The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (54 page)

“If you go closer, he will focus his attention on you. He can destroy you in a heartbeat,” Rosaleen warned.

“Can you stop him? Just for a few moments, long enough to give me a chance?” Fallon asked.

Rosaleen looked doubtful, then she nodded. “I’ll give you as long as I can,” she promised. “But you’ll need to keep me hidden too.”

“We can do that,” Fallon said.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Brendan asked. “They’re creating more of those creatures while we waste time.”

There was little left from the barricade but he grabbed a round table, while Gallagher grabbed a chair, as did the rest of the men. Fallon and Rosaleen stayed in the middle, keeping low behind a protective screen.

“Come on!” Brendan roared.

They raced down the stairs, Gallagher using a chair to shove a no-armed creature backwards until it fell over the bannisters and thudded into the floor with sickening force. Others, either wrecked beyond all human shape or still trailing smoke, raised hands or stumps to try and stop them, but the villagers hacked their way down with a brutality born of fear, ripping them apart and clearing a path to the bottom.

For a moment Fallon thought they were going to race all the way through to Swane and the Fearpriest before they were even spotted, but then the Fearpriest stood and pointed a dripping hand at them. Instantly the tables and chairs they held burst into pieces, some of them striking villagers and throwing them back, others just exploding.

“You come to your deaths!” Swane promised them.

His companion gestured to a marble table, which instantly began rolling across the floor towards them, threatening to smash apart the group.

Then Rosaleen stood up, her pale blue robe stained with blood, smoke and worse, but still marking her out as one of Aroaril’s chosen ones.

The table changed direction, aiming right for her, but then it slowed to a halt as Padraig threw everything he had at it. The Fearpriest’s bloody hand tightened to a fist and the table began to roll again, then Rosaleen threw out her own hand.

“Hold in the name of Aroaril!” she screamed.

The Fearpriest and Swane froze for a heartbeat and Fallon took a step forwards, hurling first one and then the other fistguard with a whispered prayer.

Time seemed to slow as the chunks of metal circled lazily through the air across the room. The first whistled past the Fearpriest’s head and bounced off the wall. The second vanished into his cowl. There was a solid thunk and the robed figure dropped like a stone, hitting the ground a moment later.

Swane looked down and his new face was twisted in an expression of horror.

He looked up, shock rapidly being replaced by anger, but Rosaleen pointed at him and he was instantly fighting against invisible bonds.

“I can’t hold him for long!” she cried.

“I don’t have any more metal!” Fallon gasped.

Then a figure bounded past him and was on Swane before Fallon realized it was Cavan.

“No, highness!” he cried and raced after him, but Cavan would not be stopped. He pounced on Swane and swung his right fist in an enormous blow that struck his younger brother on the chin and sent him tumbling to the ground.

“I was so bloody sick of your boasting. And I will smile when you and your tame Fearpriest burn at the stake,” he said, looking down at Swane.

The Bruiser they had been working on moments before reared up beside him but Brendan grabbed it from behind and hurled it towards one of its smoking brethren and it burst into flames. It staggered back to its feet but the smith knocked its legs out and it thrashed as the fire consumed it.

Fallon looked around the room but could see nothing else trying to attack them. “We’ve won,” he said softly, then turned to the others. “We have won! And our families will be back by the next moon!”

But, after all they had been through, almost all of them carrying some sort of wound, with smoke from burning bodies threatening to choke them, nobody could even raise a cheer.

King Aidan was in his rooms, dictating orders to his chamberlain Regan, when Cavan burst in, the joy of victory bubbling through him.

The walk back to the castle had seemed like a victory march. All his doubts and fears were gone. Swane had been defeated, the Fearpriest captured and his father would have to act. Or, if he tried to defend Swane, he would be overthrown. With Fallon and his men backing him, Cavan knew he could not be stopped.

Swane was conscious by now but his hands and feet were bound with metal wire and he was gagged with one of the fistguards. The Fearpriest had proved to be a middle-aged man with strange bronze-colored skin and dark hair but an otherwise unremarkable face. If not for his skin color, they would have walked past him without a second glance. He was still unconscious, a huge bruise covering his forehead, and his metal bonds were even thicker and tighter than Swane’s. They were being dragged along by a pair of villagers and Cavan did not care they would be getting bruised from the treatment.

“What is the meaning of this?” Aidan bellowed. “Kelty, where are you?”

The Guards Captain could not even raise a hand, because Gallagher and Brendan were holding him back. He and his three men had tried to slow Prince Cavan down but, after what they had been through, Fallon and his villagers were in no mood to wait and Cavan had been happy to let them loose on Kelty.

“Father, we have our proof. This is a Fearpriest and Swane was working with him to try and kill me. They turned the Guildhouse of the Moneylenders into a slaughterhouse and tried to kill all of us. But we prevailed and we have now saved Gaelland from their evil!” he said, unable to keep the triumph out of his voice.

Aidan looked down at his struggling son and the unconscious Fearpriest and then up at the victorious villagers. “Let Captain Kelty go. There is much work to do and little time to do it,” he ordered crisply, no trace of the expected anger in his voice.

