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

by Duncan Lay

  Now the Kottermanis did draw back a pace, but Fallon could see they were massing for a charge that not even Brendan could withstand, certainly not without his hammer.

  “Brendan! Get Devlin clear!” he bellowed.

  The smith’s head snapped around and for a heartbeat Fallon thought Brendan was going to ignore him, but then his eyes cleared and he hurried to Devlin’s side. Fallon stepped forwards, ready to give them time to get clear but Casey blocked him.

  “Get them out of here, sir,” he said calmly.

  Fallon looked into the young guardsman’s eyes and knew what that meant. Casey, the lad who’d wet himself when Fallon had taken them into Killarney, was now announcing he was going to give his life for them in the same tone of voice a man might ask his wife to pass the salt at the dinner table. He nodded and Casey saluted with his reddened sword before taking his last five men and driving into the mass of Kottermanis.

  Brendan picked up Devlin and hauled him up the stairs. Fallon followed, up towards where his last men were throwing every Kottermani attempt to gain the top of the other stairs back.

  They were his best and biggest, the brave and the bastards, the ones who wouldn’t give in, even when a thousand Kottermanis were baying for their heads. He watched Brasso, the guard who had saved them all the night Kemal had attacked, fighting with sword and shield like he had been born to it, every blow throwing a foe back. And Bran, his beard now soaked with blood, laughing at the Kottermanis as he killed. And Gannon, fighting like a madman, flinging swordsmen in all directions.

  “Back! Follow me! The stairs are lost!” Fallon roared.

  They fell into step with him as though they had practiced it a hundred times before, the last score of his men holding the corridor against their enemies as if the Kottermani veterans were a pack of small children. Fallon fought with them, the handle of his axe sticky with blood, unaware of where they were and not even wondering when the end might come. The world had shrunk to what was in front of him. The Kottermanis seemed ridiculously clumsy and even when they had him at their mercy, kept slipping over or just missing.

  “Fallon! The king’s rooms! We can head down and try and get out the back!” Padraig cried.

  Fallon doubted that was possible but there was nothing better to do, so they backed down that way. He buried his axe in a Kottermani head and stepped into the room he had made his office, Bran slamming the heavy door shut. A pair of Kottermanis were trapped on their side of the door but they only lasted a heartbeat, Brasso cutting one down, Gannon the other.

  Devlin opened the secret door, the one that led down to the dungeons, then slammed it shut. “They’re already down there!” he cried, despair in his voice.

  Fallon shrugged. He had not expected to get away. He almost smiled at the way life had come full circle. He had cornered King Aidan in here and Swane had escaped. Now Swane had him cornered and there would be no escape.

  “Block the door, shove the desk against it,” he said.

  Devlin and Brendan quickly obeyed, although the smith did almost all of the work. Meanwhile the rest of them formed a semi-circle around the main door, which was already shivering under the assault of the Kottermanis. The office was a large, comfortable room but it seemed very full of men. Most were panting with exhaustion, their swords blooded and blunted, their mail scarred and dented or even torn. Only a handful still had their shields or the strength to raise them. Padraig looked the worst of them all. He was reeling, his face gray with exhaustion.

  “Getting too old for this,” Fallon told Padraig.

  “You or me?” Padraig answered, giving him the ghost of a smile.

  Fallon slipped his arm around the wizard and helped him over to the chair beside the fire. He went to drop the wizard on the cushion, only for it to give a soft bark. He then saw Caley there, tail thumping against the chair, eyes bright with concern.

  “You silly mutt,” he said. “You should have hidden somewhere else. You really should have gone with Bridgit. Stay here and get out later. Talk!” At the word, the dog buried her nose in the chair and appeared to be nothing more than a black cushion.

  “I’m done,” Padraig said softly. “Leave me here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Fallon said, but there was no conviction in his voice. Padraig did look terrible. There was nothing to him, the flesh had melted off him.

  “What have you been doing?” he asked.

  Padraig reached up and patted his face. “What I had to. I am proud of you, son. And thankful that you were there for my daughter. I was glad to repay some of that debt today. Now let me die in peace.”

  “What?”

  But Padraig had flopped down next to Caley and was whispering softly to the dog.

  Fallon grabbed his arm. “Tell me what’s going on!” he demanded.

  Padraig patted Caley and looked up. “Thank you for this chance to repay some of my debt. Now, stay alive. That will tell Bridgit I kept my word. Farewell, son.”

  “Wait! What is—” Fallon clutched at Padraig but the old wizard was gone. He stared at the slight smile on Padraig’s face, trying to make sense of it all.

  “Fallon!” Devlin called out.

  He dragged himself away, telling himself that it was just sweat dripping down his face and making his eyes burn. “How’s the arm?” he asked Devlin.

  The farmer held it up gingerly, blood dripping down his fingers. “Take that out, bind it up and give me something. I’ll not face them unarmed,” he said.

  Fallon looked at Brendan and was horrified to see how blood-covered the smith was. He looked like a walking corpse, although hardly any of it was his.

  “I’ll hold his arm, you pull it out,” he suggested.

