The Poisoned Quarrel: The Arbalester Trilogy 3 (Complete Edition)
Page 52
Waiting in the crowd, watching his friend being dragged out to die had tested him to the limit. Although getting there had been easy enough until that point, going exactly as Bridgit had planned. A mixed force of Gaelish and Kottermanis had hurried through Berry, overpowering Swane’s patrols as they went. Then Bridgit and Feray had led the Kottermanis in one direction and he had taken the Gaelish down to the slave warehouses and freed the people held there, before they all headed to the castle square. The sun was out but it was a typical Gaelish spring day, so everyone was wrapped up warm, which meant they could hide weapons under their cloaks. They had split apart into small groups and eased close to Kottermani soldiers, ready to attack when Fallon was freed.
The tension had risen until Gallagher had felt like he had to do something or he would lose his mind. When Fallon fought his way clear of the torture bench, he released a bellow and charged towards the nearest Kottermani soldier.
“That’s it! Let’s go!” he roared.
The Kottermani soldier two paces away turned and glared at him, drawing his sword but Gallagher was on him before he could get it clear of the scabbard, sinking his long knives into the man’s neck. The man’s comrade turned but as he opened his mouth to shout, Donnchadh struck off his head with a huge blow.
Gallagher raced at the rest of the Kottermani squad, grabbing another and slitting his throat. “Kill them all! Kill them before they kill you!” he roared.
All around the square, the Gaelish were springing into action, stabbing and killing, then melting back into the crowd. Kottermani soldiers, not understanding the chorus of calls in Gaelish but understanding all too well that they were being attacked, drew swords and began hacking indiscriminately at anyone near them.
Gallagher picked up a Kottermani shield and used it to block a blow that would have killed a young girl, then stabbed the soldier. As the Kottermani collapsed, he kicked the sword over to the girl’s father, who clutched his family close.
“Want to save your family? Pick up the sword!” he challenged.
The man, a dock worker from the look of his clothes, gazed at him in shock.
“Come on, man!” Gallagher shouted. “It’s them or us!”
Another Kottermani rushed in, bloodied blade swinging, and Gallagher was forced to block desperately against the furious attack. He could not see an opening for his knife and, from the look on the Kottermani’s face, this soldier thought he was moments away from victory. Then the soldier gasped in shock, blood spilling out of his mouth. The docker ripped his borrowed blade out of the soldier’s lungs and nodded at Gallagher.
“Someone pick up this sword. Get the bastards!” Gallagher shouted.
Men stared back at him blankly but then a vaguely familiar figure stepped out of the crowd. It took Gallagher a moment to place him. Turlough, the Greeter from the Bank Guild.
“Citizens of Berry! Fight for your lives! Fight for your children! Fight for Aroaril! Stand up now or forever live in shame!” he roared, his beautiful voice rolling over the people. Almost like magic, they responded to his words, sounding as they did like the orders from a noble. Gallagher shrugged. He didn’t care how they fought, just that they did. Turlough smiled at him and led a charge of townsfolk at the Kottermani soldiers.
Shouts and screams filled the square as Gaelish fled in all directions from furious soldiers, while every time a Kottermani turned away, another group of Gaelish attacked. With their officers all up by the stage and split into small groups, the Kottermanis were unable to work together, while the Gaelish did not wait for orders, just came together to overwhelm small groups of soldiers, steal their weapons and move on. Although the Kottermanis were not able to fight as they wanted, there were still four regiments of them and they did not care who they killed. People fled in all directions as bodies began to clog the square and screams of wounded and dying joined the shrieks of fear from women and children.
*
Bridgit had been caught up watching Fallon spring to life and help free himself but she whirled around as feet clattered on the stairs. She breathed again as half a dozen of her Kottermanis raced onto the roof.
“Asil! Tell them to protect Fallon and put arrows into everyone else on that stage!” she cried.
