Wayfarer's Keep

by T. A. White

  “That’s a terrible idea,” Van said, his arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the back rest of the pillow.

  The Lion clan leader looked tired, his normal electric energy missing. He’d lost many of those he’d brought with him during the attack on the Keep. Despite his abrasive attitude, grief was present if one looked deep enough.

  Van was as contrary as the feline his clan derived its name from. Often thought of as one of the most war-mongering among the clans, Fallon knew the other man was more complicated, his actions often misconstrued. He loved deeply and took as much pleasure in nettling the others as he did in battle.

  Fallon had never been certain of Van’s loyalty, but that didn’t mean he didn’t respect the other man for both his prowess on the battlefield and his loyalty to his people.

  Although smart, Ben was not always wise, as he proved by poking at the other man. “I never thought I’d see the day when a Lion feared battle.”

  Van sneered at Earth clan’s leader, the tiredness of before forgotten as he leaned forward. “We fear nothing, weapons maker. Perhaps I should show you exactly how we won the day.”

  Ben slapped the table and made to stand.

  “Sit.” The word was a deadly whip. Hearing it, Ben froze and glanced at Fallon. What he saw had him lowering himself back into his seat.

  Into the resulting silence, Lainey and Patrick Halloran stepped into the tent. The guildmaster’s expression was fixed and emotionless as she looked between those assembled, picking up on the tension instantly.

  Her husband’s manner was the opposite as he looked at Fallon with a sly amusement and drawled, “Whew, your people have a lot of energy. You’re going to have an interesting time corralling this bunch.”

  “Who are you to interrupt a war council?” Ben challenged, his eyes narrowed at the two pathfinders.

  “Watch your tone,” Van rumbled, surprising Fallon.

  He glanced at the other man and noted the respectful nod he gave Lainey and Patrick, one that was returned. For a clan leader known to detest any who weren’t Trateri, it was a powerful statement. Fallon found himself wondering what had transpired to trigger that level of respect in the other man.

  “They’re here by my request,” Fallon said before anyone could voice another argument. He raised his hand and gestured the other two forward.

  There were two empty pillows at the table and they made their way over as the others watched with suspicious gazes.

  Patrick’s body was relaxed as he sauntered to the table and looked down at the pillow before glancing up at his wife. “I’d pull out your chair, but I don’t think that’s possible.”

  Her lips twitched as she stepped forward and lowered herself in a graceful movement. She folded her hands on the table and gave the rest of them a calm gaze, holding her head high and her shoulders back, almost regal in her bearing.

  “Guildmaster,” Fallon said in greeting, inclining his head in a gesture of respect from one leader to another. “It’s good to have you here.”

  “I would say the same,” she replied.

  “She should be thanking us for our timely arrival,” one of the men sitting along the wall muttered. He was a commander—a minor one in Rain’s ranks.

  Fallon had a feeling the man wouldn’t be advancing any further given the expression on Gawain’s face.

  Lainey stiffened but didn’t show any other sign that the words had affected her.

  Fallon lifted a hand, silencing any other arguments. Shea chose to slip into the tent at that moment, distracting him.

  He noted the tiredness on her face and the circles under her eyes as she made her way to his side. The last update he’d had was that she was helping the medics. He’d hoped she would find her rest after that but understood why she hadn’t.

  He didn’t let himself react to her presence beyond letting his gaze linger on her for a few more seconds than was normal.

  She gave him an exhausted quirk of her lips, revealing in the nonverbal way she had, that she was happy to see him too. Once again, he thanked all the gods above that she’d been the one to save him in that village what felt like ages ago. He couldn’t imagine what life might have been like if she hadn’t crashed into it with all the grace of a buffalo, looking like an avenging goddess of old.

  Fallon turned his attention to the rest of the group, steeling himself for what was to come. “We face an enemy unlike any other—one who doesn’t fight in a way we’re used to but rather waits in the dark and sends beasts to do what they can’t.”

  Fallon looked around at those assembled. “Already we’ve faced losses that cut deep. If we want to survive the coming trial, we must find a new way to survive. We’ll need every resource at our disposal, including those who are not clan.”

  There was a rumble at that, mostly from those who hadn’t been in the Keep for the last battle. Fallon noted with interest that there was no pushback from Lion, Rain or Ember. All of them had seen firsthand the powerful capabilities of the pathfinders and what could be accomplished when they worked as a unit instead of as enemies.

  Fallon waited until those voicing opposition fell silent. He gave them a dark smile. “I’m not asking for your permission. What I do with my army is my business. This is simply a statement for your own information. The pathfinders will be recognized as their own clan. Not Trateri, but not outsiders either.”

  He gestured for Lainey to say her piece, knowing what was coming.

  She nodded and turned to the rest, her expression resolute and firm. “The Warlord and I have spoken at great length. He’s explained what it means to take on the responsibility of a clan. We have agreed to his conditions. My people will be inserted into your ranks and assist you in any way we can. Much as the people in your clans have a role to play, we do too. Consider us a type of scout. We will guide you through the dangers of the Highlands, assist in any way when it comes to beasts. But we’re not warriors. Don’t expect us to act like we are.”

