The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (51 page)

“Can you not stop this, let us keep our children?” one of the women cried, then all of them were looking at her desperately.

“I told you what would happen. I will not lie to you. I will keep your children safe and well. And believe me, if Fallon is not here within a moon, I will get us out. Trust me,” she vowed. “I have led you safely this far; I swear I will get you home.”

She could see few were happy with this but any dissension was stopped by screams of pain coming from outside.

“Get the children out. And then let the slaves see what is happening, one small group at a time,” Gokmen ordered.

Instantly the women clutched at their children and Bridgit had to shout to talk to them. “Don’t make this worse for them! Pretend it is a game. You will see them again in a few days!” she cried.

Some of the women were almost inconsolable and Bridgit felt terrible, prising children out of their arms. She knew if the positions had been reversed and someone had wanted to take Kerrin from her, she would have fought tooth and nail. Worst of all were the nursing mothers. She had to be gentle but firm with the likes of Ena, then see that their babies were carried by the older girls.

“Do you want the Kottermanis to take them from you forever? Don’t upset the children,” she urged them, hating herself as she did it, yet knowing it was the only way.

The screaming from outside, which was getting worse, not better, strangely made it easier. All knew what the stakes were.

With Nola and Riona’s help, they got the children ready, the bigger ones holding the little ones’ hands, and then began to walk out. Bridgit glanced over to see Ahearn and the other men watching her, their faces grim.

“Stay alive. I shall get us out of here,” she called quietly. “For Sean and Seamus, if nothing else.”

None said anything and she wondered if she had lost them. The two cousins were glaring hatred at her, their eyes vicious even as they cowered at the back of the cell. Had she done the right thing? But then she reminded herself that she had saved the lives of at least two children by her actions and her back straightened.

“Don’t look at what is going on outside,” she told the children. “Just look at the city, nothing else.”

She was met at the entrance to their prison by a young woman, who did not look like a Kottermani but certainly wasn’t Gaelish either. She looked like a mix of both, with dark hair, darker skin and brown eyes but Gaelish features.

“I am Ely,” she said. “I am here to help you. I know Adana and I can speak both your language and Kottermani. Prince Kemal and Lord Gokmen told me to speak for you, when you need to understand the guards.”

Bridgit looked at the young woman, but couldn’t tell if she was going to be a friend or foe. Regardless, she wasn’t going to let anyone stop her. “Then you had better lead us to our new home,” she said briskly.

Ely nodded and gestured for them to follow. Bridgit did so, terrified of what she would see as she led the column of children out – but it was worse than she imagined.

Sean and Seamus had been stripped naked and staked out on the ground under the blazing sun. They were screaming with fear and pain. That was bad enough, although she could not see where they had been hurt – and then realized that they were crying tears of blood. With a shudder and a horrified realization that made her want to vomit, she saw their eyelids had been cut away so they could not close their eyes against the glare. Their eyes would burn and their bodies wither as they roasted slowly to death.

“Don’t look! Sing a song!” she cried.

As the children began singing, she fought back tears. She had done this to those men and suddenly the bargain to keep the children alive did not seem like such a good one. With a desperate longing, she wanted to go home. Worrying about Kerrin’s health and what Padraig were getting up to, which had consumed her thoughts for years, suddenly seemed like nothing compared to the problem of keeping these people alive.

I have to get these people home
, she told herself.
Now I really have to
. It was not enough to wait for Fallon now. She had to make up for this, prove that she was worthy of the trust her people had put in her.

Fallon decided there was no point in being subtle about it. He raided the castle stores and equipped every one of his men with thick leather armor jerkins, which would stop most knife thrusts, as well as swords and crossbows. Thanks to Kerrin they had all been practicing regularly and, while they were not as good as him, they were all quite handy.

“Can I come, Dad? I’m a better shot than the rest of them,” Kerrin said.

“I know you are, son. But it is likely to be dangerous. Far better to stay on the ship,” Fallon insisted.

