Wayfarer's Keep

by T. A. White

  “Neither did I,” Fallon said in a rueful voice as he sat up. The bashe’s final convulsion had knocked them all off their feet.

  Wilhelm’s smile was faint as he looked at what they’d done. “They’re going to tell stories about this. Our children’s children will speak of this battle one day.”

  Shea didn’t share in their humor. She would have much preferred a placid, staid existence—not battling creatures straight from her people’s oldest stories.

  Wilhelm looked just as bruised and battered as Shea felt. Something must have struck him in the face during the confusion because the skin under one eye looked swollen and red.

  Witt was in a similar state, but without the beginnings of a black eye. Trenton was the worst off, his face slightly pale as he sucked in shallow breaths. Given the pain tightening his face, she was willing to bet he’d bruised or broken his ribs again.

  Chirron was going to have a lot to say about this.

  She sighed before looking back at the great beast in front of them. The eye facing them was a bloody mess, the lid closed to protect what was left. Its mouth was slightly ajar and it slumped bonelessly on the ground. Its scales contained an iridescent sheen, gold tones around its eye and mouth before transitioning to dark blue and silver along its body. The feathers in the crest around its head were dark silver.

  It was a majestic creature. Part of Shea regretted the need for its death, but there’d been little choice. This wasn’t a beast whose territory they had strayed into. The mythological had come looking for them. It had known Shea’s name. It was a weapon someone had directed at her with the intent to kill.

  She reached up and touched its feathers, surprised when one came away in her hand. A slight shimmer glinted on the ground, distracting her, and Shea bent down to get a closer look at it. A scale.

  It was sturdy and unyielding as she tapped it.

  Fallon picked up another and tried to bend it in his hands. “This is why our swords wouldn’t work. It’s harder than iron.”

  “The earth clan would be interested in these,” Wilhelm said, examining the one in Fallon’s hands. “They would make for an impressive armor.”

  “Only if you killed a hundred of these monsters,” Trenton said with a wan smile. “I’m not sure it’d be worth the price.”

  Especially since they barely survived killing one.

  “Let’s get out of here before anything else chooses to attack us,” Shea said, tucking the two scales and feather into her shirt.

  There was a rustle in the surrounding mist, a disturbance causing it to swirl and eddy.

  A dark shape rushed out of the haze, screaming, mouth opened wide, the speed that of a snake striking. Impossible to dodge.

  They’d misjudged. There had never been just one. That was how it could move so quickly. There was another, hidden in plain view.

  Fallon leapt for his sword, already too late.

  Shea and the rest could do nothing but wait, seeing their deaths bear down on them.

  There was a slight thump and whoosh; the bashe’s head jerked to the side even as fire encased it, sending bits of scale and cartilage sailing. It dropped to the ground, flailing around in death convulsions as the other one had.

  Shea watched in surprise, not quite able to reconcile the quick turn of events. She’d been braced for death but somehow was still alive.

  Fallon was there seconds later, as he pulled her further from where the thing had landed. He buried his face in her hair and his arms tightened around her in a hard embrace. It took several breaths before he set her aside, turning to face whatever had killed the bashe.

  A shadow appeared in the mist, grotesque and long, with a tail trailing behind it.

  The men positioned themselves to face this new threat. Fallon solidly in front of Shea as Trenton and Wilhelm spread out, Witt on the end.

  They held themselves ready, anticipation tingling along their nerves. A man stepped out of the mist, goggles on his face. He had a long, narrow tube slung over his shoulder and a rope stretched behind him.

  “Sorry about that. We’ve been having a bit of a problem with these things lately. I had to wait until the second showed itself,” the man said. He stood on a rock staircase that meandered to the cliff above, his gait relaxed and at ease, despite the four men ready and willing to kill him. “Looked like you had it handled for the most part. Gave me an easy shot there at the end.”

  “Dane?” Shea asked, surprise in her voice.

  The man paused then reached up and removed his goggles. The move made him seem even more unfamiliar, forcing his hair to stick straight up in tuffs. He peered closer at them, his face equally surprised.

  “Shea! You’re alive.” He sounded excited and happy.

  “Not just her,” Witt said, relaxing his stance but not yet putting his sword away.

  “Witt, my friend!” Dane started to bound down the stairs but was brought up short by the rope around his waist. He turned and snapped, “Do you mind? I’m trying to greet people I thought were dead!”

  “Keep your pants on,” an irate female voice growled back. “This isn’t the place for such things. You can do your happy dance when we get out.”

  Shea arched an eyebrow at the second voice and bit back a grin as Dane turned back to them and let out a heavy sigh.

  “Guess the reunion will have to wait. Grumpy britches back there will have a cow if we don’t get a move on.” Dane turned to walk up the stairs. “Follow us. They tell me the path has moved a bit since the last time you’ve been through, Shea.”

  With that, the mist swallowed him again, though his voice echoed back to them as he argued with his companion.

  “Who is that?” Fallon asked in a quiet voice, staring after Dane with narrowed eyes.

  “Someone from my old village,” Shea told him.

