by T. A. White
“You already visit Allyn for primers?” he asked.
Shea inhaled, debating how much of the truth to share. Not that there was much that would escape him anyway. He was too crafty for that.
“Yes,” she confirmed.
“You sending your people out there?”
Shea fidgeted as she stared Whelan down. “Yes.”
His exhale was heavy. “At least you’re not as dumb as you look and act sometimes.”
He stood, his back hunched and rounded. He reached another desk, one over-stuffed with papers. He yanked at a heavy, leather-bound book on the bottom, sending the pile teetering.
Wilhelm lunged forward, slapping one hand on top before it could fall.
Whelan ignored him, shuffling back to his desk, before setting the book down with a heavy thunk. He gave Shea a last gimlet stare, as if to say this was all her fault, before cracking open the book.
“Your mother didn’t want me to show this to anyone,” he told her.
“What is it?” Shea asked, stepping close.
“A list of every village in the Highlands since our guild was founded. My predecessors kept a record.” Whelan flipped through the pages. Line after line filled with words. Some crossed out. As the pages went by, the names that were crossed out began to outnumber the ones that weren’t.
“What is this?” Shea asked, her brow furrowed. She reached out and pulled the book to her for a closer glance.
Wilhelm drew near, his face just as puzzled as hers as he stared down at the page. “Why are so many crossed out?”
It wasn’t just that they were crossed out. Dates were written next to each. At first all the dates appeared to be from long ago, the numbering system not the same as what they used now.
Shea felt stunned as she understood what she was seeing. In the first years after the cataclysm, villages were snuffed out as if a strong wind came down from the mountains and carried off several at once. Not to be unexpected. It was a time of upheaval. The learning curve was incredibly steep. Those that couldn’t adapt went the way of their ancestors very quickly.
The further out from the cataclysm, the number of villages that died-off lessened. There were even a few villages that had dates next to them indicating when they were founded. It looked like there was a resurgence in the number of new villages approximately five hundred years ago.
Humanity began to recover from what had happened, putting the sins of the past behind them and moving forward. New progress began taking the place of old loss.
Then about a hundred years ago things seemed to change. The number of lost villages increased. Slowly at first, if Shea was reading this right, and then exponentially. The last ten years saw an overwhelming number of villages disappearing into nothingness.
Shea checked the dates twice before she looked up at Whelan. “What, in the name of all that is holy, is this shit?”
“You know exactly what it is.”
Shea slammed the book down on the desk. “No, I don’t. Because according to this book, what’s happening now started nearly five years before I ever set foot in the Badlands. Maybe even before that.”
“Indeed.” Whelan’s eyes were too large behind his thick glasses, making him seem like a slightly dotty bird.
“No,” Shea said, pointing at him. She turned away and took a deep breath, trying to push down the rage and anger.
“What are you talking about?” Wilhelm asked, looking from Shea to Whelan. “Why are you so upset?”
“She just found out the last few years of her life are a lie,” Whelan said, his voice sympathetic.
Shea shook her head. No. There was another explanation.
“I don’t understand,” Wilhelm said, his eyes still on Shea.
She continued to stand with her back to the men, staring at a giant map of the Highlands. It was more artistic than anything, not a true representation. There were the Dragon’s Tooth ridges. A pair of beautifully rendered golden eagles circled in the top upper corner. Wayfarer’s Keep shrouded in mist on its cliff outcrop, moody and mysterious, while still acting as a beacon for the viewer’s eye.
She’d always admired this piece. It used to hang in one of the great halls. She found herself distracted, questioning why it was here instead of on display in one of the halls.
“Her entire world view is being altered,” Whelan said. “Give her a minute.”
Shea turned around, her face hard. “I don’t believe it.”
“Are you so eager to claim responsibility for everything that’s gone wrong?” Whelan asked, arching an eyebrow. “Are you so arrogant?”
Shea drew back, his words almost a physical blow. She looked away.
“I didn’t think so.” His face twisted with a macabre amusement.
She rocked back and forth. She didn’t want to believe what was right in front of her eyes. To do so felt like the biggest of betrayals. Not hers. No, it was betrayal by the people she’d trusted most.
If this was true, it meant she’d been exiled for nothing, stripped of her aspirations and goals, sent to the back of beyond for something that was never her fault. She stilled as realization sank deep.
“They called Fallon here, using my crimes against us. Now, you’re telling me it isn’t even true? None of it?” she said, her voice a low thrum of danger.
Whelan was silent. “They’re desperate, honey bee. They’ve faced this problem for almost your mom’s entire reign as guildmaster. And there you were, an army at your beckoning, the answer to our prayers.”
The sound Shea made was ugly. “After they’d thrown me out, made me feel ashamed and discarded. Now they want something from us.”
“Well, you did come out of one of the most dangerous shitholes we know of without any of the people you went in with,” he said. “After you were expressly told not to go there.”
Shea scoffed. “No one told us any such thing.”