  Fallon let that sink in for a long moment.

  There was confusion on many faces, as Fallon knew there would be. Offering them clan status wasn’t exactly unprecedented—it was how each clan had gotten its start—but it had not been done for many years and never for those who weren’t already Trateri.

  It would take time for his people to settle into the idea. For them, you were either Trateri or you weren’t. If you weren’t, then you were an outsider; the Trateri wouldn’t trust an outsider at their backs under any circumstance.

  Even the throwaways—a term given to those unfortunate souls who had been provided as tithe to secure the protection of their home village—didn’t enjoy such an honor. They were little more than labor for the jobs the Trateri had no desire to perform or they served on Fallon’s front lines, easily disposable, but rarely put in any positions of trust.

  There were some exceptions to this as his telroi and a few others had proven, but by and large, his people were satisfied with the distinction between them and the rest of the world. This arrangement would complicate that. A challenge Fallon was prepared for.

  The pathfinders had earned their right to remain a whole rather than be partitioned out among his people, their culture and oaths scattered among several thousand. They were a fierce people whose contributions would benefit him. As long as Lainey and her people kept to their side of the bargain, he could make this work. For all of them.

  “That’s all for now,” Fallon said. “Each division will get a number of pathfinders. Be prepared to integrate them into your ranks.”

  “I would caution you against trying to mistreat them,” Lainey said with a feral smile. “My people are used to acting separate from the main. We have long memories and avenge those who’ve been trespassed against.”

  Shea grunted next to him, the sound quiet with a hint of irony. The stories she’d shared with him made it clear that Lainey wasn’t kidding with her threat.

  “I’ll see that they
have the same protections those in my army enjoy,” Fallon said.

  She gave him a sharp nod.

  “You’re dismissed,” Fallon said to the rest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  As the rest filtered out, Fallon stood and clasped the hand Darius offered him, pulling him in for a quick hug before slapping the other man on the back. “Well met, old friend.”

  Darius stepped back with an easy smile, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling. “Looks like your jaunt to the Highlands was a bit more exciting than anticipated.”

  Fallon snorted. That was one way to put it. They’d run into nothing but problems, one after another, since coming here.

  “I have a feeling what we’ve seen so far is just the beginning,” Fallon said.

  “Still want to unite the Broken Lands?” Darius asked with a knowing expression.

  As one of Fallon’s most trusted generals, Darius Lightheart was also his oldest friend. They’d been each other’s stalwart support since they could hold a blade. Where one got into trouble the other was sure to follow. Nowadays, trouble was a lot deadlier and on a greater scale than when they were young, but the principle had always remained the same.

  He’d been the first among the Trateri to add his support behind Fallon’s banner. Even before Fallon made a name for himself and began gathering followers, Darius had been there, mighty and unwavering.

  This latest save was just one of many instances where Darius had come through for him, bringing not just Fallon’s army, but every person in the clans who’d been in the Lowlands.

  It was a feat that had probably driven his friend to distraction. While he enjoyed the aspects of planning a campaign, he was less enthused when dealing with the clan elders. He loathed diplomacy with all his being.

  Fallon gave him a lethal smile, the conqueror making an appearance, the one who thrived on challenges, the more impossible the odds the greater the triumph. “Never more so than now.”

  Darius’s chuckle was warm, the same need to conquer and prove his superiority over the rest stamped on his face.

  “You two are very strange,” Shea mumbled, her head resting on her arms.

  As soon as most of those assembled had filtered out, she’d wilted, her exhaustion making it impossible to keep her head up.

  She sighed and sat back. “Darius, I’ve been meaning to ask. One of our scouts was caught outside the Keep during the attack. Eamon’s warning gave us valuable time to prepare. I’d like to know what happened to him and his team.”

  Darius’s nod was grave. “Of course, I know our scouts were able to rescue some of your rear party, so it’s possible they survived. I’ll have my men check into it.”

  Shea let out an exhale, her face hopeful.

  Fallon reached down and stroked her hair, knowing the possibility of her friends’ deaths had weighed on her. “Although I appreciate the timely save, I have to ask how you came to arrive when you did.”

  Darius’s head tilted. “That is a strange story I’m not even sure I fully understand.”

  Shea lifted her head, turning her face toward the general. “Now you’ve got to explain.”

  Fallon settled down and pulled his telroi into his arms. Now that it was just the three of them, he could afford to let some of the man take over, and that man needed reassurance that his telroi was here, alive and unharmed despite the harrowing events of the day.

  Darius joined them, reaching over the table to grab a goblet and carafe. He poured a dark colored liquid into the goblet, before setting it aside and repeating the action with two others.

  Before he could say anything, a small child tore into the tent, her hair an untamed halo around her head, her face frantic as she looked around the room.

  Seeing Shea, she let out a glad cry and threw herself across the space into his telroi’s arms. Shea caught her with a grunt. The child’s back heaved and Fallon heard audible gulps as she cried.

  Shea looked up at him, her expression slightly lost. It was clear she had no idea what to do with the small one.

