Kings of Clonmel by John Flanagan

Author:John Flanagan [Flanagan, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Young Adult, Action & Adventure, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, General, Fantasy, Adventure
ISBN: 9780142418574
Google: Kq4dnwEACAAJ
Goodreads: 11070385
Publisher: Puffin Books
Published: 2008-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

26

WILL KEPT TUG MOVING AT A STEADY LOPE THROUGHOUT THE day. It wasn’t the Rangers’ forced march pace, but it ate up the distance on the road to Mountshannon, and he knew Tug would keep up the pace as long as he was asked.

He also knew that he would probably reach the village after Driscoll had put on what he had referred to as his “show.” Even though he was mounted, the ridge road was long and circuitous, and the thirty-man raiding party had far less distance to cover on the lower road they were following.

He was becoming convinced that there would be no attack as such. The bandits were planning a thrust at Mountshannon, but for what purpose he wasn’t yet sure. Driscoll had referred to a “holy man,” and Will assumed that was Tennyson. He wasn’t sure how the preacher fit into the overall plan, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that the real attack would be on Craikennis the following day.

He reached Mountshannon in the middle of the afternoon. As he passed the guard post by the bridge, Will raised his eyebrows when he saw it was deserted. So were the streets of Mountshannon. For a moment, he feared the worst. But as he rode in, he heard a good deal of noise coming from the other end of the village. Singing, shouting, laughing.

“Someone’s having a good time,” he said to Tug. “Wonder if it’s Halt?”

Halt’s no singer, the horse replied.

He followed the noise to the end of the village. It seemed that the entire population was gathered on a large meadow outside the protective barricade, where a marketplace had been set up. But the stalls and livestock pens were deserted now and a sizable crowd was gathered in front of a large white pavilion set in the southwest corner of the meadow.

He reined Tug in, staying in the shadow of a house while he surveyed the scene before him. In the adjacent corner, he made out the two low tents that Horace and Halt had pitched. But he could see no sign of his friends there.

He turned his attention back to the large pavilion. It was surrounded by a noisy mass of celebrating villagers. Food was roasting over several open fires, and a cask of ale had been perched on a table and broached. By the looks of things, most of the villagers had taken their share.

In the center of the throng he could see a smaller group of white-robed figures. The large, heavily built man with shoulder-length gray hair must be Tennyson, he thought. He was the center of attention, with a constant stream of villagers coming up to him, touching his arm, patting him on the back and offering him choice cuts from the roasting meat.

“Something’s happened,” Will said to himself. Then he made out Halt and Horace standing at the back of the crowd. As he saw them, the bearded Ranger glanced around and made eye contact. Will saw him nudge Horace, then point unobtrusively to the two small tents some fifty meters away.

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