  Brendan nodded and took hold of the jagged steel. With a quick jerk, he hauled it out of Devlin’s arm, making the farmer gasp with pain. Fallon tied a scrap of tunic around the wound while the smith looked at the Kottermani metal.

  “Here’s the problem,” the smith said, turning the broken blade over in his gore-encrusted fingers. “The sword maker didn’t fold the steel right. It should not have broken like that. I could have done a much better job. I just need my hammer to beat it out right—”

  Then he dropped the fragment of sword and Fallon saw the horror on his face as he contemplated his hands. Brendan looked up and Fallon saw the fury had gone from his friend’s eyes. Instead it was replaced by tears, which cut their way down the blood on his face and trickled into his reddened beard.

  “I don’t want to do this anymore,” he whispered. “I don’t want to kill. I want to make things. I want to hold Nola and the girls and tell them I am sorry.” Then he was weeping, deep, heartfelt sobs that made his huge frame shake.

  Fallon had no words, just reached out and clasped his friend’s shoulder. Devlin reached out with his good arm and hugged the smith.

  “I’ll stay with him. Until, you know,” the farmer whispered.

  Fallon nodded, still not trusting himself to speak.

  “We did some good, didn’t we?” Devlin said, obviously trying not to make it a question.

  “We did,” Fallon said, attempting to smile. He didn’t believe it but he knew Devlin needed something.

  “I’ll see you later,” the farmer said.

  “Aye. Later,” Fallon agreed.

  “Fallon! They’re coming through!” Gannon warned.

  Fallon patted Brendan’s shoulder, wishing he had said more to the man, wishing he had time to grieve, wishing he had time. The secret door was also splintering and later seemed to be coming much faster than he wanted.

  “I need six men back here!” he called, surprised at how steady his voice came out. The six closest, led by Brasso, formed a line behind the desk, which was now being nudged away from the door with each blow from the other side.

  Fallon went to the other door, not wanting to see his friends die. He pushed his way between Bran and Gannon as the main door finally gave way. There was nothing to say, so he did not waste words.r />
  Yet there was time to notice the Kottermanis who burst in were not carrying swords or axes but instead thick clubs. Others carried the small crossbows, like the one he had given to Kerrin. And the quarrels they launched were blunted, knocking his men down without sinking into their flesh. But Fallon did not let that bother him, leaping to meet them with axe held high.

  The axe bit deep into a neck and he whirled it around his head, heedless of the blood that sprayed off the edges, and thumped it into a chest. It did not bite nearly as deeply as before and he could not get it out of the shrieking Kottermani. A club cracked down on his arm, numbing it, and he let go of the axe, fumbling for his dagger. But another club cracked across his head and sent him stumbling backwards to crash into the chair. His vision was clear and his mind was working but it seemed to have lost all connection with his body. He wanted to get up and rejoin the fight but his legs and arms would not obey him. He wanted to embrace his friends but could not move as clubs felled both Brendan and Devlin. He wanted to talk to Padraig but the wizard was unmoving beside him. He wanted to comfort Caley as she whimpered softly in the chair behind him but he could not even manage that. He could feel a tear trickling down his face as he saw the last of his men go down to lie in the gore and the best he could manage was to blink it away. Instead he slumped there, waiting for death.

  Except it never came.

  At an order from an officer, the Kottermanis began binding his men’s hands and feet. Any that struggled were silenced with another swift blow.

  When they came for him he tensed himself to fight but his treacherous limbs would not do anything as a pair of stone-faced Kottermanis lashed his wrists and ankles together. He wanted to ask them for death, rather than be handed over to Swane, but the words would not come. They even bound Padraig.

  Fallon glared at them, wishing he could talk and wishing he knew Kottermani. He deserved death. He had failed his men, led them to their deaths, and he’d let Aidan’s prophecy come true. His mistakes had doomed Gaelland. He wished with all his heart he had never tried to be a leader. He closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.

  CHAPTER 75

  “Do you know how long I have dreamed of this moment?”

  Fallon opened his eyes reluctantly. Everything ached. He half-hoped this was a bad dream but he suspected he could not be so lucky.

  He blinked his eyes open to see Swane and Dina standing in the center of the room, a third man at their side. For a heartbeat he thought it was Prince Kemal, then realized it had to be a relative of his. The face was similar but had a different, crueller cast to it. If such a thing was possible. He looked around the room and saw his men were lying or kneeling in lines closer to the secret door to the dungeons. Kottermani guards with bared blades were standing behind each one, with two guards behind Brendan.

  “Just get it over with,” Fallon said tiredly. “Kill us and then gloat over our corpses.”

  Swane chuckled, his face alight with glee. Fallon hated that he looked so similar to his beloved Prince Cavan.

  “Nothing so easy for you, I am afraid,” Swane said triumphantly. “Not after what you did to my father. The people must see what happens when you rebel against me. The tale will terrify children for all time!”

  “Your face alone would do that,” Fallon retorted.

  He had hoped to provoke the Prince but Swane merely laughed. “Nice try. You want to make me kill you. But nothing will make me give up my revenge.”

  “Maybe you can even get a younger wife out of it,” Fallon said. “You do know Dina’s killed every man she’s been with? You’d do better with a snake in your bed.”

