The Poisoned Quarrel: The Arbalester Trilogy 3 (Complete Edition)

by Duncan Lay

  “Anyway, I am sure Fallon knows best,” Bridgit said briskly. “But he needs our help. Get ready to march.” She held her father back when he made to join the others.

  “Help Fallon. Let him know I am here to talk, if he needs,” she whispered.

  “He will be fine,” Padraig said. “He led us through battles in Berry.”

  She hesitated for just a heartbeat. If she could not trust her father, who could she trust? “He heard Aidan say something with his dying breath. He thinks he will make the wrong choice and doom us all. That is why he has embraced the idea of a Ruling Council so enthusiastically.”

  Padraig reached out and drew her into an embrace. “I’ll do whatever is needed to get him back alive,” he promised. “Aroaril knows I haven’t been the best of fathers. But I can give you this.”

  “I want you back as well,” she said.

  “You can’t always get what you want. But I’ll see you get what you need.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “Many of the guards on the walls of the city and the castle are women. They are being careful but I noticed them changing shifts and they revealed their faces. We can spread the word and throw the city into chaos. They will be forced to pull their real guards out of the food warehouses and then we can strike there,” Jen said.

  “Not yet,” Munro said carefully. He trusted all of his lieutenants. He had to, for all their lives depended on it. This news was fascinating but he could not spread it around the city yet. He had a darker purpose in mind. He was yet to be trusted enough to walk around the castle unescorted, but he needed to get into Swane’s old room quickly. The last message he had received from Meinster castle had said Swane was marching. He needed to secure what was inside that room before the new king arrived triumphant in Berry if he was to get Dina’s bonus.

  “We need to lull them further,” he said. “Say nothing about this to anyone for a few more days. Then we shall act.”

  His lieutenant bowed her head, accepting without question, and hurried away.

  Munro waited until he was sure she was gone – old habits died hard – before opening a cupboard. Inside was a set of dark clothing and a grappling hook on the end of a coil of soft rope. The King’s castle in Berry faced onto a wide square but, at the sides and back, the homes of the rich were much closer, separated from the wall only by a road and a narrow, grassy rise. The castle walls were as tall as a house and always patrolled by guards. But he believed in his ability to get past a couple of women. Tonight would be the best time to do so, in case the story about the women pretending to be guards slipped out some other way.

  *

  Kemal tested the window in his bedroom and felt it move in its opening. Perfect. A night’s work was all it had taken to dislodge the slivers of wood that held the wooden framework and scraped horn panel inside the stonework. He could pull it out in a few moments, giving him enough room to climb out. It was horribly risky but he was determined to go through with it. Waiting to die here was not an option. From his eyrie, he had seen many of the men march away and how women were now guarding the walls. He had barely seen a guard in the last couple of days, though women had been bringing him food twice a day. There seemed to be nobody in the tower, so all he had to do was get past the barred door and he’d be free. He could not go through the door, so he would have to go around it. Best of all, the weather had cleared up. The swirls of snow would have made such a climb suicide but the clear sky of washed blue gave him more hope. It would be freezing outside but he would not be out there for long – either way. Anyway, his mind was made up. He had to go tonight.

  *

  Munro watched the sentries march their beat for the best part of a turn of the hourglass. They were spending longer and longer talking to each other as they met in the middle of the wall, where a solitary brazier offered a little warmth. It was understandable, because walking a cold sentry’s beat was unpleasant at the best of times but the light from the brazier would hurt their night vision and the talk would distract them. So when they next met up at the brazier, holding out frozen hands for a little warmth, he made his move. He raced silently across the cobbles in soft leather boots and up the grassy slope. He pressed against the wall then sent the grappling hook up with a practiced flick of his wrist. The iron hooks had been carefully bound with silk, so they only made a soft noise as they went across the wooden sentry walkway and bit into the supports beneath it. He tested the rope and then hauled himself up, running up the wall with the ease of long practice. He paused at the top and glanced along, panting a little, to see the two women chatting away. He turned the other way and darted down the walkway and the stairs to the kitchen garden below. In his belt he had lockpicks, and he had no doubt he could get into the entrance inside the kitchen garden. From there it would be child’s play to get into Swane’s room. Getting out would be more difficult but he had help for that. A pair of throwing knives on his belt and a long dagger in the small of his back.