He gave her a scathing look. “We didn’t think we had to. Didn’t you get the point after all of the stories that started ‘no one goes here?’”
Shea folded her arms over her chest.
“Your biggest flaw has always been your pride,” Whelan told her, exasperation in his voice. “You should have known better than to take that journey, especially with the paltry number you took. People died.”
“You think I don’t know that,” Shea snapped. “I see their faces in my nightmares. Every single one of them volunteered, and they would have gone with or without me.”
“You can’t punish the dead,” Whelan said, his voice strong. “You’re the only one who survived. Like it or not, you’re the only one they can blame.”
“Maybe the rest of them, but not my parents,” Shea yelled. The sound startled her, the force of her anger surprising.
She’d thought she’d put this behind her. Seeing the list, putting everything together had brought all her feelings to the surface, exposed a wound that had been festering. Now, they wanted Fallon to protect them.
Whelan watched her, his face thoughtful. “Did you ever consider that maybe they were protecting you?”
Shea scoffed. “Is that why they never bothered to contact me all these years?”
He arched one eyebrow. “Did you ever contact them?”
Shea’s mouth snapped shut and she looked away.
He snorted. “You’re not the only one who was afraid. Your parents, strong though they might seem, are still human. You came back broken. You wouldn’t have survived here, not with everyone laying the blame at your feet simply because you were the one who lived. Sending you away to heal was the best choice they could make given the circumstances. It’s a guilt they’ve carried with them all these years.”
Shea folded her arms across her body, feeling the need to protect herself from those words. She didn’t answer him, unable to pull out a response that made sense.
Whelan sighed, understanding without having to be told that she wasn’t willing to di
scuss this further.
“You wanted to know if the alliance your mother proposed was real.” Whelan’s words were perceptive as he returned to the topic at hand. “It is. This is proof.”
Maybe so, but something was still off.
“Why haven’t they cemented the alliance already?” Shea asked, pushing down the feelings his words had managed to stir up. “We’ve been here for weeks.”
Whelan lifted an eyebrow. “Do you really need to ask?”
Shea narrowed her eyes, her thoughts racing, trying to put together everything she knew about the pathfinders. The surprise when Fallon had confronted them, the lag in meeting with the council, the hostility of some.
“They don’t know, do they?” she said in realization. “They have no idea about the alliance, about what she proposed.”
Whelan inclined his head. “Very good. Perhaps you have something of your mother in you after all.”
Shea straightened. “Why did she bring us here then?”
“She’s hoping to convince them before it’s too late. It’s not like it used to be,” he said. “Factions have formed. There is a rot at our core we can’t excise. We need your warlord. Your mother knows that. Convincing them of reality has just proved a bit more difficult than she’d anticipated.”
Shea considered. This news put their situation in a different light. Those maps and the scouting Eamon planned to do were more important than ever.
“We’ll take those maps now,” she told Whelan. “I want ones of the quality you would give a pathfinder expedition.”
The look in her eyes dared him to argue.
The fact that he’d shared all this meant he’d already made his decision about which side of the divide he was on. If the rate of lost villages was to be believed, something needed to be done to stem the tide or the entire Highlands would be lost, including Wayfarer’s Keep.
Once upon a time, that something would have been the pathfinders themselves and their allies in the other villages. That time had passed. They’d let themselves fade from power. None who were left would be able to withstand what was coming.
That’s where Fallon and his people came in. Trained and ready for war. More—itching for it.
“I’ll have them ready for you by tonight,” Whelan said, his lips twisted in a sly smile.
Shea turned towards the door.
His last words drifted out to her before it fully shut. “You’ve finally grown up, little bee. I’m looking forward to seeing the mark you put on the world. Don’t let us down.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was a few candlemarks before midnight and Shea was ready, anticipation making her restless.
Fallon stood next to her in their room. “Do you have everything you need?”
She nodded, touching the pack on her back.
His forehead was pinched with worry. He’d surprised her by not arguing with her plan, even when she said she’d be coming back through the mist alone.
She reached up, sliding her hand along his jaw in a caress. He reached up to touch her hand before dropping his forehead down to hers.
“Come back to me.” His words were a whisper along her skin.
She raised her head and looked into his eyes, giving him a cocky smile. “Always.”
She stepped back and pressed on the secret cache she’d spent half the afternoon looking for. There was a small rumble and then a section of the wall moved back.
“Keep the bed warm for me,” she said.
A sudden grin overtook his face, alleviating some of the concern. “What, you’re not worried I might develop a sudden attraction to the lovely pillow version of yourself? And here I was looking forward to a little jealousy on your part.”
Shea glanced at the mound of pillows they’d arranged to make it look like she was sleeping. That was the main reason Fallon was remaining behind rather than escorting her to the edge—to convince any potential spies that she was where she was supposed to be.
For this to work, they wanted Eamon and his team to have as much of a head start as possible before anybody discovered they were gone. It was safer for Shea’s role as well.
