Way too close.
I tried to slow my breath, but I was pretty sure my heart sounded like a smith’s hammer against an anvil. The four of us waited, heard the steps come nearer and stop. Because they were there, I grabbed one of Mor’s hands and one of Gryfelle’s. I squeezed them both to keep myself still, if nothing else.
Then the steps carried on in another direction.
It was all I could do to keep the air from escaping my lungs in a loud sigh.
Zel nodded, and we took to picking through the grain again, this time practically crawling on all fours.
But one thing was sure—I couldn’t run to Brac and pretend this wasn’t happening. The guard was here in Pembrone looking for me, whether I liked it or not. Best to leave Farmer and Ma-Bradwir, the little ones, and Brac out of this whole mess. Safer that way. Safer for them to know nothing so they had nothing to give up—nothing to hide.
But safer didn’t mean my heart wasn’t crumbling to pieces.
“You don’t ride.” It wasn’t a question. Gryfelle frowned as I struggled to mount the sleek mare they’d brought along for me.
I shot her a look. “Don’t have lots of blood-mares in Pembrone. If you have a broken-down donkey to spare, I might ride that.”
Mor snorted. But when Gryfelle’s frown transferred his direction, he covered his snort with a cough.
Zel gave me a boost. “Quickly now. We’ll head straight north. Our boat is stowed there.”
My nose wrinkled as Zel handed me the reins. “In the marshes? Nobody keeps their boat there. The smell alone would drive a person leagues around it.”
“Exactly,” Mor said. “Faster and safer.”
Hoofbeats cut our conversation short. The lads looked over my head, then glanced at each other.
Gryfelle didn’t waste any time. She wheeled her horse onto the path, but I couldn’t figure how she did it. Seemed she barely tugged on the reins at all, but the horse knew just what she wanted.
“Come quickly. Fly for the marshes.” In a flourish of her dark cloak, Gryfelle vanished into the night.
Zel followed, somewhat clumsier.
Mor and I were left alone. “Say good-bye to Pembrone, Tanwen.” Then he took off after the others.
I didn’t look back. I slapped the horse with the reins like we did with the donkey, and the creature almost shot from under me with a vengeance—like I’d branded her rear with a hot iron. My lips were silent as I clung on for dear life. But in my mind, I was saying good-bye.
Good-bye, Bradwirs. Good-bye, Brac.
Chapter 12
Tanwen
The smell nearly knocked me from my horse before I could even see the marshlands where the river emptied out into the Menfor Sea. And no amount of evening breeze could carry it away.
Zelyth had insisted we not speak most of the way down the main road, but once we’d turned on the eastern offshoot that led to the river, he’d eased up a little.
“Ugh.” I pressed my sleeve over my nose. “I never did understand why it stinks so bad here.”
“Stagnant water.” Mor dismounted and headed for a cluster of reeds. “During the winter rains, the river swells and makes pools, but after the flooding stops, that water gets trapped. It has nowhere to go, nothing to stir it, so it lies still and starts to smell. It isn’t so bad in the winter when the floods come through.”
“Well, it’s not winter now, and I—oh!” Mor cut my remarks short by pulling me from my saddle. He held me until I got my feet beneath me. I dared a glance up at him. He winked.
“Come on, Tanwen,” Zel said. “Best we get on the water sooner than later.”
I stepped away from Mor and straightened my skirts. “I think you can stop worrying, Zel. We lost them back at the fork.”
Gryfelle glided down from her horse. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Some of these guardsmen are from the mountains. They’re expert trackers accustomed to trapping mountainbeasts for their winter furs. If they have an idea we might head for the river, we’re not safe. Not by a long shot.”
“From the mountains?” I tried not to let a look of provincial awe settle onto my face. “Truly?”
Gryfelle pulled packs from the saddles. “The peninsular mountains are less than a week’s ride from Pembrone. You’ve never been?” She paused and looked at me. “That you remember, at least?”
I shook my head. “Hoped Riwor would take me on a tour through there—past there, even. But I guess that’s not happening now.”
Gryfelle heaped the packs onto her graceful shoulders, and it didn’t look quite right. “No, Tanwen. That won’t be happening now.”