  *

  Kemal feigned sleep as his tray of food was taken away. He had noticed the amount and quality had diminished in the last few days. They were obviously running short of food in the city. That was inconvenient now but would become more of a problem as winter went on. For now, he had eaten all he could, to give him as much energy as possible for the climb. Once he was sure he was alone, he warmed a small portion of hoarded lamb fat over his candle flame, mixed it with soot from the fireplace and painted his face and the backs of his hands. Then he used a pair of chairs to block out as much of the fire’s light from the room as possible, so he was not shadowed against the window when he went out.

  He pulled the wooden window frame out and laid it on the bed, supressing a shiver as the freezing wind knifed through the gap. Before he could have any more doubts, he stood on his bed and leaned out, reaching up to find gaps between the crude stonework that he could use as handholds. The cold stone was icy against his warm fingers but he crushed the beginnings of panic and wriggled his buttocks out onto the windowsill, then reached up further so he could pull himself out of the window, keeping his boots on the sill.

  For a moment he nearly gave up and wriggled back inside but then he remembered his brother Durzu’s arrogant face and immediately reached up for a new handhold to his left. The first foot was the hardest but he slid his soft boot across and wedged the toe into a gap between two large stones, then followed it with his right hand and right foot, until he was clinging to the castle tower like some strange vine. Luckily the stones sloped upwards a little here, narrowing the tower as it grew taller, creating little gaps and handholds everywhere. Already his arms were trembling so he began to clamber up, ignoring the way his body was protesting both at the cold and at the work his muscles were being asked to do. The foot that Fallon had smashed with a hammer was complaining the loudest but he used that memory to summon a warming anger that propelled him upwards. He moved as he had been taught by the Empire’s finest climbers, clinging only with his toes and fingers and trying not to stay still for a moment. That speed helped but the darkness was harder, for he was working more by feel than sight now. He reached out his left hand – and a corner of stone crumbled away as he placed his weight on it. For a moment he swung in the air and had to fight back a scream as his stomach surged into his mouth and his heart pounded like a possessed drummer. Then he swung up with numb fingers and found a new hold, a much stronger one this time and pushed up – finding he had reached the windowsill.

  He hauled himself up until he could use his shoulder to thump the horn panel that sufficed for a window in this Aroaril-forsaken country. Unlike glass, the scraped horn panel did not shatter with a loud noise, just cracked and fell inwards. He was beyond caring if anyone heard him so slithered forwards, scraping skin off his back on the remnants of the horn panel as he slipped to the floor in the darkened room.

  Instantly he stuck his cold and shaking fingers under his armpits, trying to warm them up as he eased through the dark room. It was both empty and much sm
aller than his cell, just one floor below, but he did not waste time inspecting it. He found the far wall and shuffled along it until he came across the door. Whispering a swift prayer, he lifted the handle and it opened. He breathed a silent prayer of relief he had not broken into a locked room. The tower was silent as a grave and nearly as dark, the only light spilling up the stairs from his makeshift cell below. He set off down the stairs, clenching and unclenching his fingers to get some feeling back into them. He was shivering and grabbed a blanket that sat on the empty guard’s chair, wrapping it around his shoulders. He was cold but, inside, he felt thrilled, as though he was walking on air. He had done it! He had escaped! Yes, he was still inside the castle and very much a prisoner, but he had shown these bastards that he was a true man. He only wished Feray was here to share the moment with him.

  He knew the rough layout of the castle, having been advised by both Abbas and hearing the stories from Feray of how she had almost died in here. The most important thing was to act as if he belonged. He pulled the blanket over him like a cloak and walked down the stairs as if he was a bored guard heading off to bed.