Cavan had only heard this tone of voice a few times before and it was a relief to hear it now, because it signaled his father was at his most sensible.

He waved to Brendan and Gallagher, who stepped back, and a furious Kelty shoved past them into the King’s rooms.

“Seal off the Moneylenders’ Guildhouse. Nobody gets in that street,” Aidan ordered. “Send for Archbishop Kynan. I want a score of priests down there to make sure it is safe, then we shall need a hundred servants to clean it up. Kelty, prepare a cell below for Prince Swane and his Fearpriest. Again, I want the Archbishop to make sure they will never get out of there without my permission until it is time for their punishment.”

Swane was making frantic noises behind the metal gag that was filling his mouth. Cavan watched as his father took three quick steps across the room and slapped Swane across the face, a full-bodied blow that reddened his cheek.

“What have you done?” he roared at Swane. “You will pay for this!”

Cavan enjoyed the sight of Swane’s humiliation but that was nothing compared to the feeling when his father put his arm around his shoulders.

“I am sorry you had to go through this. If I had thought Swane would do anything like it, I would have thrown him in the dungeon days ago,” he said.

“Well, at least we have stopped him now,” Cavan said.

“Yes, you have,” Aidan said and gave him a final pat on the head before pointing down at Swane. “Take them. Now!”

Kelty signaled to his guards and they picked up both Swane and the Fearpriest before hurrying away. Meanwhile, Aidan took a piece of parchment and scribbled quickly on it, handing it to Regan, who read what was written there, nodded, then raced after Kelty.

Aidan again turned to place his arm around his son’s shoulders. Cavan felt uncomfortable but could not say anything with his father in such a good mood.

“To have survived that fight and then return with two captives is amazing, my son. I would not have believed it possible,” he said.

“I could not have done it without my Captain of Guards, Fallon,” Cavan said, enjoying his father’s rare praise.

“Magnificent. What you did today was worthy of the greatest heroes of the past,” Aidan told them. “Now I need you to do one more thing for me.”

“What is that, Father?”

“Leave this to me. Swane has failed in his attempt to kill you and must face his punishment now. You have done more than I thought possible. I can take care of things from here. Go and rest. I can see from your face some of what you went through. I shall send for you later to discuss the future.”

At his father’s words, Cavan felt the excitement and thrill of surviving the battle leave him and tiredness swamp him. His misgivings were gone, his father would deal with Swane – had already dealt with Swane.

“Yes, Father,” he said.

Aidan patted him on the back and, although he despised his father with every part of his being, Cavan could not help but glow a little at his praise.

“Captain Fallon. If you could just stay for a moment though.”

Cavan could see the uncertainty on Fallon’s face but smiled and winked at the captain to let him know all was safe now. For all was well – it was over and he had done it.

“Escort the Prince back to his rooms,” Fallon ordered Brendan and Gallagher and the rest of the villagers and Cavan walked away, filled with the knowledge he had finally saved Gaelland and, more importantly, finished his brother.

“Fallon, you want to get your family back?” Aidan asked, as soon as Cavan and the others were gone from his rooms.

“Yes, sire,” Fallon replied, wondering what this was about and trying to remember how to stand to attention.

“Then I have a way for it to happen.”

“What do you want me to do, sire?” Fallon asked.

“I have a favor. You may remember I asked about it once before.”

“I do, sire.”

“This is the time. You understand that this is not the end, don’t you? We have the Fearpriest but there is still the Kotterman Empire. The Emperor’s son is even now sailing here for talks that will forever define us. We must step carefully so we don’t provoke the Kottermanis into invading us and dragging us into their empire.”

“Yes, sire,” Fallon said, not sure where this was going but thinking he should agree anyway.

“You are a father.”

“Yes, sire,” Fallon replied, now really wondering what the King was on about.

“You have such hopes for your son, do you not? You want him to live up to you, to try and surpass you. When they fail it is hard. My son has brought this country to the point of ruin. As his father I have to take action: I have to stop what he is doing.”

“Yes, sire,” Fallon said, feeling back on safer ground now.

“Making all this public would tear the country apart. Far better he had died in that shambles at the Guildhouse.” Aidan sighed and Fallon did not feel like he had anything to add. “Fallon, I know how good you are with a crossbow. But can you shoot like that in little light, with the pressure of your family’s survival on your shoulders?” he asked.

“Yes, your majesty,” Fallon said without hesitation. “I have practiced all my life for just such a shot.”

“Good, good.” Aidan nodded, looking down at his desk, then his glance flicked up and locked onto Fallon’s. “I think I need your skills. I hope I do not but I fear I do.”

Fallon met the King’s gaze, although he was not entirely sure what the man was going on about.

“I shall trust you, Fallon, and I hope you will not fail me. Succeed and I swear to you I shall have your families on the next ship back here. Let me down and you will never see them again.”

“I shall not let you down, sire,” Fallon said, wishing he would get to the point.

