by T. A. White
MIST’S EDGE
A Novel of the Broken Lands
T.A. White
Copyright © Tobey White, 2017
All Rights Reserved
To Tess—my first fan and amazing little sister
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
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
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About the Author
PROLOGUE
“BIRDON LEAF hasn’t responded to roll call in over seven months.”
Hunched over his desk, the man squinted through a set of bifocals at a report on a disturbing trend that had been on the rise in the eastern part of the Highlands. He didn’t bother looking up as he gave his reply. “That village tends to run its pathfinder a little thin. I wouldn’t worry about it yet.”
The younger pathfinder waited at the desk, her hands fidgeting at her sides.
The man looked up, his glasses giving the impression of a bird. This was helped along by the tuffs of hair sticking up all over his head. “Was there anything else?”
“It’s just that Pathfinder Shea was assigned to that village, and her name wasn’t attached to any of the reports coming out of there for several months prior to our sending out a roll call.” She bit her lip and clasped her hands in front of her, one finger rubbing the inside of her wrist.
He frowned, and his gaze went distant as if he were having an internal conversation with himself. He sighed and sat back.
The younger pathfinder rushed to add, “It could be like you said. She could be out on assignment and just hasn’t had the chance to respond.”
The older pathfinder tapped his quill on the desk and studied the younger woman from under lowered brows. She was new. Not quite trained yet and prone to panicking over the least provocation.
“It’s not like Shea to miss a roll call,” he finally said. Especially given that debacle in the Badlands. Poor kid hadn’t been entirely at fault but had suffered the cost all the same. The labels of troublemaker and bad luck had followed her until the guild banished her to the backwards of beyond.
If any other pathfinder had missed roll call like this, he would have already waved away his assistant’s concern. Seven months or longer wasn’t really that long to go without communication from some of these villages. When a single trip could take up to a year, a pathfinder had to be given some leeway in sending word back to the Keep.
Given it was Shea who’d missed roll call, a woman who never missed anything in her life, he could understand why his assistant was hovering over his desk while he tried to make heads or tails of this report. No one wanted to be responsible for losing track of Shea Halloran due to negligence.
His assistant bobbed up and down, almost quivering with excitement. “Shall I send one of our Eyes to investigate?”
He frowned, already regretting the amount of paperwork this would generate and the time he would have to waste coordinating resources. “I suppose.”
His assistant leaned forward, saying in a hushed voice, “You know she will have to be told.”
His frown became even more pronounced. A disgusted huff escaped him as he lumbered to his feet, his bones crackling as he moved, like he was some ancient machine of their ancestors that needed oiling. An apt description since he could feel every one of his years when the air held a crisp hint of the coming winter.
“I’ll be the one to inform her. Speak with the quartermaster to begin arrangements.” His face was grumpy and his voice crotchety as he moved toward the door.
“You’re going alone?”
He gave her a gimlet glare. “Were you planning on volunteering?”
She shook her head, her eyes getting even wider despite all odds.
“I didn’t think so. It’s best not to ask stupid questions.”
She rolled her lips between her teeth and stared at him in repentance.
“Have the arrangements finished by the time I get back.”
“Of course, master.”
He sighed. These young ones made him feel so old sometimes.
The heavy wooden door creaked open as he plodded into the hallway, making his way toward the tower, his old bones already protesting the coming exertion. He passed several pathfinders, each finding better things to do given the grumpy expression on his face.
As he approached the tower, a young man with eyes the palest blue descended, whistling a jaunty tune. The sound trailed off as he noticed the old man.
“Pathfinder Whelan, it is a rare occasion to see you outside of your cave,” the younger man said, referencing Whelan’s habit of isolating himself in his offices and seeing no others for long spans of time. “What brings you to the tower?”
“Pathfinder Reece, you are as nosy as you’ve ever been,” Whelan said, feeling out of sorts at the coming climb and the thought of facing her.
Reece flashed a charming smile, his eyes alert as he studied Whelan. “It is a trait that has served me well in the past.”
Whelan made his way up the steps, holding tight to the railing and cursing the coming climb. “I’m sure it will again in the coming weeks. I wouldn’t go too far if I were you. I’m sure she will call for you shortly.”
“Oh, why’s that?” Reece asked.
“A pathfinder missed roll call—one that has a special tie to you.”
Reece’s head tilted and then understanding dawned. “Shea.”
Whelan cackled. “That’s the one. I’ve no doubt that they’ll pull you into a special assignment before too long.”
Leaving the other pathfinder behind, Whelan continued up the long steps. For the amount of trouble this was going to generate, that girl had better be involved in something dire or he’d have her head.
CHAPTER ONE
“WE’RE AGREED then. What says the Telroi?”