  He gave her a soft smile and picked up her hand, setting it on the girl’s head. “Comfort her,” he mouthed.

  Shea gave him a dark look but turned to the girl and made soothing sounds.

  Tenderness wasn’t a feeling Fallon often sought, but for this woman and her awkward, yet heartfelt attempt at comforting a child, Fallon couldn’t seem to hold it back.

  He looked up to see Darius watching them with a sardonic gaze. He lifted an eyebrow in question, the look enough to convey his thoughts.

  “Oddly enough, your lostling played a significant role in our arrival,” Darius said, his gaze touching on Mist’s head.

  Both Fallon and Shea looked up at him in question. Mist’s sobs quieted but she still clung to Shea as if she might disappear again.

  Fallon didn’t see how the orphan could have influenced his general in such a way. Although Shea had taken the girl under her wing, adopting her and assuming responsibility for the former orphan, that didn’t mean the child had any real power. Last Fallon had heard, Mist had hardly been talking.

  “Please, don’t keep us in suspense,” Fallon said.

  Darius’s teeth flashed as he took a swig out of his goblet. “From what I know, she had a nightmare.”

  Fallon gave his general an unamused look. His friend had never displayed a fondness for practical jokes, but perhaps Fallon’s time away had changed that.

  Mist lifted her head and looked up at Shea, her gaze wise well beyond her years. “The bad man was following you and he was going to win.”

  Shea went still at Fallon’s side, her body stiff and brittle, little emotion on her face.

  “Yes, that’s the one,” Darius said with a sideways glance at the girl. “I would have chalked it up to a child’s fear for a parent, if not for the second dream.”

  Shea’s gaze lifted to Darius’s, an intent look on her face.

  He continued without having to be prodded. “In it, she predicted the arrival of a scout, sent by you and accompanied by one of these pathfinders.”

  “Buck. He got through then,” Shea said, her voice relieved.

  Darius’s nod was lazy as he swirled the liquid in his goblet. “Indeed, though from what I hear, it was a very close thing. Only three of those sent with him made it, including your pathfinder. I might have discounted the girl’s warning if your friend hadn’t added his own take on the situation. The man can be very persuasive.”

  Shea couldn’t argue with that. She’d have to make a point of tracking Buck down later and thanking him. He’d gone above and beyond, and his actions had probably saved them.

  Darius gave a shrug. “I figured I’d move our people up here on the off chance you needed us. If nothing else, we could wait out of sight until you sent word. We were just getting settled in when that flare shot up. I figured it couldn’t hurt to send some scouts for a little look-see. Imagine my surprise when I arrived to find a whole bloody army of beasts crouched at your doorstep.”

  Fallon studied his friend, not quite willing to believe such an absurd series of events. Darius wasn’t prone to suspicion, nor was he the type to act without thinking through every possible scenario.

  “Your foster daughter is a myein,” Darius said, before draining the goblet and pouring himself another.

  Fallon frowned at the term, an old one that wasn’t much in use anymore. His people had once had many whose small, useful abilities came from some strange place. They had been part of the reason they’d survived in the Outlands and been such a dominant presence there. Over the long years, many of those called myein had died out. Of his people, he only knew of two who shared those traits. Chirron was the first, and the only one willing to put his ability to use. The other preferred isolation, remaining apart from their clan, a right Fallon respected.

  Shea acted like she believed him, her face haunted as she pulled Mist away from her to stare into the child’s eyes. �
�You’re a dreamwalker.”

  Fallon’s attention shot to Shea and he frowned. “Your people have a term for this?”

  Shea didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was reluctant. “Possibly.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked, a frown directed at her.

  She looked deep in thought as she considered something. “You know those dreams I’ve been having?”

  Fallon went still, his entire focus locked on Shea. Of course, he remembered those dreams. Rarely a night had gone by since they’d reached the Highlands where she didn’t wake. He hadn’t mentioned this, but on more than one occasion he’d woken to her whimpering, the sound lost and lonely as it shredded his heart.

  It killed him that he didn’t have the power to protect her from her dreams, but that was one place even he couldn’t reach.

  She looked up at him. “They may not be dreams after all.”

  Fallon didn’t move as he considered what his telroi was telling him. He wasn’t sure he understood.

  “What makes you say that?” he asked.

  She glanced back down at the girl in her arms, her face innocent and young. “I wasn’t—I’m not—half of me still believes this is crazy.”

  “And the other half?” His telroi wasn’t prone to flights of fancy. If she believed this, he had no choice but to do the same.

  “Knows it’s true,” she admitted in a soft voice.

  “It seems convenient that there would be two dreamwalkers appearing so close together,” Darius said, contemplating Shea.

  She nodded. “I agree. I could understand Mist suddenly having this ability. She’s young, but there has never been any sign of this in my past.”

  “Are you sure?” Fallon asked.

  “I think I’d know.” She grabbed one of the goblets from the table and downed half of it in one long gulp. “No one in my family has shown signs of any strange abilities either, so there’s that.”

  There was stress in Shea’s voice. His telroi didn’t like to lose control. She was as steady as the sun and this unexpected ability had thrown her.