The Story Peddler

by Lindsay A. Franklin

  I nodded. I leaned in closer to Dylun to read over his shoulder. “Dylun, what’s that say on the bottom there?” I pointed to the smaller words printed along the bottom of the page, which I couldn’t quite make out from my distance.

  Dylun scanned the lines. “Says anyone who withholds information about you or your whereabouts will be tried for treason.”

  My insides twisted. “Meaning what?”

  Dylun shrugged. “If the guard wants information about you, they’ll question the people in your town. If they can’t get what they want easily, they might arrest or torture the holdouts.”

  Without another word, I took off at a run toward Bowyd. The others called after me, and I could hear crunching in the brush behind me. But I didn’t care. I could only think of one thing.

  The Bradwirs.

  Chapter 27

  Tanwen

  “Tannie!” Mor’s cry tugged at one heartstring while all the rest pulled me back to Pembrone.

  I could just see the town of Bowyd ahead—the low stone buildings of the shops and the makeshift tents and barrels of the marketplace. I could hire a riverboat once I got there. Promise some riverman a heap of coins to get me where I wanted without asking any questions. Then I’d—

  Before the rest of the plan could crystallize, a whole mess of hands grabbed me from behind.

  “Put me down! I have to get to Pembrone!”

  “Slow down, Tanwen.” Warmil set me back on my feet, but he, Zelyth, and Mor didn’t let me go. “Tell us what’s wrong.”

  A fire-orange story strand shot from my hand, quite by accident, and a frustrated growl rolled out with it. Warmil dodged the strand, but his eyes said it all. Get it under control, Tanwen, or we’ll all be caught.

  I took a deep breath and willed my hammering heart to slow. “Farmer and Ma-Bradwir. The wee ones. Brac.” I swallowed the rising bile. “If the guard questions them, they’ll never cooperate. And the guard will arrest Brac and take him to Urian to be tortured, or worse. I can’t let that happen. Not because of me. I—”

  But I couldn’t get the last bit out. What I felt for Brac had been turned upside down and inside out since I left Pembrone. If it’d ever been right-side up to begin with.

  I stole a glance at Mor and his dagger-sharp gaze. “Farmer Bradwir and the family is the closest thing I’ve known to kin.”

  Mor’s eyes flickered—like I’d stoked something he was hoping to smother. More secret pain and unspoken mysteries. But all he said was, “Believe me, Tannie. We understand.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. “Brac asked me to marry him,” I blurted. “I always said no . . . for a lot of reasons. Not the smallest being I couldn’t imagine getting stuck on a farm in Pembrone the rest of my life. I wanted to go to Urian and be Royal Storyteller.”

  The words tasted sour in my mouth, and I realized I’d been keeping them stuffed inside for fear my new friends would despise me if they knew. Oh well. It was out now.

  I wiped tears from my cheeks. “I knew the king wasn’t kind, or anything like it.” I sniffled. “But I hadn’t guessed—I mean, the things you’ve told me. I didn’t know about all that. I thought I could finally stop struggling to keep my belly full if I were Royal Storyteller in the palace.” I looked at Warmil. “Stop pinging off the banks of the river, you know?”

  Warmil looked like he understood.

  “And now everything’s a mess. Brac’s going to be killed because of me.” I smacked a hand to my forehead. “I gave him hope, you know. Just before my disaster of a tour. Told him I’d consider settling on him. He’ll die, thinking it’s for his future wife. I’m a traitor to all who have ever shown me kindness.” I hiccupped like a sniffling toddler. But I couldn’t help it and I didn’t care.

  Zel squeezed my shoulder. “They mightn’t have got to him, Tannie. Think he would’ve known enough to hide out for a while?”

  I snorted. “No. He’s like to be out looking for me. Left him no note, no warning. Just disappeared on him.”

  I knew it had made sense at the time to leave Brac and Farmer Bradwir’s family out of this whole mess. But now it seemed utterly foolish. What were they to think when I just disappeared one night, and the next day the guard is crawling all over Pembrone looking for me?

  “I have to get back. I have to see what’s happened. If he’s been taken already and there’s not a blazing thing I can do about it, at least I’ll know.” I fired off my gaze into each of their eyes. “I have to know.”

