by T. A. White
Wayfarer’s
Keep
A Novel of the Broken Lands
T.A. White
Copyright © Tobey White, 2018
All Rights Reserved.
This is for those of you who asked for the rest of Shea and Fallon’s story.
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
CHAPTER ONE
Pain blossomed along Shea’s left side. She sucked in a sharp breath and gritted her teeth. She could already tell from the throbbing that a bruise was forming.
The person responsible for the blow watched her expressionlessly as he dipped the tip of the short wooden staff toward the ground.
From the sidelines an irate Trenton groused, “I’ve told you again and again not to drop your guard on that side. Anyone with half a brain will take advantage of it.”
And he had.
Shea kept the grimace off her face as she ignored the pain and lifted the sword. Her opponent wasn’t one to show mercy, and she’d already been caught off guard once with a follow-up attack. She wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Her thigh still smarted from the last time.
Trenton leaned against a boulder with his arms crossed, his long, lean frame appearing relaxed even as he glowered at her. Not much older than she, his arms were defined by muscles built over a lifetime of wielding a sword with deadly accuracy. Considered one of the best swordsmen among the Trateri, he normally worked with her during training. Not today, though, as he was still recovering from several injuries derived from a long fall onto unforgiving rock during their attempt to gain access to the Highlands. Chirron, the healer traveling with them, had strongly advised him against any vigorous activity.
Having been on the receiving end of Chirron’s brand of care, Shea chose to listen to his advice, figuring it would be easier and less painful than risking his displeasure in the event Trenton did further damage to himself.
That had been her reasoning anyway, but she was beginning to think Chirron’s anger would have been preferable to Braden’s brand of training—one that was as merciless and unrelenting as the man. As one of her warlord’s favored generals, Braden wasn’t known for his soft heart. After a close call at the beginning of their journey, it seemed he’d made her his personal project. Since then, he had been relentless in whipping her sword skills up to par. That, or he was using it as an excuse to work some of his frustrations out on her.
Every night after their group stopped for the day, Trenton and Braden tracked her down for practice. She didn’t even bother hiding anymore, knowing they’d find her eventually and when they did it would just mean a longer and more intense workout.
Sometimes the practices were an endless round of drills. Other times, it was sparring with the significantly more experienced general—a man who had built his life around the art of warfare.
It had left her body a patchwork of bruises, her muscles so sore the next day that she struggled to climb into the saddle. She couldn’t even argue with their reasoning. Not when her life might someday depend on what they were drilling into her body.
She was decent with a dagger and knew several moves geared toward unarmed self-defense. That had saved her life in the past, but she’d always preferred running from conflict to actually fighting. There were so many ways to solve a problem that didn’t involve blade and blood.
That way of thinking, however, no longer worked as effectively as it once had. Not when it meant she’d be leaving behind the very people who now held more than a few pieces of her heart. She’d formed bonds as strong as steel with those she now traveled with and trying to get all of them clear of the type of trouble that usually came looking for her was nearly impossible—especially when many of her friends were warriors who preferred to meet their opponents head-on.
Add to that, her status as the telroi of a powerful warlord and it meant these people were as much hers to protect as they were his. Since he had as many enemies as allies—some who pretended to be friends even as they waited to stab you in the back—it meant she needed every tool in her arsenal, even if those tools had to be beaten into her tired and aching body.
Knowing the reasoning behind the training didn’t make the bruises hurt any less.
“Are you ready?” Braden asked in a calm voice. Unlike most Trateri who tended toward dark hair and eyes, he was blond, his hair cut short, making his already striking features even more memorable. Authority was stamped on every line, from the strong jaw to the intense eyes that seemed to pierce right through you.
Shea gave him a sharp nod, knowing that he would begin even if she wasn’t.
Her hand tightened around the hilt of her wooden practice sword—something Trenton had magically materialized during that first practice when she’d thought she’d gotten away with leaving it behind.
She centered herself, taking up the stance, one leg in front of the other, her weight evenly distributed in a way that would enable her to move in any direction at a moment’s notice. Her arms trembled just slightly, tired from the last few days of practice as well as the strenuous journey that day.
She watched her opponent carefully, alert to any signs of attack as he took his staff in a two-handed grip, pointing one end toward her, his stance a mirror of hers.
Fighting an opponent with a staff when she held a sword was different than defending against a sword. Braden’s blows had power and strength. The long reach of the staff meant she was constantly on the defensive, unable to return any of his strikes. Not that she could have, even if he’d been carrying a sword. He was just that good.
She struggled to remember what they had taught her as he advanced in a whisper of movement, the staff pivoting in his hands so that he came at her from the opposite side of what she’d guessed. She lifted the sword to meet him, parrying the staff as she stepped to the side and attempted to riposte.
