by T. A. White
“I don’t care,” he hissed.
“But your people will,” she said. “They deserve to have their loyalty rewarded. It won’t just be us Griffin comes after.”
“Let someone else do it,” he said, in a tone she would term pleading, if used by anyone else. “It doesn’t have to be you.”
She gave a small laugh. “If I asked you to let one of your men lead the charge into a hopeless battle, would you do it?”
He closed his eyes and turned his face away.
She reached up and cupped his cheeks, turning his face back towards her as she said in a soft voice, “No, you wouldn’t. Because you are good and honorable and would never ask them to do something you wouldn’t do yourself. You’re the one that taught me it was possible to be part of something greater than myself. This is the same thing.”
He stared down at her for a long moment, a battle taking place in his face. The man versus the warlord. The warlord knew she was right, even if the man craved with everything he was to deny her, to lock her down so he could protect her from anything that meant her harm. Usually the two parts of him existed in harmony.
This was one of the rare instances where who he was fought with what he was. For all that Fallon was a conqueror, at the end of the day, he cared about the ones who served him. She’d seen him in the quiet moments in their tent, grieving the unavoidable losses. It’s what kept him human instead of turning into the bloodthirsty savage most of the Broken Lands believed him to be.
She pressed a kiss to his unresponsive lips, her forehead touching his for a brief moment before she stepped back, releasing him. She could feel his acceptance in that kiss, even if his eyes and heart were saying no.
She moved around him, her hand lingering on his arm until the last possible second, relishing their connection even if it was for only a brief moment. Until finally, her hand dropped and they were apart once again. She walked toward the arched doorway, her head held high and grief in her heart. Nothing she could say would ease the sting of what she was about to do.
Besides, her throat felt tight and achy, locking down on any words that she might have used to fill the void.
So instead, she said nothing. She couldn’t deceive herself or him about the odds of coming out the other side of this alive. The Badlands had almost claimed her life once. There was a very good chance this time it would finish what it had started.
She would have liked more time with him, to laugh and love and play. To experience life rather than just be a bystander. It would be so easy to use his embrace as a shelter against the world, to ignore the duty she’d sworn an oath to. It’d work for a time, but eventually all debts came due.
If it was just her, she might have tried, but Fallon and his people had done their jobs too well. She cared. She had friends among the Trateri and she knew if there had been more time, she would have made more. She wouldn’t stand by and let them face what was coming, not if she had a chance of stopping it.
After all, that’s what it meant to be a pathfinder. You stood and faced the dark when others ran. She may have lost her way and broken ranks with her people, but the oath she’d taken still meant something. It still held true. She’d do what she could to protect her people—pathfinders and Trateri.
*
Shea stared up at the Keep’s gate. This felt familiar. She’d been here many times before on other missions. Never had her stomach been so knotted, a large part of her wanting to remain behind.
It had a been a quiet journey up from the bowels of the Keep, each person deep in their own thoughts as they came to terms with what Lainey had revealed. Her mother had stuck close to Shea, not speaking, just lending the comfort of her presence.
Her father had dropped back to walk with Fallon. Shea thought she sensed a hint of a rift between him and her mother, but she might have been imagining things. Her only clue had been a look exchanged between the two of them that had contained a hint of the same fire and anger that sometimes categorized her and Fallon’s exchanges.
She hadn’t taken the time to find out, too invested in her own plans to deal with her parents’ issues. She’d had time to think during the short journey back up, and she’d come to a few decisions. The first being, she didn’t plan on the journey being a one-way trip. She was going to do everything in her power to make sure she came back alive. Providing for every scenario was one way to increase her odds of success.
The second decision was that for her and whoever accompanied her to survive, they would need the help of both Trateri and pathfinder. They had already proven during the attack that they were better together than apart. Each group had necessary skills that could affect the outcome.
Convincing them of that was going to be the hard part—or so she’d thought.
When she turned up at the gate, a small group had already assembled, made up in equal parts of Trateri and pathfinders.
Several of Eamon’s scouts had volunteered, as had Trenton, Wilhelm and a few other Trateri warriors who Shea knew by sight. There were six Trateri in all.
Reece stood in the center of the group, his face intent as he spoke. Four pathfinders in addition to Reece carried small packs on their back. Shea knew from her own pack they’d be filled with the bare minimum of supplies to survive. This was a quick mission. It wasn’t about comfort. They were to track down Griffin and retrieve the Lux.
At her arrival, Reece clasped the arm of the person he was talking to and headed over to her.
“Cousin,” he said in greeting.
Shea set her pack down, looked him over before glancing at the rest. “What’s this?”
Reece looked back at the small group. “We’re all going with you.”
Shea lifted an eyebrow. “All of you?”
“Yes.”
She studied him before looking at the rest. It was a bigger group than she’d perhaps like, and she was surprised Reece had volunteered to come.
He picked up on that and gave her a fierce smile. “Thought it was time to see what hides in the Badlands. Besides, I owe Griffin for a few things.”
