The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (31 page)

One moment they were sitting together, talking, the next moment hands appeared out of the hidden doorway and whisked them inside. Cavan stared for a long moment, barely able to believe what he had seen, then he snapped out of his shock. “The snatchers are in there! They just grabbed the kids! Make the signal!” he cried.

He pushed himself to his knees as Niall grabbed out a red flag on a long stick and waved it furiously to and fro.

The guards on the street below must have been daydreaming as well, because it seemed like an age before they waved back and raced down the street, hurrying to break in the door and chase the snatchers out through the roof.

“Come on!” Cavan stood, waving to the guards several roofs down and they all closed in on the target house, creeping across the unsteady tiles.

Below they could hear shouts as the guards reached the door and began kicking it in, using their boots.

“Any moment now,” Cavan whispered.

“Highness, stay back – there’s no telling what might happen,” Eamon said, pushing in front of him.

Next moment a window clattered open and three figures all in black appeared, two small shapes slung over their shoulders.

“There they go! Get them!” Niall cried, waving the blue flag that was to signal the final team of guards waiting in the street behind.

Cavan cursed as the three figures stayed up high, leaping across to a line of warehouses that clustered close behind.

“After them!” he shouted, breaking into a run.

He saw his guards on the other side react slower but he could sense Eamon, at least, was right behind him.

The rough roof was not easy to run on and he slipped a little as he tried to pick a path and get his stride pattern right so he planted his right foot just before the edge of the roof and launched himself into space and across to the opposite roof. For a sickening moment he could see the cobbles far below and doubted he could make it, then his boots hit the flat top of the warehouse with a crash that jarred his legs. The snatchers had already opened up a lead but this roof was far easier to run on and he hared after them, hearing the bangs and thuds as Eamon, Niall and his guards also made the jump across.

The next warehouse sat lower and, while the snatchers made the jump with ease, Cavan felt his stomach lurch as he followed. He hit hard and fell forwards, letting himself roll and using that momentum to bring him back to his feet.

“Highness, slow down and wait for us!” Eamon shouted.

Cavan ignored him. Ahead he fancied he could see the pleading faces of Reardon and Rianna. He had put them in harm’s way: he could not let them be taken.

He sprinted across this roof, wondering where his guards were and why they had not cut the snatchers off yet.

His lungs were burning, his legs hurting and his heart pounding but he ignored it all, pushing himself harder and harder, trying just to keep pace with the snatchers. They were jumping down off the roof, disappearing from sight, and he skidded to a halt to see them in a street below, heading back the way they had all come. Cavan looked around desperately for a way down then hurled himself across at the warehouse three paces opposite, which had a platform about halfway up its side. He landed on it heavily, bruising his shoulder, but rolled over, hung off the edge and dropped on to the cobbles below. He fell awkwardly, but when he forced himself upright there was nothing stopping him breaking into a run after them. Above and behind he heard cursing and crashing as Eamon followed his route down.

He chased after the snatchers, seeing them getting further and further ahead and wondered how it could be possible to catch them when he was already sweating and gasping for breath. Then he skidded to a halt and felt like cheering when the snatchers stopped dead in their tracks. Beyond them, six of his guards blocked the street, swords drawn.

“Yes!” He clapped his hands together, slowing down to let a puffing Eamon catch up with him.

“Where are the rest of the guards?” he asked. “If they turn our way, it will be brisk work until they can come to our aid.”

“Not far behind,” Eamon said.

The snatchers were looking both ways, as well as up at the roofs far above them. Cavan relished what they had to be seeing – no doors and no way to get up to the roof.

“We’ve got them!” he crowed. “They won’t escape this time. We must keep one alive, at least, to drag before Father and show him what Swane has really been doing.”

He looked around, to see Eamon looking grim.

“You said it couldn’t be done and I’ve done it.” He grinned. “What do you say to that?”

“I wish you hadn’t, highness, I really do,” Eamon said slowly.

“What do you mean by that?”

By way of answer, Eamon put his fingers in his mouth and whistled twice, loud and harsh, filling the alleyway with the noise.

