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

by Duncan Lay

  Together they flooded into the castle grounds. Mahir led companies in through the kitchen garden entrance, while other officers rushed into the stables and storerooms and the buildings outside, flushing out anyone and making it safe. The main doors to the castle had been shattered in the earlier battle and the four sentries there stood no chance against Nazim’s men, who swept them aside and rushed into the castle.

  “The prisoners,” Bridgit cried, spotting Brendan looming above the others in the cart. She could hear Swane bellowing at the crowd, his voice echoing back over the castle, and knew Fallon had to be out in the square. There was still time to save him. All was going to plan—the men up on the walls were all watching the crowd in the square and no alarm had been raised. Swane had lost the castle behind him and he did not even know it. All that remained was to free the prisoners and snap up Swane and victory was theirs.

  “I’ll save Kemal, you get to Fallon,” Feray ordered.

  Feray raced across the courtyard with Nola, Riona and Rosaleen, while Bridgit took her group and headed up to the wall. But then it all started to go wrong.

  *

  Kerrin led Asil through the back streets easily enough. These were the streets where he had run and trained with the first recruits and he remembered the way. The streets were deserted. The people were either at the castle square or hiding, while the only Kottermanis they saw were either dead or tied up and they watched mutely as the two boys ran past. Escaping the ship had been child’s play, thanks to Orhan distracting the few adults left to watch the children.

  “How do we get into the castle?” Asil asked, panting, as they reached the rear wall.

  “That’s up to you,” Kerrin said. “I don’t speak Kottermani.”

  “Let’s just hope neither of our mothers has left orders to arrest us,” Asil said, then threw back his shoulders and strode out towards the soldiers pretending to guard the wall, Kerrin a step behind. “If we can get inside, do you know where to go?”

  “Leave that to me,” Kerrin said confidently. “I know that castle like the back of my hand.”

  Asil glanced at him. “What in Aroaril’s name does that mean? You have an enormous hand?”

  Kerrin smiled. “Gaelish expression. Get us into the castle and I’ll take it from there.”

  *

  There was a guard tower at the top of the stairs. They must have seen what had been happening in the castle for their swords were ready and the two groups of Kottermanis tore into each other. There was no room for bows, just swords and daggers and fists and boots and even teeth.

  Bridgit cursed as her men suffered because they did not have armor but they did have the advantage of numbers and the last of the guards were cut down.

  “We have no time to help the wounded. Leave them and hurry,” she ordered.

  Nobody did anything so she looked around impatiently for her interpreters. To see them both lying in pools of blood on the stone.

  She could hear Swane still ranting, but she could feel time slipping away as the Kottermanis looked at her doubtfully. How could she make them understand what she wanted when none of them could speak her language?

  *

  Kemal glowered down at his Kottermani guards, who would not look up at the cart and meet his eyes. The Gaelish prisoners had been bound and gagged. The only concession to his former status as Crown Prince was to avoid the gag. He knew there was no point in shouting at men like this so he kept silent, until he caught sight of something across the courtyard. He stood up, with some difficulty, as his hands were tied.

  “Do you know you serve Zorva? Did you not hear that speech by the Emperor? How could that Gaelish Prince be named as the heir to the Elephant Throne?” he challenged them.

  None would answer but an officer stepped forwards, wearing the emblem of the Emperor’s personal guards.

  “You will be silent, or I shall gag you,” he threatened.

  “How long have you served the Emperor?” Kemal demanded.

  “Long enough to obey his every order without question,” the officer snapped back.

  “Have you not seen the change in my father? The Gaelish have possessed him. It is the work of evil and—”

  “Get me a gag,” the officer ordered his men.

  “Look at me,” Kemal shouted. “Listen to me. Or you will regret this day for the rest of your lives.”

  “We serve the Emperor. We have no doubts,” the officer retorted. “For Aroaril’s sake, if none of you have a gag then I shall cut out his tongue to keep it silent.”

