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

by Duncan Lay

  “The Empire will welcome us into its heart, not knowing that we are the poison that will destroy it from the inside out,” she said.

  “I cannot wait to get there,” Swane said fervently. “If only to get off this stinking tub.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Feray smiled broadly and fought to keep a tear from her eye as the sailors bowed as one, before cheering her name to the heavens. With the Emperor’s approval, she was letting these brave men go home, after delivering them their promised reward. Each man received a bag of gold, equal to five years of normal pay and more money than almost all of them had ever seen before.

  “You have been honored by the Emperor himself and he knows your bravery in risking the seas to deliver warning of the Zorva-worshippers. In the spring, I shall call on you to come back with me, as we go to reinforce my husband’s men and to drive out the scourge of evil from the Empire’s newest province!” she told them loudly. “Tell your friends and family of how Gaelland is now part of the Empire and you helped make it that way, and how my husband rules it in the Emperor’s name. But do not mention anything about the Zorva worship. The Emperor will be most displeased with any who spread fear that way!”

  Some of them looked somewhat bewildered, although the quicker-witted among them quickly whispered the explanation.

  “Fine sailors, but they look a bit foolish,” Durzu remarked from behind her shoulder.

  She did not bother to turn around. He had insisted on accompanying her and she had not been able to refuse. It was a curious case as to who had more power. If Kemal was here there would be no debate, while if she had no children then he would clearly have the power but she wielded the power of her sons, the offspring of the Crown Prince. That put her as Durzu’s equal, although he would not take orders from her. He had been expecting she would give a speech to the sailors, so speak she had. If he had not been there then she would have spoken to them quietly, emphasizing that they could not say anything at all. She hoped that message had got across in the way she had spoken to them but it was impossible to know.

  “The fact they got us here through terrible storms reveals their quality,” she said stiffly.

  The sailors now lined up and servants deposited bags of money into their hands. Each one bowed their head to her and she smiled at them, particularly the ones who knelt to bless her.

  Durzu took a step closer, until she was forced to turn her head to look at him. He was half a head taller than she was and loomed over her deliberately.

  “My father might have swallowed it but I do not believe your story,” he said softly. “My brother has made a mess of things and you are trying to get him out of it. You will fail and your punishment will be terrible, while your children will not survive. But you can save them. All you have to do is tell me the truth and I shall see you protected.”

  She laughed scornfully in his face. “I do not need protecting,” she said.

  “But you will,” he said, his lips compressing into a thin line. “The only way for your children to live is to abandon Kemal to this filthy province and move into my household. As my wife, I will protect you and your sons. But, as the wife of a disgraced Crown Prince, their lives will be measured in days.”

  Feray felt her hands clenching into fists. “My husband will deal with you, when I tell him of this treachery,” she snarled. “And if you were not surrounded by guards I would deal with you myself!”

  Durzu shook his head. “This is a one-time offer,” he said. “I will not be able to protect you once the truth comes out.”

  “The truth is already out,” she lied back fiercely. “And I would not trust you even if you had not already shown your treachery. You had better pray for mercy when Kemal catches up with you.”

  His guards took a step forward as her voice rose, while Gokmen and Gemici both strode over to stand with her.

  “Are you all right, Highness?” Gemici asked. “Is there anything we can do?”

  Durzu smiled thinly and offered her a slight bow. “Farewell, dear sister. We shall talk again, under different circumstances,” he said, then turned on his heel and strode away.

  “What was that about, Highness?” Gokmen asked.

  Feray locked eyes with them both. “Go home and find your families. But, for Aroaril’s sake, make sure none of these sailors says anything. The wrong word in the wrong ear could end us all. Prince Kemal’s brother longs to replace him and will seize on any chance. I spoke to the Emperor and he believed my story about Kemal staying in Gaelland to fight the Zorva-worshippers. If we can just keep the men quiet until we sail, then we can put everything right.”