Shea tuned back into the conversation to find twelve sets of eyes on her. She blinked at them and looked around with unease as she fought the urge to shift. The Trateri favored pillows instead of chairs. It made sitting for long periods painful for those not used to it. Shea had chosen to kneel since she’d assumed this meeting wouldn’t last long. Her mistake. It was an assumption she really should have known better than to make.
“Do you have an opinion on this?” Gala asked, giving Shea an expectant look—one shared by many at the table. It was unfortunate Shea didn’t have an opinion one way or another. Mostly because she’d stopped paying attention fifteen minutes into the meeting when it became clear that she had little to contribute.
Gala was a middle-aged woman, plump and soft with curves. Her brown hair, threaded through with grey, had been bound back in a smooth bun that Shea couldn’t hope to ever replicate, even before she had chopped off all her hair in an attempt to disguise herself as a boy. Though that subterfuge had been uncovered several months prior, Shea’s hair was at that weird length
where it was considered neither long nor short. It had been unruly at both lengths, but at the in-between stage it was a mess of curls that refused to be tamed.
Youngest at the table by a few decades, Shea’s presence would normally not be required nor appreciated among the elders of the Trateri clans. Her status as the Telroi, beloved of Fallon Hawkvale, warlord of the Trateri and conqueror of the Lowlands, had afforded her certain responsibilities—uncomfortable and outside her normal skill set though they might be.
Daere, a woman several years older than Shea though still much younger than the rest, leaned forward from where she sat behind Shea. Since she wasn’t a clan elder, she didn’t have a seat at the table and was forced into the role of observer. In a low voice, one only meant for Shea’s ears, she said, “They’re discussing where to house the new clans that have joined us.”
Shea gave a slight nod, her face creased in a thoughtful frown. Or at least she hoped it was thoughtful. This was the third such meeting she’d been forced to attend, and she felt no more comfortable than she had at the first one.
Unfortunately, she’d also been unable to convince Daere of the uselessness of her presence. Daere was Fallon’s cousin on his father’s side and had been assigned to be Shea’s shadow. Well, technically she’d been assigned to mentor and guide Shea in her new role in Trateri society.
The woman saw Shea’s lack of social graces as a personal affront and had set about trying to integrate Shea into their way of life. She’d started with these meetings, and Shea was already trying to think of several ways to avoid Daere for the foreseeable future. It was difficult, since the woman evidently had eyes in the back of her head.
Daere was a tall woman, even taller than Shea who towered over most Lowlanders. Since the Trateri people as a whole grew tall and muscular, this wasn’t unusual. Her reddish-brown hair was tied back from her face, setting off her sharp features and giving her no-nonsense glare an extra push as she aimed it Shea’s way, telling her without words to pay attention.
Shea turned back to the assembled elders. Though mostly women, there were a few men scattered into the mix. Shea heaved an internal sigh. She missed the days when she was a pathfinder and scout, one who wasn’t expected to comment on anything but the possible obstacles on her chosen routes.
“You want my opinion,” Shea stated, hoping someone would volunteer some information on the particulars of what had been discussed. A few stared at her with expectant expressions. Others verged closer to outright hostility at having to listen to a stranger, someone who wasn’t even Trateri.
Gala eyed her with a vexed expression and pointed at a spot on the map. “As we’ve discussed, we’d like to add the additions to this side of the camp.”
“I still say that’s a mistake. The Ember clan and the Rain clan both have blood feuds with the Earth clan,” Calvin said, his mouth turned down into a sour frown.
Shea looked at the map, grabbing one side and sliding it closer to her. She ignored the slight huff from the woman from the Lion clan—a woman whose name she had forgotten. Again.
Hm. Camp was a little cramped already. The Forest of the Giants lived up to its name. The giant soul trees that were the size of mini mountains made finding adequate space for Fallon’s army difficult. With roots the size of houses poking up out of the ground, it was a challenge keeping the camp from breaking into several scattered settlements. It was too easy for any isolated sections to be attacked by beast or man.
It had forced the Trateri to adapt. They’d packed the smaller tents so tightly together that they were nearly on top of each other while the larger tents the Trateri were known for were left packed away. The tight quarters had left many feeling irate.
“That’s right under the Airabel village,” Shea observed. The village was built among the treetops of the giant soul trees—trees so tall and wide that it was said only giants could tend them. The Lowlanders who made this place their home rarely ventured to the ground, and then only if it was in a hunting party. They’d been more than happy to let the Trateri set up their encampment below.
“We’re aware of that,” Sharri, an elder from the Earth clan, said.
“Then you don’t care if the Ember clan and the Rain clan wake up with human waste decorating their tents,” Shea said with a neutral expression.
Twelve sets of eyes looked at each other before aiming Shea’s way. She greeted them with a pleasant expression.