Instantly the guards who had been advancing slowly on the motionless snatchers stopped. They sheathed their swords and stood aside, lining the wall and leaving the way open.

“What are you doing? What are they doing?” Cavan demanded, dumbfounded by the turn of events.

But Eamon ignored him. “Go!” he shouted instead.

Instantly the snatchers raced off, running right past the guards, who let them go without making a move to stop them, before drawing their swords once more and filling the alley, advancing down to where Cavan stood, mouth opening and closing silently.

“You are with them?” he finally managed to say, his voice a strangled whisper.

“I am sorry highness, I truly am. But you should have listened to your brother when you had the chance,” Eamon said sadly, drawing his own sword.

“But my father will have your head if I am killed. You are killing yourself!” Cavan said hoarsely.

“Only if I go back to see him. As I said, I am sorry. But they will never find your body. You will have disappeared, like so many others. I will also vanish from here, to live my life in luxury in the countryside, far from your father, thanks to the money your brother has given me.”

Cavan staggered backwards, clawing his own sword out.

“Please don’t make this more difficult,” Eamon said. “You know you don’t stand a chance against me.”

Cavan stared at him, horrified, his mind rebelling against the evidence of his eyes. Eamon could not be a traitor, could not be in league with Swane. It was not possible. Except it was.

He held his sword but was unable to even bring it up into the guard position. He just stood there in shock and probably would have done so until Eamon ended his life, but the spell was broken by thuds and crashes as Niall bounced off the warehouse platform and into the alley.

Cavan brought his sword up to protect himself as Niall pushed himself to his feet and raced towards them. But he was not the target.

“Run, highness!” Niall shouted, drawing a knife and flinging himself at Eamon.

The bodyguard was obviously shocked by Niall’s actions, for he was slower than usual to defend himself. But it still only took a matter of heartbeats. Niall’s knife was turned aside and Eamon rammed his sword forward viciously, ripping into Niall’s chest with a sickening sound.

Niall let go of his knife and instead clung to Eamon’s sword arm, trapping the weapon that was killing him inside his own body.

“Run!” he cried again, then Eamon twisted his sword and all he could make was a choking noise as he died.

But that was enough for Cavan. He tore himself away from the grisly sight of Eamon trying to rip his sword out of the dying man’s grasp and raced off back down the alley, away from where the men he had thought of as his guards were advancing on him, swords drawn.

“After him! He must not get away!” Eamon roared.

Again Cavan found himself racing through the streets but this time he was the hunted, not the hunter, and it was a very different feeling. His lungs still burned, his legs ached and the bruises he had taken tumbling over roofs stung, but his heart was beating with fear, not excitement. His sword weighed him down and he glanced down at it. He saw, in his mind’s eye, being trapped and cut down unarmed and hated the thought of being helpless. Then he thought of the men chasing him and how he could not hope to defeat so many, let alone Eamon, and he threw it away. His legs and hands would save him here – not his sword.

He lengthened his stride, his mind clearing. The docks were close and there were any number of his father’s guards as well as watchmen for the various merchants. His was the most recognized face in Berry. If he could get in there, Eamon could not come after him. And then he would see the bastard clapped in chains and some answers wrung out of him, because none of it made sense. Eamon had been alone with him many times since he had begun his campaign against Swane. He had had a score of chances to kill him in his sleep, or finish him when he was out of sight. What had triggered him to act now?

Then he put such concerns aside, for he turned a corner and saw a low fence ahead. There was nothing to help him get up and over it so he just jumped up, caught the top and hauled himself up, boots scrabbling on the rough wood. His shoulders screamed in protest but he got his elbows across the top then flopped over, falling in an ungainly heap onto a pile of broken wood. He cursed as splinters dug into his back, then pushed himself upright as a series of thuds announced that his erstwhile guards had reached the wall also.

He spat to clear his mouth of sticky phlegm and began to run again. He knew the docks had to be close but this area was a maze of warehouses and there was no clear path to the shore. He pushed himself harder, turning left and right randomly, seeking only to put distance between himself and his pursuers.

