Wayfarer's Keep

by T. A. White

  She couldn’t bring herself to ask the next question. She was too afraid of the answer.

  “She lives,” Chirron said, guessing her thoughts. The slim healer’s gaze was sympathetic. “But she was wounded.”

  “How bad?” Shea found herself asking. The voice didn’t sound like hers. It was stilted and devoid of emotion.

  “She has defensive wounds on both arms and one on her torso. She got lucky. Most of her wounds are superficial, and aside from some muscle damage and possible infection, she should pull through,” he said in a quiet voice.

  Shea’s nod was distracted.

  She locked down her emotions. Oh, they’d boil back up eventually and the fallout would be catastrophic, but for now she couldn’t afford to break down weeping. There were too many eyes watching and she couldn’t afford to show such weakness. Maybe later when she was alone.

  She forced herself to look beyond the obvious, to turn her mind to analyzing the facts, even as she felt an arctic cold take root in her center.

  “Three attacks then,” she said. Her voice was a little tighter than it would be normally, but for the most part it was steady. “All around the same time, I’m assuming.”

  Her gaze sought Fallon’s for confirmation.

  He watched her carefully, looking for signs that she was going to snap. She gave him a faint smile, just a bare twist of her lips to show him she was alright and she wasn’t going to crumble.

  He gave her an approving nod, his hands clasped behind his back. “That’s my belief as well.”

  “Not quite,” Zeph said. “The attack on the bridge would have come after.”

  “That wasn’t the first attack,” Shea said.

  Braden stirred. “We were set upon long before that.” He held up his hand, the beast call resting on his palm. “This is what we took from him. I believe it’s the beast call we’ve been looking for.”

  Shea’s father leaned forward, his face sharp with interest even through the grief and tiredness that had settled on him like a weighty cloak. “You’re right.”

  “Are you sure?” Shea asked.

  Patrick’s face drew tight. “Relatively. The design is slightly different than the ones we have in our possession, but the theory looks the same.”

  Gawain moved closer, studying the horn. “If you have this so-called beast call, how was he able to summon the beasts to attack you on the bridge?”

  “Or use another beast to escape?” Braden said in a soft voice.

  Shea folded her arms across her stomach as she was forced to consider several scenarios, each no better than the next. Either Griffin had an accomplice out in the mist, or he had another unknown way to control beasts.

  Her gaze shifted to Reece. As far as she knew, there were no records of humans being able to force beasts to their will, but as Reece had already let slip once, there were records that she’d previously not had access to.

  “Is there anything in the hidden archives about humans being able to control beasts without the call?” she asked her father.

  He shook his head. “I haven’t read everything. I don’t think anyone has. It’s possible there’s something we missed, but it would take time to find. Why do you ask?”

  “Griffin came back changed. He barely looked human,” Shea said, articulating something that had been bothering her since she first saw him. “It was like he’d been molded into something else.”

  Her father’s face grew troubled.

  “What does he want?” Zeph asked.

  Shea shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  His motives seemed unclear. Why attack them at the Forest of the Giants, drawing Fallon’s notice and almost guaranteeing her warlord would have no choice but to retaliate? Did he think Fallon would assume it was the pathfinders’ fault? That was a pretty big assumption and left a lot to chance.

  Granted, Griffin hadn’t always been the greatest tactician—he was too much a creature of habit, prone to laziness and taking the easiest course—but he wasn’t dumb.

  “We know he’s working with some of the pathfinders here,” Fallon said. “That much is obvious considering the joint attacks on myself and the guildmaster, as well as the three who trapped Shea in the tunnels beneath the Keep last week. He probably recruited a few at some point and they’ve recruited others.”

  “The three you caught don’t know much,” Zeph said. “My men and I broke them, but it seems the only person they ever worked with gave them the orders right before leaving the Keep.”

  “Who did they point the finger at?” Shea asked.

  “Man by the name of Haversham,” Zeph responded.

  Shea and her father shared a look.

  “Who told you Haversham had left the Keep?” her father asked.

  “The two pathfinders in charge of your armory. The woman’s name was Michelle, the man was named Sweiz,” Zeph replied, his eyes sharp.

  “Those are two of the ones who attacked the guildmaster,” her father said, already heading for the door, Shea right behind him.

  “This is significant how?” Fallon barked.

  “Haversham isn’t a man,” Shea supplied, already at the door. “She’s Griffin’s mother, and she’s still in the Keep.”

  Her father was already at the end of the hall as Shea hurried to catch up—not because she wanted to stop him from whatever he planned, but having failed three times, Griffin’s mother would realize the chance of discovery had increased.

  Her father needed someone at his back in the event Haversham got the drop on him.

  Fallon’s mood rolled down the hallway after her, a storm given almost physical presence. She ignored him and the rest as she stalked along at her father’s side.

  They headed for the southeast area of the Keep where Haversham’s family quarters had been for three generations. Like Shea’s mother, Haversham was a child of the Keep and grew up wandering its halls. The two women had been friends once, and Victoria had been an honorary aunt while Shea was growing up.

