The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (52 page)

“Rest, my friend, you’ve done your part,” he said, patting the big smith on the shoulder. “Get the good Sister to look at you.”

“I’ll be fine. Just give me my hammer,” Brendan said.

“What now, highness?” Fallon asked Cavan.

“We see if my brother keeps his promises,” Cavan said lightly. “Brother! Your champion is down! I call on you to keep your word and leave this country now.”

Fallon looked at Swane and the Prince shrugged. “That was a good fight,” he said conversationally. “Your man fought well and it almost seems a shame to say I never had any intention of walking away. Not from here. I suppose we
shall
have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

And, saying that, he raised his hands into the air.

Instantly the massed Bruisers and thieves that ringed the square came to life, racing towards the huddle of villagers. Yet still they did not shout or even make a noise beyond the slap of boots on cobbles. It was eerie and sent a shiver up Fallon’s spine. He could not let on how much it was affecting him, though, in case the villagers saw it. He could sense the only thing holding them together was their trust in him and his apparent confidence.

He reacted swiftly, aiming and loosing at Swane. For a moment he exulted in thinking the bastard was dead but the bolt flicked upwards at the last moment to miss. He stared in shock but could not spare any time to wonder about it.

“Front rank aim low! And loose! Reload!” Fallon shouted. “Rear rank. Aim at their balls! And loose!”

Crossbow quarrels hissed out from the ring of villagers to strike home and throw men backwards in sprays of blood. Now they did make sounds – screams of pain and howls of agony, which made it worse, somehow. The two volleys punched holes in the mass of Bruisers and thieves but there were hundreds more coming and they just clambered over the bodies and raced forwards, knives and axes in their hands. Fallon reloaded frantically, as did all the villagers.

“Follow me!” Fallon again leveled his own crossbow at Swane but the Prince and the Guildmaster melted away, racing off to the left. “To the Guildhouse! We’ll get in there and bar the doors!” Fallon roared. “Reload!”

The villagers needed no second bidding and ran for the Guildhouse. Brendan paused, however, by the still-writhing Donal. His heavy hammer rose and fell and blood and brains sprayed across the cobbles.

“Brendan! The doors!” Fallon bellowed. “Two lines in front, ready to loose again!”

The ring of attackers was closing, now just twenty yards away and coming on fast. Sister Rosaleen was praying loudly while Padraig, more usefully, pointed to their left and the attackers there slipped and stumbled on cobbles made treacherous as ice. Fallon ordered two more volleys loosed into them, the stubby, brutal bolts causing carnage among the unarmored Bruisers and thieves. Even a hit in the leg was enough to send one flying, which slowed down the others behind. Yet, frighteningly, none of them hesitated or drew back in the face of that defence. They showed no fear, even as the men in front of them had their chests, throats, faces and heads ripped apart by the heavy bolts.

“Reload!” Fallon yelled. He lined his own crossbow up on a running Bruiser in the red colors of the Guild of Bankers and loosed, watching the quarrel thump into the man’s chest, pick him up and drop him on his back, a hole the size of a fist where his heart had been.

“Brendan! Those doors!” he shouted as he hauled back on the crossbow string like his life depended on it.

Brendan struck once, twice, then a third time with his huge hammer. The doors shivered then the locking bar split under the assault and the doors were flung open. Fallon jerked his crossbow around in case a fresh flood of Bruisers came pouring out but it was dark and quiet inside.

“Get in!” He shoved men inside, making sure he kept an eye on the Prince. “If you’re loaded, loose!”

A handful of crossbow bolts punched out but it was not enough to stop the angry wave about to engulf them.

“Inside!” Fallon slapped a bolt into the channel of his crossbow and sent it into the head of a thief, only five paces away. The man’s head exploded, spraying those behind with brains, while his body brought down a pair running behind.

“Fallon!” he heard Prince Cavan cry.

Fallon glanced left and right and saw his men were all in, so raced after them, ducking to the left to clear the way so others could loose at anyone following.

Gallagher and Brendan slammed the heavy doors shut from either side, then Prince Cavan rammed a flagpole down to replace the broken locking bar. A moment later the doors shivered as the angry mob hit them.

