by T. A. White
Shea studied him, putting aside her emotions—the guilt and sorrow, the rage and hurt—before looking him over with a coldly analytical mind.
Could he be telling the truth? It wasn’t difficult to imagine a lover, lost and alone, plotting to get back to the person he cared about. In that world, yes, she could see reaching out to that love.
Except he’d used beasts to carry his message in the bloodiest way possible. He had cost people their lives and put Shea’s own life in danger on more than one occasion. Not the actions of someone in love.
No, this held more in common with a punishment.
It wasn’t until she’d become telroi and formed a relationship with Fallon that the attacks had started. These actions were closer to what a jealous ex-lover might do if their partner had found someone new.
Still, something about that assessment felt off. She could see Griffin acting out of a jealous rage. He was always the type who didn’t enjoy sharing his toys. Looking back, she knew he’d done similar things to others when they moved on, sick or fed up with his antics. He’d always been a bit vengeful, but he wouldn’t have gone out of his way without a purpose.
She just couldn’t imagine what that purpose was.
Braden tapped his leg with a finger, a frown on his face as he seemed to come to a decision. He turned to Reece. “I’m afraid your training exercise needs to be cut short. I want to get him back to the Keep so we can question him further.”
Reece nodded. “I’ll get them ready to move.”
“What about Peyton?” one of the student’s asked.
Shea noted how they didn’t ask after Dane, despite the fact that he’d been with the pathfinder.
Reece met her eyes, resignation on his face. “They’re in the mist now. They’re on their own. There’s nothing we can do for them. They’ll either make it back to the Keep or not.”
Much as it burned to abandon them—especially given the way they’d fled into the mist, a grindle chasing after them—Reece was right. The only ones who could save them were themselves.
Shea offered up a short prayer that Peyton and Dane figured out a way to survive as she helped Reece and the rest prepare for the journey back.
“Aren’t you worried that there are more of them waiting in the mist?” one of the students asked, giving Clark’s friend Delia a wary look.
“What would you suggest we do? Wait here like chickens ripe for the plucking until they decide to come for us, only this time in greater numbers?” Delia asked, a trace of impatience in her voice.
“I’m beginning to see why Clark became friends with that one,” Trenton murmured in low voice.
Shea arched an eyebrow at him.
He gave her an engaging grin. “She’s a much younger version of you.”
Shea frowned over at the girl, who looked nothing like Shea. Where Shea was taller than most people in the Highlands, the girl was short, at least a head shorter than Shea. Her face was more heart-shaped without the lean lines and sharp bones that made up Shea’s features. Delia looked fierce, her eyes alive with the sort of stubbornness that enabled her to voyage across the Highlands and make it to the Keep where she could train as a pathfinder.
Right now, Delia frowned at the person who’d spoken, her eyes snapping with impatience.
Ah, that was what Trenton had meant. The woman wielded words and logic the same way Shea did, like they were blunt instruments capable of beating people more stupid than her into submission.
She flicked a dirty look Trenton’s way. He shrugged, even as he tied Griffin’s hands together, the rope looping over and under itself to create a knot that would withstand even the strongest man’s struggles. Having been subjected to such bonds once herself, Shea knew intimately how impossible it was to work the knot loose.
She’d have preferred something a little sturdier, like iron manacles and a guard of about twenty men solely focused on Griffin, but until they got back to the Keep this would have to do. It didn’t stop her from feeling like this was exactly what Griffin wanted.
“You ready?” Reece asked her.
She nodded, slipping her hand into the loop and taking the last position, Trenton and Griffin in front of her. Braden before them. Reece would lead, then the students, then Braden and the rest of them.
She gave one last look at the mountain glen and its sunny scenery. One wouldn’t know all that had happened here just from looking. Even the blood of their fallen student had been sucked into the ground, food for the wildflowers that grew here. Shea had a feeling the next time they visited, this place might show the signs of this encounter, changing for the worse and becoming dangerous where it had once been welcoming.
*
Fallon hit the ground floor of the Keep at a near run, a wild feeling in his chest urging him to hurry. That same gut feeling had saved his life on more than one battlefield, and he didn’t plan to ignore it now, not with so much at stake.
Patrick kept up easily, moving at his side with an effortless stride. “What makes you think this is part of a series of attacks?”
The man wasn’t challenging Fallon, his voice calm and collected. He was gathering information so he could have the full picture before reacting.
“It’s what I would do in their place,” Fallon said, not slowing his pace.
Seeing the Ember clan leader, he jerked his head for the man to follow. Zeph waved off the person speaking to him and headed for Fallon’s side, his expression one of alert intensity.
Ember clan produced some of the best warriors in Fallon’s army, in large part due to the prowess of their own leader. He would be a good man to have at Fallon’s back if what he feared was true.
“Why do you say that?” Patrick asked, taking note of Zeph.
“The best way to take down a strong enemy is to hit them on several fronts at once,” Fallon said. “It gives them no time to react or defend, while ensuring you have the greatest element of surprise.”
