Pathfinder's Way
Date: 2016-04-12 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Romance; Fantasy Romance; Adventure; Paranormal; High Fantasy; Adult; Dystopia; Magic; Fiction
Description: The Trateri are about to learn a vital lesson of the Broken Lands. Deep in the remote expanse where anything can happen, it pays to be on a pathfinder’s good side. Nobody ventures beyond their village. Nobody sane that is. Monstrous creatures and deadly mysteries wait out here. Lucky for the people she serves, Shea’s not exactly sane. As a pathfinder, it’s her job to face what others fear and find the safest route through the wilderness. It’s not an easy job, but she’s the best at what she does. When the people she serves betray her into servitude to the Trateri, a barbarian horde sweeping thr

Pathfinder’s Way

T.A. White

This book is for my family and friends, who were always willing to listen while I babbled on about plot and characters. This book wouldn’t have been possible without you.

Copyright © Tobey White, 2016

All rights reserved

Table of Contents

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

Discover More by T.A. White

Thank You for Reading!

About the Author

Excerpt

Chapter One

“For God’s sake, woman, the village will still be there if we take an hour’s break.”

Shea rolled her eyes at the soaring mountains before her. This was the third rest stop the man had called for since setting out this morning.

“We must be half way there by now,” he continued.

Maybe if they hadn’t stopped several times already or if they had moved with a purpose, but as it stood the group had probably traveled less than two miles. Half of that nearly vertical. At this pace, it would take an extra half day to get back to Birdon Leaf.

And who would they blame for the delayed arrival?

Shea. Even though it wasn’t her needing to stop on every other hill when they felt a muscle cramp or experienced shortness of breath. Since she was the pathfinder, it was obviously her fault.

She could hear it now.

The pathfinder sets the pace. The pathfinder chooses when to take breaks. Yada. Yada. Yada.

She hated running missions with villagers. They thought that since they’d gone on day trips outside their village barriers as children, they knew a thing or two about trail signs and the Highlands in general.

It was always, ‘We should take this route. I think this route is faster. Why is it taking so long? These mountain passes are sooo steep.’

Never mind it was her that had walked these damn routes since the time she could toddle after the adults or that the paths they suggested would take them right through a beast’s nest.

Nope. She was just a pathfinder. A female pathfinder. A female pathfinder who hadn’t grown up in the same village as them. Obviously, she knew nothing of her craft.

The man yammered on about how they couldn’t take another step. Any reasonable person could see how worn out they were. She wasn’t the one carrying the gear or the trade goods.

Whine. Whine. Whine.

That’s all she heard. Over the last several months, she’d perfected the art of tuning them out without missing pertinent information.

It was all in the pitch. Their voices tended to approach a higher frequency when they regressed to bitching about what couldn’t be changed. As if she could make the switchbacks approaching the Garylow Mountain pass any less steep or treacherous.

“We’ll take a rest once we reach the pass,” she said for what seemed like the hundredth time.

They had begged for another break since about five minutes after the last one.

She had a deadline to meet. Sleep to catch. Most importantly, she didn’t think she could last another half day with this lot.

“We’re nowhere near that pass,” the man raged.

The rest break obviously meant a lot to him.

“It’s just over that ridge,” Shea pointed above her.

Well, over that ridge and then another slight incline or two. It was just a small lie, really. If the man knew the truth, he’d probably sit down and refuse to take another step.

“That’s nearly a half mile away.” The man’s face flushed red.

Really if he had enough energy to be angry, he had enough energy to walk.

“Quarter mile at most.”

“We’re tired. We’ve been walking for days. First to the trading outpost and then back. What does an hour’s difference make?”

Shea sighed. Looked up at the blue, blue sky and the soaring pinnacles of rock then down at the loose shale and half trampled path they’d already traveled.

“You’re right, an hour’s rest won’t make much difference.” His face lit up. “However, you’ve already wasted two hours today on the last two breaks. You also wasted several hours yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. We should have been back already.”

She held up her hand when he opened his mouth.

“Now, we are getting up that pass. We need to be over it and down the mountain by nightfall. Otherwise you’re going to have to fend off nightfliers. Do you want to fend off nightfliers when you could be sleeping? Or would you rather suck it up and get over that damn ridge?”

The man paled at the mention of nightfliers, a beast about three times the size of a bat that had a disturbing tendency of picking up its food and dropping it from a high altitude. It made it easier to get to the good parts on the inside.

“We’ll wait to take the break.” He turned and headed down to the last switchback where the rest of their party waited.

“Oh, and Kent.” Shea’s voice rose just loud enough for him to hear. “Please let them know that if anybody refuses to walk, I’ll leave them here to fend for themselves. Nightfliers aren’t the only things that roam this pass come nightfall.”

He gave her a look full of loathing before heading down to his friends. Shea kept her snicker to herself. Good things never happened when they thought she was laughing at them.

Idiot. As if pathfinders would abandon their charges. If that was the case, she would have left this lot behind days ago. There were oaths preventing that kind of behavior.

What she wouldn’t give to enjoy a little quiet time relaxing on the roof of her small home right about now.

They didn’t make it back to the village until early the next morning. Shea brought up the rear as their group straggled past the wooden wall encircling the small village of Birdon Leaf.

The village was a place that time had forgotten. It looked the same as it had the day it was founded, and in fifty years or a hundred, it’d probably still be the same. Same families living in the same homes, built of wood and mud by their father’s, father’s, father. Most of the buildings in the village were single story and one room. The really well off might have a second room or a loft. Nothing changed here, and they liked it that way. Propose a new idea or way of doing something and they’d run you out of town.

They didn’t like strangers, which was fine because most times strangers didn’t like them.

They tolerated Shea because they needed the skills her guild taught to survive. Shea tolerated them because she had to.

Well, some days she didn’t.

A small group of women and children waited to welcome the men.

A large boned woman with a hefty bosom and ash blond hair just beginning to gray flung her arms around a tall man with thinning hair.

“Where have you been? We expected you back yesterday morning.” She smothered his face with kisses.

“You know we had to keep to the pathfinder’s pace. The men didn’t feel it would be right leaving her behind just because she couldn’t keep up.”

There it was. Her fault.

Anytime something went wrong it was due to the fact she was a woman. Even looking less feminine didn’t help her. A taller than average girl with a thin layer of muscles stretching over her lean frame, Shea had hazel eyes framed by round cheeks, a stubborn mouth and a strong jaw-line she’d inherited from her father. Much to her consternation.

“What the guild was thinking assigning a woman to our village, I’ll never know,” the woman said in exasperation. “And such useless trail bait. They must have sent the laziest one they had.”

Trail bait. Dirt pounder. Roamer. Hot footed. Shea had heard it all. So many words to describe one thing. Outsider.

Shea turned towards home. At least she would have a little peace and quiet for the next few days. She planned to hide out and not see or talk to anyone.

Just her and her maps. Maybe some cloud watching. And definitely some napping. Make that a lot of napping. She needed to recharge.

“Pathfinder! Pathfinder,” a young voice called after her.

Shea turned and automatically smiled at the girl with the gamine grin and boundless enthusiasm racing after her. “Aimee, I’ve told you before you can call me Shea.”

Aimee ducked her head and gave her a gap toothed smile. She was missing one of her front teeth. She must have lost it while Shea was outside the fence.

“Pathfinder Shea. You’re back.”

Shea nodded, amused at the obvious statement. Of all the villagers in this backwoods place, Aimee was her favorite. She was young enough that she didn’t fear the wilds lying just beyond the safety of the barrier. All she saw was the adventure waiting out there. She reminded Shea of the novitiates that came every year to the Wayfarer’s Keep in hopes of taking the Pathfinder’s exam and becoming an apprentice.

