The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (53 page)

Cavan nodded his agreement and Fallon grinned at him. “One more fight and then we get everything we want. Swane’s plot ended and him dead or you on the throne and, best of all, our families returned.”

He turned back to the men. “Listen to me! One more fight and then it’s all over!” he told them. “Do this for your wives and your children!”

They cheered him, then leveled crossbows at the door.

“Hold until I give the order,” Fallon called.

Then the door creaked and a single figure limped in. Fallon leveled his crossbow and filled his lungs but it was only one man. Dressed in the red of the Bankers Guild, he was a big Bruiser, nothing like the dead Donal, but the height and size of Brendan at least. His tunic was torn and dripping with blood from a deep cut under his ribs and he limped through the piles of dead and dying men and on towards the stairs, his face dull.

“Stop there!” Fallon called but he ignored the order.

Nothing else came in and Fallon and Cavan exchanged puzzled glances.

“Is this a trick?” Cavan asked.

“Must be,” Fallon said, then lowered his aim. “One more step and I put a bolt in your leg!” he called down.

The man ignored him and kept walking. Fallon gritted his teeth and loosed, the bolt flicking down to thump into the man’s meaty thigh and tumble him over.

The villagers cheered as Fallon reloaded swiftly, eyes on the door. Still nothing else came through but then the big Bruiser rose up, picked up a fallen axe and began limping towards the stairs, dragging his leg behind him.

“Put a foot on the stairs and the next one goes in your chest!” Fallon shouted, snapping his string home and dropping a quarrel into the groove.

In response, the Bruiser put his foot on the first stair and Fallon slammed a bolt into his chest. Again the man fell but, again, he rose and began climbing, a hole the size of a fist through his ribs. And he still had the axe in his hand.

“What in Aroaril’s name?” Fallon gasped, hauling back on his crossbow string once more.

“That is nothing in Aroaril’s name,” Rosaleen said into the silence.

The creature kept climbing, slowed by the bolt in its leg but seemingly not caring about having half its chest torn away. The villagers backed away from the barricade and the edge of the stairs, terror etched into their faces.

“What are you waiting for? Turn it into a bogging hedgehog!” Fallon shouted.

His voice broke the spell and they turned back, loosing a ragged but huge volley that engulfed the creature in chunky bolts. It was picked up and knocked backwards, struck by two score crossbow bolts, bouncing to the bottom of the stairs.

The villagers cheered themselves – but then the cheers died to nothing as the creature picked itself up, and began shuffling rather unsteadily back towards the stairs. Most of its head was missing, as was about half its ribcage. Yet something still propelled it and on it staggered.

The villagers watched it in horror, unable to tear their eyes from it. Fallon knew he should say something but he had no words.

Then the doors creaked open further and more shambled in. All carried one or more crossbow bolts in their bodies, sticking out of chests and stomachs and heads. Some only had parts of heads. They only had eyes for the stairs. At first it was a handful, then a dozen, then a flood of them, scores of them, every one of the Bruisers and thieves they had knocked over out in the square. All of them had the same strange wound under the ribs.

“We’re going to need more crossbow bolts,” Gallagher said, his voice a croak.

Fallon stared in mingled shock and horror. Already the first of them had overtaken the shambling mess of the first Bruiser and made it to the bottom of the stairs. Fallon cursed himself for not taking the alleyway while they still had a chance.

“Aim at their legs! Bring them down! Don’t let them walk!” he roared.

The villagers did nothing except back away from the barricade and he grabbed a pair of them and hustled them back.

“If you run, you die!” he shouted in their faces. “This is for your sons and daughters!”

He sighted on the lead creature and took out its knee with his next bolt, sending it tumbling down and bringing others with it.

“Don’t let them get up the stairs!”

Gallagher, Brendan, Cavan and then the rest of them took their places again, leveling and loosing, aiming low every time. The legs were smaller targets and they kept missing – but they also hit and brought down more and more, as they got closer.

“Keep going!” Fallon encouraged, trying not to look at the ones that were limping to their feet and how low some of the men were getting on bolts. If they ran out of bolts …

He hurried over to Rosaleen. “How can we stop them? What are they doing?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” she cried. “The church has not taught us about anything of this kind!”