“That was too close,” Gallagher said.

“And it’s not over yet.” Fallon looked around, to see they were in a huge, echoing chamber with marble floors and a long wooden counter. Fine lounges and chairs were scattered around in small groups, as well as cruder wooden tables and benches. But there was nobody there, which was the most important part.

Next moment a window to the left smashed and angry faces appeared. These were not big panes of glass but rather a score of small pieces, each the size of a man’s head, held together with thick wooden frames. The Bruisers and thieves began using knives, axes, feet and even hands to knock out more glass and clear away the solid wooden frames that were holding them back. All this was done in the same frightening silence.

“Fall back to the center, form four ranks and prepare to load and loose like you never have before,” Fallon shouted. He grabbed Gallagher. “Find us a way out of here. And quick!”

Gallagher raced away while the rest of the villagers scrambled back and hauled on the crossbows, as the other windows were broken and Bruisers and thieves began knocking away the wooden supports so they could climb through. Meanwhile a dozen axes were chipping away at the doors, making them shake.

Fallon could see wide eyes and shaking fingers among the villagers. They had been playing at soldiers for the last few days but they were remembering now that they were only farmers and fishermen. Added to this, the behavior of the Bruisers and thieves was terrifying. Were they even human, to throw themselves into battle so? He thought of Fearpriests and blood magic and felt ice grip his heart. He glanced up and felt the lure of the stairs and the balcony above. But he resisted its pull. The door could go at any moment and if his men were trapped on the stairs it could turn into a disaster. Besides, Gallagher was still searching for a way out. What if it was on the ground floor? He made an instant decision: they would stand here.

“Hold steady, lads. Murphy went for help the moment Swane revealed himself and Kelty and his guards will be here any moment,” Fallon told them, standing between them and the door so they looked at him. “Think of your families and stand together and we will pile these bastards up. Listen to me and I will get you through this!”

He looked swiftly around and saw them looking a little more confident. That would have to do, because he could sense there was no more time. He rejoined the Prince in the middle of the formation.

Cavan was horribly reminded of when Eamon had chased him across the rooftops. Everywhere he looked, angry men were trying to get to him. He had half-thought his brother might try something, but nothing this drastic. This was a declaration of war. This had to end with either Swane dead or taking the throne. If they survived this then Swane had to die. Either at his hand or his father’s. And if Aidan did nothing, then that meant he was with Swane. Cavan took a deep breath. He had had enough of these games. He would finish it now and he would take the throne if his father refused to act. Of course, he needed to survive it first.

“Do we loose?” he asked, as Bruisers began climbing in through the windows, kicking and hauling at the wooden frames to open the space up for those who followed. Alone of the men, Fallon looked like he knew what he was doing. Cavan drew comfort from that and tried to look calm too, although it was hard. Without a crossbow, all he could do was grip his sword and hope they never got close enough to use it.

“Wait for the door to go! Listen to my voice, do what I say and we will send these bastards back to Zorva!” Fallon shouted. “When you loose, reload like there was a pack of selkies chasing after you!”

A moment later, an axe struck through the flagpole holding the doors and they burst open, a surge of thieves and Bruisers running in, mouths open in silent screams of hate.

Cavan tried to ignore that as Fallon began shouting again. “Front rank, loose!”

The first volley piled up bodies near the door.

“Second rank. Windows – loose!”

Men trying to climb in through the windows were hurled backwards.

“Third rank – door – loose!”

A pack of thieves trying to clamber over the bodies in front of them were thrown down.

“Fourth rank, loose!”

A handful who had been missed and were only a few paces away were killed and then the front rank was ready again, Cavan saw with mingled satisfaction and relief. Fallon’s villagers were hauling back on their crossbows and reloading like madmen.

“Front rank, loose!”

The doorway was choked with bodies.

“Second rank – windows – loose!”

Now the windows were empty of faces, although blood dripped down the broken glass.

Cavan drew a breath to shout encouragement and then subsided when he saw nobody was coming in.