  They looked at each other—Mor, Zel, and Warmil, with the others behind us just a bit. They seemed to be talking through their eyes, but I couldn’t guess what was being said in this silent sort of conversation. Tanwen En-Yestin never went in much for silent.

  Finally, Warmil nodded. “All right, Tanwen. We’ll travel back to Pembrone so you can see your lad.”

  I cringed at the word. Hadn’t he been listening?

  He went on, “But you can’t just go charging into Bowyd. We need a plan.”

  Mor smiled. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you seem to be losing control of your strands a bit.”

  “Good.” Dylun’s voice from nearby. “She’s finally getting in touch with her gift, not just spitting back those blasted crowned stories.”

  Warmil rolled his eyes. “Artistic freedom aside, it’s dangerous.”

  “I’ll try to get it under control,” I promised. “Whatever you want, if you’ll only take me back to Pembrone.”

  The jest in Mor’s eyes ramped up, but it looked a little forced. “Sure you’re not settled on Brac for your lad after all?”

  I shot him a glare that could peel the skin off a watta root. “Quite.”

  “Fine, fine.” Warmil nodded. “First we’ll need to—”

  “There!” An intruding voice cut in from the edge of the trees. “I see her!”

  No.

  Next thing I knew, an arrow whizzed past me. But it had come from our party. I whipped around to see Aeron pull another from the quiver at her hip. Mor grabbed my hand and began to tug me back toward the boat. But a half dozen guardsmen leaped from the cover of the trees beside us. Then more from behind.

  Surrounded.

  A split-second passed—just enough time for a loaded glance from Mor. Then he shoved me unceremoniously to the ground and ducked beneath the sword of a guardsman.

  Metal clanged—swords crossing. Arrows flew by. Bursts of color, light, and fire exploded all around.

  Mor yanked me back to my feet. Sweat glistened on his forehead already. “Run.”

  I tried to obey, but I didn’t know which way to turn. My feet felt plastered to the earth. Then, without warning, white light shot from my palms. One beam smashed into the chest of a guardsman, and he stumbled backward.

  I stared down at my glowing palms. What in the name of the goddesses was happening to me?

  “Tanwen, run!” Gryfelle’s voice, but I couldn’t see her.

  I picked up my skirt to go, but then an arm circled my waist from behind and yanked me back.

  “No!” I struggled against the death grip. “Let me go!”

  I looked ahead and saw Warmil take a cutting stroke from a guardsman’s sword. Karlith barely held a soldier back with a stream of water pouring from her hand. Fireballs blossomed all around Dylun.

  “Tannie!” Mor’s voice. But where was he?

  Then my heart sank. A stone’s throw away. Surrounded on all sides by guardsmen playing for keeps.

  Zel, Gryfelle, Aeron. . . . All surrounded, all battling for survival. I had to help them.

  I strained against my captor. What strands could I make that’d sting real nice and make him let go? But before I could sprout a real plan, a dull thump sounded by my ear. Then another. Pain in my head, then only blackness.

  Chapter 28

  Tanwen

  A haze of voices floated toward me, but I couldn’t seem to open my eyes. I shifted, groaned, then collapsed back to the hard surface beneath me.

  “How hard did you h
it the lass, Bo-Milwir?”

  “By ‘lass,’ I suppose you mean the prisoner accused of treason?” A harsher, older voice. “Don’t go soft on me, Bo-Ifun.”

  A sigh. “She’s barely older than my sister.”

  “Well, she ain’t your sister, I’ll remind you. And I’d wager your sister’s never been accused of high treason.”

  “Will both of you shut up?” A reedy voice behind me. “These docks are difficult enough to traverse without you two rambling on like a couple of women.”

  A spark of annoyance flickered in me.

  Then the harsh, growling voice again. “I’ll speak when I feel like it, Bo-Forir. And I’ll thank you to keep your sentiments in your head, else I’ll knock it from your shoulders.”

  A grumble from the reedy voice.

  The kinder voice: “Didn’t have to hit her so hard is all I’m saying. Been out for ages. Could have done some real damage.”

  Great. That was all I needed. A little brain injury.