  “They understood. But I’ll talk to them, just the same,” Gokmen agreed.

  She smiled. “Thank you both. My husband will be most grateful. Aroaril willing, we can come through this.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Fallon leaned up against the tree. “So how does this work again?” he asked nervously.

  “There’s magical woodland spirits that open a door in the tree if you know the secret knock,” Devlin suggested.

  “How about we be serious?” Fallon suggested.

  “It’s quite simple,” Padraig said airily.

  “Really? I seem to remember not too long ago you couldn’t find your own arse with both hands and a map,” Devlin said skeptically.

  “Well, I could make an exception for you, Devlin, and leave you lost somewhere between here and Meinster, trapped forevermore inside a tree,” Padraig said.

  “How about we concentrate on everyone getting there safely and in one piece,” Fallon said.

  Padraig sniffed. “We have long known that oak trees, being the longest-lived in Gaelland, are especially in tune with magic. And they seem to know where other nearby oak trees are, so they can pollinate each other.”

  “What?” Brendan asked.

  “So they can have a good tree shag. You know these oak trees, they like to get a woody,” Devlin said with a leer.

  “One more jest out of you, Devlin my lad, and I’ll make sure you end up coming out of two different trees,” Padraig said sharply.

  Devlin held up his hands in mock surrender but Padraig still gave him a long stare before continuing.

  “We use that magical affinity and the knowledge to jump from tree to tree, fixing the location of each in our mind, keeping them in the right order. Then, when we have reached our destination, we use the magic to turn the oak wood into something more insubstantial, so that it effectively opens up a doorway that we can step through, holding it open with an oaken staff from the first tree. Now, it is most important that you do not let go of the staff, for then you can become lost in the journey forever. Understand?”

  “Not really. I think I preferred Devlin’s stories about magical spirits and a secret knock,” Brendan rumbled.

  “Well, no matter how it works, let’s get going. We don’t have much daylight,” Fallon said and signalled to the waiting men.

  “Right. Meinster it is. Now, getting back is a little trickier. I shall open a gateway each day at noon and push an oaken staff through. Knock three times on the staff if you want to come back and I shall bring you through. But be quick, because opening a gateway is bloody hard work.”

  “Come on, let’s get it over and done with,” Fallon grunted. “Wait here until I signal it is safe.”

  Following Padraig’s instructions, he grabbed the staff, took a deep breath and stepped into what his eyes told him was a solid tree. But instead it felt like he was pushing against a gentle breeze as he closed his eyes and walked forwards, going hand over hand along the staff until he came to the end. He opened one eye, worried at what he might see, only to find himself in a completely unfamiliar park, surrounded by tall buildings. He let go of the staff, knocking it twice with his shillelagh. Almost instantly, men began to pour through, some of them with their eyes closed, others with wide eyes. He counted a hundred of them and then tapped the staff three more times. Instantly it withdrew back into the tree. Then he p
ressed on the trunk experimentally, only for it to feel and sound solid once more.

  “Right, let’s see what we can find,” he said. “And hope to Aroaril it is Swane.”

  *

  Bridgit looked down at the map and rubbed her temples. Fallon was right in one way. Ruling a country was not just about sitting and listening and talking. She had a throbbing headache and none of what she was looking at was doing anything to make it easier. Winning the rest of the country had created a huge problem. Between Fallon’s march through the west and the supplies he captured from Swane, Berry had plenty of food for the winter. But nowhere else did. So she had to work out rations for them and how much she could spare and still keep Berry going.

  “Bridgit, we have another delegation of merchants,” Nola said, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Are you sure it’s not just the same one coming back time after time?” Bridgit asked.

  “I wish it were. But it appears they are taking it in turns, to put more pressure on us,” Nola sighed.

  Bridgit snorted. “I could just about recite my speech to them in my sleep by now. I suppose I shall have to do it again.”

  “Any word from Fallon?” Nola asked hopefully.