“Um, did you see any cool beasts this time?” Aimee burst out. “Nightfliers, maybe? You said they liked to nest in the peaks around Garylow’s pass. What about red backs?”

“Whoa, hold up. One question at a time.” Shea took a piece of paper she’d torn from her journal last night in anticipation of this moment. “Here. I saw this one diving to catch breakfast yesterday morning.”

Shea handed her a sketching of a peregrine falcon in mid dive. It was a natural animal, but to a girl raised in a village where all non-domesticated animals were considered ‘beasts,’ it would seem exotic. Shea had sketched it during one of the numerous breaks the men had taken.

“Pathfinder Shea,” a woman said from behind them, disapproval coloring her voice. “The elders wish to speak to you.”

Shea’s smile disappeared as she schooled her face to a politeness she didn’t really feel. Aimee hid the drawing in her skirts.

The woman’s eyes shifted to Shea’s companion. “Aimee, my girl, your mother’s looking for you. I suggest you get on home.”

Aimee bobbed in place, suitably chastened and followed as the woman swept away, but not before aiming a small smile in Shea’s direction.

Shea lifted a hand and waved. Aimee had become something of Shea’s shadow in the past few weeks. It was a welcome change, given how most of the villagers pretended she didn’t exist or treated her with barely concealed hostility.

Shea looked woefully towards the tightly packed dirt trail leading to her little cottage. Her muscles ached and three days of grime and dirt coated her body.

She wanted a bath, a hot meal and then to sleep for twelve hours straight. She didn’t want to deal with the grumpy, blame-wielding elders who no doubt wanted things they couldn’t or shouldn’t have. But if she didn’t deal with them now, they would just show up and nag at her until she gave them her attention. They wanted something from her. Again. Better to deal with things now so she could have an uninterrupted rest later.

Her well-deserved break would have to wait

Her steps unhurried, she turned in the opposite direction of her bed. Even moving as slowly as she reasonably could, she quickly found herself in front of the town hall. It was also a pub and gathering place, basically anything the village needed it to be.

There were only two stone structures in the entire settlement. The town hall was the first and greatest, holding the distinction of being the only building large enough to shelter the entire village in the event of an attack. There was only one entrance, a heavy wooden door that could be barred from the inside. The thin slits in the upper levels kept attackers of both the four legged and two legged variety from slipping inside.

The building was the primary reason the founding families decided to settle here and was the village’s one claim to wealth. The rest of the village, small though it was, had sprung up around it as a result.

For a place as backwards and isolated as Birdon Leaf, the town hall was a majestic building they couldn’t hope to replicate. Even without the skills to maintain it, they were lucky. Some of the larger towns didn’t have a structure this versatile that could act as both gathering place and shelter from danger.

Shea reached the doors and paused to brush the dirt from the back of her trousers and make sure her thin shirt was tucked in and her dark brown, leather jacket was lying straight.

She smoothed a stray strand of honey brown hair behind her ear and ran her hand over her sloppy bun to make sure it was holding. Loose, her hair would reach past her shoulders in a wild mess. That’s why she tied it back for the most part, but no matter how many times she tried to tame it into a sleek bun, it would look like a bird’s nest by the time she walked five feet.

It was difficult to project confidence and professionalism when she wasn’t even the master of her own appearance.

Giving up the attempt to fix her appearance as futile, she braced her feet to open the painfully, heavy wooden door. It was a struggle to move it with just one arm, but she couldn’t afford to show the villagers weakness, or she would lose what little respect she had.

A slow creak announced its opening. She slipped through when there was just enough space before letting the door bang shut behind her.

Despite the bright day outside, it was dim in the town hall. The narrow windows let in little light. Candles flickered with merry abandonment from their place on tables and in bracers.

Wooden benches were stacked around the edges of the space. During meetings they were broken out so the villagers could have a place to sit while they jaw jacked. Today, several tables dotted the area. When the hall wasn’t used for meetings, village members used it as a place to meet and drink.

A group of five huddled around one table, their voices a low rumble in the large room. The middle-aged man with his back to Shea was Zrakovi, the village leader. He lifted a mug and drank, tilting back a head of dark hair turning silver at the temples. Shea came to a stop behind him, waiting for her presence to be acknowledged.

Another man looked up and nudged the man next to him. One by one the others shot glances to where Shea waited patiently.

Zrakovi turned his head slightly. “Pathfinder.”

“Elder Zrakovi.” Shea inclined her head respectfully.

“I have a job for you.”

“I just got back from an assignment.” Technically, she was supposed to get five days off between jobs to prevent fatigue and to give her time to plan the next route.

That almost never happened.

“Well, you’re needed for this,” he said sharply.

“Oh?”

“Watch your tone, girl,” a man with reddish blond hair and blunt features said.

Shea fought against sighing and held herself still. Expressing frustration would only prolong the encounter.

Silence filled the room as she waited for the elder to get to the point.

“My son.” He stopped and cleared his throat, shifting so he could look at her. “James and one other were supposed to return this morning from a run. I need you to find him and make sure they’re alright.”

Shea crossed her arms in front of her. “If I recall correctly, they were heading for the north reaches to gather lumpyrite for trade. That area should be safe. The beasts avoid it because of the mineral’s smell. They probably just got delayed. If they’re not back by nightfall, I’ll head out to look for them tomorrow morning.”

Shea had turned to go when Elder Zrakovi’s voice pulled her back. “They didn’t go to the north reaches.”

She stopped dead. Of course they hadn’t.

The villagers were supposed to check with her when they left the village so she could make sure the areas they traveled were safe. She dropped her head slightly while she schooled her expression back to neutrality. Only when her face showed a placid blankness did she face the men.

“Where did they go?”

“Below the Bearan Fault,” Zrakovi said gruffly.

“You mean the Lowlands,” Shea said, each word pronounced very precisely.

More than one man found themselves avoiding her eyes.

She shook her head slightly. Fools. The Bearan Fault was a line of cliffs nearly two hundred miles long. It was the gateway to the Lowlands.

Lowlanders were dangerous. Crazy too. Shea had dealings with them in the past, but it was always with one eye on the exit and a hand on her weapons. You just never knew what they were going to do.

One time, they had set fire to her clothes. While she was still in them.

She hated Lowlanders almost more than Highlanders.

“I told you not to send anybody into the Lowlands without me there to act as guide,” Shea said, her voice as polite as she could make it given the pulse pounding at her temple.

Zrakovi slammed his hand down on the table. “I won’t have my judgment questioned by a slip of a girl barely past her majority.”

“Then how about a Pathfinder with fifteen years’ experience who told you that heading to the Lowlands at this time without proper preparation and without a guide was too dangerous.”

Slip of a girl, her ass. Shea was twenty five and had been guiding folks since she was ten years old and could finally keep up with the adults.

“You were on assignment,” a thin man with stringy hair and a beak nose on the other side of the table complained. “We didn’t know when you would be back, and the opportunity was too good to pass up. This wouldn’t have happened if we had more than one pathfinder.”

Shea’s shoulders tightened and her back became even more rigid. “You’ve been told in the past that pathfinders are rare and in high demand. Your village is too small and too new to warrant more than one.”

“Too new? We’ve lived here for more than eighty years. More like we’re being punished,” one of the men muttered.

Shea took a deep breath and bit her tongue. She had to do that a lot while she was in Birdon Leaf. Sometimes she was amazed there wasn’t a hole in it.

The simplest explanation was that there just weren’t enough pathfinders to go round and none who wanted to destroy a promising career by coming to this backcountry village.

No. Shea was the one to receive that privilege.

“What village did they go to?”

If Shea was lucky they had chosen one of the more stable villages. Though just as dangerous as the rest, they usually had a reason before they went bat shit crazy.

“Edgecomb.”

She sucked in a breath. Well, then.