“I read about it,” Cavan said. “And Swane already did this once, to get the bodies of murdered men away from me. He has removed their hearts and his Fearpriest is controlling them.”

“We cannot stop a Fearpriest,” Rosaleen said.

“Then we stop them.” Fallon looked down at the carnage on the stairs, as the first of the creatures reached the base of the barricade and began hauling on it, trying to bring it down.

“But how?” Rosaleen asked. “The Fearpriest has their hearts and destroying the head seems to do nothing.” She pointed down to where a headless body was still crawling up the stairs.

Fallon grabbed Cavan’s shoulder. “You read about them. Think!” he urged.

Cavan turned his fear-stricken eyes from what was coming up the stairs onto Fallon and his face seemed to clear. “Fire,” he said. “What if we burn them? Will that work?”

“It might!” Rosaleen said, sudden hope lighting her up.

Fallon looked around at the oil lamps hanging on the walls around the gallery. “Padraig – can you make fire burn hotter?”

The old wizard hurried to his side. He had stayed close to Rosaleen and away from the fighting so far. “I can help it spread, as long as you start it,” he promised.

Screams from over by the barricade made Fallon turn, to see half a dozen of the creatures hauling down a chunk and a pair of villagers along with it. Brendan grabbed one and pulled him back, but the second man was hacked to pieces by the creatures.

“Get those lamps down!” Fallon shouted and men raced to obey. “Brendan, Gall, give us some time!”

Brendan hefted his hammer as one of the creatures threw itself over the barricade, a knife in what remained of its hand. He put all his anger and revulsion into a huge swing that smashed its head in and flipped it back over and down the stairs. Blood spattered over his face but he ignored it to bring his hammer down on a crawling one, pulverizing it. The villagers, who had backed away from the barricade, rejoined behind him as the creatures tugged and hauled at the furniture keeping them away from their prey.

“Use your swords!” Gallagher shouted.

He slashed at a grasping hand, hacking it off at the elbow so it flew up in the air and landed at Brendan’s feet. Next moment it came to life again, flopping towards Brendan’s ankles, fingers outstretched. The gorge rising in his throat, Brendan smashed it once, twice, three times with his hammer until there were only scraps left.

He straightened up to see the creatures had renewed their attack while he had been distracted. One hauled itself through the barricade. As several of the villagers back away, one, a fisherman called Craddock, charged it and stabbed it through the chest, but it strode onwards. As Craddock tried in vain to free his sword, the creature grabbed him around the throat. Gallagher raced in, bellowing, and hacked at the creature’s shoulder. It ignored the blows and even as Gallagher hacked off first one arm, then the other, the hands still tightened around the villager’s throat. Desperately Craddock fought for breath as Brendan and Gallagher prised the bloody fingers off his throat. The stumps twisted and thrashed, deprived of their prey, and the two men hurled them back over the barricade.

Brendan picked up his hammer and smashed the armless creature over the railings as it regained its feet but more and more were massing at the head of the stairs. So far they were only inflicting wounds, stabbing and biting and scratching before they were torn apart, but it was surely only moments before they broke through and the villagers started dying in earnest. A noise behind him made him swing, to see one of the creatures about to stab him. Even as he brought his hammer around, a wheezing Craddock regained his feet and lopped off its arm before it could strike.

Brendan nodded his thanks as Craddock helped him hurl what was left of it over the bannister to smash into the marble floor below. Yet more were hauling desperately at the barricade.

One made a grab for Gallagher and he slashed off its hands, only for it to wrap the stumps around his shoulders and bare its teeth to tear out his throat. Gallagher tore himself free as it snapped at his face.

Craddock snatched a loaded crossbow out of another villager’s hands and rammed it under the creature’s jaw as it lurched forward at Gallagher, teeth clashing together furiously.

“Eat this!” he thundered and triggered the bow, the bolt driving up through the mouth and the point bursting out of the top of its head, the flights sticking out of the bottom of its jaw. It staggered back, trying in vain to open its mouth, then Gallagher kicked it back over the barricade. Yet more pushed forward to take its place.

