it.”

She sensed men moving in on either side of her but Kemal held up his hand and they stepped back. “That is what I am talking about. Interrupting a Kottermani, let alone a Prince, will earn you a flogging, or worse. You are now objects, like a herd of cattle. You need to convince your people of this. Or my slave master will show them the truth and, I promise you, they will not find it to their liking. One of your people will be singled out as an example and what is done to them will never be forgotten.”

Bridgit was surprised by the surge of anger that roared through her. “Do you see
me
as one of your slave masters, able to control my people?” she snapped.

“No, I see you as a way of keeping as many of your people alive as possible. Whatever our differences, I think we have common ground there.”

“You would still do better to let us go,” Bridgit said.

Kemal shook his head. “That was slightly amusing before but now, in the shadow of my father’s home, it is foolishness. There is nothing your husband can do to me. You would do better to forget about him; it will be easier on you in the long run. Now, go and tell your people what must happen tomorrow.”

Bridgit opened her mouth to say more but strong hands took her elbows and she was turned and forced to walk away.
If Fallon doesn’t make you eat those words, by Aroaril I swear I will,
she thought furiously. She surprised herself with the depth of her determination.
I will get everyone home, one way or another.