  “And she didn’t have to land herself on the king’s kill-or-capture list, but there we have the way of it.” A gravelly laugh. “Calm your conscience, lad. We’ll dock before long, then it’s a short stretch into the city. We’ll deliver the girl like Captain ordered, and that’ll be the end of it.”

  The kind voice lowered. “For us, I suppose. Not for her.”

  “Not your concern. Besides, I don’t think it was my knocks to the head that put her out. Didn’t you see her get hit by one of them strands? That’s what kept her down so long, if you ask me.”

  “And it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been using her as a shield.”

  A snort. “It’s a wonder you ever joined up, Bo-Ifun. You haven’t the stomach to be a guardsman.”

  “Oh, no?” Now the kind voice colored with anger. “I can best you with a sword.”

  Another gravelly laugh. “Takes more than a swift sword to make the kind of guardsman that serves the king the way he likes. Most young soldiers I know wouldn’t be thinking much of the lass’s safety just now, if you catch my drift.”

  I caught his drift fair enough, and I fought the fog in my head to get it to clear. A lass needed her wits about her if she had any hope of keeping herself safe around a man such as this Bo-Milwir gem.

  “Besides, you saw what them outlaws was doing back in Codewig. The lass herself knocked Bo-Forir here on his backside with one of them strands of light. Safer for all of us if she’s out for the trip.”

  “I guess.”

  I forced my way through the haze. “D’others?” My mouth felt full of pebbles, but I managed to pry open my eyes.

  “Look who’s up.” A pockmarked face came into view. “It’s your lass, Bo-Ifun.”

  Bo-Ifun and I both ignored him. “The others?” I asked again, clearer this time. Then I pushed a hand against my throbbing temple. “Where are they?”

  A long moment of silence answered me.

  Then pockmarked Bo-Milwir grinned. “Don’t worry, lass. I’m sure their bodies have sunk to the bottom of the river by now.”

  Dread rose inside me until I thought I’d be sick all over the floor of the boat.

  “Oh, enough, Bo-Milwir.” A hand appeared in front of me, then a new face—young and kind, if a bit grim. He had very fair hair pulled back in a tail, just the same color as Celyn En-Rhys’s back home. “We don’t know what’s happened to them. Our orders were for you, so we got you out as quickly as we could.”

  I took the young man’s hand and let him help me to a sitting position, only then realizing my hands were bound with rope in front of me. Even so, relief trickled from my head all the way to my toes. There was still a chance my Corsyth friends were alive. Still a chance Mor was—

  But I squashed that thought before it could fully blossom.

  Bo-Milwir shook his head. “No sport to be had when Bo-Ifun’s around. Might as well be serving in a unit with my mother. Or worse, my wife.”

  I blinked, trying to focus the jumble of shapes and colors swirling before me. We were still on the same river, I supposed, for it looked much like the river by Bowyd. Except it had widened to triple the size. Might’ve been a lake, if I didn’t know better.

  Docks poked out from the shoreline, just like the ones I’d seen before in the small river towns on the peninsula, but there were dozens of them here. Every few yards, it seemed, another dock jutted into the water. And people swarmed all over each of them. Soldiers, peasants, ladies in fine dresses like Gryfelle’s, only not so worn. Stands and tables and barrels seemed to grow right out of the very ground, and each had a young lad shouting his wares—fish hooks, new rope, hot flatcakes, fresh berries, salted fillets. Seemed a girl could find anything she might want or need for a day of fishing or lounging by the river.

  I didn’t suppose I’d be fishing or lounging today.

  Every dock gave way to a paved stone pathway. It seemed they met up to make a proper street in the distance—three times the size of Pembrone’s main thoroughfare, which was the only paved street we had.

  “Ashton?” I couldn’t seem to form my complete question aloud. But I knew the city of Ashton lay some distance beyond the Codewig forest, and I’d heard the main street was larger than anything we had on the peninsula.

  Bo-Milwir threw back his head and roared. “You are fresh off the farm, aren’t you?”

  I glared at him and tried to swallow the feeling of rocks in my mouth so I could speak properly. “I’ve heard Ashton’s main street looks like that one there.” I pointed with my chin since my hands were bound.