Edgecomb was crazier than most. They did not like outsiders and were very easy to insult.

“We had reports earlier,” another elder said gruffly. “Mist is rolling down from the eastern border. It’ll cover this place in less than two days. They’ll be cut off.”

Mist. Damn. That complicated things.

She’d had a feeling it was coming. It was one of the reasons she pushed the men so hard going up Garylow’s pass. They were overdue.

Pointing out just how foolish these people were would be a waste of breath and cover the same ground as previous arguments. Shea decided not to address the issue. But she wanted to. Boy, did she ever.

“I’ll need four men if we hope to recover them.”

“Can’t you do it by yourself?” a man sitting next to Zrakovi asked.

“No.”

“You’re a pathfinder. Isn’t that your job?”

The rest of the men spoke over each other to voice their agreement about how this was impossible.

Shea didn’t bother listening, instead tuning them out while she went over her packing list. She’d need at least five days rations for five people, best-case scenario. Her field pack was still packed, but she’d have to replenish some of the items used on her last journey. Hopefully, she had clean underwear and socks in her cottage. Hmm. When did she last do laundry? A week ago? Two? She could live in the same clothes if she had clean socks and undergarments.

“Are you even paying attention, girl?” Elder Zrakovi asked.

Shea brought her attention back to the matter at hand. “My contract stipulates that I may request help from the local population if I think it’s necessary.” She looked each man in the eye as she continued, “If your men are still alive, I will have to rescue them, and I can’t do that alone. You will give me four able-bodied men accustomed to trail work and able to keep up on the distances we will be required to travel.”

“We may not be able to spare that many men,” Zrakovi said. “The tali will be flowering in a few days and if the mist holds off long enough, we’ll need all the people we can get to bring in the yield.”

The tali was a flowering vine that grew all through the rocks and mountains near the village and was a primary staple of the village’s diet. Its stalk could be used in weaving and cloth production, while the fruit could be dried out or eaten raw. It was used in nearly every dish they made. It only flowered twice a year and during that time every man, woman, and child helped with the harvest.

“I’m not asking, elder. If you don’t give me the men I require, I won’t be going out after your son.”

Shea knew harvesting the tali fruit was important. Without it the villagers faced the possibility of starvation, but she wasn’t about to venture into the Lowlands by herself. It would be suicide. The elders had been warned of the dangers. If they couldn’t supply the men, they could accept the consequences of ignoring sound advice.

The five conferred among themselves while Shea waited. Finally, they sat back.

“I can’t give you four,” Zrakovi said.

Shea nodded and turned to go.

“I can’t give you four,” he reiterated, raising his voice. “But I can give you two. It’s all I can spare during the harvest.”

Shea waited a beat. To be safe she needed four, but she’d known from the start the elders wouldn’t spare the manpower. The contract’s wording said she could refuse since they hadn’t provided the necessary resources.

Doing so would mean death for the two men. If they weren’t already dead.

Despite what the villagers thought of her, she didn’t make her requests to make their lives difficult. James, the elder’s son, was one of the few who didn’t try to make her feel like a hindrance. He was a decent sort who had a smile for everybody. When she needed assistance on some of her more dangerous jaunts, he would sometimes volunteer.

She needed four, but she could make do with two.

“Tell them to be at the front gate at midday.”

Relief filled the chamber. A few looks were traded back and forth, and several men nodded.

“Good.” Zrakovi turned his back on Shea and took another drink. As she turned to go, he said, “I’ll be sending a missive requesting a new pathfinder be assigned to replace you in Birdon Leaf.”

“If that’s what you feel is best.” Shea inclined her head and strode away without a backward glance.

It would be the third such request since she arrived. The first two had elicited a carefully worded refusal that politely told all parties to suck it up and figure out a way to make it work.

As soon as she was outside, she put all thoughts of the elders and their barely concealed disapproval out of her head. There was a lot to get done in two short hours. Edgecomb was a two-day journey if they traveled fast and took few breaks. Depending on who they gave her, she might be able to cut that time down even more.

That wasn’t what worried her though. Last time she had scouted the route she’d noticed several of the more dangerous beasts had nested in some of the cliffs. This wouldn’t be a problem under normal circumstances because she could detour around the nests. This time, however, the quickest route skirted right along the edge of their territory.

She spent most of the next two hours securing supplies for her journey. Since they had to carry their own packs and would be on foot, every item had to be absolutely necessary. That meant no more food than necessary and just enough water to get them to the next watering hole. It was a delicate balancing act that required Shea to draw from previous experience as well as intuition.

Her last stop was her cottage, the only other stone building in the village. In many respects, it reminded Shea of the older ruins found deep in the Highland’s heart. It just had that feel to it. The kind of feeling that said it had been forgotten by time and man.

It was small. A grown woman could barely stand inside without bumping her head. The walls were close and cramped. Nature had threaded twisting vines through its stone walls in an attempt to reclaim the structure. In spring, it looked as if a blanket patterned with pinks, purples and blues had been wrapped around it as flowers bloomed on those vines. In winter, the unpatched holes gave little protection against the cold.

Shea loved it. Even when it was colder than a witch’s tit. Despite the neglect of humans, it persevered and even managed to be beautiful while existing in symbiosis with the land around it.

Nobody knew its past purpose. Regarding it with deep suspicion, the villagers allowed it to fade from their collective memory. Pretending it didn’t exist was easy as it was located at the rear of the village, close to the wall.

They gave it to Shea when she arrived because nobody wanted to live here and because, as an outsider, she was regarded with the same level of suspicion.

Shea held up a sixth pair of socks. Did she really need them? The route they were taking was relatively clear of any water. The weather had cooled as summer loosened its grip, and fall took its place. Still, it was vital to keep feet dry during a long journey and would be much more comfortable besides.

An extra pair of socks in her bag wouldn’t really make a difference but as packing progressed those little extras really added up.

The supplies ready and her bag packed, Shea slipped her arms through the two loops and lifted it onto her back. Bending forward, she tugged on the bottom of the straps, tightening the pack until it hugged her back and wouldn’t flop around while she was running.

She grabbed one of her maps off her desk and headed out the door. As always it took a few steps to get used to having a pack’s weight, but by the time she reached the front gate she was able to ignore it to focus on other matters.

She arrived at the front gate carrying her sack of supplies, mostly food, but some odds and ends. Two men watched her approach. One had taken a seat on an overturned bucket and was using his knife to peal a piece of fruit. The years had carved crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes and grooves around his mouth. His skin was leathery, and his brown hair was pulled back away from his face.

His companion was much younger, probably a little younger than Shea, with curly reddish-blond hair that barely reached his ears. His forehead was broad over sky blue eyes that made the girls in the village swoon every time he smiled at them.

“Witt. Dane.” Shea gave a respectful nod as she stopped in front of them. “You know why you’re here?”

Witt, the elder of the two, nodded and flicked a peel off his knife. Dane smiled at her, his eyes twinkling merrily. She’d worked with both before. Witt wasn’t so bad. Just surly. But he listened when she had something to say and was handy in a fight.

Dane might be a problem. He tended to flirt his way out of work and was under the impression that he knew more than he did. Too bad she couldn’t leave him behind this time. Unfortunately, he was good with a boomer and the only man in the village able to use one. She would need that if they ran into trouble.

“Good.” She set the supply sack on the ground and withdrew some rations, handing each man his share.

“This is barely a day’s worth of food,” Dane complained, holding up the meat wrapped in loaves of bread. “It’s not enough.”

“It is,” Shea corrected him. She held out two canteens of water to him and gave Witt the other two. “You’ll have to ration your supplies. There are several pieces of fruit in that bag as well as dried meat that you can eat while on the road. We’re traveling light this trip. We can’t afford any extra weight if we want to get to Edgecomb before mist fall.”