  The officer took hold of the side of the cart to climb up—but then an arrow punched into his back, driving him down to the cobbles. His men gazed at him in shock, began to turn, and then went down under a hail of shafts. Kemal grinned at the sight, then danced back as an errant arrow sank into the wooden cart near his leg.

  The rest of the prisoners were all watching in disbelief as Kottermani soldiers rushed across the courtyard, surrounded the cart and finished off any of the guards who lived.

  “What’s going on?” Devlin called.

  Kemal laughed. He could not answer, could not find the words, just laughed as he saw Feray running towards him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Saving you and destroying Swane,” she replied breathlessly. “Want to help?”

  Kemal stopped laughing and went down on one knee to kiss his wife.

  “You are a vision from above,” he told her. “I never thought I’d see you again. What is the rest of the plan?”

  Feray produced a knife. “No time to explain. Just follow my lead,” she said, and began to saw at his ropes.

  *

  Nola and Riona rushed through the carts, looking for their husbands—and found them sitting together.

  A few strokes of the knife and Devlin and Brendan were freed and the four of them embraced.

  “I am sorry, I am so sorry,” Brendan sobbed helplessly. “I never want to fight again.”

  Nola drew back. “What happened to you?”

  But he could not answer her.

  “Neither of us can do more fighting,” Devlin said, wincing as he cradled his wounded arm. “We’re not much good anymore.”

  “No,” Nola said, holding her husband’s head and looking into his swimming eyes. “You are better.”

  *

  Bridgit could hear Swane threatening vengeance and torture on Fallon and her heart was in her mouth, worrying she was going to be too late. Without her interpreters, she could not explain her plan to the Kottermani archers. It was not a matter of just running down the wall and hoping they followed her. She needed them to pretend they were part of the castle garrison and running from attackers. The castle garrison had seen Feray’s men free the prisoners and they were now loosing arrows down. The prisoners had all been freed and were now sheltering from the arrows behind the carts. They were safe enough but trapped. She was supposed to save them but just running out there could get all her men killed—and then what would happen to Fallon? She took a deep breath. She would have to do it anyway and hope.

  “Mam!”

  She had never been so happy and simultaneously so furious to hear Kerrin’s voice. She whirled to see Kerrin and Asil race up the stairs into the guard tower. A dozen things to say crowded into her mind but she bit back on them.

  “You two!” she snapped, then controlled herself. “Asil, I need you to translate what I say. And then I’ll deal with you both later!”

  Asil looked shocked but quickly understood her idea and snapped out orders to the Kottermanis that were with her. The men quickly pulled on the dead men’s cloaks to disguise the fact they were not wearing armor, then raced along the wall towards the corner towers, shouting and pointing over their shoulders.

  Bridgit, Kerrin and Asil ran at the back of the group, wearing cloaks to disguise themselves. Bridgit’s legs were shaking and her heart was pounding and the fear she was too late was only a part of that. The child was heavy within her and a winter
of enforced inactivity had hardly helped. She used the boys’ energy to pull her along.

  The ruse worked long enough for her Kottermanis to close in on the castle guards. By the time they realized something was wrong, her men were among them, stabbing and cutting without mercy. A winter of struggling to survive had brought these Kottermanis closer together it seemed, for they worked as a team, while their opponents were more scattered and were left screaming and bleeding on the stones. Bridgit was horribly aware all this shouting and screaming and fighting had to be attracting attention and things could fall apart very quickly. She could hear the crowd out the front now, calling for mercy. Her Gaelish in the crowd were leading the cry to try and cover any noise that might be going on in the castle, but it sounded thin compared to the sound of fighting. Surely Swane must realize things were not as he had imagined.

  “Asil! Tell half of our men to hold these doorways, the rest with us. Go!”

  The tower was not tall, just two stories above the wall, but the stone stairs seemed to go on forever. They burst into the first floor guard room to find more Kottermanis waiting for them. These soldiers were prepared, however, and now they had the advantage. There was little room for either side, men shoving and stabbing and snarling at each other and the wounded not even having enough space to fall.