“What do you mean?” Gala asked.
Shea slid the map back to the center of the table and began to lean back before catching herself at the last minute, remembering just in time that she wasn’t in a chair. Her thighs screamed in protest.
“The Airabel have no way to build latrine pits since their homes are built into the branches of the great soul trees.”
Their expressions said they had never considered how the Airabel handled waste. Shea wasn’t surprised. The Trateri had never seen a sky village built into the canopy of a tree so tall it was difficult seeing the crown of it when you were standing right next to it on the ground. They had probably never even thought of the logistics of life up there. Unlike Shea, who’d spent many visits living and learning about the Airabel during her time as a pathfinder. Then, she’d lived in one of the tree top homes, instead of camping out on the forest floor as the Trateri did.
Shea sighed. They still weren’t getting it. “They use chamber pots that they empty over the side of the village every morning. Anything below gets a nice coating of whatever they ate the previous day.”
It was why the land below the village was so lush. Flowers and other vegetation had taken advantage of the nutrient rich soil derived from generations of fertilizer.
“They can’t go there,” Calvin said, staring at the map. “We’d never hear the end of it.”
“I say put them there,” an elder whose name Shea hadn’t bothered to learn said. “They deserve what they get for waiting so long to join us. They should have been here months ago, instead of waiting to see if the Hawkvale’s plans would succeed.”
There was a murmur of agreement around the table.
Shea didn’t know the particulars of the situation or why the two clans were just joining the other five now. She did know that putting them there was a disaster in the making. If nothing else, it would lead to additional meetings such as this as the newcomers aired their grievances. Shea would like to avoid that.
“What about here?” Shea asked, pointing to a corner of the map.
Gala and the rest leaned closer, frowning thoughtfully at the spot Shea indicated.
“That’s the horse pasture,” Calvin said.
“That we don’t use,” Shea said. “There are too many dangerous plants that could kill the horses. The horse master said he planned to move them further afield where there was less danger.”
“So, you’re saying the horses are more important than Ember or Rain.”
Shea fought down a sense of frustration. That wasn’t what she’d said at all.
“Not at all. Merely that they have the tools to make this spot safe for their people whereas the horses do not.”
One elder harrumphed. “I say the horses are more important than either of those clans.”
“They could see it as an insult on our part,” another cautioned.
Shea forced herself not to roll her eyes. Because putting them in a spot where shit would be dumped on them every morning was less of an insult.
She couldn’t take her sitting position any longer and shifted, easing her weight off her legs. They prickled with an angry buzzing sensation as feeling rushed back into them.
Daere aimed a disapproving stare her way. She probably thought Shea was showing weakness she couldn’t afford, but Shea shrugged off the other woman’s disapproval. If they chose to see her inability to kneel in one position for an indeterminate length of time as weakness, they would learn the exact depths of her strength should they choose to test her.
She propped her chin on her hand and
listened as the elders debated the merits of the two spots. Daere gave her another frown and tilted her head as if to invite Shea to insert her opinion. Shea gave her a blank expression and feigned confusion as if she didn’t know exactly what Daere wanted. Shea wasn’t a peacemaker. If Daere wanted this fixed, she’d have to do it herself.
Daere’s lips tightened before she aimed a serene expression at the rest of the group. “How about we give them a choice?” Daere said, stepping into the blossoming argument. “Let them decide which of the two areas would fit their needs best.”
Gala and Calvin listened with attentive expressions before sharing a look with the rest of the group. They both nodded as a chorus of agreement came from the other elders.
Shea kept her heartfelt thanks that the meeting was over inside. She placed her hands on the table to begin leveraging her way to her feet.
“On to the next issue,” Calvin said.
Shea froze. No. They were done. How could there be more?
Her eyes swung to Daere’s, who gave her a meaningful stare combined with the barest hint of a victorious smirk before turning her attention back to the conversation. Shea’s shoulders drooped, and she settled back into place. Her chance to escape the tedium had disappeared.
*
Shea strode down the small path sandwiched between several tents as she tried to ignore the woman pacing by her side. Daere was the epitome of the perfect Trateri woman—graceful with just a hint of that ferocious fire that said she would eviscerate any who got in her way. Adorned in the abundance of jewelry preferred by those Trateri not of the warrior caste, Daere’s clothes were complex and yet simple, speaking of the highest craftsmanship.
Next to her, Shea felt like a homely usurper, wearing the pants and blouse she normally wore when on the trail. She’d had a much different plan for the day before Daere forced her into that meeting using placid smiles and artful words.
“We have time for a quick break for the midday meal and then we’ll need to meet with the blacksmiths and armorers,” Daere said as she smiled and nodded when three women greeted her in passing.