  Now even Bo-Ifun was smiling at me. “That’s not the main street of this city, lass.”

  I felt my eyes go large. “Truly? It’s so wide.”

  Bo-Ifun nodded. “It’s one of dozens like it, all leading to the center of the city. Wait until you see King’s Way.”

  “King’s Way?” I sat up straighter. “That means . . .”

  Bo-Milwir’s smile wasn’t friendly. “Welcome to Urian, Tanwen En-Yestin.”

  Chapter 29

  Tanwen

  Apparently, Guardsman Bo-Milwir hadn’t been trained in the art of keeping a lass’s arms attached to her body while he yanked her through the crowded streets of the capital. He tugged at will, and it was all I could do to keep from stumbling.

  And those uppity capital folks pointed, stared, and whispered the whole time. Even the peasants.

  Is this what it’ll be like when they lead me to the noose? Probably. Only then they’ll be throwing rotten vegetables and booing at me.

  I tried to squish the thought out of my mind.

  “Bo-Milwir, easy up the steps!” Bo-Ifun shouted. “She’s not running anywhere.” He sheathed his sword. “Let me lead her. You guard.”

  I appreciated his concern, but I hated that he was right. I wasn’t running, and I wasn’t fighting. Maybe I should’ve been. The others from the Corsyth would’ve fought like mountainbeasts to get away from their captors. But I hadn’t trained enough. I didn’t feel sure what my strands would do if I let them loose. What about all the innocents standing about?

  Bo-Milwir shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He drew his sword and waved away the people crowding around some steps leading to a courtyard. “Make way, make way. Have ourselves a prisoner.” He shoved a dark-haired lass so hard she nearly tumbled down the steps. “On our way to see the king.”

  Bo-Ifun pressed his lips together, but he didn’t say anything. He led me up steps that looked like they were made from the same white stuff as the fountain I’d marveled over in Afon. Marble—I could hear Riwor’s voice growling it out at me. No wonder she’d scoffed at my interest in the fountain. Seemed the whole inner city of Urian was carved from this smooth white stuff.

  “Ho.” I nudged Bo-Ifun beside me. “Thanks.”

  He looked away and guided me up a few more stairs. “For what?”

  “For being kind, even though you didn’t have to. Bo-Milwir’s right, though.”

  He stopped. “You mean you a
re a traitor?”

  “I mean you don’t belong in the guard.” I nodded up to Bo-Milwir, who was pushing his way through a cluster of townsfolk. “He belongs in the guard.”

  We continued on in silence for another moment or two, then Bo-Ifun spoke again. “My mam told me once that if you want to see something change, the best way to do it is from the inside. You know, instead of sitting on your backside, talking about the way things should be.” He frowned. “Think that’s a fool idea?”

  “I think that’s a brave idea.”

  But anything else I might’ve told this young soldier stayed locked inside my mind. Because we’d cleared the last of the stairs, and now the biggest building I’d ever seen towered over my head.

  My mouth dropped, and I’m sure I looked daft. But I didn’t care. Thousands and thousands of gray stones were set upon each other so perfectly, it didn’t seem possible human hands could have done it. I wondered if perhaps they hadn’t. Perhaps it had been some kind of magic.

  Gardens spilled flowers all around the outside of the huge structure. Courtyards with benches, pathways overhung by trees—more beautiful than any gardens I could have imagined. People zipped in and out, and everyone looked to be on important business.

  Horses, carts, guardsmen, ladies with servants.

  It was the palace.

  The closer we got to it, the finer the clothes became. Even the men had lace about their collars and brocade for their waistcoats. I thought of what Brac would say if he could see these primped men in their finery. Lads and grown men prancing about like ladies at a ball! I’d like to see that fine white lace after half a day in the fields. Lovely to know our taxes are spent on such fluffery.

  But then the thought sent dread shooting into my throat again.

  Brac.

  The Corsyth weavers may have escaped the guardsmen back at Bowyd. But I still had no clue if they’d gotten to Brac, and if they had, what type of fate might await him. Or had already come to pass. And now I might never be able to find out.

  I caught Bo-Ifun’s gaze. “Please, sir. Do you know anything about the guard’s search for me in Pembrone?”