by Duncan Lay
“That’s right,” Quinn said, his face betraying a sudden fear Fallon was going to say something about the Duchess.
Fallon said nothing more, just opened the door and stepped into the King’s rooms. He forced the memories away of the last time they had been in there, thinking they had won and all that remained was for Swane to be executed for his crimes.
He did not know what to expect, because no one ever did with King Aidan. But, as he shut the door behind him, it was to see the King sitting back in a comfortable armchair, a second, somewhat less comfortable chair drawn up opposite. A pair of burly guards stood behind the empty chair, their purpose obvious.
“Take a seat, Fallon; let us talk,” Aidan invited.
He felt a huge surge of fury just looking at the King but managed to force a smile onto his face and keep his voice even as he bowed. “Thank you, sire,” he said, sitting down and making his fists unclench, sensing the two guards relax as he did so.
“Fallon, you led an inspired defense when you were trapped at the Guildhouse. Surrounded, outnumbered, you used your head and your men to win,” Aidan said, talking as if he were speaking about one of his favored hurling games, rather than a grim battle that had seen the cobbles awash with blood and guts.
Fallon merely nodded, not trusting himself to talk about that day.
“So I want to know, if the Kottermanis came here and attacked us, how would you defeat them?”
Fallon had to fight particularly hard to keep the surprise from his face. “Do you think the Kottermanis will attack us, sire?” he asked.
“Who knows?” Aidan waved a hand. “But I want to know what you would do if they did.”
Fallon took a deep breath. There was a dangerous game going on. King Aidan might be unpredictable and evil but there was always some purpose behind his actions.
“We cannot match their ships, nor should we fight them in open country, for they have far more men than us,” he said carefully. “They know they have far more soldiers than we could ever hope to put in the field and no doubt they are battle-hardened.”
“Yes. The Empire is in a constant state of revolt. Every man they would send here would be a veteran. We would have a mixture of guards and the fyrd. One man of theirs would be worth two of ours, and they would have four or five times our number,” said Aidan.
“We have to make them attack us here,” Fallon said, his voice strengthening as he thought about it.
“Here? But if they take Berry then they have the whole country,” Aidan said, his voice questioning, not accusing.
“It is the only city big enough for our purpose. We draw them into the streets and the alleys. That’s where numbers count for nothing. The city is a maze but we know it all. We can use the roofs, we can use the back alleys and we can cut them to pieces, hurt them so badly that they never come again.”
“Would it not be better to trust in our walls and try to hold them out?”
“They would destroy the countryside around us while they wait. And if they are always fighting then they would have ways to batter their way through stone walls. No, better to use their arrogance against them. They will march in here like conquerors, never expecting us to attack. Then we crush them.”
“Attack them after inviting them in?” Aidan asked.
“You do not get prizes for fighting fair. We do anything we can to win.”
Aidan clapped his hands together and laughed. “Excellent! The best answer I have been given by far. Most of the others all said we should use cavalry to destroy them on a flat field somewhere, for they could not bring horses across the sea. Yet they can bring enough bows to destroy any cavalry charge. Tell me, Fallon, would you think about being my war captain, if it came to it?”
Fallon forced down both his astonishment and his revulsion at the thought of serving this man. “You honor me, sire. But is there not someone better suited for the role?”
Aidan waved his hand in disgust. “Kelty? He is a perfect captain of guards but he is not a general. Who else is there? One of my nobles? Can you see the Earl of Lagway leading the men into battle? The Kottermanis would die laughing.”
“I would be proud to serve you, sire,” Fallon lied. He found it was getting easier to do, the more practice he had at it.
Aidan looked away then and seemed to be musing to himself. “It is worth looking at. A man who could make all the difference.”
“Sire?” Fallon asked gently.
“That is all, Fallon. Thank you.” Aidan was no longer looking at him.