*
Fallon decided to tackle the guard on his left first. There was no reason to it, he just decided to take one of them with him and that one looked uglier than the other. He drew back his guisarme and prepared to commit to the attack, hoping that Kerrin and Bridgit would turn away.
But a volley of arrows thumped down and he jumped away as the first landed with a splintering crash in the wooden stage. The guard he had been focused on took a pair of shafts through the chest and collapsed, while the other swung his swords like a man possessed and darted from left to right, blocking some arrows and dodging the others. In a couple of heartbeats he was over Fallon’s side of the torture bench and smiled triumphantly at having escaped the arrow storm, now too close to Fallon for them to risk any more shafts.
Then a small quarrel dropped down and struck him in the eye and his grin turned to an agonized howl as he tried to pluck out the shaft. Fallon didn’t need a second invitation and stamped his foot forwards, ripping the guisarme’s blade across the guard’s throat.
“Swane!” he shouted over the choking guard. “I’m coming for you!”
But Swane wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, he was red-faced and shouting, pointing out at the square. He could shout orders all he wanted; Fallon could see there was no way anyone was getting control of that confused battle. Still, while Swane was occupied, Fallon liked the idea of sinking his spike deep into his evil heart.
But a noise behind Fallon made him whirl to see a group of men trying to get up onto the stage. Merchants and the like—they were Swane’s Gaelish supporters who he had hunted while he’d been Lord Protector. They’d come to do Swane’s bidding yet again.
*
“It’s safe to go now. Bridgit’s men have cleared the wall of guards. We get to your father and then free him from the dark spell that he’s under. Then we can order everyone to stop fighting,” Feray said to Kemal.
“I have to help the wounded first,” the Gaelish priestess protested.
“No,” said a giant Gaelishman. “I will look after them.”
“But Brendan, don’t you want to fight?” the priestess asked.
“Not anymore. I shall just help others,” Brendan said.
Rosaleen turned back to Kemal and Feray. “Then I am ready to help you. We shall need to protect people from Swane’s powers and I fear I am the only one strong enough to do it.”
Kemal glanced over at the rest of the former prisoners. Half were wounded but a score of them had accepted weapons and they were a fearsome-looking bunch. He wouldn’t want to fight them.
“The rest of you?”
“Oh, we are ready to fight. We have a score to settle,” a bald giant said fiercely.
Kemal patted him on the shoulder with one hand and accepted a sword with the other.
“This time we turn the tables on our enemies,” he said. “And I too am ready to get some revenge.”
*
Fallon knew his one chance to drive the merchants away was to try and scare them. They were not warriors and maybe he could persuade them that coming up the stairs to the stage would require them selling their lives, rather than selling over-priced goods.
But as he snarled at them, ready to smash the first person who made it up, they waved their hands at him, showing they were unarmed.
“Fallon, we are with you!” one shouted.
He paused for a moment, unsure whether to believe them, then recognized Lorrissa, one of the few Guild heads he had thought trustworthy.
“Swane is mad. We must destroy him!” she cried.
He stepped back, still keeping his guisarme up across his chest, ready to defend himself if one or more of them proved treacherous.
“Get a weapon and help,” he invited.
“Shall we get Swane?” Lorrissa asked.
Fallon waved them forwards. “Let’s kill the bastard,” he said.
*
Bridgit leaned back over the wall. “It looks like he is safe at last, thank Aroaril,” she breathed.
“Shall I go for Swane now? I hit the other two I aimed at,” Kerrin asked eagerly.
Bridgit gathered the two boys into her arms, hugging them tight. She felt like crying but bit down on that hard. There was too much that still needed to be done.
“Are you all right, Mam? Is Dad safe?” Kerrin asked awkwardly.
“Yes,” she said, releasing them a little, and breathing out heavily.
“What shall we do now?”
She tightened her grip on them both. “You will stay here and not move a muscle, nor look over, nor show yourself. The fact you saved your dad might just save your hides. But, for Aroaril’s sake, don’t disobey me this time!”