“What is it?” Zeph asked, his gaze going between the three of them. He noted the blood on Fallon’s clothes and the weapons still held ready in Caden’s hands. He correctly came to the conclusion that they had been attacked. “Who are we killing?”
Patrick looked deep in though. His head lifted and his face paled. He turned and started moving away.
“Where are you going?” Fallon asked, staring after Patrick. “We need to find Shea.”
And he needed Patrick to do it. Not for the first time, he cursed the restrictions this mist placed on him. He loathed being at the mercy of others.
“She’s not the only one in danger.” Patrick’s voice was hard as he headed away from Fallon at a quick clip.
“Do you want me to bring him back?” Zeph asked, looking between the two.
Fallon took a deep breath, reaching for a patience he didn’t currently feel. “Get Chirron. If he’s right that we’re not the only targets, we may have need of the healer.”
Zeph nodded and made a sharp gesture to the blond giant lurking behind him. Bax was Zeph’s second in command and a good man to have in a fight. He loped off without another question, leaving Zeph to follow Fallon as they ran to catch up with Patrick.
“You’re going to need me,” Zeph said, his face serious as Fallon slid him a glance. “I trust Bax with my life. He’ll bring Chirron.”
Fallon didn’t argue, racing around one corner after another as Patrick picked up speed until he was moving at a flat-out sprint.
Patrick ignored Fallon’s order to wait, seeming more like his daughter with every moment.
Patrick burst through the doors to the tower. Fallon was relieved the man showed a bit of sense by not shouting his wife’s name as soon as he was inside.
Fallon and his men paused at the door, knowing they could be walking in on anything. They drew their swords. Fallon flicked his hand in a short gesture, directing them to spread out once inside, Caden to the right and Zeph to the left.
They s
tepped through, braced for attack, moving cautiously when none came. Patrick had already climbed the stairs to the tower room at the top.
Fallon indicated for his men to follow and together they mounted the steps. Given the lack of shouting or sounds of violence, he judged it reasonably safe to proceed.
Once in the tower room, Fallon took in the disaster that awaited them there. Furniture had been overturned and there were significant signs of a struggle.
“Looks like she put up a fight,” Caden said softly, analyzing the room at a glance.
Yes, it did, Fallon noted grimly.
Patrick had stopped in the middle of the room, looking down at a trail of blood that lead to the balcony outside.
“You should let one of us go first,” Fallon cautioned.
Patrick didn’t even hesitate as he continued. Fallon supposed he couldn’t blame him. It was the man’s wife after all. He knew if it had been Shea, nothing and no one could stop him from seeing what awaited. Anyone who tried would have met with a quick death.
Zeph looked around at the scene before them. “What do you think happened here?”
Caden’s face was grim. “Nothing good.”
“Learn what you can,” Fallon ordered as he headed for the balcony.
Zeph nodded, turning to the room as Caden followed him as far as the doorway where he positioned himself, well used to the task of protection.
Fallon stepped outside, his emotions locked down tight. They had no place in a situation like this.
A body greeted him first. Someone had pinned it into the stone by plunging an oddly shaped spear through its torso. Fallon bent closer to examine the implement better, interested to see what sort of weapon might embed itself so deeply in stone.
It wasn’t like anything his people possessed. The shaft protruding out of the man’s chest was the length of Fallon’s forearm, thin and narrow. Not wood, but not metal either, or at least no metal he knew. He pulled the man away from the wall a little, noting the strange looking teeth of the spear.
He rocked back on his heels with a thoughtful look. The boomer wasn’t the only weapon these pathfinders possessed.
He looked up at the man’s face, noting the astonished expression, his eyes wide and surprised. Like death had crept up while he wasn’t looking.
She’d managed to take at least one of her attackers down. Good for her.
He stood and looked over the edge of the stone balcony, a brief flutter of cloth drawing his attention to a spot far below where another body lay. He couldn’t tell if it was a woman or man, the face obscured.
“Warlord, there’s something you should see in here,” Caden said, poking his head through the door.
Fallon turned away from the scene and stepped inside.
Caden led him over to a corner where Zeph crouched. He held an object in his hand that he presented to Fallon.
“It’s of Earth clan construction,” he said, handing a single-edged sword that contained the slightest of curves to Fallon.
Fallon turned it in his hand. Zeph was correct. It was Earth clan’s. There was a distinctive sheen to it that was created from the material’s heating and cooling method—one that was a hallmark of the Earth clan. No other clan employed those methods since they were so tricky to perfect.
“Our enemy is very smart,” Fallon said.
They had planned this very well. If the attack on Fallon failed, they could always sow more dissension by killing the pathfinders’ guildmaster and making it look like the Trateri were responsible.
United by anger over what happened to their guildmaster, the pathfinders could very well decide to kill the Trateri while they were trapped in the Keep at their host’s mercy.
“What do you want us to do?” Zeph asked, his eyes intent as Fallon studied the blade.
Patrick appeared in the doorway, seeming infinitely older and more tired than he had that morning. He was a man holding it together by the thinnest of threads. A man like that could be dangerous, Fallon knew.
Patrick’s gaze went to the weapon in Fallon’s hands.