  “I wish! Nothing yet.” Bridgit paused and looked at her friend. “How is Brendan? Anything changed there, after the battle?”

  Her friend shook her head, and then the tears began to spill down her face. Bridgit leapt up, forgetting about the endless scrolls filled with lists of food and towns and people and embraced Nola.

  “I am sorry, what is it?” she asked.

  “He is worse after the battle, not better. His sleep is tormented by dreams and I am afraid to wake him, for fear of what he might do. He is even quicker to anger than before. It is like he has been taken over by another man.”

  Bridgit patted Nola’s back and murmured soothing words, although she had no idea what could be done, other than wait and hope. Under all the violence, the old Brendan had to be lurking. Surely, with time, he would come back? But when? After all, they were all losing their patience and snapping at each other.

  Then the door opened and she turned to see Riona bustle in. “Bridge, the merchants are waiting,” Riona said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “We need you out there. Nobody can calm them down like you can.”

  “Go, I am fine,” Nola said, her streaming eyes giving lie to her words.

  Bridgit sighed. She treated the merchants like the crying children she had dealt with in Kotterman. It seemed to work.

  “All right. I just hope Fallon finds Swane soon. And the money the Guilds took,” she said.

  *

  Fallon slammed his hand on the table.

  “Where is Swane?” he snarled, looking around the grand hall of Meinster castle.

  The assembled men looked terrified, but none answered.

  Fallon had found Meinster slumbering in blissful ignorance, still thinking Swane was marching triumphantly on Berry and they were about to be restored to power. Nobles, senior priests of Aroaril and Guildsmen alike were wandering around or relaxing in Meinster’s castle, gorging themselves on hoarded supplies and indulging themselves with painted mistresses while people shivered and starved outside. It had been like old times’ sake for Fallon, spotting the former cronies of King Aidan. But while he captured them easily, there was no Swane, Dina or Kemal. There was barely even any money.

  “Prince Swane left to march on Berry and we have not seen him since,” the head of the Bankers Guild said plaintively.

  Fallon smiled. It was not a nice smile and he could tell that by the way the room recoiled from him. He stared at them in loathing. Plump old men, made fat by the suffering of others and willing to embrace the Dark God and human sacrifice if it meant they could keep worshipping their real god: money.

  “You know that Swane was sacrificing children to Zorva?” he asked conversationally.

  “We heard … stories. But we never witnessed it, nor did we take part in anything like that,” the Banker declared, perspiring lightly.

  “How about you, Archbishop Kynan?” Fallon asked. “Did you not take some oath to serve Aroaril and protect this country against the Dark God? I seem to remember you lecturing my village about the love of gold being the lure which Zorva uses to hook foolish hearts and minds. Obviously you knew what you were talking about.”

  “I do not answer to the likes of you,” Kynan said fiercely.

  “Yet you will answer to Aroaril. And right soon,” Fallon told him. The Archbishop shrank back, pulling his rich robes around him, while the assorted bishops with him quaked in their seats.

  Fallon glanced over at where the nobles glowered at him. “What say you, Lagway and Maeyo? Are you innocent? And you, Rork? Do you remember what I said I would do if I caught you working with Swane?”

  The younger noble actually started shaking and Fallon felt his control slipping. “I promised that people would stop talking about what I did to King Aidan and instead start talking about what I did to you,” he snarled. “Unless you bastards start talking, right now, I will make that come true.”

  The room was silent, except for Rork’s harsh breathing.

  Fallon turned to his men. “Get me rope, and bring the rest of them,” he ordered and his men jumped to obey.

  The nobles and Guildsmen were hustled up onto the castle wall. It was nearly as impressive as Berry’s castle, not that it had ever been attacked. Below, quite a crowd had gathered. The sudden appearance of armed men in one of the city’s parks had excited plenty of attention and they had naturally followed Fallon to the castle, where others had joined them to see what was going on.