Fallon stood and bowed, then used the opportunity to have a quick look around the King’s room. There were many shelves there filled with scrolls. He would need plenty of time to search them all.
The guards outside, even the lieutenant Quinn, did not pay him any attention on his way out, instead watching the pair of fat Guildsmen who were going to see the King next. Fallon picked up his shillelagh and left, thinking about the best time to come back and have a proper look around.
*
His return was met with heartfelt relief from all the villagers. They had barricaded themselves into individual rooms, ready to sell their lives dearly, only to emerge when Fallon returned. But none of them could understand why the King had wanted to talk to him.
“And that’s all he wanted? To talk about the Kottermanis and offer you a job as his war captain?” Devlin asked in disbelief.
“Aye. I could barely believe it either. He only seems to be concerned with the Kottermanis at the moment. He doesn’t seem to care about the witches and selkies any more. I know he always has something in mind but I don’t know what it is. Maybe I can find out if I get into his rooms when he is passing judgment on some poor unfortunates.”
“That’s if he doesn’t want us to watch over Swane while that is going on,” Gallagher reminded him.
Everyone had relaxed and started to think about the evening meal, and some had even begun to complain about being stuck in these rooms all day, when Regan returned.
“Hide the weapons,” Fallon ordered, as men jumped up in fear, “but be ready to use them.”
But Regan merely had another scroll to deliver. “The King wants you to hand this to Duchess Dina at her townhouse,” he announced.
“Are all his messengers sick or something?” Fallon asked suspiciously.
“The King asked for you particularly. You may take three companions and you need to leave now.” He handed the scroll over. “Fail and the King will look on it as a breaking of your promise.”
With that, the chamberlain turned and strode away.
“Could they have made this any more obvious as a trap?” Gallagher asked.
“But why go to all this effort?” Fallon growled. “Why not come in here with swords drawn?”
“Well, if it is a trap, we shall give them a surprise,” Brendan said with relish.
“I should have killed the bastard when I had the chance.” Fallon cursed and thumped the wall.
“There’s many reasons to go back in time but no way to do it, so give it up, man,” Gallagher said sourly.
“You can’t go,” Padraig said firmly.
Fallon patted Gallagher on the shoulder in apology. “Gall is right. We have no choice,” he told the old wizard. “You heard Regan. We have to take the chance there is something else happening. Otherwise we are all dead. Look, use a bird to watch us and if something happens, you’ve got warning.”
Padraig sighed.
Fallon embraced his father-in-law. “Just get Kerrin out. That’s all I ask,” he whispered. “I promised him I would not leave him and I will do all I can to return. But we are the King’s pawns now and we must play his game.”
Padraig winked. “That I can do. But make sure you get back. Bridgit would kill me if anything happened to you.”
Fallon turned to his friends. “I am sorry, lads. You don’t have to come. I can ask for volunteers—”
“We are your constables,” Devlin said. “You’re not going anywhere witho
ut us.”
“Besides, a trap doesn’t always work,” Brendan said flatly. “All we have to do is break it.”
*
But nothing happened as they walked through the streets. All four of them were carrying every weapon they could think of and the crowds were parting before them but they walked to the Duchess’s house without anything happening.
“I wish they would hurry up and spring the trap on us. I am getting hungry and hate fighting on an empty stomach,” Brendan grumbled.
“You might get your wish,” Gallagher said. “Don’t look now but we’re being followed.”
Instantly Brendan turned around.
“Could you make it any more obvious? If Devlin had turned, they might have missed him in the crowd but no, the biggest of us has to do it,” Gallagher sighed.
“Six of them, it looks like. All wearing brown cloaks,” Brendan reported. “Shall we take them now?”
“It’s the ones I can’t see that I worry about,” Fallon said. “The Duchess’s house is just there. Let’s get inside and see if we can spot how many there really are.”
The mysterious men made no move to attack them as they hammered on the door, which was opened. They were ushered inside to where the Duchess was less than pleased to see them.