  The front gate was obviously impossible as a way out, because it would be guarded, but there had to be some rope in storerooms lower down and, once over the wall, he really would be free. All that remained was to head south, find his men, free them and return here. That was a series of almost impossible problems but, after his freezing climb, they all seemed easy enough.

  *

  Munro slipped his lockpicks back into his pocket with a smile. He had opened the kitchen garden door after a few moments of fiddling, although the lock on Swane’s door had proved much harder. Still, it had been simple for him and now he shut it behind him, waiting until he was sure the latch was closed before taking out his tinderbox. A prized Kottermani piece, its toothed wheel could strike sparks from a flint and he used it now to create a small fire in the metal box. By its light he took down a torch from the wall and lit it, blowing out the tinderbox and heading further into Swane’s rooms.

  Munro had no idea where the Prince had hidden the objects Dina needed, but he worked patiently around the bedroom, tapping on walls until he discovered a hollow panel. Placing the torch in a bracket on the wall, he found a heavy brass Kottermani statue and used it to smash open the panel with three blows. He tossed the ruined statue aside, heedless of the once-prized piece, and cleared away some scraps of timber to reveal a carved wooden box and a thick book, bound in a strange material.

  The writing on the front was in a strange tongue, one which he did not recognize, although he spoke both Gaelish and Kottermani. The wrapping also made his skin crawl. It was leathery and yet not leather and he had the horrible suspicion it was human skin. As for the box, there was something inside it, judging by the weight, while it reeked of some sort of musky oil, although the scent could not entirely mask the faint smell of corruption about it. He always liked to know everything but, on this occasion, he kept the box shut and instead slipped it and the book into a soft leather bag over his shoulder.

  He retraced his steps. The castle was slumbering, not a guard inside. He made it all the way to the door to the kitchen garden with ease and was just bracing himself for the final steps when a powerful arm grabbed him around the neck.

  “Make a noise and you die,” a voice hissed in his ear.

  For a moment Munro was frozen, then his brain began working again.

  “You are Kottermani,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “Am I talking to Prince Kemal?”

  The arm tightened. Munro itched to draw a knife but controlled that impulse.

  “Careful what you say,” his attacker warned.

  “Let me go and I shall help us both escape this castle. Or you can try and kill me, in which case the noise I will make will bring guards down on us both. Your choice,” Munro said, taking a chance. The next few heartbeats would define his life and he slipped his hand around the hilt of one of the throwing knives.

  *

  Kemal nearly let go of the man at those words. He had made it down here easily enough, for the castle was quiet as a mouse. He had seen one other person, fifty yards away at the end of a corridor, and given them a lazy wave, which had been returned. But he had not been able to find an unlocked storeroom with rope and had been trying to think of another way out when he’d heard footsteps. He had followed the figure, dressed differently than a guard, until getting close enough to make his move. But this was not what he expected.

  “Who are you?” Kemal demanded.

  “An enemy of Fallon,” the man said softly. “My name is Munro. My employers wanted me to retrieve an object of value from the castle, belonging to the King. I have done so. Now, do we both get out of here or will we find ourselves sharing a cell together?”

  Kemal did not trust this Munro. The man was obviously a thief and an expert one at that. He hated thieves but did not have another way out, so let go and stepped back.

  “How do we escape?” he asked.

  Munro bowed his head. “You need to be quiet, follow in my footsteps and do exactly what I say.”

  “Agreed. And what happens when we get out of here?”

  “We go our own ways.”

  Kemal nodded. “Then lead on.”

  Munro smiled briefly, then opened the door carefully. A look around and then he was off, Kemal racing to keep up. The thief was deceptive, seeming to move slowly, but covering ground rapidly.

  They darted across the garden until they were safely in the darkness beneath the wall.

  “What will you do when you get out of here?” Munro whispered, as they hid beneath the shadow of the walkway.

  “And what’s that to you?” Kemal challenged.

