by Duncan Lay
“Pull back! Get out of here!”
*
Brendan raced around a corner and into a mob of Kottermanis. In an instant he was in the middle of them, driving them back with huge swings of his hammer. But the men with him were not so lucky, being swarmed under.
Brendan cried out his challenge, daring the Kottermanis to get him, and swords heaved in his direction. He crushed one swordsman, then a Gaelish sword saved him by turning away another thrust. A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.
“There are too many!” Craddock shouted, then lunged, letting a Kottermani run onto his blade.
Brendan hated to retreat but there was a small square there and the Kottermanis could use their numbers.
“Brendan! Now!” Craddock cried, blocking a sword thrust and then chopping off the wielder’s hand with a return blow.
Cursing, Brendan turned and ran.
*
Fallon sheathed his sword when the horns began to blow. He had been trying to shore up his front line, but the Kottermani resistance had stiffened and they were now fighting like maniacs, while his own men were getting tired and losing their spears and, with them, their advantage.
He backed away, not really believing what he was hearing. Another Kottermani force on his left flank? Too many for Devlin and Gallagher to hold back? How many men did they have? One thing was clear, it was only a matter of time before they emerged from some of these side streets and cut his men apart.
“Back! Fall back!” he cried. “Hold your lines!”
That was easier said than done, because the Kottermanis were pressing close.
“Hedgehog run!” he shouted.
That was one thing they all remembered and the rear ranks took several rapid steps back, allowing the front rank to turn and race away, opening up a gap between them and the Kottermanis. They ran for perhaps fifty yards then turned and reformed the lines, checking the Kottermani pursuit, which had been caught this way before.
“Keep going! Slowly!” Fallon ordered, racking his brain to think of where they could meet up with his friends and hold off this other Kottermani attack.
*
“They are in trouble. There is another Kottermani army coming around the back,” Padraig said, his voice going hoarse. “A big one. Worse, they must know their way through the city, for they are sweeping around our men.”
Bridgit knew her father’s strained voice would not be from the magic use. “The city was our big advantage. If they know it as well, then Fallon is in trouble,” she said.
“He needs more men,” Padraig confirmed.
Bridgit felt a touch of panic, the old familiar fear that horrible things would happen, then took a deep breath and let it out. Not this time. Not if she had anything to do with it. “Where can we find some? Kerrin, you know.”
He looked up at her uncertainly but she nodded and his brow furrowed in thought.
“Casey! He and twenty men are guarding the Duchess Dina in her house!” he exclaimed.
“That foul bitch,” Bridgit spat. “That’s a start. Padraig, can you send a bird to him? Guide him to meet up with Brendan’s men?”
The old wizard sighed. “I can send him the bird but I can’t make him understand it.”
Bridgit grabbed a piece of parchment off the table Fallon had been using as a desk and, after checking there was nothing more important on the back, scribbled hasty instructions. “I’ll say it is from Fallon, to save questions now,” she said. “Can you get a bird who can carry that?”
“Can’t you make it any smaller? It’s a bird, not a messenger. And how will it last in the rain?” Padraig grumbled.
She drew her knife and sliced away the extra parts of the parchment, then ran over to the shelf and grabbed a canvas pouch. “Happy now?”
Padraig took the package and hurried off.
“That will help, won’t it, Mam?” Kerrin asked.
“It will but it’s not enough.” She clicked her fingers. “Aren’t Gannon and the rest of Dina’s men in the castle cells?”
Kerrin gulped. “Dad said they weren’t allowed out.”
“He also said Gannon wanted a chance to prove he wasn’t part of Dina’s schemes. Seems like the perfect time. Come on.”
He looked reluctant but she hurried off and he grabbed his crossbow and followed. The Kottermanis had prepared for this, curse them, making sure they knew the city’s backstreets. They must have a plan in mind – maybe even a specific place to surround Fallon and the others. She did not know Berry: damn! She could not sit there and wait and hope. She had to save Fallon.
*
Kottermanis exploded out of a side street and were on Fallon almost before he could react. Even as he turned to face them, shouting orders, Bran and his reserve hit the bastards from the side, bowling over the first soldiers and giving Fallon time to send men to help. Shields and spears sealed the Kottermanis away and the retreat could continue.
Fallon nodded his thanks to Bran and tried to think of a way out of this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. For a start the rain had ruined the fiery barricades they had planned to use to slow the Kottermanis down. Everything was sodden and would not light. They were the ones who had the knowledge of the streets, who had spent a moon training on the cobbles and rooftops for just this battle. Yet the Kottermanis seemed to always know where they were going and always had men pouring out of the street where Fallon wanted advance. He was beyond proud of his men. Despite the losses they had taken, the running and the fighting and the incessant rain, they still held their ranks and obeyed him. They would sprint away, form the hedgehog and sting the Kottermanis, throw some more of them back and then pull away again. Yet there always seemed to be more Kottermanis. He could hear horns being sounded but, rather than make things easier to understand, they only confused him. Both Brendan’s and Devlin’s companies kept announcing they had run into more Kottermanis, while he had heard nothing from Gallagher for what seemed like an age. The battle had shrunk down to what he could control in front of him.