  “Tell them to keep going! We have to get to the top!” Bridgit shouted into Asil’s ear.

  But getting orders across in that cramped space was impossible. Asil shouted and shoved but only three of her Kottermanis broke off and raced up the next set of stairs, the rest still impossibly locked in the fight with the tower guards.

  “Come on, Mam!” Kerrin spotted a gap and slithered through, Asil a heartbeat behind. Bridgit was not going to leave them and ducked under a wild sword thrust, scraped her back along the rough stone wall and then kept going, her burning thighs driving her up the last set of stairs.

  Emerging into the weak Gaelish sunlight made her eyes blur, and then she clutched for her forgotten sword as she saw the three bodies of her men on the ground, one thrashing as he died, the other two already dead. They had taken care of four of the Kottermanis they had found up there but the last, a giant of a man with a bloodied sword, stood ready. He seemed momentarily thrown by the appearance of two boys and a woman, but he shook off his surprise and advanced on them, sword held high.

  Bridgit forgot her burning legs, the struggle to draw in breath, her worry about Fallon, everything except the need to protect Kerrin.

  “Hey!” she cried, circling away from the boys, trying to draw the guard to her, hoping one of her Kottermanis was only a moment or two away. The guard went for her and she held out her sword, wondering how in Aroaril’s name she was going to stop him.

  Asil was shouting something in Kottermani but the guard ignored him. Bridgit backed away until she could feel the battlement behind her and decided to duck away to her side, away from his sword arm, the moment he swung. She just wished her legs did not feel as though they were made of pease pudding.

  “Mam!” Kerrin screamed, but she was focused only on the guard and when he was about to swing.

  Then Asil raced forwards. The guard reacted lightning fast, swinging his sword around viciously, but Asil slid on his knees, the blade hissing more than a foot over his head. In the boy’s hands were two sharp daggers and, as he slid past the guard, he slashed out with both, cutting wounds into the man’s ankles.

  The guard threw back his head and howled with pain. He tried to turn and cut down Asil but his damaged tendons would not support him and he staggered. Bridgit reacted instantly, jumping forwards and locking her arm and shoulder, driving her sword into the angle of his neck. There was no time to think and she did not waste an instant of it. She had to save the boys. Hot blood sprayed out and she cried out in disgust and horror, spitting it clear of her mouth.

  Choking now, the guard pulled himself off her blade, tried to stop the crimson flow from his neck, tried to raise his weapon but failed. His wounded ankles gave way and he collapsed to the stones, making a horrible choking noise.

  Bridgit let her reddened sword drop and grabbed Asil by the arm, dragging the boy clear. Both lads were watching the Kottermani guard’s painful death, their eyes wide and horrified. She wanted to comfort them—but there was no time.

  “Kerrin! Your dad!” she snapped and his eyes cleared. She made Asil turn away, shielding him from the sight with her body.

  “There!” Kerrin pointed downwards, to the stage set up almost below them.

  She could see Fallon and her heart leaped. Kottermani guards held his arms, while Swane was holding his head up by the hair, hissing something foul at him. She glanced back but there were no archers coming up the stairs. There were bows and arrows but she was under no illusion she or the boys could hope to draw one, let alone think to hit anything below.

  Kerrin produced his small Kottermani crossbow. “I can hit Swane from here,” he announced.

  “It’s all right, we just need one archer,” she replied confidently, as much to herself as to the boys.

  But, as they watched, the Kottermanis dragged Fallon back across the stage, to a bench, where he was lifted and crashed down onto it. She could see his back arch in pain, and then the guards held him down, one gripping his legs, two more holding the arms, while a fourth produced a long knife from a rack of evilly sharp implements and advanced on Fallon.

  “Mam!” Kerrin cried.