“What route are we taking?” Witt asked.

Shea pulled out her map and unrolled it carefully on the bucket Witt had just vacated. It was made from a sturdy stock of paper and drawn with a careful hand and an eye for detail. The geography of the land was done in blue, red and black ink with several closely drawn lines signaling elevation and further spaced lines meaning flatter land. It had been treated with a kind of oil to ensure the marks didn’t fade over time. Shea could still make corrections, but the treatment meant those could be erased with a bit of spit and elbow grease. It made it handy to make notes on various trails without permanently damaging the integrity of the map.

“This trail would get us to Edgecomb quickest,” Shea said, running her finger along the path in question. “But the last time I was up that way I noticed some signs that beasts had settled close to there.”

“What kind?”

“Red backs.”

Witt nodded grimly without taking his eyes from the map.

Red backs were a beast that walked on all fours for the most part. However, when killing, they rose onto their hind legs, and would tower over the tallest man in Birdon Leaf by several arm lengths. There were always two, usually mates, and they had claws that could cleave a man’s head clear off his shoulders. They were named for the red fur on their backs. The fur on the rest of their body was usually grey. Once they moved into a territory, they usually didn’t travel out of it unless prey became scarce.

“Who cares if there are red backs?” Dane said with the food still in his hands. “You just said we have to get to Edgecomb as fast as possible. If we run into any problems, we’ll just kill them. Their pelt fetches a nice price in the Lowlands.”

“Maybe you could flirt them to death, puppy,” Witt drawled, giving Dane a dismissive glance. Shea hid a grin. “Red backs are incredibly difficult to kill. A boomer’s lead won’t penetrate their hide. You have to get close, with knives or swords, and cut them open.” Witt stood and mimed a slash in demonstration. “They’re bigger than us, faster than us and one hit will crush your chest until you’re exhaling blood.”

Dane held Witt’s gaze, his mouth set in a disgruntled line before bending and picking up his pack. Shea kept her gaze focused on the map while Dane busied himself fussing with its straps.

Witt squatted down next to her. “I’d like to say the boy is entirely wrong, but if James and Cam were taken by Edgecomb, they don’t have a lot of time.”

Shea nodded and rolled the map up before sticking it in her pack. “No, they don’t. A day or two at most.”

“How long would the detour take?”

Shea quirked her mouth and shook her head slightly. “Depending on the trail sign, anywhere from a couple hours to half a day.”

“You’re the pathfinder so we’ll follow your lead.”

Witt stood and walked to his pack where he finished arranging the last of his supplies.

“I am the pathfinder.”

All that meant was that if she made the wrong decision, she would be the one with blood on her hands. She scrubbed a hand over her face and turned to the other two as they settled their packs on their backs. The long barrel of a boomer stuck up over Dane’s head from where it was attached to his pack. Witt’s weapons consisted of two short swords on either hip.

Looked like everybody was ready.

“Pathfinder.”

Shea turned to see Elder Zrakovi watching her sourly. Taller than her by a few inches, he was a burly man whose muscle was just beginning to turn to fat with age. She knew it must bother him to have his son’s fate resting in the hands of a woman he’d done his best to get rid of since she arrived.

“I trust that, despite our differences, you’ll do your job and bring my son back.”

She nodded shortly. The gate was raised just high enough for her group to walk under it.

“Don’t screw this up,” Zrakovi said as she passed under the gate.

She raised a hand in acknowledgement and adjusted her pack one last time before lengthening her stride to catch up with the other two.

There was one thing the elders had gotten right. Shea’s presence here was a punishment. But, it wasn’t them who was being punished.

Chapter Two

Shea quickly took the lead and set a punishing pace as the other two fell in single file behind her, Witt bringing up the rear. They had a lot of ground to cover before nightfall. It would take the rest of the day to reach the stretch of cliffs that marked the Highland border.

Reaching them would be a test of the group’s stamina and endurance. In essence, it would be a gut check. Doable, but not fun.

The cliffs, often referred to as Bearan’s Fault, spanned nearly the entire border. Most of it so steep it was as if a god had lifted the Highlands up onto a shelf, setting them above their neighbors. They were the reason people called everything above the cliffs the Highlands.

Not exactly original, but descriptive.

Approaching them always felt like walking off the edge of the world.

Located on the most southwestern edge of the Highlands, Birdon Leaf claimed some of the only habitable land in a mountainous territory pitted with ravines, steep hills and granite monoliths. To live up here, one had to be stubborn. And maybe a little crazy.

Not many had the sheer bone headedness to settle out here on the edge.

Food was scarce and company even more so. Unless you could do for yourself, well, it didn’t get done. People here were independent, hard headed and convinced that the only way to do something was the way their grandfather’s grandfather had done it. As a result, they didn’t welcome strangers. Even ones they asked to be here, like Shea.

The first leg of the journey was easy enough. They were lucky Birdon Leaf was situated on rolling hills. To the north was a pair of mountain ranges so high that snow covered the tops nine out of the twelve months. To the west, deep ravines bit into the land, creating a spidery network of valleys and ridges throughout the Highlands.

One of the reasons pathfinders existed was because it was so easy to get lost up here. It was as if the land itself didn’t take kindly to outsiders and tried to push out any it sensed didn’t belong here.

People’s sense of direction tended to go screwy and the distances played mean mind games. Sometimes you traveled further than you intended, and other times it was as if you’d barely moved.

There was a crash, and Dane rocketed past Shea’s narrow perch. He grunted as he caught himself on a particularly hard boulder.

“Is there no other way besides falling down these infernal hills?” he growled. “No, you can’t even call them that since they’re nearly as steep as the cliffs.”

“Going down a cliff would be easier,” Witt said as he slid past, snagging an exposed tree root before he could careen out of control. “At least then, we could simply secure a rope to something and slide down.”

Shea stepped off her perch to slide to her next target.

“This is the path we’re taking,” she informed them once she had stopped.

“Even uphill would be better,” Dane muttered. With a vexed groan, he leapt, then slid, to his next tree. He crashed into it and nearly bounced off before grabbing hold.

“If you have time to gripe, you have time to move faster,” Shea returned.

Internally, she echoed their frustration and agreed, the only thing worse than having to climb up a mountain was having to find the way down it.

It would be all too easy to break something tumbling down the steep terrain, and none of them needed the added challenge of an injured companion.

She just hoped the mist held off until they were safely back in Birdon Leaf.

The mist was a bedtime story parents told their children to discourage them from wandering off into the untamed expanse. Only, as any person who’d spent time outside the well-crafted towns could tell you, it wasn’t a story. It was real and very dangerous.

Even Shea’s parents had told her stories when she was young, though for her, they’d been less of a tale and more of a cautionary warning of what waited for her out here. Her parents had told her of brave pathfinders and their charges who were swallowed by the mist, never to be seen again. No one knew where they went or how it happened. One moment it would be the sunniest of days and the next, the mist would have swept every living thing from the area, wiping it clean.

Oh, the villagers dismissed such stories as superstition or a gambit to squeeze more money out of them. They’d only ever felt the very edge of its power. You could only experience the true horror of it in the depths of the wilds.

Shea felt a slight shiver, thinking of the mist she’d experienced only a handful of times. That had been more than enough.

The other danger they faced were beasts, which were thick on the ground up here. The Highlanders originally used the term to describe predatory animals, but over time it had come to mean anything that didn’t fit with society’s notion of natural.

There were many types, so many that it would be impossible to list them all. The secondary part of Shea’s position was to catalogue beast habits, territory and hunting patterns and give settlers advice on the safest ways to deal with them.

Too often people didn’t listen.

That’s when they died.

Shea looked at the sun, judging it to be near midafternoon. Time to call a halt. She’d timed it so their journey put them next to a small mountain spring. Since they weren’t carrying a lot of water, they needed to replenish at every opportunity. And, they could use a short break.