He left Kerrin and Caley there with Devlin and twenty of the men, leaving him more than eighty to take along to the Guildhouse.

“You don’t think this is too much?” Cavan asked with amusement. “They would only have a dozen Bruisers, no more.”

“I am taking no chances. Who knows what we will find there?” Fallon replied. “When we get there, we’ll have Gallagher seal the front door with twenty men, then the rest of us will go inside. That way we know we have a safe way out. If anything goes wrong, we meet back at the ship.”

“This is a Guild you are talking about,” Cavan reminded him. “They do business there. They are not going to want to start a war.”

“But I might,” Fallon said.

He had Gallagher lead the way with a dozen men, while others watched the side streets. Murphy, brought off the ship, followed way behind with orders to run for Captain Kelty if things got really bad. Shoppers and beggars and wanderers alike scattered as they advanced.

“They will know we are coming this way,” Cavan said.

“Good. I want them to be afraid,” Fallon replied absently, trying to scan the rooftops.

But nothing attacked them and nobody tried to stop them. Until they got to the Guildhouse. The Moneylenders had bought a whole square; the houses all faced their main building, a beautiful three-story structure faced with white stone and proclaiming to all who saw it that those inside had bags of money.

Normally it was a bustling place of business. But today the square was deserted and their footsteps echoed hollowly on the cobbles. Fallon marched them into the center of the square but stopped there.

“This doesn’t look good,” he muttered.

“You don’t like the white stone facing? Too showy?” Cavan suggested.

Fallon looked at the Prince for a long moment, then shook his head and laughed. “Highness, I think you’ve been spending too much time with Gallagher.”

“Well, you could be right there,” Cavan admitted. “Shall we see if they are home?”

Fallon threw back his head. “Guildmaster Allen! Crown Prince Cavan is here! Come out now and show him respect!” he bellowed.

His voice bounced off the walls and rooftops and scared a score of birds into flight from beneath the eaves. It died away to nothingness then, into the silence, all heard the snap of the lock and the creak of the door as the Guildhouse opened and Guildmaster Allen walked out, shadowed by a giant of a man. He was so big he made Allen look like a small boy, so big he looked deformed. Yet none of them looked at him. Because right behind him came Prince Swane.

The three of them stopped just outside the door, in a little group, making no threatening moves, but Fallon was not about to wait.

“Defensive circle! Second line, watch those rooftops! Leave that bog-rutting Prince Swane to me! If he comes over here I’ll put a bolt through his bogging eye!” he roared.

The villagers snapped into a rough circle of two lines, the first line down on one knee, crossbows pointed out, the second line aiming their crossbows at windows and rooftops.

“Sing out the moment you see anything,” Fallon shouted, then stepped closer to Cavan.

“Do you want me to take a shot now, highness?” he whispered.

Cavan held up a hand. “Wait,” he said. “Let us see what the trap is, first.”

“Play for time,” Fallon said. “I had Murphy trail us. That’s why I yelled out your brother’s name. Murphy’ll be haring back to get Captain Kelty and your father, armed with your brass seal. We just need to hold off whatever Swane has planned until then.”

Once the echoes of Fallon’s shouts had died away and the square had returned to eerie silence, Swane stepped forwards.

“My dear brother, this feud of ours needs to end,” he said, his voice carrying easily to them.

Fallon stared at Swane, picking out where he would like to send a quarrel. The Prince seemed to have changed yet again. Now the resemblance to Cavan was strong. There was something about the mouth and eyes that was twisted but his hair and even his stance were all now like his older brother’s. It had to be some sort of magic.

“I agree completely!” Cavan called back. “All you need to do is renounce Zorva and tell my father everything you have been doing, then return all the people you stole!”

Swane laughed lightly. “Ah brother, I am going to miss you,” he said fondly. “I have a better suggestion. How about our two champions fight bare-knuckled? Your best man against my man Donal here? Hand to hand, the best of three knockdowns? The loser leaves Gaelland and never comes back?”

“Don’t do it. It’s a trap,” Fallon muttered.

