The Story Hunter

by Lindsay A. Franklin

  I tighten my grip on the jar.

  “Seize her!” she screams.

  I can’t help my smirk. “Good luck with that.”

  And before anyone can touch me, I tuck the jar into the loosened belt about my hips, scale the easy stone handholds on the walls, and disappear into the darkness of the cavern’s upper reaches.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  TANWEN

  I might have been flying.

  Something inside me sure felt like it was sailing high above all the danger as I watched Diggy snatch the jar of strands and skitter away with them.

  Out of Frenhin’s reach—for now.

  I had no idea how it was possible. No idea how Brac was there or how he had brought half of Pembrone with him.

  But my heart was light. Because I had not lost Diggy, and through some miracle, Brac had come back to me too. He wasn’t lost forever either. He was trying to do the right thing.

  My exhaustion of mind and body floated off, up, away. Hope flared in my veins.

  We had a chance.

  “Move, Tannie!” Father shouted. He was already crossing blades with two guards.

  Oops. I wouldn’t have much chance if I kept standing here like a bull’s-eye nailed to a wooden pole.

  I glanced at Mor. He was already pulling off his gloves.

  Brac’s voice came from nearby. “Tannie.” He blocked a strike with his sword. “I’m sorry.”

  A beam of purple light shot from my hand and smacked Brac’s opponent in the face. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

  “Now might be all we’ve got.” He ducked under the punch of a guard. “I was so foolish, Tannie.”

  “I know you were.” I spared half a smile over my shoulder so he would know I was jesting, at least a little bit. “I made mistakes too. We were both fool—get down!”

  He hesitated and almost got a blast of strands in his face. But he dropped to the ground just in time, and my blinding strand of sunshine hit the man charging at us instead. Brac took the moment, sweeping the guard’s legs and toppling him.

  “Tannie?”

  I created a column of wind and directed it toward a cloud of Frenhin’s smoke encircling Dylun. “Aye, Brac?”

  “We make it out of here, and all I ever want to do for the rest of my life is plow fields.”

  A laugh, shaky through my sudden tears, bubbled up like a spring. “Sounds nice, Brac.”

  But I wondered . . .

  Would Brac ever be able to have that now? The farm and the small town and the wife and children? He had committed high treason. He was sorry for it, it seemed, but would that matter?

  And did he realize any of this? Brac never did understand much about the way the world worked. Maybe he thought he could just undo it all with a snap of his fingers.

  I turned to find him looking at me, a strange expression on his face—a sad, understanding smile. “I know, Tannie. I know it.”

  He could see what I was thinking, see the worry and pain and wondering on my face.

  “You’ve changed,” I said around the lump rising in my throat.

  “Aye?”

  I couldn’t give voice to it in that moment, but he truly had. He had considered the personal cost of this mission and done the right thing anyway. He understood the consequences and made the hard, right choice. And there was something about him . . . older and wiser by years, not moons.

  “Aye, Brac. You have.”

  “For the better, I hope.” He shoved a guard away with his boot.

  “Aye, for the better.”

  “Tannie, about our betrothal . . .”

  Oh stars. Maybe he hadn’t changed.

  “It was foolish,” he added quickly. “I knew you didn’t want to, and I practically forced you.”

  A few tears broke free. “You didn’t force me. I just never thought—”

  “That I would live long enough to go through with it. I know. And I knew it then, deep down, but I wanted us to be together so bad. I couldn’t see straight. But I’ve sorted my snifflers now. I think I understand what you’ve been saying all this time.”

  I didn’t fail to notice the glance he snuck at Celyn En-Rhys, who was helping Farmer Hayfal take down a guard. Holding her own with a wooden pole as her weapon.

  A grin spread across my face as I sent a stream of icy water toward a strand of fire. “Well now, Brac Bo-Bradwir.”

  “What?” He started. “That’s not . . . she just . . . that is . . .” He reacted just in time to block the strike of a guard.