Witt nodded willingly enough and dropped his pack. Dane looked like he might argue, but in the end kept his opinion to himself. He must have been more ready for a break than she’d thought.

As the others caught their breath and refilled their canteens, she pulled out her map, comparing the scribbles on it to the surrounding land.

She gazed out at the landscape sprawled below her. No matter how many times she saw it, the lonely beauty of the wild back-country always managed to rip her breath away. It made her pause for a moment, secure in the knowledge that she was just a tiny piece of a greater whole.

It was the sort of view that gripped the soul and said ‘see? This is what it’s all about.’ Moments like these made dealing with the land’s hardheaded inhabitants bearable. Most of the time.

“We’re making good time.”

They were, in fact. Much better than she had anticipated. For all that Dane was a peacock, he had stamina. Though the question remained: could the group hold this pace? Should she start looking for a place to make camp or push on and see if they could make it to Bearan’s Fault by nightfall?

Continuing after dark increased the chance of someone falling and breaking something, further slowing them down, or they could disturb one of the red backs. Shea wouldn’t be able to see well enough to know if they were straying too close to their den.

It was tempting to push hard to make the Lowlands by nightfall and Edgecomb within the next two days.

Shea worried about James and Cam’s condition. Lowland villages could be very insular. They didn’t take kindly to strangers. That was especially the case for villages bordering the Highlands. Too many strange things crawled down from those cliffs to make any on the border friendly.

Expending all of their energy reaching the village might mean they’d be too exhausted to rescue James and Cam should they need it. On the other hand, James and Cam might be dead before they even made it to Edgecomb if they didn’t push hard enough.

“How are you holding up?” Shea asked over her shoulder.

“I can hold any pace you set, woman.” Dane took a bite from one of his loaves of bread. “I’m just waiting on you two.”

Sweat dripped down Dane’s temple, and his blue chambray shirt was about two shades darker than it had been that morning.

Shea dismissed his comment. His pride wouldn’t allow him to show that a woman had more endurance than him. It was unlikely he’d be truthful about his condition.

“And you?”

Witt glanced up from where he sat changing out his socks. “I’ll last.”

They weren’t the only ones feeling the journey. Shea was starting to feel a little fatigue herself. A deep burn had taken up residence in her thighs, and her shirt stuck to her skin under her jacket. Her pack’s straps had made her shoulders one throbbing ache, and her upper back was tight. The pace would fall a little as the afternoon deepened and exhaustion took hold. They would be more prone to accidents.

“We’re approaching where I saw red back activity a few weeks ago. I don’t want to take a detour, but if I think we’re getting too close, we will. I want as much land between us and them by nightfall. If we’re lucky and don’t have to veer too far from this path, we’ll be close to the Lowlands when we stop for the night.”

“Typical woman. Afraid of the dark? Every moment we have is precious. We should keep going even after dark.” Dane said, shrugging into his pack. “If time’s as tight as you say, we can’t stop for beauty sleep.”

“Can you see in the dark? Because I can’t. If we try, we risk someone getting hurt or killed in a fall. Reaching Cam and James would be impossible then. Taking the night to rest also means we can recoup some energy before reaching the village.”

Holding Dane’s gaze with her own, Shea waited until he nodded grudgingly before she turned her back and set out.

Witt paused by Dane as he followed her down the hill. “Perhaps you shouldn’t do any more thinking. It really doesn’t suit you.”

“Everyone know the plan?” Shea asked.

The three of them crouched between two buildings on Edgecomb’s perimeter.

Aside from the unrelenting pace they’d adopted to reach the village, the journey so far had been unremarkable. They’d sailed through red back territory with no problem and made camp at the top of the Bearan cliffs, then descended before dawn the next morning.

Some scouting had confirmed the villagers held James and Cam. They were to be executed that afternoon, which was why Shea and the other two were huddled close, hoping to avoid notice as they plotted their next move.

Like Birdon Leaf, the buildings in Edgecomb were built from wood. Unlike their village, no outer wall protected Edgecomb’s inhabitants, forcing the villagers to rely on the natural landscape to deter would be intruders.

A large herd of cattle were kept for trade and as food supply. As a result, a large number of horses were stabled in a fenced field right outside of town. Shea couldn’t help being a bit envious of the ease of transportation the horses represented. They were a scarce resource in the Highlands as they were next to useless in the gorges or on the mountain passes.

“Dane, I want you on one of the roofs overlooking the town square.” Shea turned to Witt. “Do you think you can create a large enough distraction so I can get them free?”

He nodded.

“Good, I’ll leave that to you then.”

“What about you?” Dane asked. “Where will you be?”

Shea brushed her hands down her pants. “Someone has to cut those two idiots loose.”

Dane frowned and looked down. “Perhaps you should be on the roof then.”

“Can’t. My aim’s not as good as yours.” Shea busied herself adjusting a cloak she’d stolen from one of the houses. She pulled the hood over her head. Hopefully, the cloak’s anonymity would get her close to the execution platform without drawing notice from the inhabitants. “Once things get started just make sure you pick off anybody between me and the platform with your boomer. I’m not going to have time to wrestle my way up there. Oh, and don’t shoot me in the confusion. When I get James and Cam loose, get off the roof. They’ll come after you pretty quick once things start happening. If we get separated for any reason, meet back at the rendezvous point.”

The three gave each other a long look. It surprised Shea when neither argued with her. She’d expected them to protest much more than they had.

Without another word, the two set off on their tasks. Shea watched them go.

Please don’t let them get cold feet. The plan required each of them to do their part. She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. She would need a miracle to pull this off. She still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to this. Why had she decided to stick her neck out? Especially since they’d blame her if anything went wrong. If things did go right, everybody else would take the credit. She couldn’t win. She knew that, but she couldn’t stop herself from trying. It wasn’t in her to walk away. She didn’t want any more deaths on her conscience.

Shea walked to the edge of the building and peeked around the corner. She was counting on the locals being so excited about the impending bloodshed that they wouldn’t notice an extra body among them.

She sauntered confidently past house after house, trying to look like she belonged. People had a tendency to see what they expected. A stranger walking through town while they prepared to execute two outsiders would fall under the realm of unexpected. After all, nobody was that crazy.

With her hood up, she hoped the villagers would simply assume she was one of the herders just in from the field for the execution.

As she moved towards the center of the village, butterflies took wing in her stomach. They’d never covered last ditch rescues in pathfinder training.

A man exited a building in front of her, pausing at the sight of her.

She froze and sucked in a sharp breath. Please. Just keep moving. No need to start a conversation.

It took effort to appear casual. Like she belonged. He nodded a greeting and continued in the same direction as Shea.

She followed him at a distance, not daring to duck away, afraid that would arouse suspicions.

He wasn’t the only one moving around. Shea had several similar experiences as she moved closer to the village’s center. Each encounter got a little easier, though her heart never seemed to settle back into her chest. It remained lodged in her throat as she followed the crowd.

Her senses became hyper alert as she moved. Her hearing attuned to every sound. Beneath the hood, her eyes darted around, looking for some sign that she’d been noticed.

Did that woman’s eyes linger too long on her? That man seemed to be paying unusual attention to her cloak. What about the child she had just passed? Her back itched from the feel of his eyes.

The village square was framed by several buildings and served as the village’s central hub. Four wide dirt streets intersected at the square, making it possible to approach from any direction. A wooden platform was front and center with four posts rising into the air.

That was odd.

There should only be two. One for James and another for Cam. Shea felt a shiver of foreboding run through her at the sight. She hadn’t planned for the unexpected.

She could only hope there were extras because more outsiders had been caught and not because Witt and Dane were last minute additions.