  Bridgit looked over her shoulder desperately but still no archer was in view. And, even if they raced up now, there would be no time. She looked again at Kerrin and quailed at the thought of the responsibility falling onto his shoulders. It might almost be easier to take the boys away from the wall and not watch, rather than have Fallon’s death on Kerrin’s shoulders. They were almost over the top of the torture bench and she wondered if she should simply throw swords down there to distract them.

  “I can do this, Mam,” Kerrin said softly and she looked at her son and saw the rock-hard certainty in his eyes. It was the same look she had seen in Fallon’s eyes, many times, and it cleared her mind. Better to try and miss than stand here and hear Fallon die.

  “Ignore Swane. Take out the man with the knife,” she said calmly, as if she were asking him to clear the table after dinner.

  Kerrin was only just tall enough to lean out of the embrasure, but that was actually an advantage, because he could rest his arms on the broad stone. The crossbow looked impossibly small but it was aimed down, and the distance was little more than fifty yards. Anything thrown from this height would at least distract, though that would be ample warning of what was going on and would probably bring all Swane’s magical fury onto them. But who cared, if it worked. She hefted her sword and Asil clutched his bloodied daggers.

  “We throw when Kerrin looses,” she said, her voice belying the fears raging inside her.

  Kerrin leaned out, took a breath and then, in the gap between taking another, loosed his crossbow.

  CHAPTER 81

  Fallon felt the tip of the knife just brush his chest as his filthy tunic was sliced open. He kept his eyes closed, bracing himself for the pain, but then someone howled in outrage. It took him a few moments to realize it wasn’t his voice and he opened his eyes to see the guard with the knife pawing at the back of his neck, a small quarrel flapping away in response to his actions, the head only just inside the skin. Fallon and the other guards gazed at him for a moment, then a knife and sword bounced off the stage, making the Kottermani holding Fallon’s left arm let go.

  The shouts of the crowd were rising now, while Swane was bellowing something that Fallon ignored. There was only one person using that size crossbow that Fallon knew about. Kerrin. Which meant Bridgit had to be here, which meant … he did not bother trying to follow that thought any further. He swung his free left arm over and drove his fist into the throat of the Kottermani who knelt to his right, freeing his other arm. The guard holding his feet looked up as Fallon sat up and slapped hi
s cupped hands over the man’s ears. Eardrums burst with a pop and the man reared back, screaming.

  Fallon rolled to his side, towards the rack of torture implements, as the guard who had been holding his left arm drew his sword and thumped it down into the bench where he’d been lying a moment before. Fallon snatched up the guisarme they’d been planning to haul out his guts with: a combination of a spike with a wickedly hooked blade on the end of a pole the length of his leg. It wasn’t quite the shillelagh but it was good enough. He feinted towards the guard’s eyes, then slammed the hilt into his stomach and belted him over the head with the hooked blade, ripping clear a huge chunk of skull.

  The man he’d punched in the throat was getting up onto his knees so Fallon lifted his own knee into the man’s face, smashing his nose and sending him slumping over again. The man with the quarrel in his neck tried to draw his sword but Fallon rammed the spike on the end of his guisarme into his throat and shook his body off the end.

  “Come on!” he challenged Swane and the others.

  He glanced out towards the square where scores of fights were breaking out, as groups of Kottermanis were being swamped by men and women who were producing weapons out of nowhere. He grinned at Swane. Bridgit obviously had some sort of plan and if they could but bag Swane now, then it would all be over. He jumped onto the bench and advanced on Swane, heedless of the man’s magic. A pair of guards tried to stop him but he used the spike at the top of his guisarme like a spear, jabbing the first in the eye, then using both ends of the weapon to strike down the other.

  The old Emperor stood unmoving at the side of the stage but Swane was backing away. Fallon felt a surge of confidence—but then Swane signalled and a pair of the Emperor’s guards advanced on him. From their dress and silent advance he recognized them as the same type of warrior that had terrorized Berry on Aidan’s orders, masquerading as child snatchers. And, carefully, he backed away, hoping that Bridgit had another part to this plan.

  *

  When Fallon freed himself, Gallagher exploded into action.