*
“We’re going to have to get off the roofs,” Gallagher decided. “Make the call.”
The two recruits with horns stared at him incredulously and he pointed down at the fighting below. “We can’t keep up with them any more, and the Kottermanis are picking us off. We can do more good down there now. Now sound the horns, curse you!”
They hurriedly blew, time and again, and Gallagher hoped all his men got the message – as well as Fallon. He peered through the rain and saw men climbing up onto the roof of a nearby house.
“What are those idiots doing? The horn said go down!” he cried angrily.
But although they could hear the horns clearly, it was obvious the men were ignoring it. Gallagher was about to yell at them when he realized they carried bows over their shoulders, not crossbows.
“They’re bogging Kottermanis! Follow me!” he cried.
He grabbed one of the long ladders and swung it around, grunting with the effort, letting it drop onto the Kottermani roof. “Get them!” he shouted and raced across the ladder, heedless of the wet wood and the killer drop below.
One of the Kottermani archers heard him and hurried to tip the ladder off the roof. Gallagher loosed his crossbow from the hip, aiming by hope more than skill. The bolt struck the archer’s arm and spun him around. Another archer ran forwards but Gallagher hurled his empty crossbow at the man and then pulled out his fishing knives, leaping the last pace onto the other roof.
The archer ducked under the flying crossbow and straightened up just in time for Gallagher to open his throat with a huge slash of his knife.
The one with the bolt in his arm drew a sword with his free hand but Gallagher stabbed down, driving his other blade deep into the junction of the Kottermani’s neck and shoulder. The man shuddered and convulsed and the fisherman was horribly reminded of some of the big fish he had hooked, then he ripped his knife clear, drenching himself in blood, and forgot about fish as more Kot
termanis closed in. He was about to sell his life dearly when a shout announced the rest of his men were arriving. They raced into the Kottermanis and the two sides tottered and staggered on the uneven, sloping roof, fighting as much to keep their footing on the wet wooden shingles as they did to defeat one other.
Gallagher locked blades with a Kottermani archer, then head-butted the man, breaking his nose. The archer staggered backwards, then slipped and fell off the roof with a screech and a soggy thud.
Crossbows were loosed close enough to throw them at their foe and proved to be the better weapon in this fight, for by the time the archer could draw his bowstring back, a Gaelish fighter was on him. Gallagher threw himself across the roof to kick the feet out from one archer, knocking him to the cobbles below, then regained his feet to slit the throat of another who was choking the life out of one of his recruits.
He wiped blood out of his eyes with a soggy tunic sleeve and spat the coppery stink out of his mouth. The last Kottermani was down, thrashing and gasping with a crossbow bolt in his stomach, and the Gaelish were panting and looking around.
“Right. Let’s get off these bloody roofs and find Fallon,” Gallagher said.
*
The Duchess Dina watched her guards race off into the night and smiled. They had left, only two young men left standing outside her front door, trying to shelter from the rain. Munro had at least six of his agents nearby and she had all this beautiful rain and confusion to aid her. Aroaril might reward the virtuous but luck favored those who planned, she decided. It was time to take advantage of this chance. She lit several candles, placing them in the pre-arranged signal pattern in her window, and then began to pack. She had much to do that night and no time to waste.
*
“Are you ready to prove you are on our side, one of Hagen’s men and not a traitor to your Lord?” Bridgit announced loudly as she strode into the cells, holding a lantern high. She ignored the one she knew was filled with the real traitors, Keverne and Mika and the men who had killed the Duke.
Most of the other men inside the cells clustered up to the bars, and she liked that. The ones who stayed at the back were the ones she did not want. She guessed there were more than a hundred men in these cells and three-quarters of them were pressed against the bars, trying to see what was going on.
She strode along the cells until she spotted Gannon, the big former sergeant towering over his fellows.
“Fallon’s Bridgit. Welcome back,” Gannon said. “How did Fallon win your return?”
“I escaped,” she said shortly. “But we don’t have time for that. The Kottermanis are here and we are fighting for survival. Are you ready to prove yourself?”
“I have been ready all along, but Fallon does not trust me!” Gannon growled, his big hands squeezing on the bars.
“Then rejoice, for I bring you a chance to regain your honor and be hailed as a hero of the night,” she said briskly. “Are you willing to fight the Kottermanis?”
Gannon spat. “Of course. But will Fallon want me? Why did he not come himself? Why did he send his wife to speak to us, if not to torment us further?”
She strode up to the bars. “Because he is fighting for his life. He needs saving and you are the man who is going to do it.”
Gannon shook his head. “He said he could not have us behind him. He thought we would stab him in the back. He might turn on us. And he certainly won’t let us serve under him.”
“Fine. You will serve under me. I got more than two hundred of our people out of Kotterman and defeated these bastards once. Follow me and I will defeat them again. And prove once and for all what you are worth.”
“I wish I could believe you,” Gannon said. “But Fallon would rather see us shipped to Kotterman as slaves.”