Shea gazed at the group, noting the back of a familiar head amongst them. It was attached to a youth’s body, one just on the cusp of manhood. Delia stood next to him, her face bored.
Shea strode over to the person and said in an irritated voice. “Clark, you’re not coming.”
He jumped and spun to face her, guilt in his expression. From that, she could only assume he had hoped she wouldn’t notice him until it was too late.
“Shea, I can be of use,” he said, his voice uneasy as he glanced at Delia.
“No, absolutely not.” She shook her head. “To both of you.” She met Delia’s blank face with a hard stare.
He flinched, his expression recovering to that same inscrutable remoteness many of the Trateri used. “Is it because you don’t trust me?”
She gave a harsh sigh and grabbed his arm, towing him behind her until they stood just out of earshot. Delia trailed behind them at a discreet distance, lingering next to Reece and Trenton only a few feet away. The three gave them the illusion of privacy.
“It has nothing to do with that,” she told Clark. She couldn’t believe he’d even ask.
“Then why?”
She rubbed her forehead. Had she ever been this young and hungry to prove herself? Short answer, yes. Clark was only a few years younger than her but at the moment it felt like a huge canyon stood between their respective ages.
“Clark, you have a unique opportunity right now. One that could benefit the Trateri greatly. You’re one of the few, even among my people, who show great promise for pathfinding,” Shea said, fixing him with an unflinching expression. “What you could do in the future is of much greater use to us than what you can do today.”
He gave her a sullen look. “There’s no guarantee they’ll allow me to study.”
“I’ve already talked to Whelan and my mother. You’re in as long as you pass all the
tests,” she told him.
He might not understand the significance of this opportunity but she did. Even if that hadn’t been the case, she wouldn’t have allowed him to come. Not on this mission.
He might be a full-fledged scout, but he was still young. There were plenty of other missions to prove himself on.
“Heads up,” Reece said in a soft voice, his gaze going to a point over her shoulder.
Shea turned. Fallon strode out of the Keep, Braden and Caden at his back. That wasn’t surprising in and of itself. It was unlikely he’d let her leave without a goodbye, especially knowing how dangerous this could be. No, the thing that stopped her was the sight of a pack thrown over his shoulder.
Braden’s eyes flashed with anger. He looked exactly like the grumpy man Shea had first met in the Lowlands, the one suspicious of everyone and everything.
“No,” she said before they were even close. “You’re not going with us.”
Damn it, she should have seen this coming.
Fallon set the pack down at his feet and straightened, his face calm with just a hint of a smile.
She folded her arms over her chest and huffed at him. She was glad he found this amusing.
Her focus turned to Braden. “You can’t let him go.”
Of all Fallon’s people, Braden was the only one other than Darius who stood even half a chance of getting the warlord to listen to reason.
He gave her a dissatisfied look. “No one can tell the Warlord what to do.” He slid Fallon a dark glance. “Even if he is being unbelievably stubborn and unwise.”
Shea turned her attention to Fallon, lifting an eyebrow in question. It was an expression she’d picked up from him at some point. It asked just what mad thought was in his head at the moment. Usually it was her who was being the crazy one.
“Give us a moment,” Fallon told Braden.
Braden gave him a nod of acknowledgment, looking no happier at the dismissal. He shook his head as he walked away. He was too upright to mutter anything derogatory about his warlord’s decision-making powers, but Shea knew that rigid set of the shoulders, having experienced it herself a time or two. Braden was thinking some very unsavory thoughts about his warlord right now. She’d bet anything.
She turned her attention back to Fallon and raised her eyebrows in an expectant look. He raised his eyebrows right back.
“You can’t come,” Shea stated in a flat voice.
“Is that right?”
She didn’t bother responding, letting her expression speak for her.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m still the warlord, am I not?” he asked in a soft, dangerous voice.
She took a step closer, her gaze locked on his as she said between gritted teeth, “And as warlord you have a duty to stay and protect them.”
“Braden is perfectly capable of leading in my absence. He’s done it before, and as my general he commands nearly as much respect as myself,” Fallon said.
Shea took a deep breath, counseling herself to patience as the urge to whack him upside the head tingled in her hand. He was willfully missing the point.
He leaned closer, his face softening. “I’m not letting you do this alone. Might as well get used to that thought.”
She held his gaze. The urge to continue the argument was there, but what she saw in his face told her it would be a waste of energy. He wasn’t going to be talked out of this.
Her shoulders slumped. Could she blame him? She wouldn’t have listened to reason either, if their positions had been reversed.
Seeing he’d won, his arms came up and pulled her close as he spoke into her ear. “At least, whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”
Shea’s nod was reluctant as she leaned against his chest. She didn’t want to give in, for his sake if nothing else, but it felt like a weight had been lifted from her. The dread that had sat like a ball in the middle of her chest slightly lessened at the thought of him by her side. She still wasn’t happy about putting him or anybody else at risk, but he was right. This would be a cold, dark place if he wasn’t part of it. She couldn’t deny him the same.