  “Please, I did nothing!” Rork babbled as he was dragged to an embrasure between two wide merlons. The long rope was tied securely about the thick base of the merlon and then around his neck.

  “Sir, it’s a long rope. Do you want it cut?” a young soldier asked.

  Fallon shook his head. “No, that will be perfect,” he said and pushed Rork up onto the low stone embrasure, where the noble had to clutch onto a merlon to keep his balance.

  “Now, start giving me answers or he will be executed. And then I’ll keep going until someone finally talks,” Fallon told them.

  For a long moment nobody said anything, then Archbishop Kynan pushed his way to the front. “You cannot do this. You have no right. He is a noble of this land and you are nothing!” he said angrily.

  Fallon whipped out his shillelagh and jabbed the tip into Kynan’s face, smashing his nose and sending him reeling backwards.

  “Anyone else?” he asked disdainfully. “Feel like telling me where Swane is?”

  When only shocked silence was his reply, he slipped his shillelagh away and drew his dagger, stepping up behind Rork on the deep embrasure stone.

  “This noble allied himself to Zorva and sought to sacrifice all your children to the Dark God!” he roared down at the crowd. “This is the punishment for his evil!”

  “No, please, I did nothing!” Rork begged, then he screamed as Fallon sank his dagger into his side and then ripped it across, spilling his guts open.

  As the noble tried to both hold in his intestines and hold onto the wall, Fallon kicked him off the embrasure.

  The screaming Rork, his guts unraveling and dropping with him, fell for what seemed like an age, until the rope finally came to an end and the resultant jerk snapped his neck with a loud crack, silencing his cries. Fallon glanced down to see Rork’s body dangling almost to the ground, his intestines a series of coils around his legs, slipping the rest of the way.

  The crowd had drawn back in horror and now stood in silence, staring up at the group of figures on the wall. Fallon nodded in satisfaction. The story would grow with the telling and hopefully people would speak of how he had hanged Rork with a rope made from his own guts.

  He turned back to the assorted Guildsmen and nobles. The closest of them took half a step back.

  “So who is next? Or do you want to talk?” he a
sked.

  “We don’t know! We never even saw Prince Kemal! Swane and Dina left to march on you and we have not seen nor heard of them since then!” the Banker gabbled as hands reached for him.

  Fallon held up his dagger, dripping with Rork’s blood and the Banker looked as though he might faint. “I swear on my life!” he pleaded, urine staining the front of his rich robe.

  “You don’t want to swear to Aroaril?” Fallon asked dangerously. “How about if we go into church?”

  The Banker’s eyes flickered left and right, looking for a way out. “Swane made us pledge ourselves to him and Zorva,” he mumbled. “We had no choice!”

  “You always have a choice. But you chose to help him butcher children to the Dark God if he got back on the throne.”

  The Banker said nothing. But Fallon could see the truth on his face, on all their faces. What was a few peasant children to them? After all, they had sacrificed hundreds of them over the years, letting them die from starvation or neglect, all in the name of profits. Fallon was sick of them.

  “So none of you know anything?” he asked.

  “That’s right!” the Banker nodded desperately, the others joining him, all but Kynan, who still held his bleeding nose.

  Fallon looked into his beady eyes and then up at the rest of them. “I believe you,” he said finally. “But what use are you to me now?”

  “We can do so much more for you. We worked together before, when the Duchess ruled Berry. We can do so again. Let us help you rule Gaelland—”

  Fallon had drawn his sword and now slammed it down onto the Banker’s head, smashing open his skull and spattering brains across the stone battlement.

  “I do not want, nor need any of you,” he told the shocked men. “You have been a cancer in Gaelland for too many years. Today, we cut it out. Get more rope. We shall hang them all.”

  They wailed and pleaded as they were dragged away. Fallon was unmoved, although he turned when someone grabbed his arm.

  “Fallon, you cannot do this!” Gallagher exclaimed.