“Somehow, I’ll rein my jealousy in,” she said dryly.
She stuck her head in the passage and looked both ways. It was a calculated risk to take the hidden passage, and she’d only chanced it after much thought, figuring anybody watching it would have retired long before now.
Things could have gone differently. She could have opened it to find someone on the other side. What a disaster that would have been. Her luck was with her for once when the passageway remained empty.
“I’ll be going now,” she said softly.
He nodded, his face grave and his expression stark. This was a man who knew that he was sending the woman he loved into danger to protect the rest of his people. He wasn’t happy about it, but a conqueror used every resource at their disposal. He could do no less.
“Do whatever you have to, but make sure you’re alive at the end of it,” he said, his voice raw.
She nodded, stepping back. She waited as he closed the passageway, sealing her into the dark. Nerves bit at her.
It was different this time. She’d never felt this antsy before, her senses on high alert. Perhaps because she’d never had anything to anticipate on her return, or maybe because she could feel something in the air that warned danger lurked just over the horizon, waiting for her to let down her guard.
Enough light was coming through the various cracks in the rocks and peepholes that she was able to move relatively easily along the passageway. She didn’t want to chance lighting a candle since its light might be seen in the darkened rooms she passed.
It would be a shame to have gone to all this effort just to get caught now.
Every now and then, she bumped into stone as the passageway narrowed, forcing her to slide through sideways. It was a tight fit in places, and she had to be careful not to get the bag caught or make too much noise as she forced her way through.
Shea knocked her elbow against the corner of a stone and bit back her groan. Whoever had built these had left them half-finished and rough, the stones not smooth and perfectly aligned as they were in the rest of the Keep.
She consulted the mental map she’d memorized of the hidden passageways that Whelan had given her and headed for one of the short stairs leading to the lower levels. She had given Eamon and the rest orders to meet her near the stables.
It took a while to work her way through the castle. The hidden passageways didn’t go quite everywhere, and she had to pass through some of the main hallways, keeping to the edges so she could remain unseen.
Finally, she reached the meeting place. She lingered in the shadows, watching the back side of the stable. There was no one watching, from what she could see, but nor could she see her team.
She settled back to wait.
It didn’t take long before the scuff of a boot alerted her she was no longer alone. She peeked around her stone wall to see Eamon and several others walking past her.
“Psst,” Shea hissed.
Eamon turned to look, hustling the rest of his team over when he saw it was her.
“Anybody see you?” he asked.
Shea shook her head. “No, we should be good.”
Shea looked around at the people Eamon had brought. Five in total, including Eamon and Fiona—it was a good scouting party. Light and fast, but with enough people that they could handle trouble as long as there weren’t too many enemies.
“This it?” she asked Eamon, nodding at the rest.
“Aye. This is Ghost and Roscoe. They’re nearly as good as you were when you first came to me. I’m sure you remember Phillip.” Eamon said.
Shea lifted an eyebrow in wry amusement at that statement. She was surprised at Phillip’s addition. She hadn’t seen him in a while. Unlike the rest of her original team, he hadn’t received the same sort of rewards they had for saving Fallon
’s life.
“It’s been awhile, Phillip,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you and if we’d ever see you again.”
She hadn’t been as close to him as she had been to Buck and Eamon. He’d joined their group late, and they had only begun to get to know each other when their unit had been split up.
His teeth flashed white in the dark. “I’ve been taking care of a few things for Henri over the past months.”
Shea felt a flash of surprise at the statement, and what his admission meant. Henri was the Horse Clan leader, but there were also rumors that he was also the founder of the Stray Wind Troop, a group everyone had heard of but no one seemed to have ever met. Acting as the eyes and ears of the warlord, they were the dark counterpart to the Anateri. Just as dangerous, too.
She looked back at Eamon. Even in the moonlight she could see the warning in his eyes. She swallowed what she’d been about to say, not knowing if the others had put it together.
She looked carefully at the rest. Judging by the careful way Fiona wasn’t looking at Phillip, she was willing to bet Fiona knew, or at least suspected. The other two men were a little more difficult to read.
“Right. Well, it’s going to be a bit tricky getting out of here without being seen,” she said.
“How are we going to take the horses?” Ghost asked.
“You’re not,” Shea responded.
There was just no way to get them out and remain undiscovered. If she’d been the one coordinating the spies on the Trateri, the first thing she would do was have someone stake out the stables. The Trateri were a people who spent much of their lives on the back of a horse. They were put on their first one almost before they took their first steps. It would be unthinkable to leave without them. Which was why they weren’t taking horses.
There was a little unhappiness from the people in front of her but none argued.
“We can use the horses from the group we left behind,” Eamon suggested.
Fiona nodded. “That would work. Their patrol area is much smaller and covered easily on foot.”
“I took a look before we snuck out. They have several people guarding the gates,” Phillip said.