“And what if I decline your offer?” Cavan called.

“Then we do it the old-fashioned way,” Swane replied and clapped his hands over his head.

Doors opened all over the square and men filed out of the houses. Men who made no move towards the circle of defenders but who nevertheless looked ominously threatening.

“Aroaril above, they must have every Bruiser from every Guild in the city there,” Fallon muttered, counting quickly. And it seemed that rumor about the city’s thieves being in the pay of the Guilds was also true as, it looked as though every thief in Berry was there as well. There were few swords but plenty of other weapons, from axes to knives to shillelaghs. There were several hundred of them, enough to fill the square four-deep around the villagers.

“We still have the crossbows. We can punch a hole in the ones behind us and then run for it,” Fallon said. But, even as he looked, he could see more filling the one street out.

“I can take that big lump,” Brendan said into the silence.

They looked at him. “He’s a head taller and his arms are as thick as your legs,” Fallon warned. “And he does this for a living. You hate to hurt people.”

Brendan smiled mirthlessly. “I want to fight them. I want to ram my fist into that bastard Swane’s grinning face. Besides, we need to buy ourselves some time so Murphy can get back here.”

Cavan nodded. “That is true. It is some distance from the castle and Captain Kelty will need time to muster the guard.”

“We can take our chances with the crossbows against those gutter scum,” Fallon said. “I don’t want you to fight that monster, my friend.”

Brendan shook his head. “You forget: you’re not the only one who’s angry and hurting. I’ll sit that fat bastard on his arse and then Murphy will be back here with Kelty and the cavalry.”

“Are you sure?” Cavan asked.

“Aye, highness,” Brendan agreed, rolling his shoulders.

“Don’t, highness,” Fallon begged.

But Cavan stepped away. “A fist fight and the loser walks away?”

“Agreed!” Swane called back.

“Then our champions shall fight!” Cavan cried.

“Excellent! Best of three knockdowns.” Swane patted the huge Donal on the elbow and the monster lumbered forwards.

Brendan stepped out of the circle to meet him but, to Fallon’s eyes, the big smith suddenly looked the size of Devlin against the sheer bulk of Donal. The Bruiser wore a rough yellow tunic that had the sleeves ripped off, revealing a pair of massive arms twisted with muscle. His chest strained at the tunic but, while he was solid around the waist, he did not look fat. No doubt he was the most successful Bruiser the Guild had. Fallon certainly would have paid up had he turned up on his doorstep. Brendan was also thick through the waist but Fallon knew he was fast – he had to be, to deal with hot iron and angry horses.

“Begin!” Swane shouted and Donal advanced swiftly, swinging his arms rapidly.

Any one of the blows would have knocked a smaller man to the ground had they landed but Brendan circled around, trying to play for time.

The villagers began to cheer for Brendan but the Bruisers and thieves watching around the outside of the square waited in silence.

Fallon tried not to look at the fistfight and instead scanned the area, looking for a weak spot. The street out of there was packed with men and looked like a death-trap. He looked around again and nodded to himself. There was his answer. The Guildhouse itself. The one building that had held no Bruisers or thieves.

Then a roar from the fight made him turn, heart in his mouth.

Brendan felt he had the measure of Donal now. He was imagining this was the very man who had taken Nola and his girls and that was more than enough to block out any fear. The big Bruiser had flat, cold eyes, high cheekbones and an unshaven chin. His nose had been broken some time in the past and his cheeks and forehead were scarred, indicating he could be hurt. But the sneer on his face said he had never lost. Yet.

Brendan had not been lying when he told Fallon he wanted revenge. He ducked another windmill blow from Donal and darted in to slam his fist into the man’s stomach.

He grinned as he felt it go home, expecting to see Donal collapse, the wind knocked out of him by that punch, driven by muscles that could hold a heavy hammer all day.

But the monster Bruiser shrugged off the strike with a backwards pace and then swung himself, a heavy overhand blow.