She grabbed the archer and pushed him towards the stairs. “Follow me,” she ordered, then pointed at Kerrin. “And you two, don’t move!”
*
Swane did not know where to look. There were four regiments of Kottermani soldiers out in that square, but it was almost impossible to tell because of all the confusion. Some companies were in good order and had formed small squares, throwing back any attacks, while others had split apart to chase fleeing civilians and were now being picked off by men with swords. Where had the attackers come from? What was going on?
On the other side of the stage, Fallon and a motley bunch of merchants were fighting with the last of the Emperor’s guards. It looked like the guards would hold but he did not like the way Fallon was getting closer to him. He should be dead by now! It was time to do this properly. He pointed at Fallon and summoned Zorva’s power, ready to stop his heart—but nothing happened. It was as if there was something blocking him. He let his arm drop, feeling a touch of fear.
“What do we do, sire?” Finbar asked.
“Back into the castle. We shall get safe and then send for more regiments. We’ll just keep feeding them in here until all these traitors are dead,” he snapped, feeling better about that idea.
“And Fallon?”
Swane hissed in anger. Fallon must be protected by one of Aroaril’s filthy priests. But he could not escape. The city was surrounded by Kottermani regiments, loyal to the Emperor, and the Emperor would do whatever Swane said.
“Later,” he spat.
He turned towards the castle to see Kottermanis marching out. “Good!” he exclaimed. “The officers must have heard what was happening and decided to come to our aid.”
But even as he raised an arm to wave them over, Finbar grabbed him and dragged him back.
“Sire, they are not ours—look, the foul priestess is out the front, with Fallon’s Gaelish rebels.”
“More traitors!” Swane cried. Well, he knew what to do with them. He had the Emperor and thousands of Kottermani troops. He would surround this city and destroy every last person inside of it. What was Gaelland to him, now that the Empire was at his feet?
He pointed to Finbar. “Rally the Kottermanis to us. We shall cut our way out of the city and then crush Berry.”
Finbar nodded and the Kottermani Emperor began bellowing orders in a voice that magically echoed across the square, calling all Kottermanis to him, ordering them to die to protect their Emperor. Then, with Finbar on one side and Swane on the other, they hurried the Emperor off the platform, away from the approaching priestess and towards safety. A pair of Gaelish rushed at them—ragged, angry men carrying Kottermani swords. He reached again for Zorva’s power and this time they were unprotected. He could grasp their hearts and drop them dead at his feet. The surge of power as it left his body left him gasping but that extravagant act had done its job. Other Gaelish backed away and the first Kottermani companies closed on the three of them, creating a wall of steel and wood.
A group of Gaelish stood in their way and he ordered them slaughtered, although they cried and begged as they fell.
“Sire, that’s Munro and his men you are killing!” Finbar exclaimed.
Swane watched his informers die without a flicker of emotion. “They didn’t warn me of this. They deserve to pay. And if Berry is to die, what need have I of them? Get us to the gate. Give the orders through the Emperor.”
Finbar gulped and hurried to obey. More Kottermanis were arriving every moment, under the Emperor’s direction, and Swane began to relax. Soon he would be safe and then there would be no mercy for anyone in this city.
*
Fallon jerked his guisarme out of a guard’s chest and cursed as he saw Swane make his escape. Kottermanis flooded up onto the stage and he prepared to fight them, only for them to slaughter the last of Swane’s guards instead. He held his guisarme protectively until Rosaleen rushed to his side and he saw Feray and Kemal behind them, as well as Gannon, Bran, Brasso and a score of his men.
“Where’s Bridgit?” he gasped, suddenly feeling the effects of fighting after two days of no food.
Rosaleen glanced up towards the castle. “Well, you’re still alive so she must be up there somewhere. But we have to get the Emperor—we can’t let Swane get out of the city.”
“And what do we do when we get to the Emperor?”
“That’s where we come in,” Kemal said. “We free my father and end this.”
Fallon mustered a tired grin. “Then what are we waiting for?” he asked.