She chanced a glance at the people chattering near her. The men had clumped into several small groups as they discussed business.

The women had gathered in their own little groups as well. Several held young children by the arm so they wouldn’t wander off, while the older children were left to their own devices. Some chased others through the crowd as the adults caught up on the day’s happenings. If not for the ominous presence of the platform, it could have been a regular village gathering.

Shea wondered if executions were so commonplace that they were treated as social hour.

As she’d said before, border towns were crazy.

These people’s clothes were simple, with men wearing plain pants and undershirts covered by light jackets in varying shades of color, though most were muted and faded. Some wore hats, but most left their head bare. The women were almost universally in dresses long enough to reach their feet and sleeves that went past their elbows. The patterns were simple and most were one or two colors. Blue seemed to be a favorite.

She noticed that few wore a cloak similar to hers and none had the hood up. Perhaps she should put hers down. She hesitated, fearing that she’d be discovered immediately as the village, at only a few hundred adults strong, wasn’t that big. All of whom would have grown up in Edgecomb. Surely, they would notice a stranger in their midst, even with all the excitement.

She lingered on the edge of the square to avoid notice, trying to blend in and fought against looking at the roofs. She really hoped the others hadn’t bolted or else she might be joining James and Cam up on the platform.

Silently, she urged the people to hurry. Every second she stood there was a second closer to discovery.

More than one person had begun to give her curious glances, a few even looked like they were about to approach when a cheer rose.

Thank God. It was starting.

The captives stumbled out of the building next to the scaffolding, blinking at the sunlight.

Hisses of anger, quickly followed by boos greeted the men. The children weaving through the crowd hurled rotten pieces of fruit.

Shea’s lips tightened with anger when she got a glimpse of her men.

James looked lost and confused with his hands bound tightly behind him as his captors prodded him forward. Cam’s face was one giant, swollen bruise. He could barely stand upright and had to be supported by one of his captors.

Two dark haired men, hands bound in a similar fashion, marched behind them with straight backs and lifted chins. They looked neither left nor right, showing no signs of fear.

By contrast, James looked terrified and struggled against his captors at the platform’s steps as if suddenly realizing what was about to happen. The men guarding him grabbed him roughly by the arms and wrestled him up the steps. He fought as they tied his arms to the post, even as his jailors rained blows down on his body. The fight seemed to have already gone out of Cam, and they bound him easily.

The strangers took their places stoically before staring coldly at the crowd as it cheered for their blood.

Shea felt a hint of admiration for the strangers’ poise. Not many could face certain death with that amount of dignity.

She took a deep breath. It was time.

She ventured deeper into the crowd, winding her way between the heaving bodies. She needed to be as close as possible before Witt set off the distraction. It’d be best to be standing by the platform when it happened. She’d just have to avoid being identified as an outsider as she moved.

Easy.

Ducking her head, she tugged her hood down as she walked into the crowd. Several startled exclamations followed her as she shoved her way forward, trusting that her companions hadn’t abandoned her.

She felt a slight tug on her cloak. Her hood jerked back.

For a brief moment, there was no reaction.

“Outsider! She’s with them! There’s another outsider.”

Several people close to Shea craned their heads to look at the shouter, their eyes coming to rest unerringly on her. At first just a few, and then others took up the cry as space opened around Shea.

She froze for just a moment.

Too late to turn back now. Too late to escape.

She darted forward.

For a long moment, Shea thought Witt and Dane had abandoned her. Left her to face the mob on her own. Her eyes lifted briefly to her goal, the platform, and were caught by the fierce whiskey-colored gaze of the stranger.

A hand caught her arm, spinning her around and breaking the connection. Her eyes widened with fear as a man, his face a mask of hatred, raised one heavy fist.

This was it. She was dead.

The ground shook slightly under her feet. At first, she thought it was a tremor in the earth, like the small quakes that occasionally plagued the area. Then a scream rent the air.

“Stampede!”

Several screams followed and suddenly there was mass chaos in the square as people shoved each other in panic.

A crack pierced the air. A fine mist sprayed Shea’s face as the man holding her dropped to the ground. A hole the size of her thumb marred the side of the man’s head.

A sob of relief left her. Witt and Dane had come through.

She spun and ran up the platform’s steps, not even pausing when a villager carrying an ax appeared. Another crack split the air. Red blossomed on his chest. He fell back; Shea leapt over him. There were two more cracks, and then Shea was alone on the platform except for the four captives.

“Shea!” James struggled against his bonds, his body working frantically to get loose. Cam dangled limply from his wrists.

Shea pulled a knife from her waist as Dane picked off anybody who got too close.

Say what you will about his whining, the man came through in a pinch.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” James pleaded as she cut him loose. “I didn’t know.”

“Let’s not worry about that right now.”

Her adrenaline thundering through her body, Shea sawed through the last of the rope, pulling James free. She shoved a knife in his hand and pushed him towards Cam.

“Get Cam loose.”

He stumbled, nearly dropping the knife before reaching over Cam to work at the ropes.

Shea drew another knife and went to work on the nearest stranger’s hands. She flinched each time Dane picked off another villager but kept at the rope.

“Powerful weapon, that,” the whiskey-eyed stranger observed.

Shea grunted in agreement as he pulled free and moved on to the next man.

“Shea,” James shouted. “Come on. We have to go.”

She cast a glance around as she sawed. Horses had reached the square and were now stampeding past them, shaking the platform as they rushed by. Where did he think they could go?

“Thanks,” the last man said rubbing his wrists. “We’re in your debt.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to escape this gods be damned, shithole of a village.”

How exactly they were supposed to do that, she hadn’t worked out. Yet.

“What do we do?” James said in panic as he hobbled up to her. With Cam’s arm slung over his shoulder, James was supporting most of the man’s weight.

Horses still raced past them, but the herd was thinning. Shea didn’t know how Witt managed to get so many to stampede, but as a distraction, it worked amazingly well. The only problem was that now they couldn’t get off the platform without risking being trampled. Soon that wouldn’t be a problem, but the villagers who had sought shelter in the neighboring buildings were already poised at their doors, ready to recapture the men she’d just released.

One of the strangers tapped her on the shoulder. “Is he with you?”

Shea squinted at where he pointed.

Was that Witt at the rear of the herd, driving a wagon?

Yes.

She couldn’t believe it, but it was.

As she watched, Dane swung down from his roof, to a shorter building before leaping into the wagon bed and climbing onto the front seat next to Witt.

She grinned and clapped the man on the shoulder.

“Prepare to jump.”

“In there?” James asked, wild eyed. “While it’s still moving?”

“It’s not like they can stop and wait until we get comfortable.”

“They’ll slow down, right?”

Shea ignored the question, instead stepping up to the edge of the platform and gesturing for the rest to join her.

“Jump right before the wagon reaches you,” the man she’d freed said.

James and Cam balked. Shea shoved them into place. There wasn’t time for fear. They needed action, not doubt. The stranger with the whiskey-colored eyes tugged Cam’s arm from James while his friend put Cam’s other arm over his shoulder, sandwiching Cam between them.

“Shea, this is madness. We can’t make that jump,” James hissed at her.

She took him by the arm. The wagon was seconds away, Witt’s face focused and determined as he barreled down on them.

Shea looked James in the eye. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

She shoved him off the platform, forcing him to jump or fall to his death. Shea followed right as the wagon scraped by, knocking against the structure in the process. The strangers and Cam leapt at the same time, making the jump easily. James landed awkwardly on his side, safely in the wagon’s bed. Shea fell on top of him, her knee landing squarely on his stomach, nearly catapulting her off the other side in the process. The whiskey-eyed stranger grabbed her by the back of the shirt and hauled her back in before she could dive headfirst into the ground. He dumped her in the bottom next to the others.

