Without the legends that could cross the Veil, King Hunyadi’s troops might have driven the invaders back eventually. It would have been a near thing. Now the Yucatazcans had no chance. The Borderkind swarmed in from behind, burning and tearing and shattering the enemy, and the Euphrasian forces moved in from the front.
Only the killing remained.
Blue Jay wheeled away from the battle, turning back toward the top of the hill, where the tents of the commanders had been pitched in a sparse wood that had once overlooked the quaint little village of Cliffordville.
He scanned the tents and did not see the black cloak of Captain Beck. A tremor of anxiety went through him. Troubled, he flew quickly toward the hill and then spread his wings to slow himself. As he did, the trickster changed. Wings became a blue blur beneath outstretched arms. Blue Jay began to spin slowly, dancing on the air, and he alighted upon the ground with a soft tread, the bird replaced by the mischief man. The breeze rustled his long hair and the blue feathers he kept tied there.
Worried, he glanced around. Commander Torchio and two of his subordinates stood just inside the tree line, but there was no sign of Captain Beck. He started toward them, about to inquire, when the flap of the nearest tent opened and an ebony-skinned hand thrust out.
“Jay. Come in.”
A smile touched his lips as he stepped up and took her hand. The trickster slipped into the tent and into her arms. The thin cotton of her black tunic and trousers whispered as he pulled her against him. Her dark eyes widened but, before she could speak, he silenced her with a brush of his lips upon hers.
Then he whispered her name.
“Damia.”
Captain Beck grinned, her elegant ebony features alight with mischief that made him feel she was a kindred spirit, even though she was entirely human. She arched an eyebrow.
“It’s lovely to see you back in one piece, Jay. But perhaps you might hold your enthusiasm a few minutes.”
He blinked, and only then did he sense the presence of another inside the tent. Blue Jay turned, as sheepishly as a trickster could manage, and found the imposing presence of the wanderer, Wayland Smith, filling nearly all of the available space. That was one of the many puzzling things about Smith. He always seemed larger than he was. Most of the tricksters called him uncle, treated him as one of their own, an elder. And yet if he was a trickster, he was from an earlier age, an earlier kind of legend. There were many names for him. The Wayfarer. The Traveler. All Jay knew was that he was a journeyman, wandering the worlds, as well as a magician, and that he could forge weapons that always found their mark. Or so his legend claimed.
Smith had not removed his broad-brimmed hat, though he had set aside his walking stick, which was capped by a brass fox head. His rust-colored beard seemed to have gone more gray than Blue Jay recalled. From the shadows beneath the hat brim came the glint of stony eyes.
“Hello, Jay,” said Wayland Smith, inclining his head.
“Wayfarer,” Blue Jay replied. “We haven’t seen you in more than a week.”
“It could not be avoided,” the wanderer said. “I have been searching for questions.”
The trickster cocked his head. “For questions?”
“You cannot find an answer until you have discovered the question.”
“Of course,” Blue Jay replied, bowing his head in respect. “And did you find what you sought?”
“I have a great many questions and, indeed, some answers as well.”
Damia Beck slid up beside Blue Jay and put an affectionate hand at the small of his back. “He says it’s time.”
Blue Jay saw the excitement in her eyes, then turned back toward Wayland Smith. “Time for what?”
Even through his thick beard, the wanderer’s smile was unmistakable. In the shadows under his hat brim, Wayland Smith’s eyes kindled with a lightness of spirit Blue Jay had never seen in that face before.
“Why, time to rescue them, of course. Frost and the Bascombes, and Oliver’s fair lady. Now that the war has begun in earnest and the eyes of Atlantis are focused on Euphrasia, it’s time to retrieve your friends and draw together the skeins of fate. Then we’ll have begun it, Jay.”
Blue Jay frowned. “Begun what?”
“The beginning of the end.”
“Damia,” Blue Jay said, reaching down to take her rough, soldier’s fingers in his own. “Do you understand any of this?”
She nodded. “The magician says it’s time to get them out of Palenque. Hunyadi has been waiting for the Borderkind to do that ever since their capture. There will still be loyalists who believe anything that Ty’Lis says, but already the rumors have spread that Oliver and Collette are Legend-Born. If we have them in our camp, the Lost Ones on both sides of the war will at least have to listen to what they have to say.” Captain Beck put a hand on the grip of her sword. “All I want to know is, when do we leave?”
“Shit.” Blue Jay sighed and looked at Wayland Smith. “Apparently we’re going to Palenque?”
“You are.”
Blue Jay laughed and shook his head. “So you’re sending us off on a suicide mission, but you won’t be able to join us. That about right?”
“More or less. Hunyadi has plans for Damia, and I have other business, but I’ll see you to Palenque safely. I have an errand to take care of first, and then we’ll depart. But before I go let’s sit a few moments-I’ll share my pipe, if you like-and we’ll talk of palaces and kings, of heroes and legends, and of the Legend-Born.”
The trickster glanced at Captain Beck a moment, then turned once more, uneasily, to Wayland Smith.
“So you believe that story, then, about the Bascombes? You think their mother was a Borderkind?”
Smith nodded solemnly, drawing a pipe out from inside his jacket.
“Of course. Melisande was their mother. And their father was a human. She loved him fiercely until the day she died. She had to give up her essence, her magic, so that she could bear children to the man she loved.”
Blue Jay crossed his arms and could not prevent the dubious look that spread across his face.
“And just how the hell do you know all of that?”
The weight of grief and the past lay heavily upon the Wayfarer, leaving no trace of mischief behind.
“How do I know?” he asked, looking up at Blue Jay and Captain Beck. “I know because I brought them together.”
CHAPTER 2
Twillig’s Gorge was a river canyon, boxed on either end by sheer stone cliffs. The Sorrowful River flowed into and out of the gorge through tunnels that went right through the base of a mountain, so the settlement inside Twillig’s Gorge was well-hidden. Sentries stood guard where the river entered and exited the gorge, and many more lined the rim of the canyon. The cliffs were steep all around, and there were only a handful of safe ways to descend into the settlement, either by various ladders and footbridges that hung above the river, or by one of two sets of stairs carved from the rock face.
On either side of the river, there was a stone walkway lined with shops. There were taverns and bakeries, a florist and a butcher’s, and even several dress shops for the ladies. Grand homes had been built across the gorge, high up on the walls like arched bridges. The inn spanned the river as well. Dwellings had been built into the cliff face, excavated from the rock. Others clung like spiders to the sheer walls of the gorge, propped on support beams that seemed entirely insufficient to hold them up. Wooden stairs and walkways and swing bridges lined the sides of the gorge like scaffolding.
Over the ages, Twillig’s Gorge had become something of a legend itself. It welcomed legendary and ordinary alike. All varieties of creatures had settled there, including Borderkind and Lost Ones. It was a sanctuary for anyone who wished it. The rules were simple. Live and let live. Courtesy and peace were the principles upon which the settlement at Twillig’s Gorge had been founded.