Her stomach churned harder with every pump of her arms, pushing her legs to their limits before it was too late, the buildings around her a blur of shadows and firelight. Beside her, Conan matched her pace, though she knew he was more than capable of outrunning her. He’d done so nearly every morning since they’d arrive in Ath Luain.
“It’s my fight,” she managed, the words escaping on a sharp exhale. The last time she’d fought Oran, Conan had stepped in as soon as she lost the upper hand. She’d never learn to fight properly if she couldn’t see a bout through to the end.
“I won’t stop anything but a killing blow,” Conan conceded.
“Protect Emer.” That was the last Alannah could manage without sacrificing speed, and that was the one thing she couldn’t afford.
Emer’s shrieks rose above the din they’d left behind as Alannah closed the last few steps to The Hart’s Rest. She didn’t slow to open the door. Instead she led with her hand, the oaken boards shaking in protest as she barreled through. But she didn’t stop there. Sword still in hand, Alannah headed straight for the kitchen.
Oran’s hand grasped Emer’s throat. Her screams died down as he shoved her back, her hands gripping his in a feeble attempt to loosen his hold on her. She collapsed in an awkward angle across the table, helpless against Oran’s iron grip.
He hadn’t seen Alannah yet.
She lifted her sword, slowing only enough that she didn’t risk hitting Emer should she miss.
But she didn’t miss.
Oran heard her just before her sword fell. He let go of Emer, turning and raising his own sword to parry.
Alannah’s blade caught his left arm, slicing deep enough that she had to tug the weapon prepare for her next attack. She took it without slowing, without giving him time to recover. She aimed for his left side again. Crimson blood slid down her blade, splattering them both as she swung.
This time he was ready. He parried the blow, his face contorted in a potent mixture of pain and rage.
Alannah didn’t stop pressing her advantage. She managed two more solid swings before she started to tire.
Conan noticed.
So did Oran.
“Slow down!” Conan called.
She didn’t have a choice. Sweat beaded on her brow and her arms burned from the strain of the weapon.
Oran took the lead, stepping toward her, forcing her to give ground. He kept pushing. His brute strength was no match for her tiring arms.
Pressure against her lower back made Alannah glance down. She’d run into a table. Her ankle twisted as she adjusted for the obstacle, and she toppled sideways around it. She managed to parry Oran’s next blow, but still couldn’t advance against his attacks.
Oran kept propelling her backward, forcing her to give ground. He was toying with her now.
This time when she bumped into something behind her, Alannah knew exactly what it was. The sudden, searing warmth of the hearth told her things were about to take a dangerous turn. Panic flooded her, seeping like a river of ice down her spine. She needed to get away from the fire before Oran got any ideas.
“Maybe I can burn you and the causeway in one night,” he spat, raising his sword for a killing blow.
Alannah swung her hips sideways, leading with her core to force her way around the blazing hearth. She tried to parry, but didn’t manage it while avoiding the fire behind her. Her blade slowed Oran’s as it grazed her shoulder.
She cried out in pain. Her grip on her own sword faltered, her fingers refusing to tighten no matter how hard she squeezed.
With a laugh, Oran knocked her sword from her hand. His callused palm encircled her throat and he shoved her backward until her head slammed into the partition along the edge of the room.
A flower of pain bloomed from her shoulder, a bone-deep throbbing that reached down her arm and toward her chest. She gasped, struggling to swallow as Oran crushed her throat. Alannah shoved him, pushing his arm hard.
In response, he dropped his sword and used both hands to lift her off the floor and choke her.
Fog tickled the edges of her mind. Alannah gasped again, more desperately, as she fought for both air and consciousness.
Emer’s screams pierced her groggy thoughts. Over Oran’s shoulder, Alannah saw Conan coming toward them. One look at his face told her he was going to intervene.
Oran just kept squeezing and laughing, the sound as pleasant as a cauldron scraping stone. Conan was nearly to him.