There was a thunk as he easily blocked her with one part of the staff, as the opposite end whipped up to fly at her face. She ducked and stumbled away, falling out of her stance as she fought to get her blade back into a defensive position.
He granted her no mercy, advancing on her as he rained blows down, one after another. She fell into the rhythm of parry, stumble, parry, stumble, parry, as she backed up, her feet moving jerkily across the grass, trying to get enough distance between them so she could regroup. Loud meaty thunks sounded in the air as he hammered at her defenses.
Her heartbeat sped up to match her breathing and sweat dripped down her temples. Her face was creased in a frown of concentration as she matched his movements, parrying his staff time and again.
“You can’t defend forever,” Braden said, his face still set in those calm lines. He was barely breathing hard. Keeping her on the defens
ive was evidently no more strenuous than a stroll across a meadow.
“Get distance and then reengage,” Trenton yelled from the sidelines. “Move faster!”
Shea gritted her teeth, his words prodding a nerve. She caught Braden’s staff with her sword and shoved hard, feeling satisfaction as he fell back a step. Seeing her chance, she stepped forward, swinging her sword at his torso.
The staff reversed, whipping up as he shoved the end into her stomach. Breath whooshed out of her, and she fought the instinct to curl in on herself. She lifted the sword, angling it to protect her head and shoulder—just in time, as the staff landed across it. Shea’s muscles strained as he bore down.
“That’s something, at least,” Braden said in a mild voice. The pressure from above abated as he stepped back, lowering the staff to his side. “Good job on keeping your defense up after that blow.”
Shea was too preoccupied with sucking in oxygen to appreciate the back handed compliment.
The crow’s feet at the corners of Braden’s eyes deepened as he regarded her with a reserved expression. “However, your footwork was sloppy, your blows weak, and you need to work on your reaction time.”
Shea nodded as she calmed her breath.
There was a laugh off to her side that she ignored. Braden’s gaze flickered and an expression of annoyance showed briefly on his face.
Trenton ambled up. “You’re better than when you started, at least.”
She gave him a grateful smile, even if she didn’t entirely believe him.
“Barely,” Braden qualified. “There is still a lot of work to do.”
Trenton focused on something over Shea’s shoulder. The skin around his mouth tightened. Shea kept her sigh internal as she turned to see what had caught his attention.
Several pathfinders watched them. They edged the area Braden and Trenton had claimed for practice, reminding Shea of giant scavenging birds, waiting for lame prey to finally succumb to death.
“I find it unsettling when they do that,” Trenton muttered in a low voice.
“Indeed,” Braden agreed, his expression grave as he watched the others.
It wasn’t the first time the pathfinders had turned up to watch a practice session. In fact, they’d been present at all of them. Whether their purpose was to watch Shea fall on her face or suffer a few bruises, was up to debate. They never said anything, just watched.
Not just Shea’s practices either. They were silent observers of everything the Trateri did or said. When the Trateri set up camp, when they rose in the morning, when they ate. The pathfinders never spoke or interacted, even when a Trateri tried to engage them; their faces expressionless and their mouths shut, never giving a response no matter the question or provocation.
It had created a certain amount of tension between the two groups, and Shea was stuck right in the middle.
“Shall we continue?” Shea asked, deciding to ignore the problem currently watching them.
Braden’s gaze was thoughtful as his eyes moved between her and the others before he gave a short nod. “This time concentrate on staying out of range of the staff until you need to strike.”
Shea jerked her chin down and settled into her stance as Trenton backed out of the way. Braden and Shea assumed their positions and resumed their practice, ignoring their unwelcome onlookers as they went over the moves again and again, with Braden sometimes stopping to correct her form or show her where she had gone wrong.
It was over an hour later when they stopped for the night. While Braden had hardly broken a sweat, Shea’s body begged for respite from the practice’s abuse.
Their audience had thinned but not disappeared in that time, boredom and the promise of food drawing several away.
Shea turned toward their small camp, Trenton crossing over to follow at her back, taking up the position of protector even though he was injured. As one of the Anateri, elite warriors who answered directly to Fallon Hawkvale, the warlord of the Trateri, he could be missing an arm and still he would try to do the job his warlord had entrusted him with—protecting Shea.
They drew near the four pathfinders who still watched. Shea passed without acknowledging their presence.
“Traitor.” The low word reached her just as they passed.
An ugly feeling crawled up the back of her neck, even as she straightened her shoulders and continued on, ignoring them. It wasn’t the first time that word had reached her ears in the week since they’d left Birdon Leaf, and she doubted it would be the last.