With some effort, Mor pulled a small boat from the protection of the reeds. “Ah. Here we are. Zel, help me get her to the water.”
I patted my mare’s neck. “But what about the horses? I think she likes me.”
The mare snorted, and a spray of horse snot flew from her nostrils. I stumbled backward.
Zel motioned to the other side of the marshlands. “We’ll set them loose there. Our contact in Drefden will round them up after the guard is out of the area.”
I forgave the horse and moved closer to her again. “Sure, if the guard doesn’t get them first.” The thought of a metal-clad, lunk-headed guardsman on the gentle beast didn’t sit right.
“These horses are fast and agile, Tanwen, not like the bulky destriers the guardsmen ride. All that metal slows a horse down. Ours won’t be caught.” Zel helped Mor shove the boat the last little bit into the mossy water. “We should be more worried about the guard catching us.”
That was all the prodding I needed. I took Mor’s hand as he helped me into the boat. “Is this your ship, Captain?”
“Hardy-har.” He grinned, but it fell almost immediately. “No, I lost my ship six moons back.”
I didn’t know if I should be feeling sorry for a pirate. Especially since I didn’t know if he’d come by that ship through honest means in the first place. But still.
“I’m sorry, Mor.”
He shrugged. “We’ve all lost things. Some more than others.”
Everyone paused then, and it was like we were counting all our losses. I numbered mine. My cottage, for one. Could I ever go home now? If I could, had those guardsmen left anything to go home to?
But worst of all was Brac. What if I never saw him again?
“Come on now,” Zel said. “This ain’t over yet.”
“True enough,” Mor said as he helped Gryfelle over the side, and we were all four in the little boat. “One, two, three!” He and Zel shoved with poles until the boat obeyed and we started to move.
Zel stayed standing in the back of the boat, pushing with his pole, and Mor moved to the side so he could guide us off the banks of the river when it narrowed.
“We’ll be going upstream till we get to Lake Lyn and pass through the mountains,” Zel said. “Then it’s easier going, but more dangerous. Rocks and strong currents and such.”
Past the mountains. I was finally going to leave the Eastern Peninsula. This wasn’t exactly how I’d imagined it, but I’d take it.
Gryfelle huddled on one bench in the middle of the boat, I on the other. She looked as out of place in the tiny riverboat as I would have at a palace ball.
“So tell me,” I said.
Gryfelle looked up. “Beg your pardon?”
“Tell me where we’re going. You said no locations until I agreed to come, and I think it’s clear I’ve agreed to come.”
The three shared a look.
After a moment, Gryfelle said, “The Corsyth.”
“Great. What in Tir is the Corsyth? Never heard of it.”
Mor laughed. “As well you shouldn’t. Gareth would be none too happy if word about the Corsyth got out. We’d be welcoming newcomers from all corners of the empire, I reckon.”
Gareth. I’d never heard anyone speak about the king so familiarly. Without his title and honorifics and whatnot.
“Do you know the king, Mor?”
&
nbsp; Mor’s face clouded. “He knows me.”
“Got in trouble with your pirating?”
“No,” he said lightly, smirk returning. “Forced into piracy after Gareth made legitimate fishing impossible for me. I had to run once too, just like you. But I took to the seas.” All humor fell from his face. “My family was all gone by then anyway.”
“Sorry.” I studied the stubble on his jaw again. “Fisherman, pirating sea captain, outlaw all before your—what—twentieth birthday?”
His catlike smile stretched across his face again. “I was twenty last moon.”
“Ah, well. I was close.” I turned to Zel. “And you. You’re easy enough. Farmer, wife at home. I picture her with sun-browned skin and yellow hair, churning butter. She’s my age, maybe.”
Zel nodded. “Aye, she’s about your age. But her hair’s orange as a sweet-root.”
“Close again, but not just right. Seems to be my lot in life.” My gaze settled on Gryfelle. “Not even sure I should try with you. Don’t know what to make of a lass who keeps company with the likes of these two but sounds like she was turned out of a Urian school for ladies.”