“Thanks,” she said, patting him on the arm. The ground raced by. She didn’t think she would have survived the landing. “Guess I owe you one now.”

A slight smile partially thawed his granite expression. “Just returning the favor.”

His eyes seemed capable of staring right through a person, sizing them up in moments and learning all their secrets in the process.

Shoulder length brown hair framed a sharp featured face possessing rigidly defined cheekbones and jaw. Everything about him screamed strength. From his nose, to his mouth, to the way he held himself. He was over a head taller than Shea, who wasn’t exactly short. His hands, where they held her arms, were calloused and rough-hewn. There was a small scar, almost unnoticeable unless one was as close to him as Shea was, along his jaw line. It was almost hidden beneath the stubble covering a chin that hadn’t seen a razor in days.

His presence brought to mind words like forceful, powerful, intimidating. He was like a tightly leashed wild animal. Awe-inspiring and magnificent right up until the moment it decided you were its next meal.

Shea moved away from him. She was forced to crawl over James so she could clap Witt on the back. “That was some distraction.”

“Glad you liked it,” he shouted back as he deftly handled the horses.

The wagon bounced harshly, putting air between it and Shea. She landed hard enough to rattle bones. The others braced themselves against the sides. Traveling at breakneck speeds over uneven ground by wagon didn’t make for a comfortable ride.

“What about me?” Dane shouted. The noise from the horses’ hooves and the clatter of the wagon’s wheels nearly drowned out his voice.

Shea ducked her head, hiding a grin. “I don’t know. You almost hit me a time or two with your shots.”

“Almost hit you?” Dane’s voice rose a few notes in indignation. He turned to glare at her, shaking the boomer in emphasis. “There’s no almost about it. Each shot was perfectly placed and went exactly where I aimed. Almost hit you, my ass.”

He was right, but Shea was loath to admit it. To his face anyway. His ego was big enough as it was. As Dane muttered about how he’d known exactly what he was doing, Shea turned her attention to the others. She knelt by Cam’s side where he was propped up against the wagon’s side.

“How bad are you hurt?”

His face was a mask of pain, and he grimaced at the question. He groaned as the wagon lurched under them. Shea steadied herself against the wagon’s side.

“They beat him pretty badly,” said the first stranger’s friend. “I did what I could for his ribs, but there may be injuries beneath the skin that need to be treated.”

The stranger had grey eyes and appeared to be the same age as his friend. Though more handsome than the other man, he didn’t carry the same sort of presence. This one seemed more easygoing, like he enjoyed a laugh.

“I’ll be fine,” Cam said through gritted teeth.

Shea very much doubted that. He had two black eyes. One had already swollen shut. Blood was caked beneath his nose and around his mouth. The nose was probably broken. All that could be fixed given time. What worried her was the slight breathlessness he had every time he inhaled. As if something heavy was on his chest when there was no obvious obstruction. She suspected with the way he’d been moving earlier that one or both of his legs were injured.

She didn’t give voice to her concerns, just clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you will.”

James, watching the conversation, added, “Of course you will. Who’s going to remind me of what a bad idea this trip was if you aren’t?”

Cam gave a half laugh before wincing and clutching his side. “That’s true. With this latest scheme, I have ammunition against you until we’re old and gray.”

Shea was glad the two could joke with each other. Sometimes when things got especially bad, laughter was the only way you got through it. The journey back to their village, given Cam’s physical shape, was going to be one of those times.

“We’re being pursued,” the first stranger said, his entire attention focused on the village as it grew increasingly smaller.

Shea looked where he indicated, not noticing anything at first. Dust rose into the air and then small shapes took form as their pursuers thundered after them.

Witt chanced a glance back. “Damn, I was hoping it would take them longer to round up the horses.”

“How far to the cliffs?” James asked.

Shea knew what he was really asking. How long until they reached the Highland border? If they could just make it to the cliffs, they would be able to lose their followers. Shea knew a few of the hidden passages at the cliffs’ base in this area. If they put just a little distance between them and the hunters, they could disappear fairly easily.

It wouldn’t take them to the Highlands, but it should hide them long enough that the people chasing them would give up or move on.

She tilted her head as she calculated. It’d taken two days to reach Edgecomb once they’d finished their descent from the Highlands. The wagon could cut that time considerably, but they would run out of flat ground well before they reached safety. The clunky shape of the wagon just couldn’t navigate the bumps and ridges of the uneven land. The first large rock they hit would break the wagon’s axel, rendering the vehicle useless. Their pursuers’ horses could move much faster even if the terrain delayed them.

“Too far.” She glanced back at their persistent shadows. Even in such a short time they’d managed to gain.

Her mind raced over options, disregarding one after another. Witt flicked the reins, urging the horses to greater speeds. The wagon shuttered and wobbled under them. Shea prayed it didn’t shake itself apart before they reached their destination.

There was one possibility. Though it was dangerous. More risky than traveling through red back territory. More nerve racking than trying to rescue prisoners from the execution platform.

“Dane, how much ammo do you still have?”

“Not much. Why?”

“James, trade places with Dane. I need him back here.”

James patted Cam on the shoulder, before moving slowly to the front of the wagon.

Dane crouched beside her and looked at her questioningly.

“I need you to pick off as many of them as you can.”

He looked skeptically at the mob gaining ground on them. “I can try, but my aim’s not going to be very good while we’re bouncing around like this.

“I don’t need you to hit them, just make them cautious. I’m hoping it scares them into keeping their distance for a little while. Wait until they get a little closer before firing.”

Dane shrugged and pulled the boomer into place, making sure it was loaded. He gestured one of the strangers up, handing him the bag of extra ammo with instructions to hand him more rounds when he called for it.

Shea left him to crawl back up to Witt. “I need you to veer right.”

He shot her a hard look before looking front again.

The wagon continued on its course.

“Witt, you need to go right.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You have to,” she snarled.

His jaw clenched. Damn, stubborn man.

“Witt. We won’t make it to the Highlands, and there are too many of them to fight.”

“That way leads to the Badlands. That way leads to madness.”

“I know.”

Shea did know and just thinking about taking this group past that land’s border made her feel sick.

The Badlands were part of the Highlands. Technically. Only people who were crazy, desperate, or had nowhere else to go went there. People said it was the home of evil, that all beasts came from there and that its shadowed interior hid even greater monsters.

Shea didn’t believe it was evil, but she had first-hand knowledge that there were creatures dwelling within its borders that hadn’t been seen since the first great cataclysm.

It was close to Edgecomb, closer than the passage Shea and her party had used to descend from the Highlands. Gaining entrance to the Badlands would be infinitely easier than trying to climb the cliffs with an injured man.

But, there was a reason they hadn’t made a straight path for its borders after the rescue. People who went in to the Badlands rarely came out.

“I don’t think Cam can make it up some of those passes,” Witt told her.

“Look. I don’t like this option any better than you, but we won’t make it to the Highlands. They’re gaining too fast, and we’re about to run out of safe ground for the wagon.” Shea nodded at the shadowy hills that marked the Badland’s edge. “The incline up is gentler and less rocky. We can use the wagon longer, and we can get to high ground before Edgecomb’s villagers catch up to us.”

A beat passed before the wagon veered sharply right.

“The Badlands?” a gravelly voice said next to her ear. “Sounds ominous.”

Shea turned to find whiskey eyes very close to her hazel ones. He waited expectantly for an answer, but Shea hesitated. Everyone from Highlander to Lowlander knew about the Badlands. They shared stories around campfires and scared little kids about what waited there.

“I take it you’re not from around here?” She watched as they pulled closer and closer to the Badlands.

He shrugged his massive shoulders.

Shea frowned slightly. Evasion.