  “I’m happy for you, Brac. Whether it’s Celyn or someone else. You deserve to be happy and have the things you want most in life.”

  His face reddened so badly I could see it even in the warm firelight of the cavern. “Ah, Tannie. Why’d you have to bring it up?”

  I laughed. Right then, he was so much the old Brac. The real Brac.

  He narrowed his eyes. “I ain’t never going to be able to say that pirate deserves you.”

  “I know it.” I wrapped my opponent in a cocoon of rope strands.

  “But I want you to be happy,” he said.

  We stopped fighting for a moment and exchanged a look—a look full of our shared lives, a look full of friendship and understanding and a common bond.

  “I love you, Tannie.”

  “I love you, too, Brac.”

  He flashed a lopsided grin that felt like grain fields and sunburned noses.

  But then his eyes went wide, and his smile faded. He looked down. A strand had pierced him from behind, running all the way through so I could see it as I stood in front of him.

  My mind bolted back to the Cethorelle. I was standing on the stern watching a strand of molten metal slice Wylie through the chest, steal his life, pull him to his grave at the bottom of the sea.

  Screaming rang in my ears, and I knew it was mine. But it sounded like it was from somewhere else. Back in time, back to that moment of horror, but now it was Brac’s face on the pierced body, and we were surrounded by rolling waves of black cave rock, not the Menfor Sea.

  Brac’s stifled cry brought me back to myself.

  I tried to make my mind catch up. Because now I saw that Frenhin’s strand of molten metal had not pierced Brac through the chest as it had done to Wylie. It skewered Brac through the back of his shoulder and barely protruded out the front. He was alive.

  He’s alive. He’s alive.

  I had to repeat it over and over, because my memories wanted to intrude, wanted to overlay Wylie’s face with Brac’s, threatening to convince me I had lost them both.

  “You’re alive,” I cried aloud, just to make it more real. I pulled him toward me, away from the strand, then sent ice and rage at that strand to cool it off and douse the monster who had created it.

  “Aye, I’m alive.” Brac grimaced. “But that smarted.” He moved his shoulder. Left one, not his sword arm. And it wasn’t bleeding, because the heat had cauterized it. That was something. But he would need to treat the burn.

  “Karlith!” I had no idea where she was, but if she could hear me, she would come. “Brac, Karlith will help you. I need to go. It’s going to have to be weavers to stop Frenhin.”

  “Aye.” Then as Karlith approached, he added, “I didn’t get Naith.”

  “What?”

  “I charged him and took a bite out of him with that dagger, but then Frenhin’s strands protected him. I don’t know where he went.”

  Brilliant. Stop Frenhin, find her minion. No problem.

  “I have to go, Brac.”

  “Aye. Go.” He gave his lopsided smile, looking a little pained as Karlith slathered something over his burn. “Save the day, Tannie.”

  I grinned. “That’s the plan.”

  Then I spun, searching the room for Mor.

  There, in the corner, directing fire strands toward the chains binding Kharn. The metal glowed red-hot now, and Kharn held the chains taut against the wall while Warmil took a swift swing with his sword. A few more strikes and t
he heated metal relented.

  Kharn was free, and I saw his attention dart toward the door, registering the many guards and blades and skirmishes between him and his exit—his path toward Braith.

  Right—stop Frenhin, find her minion, save the queen.

  “Mor!” I called as I ran toward them.

  His face revealed his relief. “Tannie. You’re safe.”

  “We need to get Kharn out of here so he can find Braith.”

  “Aye, but we also need to take care of this”—he gestured toward the fighting all around us—“or else Frenhin will just follow us.”

  We both looked over to the other side of the cavern where Frenhin launched strand after furious strand toward the ceiling. Almost out of view, I could see a glowing jar of lightning flitting from point to point.

  How long could anyone, even Diggy, keep that up?

  Stop Frenhin, find her minion, save the queen, rescue Diggy, keep the strands safe.