Her lips curled in the corners. “That about covers it. In broad strokes, at least. I suppose if things had gone differently, I’d be presenting my first infant to the court at some point this year. Eighteen is about the age for that.”
“Truly?” Now I knew my eyes had gone provincially wide. “Urian? The capital? Your own babies presented at court!”
“It isn’t as wonderful as you imagine.” She looked straight at me. “Babies don’t remember being presented, do they?”
I frowned. She was driving at something again, but it was like a wisp of story strand I couldn’t quite get to crystalize.
Mor huffed. “Court life isn’t as wonderful as we lowly peasants imagine, she says. Then why are you so wistful for your old life, Elle?”
Gryfelle’s eyes flared. “Because whatever it was, it was mine, and it oughtn’t have been taken from me.” She sat back on the bench and stared at the reedy banks. “Nor should my second life have been.”
Mor shut right up then and kept his eyes fixed on the banks. Whatever fire existed between the two of them, it burned so hard I could almost singe my fingers on the heat. I made a mental note not to sit directly between Mor and Gryfelle again.
“None of you has told me why, you know.”
Three pairs of eyes snapped to me, but only Zel spoke. “Why what?”
“Why . . . any of it. Why you’ve come for me. Why you’re on the run. The guard’s after me for some treasonous stories, which, I feel I should add, were not my fault. What did you do that’s got you on the wrong side of the king?”
Mor’s gaze hardened. “He’s not the king.”
Zel sighed. “Mor, would you get off that? It only makes it worse.”
“Worse? It can’t get any worse, Zel!” Mor dug his pole into the bank and righted the boat’s course.
Silence wrapped around us like fog. Two solid minutes ticked by.
I cleared my throat. “No one answered my question.”
“Same as you, Tanwen,” Mor said. “Weavers on the run.”
“Weavers? You mean you’re all story peddlers?”
“Not peddlers. Storytellers.” Mor shrugged. “Some of us anyway. But best you wait until we get to the Corsyth for a full explanation. For now, get some sleep while it’s still dark.”
“Here.” Gryfelle scooted gingerly beside me on my bench. “Lean on me and rest.”
“You sure? Don’t you need sleep, too?”
“I’ll be all right. Rest now.”
“Elle . . .” Mor frowned at her.
“Rest, Tanwen,” she growled. Though I didn’t get the impression the ire was directed at me.
Mor shook his head and looked away.
I leaned against Gryfelle’s shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around me to hold me up. With the strain of the past week—and especially tonight—I slipped into sleep quicker than I imagined possible.
As I dozed, I could have sworn I heard the sweetest birdsong ever sung lulling me into my dreams.
“Tanwen?” Gryfelle’s soft voice poked into my mind—reached me somehow through my sleep. I heard her sigh. “She’s not ready to wake. Let the poor thing sleep as she will.”
“But the mountains.” Zel’s voice. “She’ll want to see them. Besides, it’s more suspicious to have a sleeping lass in the boat in the middle of the day. We’ll need to get through the ferrymen of Waybyr, and don’t be surprised if the guard has a checkpoint there too.”
Mountains. The word forced me to open my eyes.
“Did someone say mountains?”
Mor chuckled. “You were right, Zel. Though it was kind of you to think of her sleep, Elle.”
Gryfelle barely cracked a smile. Couldn’t tell if she was still cross at Mor or if she was just exhausted.
I blinked in the full sun. The river had widened and flowed clear now, no longer marshy like it was near the coast. “What time is it?”
“Past midday.” Mor held out a chunk of bread. “You slept through breakfast and lunch.”
I took the bread and set to devouring it. “You all haven’t slept?”
Zel stretched his arms. “We’ve taken shifts. But I won’t lie. I’ll be glad enough to reach Lake Lyn and cross the mountains. The lake feeds the Endrol River, and bless the stars, the Enrdol flows inland. It’ll be easier going from there, least as far as paddling is concerned.”
I felt rather than heard Gryfelle suck in her breath. “That’s a king’s guard checkpoint.”
Our boat glided toward the crowded Waybyr waterway, where rafts and small riverboats ferried people from one side to the other. Sure as the taxes, a smattering of soldiers dotted the banks, scanning the boats as they passed through.