While the pathfinders might not be outright hostile to the Trateri yet, the same could not be said of her. She once was one of them and thus held to a higher standard. In their eyes, she had failed. Not only them, but the rest of the Highlands as well.
They might forgive the interlopers their ignorance, but the same forgiveness would never be extended Shea’s way.
Trenton spun on them, a snarl on his face. “What did you say? Repeat that to our faces.”
None of the pathfinders responded, their expressions blank even as their eyes burned with suppressed emotion.
Trenton took a step toward them, one hand going to the sword at his belt. The pathfinders wouldn’t stand a chance if he drew it. They were like Shea, wise in the ways of the wild, hidden places of the world but not always the best when it came to killing their fellow man. At least not with steel and iron.
Shea stepped forward and grabbed his arm. “That’s enough.”
“They insulted you.” The Trateri took honor very seriously. As the telroi of Fallon, an insult to her was an insult to him—something no Trateri with them would countenance.
That was all very well and good, but they were heading into the stronghold of the pathfinders, Wayfarer’s Keep, where they’d be surrounded on every side by potential enemies. Taking action now could destroy the mission before it even got under way.
“I can defend myself,” she told him.
“I’m aware of that,” he responded. “That doesn’t mean I can’t help.”
She pulled him away. As much as she appreciated the sentiment, she didn’t need anyone to fight her battles.
She said over her shoulder, “You’ve gotten awfully brave since I’ve been gone, Eric. Or have you forgotten Lasden?”
A few of them blanched, the name serving as a reminder of just who they were dealing with and the lengths she could go to when pressed. Lasden had become a pathfinder just before Shea passed her test. He’d been a particularly obnoxious man. Lazy. Rude. Convinced he was owed more than he deserved. He thought Shea would be an easy mark, a way to climb the ranks by taking credit for her work and sabotaging her missions when he could.
He didn’t hold that opinion long, not after she tricked him into walking into an orth stinger nest which resulted in him stripping down naked and trying to hump a log after he’d been pumped full of the hallucinogenic toxins they kept in their tails. People thought better of messing with her after that.
Shea gave the pathfinders a sharp smile, noting the unhappiness on Eric’s face. He didn’t like the fact that she’d recognized his voice or that she’d called him out by name, putting a target on him for the Trateri around her.
She couldn’t bring herself to care. She was tired of their petty games. She’d forgotten how damn annoying her fellow pathfinders could be.
“Quite right, daughter,” said a tall man, one who’d gone unnoticed until now.
Stepping away from the shadow of the boulder Trenton had leaned against earlier, he gave the group a small smile, one that suggested he was harmless and invited the rest to share in his amusement. That smile was a lie. It was there in the hard eyes and the way he tilted his head as if he was already considering what recompense he should extract from his men. “They should know by now you have your ways of addressing wrongs dealt you.”
The pathfinders stiffened. They watched the man as if he was the most dangerous thing in the clearing.
Her father’
s smile deepened. “And if you don’t, I sure will.”
This time the pathfinder who’d made the comment flinched. “No insult was intended, Patrick,” Eric said, sufficiently cowed.
“Come on, Trenton. Fallon will be wondering where we are.” Shea strode off before Trenton could respond or before her father could say anything further.
She noted that Braden had fallen behind and briefly thought about waiting for him but decided against it. She had too much pent-up energy from the encounter and her father’s interference to stand still. He could catch up. Or not. His choice.
Trenton trailed after her, a silent shadow for once. Normally, he teased and prodded, taking pleasure in poking at Shea, but today he was quiet. Shea was too caught up in her thoughts to appreciate that like she should.
The pathfinder’s words had stung, perhaps because they carried more than a small thread of truth to them. The sad fact was, that by the strictest definition of the word, she was a traitor. Perhaps that hadn’t been her intention in the beginning, but her decision to remain with the Trateri, to share secrets the pathfinders kept carefully concealed, were all done despite knowing it would be considered a betrayal by her former people. She didn’t regret it and would do the same if it meant saving the people she’d come to care about—the people of her heart.
She put these thoughts in a box and locked it. What was done, was done. She could handle the barely veiled hostility as long as it didn’t spill into action against Fallon and his warriors. But make no mistake, the moment they came after her friends, she’d teach them exactly what Lasden had learned all those years ago.
She was in the middle of camp in only a few steps. It was too dangerous up here to venture far from the others. It meant there was little privacy when Braden and Trenton kicked her ass every day, but it did mean help was always in reach if they should need it.
She noted certain details about the camp with a quick glance—the way the pathfinders and Fallon’s people milled around, the divisions between them clearly marked. Neither group made any effort to cross the invisible lines that divided them.