  Fallon gave her a sharp look. “One of the ones that sold you into captivity.”

  She shook her head. “He was sold with me. He’s a friend. A good one. He helped save your life if you recall.” She gave him a meaningful look to remind him of the first time they’d met.

  He and Wilhelm had been caught by some crazy Lowlanders who were about to execute them and two people from Shea’s village. She’d arrived just in time to save them all with the help of Dane and Witt.

  “Ah, the one with the boomer.” Fallon’s look was assessing as he eyed Dane’s back. It was that encounter that had shown him how powerful the rare weapon was, and he’d hoped to find a way for his army to use it. Unfortunately, there weren’t enough of them to really make that much of a difference.

  Fallon frowned down at her. “He’s too friendly with you. I don’t like it.”

  Shea rolled her eyes. “Easy, Warlord. I only have eyes for you. Dane, Witt, and I went through a lot together. There was a time I trusted him with my life. I know you know what that’s like.”

  He had the same bond with his Anateri—something forged in danger and bloodshed, one where you had to trust a virtual stranger to have your back against all odds and sanity. It did something to you. You could go for years without seeing that person, then when you finally were around them again, it was just like old times. Such a relationship was something to be cherished and a bond not easily broken.

  They gathered their things and halfheartedly called for their horses. It was no surprise when they didn’t trot out of the mist to greet them, but Shea had hoped.

  She followed Dane and his companion up the stairs onto an unfamiliar path. He was right, it had moved. Something it hadn’t done in all the years she’d been traveling it. The obscure trail meandered up a hill and along a narrow, stone bridge with no handrails and a steep drop on either side.

  Shea’s foot struck a rock, sending it skittering over the side. She still hadn’t heard it land by the time they safely reached the other side.

  Tall stone pillars marked where the path began again, the mist draped lovingly around them in a ghostly embra
ce. Sun penetrated in small shafts that refracted oddly before reaching the ground.

  It was easy to see how those unused to it compared the mist to the afterlife. Walking through its eerie stillness was like walking through a dead world. There was a hushed silence as if even sound was afraid to tread here.

  It wasn’t long after they passed the pillars that the mist dissipated, peeling back to let the sun’s weak rays bathe them.

  They stood on top of a small hill, a dirt path winding down its slight incline to a stone bridge that ran across a deep chasm. Beyond it, the high stone walls of Wayfarer’s Keep greeted her.

  Shea hesitated, her eyes pinned to the sharp lines of the Keep. Built into the side of a cliff, it looked like the original makers had carved it from the very stone it sat on. In the past, she’d heard those new to the Keep compare it to one of the castles of old, wondrous and impossible, with magic embedded into its very foundation. To Shea it had always been home—the sight as familiar and welcome as her own face. If she could take the Keep without the people, she would. It was one of the few places she felt comfortable remaining in for an extended period of time.

  A defensive stone wall surrounded it, springing from the very edge of the cliff. It made it hard to see the Keep itself except for the top, where sharp towers arched high above, connected by a series of battlements.

  The foundation descended deep into the very stone upon which it sat, creating a seamless transition that made it difficult to tell where the cliff ended, and the Keep began.

  Its entire design had been formed around the concept of defense. The only way to the Keep was the stone bridge that crossed the chasm which circled the Keep’s front—one deep enough that it would kill any soul unlucky enough to fall into its dark embrace. The cliff protected its back while the Reaches above shielded it from anything that might attack from the sky.

  Shea stopped on the edge of the bridge, staring at the Keep. It had been so long.

  It was home, or it used to be, before so much had happened to take it from her. She hadn’t laid eyes on Wayfarer’s keep, birthplace of her people, in nearly six years. She had thought never to do so again.

  She was surprised at the yearning and nostalgia that swept over her. She’d thought she was fine with the path she’d taken. For the most part, she was, but there was still a pull inside that said the Keep should be home, impossible though that was.

  It just went to show that emotions and the ties you were raised with were not so easily untangled, much as you might wish them to be.

  On the other side of the stone expanse, a wooden gate stood closed. Shea glimpsed movement on the walls above. They’d been spotted.

  Trenton staggered past her onto the bridge, one arm crossed over his front as if he could keep his ribs from paining him with that alone. “They’d better have whiskey. Lots of it.”

  “Is it what you expected?” Fallon asked, glancing from it to her.

  Shea was silent for a long moment. “About the same.”

  Fallon waited patiently beside her as she came to terms with where she stood. This time she wasn’t returning as a favored daughter or a dutiful pathfinder. She was Telroi to Fallon Hawkvale, Warlord of the Trateri and the man who’d conquered all the Lowlands. Now, he was also the man her former people wished to use for their own purposes.

  The reminder of who she now was got her moving, like the thought of her past never could. She took a deep breath and stepped forward, Wilhelm at her back and Trenton limping along at her front.

  Dane and the other woman had already crossed the bridge, arguing the entire way.

  The large wooden door creaked open and they passed into the Keep before it slammed closed behind them once again.

  Shea could hear loud voices arguing before they were even in view of the large courtyard in front of the keep.