“Fine, suit yourself. Just keep up,” she told him, her voice tight from emotion.
He snorted. “Please, the rest of you will be begging me to slow down.”
She gave him an arch look. “Want to bet?”
He gave her a wolfish look. “I do.”
She blanched, remembering the last time they’d made a bet. “Wait, no.”
“Too late, lover. You’ve already agreed. We’ll see who the victor is,” he said over his shoulder as he headed for the rest. “Winner picks the punishment.”
Shea shook her head in denial as she trailed after him. How did she always get herself into these messes?
Shea walked up as a Trateri was asking, “Does anybody know if there’s anything waiting in the mist?”
It was a legitimate question. Just because they couldn’t see any beasts didn’t mean they weren’t there. Shea would be extremely surprised if there wasn’t some unpleasant surprise waiting until they were far enough from the safety of the Keep to attack.
“You can count on there being something out there,” Shea said, coming up to stand beside Fallon.
He might be the warlord, but it was her mission. She’d run it.
“The good thing about the mist is it will hide us just like it’ll hide them,” Reece said, his arms crossed over her chest.
Shea nodded. That’s what she was counting on.
“Alright, let’s get going. I want every other person in line to be a pathfinder. Our quarry has a decent head start on us. We have a lot of ground to cover if we’re to have any hope of catching him,” she said, her expression hard as she met each person’s gaze.
To her relief, the only thing she saw there was a resolve that matched her own. These people had been briefed by their clan leaders or Reece about the importance of their mission. It looked like they’d agreed to set aside any differences they might have had in favor of tracking Griffin and the item he’d stolen.
That was good. She’d planned to bench anyone that gave her a hint of attitude.
Shea shouldered her pack and moved to the Keep’s gate. She fiddled with its straps as she waited for the rest of the group to do the same.
When they’d taken up their spots and it looked like everyone was ready, Shea turned and waved to the pathfinder and Trateri in the gatehouse.
Then she waited. And waited.
“They’re taking a long time,” Reece murmured next to her.
Shea agreed.
“Stay here,” Shea said, already pulling the pack off her shoulders.
Fallon did the same, as did Reece. Shea was first to the stairs, gaining the top with little effort. The two manning the gate stared out over the wall with fixed expressions.
“What’s the delay?” Shea asked in a brusque voice.
Fallon came up behind her, his face already had a hint of impatience on it as his gaze went directly to the gatekeepers. He didn’t express his displeasure, letting Shea handle it.
The Trateri looked back. “That.”
Shea looked where he indicated and blinked. The mist swirled with a massive disturbance, almost seeming alive with the way it frothed and boiled.
Together, Fallon and Shea edged closer to the wall, their gazes fixed on the oddity. As they watched, the mist began receding, thinning out as if burned off by the morning sun, though it was well past midafternoon.
What it revealed was something out of a nightmare. Dark forms too numerous to count covered the ground past the bridge. The valley outside the Keep writhed and surged as beasts crawled over every inch of it.
“This is what Eamon was trying to warn us of,” Shea said in a voice filled with dismay. Not the attack last night.
That had been a preliminary ambush, meant to lure them off-balance and to provide a distraction so Griffin could sneak inside the Keep and steal
the Lux. What was before them now was meant to wipe them from the map. It was meant to exterminate all humans in this Keep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Shea watched the tableau in stunned horror. Fallon wasn’t so hindered. He turned, roaring, “Sound the horn of war. We fight.”
Behind her the horn let out its distinctive blare, summoning those inside the Keep to their stations.
Fallon’s grim eyes met hers. “You’re not going anywhere until this is over.”
His words echoed what Shea already knew. She looked back down at the scene of a beast army the likes she didn’t think this land had seen since the cataclysm, if even then.
“I don’t think there will be anyone left after this,” she said in a soft voice.
The skin around his eyes tightened, letting her know how close to the mark her words were. He cupped her head, bringing her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
It was all the confirmation she needed about their chances of surviving. It didn’t take someone well-versed in battle to know it would take a miracle for them to win.
“Battles are won or lost in the mind. We still have a chance,” he said.
A small one, she thought, but he was right. As long as they were breathing, anything could happen.
“Fight until the last possible moment. Trateri die with a blade in their hand,” he said, she wasn’t sure if those words were meant for her or the others standing on the wall with them.
Either way, it was a good reminder. She was Trateri now, and she’d do her teachers proud. She’d make sure if she fell today they would tell stories of her courage for generations to come—if anyone was alive to tell them.
She gave him a smile through numb lips. “We’ll make them regret tangling with us. Can’t be worse than some of the other things we’ve faced.”
His nod was gruff. They both knew her words were a lie. Shea couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt death so close, its breath down her neck.
He turned to the two on the wall next to them. “Make sure you have the pitch and tar ready.”