  “Blast.” I pressed my palms to my temples. Too many things were happening at once. That always seemed to be the case at the worst possible moments.

  Mor crossed blades with a guard who appeared beside me. After a few exchanges, Mor managed to disarm him. He cast a web of sticky strands and trapped the man against the stone floor. “Tannie.” He sheathed his sword. “I need to help Diggy.” His gaze traveled up to the ceiling and the little point of light flittering to and fro like a glowbug.

  “But what about Braith?”

  “Split up, then?” He frowned, and I could tell he didn’t much care for the idea.

  Nor did I. “No.” I held out my hand. “Stronger together.”

  A smile warmed his expression. “Aye. Stronger together.”

  His fingers grazed my palm, and our gifts found each other—linked, grabbed on, and sealed our hands together. I took a deep breath as the energy coursed through me.

  Mor seemed to be feeling the same power. “Kharn first?”

  I nodded. “We just need to clear a path, then he can go after Braith.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  I wasn’t sure what he had in mind, but we thrust our hands forward together. Streams of wind flowed from both of us. Lots of wind. The kind we had used to fill the sails of the Cethorelle. But even more than that—a windstorm was arising inside this mountain hideout.

  We hadn’t had a way to warn them, so some of the weavers—Warmil, Dylun, and Zel—and several farmers were caught into the air alongside Frenhin’s guards. But, whether by luck or because my suspicions were true and Father really could read minds, he had pulled Kharn back against the wall, out of the middle of the gale.

  My muscles screamed, and Mor’s tendons looked like they’d break through his skin with the strain of holding a couple dozen people in the air by strands.

  “Kharn, go!” I shouted. Whether he could hear me over the roar, who could say?

  Kharn tried to run for the door, but the wind pushed him back and threw him against the wall beside Father. Father ducked and, with effort, pulled Kharn to the ground. Together they crawled for the door.

  The suspended guards fought to get their legs beneath them and touch back on solid ground. Mor was squeezing my hand so hard I was pretty sure both our fingers would break soon.

  Kharn lunged for the door and grabbed hold of the heavy iron handle.

  He was so gaunt and battered I worried his arms might break off if the wind became much stronger.

  But he and Father muscled the door open, and Kharn managed to get through. Just in time, for a guard who had overcome our strandstorm got his feet beneath him and charged at them.

  Father drew his sword and met his attacker’s blade before I could blink, but it didn’t matter.

  Kharn was gone and on his way to rescue Braith.

  Unless Dray had escaped with her already.

  Or worse.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  BRAITH

  Braith didn’t have time to move. Dray slammed into her so hard her knees buckled. But she didn’t fall. He held her around the waist, keeping her on her feet, and pressed his mouth to hers.

  She pulled away and screamed. Twisted her neck so he couldn’t reach her. But he pushed both his hands on her face and forced her toward him.

  “Don’t turn away from me.”

  She struggled against his grip. “Get off!” Furious tears coursed down her cheeks. “Leave me alone!” She strained away with every bit of power she could muster.

  “Enough.” He shoved her onto Frenhin’s bed.

  The impact knocked the wind from Braith’s body. She tried to gasp. But before she could catch her breath, he was upon her.

  She clawed at his face. Screamed again. Shoved against his chest. But he was heavy—so heavy.

  “Quiet, Braith. Goddesses’ sake, will you be quiet for once?”

  She screamed again.

  But then his fingers wrapped around her throat. She gasped. Reached for his hands. Then he began to squeeze.

  She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

  Oh, Creator, help me.

  Her eyes widened, and she met Dray’s stare, his face inches from hers.

  “I just wanted to love you, Braith. And now, look. Do you see what you’ve done? You’ve turned me into what you always accused me of being.” He lessened his grip on her throat, just enough that she could pull half a breath, enough to keep conscious and alive. Alive and awake and aware of what he planned to do next.