“Split up! Get him!” he heard Eamon shouting and the sound gave fresh speed to his legs.

Anger burned within as he remembered how Niall had been cut down like a dog and how Eamon had betrayed him so thoroughly. Once again he had been fondly imagining he was laying a trap for his brother and, all the time, Swane was laughing at him, having bought off Eamon. He had to live, had to get away and make his brother pay.

He tore down an alleyway to his left, saw he was heading into a dead end with a tall stone wall and doubled back swiftly, heading right. A guard appeared on his right but Cavan lowered a shoulder, using his speed to ram it under the guard’s chin and send him reeling backwards and away. He raced past the man and glanced upwards. He could see masts poking above the roofs of warehouses and that told him the right direction to go.

Unfortunately the alleys were not so helpful. Another dead end made him double back and he caught a glimpse of Eamon down the end of a long alley.

“There he is!” the former bodyguard shouted, pointing with sword.

Cavan ran hard, sweat flying from his face and fear spurring him on, but there was no clear way forwards. A guardsman appeared out of nowhere and swung his sword viciously but Cavan ducked beneath it, the sound as it struck the wooden warehouse wall almost deafening him. The guardsman cursed as his sword stuck in the wood and Cavan used the opportunity to tear past him and around the corner.

It was only a matter of time before he was caught, racing through the maze of alleys like this and, even as he thought that, he saw another one of those strange platforms on the side of a warehouse. He jumped for it, feet scrabbling, and pulled himself up, then did the same onto the flat roof, where he lay for a moment, panting.

Below he could hear the sound of pounding feet and quick cries as his former protectors hunted him. That pushed him onto his feet again and he looked over towards the docks desperately. They were tantalizingly close and he decided to use the roofs, as the snatchers had done.

Every part of him was aching and it was dangerously tempting to lie down, to rest and hope they missed him. But he knew instinctively that they could not let him escape. They were all living under a sentence of death while he still drew breath. They would never call off the search.

He trotted across the warehouse roof, speeding up as he reached the other side, and leaped across to the next building. The docks seemed much closer and he felt hope rising again as he made much better progress, taking a direct path rather than twisting and turning through alleys. With just a little luck, he could get away from there and find help while they were still searching through the warehouses.

Then he leaped across another alleyway – and saw Eamon beneath him.

“He’s on the roofs!”

Cavan sped up, fear swiftly replacing the hope once more as he looked around and saw guards scrambling up onto the roofs after him.

A head appeared at the edge almost in front of him and he changed direction, kicking out viciously. The guard’s head snapped back as blood spurted from his broken nose and he fell on the one below who was helping him up onto the roof.

Cavan did not spare them another glance but instead put his head down and sprinted for the next gap to another roof. The docks were close now, only one more jump away after this. He sprang into the air, just as a guard rose from below to try and grab at him. The man missed but his hand still tripped Cavan, turning a graceful leap into a despairing plunge at the far side.

He slammed into the roof, the breath whooshing out of him, and it was all he could do to cling to the roof as he fought for breath and energy, sweat dripping into his eyes and everything hurting.

“Quick! Pull him down!” someone shouted from below.

The sound galvanised him and he scrambled upwards, kicking backwards as he did so. He felt his left boot connect with something that gave a cry of pain and pushed off the head of the guard and onto the roof. Once again he had to force himself to his feet, seeing half a dozen of them closing on him from all angles. He felt like a child in some gruesome game of hide and seek. That thought reminded him of the two children he had paid to act as bait, now being carried away by Swane’s child snatchers because of Eamon’s betrayal. That gave him a fresh spurt of anger.

You will not get me
, he vowed silently.

He ran hard for the next jump, leaping earlier and landing better. On the other side of this warehouse were the docks, and he dropped to his belly, slithering backwards over the edge, supporting himself with his hands to lessen the drop. It still looked like a long, painful fall but the sight of Eamon and most of his guards closing in, swords in hands, reminded him anything was better than staying where he was.