Free Fire Hawk by Justine Dare Justine Davis Page B

infused with the fire of her hair. He’d told Tal she was not lacking in courage, and she was proving that anew, facing him down as few men would dare. She had wit, too, and it was seemingly sparked easily by anger. No, she was not a fool. The innocent she’d admitted to being, perhaps, but never a fool.
    And beautiful. He could no longer deny that; now that she was recovering and no longer an invalid, he could no longer deny she was, as Tal had said, quite striking in appearance. Not a quiet, meek woman as he generally preferred, but a woman any man would have to beware of taking for granted.
    “What . . . weapons did you have in mind?”
    “Whatever there is that can be learned quickly and made easily. Bows. I’ve heard of men who can shoot arrows a great distance. And of bows of a different kind, that fire bolts instead of arrows, but with much more force. And are there not hammers, that can be thrown with great power—”
    “For a peaceful clan, you have an unexpected knowledge of the weapons of war.”
    “The storyteller,” she said. “He knows of many things. ’Tis he who sent me here.”
    Kane’s brow furrowed; this seemed impossible. “Your storyteller sent you to me?”
    “He told me you were not simply a myth, and that you were real, that you were a warrior worthy of the name, and the only one who could help us.”
    “So you set off on this journey on the basis of that? An old man’s tales? Does your clan run to such craziness as your storyteller?”
    “He is not crazy! He simply . . . sees patterns that others miss.”
    Something about her words distracted him for an instant, but he was too intent on something else to let it divert him completely. He wanted an answer to this; he’d let it slide while she was in a weakened state, but she was clearly well enough now. Well enough to stand up to him.
    “How,” he said quietly, “did you find me?”
    She blinked. “I told you. The storyteller sent me.”
    “That is the why. I want the how.”
    She looked puzzled. “They are one and the same.”
    Kane went still. “This storyteller of yours told you where to find me?”
    “Of course. How else would I have known? As it was, I nearly took many wrong turnings. As you said, ’tis not an easy place to find.”
    “No,” Kane muttered, “it is not.”
    And no one knew where it was. Some had stumbled upon it by accident, but no one seeking him had ever found it by intent. In the beginning there had been some near moments, when he’d thought he would surely be discovered, but he’d managed to avoid any contact with those from below. And after a few years, his reputation had made the turn into legend, then into myth, until most were convinced he’d been an invention all along. The only ones who searched for him now had blood on their minds. And their hands.
    And yet this slip of a woman had found him.
    And this storyteller of hers had apparently told her how.
    “So, when do we begin?”
    He ignored her question, still focused on his own. “Tell me of this storyteller.”
    She shrugged, then obliged. “He came to us shortly after the attacks started. In fact, he was the first to warn us that the warlord had set his eyes on our forest, as the easiest route to the north, where he planned to expand his territory.”
    Again something tugged at his mind, but he had to have the answer to this first.
    “He came to you from where?”
    “He came out of the forest, but where before that no one knows for certain, except that he passed through lands already bloodied and conquered.”
    “His name?”
    She looked almost sheepish for a moment. “I . . . we do not know. He is simply the storyteller.”
    Kane stared at her. “You are under siege but you have taken him among you, and you do not even know his name?”
    “It sounds strange, I know. But there is something about him that makes it seem . . . unnecessary. When you are with him, it does not even occur to you.” Jenna shrugged.