  “Whatever you do to me, Dray,” she whispered, “I will never be yours.”

  His grip tightened again, and he pressed his mouth to hers. Then his lips found her neck. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Braith. We were always meant to be together.” He kept one hand wrapped around her throat and began to tug at the shoulder of her dress with the other. “This was written in the stars. Can’t you see that?”

  Braith fought the desire to close her eyes—to give up and stop resisting.

  “You are my soul mate.”

  She reached out and felt for the bedside table—for anything she might grab hold of to try to pull herself away. To give her leverage against Dray’s greater strength and ill intent.

  Instead, she found her mother’s looking glass.

  She gripped it as tightly as she could, then picked it up and smashed it against the bedside table. The frame broke, and the glass splintered with a crash. Dray released her throat in surprise. But before he could realize what she had done, she jammed the jagged edge of the broken looking glass into his abdomen as hard as she could.

  His eyes widened—whether in shock or pain, Braith couldn’t tell—and then he fell forward, his weight pressing down on Braith and pushing against the broken shard in her hand.

  Braith felt the edges of the fragment slice into her palms and fingers as Dray slowly crumpled onto the weapon in his gut.

  And finally, after several long moments, he pressed himself up and stumbled to his feet. He faltered a few steps backward, away from the bed, blood seeping from his wound. He collapsed to his knees and then dropped all the way to the floor, the shard protruding cruelly from his belly.

  Braith sat up, every inch of her body shaking.

  Dray turned his head toward her. Confused. “Braith?”

  And then his eyes blanked. His chest stilled. His lips turned ashen.

  Braith slid to the floor and leaned against the bed, her breath coming in panicked gasps. Her gaze traveled down to the gashes on her hands, her blood mingled with Dray’s.

  Oh, Creator.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  TANWEN

  Stop Frenhin, find her minion, rescue Diggy, keep the strands safe.

  At least Kharn was looking for Braith now. The list had shrunk.

  Brac’s crew and our best fighters had fared well up to this point, but we were still outnumbered by Frenhin’s guards.

  Aeron caught my attention nearby, and my heart clenched a little as I watched her struggle without the mobility she once had in her legs. S
he’d told me that good swordplay was as much about footwork as it was fancy blade strikes.

  But Warmil stood at her back, same as he always had done, and together they took on three guards at once.

  When I saw Dylun, I couldn’t help but smile a little. On our various quests, he had been the one carefully guarding the important treasures, putting himself between our enemies and the strands he considered more valuable than his own life.

  But now, with the ancient strands as safe as they could be in Diggy’s care, Dylun the colormaster was back. He stood in front of Karlith as she tended a stab wound on the midsection of Farmer Wenth.

  Dylun lifted his hands, and streams of colormastery fire poured from them. Gone was the reserved scholar and his protective reticence. Instead, here was all the passion of the artist whose temper had once exploded when he saw how influenced I was by Gareth’s oppressive policies toward weavers.

  He waved his palms in circles until his strands spun into a tornado of fiery art. Then he thrust his hands forward. Four guards toppled over as the strands hit them—two unconscious, the other two dropping their weapons on impact.

  I glanced toward the front of the cave and saw Frenhin still shooting strands toward the ceiling. But Diggy’s glowbug light was no longer visible up there. Had she found a place to hide? Or at least a place to stash the strands? I prayed both she and the strands were safe.

  I almost missed him in the unreliable light of the cave, but there he was.

  Naith.

  He was ducking into Frenhin’s shadow. I could imagine his pathetic whining and wheedling.

  “Tannie!”

  I saw Mor’s face a second before he tackled me to the ground. One sword and then another sliced the air above us.

  Both Father’s. He’d collected another weapon at some point, and I couldn’t say I was surprised. The guard who had been about to attack me from behind was the unfortunate recipient of both strikes.

  Father acknowledged us, then moved on.

  Mor’s eyes burned. “You have got to stop standing still in the middle of battles, Tannie.”