“Fallon!” Brendan roared.

Fallon hefted the first of the lamps he had collected.

“Quick now!” he cried, tearing his eyes away from the carnage at the top of the stairs.

A long taper rested on the wall and Padraig blew gently on the tip, then closed his eyes, and it burst into light.

Fallon grabbed the first lamp and opened it up so that Padraig could light the wick and then he hurled it down the stairs to where the most grievously hurt creatures dragged themselves up the bottom steps, their eyes – if they had any left – fixed on the remains of the barricade. The lamp struck the bannister and the container of oil burst open in a shower of fire that caught three of the creatures, including the remains of the first one through the doors.

“Now, Padraig!” Fallon called and the old wizard closed his eyes, his breathing coming thick and fast. The flickering flames burst into a raging inferno and the creatures were covered in a blanket of fire.

“That’s it! Light them up and throw them down!” Fallon encouraged.

He hurled his lamp at the top of the stairs; Rosaleen threw one with each hand. More lamps went down the stairs, with Padraig sending the flames roaring hotter and fiercer. The creatures who had been men, who had been seemingly untroubled by the strike of crossbow bolts, staggered in circles as the fire consumed them, still trying to climb the stairs but failing as the fire took them. All they managed to do was spread the fire to others.

Yet there were still a dozen at the top, trying to get to the villagers.

“Shove the barricade on them! Set fire to it!” Fallon called.

Brendan led the way. His hands were fire-scarred from the forge and he got chairs alight and then used them to shove the creatures down and away. Gallagher, Fallon and Cavan helped him and, seeing that, the other men, led by Craddock, also rallied and shoved tables and chairs at the creatures, pinning them or knocking them further down.

The fire was burning hot, with little smoke, and Padraig was directing it away from the furniture and curtains and onto the creatures, but the stench of burning flesh was making all of them choke, while the smoke that was billowing from the bodies made eyes water and sting. Horrifyingly, the creatures tried to move upwards until the flames turned them quite to ash.

So it was several long moments before Fallon noticed two new figures down in the great room, both bending over the wounded and dying men who had raced in and been knocked down by crossbow volleys. One was a mysterious figure dressed all in a rust-red robe that hid its face. He could only see its hands, which were covered in blood as they worked to cut out the heart of a dying Bruiser. He was slicing in under the ribcage and then rammed a bloody hand into the hole he had created before tearing out the heart.

“Look! It’s Swane and his Fearpriest!” Fallon croaked.

“We have to stop them before they create more of those things – we don’t have any more lamps, let alone crossbow bolts,” Gallagher warned.

“We have one,” Fallon said grimly, loading his crossbow and leveling it on the bannister. “One bolt and we’ll finish the bastard off.”

“Wait!” Rosaleen cried but almost before the word was out of her mouth, Fallon had loosed. As soon as he pulled the trigger he knew it was a good shot, but at the last moment the wooden tail of the bolt flicked out and it bounced harmlessly off the wall, a pace above the head of the Fearpriest. Just the way it had missed Swane out in the square, he realized.

“You fools!” Swane taunted them from below. “You cannot hurt us! Each man you kill just gives us more power. And the last of you will have your heart ripped out by the first of you to fall!”

“Gall, how far to that alleyway?” Fallon asked urgently.

“Metal,” Cavan said before Gallagher could open his mouth.

“What?”

“Metal is their one weakness, like witches,” Cavan said.

“He is right: I have heard that too,” Rosaleen agreed.

“Worked for me out there,” grunted Brendan, and Fallon made a note to ask how.

“The crossbow bolt was metal and it just flicked that away,” he protested.

“It was part metal and wood,” Cavan corrected. “We just need something that is all metal.”

“A sword.” Fallon drew his blade instantly.

“It has a wooden hilt.” Cavan shook his head. “It must be just metal, nothing else.”

“How about these?” Brendan reached into his belt pouch and pulled out iron fistguards.

“Right now I’ll try anything,” Fallon admitted.

“Throw them,” Cavan suggested.

“But you’ll have to get me closer first. There’s no way I’d hit him from here,” Fallon said.