“That’s it, lads! They’re running!” he told them and the villagers cheered themselves while broken and bleeding men flopped and thrashed and moaned and screamed in a thick carpet from almost at the front rank’s feet all the way to the doors and beyond.

“Come on in, brother, we have a welcome for you!” Cavan shouted.

There was a long silence and Cavan smiled at the men, seeing relief and even laughter on many faces, before Swane’s voice echoed in over the sounds of his dying Bruisers and thieves.

“I won’t come in, but you won’t come out,” he said. “And I’m afraid there is no rescue for you.”

Out of sight, someone hurled something in through the door, which bounced and rolled all the way to the front rank.

Fallon stepped forwards as the men there shrank back, crying out in horror. Next moment Fallon was also shouting, a wordless bellow of anger and a promise to kill Swane. The object was Murphy’s head and the farmer’s vacant eyes stared out of a bloodied face to accuse Fallon of sending him to his death.

“I think we shall have to do this a new way, rather than the old-fashioned way, after all!” Swane told them.

Next moment Sister Rosaleen screamed in horror.

Fallon was at her side in a moment. “What? And for Aroaril’s sake keep your voice down!” he growled.

“They are performing dark magic out there! I can feel the evil seeping in!” she said, tears running down her face.

“What are they doing?” Cavan asked, hurrying over.

She shuddered. “I don’t know, but it stinks of darkness,” she whispered.

Fallon looked away in frustration and could feel the fear rippling through his men. He wanted to say something reassuring but he did not know what.

Gallagher came racing back then, his face grim.

“Tell me some good news,” Fallon said.

“The only way out of here is an open door that leads into a long, blind alley,” the fisherman said. “It stinks of a trap. We go out there, we don’t come back.”

“What do you think, highness?” Fallon asked softly.

“I think we take our chances here. Make them come in and get us,” Cavan said.

Fallon nodded agreement. “I tell you what, highness, your father had better bloody act this time. This is all the proof that anyone needs.”

“Oh yes,” Cavan said fervently. “We will drag Swane before my father and if he does nothing, then I will take the throne.”

Fallon could not stop smiling, despite their predicament. “At last, highness! We will win this and save Gaelland!”

But first they had to survive this. He needed somewhere to make a stand. He looked again at the wide set of stairs leading upwards to a gallery that ran around the chamber.

“Up the stairs!” he said. “Grab tables and chairs!”

The villagers stared at him, unmoving.

“Move if you want to live and see your families again!” he roared at them.

They sprang into action, grabbing hold of anything nearby and running for the stairs. Fallon backed away, eyes on the door and crossbow in his hands. Was it his imagination or did it seem darker out there? He was reminded of when he had jumped onto the Duke’s ship and been sure the hold was the gateway to Zorva. That had been foolish but now that door out onto the square really felt that way. He turned and ran up the stairs, forcing himself to slow down towards the top, where everyone waited for more instructions, furniture in their hands and fear on their faces.

“Make a barricade at the top! Pile everything there,” Fallon ordered the men. He glanced around the gallery, seeing a score of doors leading off it, no doubt to offices. “Break in there and bring out anything else you can use!”

“We need to get away. We need to run,” Rosaleen told him, grabbing his arm as he went past.

“There is no way out. We are safer in here,” he told her.

“You don’t know what we face!”

He shook his arm clear. “Neither do you. We can handle anything that comes in,” he said confidently. All they had to do was hold Swane off and the final victory would be theirs. The families would be back and Cavan might even have the throne. “And we have pushed Swane into using his Fearpriest. There is no hiding this now. We can stop him here and now, and reveal everything!”

“This is a mistake,” Rosaleen said quietly.

“We have to fight evil, Sister. Don’t tell me you are going to run from it?” Fallon challenged her.

Her mouth tightened. “I will stand with you to the end,” she swore.

“Maybe she is right. Maybe we should try the alleyway,” Cavan said.

“You heard Gallagher. Swane would not have left us a way out of here. At least here we have a good position. We held them off once before; we can do so again.”

He pointed to where the villagers had piled up a head-high barricade at the top of the stairs, then lined up to either side, crossbows at the ready. “Nothing is going to be able to get up the stairs and live!”