“The King sent you here?” she gasped. “For Aroaril’s sake, this has to be a trap!”
“We’re being followed,” Fallon agreed.
But, although they peered carefully out of the windows, all they could see was the same six figures.
“There’s nothing for it. We’ll have to go out there and attack them,” Fallon said.
“Can we at least eat first?” Brendan asked.
But the Duchess had other ideas. “There is another choice,” she said. “There is a back door. Those men will think you will be here for turns of the hourglass. Meanwhile you can be away and back at the castle while they still watch the front of my house.”
Fallon was not sure about this but she was insistent … and attacking men in the street seemed like a recipe for disaster.
“If you go now, they will never expect it,” she said. “I shall make sure I am seen at the windows, pretending to talk to you.”
She embraced Fallon quickly, which made him stiffen in shock, then she drew back. “Live,” she said. “Do it for your wife and son.”
The back door was opened and the alleyway behind scanned quickly. There was no sign of any watchers, so the four of them hurried onwards.
“Well, I feel much happier about this trap now,” Gallagher said as they walked down a crooked alley, back towards the main road. “At least the Duchess seems on our side.”
Fallon grunted. The houses were bigger and much nicer here than in the rats’ nest of houses in the poorer quarters. Still, the smell was just as bad.
“At least there is no sign of those cloaked men,” Fallon said.
“That’s if we can find our way out of here,” Devlin said as the alley took yet another turn. “Who designed this stupid city?”
“Fallon was right about it though. This is the place to fight the Kottermanis. We can use the roofs and places like this to destroy them,” Gallagher said. “Imagine it, looking up, barely able to see the sun and not knowing if there was going to be a hail of spears or crossbow bolts from above at any moment.”
Fallon looked up, as Gallagher suggested, then swore loudly.
“Get your backs to the walls. There’s more up there!”
The four of them flattened themselves against the rough alley wall, eyes scanning above. But the roofline was empty.
“What did you see?” Devlin asked.
“Three hooded men,” Fallon replied shortly. “Just for a moment, then they ducked away.”
“The one from out the front? How could they have got here?”
“They didn’t. These look completely different,” Fallon said.
“Do you think this is the real trap?” Brendan wondered. “Did the Duchess push us into it?”
“Let’s worry about that later,” Fallon said.
He unstrapped his crossbow from his back and swiftly loaded it. Devlin and Gallagher did the same. Brendan just hefted his huge hammer but that was more than enough of a weapon in his hands.
They hurried down the alley, which led into a maze of others. No longer worrying about finding the way back to the main road, Fallon just led them left and right, looking to put some distance between them and whoever was above. He was horribly aware they were completely exposed but could not think who was after them. King Aidan had them at his mercy in the castle – if he wanted them dead then he would just send in his guards. The Duchess? But why not attack while they were inside her house? Obviously Swane wanted them dead but he was in a cell somewhere. And, anyway, they had killed his men. Or had they?
“Are they still up there?” Devlin asked as they stopped by a corner, all puffing hard.
“Can’t see.” Fallon craned his neck to check the rooftops. “But there’s so many places to hide up there.”
“Do we wait or do we go?” Brendan asked.
“I think these three might be the snatchers, the ones Cavan said he chased across the rooftops. The ones Eamon was protecting, the ones we weren’t able to find,” Fallon said.
Devlin stopped looking up and swung around. “The ones Cavan said had skin like wood that swords just bounced off?”
“But we don’t look like children! Well, maybe Devlin if you put him next to Brendan,” Gallagher said.
Fallon instinctively paused for Devlin to make some joke in return but nothing came.
“Let’s keep moving,” Devlin said instead.
They jogged down a series of alleys.
“Who builds these? There’s not a straight line among them!” Gallagher protested.
Fallon caught a glimpse of the main road down a side alley. “There!” he cried and skidded to a halt.