  This time Swane did not laugh quite so heartily, and a shadow chased across the face of the Kottermani Prince. Dina, however, stepped forwards.

  “You talk big, for a man whose life is measured in turns of the hourglass,” she sneered. “You will beg for death at the end and we will laugh at you.”

  “As the rest of Gaelland laughs at you?”

  Dina strode forwards but Swane caught her arm. “He is not to be killed. Not until I am ready,” he warned.

  She smiled dazzlingly, the smile that Fallon remembered bitterly.

  “Don’t worry. I want him to suffer but I won’t kill him,” she promised.

  Swane let her go and she walked across to stand by Fallon.

  “We shall find your wife and brat. And all the other families. Every man, woman and child who helped you will be slaughtered and they will go to their graves knowing you were the one who betrayed them. You will be haunted by their screams as you slowly die.”

  He ignored her, keeping the terrible fear that she would indeed do that buried deep inside of him. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing his terror.

  “Lost your smart tongue now?” she asked, then grabbed his hair and rammed his head against the chair. From out of nowhere she produced a tiny knife, no longer than a finger but shining bright.

  “I won’t kill you but maybe I will take your eyes. Leave you blind and screaming. How would you like that?”

  Fallon refused to look at her. If she was going to take his eyes, he would not let his last sight be of her. Her fingers tightened in his hair and tried to twist his head to face her. “Look at me! Beg for mercy! Beg, curse you!”

  Suddenly there was a ferocious growl from the chair and Caley sprang up from behind Padraig. Caley, the kind, gentle dog who had slunk away rather than threaten Kemal, leaped for Dina’s face. Her teeth closed on the Duchess’s cheek and Dina went over backwards, screaming, as Caley ripped at her face.

  The Kottermanis did not even wait for orders, they just sprang forwards, their swords chopping down brutally into Caley. The dog’s growl turned to a yelp, and then there was silence, just the butcher’s noises as they made sure she was dead.

  Fallon kept his eyes closed tight, his throat closed off with grief. He had seen his men die by the score but this was somehow worse. An act of suicidal bravery to protect him and the waste of a true and loyal friend. If he had a weapon he would have made them pay for his dog tenfold.

  Dina’s screams cut through the red mist in his head and Fallon opened his eyes to see her being helped up. Her right cheek was in tatters, hanging away from her mouth, while her nose was sliced open, drooping the other way.

  “Heal me! My love, heal me,” she slurred through a blood-filled mouth, clutching at Swane.

  Swane slapped her hand away. “You have what you deserved,” he said coldly. “You wanted your ally Kane to have me killed by Fallon, you plotted against me and I have outgrown you.”

  “No!” she screamed, and even Fallon shivered at the intensity in that word, the depth of feeling in her voice.

  “Take her away,” Swane said dismissively.

  “Please, sire,” she begged, holding out her hands. “Let me show you what I can do for you—”

  “You are ugly and traitorous. One I could accept, but not both. Begone!”

  She tried to protest but, at a signal from the Prince, guards hustled her out of the room, her screams echoing as she was dragged down the corridor. Fallon kept his eyes on Swane, because he could not bear to look at the twisted, furry body that lay near his feet, blood leaking out of her many wounds.

  “Throw them in the cells. They can starve there for a day or two until we are ready to give them the end they deserve,” Swane said.

  CHAPTER 76

  Fallon did not know whether to be pleased or upset that another two dozen of his men were already waiting in the line of cells, especially as most of them were wounded. Their wounds had been treated and, from what Fallon could see, treated well. But, again, maybe it would be a kindness to let them bleed to death rather than go to whatever foul fate Swane was dreaming up for them.

  He could not check on them, because he was shoved into a cell by himself, although he could hear them and he had a good picture of how many were out there. Each voice he heard was familiar to him, but it was the voices that were missing that stru
ck to the quick. All gone because he had missed those quarrels. Fitz. Casey. Padraig. Caley. Gone. He wanted to weep but he did not want them to think he was afraid.

  A guard wordlessly slapped a clay cup of water on the floor and he realized he was desperately thirsty. He tried to pick it up but could not manage it with his hands tied.

  The cells stank of sweat and fear and he fought to calm his mind, forget about the aches and pains all over his body and try and send a message of love out to Bridgit, Kerrin and the baby with his mind and heart.

  He was already struggling when the door on his cell was wrenched open with a screech of tortured metal hinges. He looked up instantly, his heart suddenly racing, to see another figure shoved into the cell. This man was sent sprawling onto the ground, where he lay limply. Fallon wriggled over and took hold of the man’s arm.

  “Let’s get you up,” he said. “Where did they take you? Are you hurt?”

  The man turned over and Fallon found himself staring at Prince Kemal. “They took me from here. I am not hurt but you soon will be,” the Kottermani said softly, his face unreadable.

  Fallon let go of Kemal’s arm. All too quickly he remembered how he had crushed the man’s toes, beaten his face in and threatened to skin his son Orhan. And now here they were together. And Fallon’s hands and feet were tied. And now Kemal was reaching for him.