Brendan was stunned that he had not felled Donal and knew he was too slow to get away. He covered up as best he could, taking the blow on his crossed forearms but, even so, the power shocked him. He staggered back, knowing that he could not take one of those to the head and hope to stay conscious.

Donal did not give him time to recover and get feeling back into his forearms, however, switching his technique and stringing together a series of furious straight punches. Brendan ducked his head, feeling one just clip his right ear and make it hum with pain. He flicked another over his shoulder and stepped forwards himself, thumping his left fist into Donal’s ribs. He struck once then twice, expecting to feel a rib or two give way, yet the big Bruiser merely grunted and swung a vicious right hook.

Brendan jerked his head back but it still clipped his left cheek and sent him tumbling backwards to land on the ground.

“Once down!” he heard Swane shout triumphantly, and he rolled to his feet cursing. He could feel his cheek swelling and threatening to close his eye, while pain pulsed from his bruised ear and cheekbone. He spat blood onto the cobbles – his teeth had cut the inside of his cheek – and advanced again. The anger was fierce within him now and he wanted to tear this bastard apart.

Donal beckoned him onwards and he advanced grimly, yet carefully. Every moment he let the fight go on gave Murphy that much more time to get back to the castle and bring Kelty and his guards. He knew it, yet he wanted to finish this Zorva-loving prick off. He danced aside from a huge uppercut, which would have broken his jaw had it landed, just as he would dodge a kick from an angry horse. He jabbed into the monster’s face, rocking Donal’s head back, then unleashed a right hook and a straight left, one designed to break the nose, the other the jaw. Both punches struck home and he felt the shock all the way up to his shoulders. He expected to see blood and bone burst from the man’s face – yet hardly anything happened. A trickle of blood oozed out of Donal’s nose and a red patch appeared on his jaw, yet the man was not down, nor was he out. Brendan could not believe it. Any normal man would have been unconscious from either of those blows yet this one was unmoved.

Once again he was slow to back away, so he was barely able to block the hook into the ribs that came from Donal. He gasped, fighting for breath, his left arm now feeling numb for taking some of the impact, then the follow-up blow caught him on the other side and he went down again, winded.

“That’s two – just one more!” Swane gloated.

Brendan came to one knee and fought for breath, watching his expressionless opponent. There was no way Donal could have taken those two blows. There must be some evil magic at work here, protecting his body. Ideally he would get Sister Rosaleen to do something similar for him, or at least take away Donal’s protection. But he did not know if she could do that and doubted he would be given the chance anyway. But maybe there was a way around it. He slipped his right hand into his belt pouch and pulled out his secret weapon. It was an old, bent, twisted horseshoe which fitted across the back of his knuckles.

He surged to his feet, shaking feeling back into his arms, and advanced once more.

“This one breaks your neck,” Donal promised him.

Brendan ignored that and forced his legs to keep moving. All those long days at the forge came back to help him then, as well as the memory of looking into his house to see his family gone. He refused to let his body betray him.

He swayed back from an uppercut, flicked a straight left over his shoulder and then ducked under a hook. Only this time he stayed low and drove his right fist at Donal’s left knee. The iron-clad fist crashed home and now he felt something buckle, heard bone crack, and rejoiced in Donal’s cry of pain.

He took a thump on the back that nearly drove him to the ground again but he stayed on his feet and circled away, seeing his opponent back away for the first time, dragging his ruined left leg.

“My turn now,” Brendan said, stretching bruised muscles. He raced in too fast for Donal to react properly and waited for a punch to go past him before smashing his iron-shod right hand into the Bruiser’s right knee. He felt the kneecap pop away under the blow and then the monster Bruiser was down on the cobbles, writhing in agony.

“That’s only one but I don’t think he’ll be getting up,” Brendan told Swane.

Fallon did not cheer with the rest of them when the big Bruiser went down.

“Forwards! To Brendan!” he ordered, rushing the tight group of villagers up to the smith, engulfing him in their safety before Swane could do anything, and incidentally moving them ten yards closer to the Guildhouse.