“Good. Then this is what I need. I shall speak to Swane.” Aidan stopped and buried his head in his hands for a few moments. Then he sighed deeply and continued. “I have to give my son one last chance to turn away from the path he seems set on. The path that will see this country swept away in blood and fire. If he not only agrees to that but convinces me that he can see reason, then all will be well. I shall embrace him and we shall all go our separate ways. But if he tries to lie, if he threatens me, then I shall take off my crown and hold it in both hands. If that happens, I want you to kill my son. One shot is all you will get. A crossbow bolt through the heart, so that his body can be placed back at the Guildhouse and, as far as everyone knows, he died there. Can you do that?”

Fallon gulped. “Sire, you are sure you want him dead?”

“No, of course I don’t want him dead!” Aidan snarled. “But I have to put the country first. He recants or he dies. It is as simple as that, although it tears my heart to do so. Will you do this?”

Fallon only hesitated for a moment. He did not like the idea of shooting down an unarmed man from behind, but Swane had killed Murphy, had tried to kill them all. And he would get Bridgit back in return. “Of course, sire. You can rely on me,” he said.

“Good. Follow me. I shall put you on the balcony above the kitchen garden. If we embrace, then you can walk away and you get your family back. If I take off my crown, then you loose.”

“We are meeting now, sire?” Fallon asked, thinking he wanted to tell Cavan and the others what he was doing, for they would be waiting for him.

“I cannot delay, or I fear I will not be able to do this,” Aidan confessed. “Please, come now.”

Fallon still hesitated. “But shouldn’t I make a solid metal quarrel to be sure?”

“You will not need that,” Aidan said dismissively.

“I suppose he will not even know I am there until too late,” Fallon agreed. “Still, just to be sure –”

“We must do this now!” Aidan took Fallon’s arm and hustled him along. “Before I change my mind.”

The balcony over the castle garden was dark and quiet. And lonely. Evening was falling and the last light of day only just made it possible to see. Already torches and lamps were being lit around the castle, although none cast light into the kitchen garden.

Even so, he was utterly confident of making this shot for Aidan – and for Bridgit.

He checked the load in the crossbow for the tenth time and then leaned back from the edge when he heard the crunch of boots on the pebbles below.

King Aidan, the crown on his head shining a little in the last of the sunlight, stepped into view, his back to the balcony. He had his arm around Swane, who looked uncomfortable being embraced like that. They walked out into the center of the garden, which would give Fallon a clear shot, although where they stopped was the darkest part. Swane had changed his clothes since the slaughter at the Guildhouse but his hands were free. He had his back to Fallon, who could not see anything more than a glimpse of his face in profile.

Fallon’s heart was going so fast and loud that he was sure they could hear him below. Yet they showed no sign of it. He eased his crossbow into position and waited.

The two figures were talking softly but animatedly below. Fallon could not hear what was being said but the body language was interesting. Both of them were angry, yet it was Swane, not the King, who radiated the most. Instead the King seemed more conciliatory – which was unusual in itself. Now the King was holding out his hands, almost seemed to be pleading with Swane. But Swane was having none of it and Fallon brought his crossbow up to his shoulder. Something about the whole scene felt very wrong and he was sorely tempted to put the crossbow down. But then he thought of Bridgit and instead sighted on the middle of Swane’s back. The light was not good enough to aim at the head.

The conversation down below was getting more heated. Fallon could not make out any words but the meaning was clear – both sides were angry and getting angrier.

Finally Swane stepped away, half-turning from the King. The King reached out a hand but had it knocked aside. Instantly Aidan stepped back a pace and took off his crown, throwing it down at Swane’s feet. When Swane bent down to pick up the crown, Aidan stepped right away, looking up at the balcony and nodding.

Instantly Fallon stepped forwards and released. There was no time to think or debate whether he should do it. He just loosed.

The bolt flew true, as he had known it would, driving into Swane’s back, just to the left of the spine, exactly where the heart would be. The impact drove the Prince to the ground, where he thrashed for a moment, then lay still.

Hands trembling, Fallon moved out to the edge of the balcony to better see what was going on. The King inclined his head slightly, then picked up his crown and placed it on his head.

“The body needs to be found at the Guildhouse. This never happened. But once you have done that, you will have done your country a great service and you shall be rewarded with your families,” Aidan said, his voice not loud but carrying clearly up.

Fallon hurried down the stairs into the kitchen garden, but Aidan was already walking away. He thought about going after the King but decided it was better to leave him. After all, the King had just seen his son killed.

From behind him came the sound of running feet and he turned to see Brendan and Gallagher race up, then skid to a halt a few paces away.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with the Prince?” Fallon demanded.

But they did not speak and he saw the horror and shock on their faces. A terrible fear gripped him and he turned to the body, fingers shaking.

Swane’s blood was pooling into the gravel. Fallon reached down and flipped him over, seeing the quarrel had smashed into his heart. Death would have been almost instant. Then the last ray of the sun peeked through one of the battlements on the opposite side of the courtyard and illuminated the face.

Fallon fell to his knees, crossbow falling from suddenly nerveless fingers.

The face was spattered with blood but unmistakable.

He had not killed Swane. He had killed Prince Cavan.