Glasny shook his head. “I asked that, when I was trying to slow them down from lighting it. They said he had other plans tonight.”
Conan didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Other plans?”
A fresh round of screaming erupted behind them. In front of them, flames the color of a sunset licked ever higher. Billowing columns of black smoke twined about the fingers of flame. Conan shared a look with Alannah—the first since she’d learned the depth of his deception. The flames danced in her eyes, darting like fireflies.
As the commotion escalated all around them, Conan and Alannah pushed past the rest of the Fianna to get back to the nearer shore they’d just left. He could do without all the back-and-forth, but something told him this was only the beginning of the trouble.
They returned to the western end of the causeway to find a group of six men blocking their path. They carried arming swords, their tunics and trews a plain brown. All their faces lay hidden beneath deep hoods, but Conan didn’t need to see their mouths to know they wore scowls. It was written in their stance, in their obvious irritation at the interruption.
Beyond them, the villagers who’d followed Alannah to protect the bridge fought against a second group of men, clothed the same as the first. Two men hefted a jug of oil, tipping it to coat the end of the causeway. Three more shoved away villagers who tried to stop them. Curses and profanities filled the air between them, threats of violence backed by the drawing of swords.
They had seconds before real bloodshed would begin.
“Stand down!” Teague shouted the command at the hooded men as he stopped behind Conan.
Not one of them budged.
“Do you not know who I am? Your prince commands you to let us pass and cease this hostility. This causeway is under the protection of King Cahill.”
At the mention of princes and kings, the men shuffled. The men on either end looked to one of the ones in the center of the line. But the men facing the villagers hadn’t heard any of the exchange.
Conan knew Illadan would have debated whether to help protect the villagers or burn the bridge. Both fell under their oaths as Fianna—to follow Brian’s orders and destroy the causeway and to help those in need. When it had been a simple matter of sneaking about to undermine the bridge, when the plan had been to set fire to it in a matter of minutes and then leave town, the answer had been simple.
But now innocent lives were at stake. People’s livelihoods were being challenged, and they were fighting back. And the people defending the bridge were not in the wrong here.
The Fianna were.
Aye, it seemed an easy solution to a political standoff, but just as many lives would be affected as in a battle, even if they yet lived. That so many villagers came out to defend the causeway was proof enough of that.
Conan knew the right thing to do as soon as he stood facing off with Alannah at the outset of the conflict. Which meant there was only one way forward now, as the villagers prepared to face the blades of Oran’s men.
With a shout, he charged the line of men barring their path. He didn’t aim to kill, only to incapacitate. Teague could judge them later for their actions against their king, but he couldn’t hold off any longer in helping the townsfolk. Conan easily moved through the hooded men, jumping in to defend the first villager under threat. Alannah stepped in front of the next. Teague followed, a skilled warrior in his own right.
After his pommel dispatched one of Oran’s men, Conan dared a glance at the causeway. The Fianna were nowhere in sight, no doubt working to fan the flames that burned in its center. At least he, Alannah, and Teague were getting this side of things under control.
He waited for Alannah to knock out the man she battled, grabbing her hand to lead her back onto the causeway. They still had the fire to deal with—and the Fianna.
She tugged hard against him. “Conan, wait.”
“We must hurry if we hope to keep the bridge passable.”
“What if Oran is at the inn?” Fear skittered over her face, and Conan knew it had nothing to do with the fight they’d just finished.
He grabbed one of the hooded men roughly, lifting him with both hands by his tunic and shaking him until the hood fell down. “Where is Oran?” he demanded.
The man didn’t answer fast enough.
“Where is he?” Conan shouted, giving the man another good shake.
The man’s gaze slid to Alannah. “He’s taking care of the competition.”
Alannah broke into a dead sprint.
Conan followed her, dropping the man and praying they weren’t too late.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Alannah’s lungs burnedas she raced back toward The Hart’s Rest. How long had Emer been alone with Oran? Had he been at the bridge and then gone to the inn? Or had he been there this entire time?
