“What is this?” Gawain asked as Fallon lifted the blade and held it up to the light.
“We call it the silveright,” Shea said. “It’ll destroy anything that was once living, but for metal and the like, it repairs and strengthens.”
That was an understatement. Any blade sharpened by silverwater remained sharp long after it should go dull. It also tended to cut more easily and not break.
She could already see the calculation in Fallon’s eyes as he thought of ways to turn the silver water to his use.
“Why aren’t all your people’s blades dipped in this water?” Caden asked.
Shea stared down at the water. “Some are, but those are usually kept in the Keep. It is difficult to explain to those in the Highlands why our blades never lose their edge and have a different color than others. Also, not many are willing to risk these waters. They don’t trust it. It’s likely the silveright originated before or during the cataclysm.”
Their faces were somber as they turned to look at the spring with new eyes.
Trenton gave a shrug. “There’s no glory in safety. I’ll risk whatever the consequences might be.”
He thrust his blade into the water. Van followed suit. Gawain looked like he was considering it, but in the end, he stepped back, shaking his head.
“Come. There’s more to see,” Shea said, gesturing to the stairs.
She preceded them up, careful to keep to the walls. There were no rails here—the better to push your enemy off. It was not the sort of place where you would want to trip. It’d be a long fall with a very painful end.
Caden stepped to the edge and looked down, making an impressed face as he stepped back.
Shea continued up until she reached the first landing. A carved mural lined the entirety of the wall up here. She reached out and traced the featureless face of a long-forgotten person, the expression lost as time wore parts of the mural smooth.
“You once asked what the pathfinders were protecting,” Shea said, not looking away from the mural. “I couldn’t tell you then.”
She finally turned toward them. Fallon’s eyes were trained on her, his expression hidden and impossible to read. He didn’t speak, the silence becoming fraught with anticipation.
She nodded as she came to some internal decision. The time to back out had passed, perhaps as long ago as their first meeting.
Shea spread her hands wide, indicating the space. “We protect the knowledge of those who came before us.”
The others looked around the landing, their expressions confused and unimpressed.
Shea dropped her hands. “We protect the past.”
“Weapons,” Fallon said.
She nodded. “Some.”
They’d all heard of what was lost during the cataclysm, weapons capable of such devastation that they remade the landscape around them. It was what gave rise to the Badlands, forever twisting them from what they had been. Shea suspected the Garden of the Gods was also affected in much the same way.
“Your people could rule this entire land,” Van said, his expression reflective.
Shea nodded. “They could.”
“Why don’t they?” Gawain asked.
That was a difficult question to answer, especially since Shea wasn’t as sure that the answer she’d been given was the truth anymore.
“Do you know the story of the cataclysm?” Shea asked.
They nodded. All the people in the Broken Lands had some variation of story that explained the death of the old world and the rise of the new one. Few came close to the truth.
Shea turned back to the dramatic scenes depicted in the mural, each one a little different than the one preceding it.
“The story my people tell is that a great gift was given to our ancestors,” Shea began. “It was mysterious, almost magical, too powerful for any one person to have.”