  Their relationship was why it had been so difficult for Shea to face her when she’d come back without Griffin. Shea had assumed a guilt that wasn’t hers, helped in part by Griffin’s mother and others. It had poisoned many of her relationships.

  Now, she had to wonder if some of that was because Victoria’s son had been spilling poison in her ear all this time, turning her and others against Shea’s family.

  Pathfinders saw them coming and got out of the way, neither father’s or daughter’s expressions inviting interference. That was helped along by the larger forms of the Trateri now flanking them, their weapons on display. All had seen their prowess today on the bridge. No one sane wanted to test them, not when the looks on their faces said they would relish the chance to spill blood.

  A man stepped out of a room and then rapidly stepped back in again. Shea glanced inside to see him watching them from the doorway, his gaze avidly curious.

  They entered a large room, one of the main gathering places in the Keep. It was a homey sort of space where pathfinders often came after a long mission to de-stress and share stories. It was a place Shea hadn’t often visited toward the end of her tenure here, not wanting to risk the blame others cast her way for surviving when so many hadn’t, or the gossip that accompanied their looks.

  There was a quiet murmur as Shea and her companions came into view. She absently noticed Whelan seated at one of the tables, as well as a few others she knew and had once counted as friends.

  Shea ignored them in favor of turning towards Victoria and the people standing at her side. This time she didn’t let past guilt influence her. She wanted blood and she wasn’t sure she cared who she hurt to get it.

  Allyn stepped forward, the teacher’s eyes going to the warriors at her back. “Is this really the best place to do this?” he asked Shea in a quiet voice.

  Although he taught the children and was unable to participate in most parts of a pathfinder’s duties, Allyn h
ad a certain amount of influence over the people here—partly because he’d helped raise them and their children.

  “Move,” Fallon rumbled.

  Allyn drew himself up, his face and body filled with a quiet dignity indicating he wasn’t going to be intimidated by the potential of physical harm. At any other time, Shea would have admired him for standing up to people who could end him with barely a thought. It took courage. Today, she struggled with impatience.

  She would have preferred to do this in private, far from prying eyes ready to judge and jump to conclusions. She shared a look with Fallon. He gave a tiny nod, telling her to continue. These were her former people, she would take the lead. It would have more weight that way.

  “You’ve been betrayed,” she said, her voice abrupt. “We all have.”

  Victoria met her gaze with a bitterness that surprised Shea, even now. Her son wasn’t dead. Why did she still act like Shea was the one responsible?

  Shea pointed at Victoria, looking around at the other pathfinders. “How many of you have conspired with her, whispering in the dark as you plotted the death of my family and me? Do you even know why she wants us dead? Truly?”

  Shea doubted Victoria had been upfront about her goals or the fact that her son’s demise was greatly exaggerated. Though her former people didn’t stand for all that she’d once thought, she found it hard to believe they would have fallen so far.

  Victoria would have kept her son’s role in all this hidden, if only because of his changed appearance and fear that the same distrust that had smeared Shea would be turned on him.

  That was how Shea planned to break her hold on the rest. Her people didn’t like liars, and Victoria had that sin written all over her.

  Several pathfinders shifted in their seats. Shea was gratified to see surprise and confusion in some of their faces. Not all, but enough perhaps that it meant her people weren’t as far gone as she had feared.

  Shea returned her attention to the woman in front of her. It almost scared Shea, the lack of emotion she felt—just a diamond hardness deep inside as she stared coldly at her quarry.

  “Tell me, Victoria. When was it, you decided your fellow pathfinders were an acceptable casualty in his plans? Or did you fool yourself into thinking he would spare them?” Shea asked, her eyes hard as she stared at the woman who’d made her life so difficult for so long.

  Victoria face was pinched and self-righteous as she lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Shea made an ugly sound. As she held Victoria’s attention, Caden and Zeph worked their way around the room, flanking Victoria and her small group without them being the wiser.

  Whelan stood and hobbled over to them, his movements slow and deliberate. He frowned at the lot of them, his bushy eyebrows acting as punctuation marks as he asked, “What’s this you’re saying? Share with the rest of us.”

  Shea watched the other woman, waiting to see if she would speak. Victoria held her silence, meeting Shea’s gaze with a haughty expression that told Shea the other woman didn’t plan to make this easy for her.

  Shea’s lips twisted in disgust. A pathfinder all these years and Victoria hadn’t learned a damn thing. She’d thrown away everything for a son who had already betrayed them.

  Perhaps Shea was being too harsh. A mother’s love was supposed to be unconditional after all. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when her family were the ones in danger and not when she’d been made to suffer for a crime that was never hers to begin with.

  “Griffin is alive,” Shea stated, ignoring the shock her words caused. She stepped closer, her expression hard with just a hint of cruelty as she lowered her voice, her words meant only for the woman in front of her. “Which means all the filth and hate you’ve spewed over the last six years were meaningless. You’re a hypocrite and a traitor, and I will do everything in my power to see your son doesn’t survive what he’s started.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  There was a hint of fear in Victoria’s face. Shea wasn’t known for mincing her words. If she said she’d see Griffin pay, she meant it. Victoria knew Shea well enough to know she wasn’t someone you messed with lightly. She might love her son, and he might have some new powers none of them had dealt with before, but it didn’t change the fact that Shea had an odd way of exacting retribution when she felt it was warranted.