Fallon held it out for him to examine. “They used one of our clan’s more distinctive blades.”
“How did they get it?” Patrick asked, his eyes not moving from the weapon in Fallon’s hands.
To Fallon’s surprise, he sounded calm and rational.
“That is a good question,” Fallon told him. One he intended to get to the bottom of.
The Earth clan was protective of these blades. They were the most difficult to make and among the best quality. Their bladesmiths ascribed an almost living personality to each one and chose their wielders with the utmost of care. Even Fallon had faced a difficult time trying to secure one of their blades for himself. They couldn’t be bought, only gifted.
To find it here pointed the finger of blame firmly at the Trateri. More than that, it narrowed the pool to a very slim margin given the blade’s rarity.
He wondered if their enemy knew that or if they’d chosen this blade simply because of its distinctiveness.
“Find out who is missing a blue steel, single edged taito,” Fallon told Caden. “I want to know how it went missing and when.”
Caden nodded.
Zeph caught the reasons behind his order. “You think one of us had a hand in this?”
Fallon didn’t want to, but it wouldn’t be the first time one of their own had conspired against them. “I think there is a reason that blade was chosen. I want to know what it is.”
Before he could say anything further, the wall made a grating sound as it moved. His men were instantly in front of him, their swords held at the ready as they faced the wall.
It peeled back to reveal Lainey, her clothes covered in blood, standing with one hand planted against the side so she didn’t fall. Her face was a mask of stubborn fury as she eyed the men in front of her.
“Lainey,” Patrick said, heading for her immediately.
“Took you long enough, my love,” she said as she limped out of the small bolthole. He caught her in his arms, supporting her as he half carried her over to a couch.
Fallon watched Lainey with caution, his brows lowering. The next few moments could go very badly for them, depending on what she had to say and what had happened here.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said in an irate voice. “I know you had nothing to do with the attack, despite appearances to the contrary.”
“What happened?” Fallon asked.
Patrick crouched at Lainey’s side, examining her wounds and running careful hands over her. Lainey winced as he hit a sensitive spot. Fallon moved closer.
“Exactly what it looks like,” she said, her gaze coming up so she could glare at him. “I was attacked. Much as you were and much as my daughter has been, I suspect.”
The reminder that his telroi could still be in danger did not sit well with Fallon.
“They said they had concerns they wanted to raise with me. That they had proof you were deceiving us,” Lainey said, sounding like she was in pain but trying to conceal it. “I thought it was the normal pettiness, that I’d meet with them and allay their fears. Little did I know it was a ruse to get me alone so they could attack. I shot one with a zipper,” she said, jerking her head to the outside. “Another I threw over the balcony.”
Zeph lifted an eyebrow, obviously impressed with the woman’s actions. As a warrior, he appreciated the difficulty in fighting off several opponents at once.
“The rest I managed to scare off with this.” She raised a hand holding a fist-sized metal sphere in it.
“What is it?” Caden asked.
She flicked her thumb and light burst out of it, searing Fallon’s eyes and blinding him.
The light shut off and he regained his balance. He blinked away the spots in his vision and swayed on his feet. His men were in a similar state.
“Unfortunately, not before they managed to land a few blows of their own,”
she said, gritting her teeth as she straightened in her seat.
“What in the abyss is that thing?” Zeph snapped furiously.
Fallon stepped closer, taking the sphere when Lainey handed it to him and peering at it closer. He couldn’t even begin to guess how it worked.
“It’s a remnant of our ancestors. Something they used when the world was a little less broken,” Lainey said in a tired voice.
“If that’s the type of weapon they used, it’s no wonder the world went the way it did,” Caden said, an expression of extreme dislike on his face as he stared at the weapon in Fallon’s hand.
“I won’t argue with that,” Lainey said, resting her head back against the couch and closing her eyes.
“Stay with me, my love,” Patrick said in a soft voice.
She patted his hand and gave him a gentle smile but didn’t respond. The two loved each other. Truly and completely, Fallon noted.
Somehow, despite their different personalities, the opposing needs and desires, they’d found a way to make it work, to thrive when all things pointed to the likelihood of failure.
Chirron arrived then, his chest heaving as he entered the room carrying a large cloth bag that housed his supplies. Bax was at his back, as well as Gawain and several of Ember’s warriors.
Chirron’s gaze went straight to the wounded woman and he started for her without prompting.
“Our healer will treat you,” Fallon said, the words more of an order than a request.
He needed Shea’s mother strong and healthy. First, because he needed the weapons and alliance she had promised him and he was unlikely to get either of those if another took her place. Second, because he didn’t want to have to explain to his telroi how her mother had died when it could have been prevented.
“I would prefer you lead me and a group of my men into the mist after Shea, but I will settle for one you trust,” Fallon said in a stiff voice, already wishing to be on his way.
“No, Patrick will go,” Lainey replied, her breath catching as Chirron poked and prodded.
“Lainey,” Patrick protested. His expression was torn, the conflict of staying by the woman he loved—wounded and unable to protect herself—competing with the need to come to his daughter’s rescue.