But it swiftly became obvious that their plan was going to be difficult. The fighting in the square was bitter and confused. More than a thousand Kottermanis had chased townsfolk into the surrounding streets and now there were nasty brawls going on in every alleyway. Many of the other Kottermanis were dead or dying in the square but the best part of two regiments had managed to form a thick circle of swords and shields around the Emperor and Swane. Inside there they were as safe as houses. Even Fallon’s best men could not break that circle apart. Instead it marched across the square, driving irresistibly towards the east gate.
Bran and Gannon were sent around to join Gallagher and the bulk of the trained men as they tried to stop the Kottermani progress. But while they could slow things down, there was no stopping the Kottermani advance. They formed a wedge and, without shields and armor, the Gaelish could not hold it back. The freed slaves and the ordinary men and women who had picked up weapons and stabbed Kottermani soldiers in the back were almost useless here, swept aside like annoying little children if they tried to stop the wedge of Kottermanis.
Fallon and Kemal led an attack on the rear, but while they could take down a couple of Kottermanis, the others kept moving and any gaps were sealed instantly by big men with shields. The wounded were left behind and the only thought of the marching Kottermanis was to protect their Emperor. Unfortunately this also meant they were protecting Swane.
“We have to try something different,” Fallon gasped, every muscle aching.
“Looks like you need help,” a familiar voice said.
He turned to see Bridgit. Behind her was a group of Kottermani archers, but he hardly looked at them. He opened his arms and held her. She embraced him fiercely.
“You weren’t supposed to come back. But thank Aroaril you did,” he whispered.
“Thank Aroaril you are still alive. If I had not got there—” and then her voice failed.
Kemal cleared his throat. “As happy as I am to see you back together, we have to get Swane,” he said loudly.
Fallon did not want to move but Bridgit pushed him gently away. “We have risked too much to let Swane escape now,” she said, trailing her fingers down his face as she did so.
Fallon tried to clear his mind and think. “We need to use archers, wizards, anything we have to slow them down. Then get men ahead of them to block the gate and attack them from all sides,”
he said.
“Do it,” Kemal agreed.
*
Swane fretted at their slow progress. An enormous army waited outside the city and all he had to do was get there.
“Send a message to the officers outside the gate. They must march two regiments in to meet us and keep the gate open for our escape,” he told Finbar.
The wizard stepped closer to the Emperor, then stopped as if he had run into a wall.
“What is it?” Swane demanded.
“Fallon’s wizards,” Finbar warned, pointing.
Swane looked back. A crush of Gaelish pressed hard after them, picking off any wounded and stragglers and forcing the rearguard to fight as they walked backwards, with any stumble instantly fatal. Then, to his horror, the back row of Kottermanis went down as magic shattered all their shields. As the soldiers stared in shock, the Gaelish fell on them like a pack of ravenous wolves on a flock of sheep. Scores went down but the rest of the column sealed up a new line of shields, sacrificing the rest of the shield-less men but stopping the Gaelish attack.
“Stop them! That must not happen again,” Swane shouted furiously.
Before Finbar could even reply, arrows began to fall into the center of the formation, striking down officers and men, slowing the advance. Worse, as they moved out of the square and into the streets, Gaelish hurled things down on them from surrounding houses, everything from knives to the contents of chamber pots.
“Protect us!” Swane roared.
Finbar just looked at him. “Sire, I cannot do everything,” he said. “You must choose.”
Swane felt himself on the edge of losing control but dragged his temper back in time. Finbar was his link to the Emperor.
“Stop those wizards. And get the Kottermanis to use their shields against these cursed arrows,” he decided.
Finbar nodded solemnly and the Kottermanis formed a shelter around Swane and the Emperor, their shields raised to protect against the constant rain of arrows. At Finbar’s direction, the Emperor called out encouragement and the Kottermanis stiffened their lines. Swane looked back to where the rear rank was watching their shields stretch and return to their old shape as Finbar battled against Fallon’s wizards. It was time to gather more power, he decided.