  Munro said nothing, merely shrugging a little and pointing upwards. Kemal heard the footsteps of a guard and kept quiet until the footsteps reached the end and turned back. The tension drew out and twice Kemal wanted to peer upward, only for Munro to jerk him back underneath.

  If this had been a normal day, Kemal would have had the man flogged for such impertinence but this was nothing like a normal day.

  Finally, snatches of conversation drifted down to them and Munro signaled to go ahead. They crept up onto the dark walkway and the thief produced a rope and grappling hook, which he set carefully underneath, around the wooden supports, then tossed the rope over the wall. He let Kemal go down first.

  Kemal’s fingers burned with protest as he put them under more stress. But, compared with the freezing, rough stones of the tower, the soft rope was ridiculously easy. He shimmied down it, feeling the strain in his shoulders, and then pressed himself back against the wall until Munro joined him. The thief picked up the end of the rope, which had a small weight tied to it, stepped back and hurled it over the wall into the darkness. It sailed out of sight and the thief smiled.

  “With a little luck it will fall down to the ground behind and won’t be discovered until well into the morning. But, in case it’s still stretched across the walkway, why don’t you follow me?”

  Kemal raced down the grassy slope, across the road and into the comforting night, then Munro grasped his arm and pulled him into shadow.

  “Perhaps we could do each other one last favor. Tell me where you are going and I shall tell you how to get there,” Munro invited.

  “Why should I share anything with a thief?” Kemal asked. “And why should you want to know?”

  “Because you are alone in a city that hates you. And because all knowledge is money.”

  “How could you help me?” Kemal challenged.

  “Because I know this city and its people,” Munro said. “And you are quite safe – the last thing I want is to alert any guards. What I took from the castle tonight is enough to see me hung by Fallon and his Ruling Council.”

  Kemal hesitated. Still, any enemy of Fallon had to be a friend of his. And he still had to get out of this city. He took a breath. He just had to trust his luck.

  “I need to head so
uth,” he said.

  Munro produced a small copper token, the size of a coin.

  “Go down this street to the very end, to the home of a merchant. His sign outside is a hay cart. Wake him, give him this token and he will get you out of the city. I take it you will be looking for your men?”

  Kemal said nothing so Munro just smiled.

  “I hear they are at the village of Baltimore.”

  Kemal nodded his thanks. He took the token and turned away, marvelling at his luck. He had half-expected this night to be his last, finding himself smashed and bleeding at the foot of the tower. Now he had a real chance to snatch back this country.

  Then something hit him across the back of the head and everything went black.

  CHAPTER 19

  Fallon looked across Lake Caragh, seeing his men digging slowly in the thick snow.

  “Work the men harder. It will also keep them warm,” he announced.

  By the time they had reached the lake, the area was covered with snow. And, in the three days since, that had been added to. The middle of the large lake was only thin ice but the edges were frozen solid. They needed to prepare the ground for when Swane arrived but that was proving a real problem.

  “We don’t have enough of the right tools and the men have frozen hands after just one turn of the hourglass out on the lake’s edge,” Devlin warned.

  “They have to do what they can. We can’t waste this time. Gallagher and the others will be back soon and then we can go hunting for Swane’s supplies. But, when we find them, we’ll have to come running back here with Swane on our tail. We must be ready,” Fallon said. “Believe me, the men might complain now but they will be glad of it later.”

  Nobody looked happy about that but there wasn’t much to smile about. The weather was brutally cold. There were two villages on Lake Caragh, Dunclady and Strabane. Dunclady was on the eastern side of the lake and vulnerable to Swane, so Fallon had emptied it, sending the protesting villagers across to Strabane, which had outraged both communities, for they were bitter rivals for fishing and pasture. But he also needed the huts to give shelter to his men, while he had been forced to take extra clothing and food from both. In exchange, he had to promise that payment from Berry would arrive soon. Of course, if they lost, Swane would not honor the promises he had handed out but that would probably be the least of the villagers’ worries in that case.