  Shea’s pronouncement had the feeling of prophecy, and although the thought was ridiculous, it was enough to send the smallest hint of unease through the other woman.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but perhaps your time away has made you unstable,” Victoria said before her gaze flicked to Fallon and his warriors.

  Her mouth tightened, the thin lips making her seem even more severe. Victoria had been pretty once, but time and bitterness had destroyed any looks she might have had.

  “She speaks truth,” Reece said in a lazy drawl from his post against a wall, arms at his sides as he stared down the woman in front of Shea. “I saw him myself. He’s a bit ragged, and whatever taint he received from the Badlands is definitely not a good look on him, but it was Griffin. Clear as day.”

  There was a troubled murmuring from the rest of the pathfinders present.

  An expression moved over Victoria’s face, it was there and gone from one moment to the next. It might have been anger, denial, or any number of other emotions. All Shea could say for sure was the woman wasn’t thinking pleasant thoughts about her cousin.

  “You’re her blood. You’d say anything to protect her,” Victoria said, her voice turning ugly. “All you Hallorans’ and Oshassys’ are the same. You don’t care about the rest of us, just about keeping power to yourself.”

  “What would he need to protect me from?” Shea asked, her voice curious. “There’s nothing any of you could do to me, nothing that you could take, that matters anymore. I found something better than all of you.”

  The Trateri at her sides stepped forward. They were almost all taller than the pathfinders, their bodies merciless weapons. They didn’t have to say a word to convey any threats. Their presence was enough.

  Shea shook her head at Victoria. The anger drained away, leaving nothing but pity for the other woman. For all the crap that had been aimed Shea’s way, she’d come out the better for it. She’d found her people, ones who appreciated her skills, a warlord who drove her crazy while also making her feel more alive than ever before. She might miss some of her friends from her past life, the camaraderie that came from a similar upbringing and shared purpose, but she was happy where she was. She didn’t need anything from these people.

  The realization loosened something in her chest, and she realized how right her words were. She was perfectly fine where she was. With this knowledge came a sense of ease and self-assurance.

  She lifted her chin, staring Victoria down. “So, tell me, what incentive do we have to lie?”

  The other woman didn’t respond, glaring at Shea, her jaw twitching.

  Gerald stood at Victoria’s side, his thin face slightly placating and regretful as he said, “Be that as it may, you can’t accuse one of us of something like this without proof. You’ve shown yourself to be unstable. These stories could be just that, figments of your imagination.”

  Shea stared at him, the words he’d just uttered filling her with disbelief. “You’re telling me my cousin’s eyewitness account isn’t enough proof?”

  He spread his hands, his face frank and sympathetic. “As Victoria pointed out, his relation to you calls into question his motives.”

  In a voice taut from the effort not to yell, Shea said, “The Trateri witnessed his actions as well, as did several of the latest batch of students. Are their words also no good?”

  He shook his head. “None of them have ever met Griffin before. They could be influenced by your views.”

  There was a murmur of agreement from around them.

  Allyn looked torn.
Despite looking like he wanted to believe Shea, he seemed swayed by Gerald’s argument.

  Victoria’s face was coldly victorious, smug in the belief she’d won.

  Anger and a numb disbelief filled Shea at how willfully blind her former people were. It made it hard to think. She didn’t know if their hard-headedness stemmed from the fact she was no longer one of them, or if they were too afraid to see what was right in front of their eyes.

  She mentally threw up her hands before gesturing at Fallon. She’d tried to take the high road for old time’s sake, an acknowledgment of her former loyalty to these people. They’d just forfeited any kindness she might have given them.

  “We don’t require your belief,” Fallon said, a dark satisfaction in his face and voice. He looked like he was enjoying this. “I don’t care what lies you choose to tell yourselves. The truth is clear, and we will act accordingly. Any who stand in our way will be treated to the same mercy as our enemies.”

  He nodded at Zeph and Caden. They stepped forward seizing Victoria and Gerald by the arms.

  Allyn looked at the Trateri with alarm, turning to Shea, his face pleading. “This isn’t how things are done. You do this and any chance of future cooperation with the pathfinder’s guild is gone.”

  Shea met his gaze with a grim purpose before turning her focus on the rest. “You misunderstand. You seem to think we care for your good opinion. We don’t. Any mercy we might have shown you ended when several of you decided to ambush my warlord with the intention of stabbing him in the back with his people’s own blade. The desire for your cooperation died when others tried to kill your own guildmaster this morning in her tower. When you tried to take my mother from me. We have no need for allies capable of such treacherous behavior.”

  Silence filled the room as her words sunk in. Shea felt a cold satisfaction. Now they were comprehending the gravity of their situation.