“Tanwen, I’m a lady from court,” Gryfelle said suddenly.
“Huh?”
Gryfelle caught my eyes. “I’m a lady from court and you’re my servant. We were here visiting my uncle in Waybyr, and we hired these two lads to take us on a day trip up the river. Understand?”
“Oh, right. Got it.”
A guard hailed us. “Ho, there!”
Zel stopped poling and Mor lifted his chin toward the guardsman, then they stayed silent, like good hired men would do.
Gryfelle inclined her head slightly. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
The guardsmen stood a little straighter in an obvious attempt to look sharp for the lady. A bearded guardsman, who appeared to be the lead man at the checkpoint, bowed at the waist. “Afternoon, milady. What finds you so far from Urian today?”
Gryfelle let out a glittery giggle unlike anything I’d heard from her before. “Oh, my uncle lives in Waybyr. He’s taken ill of late, and I came for a visit. But if I had to spend one more moment shut up in that tiny hovel he calls a cottage, I thought I might burst!” She laughed again. “My maidservant and I hired these river lads to take us on an adventure.”
“Nothing too taxing, I hope, milady.”
I’d never heard a guardsman speak so respectfully before—especially not to a lass as pretty as Gryfelle. But I’d never seen the guard around real lords and ladies either. A younger soldier with no whiskers seemed to have his gaze fixed on me, the “servant.” The leering look on his face was something I was a bit more familiar with.
But Gryfelle just smiled. “You’re kind to worry over us. But it’s just a short trip to the mountains and back. I’ll be locked in my uncle’s hovel again before long.”
The glittery laugh sounded again but then cut off abruptly. The smile dropped from Gryfelle’s face and her eyes went blank. Mor and Zel stiffened.
Mor took hold of Gryfelle’s arm. “El—milady? Milady?” He shot a desperate glance at Zel.
Should I say something? My heart pounded out a rhythm of utter terror at the thought of speaking up. But I imagined myself telling a story to any regular crowd of peasants—and our lives depended on s
elling it. “Forgive my lady, good sirs. She’s been such an attentive niece these past days, caring for her uncle. She’s fairly worn out.”
A wisp of story puffed from my fingers, like a tendril of pale purple smoke. I shooed it away and flashed a smile I prayed was charming. “Poor lass.”
The lead guardsman frowned at me, then Gryfelle, then at the “river lads.” But he nodded to his fellows. “Let them pass.”
Thank the moon and all the stars.
Zel dug his pole back into the riverbed, and we set to fighting upriver again. I wouldn’t release my breath until the guard was out of sight. Just a few more moments and we’d be through. I glanced at Gryfelle. Her eyes were like the empty windows of a deserted cottage. What in blazes . . . ?
“Ho!” a deep voice from one bank cried out. “You there! Stop!”
The lads pretended not to hear.
“Lady!”
Gryfelle suddenly seemed to come back to herself. But she stared around, confused, like she didn’t know where she was or why.
The shouting guardsman crouched down, then stumbled along the bank to try to keep up and get a good look at us as we pushed up the river. Then he suddenly came up short. “It’s them! Stop them!”
Mor’s river-lad façade dropped and the sea captain was aboard once again. “Go!”
Both lads poled now. Downriver behind us, a handful of guardsmen clanked into a boat.
“The third pole.” Sweat beaded on Mor’s forehead. “Tanwen, can you grab it?”
“No, I will.” Gryfelle was with us again—clear and present. She grabbed a third pole that was hidden along the edge of the boat. It didn’t look as long as the other two, but if the river was shallow enough here, it could reach the bottom.
Gryfelle dug in a few times and we propelled forward a little faster. But then something like a huge bug zipped past my ear and plunked in the water.
An arrow.
“Tanwen, get down!” Mor grabbed Gryfelle’s pole. “Elle, get in the bottom of the boat!”
She snatched the pole back from him. “Let me help. It’s hardly the first time I’ve been shot at!”
Another arrow whizzed by, and this one nearly skinned a line down my back, even though I was crouched.
The Story Peddler Page 9