Bridgit stepped even closer, so close that he could have reached out and grabbed her. But she showed no fear. “You took an oath. I call on you in Hagen’s memory to follow me and save fellow Lunstermen who are fighting and dying out there. And I swear to you that if you fight for me, nobody will ever touch you and I will sail back to Kotterman as a slave before you do,” she said, her voice low and vehement. “None will ever doubt you again and Fallon himself will embrace you.”
He stared deep into her eyes and she matched his gaze, letting him see the determination that had driven her out of Kotterman and across the ocean.
“I can see why Fallon was willing to do anything to get you back,” he said hoarsely. “Get us out of here and give us weapons. I will follow you into the pits of Zorva himself.”
She snapped her fingers at Kerrin. “Get the keys and then get us to the armory,” she instructed. “Are you all with me?”
“I will pick the ones worthy of you,” Gannon said. “And I will kill them myself before they let you down.”
*
Brendan felt dizzy and lost. In the dark and rain, the alleyways began to blur and it seemed that, no matter which way they turned, there were more Kottermanis there. A mass of them poured out of an alley and he was hard-pressed to turn them back. Brendan set his feet and prepared to go down swinging, then the Kottermanis fell apart as someone drove into them from the side. The foreign soldiers dropped back, allowing the two groups to meet up.
“What is Devlin doing over this way?” Brendan demanded of these new Gaelish recruits.
“Brendan! It is me, Casey!” their leader yelled.
Brendan peered through the rain until he recognized the young officer and a score of prime Gaelish recruits.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Fallon sent for us. We have been following a bird that Padraig sent.”
“I wish that crazy old wizard would send us something hot to drink and maybe some more light,” Craddock said.
Brendan felt his head clear. “Then let’s follow this bird of Padraig’s back to Fallon. I have had enough of scampering through alleys. Let’s join up and send these bogging Kottermanis screaming back home to mama.”
“I wish we had your mama here to fight. She’d send them home screaming all right,” Craddock said.
*
Fallon had the growing sense he was being herded in a particular direction. But every attempt to push back was met with more Kottermanis. The bastards were even up on some of the roofs now, and it had been ages since he had seen crossbow bolts flying down to slow the Kottermanis. Their pursuit was relentless.
Then Kottermani pressure on their retreat died away as someone attacked them from the side, driving in their front. Fallon saw his chance and turned his men around.
“Get them! Charge!” he cried, his voice feeling raw after all the shouting he had been doing.
They struck the Kottermanis just as they were closing around the other group of Gaelish. Hit from both sides, the Kottermanis held for a moment, then were cut apart. Fallon had stopped using his sword now, for the Kottermani armor seemed to get harder to cut through the wetter it got. His shillelagh was devastating at close quarters and the Kottermanis seemed to have no idea how to block it. He broke jaws and noses and pulped eyes, cracked elbows and sword hands, putting men out of the fight without killing them. He preferred that anyway, for he had seen more than enough blood that night to last him a lifetime.
He broke through to the new group, just as their leader sent a Kottermani flying with a broken neck, courtesy of a huge swing of his hammer.
“Brendan!” Fallon cried, not only delighted by the sight of his big friend but relieved to see him alive.
“These bastards are everywhere. It’s like they know what we are doing,” the smith said angrily.
“They must have had men watching us training,” Fallon said grimly. “But what is their plan?”
“Are they trying to drive us back to the castle?” Casey piped up, stepping out from behind Brendan.
“What are you doing here?” Fallon asked, recognizing the young man. He looked as blood-spattered and rain-soaked as the rest of them.
“You called for me. Sent
me a bird with a parchment order and I followed it to Brendan and then to you, just as it said,” Casey replied.
Fallon wiped rain out of his eyes. “Padraig. He and Bridgit must have done that. Aroaril knows why and we can worry about that later. Let’s find Gallagher and Devlin and get sorted. I have had just about enough of being pushed around by these boggers.”
*
“I think they are trying to trap them in Slaughter Square,” Padraig announced.
“What in Aroaril’s name is Slaughter Square?” Bridgit demanded.
She had pulled on a boiled leather jerkin that stank of men’s sweat and old cows. Her skin crawled wherever it touched it but it made her look more warlike, which was all she was aiming for. As for weapons, she kept only the knife she had brought from Kotterman. She did not know how to use anything else and, anyway, if she had to do the fighting it was all over for everyone. She planned to use her head, not her sword skills, to beat the Kottermanis again.
More than seventy former Lunster guards had joined Gannon and were picking up a motley collection of weapons, old swords and shillelaghs that had been left behind by Fallon’s men. None had shields but most had the old leather jerkins that smelled like they had been stored there for too many years. With them were many of the men she had brought out from Kotterman, from Baltimoreans like Dermot to the young thieves Fitz and Arron. More than a hundred were gathered now. Gannon was handing out handfuls of crossbow bolts to them all. She did not know why and did not have time to ask. But he seemed confident enough about it, so she let him keep going.
“It’s where the slaughterhouses are, where flocks of sheep, herds of cows and pigs get their throats slit every day,” Padraig said. “It only has two ways in and out – one from the gate and one that leads to the main road. If they get pushed down there, there is no way out and the Kottermanis can use their numbers to crush our forces.”