The four of them raced down towards the bustle and light of the main road, strides lengthening as they sensed a way out of the dark maze.
But three figures emerged out of a doorway and formed a line across the laneway, long knives in their hands.
Fallon stopped immediately, his friends a step behind him. Unlike the cloaked ones who had obviously followed them to the Duchess’s house, these were dressed all in black, with some kind of tight-fitting black hood over their face. They did not seem particularly large, but their silence and the long, curved knives they held in each hand were menace enough.
“Do we try to talk to them?” Devlin whispered.
“Bugger that,” Fallon said, and raised his crossbow and sent a bolt thumping into the chest of the middle one, the sheer force of it knocking the figure back, spinning it around and sending it to its knees.
Fallon grinned mirthlessly at the remaining two as Gallagher and Devlin brought up their crossbows.
But his grin faded as the one he had knocked down bounced back to his feet and rejoined the others. He reached down and plucked the crossbow bolt out of his chest, tossing it away.
“Not this shite again,” Gallagher breathed. “More of these boggers that just won’t die.”
“What do we do?” Brendan asked.
“Run!” Fallon cried.
They turned and tore back down the alleyway, even Brendan putting on a respectable turn of speed.
“Back to the Duchess’s house!” Fallon called.
“Which way is that?” Gallagher cried as they turned down yet another identical-looking alleyway. “I can’t get my bearings!”
Fallon glanced up but the sky was thick with cloud – no chance of seeing the afternoon sun. He looked over his shoulder to see the snatchers were chasing them. And not just chasing but gaining on them. The creatures they had destroyed in the Guildhouse had been slow-moving and shambling. These were the opposite.
“Hurry!” he cried.
The four of them sped up. They rounded a corner, bouncing off the opposite wall and using it to push themselves onward
s, boots skidding on the rough and slippery cobbles. By contrast, the snatchers seemed to float across the ground.
Brendan was leading the way, arms swinging in all directions and his heavy hammer going with them. They had to stay a pace behind to avoid it. But while the other three could have gone faster, the big smith was built for power, not speed. Within a hundred yards, it was obvious they could not outrun the snatchers. Brendan was gasping for breath.
“Get out of it. I’ll hold them off,” Brendan gasped, slowing to a walk. “By the time they get past me, you’ll be clear. Just look after Nola and—”
“Don’t be a bloody idiot,” Fallon said. “We don’t leave you for anything.”
He hauled back on his crossbow string, reloading swiftly as the three snatchers slowed down, advancing carefully, ominously, not showing any signs of exertion, knives held out before them.
“How can we kill them? They just keep coming!” Gallagher hissed.
“We’ll hit them again. I’ll take the center one, Dev take left, Gall the one on the right,” Fallon ordered, snapping a quarrel into his bow.
“Loose!”
The three bolts streaked away. The snatchers were barely ten yards away and impossible to miss. All three bolts struck and all three went down – then bounced right back again.
“What now?” Devlin asked.
Fallon tossed his crossbow aside and produced one of Brendan’s throwing knives from his belt. The big smith had stripped the leather and wooden hilts away, leaving something unbalanced but pure metal.
“Let’s see if these things work,” he said.
He took a step forward and hurled the knife, which spun once, thudded onto the chest of the central figure and bounced away.
“And now?” Devlin asked, his voice betraying his fear.
Fallon pulled out his shillelagh. “We fight,” he said grimly.
He watched the snatchers advance slowly and could not stop thinking about Bridgit and Kerrin. It could not end like this. They had been ready for any normal attack but not this. He hoped Padraig was watching but could not spare the time to look up for a bird overhead.
The lead snatcher jumped high, covering the five yards between them in one effortless leap. Thoughts of his family vanished as Fallon reacted instinctively. He punched out his shillelagh, left and right, blows so fast they were hard to follow. Yet the snatcher swayed aside easily and swiveled, kicking out to sweep Fallon’s legs away.