  “I’ve already told you. I don’t know what happened to them. We got separated in the mist. They were gone before I could do anything,” Lilah said in a loud voice. She sounded frustrated. There was a small tinge of fear behind the words, as if she was desperate to make those listening believe her.

  “You’re lying.” Caden’s voice was low and dangerous. “Tell me where the warlord and the telroi are.”

  “I don’t know!”

  A clump of people had gathered in the middle of the courtyard, most from their journey. It looked like the majority of Fallon’s warriors had already made it through the mist. Strange, since Shea’s group had been the sixth to leave. Most of these people should have left well after them.

  Shea doubted their battle with the bashe had taken long enough for everyone to filter in, which meant time had jumped again. That was disturbing news considering the little mist had never caused people to lose time.

  Shea would have to ask her father about that when she had an opportunity.

  She turned her attention to the small gathering and sighed. It appeared they’d arrived right in time to prevent bloodshed. From the way Fallon’s warriors were squaring off against the pathfinders, Shea judged them moments from open battle. Everyone was tense, their faces grim.

  The hostility both sides had fostered on their journey seemed to have waited for this moment to ignite.

  “Let’s all just stay calm,” Patrick said, holding his hands out.

  “Hear that, barbarian?” Eric swaggered toward Gawain, who watched with arms folded over his chest, a small smile on his face. “We won’t take any shit from you lot.”

  Oh, brother. Eric was even more stupid than she’d thought.

  Reece jerked Eric from the fray, while the rest of the pathfinders closed ranks when Gawain’s men stirred behind him.

  “We should probably do something,” Shea said. She didn’t really want to, though. She was tired, and the brewing confrontation promised to be annoying even as it took up more time and energy.

  Fallon grunted, glaring at those in front of him. He didn’t seem any happier about the situation than her. “Enough,” he barked.

  The crowd quieted, beginning to turn, finally noticing their group by the gate of the Keep.

  Fallon seemed to grow in size, radiating raw menace. Silence fell as he studied those before him with a frown. “We left the body of a bashe out there. I want two groups to go and retrieve it.”

  Reece lifted his chin. “A bashe? Here?”

  “Two of them,” Shea said.

  “Impossible. You would never have survived one, let alone two,” Eric sneered.

  Shea clenched her teeth, biting down on what she wanted to say. The courtyard already threatened to spill into violence. She wouldn’t do anything to hasten it.

  “We killed one. My friend over there got the other,” she said, nodding to Dane. He grinned at those assembled and gave a mocking wave. The woman next to him just shook her head and cast her eyes up to the sky in a long-suffering expression.

  A younger pathfinder raised his hand, his voice frank. “We were the last ones to enter the mist, and we didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

  Shea’s father looked thoughtful. “That doesn’t mean it’s not there. You might have just jumped time. We’ll send someone out to look at it.”

  “I want my men with them,” Fallon said.

  Shea’s father gave a sharp nod and turned to find those of his people who would be accompanying Fallon’s warriors.

  Gawain and Braden approached.

  “Why are you concerned about whatever this bashe is?” Gawain asked in a challenging voice.

  Fallon gestured at Shea. Understanding what he wanted, she dug the scale out of her pocket and handed it to Braden.

  His face was curious as he peered down at it. He tried to bend it, before taking a blade and trying to stab it. The scale resisted all attempts to break it, even when Gawain plucked it out of Braden’s hands and tried to stomp it beneath his heel.

  “The bashe was able to resist all cuts from a sword and any arrow shot at it,” Fallon expl
ained.

  Braden looked up at him. “Then how did you kill it?”

  Fallon’s sigh was long-suffering. Wilhelm and Trenton shared a small smile as they held in their laugh. “We let it try to eat one of us and used a spear to stab through the roof of its mouth.”

  Gawain guffawed as he looked between their group. “Let me guess which one of you came up with that.”

  Shea crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a cool smile. “It was a team effort.”

  “Sure, it was,” Gawain said. He shrugged and looked back at Fallon. “I’ll make sure my men go out to grab some of these scales. Something like that would be very useful if we could figure out how to create armor from them.”

  He didn’t wait for a reply, turning and walking back to his people.

  Caden stopped next to them. “He was entirely too reasonable, considering it was your order.”

  Fallon grunted. “I agree.”

  “I’ll send someone to keep an eye on him. Make sure he’s not up to anything,” Braden promised.

  Shea lost interest in their conversation, drifting away to see what else she could find out. She stopped a few feet away from where Reece was quizzing Lilah.

  “Tell me again what happened,” he ordered her.

  “I’ve already told you. Everything was going fine and then something grabbed the rope. It knocked me off my feet. By the time I got up, they were gone. The rope was cut.”

  “And you came back without searching for them,” Reece said, his voice carefully emotionless.

  Lilah rounded on him, her face fierce at the accusation. “I didn’t have a choice. We were in the mist. I thought it best to push through and find help.”

  Shea just shook her head. It wasn’t that Lilah was wrong; it was that she hadn’t attempted even a halfhearted search.

  A familiar woman joined her. “I thought since they received the same training as you, they’d be a bit braver.”