They really knew nothing about these strangers, though she very much suspected they were some kind of warriors. Neither had a mark on them whereas James and Cam were covered with bruises. They both had small scars on their hands and forearms, the sort that came from extensive sword practice. From what little Shea had witnessed, she knew both could handle themselves in dangerous situations.

He waited expectantly, his focus entirely on her as she puzzled through the implications.

James chimed in before Shea could come to a decision. “The Badlands? I thought it was overrun with beasts. My father told me stories of men who tried to settle that territory. They never last long. The people are either found dead, or the villages abandoned as if its occupants just disappeared one night. I’ve never even seen a map, not even a generic, rudimentary one of that land.” He paused and looked at Shea. “How are we supposed to find our way out if you don’t have a map? Have you ever been there?”

Shea had shifted to watch their pursuers as James took up the explanation, hoping her part in the conversation was finished. The scenery passed by unnoticed as Shea’s focus turned inward at his question.

“Shea?”

She looked up, her gaze sliding past James to the string of sharp hills looming large. “Once.” Sadness whispered through her. She’d barely made it out that one time. Many others had not. Clearing her throat abruptly, she shook off her thoughts. “We shouldn’t have a problem. We’re on the very edge, and we won’t go any further in than we absolutely have to.”

The stranger’s gaze sharpened on her, picking up on her hidden expressions and making her feel exposed. A sharp crack forestalled any questions.

“Damn it. I can’t hit shit like this.” Dane adjusted his grip on his weapon, shifting forward and wedging himself into the corner of the wagon. He took another shot and then cursed roundly as it missed. “I’m just wasting ammo.”

“No, wait. Look,” the stranger Dane had drafted said, pointing as the mob split to either side of the wagon, while still maintaining their distance.

“That’s not better. Now I have two groups to try to hit.”

“Yes, but they’re being careful not to get in range now.” The stranger with the gray eyes turned to Shea. “That’s what you were hoping for, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Now you just wait until they start edging closer again before firing,” the stranger instructed.

The next few minutes were tense as Dane tried to hold off the mob with a few well-timed rounds.

Witt urged the wagon faster. There were a few hair-raising seconds where the wagon almost tipped as the ride got rougher. All it would take was one good bump, and they would all be sent flying.

The Badlands were just ahead.

“Drive along their edge. We need to find a good entry point,” Shea shouted at Witt.

Steep rolling hills that lurked like giant beasts announced the boundary of the Badlands. Very little vegetation broke up the stark browns and grays.

“There.” Shea pointed at a slim dip between two sheer rock faces. “Get as close as you can before stopping.”

Shea was hoping the path would be narrow enough to prevent their pursuers from following on horseback. She needed the men chasing them to dismount. Otherwise, Shea’s group would just be run down before they could hide.

Witt pulled the horses up sharply, almost sending the wagon crashing into their rears. Dane and the stranger jumped down while Shea and the whiskey-eyed man helped lower Cam to the ground.

The mob surged forward.

Dane dropped to one knee, cradling the weapon’s stock to his shoulder and bracing his elbow against his raised knee. Without the obstacle of the wagon, he picked off two men while Shea and the others raced toward the small gap.

He followed quickly after them.

Chapter Three

The narrow space forced their group to run single file. It wasn’t long before the defined depression between the two hills turned into a narrow gorge. Granite cliffs towered over them on either side, allowing only thin rays of light to filter down. A river must have run through there at one time, the water eating away at the rock over millions of years before eventually drying up.

It was perfect. The villagers wouldn’t be able to ride their horses after them. They’d have to follow on foot.

A hundred feet in, the crevasse cut sharply right, hiding them from sight.

They moved quickly.

Witt and one of the strangers supported Cam as Shea slipped past to race ahead to scout possible routes. A dead end meant death.

Dane brought up the rear, turning every couple of feet to make sure their pursuers weren’t getting too close.

Shea didn’t hold out much hope that the villagers would let superstition keep them from following.

Sure enough, the sound of pursuit began quickly, shouts echoing in the tiny space.

Up ahead, the canyon abruptly widened, and the path became uneven and difficult to traverse, slowing the group.

She fairly bounced on her toes as she waited for the others to catch up.

She’d already scouted ahead and needed them to pick up the pace.

Must move faster, repeated over and over in her head as the sound of pursuit grew closer.

There was little talk as Shea led them further and further into the Badlands. The mood was tense, and they moved quickly, not taking the time for breaks or rest.

They couldn’t. The villagers were never far behind, and they all knew what would happen if they were caught.

Shea held up a hand signaling a stop.

“What is it?” Witt asked, coming up beside her.

“We have time for a short break."

A very short one.

“Are you sure?”

Shea listened. She couldn’t hear the villagers.

“Yes. We have a few minutes. No more.”

“I’ll tell the others.”

Witt approached the rest and after a short conversation they began finding places to sit. James helped Cam sink down and sat beside him. Dane moved back down the path and found a place to crouch where he had line of sight down the canyon but could still keep an eye on the group. He raised his canteen and took a sip before throwing the canteen to James who gulped some down and passed it to Cam.

The whiskey-eyed stranger approached Shea.

She spared him a brief glance before turning to examine the canyon’s walls. She couldn’t see a way up them. They were too steep. Even without the handicap of Cam, it would be impossible to climb them. The dirt was too loose, and it was just shy of being a vertical climb.

Maybe if they had an area of hard rock face.

“Your boy’s not going to make it,” Whiskey said, nodding to Cam.

Shea followed his glance, seeing the pain on Cam’s face and the sweat dripping down his body.

Though it frustrated her, she had to agree.

“You’d be better off stashing him and leading the others away.”

Shea grunted.

She’d thought of that but hadn’t found a good hiding place. Yet.

The two of them fell silent again.

She snuck a sideways glance at him, noting the way he seemed to notice everything around him. He didn’t seem worried about their situation. Neither did his companion.

Why?

She envied him his apparent calm. Nerves and tension were the only things she could feel. Being in the Badlands again, even if it was only the edge, was playing havoc with her emotions. The added obstacles of the villagers and an injured man only heightened the tension.

“We shouldn’t rest too much longer,” he advised. “Our pursuers will be getting close.”

He was right. Though she didn’t like the thought that he had the kind of experience to know that.

“I’ll tell the others,” Shea told him. “Thanks.”

She walked over to Cam and James first and crouched next to them.

“We’ll be moving again momentarily.”

James protested, “We just stopped. Everyone needs more time.”

“You can rest when you’re dead. If we take any more time, the villagers will catch up,” Whiskey said over her head.

Shea looked up, not too surprised to see he had followed her and was watching the other two with a stone-faced expression.

She hadn’t expected his help and didn’t know whether to thank him or hit him where it hurt for interfering.

To her surprise, James didn’t argue, but gave Whiskey a nasty look and started helping Cam to his feet.

Shea stood and said just loud enough for Dane to hear her, “Dane and Witt, I want you on the rear watching for trouble.”

“You want us to drop back a little? See if we can thin the herd a bit?” Witt asked.

Shea thought about it. The suggestion was tempting, but Dane’s ammo was running low, and they might need it if things got worse. It would also make it difficult if Shea decided it would be better to hide and misdirect their pursuers.

“No. Stay close. Just let me know if you think they’re gaining.”

Shea let the two strangers take the lead since there was really only one way to go. She dropped back so she could walk just in front of Cam and James.

“Shea, how did you know we were in trouble?” James asked.

“I didn’t. Elder Zrakovi sent me because you were late and mist was sighted in the upper reaches. He knew you wouldn’t make it back before it covered your path home.”

Shea picked her way over the uneven trail, checking for snakes and other dangerous animals.

“I’m not surprised you ran into trouble, though.” She stood on a rock and reached back to give Cam a helping hand up. The trail was becoming more difficult. At some time in the distant past there had been a rock slide. Picking their way through meant having to climb up and over the large boulders blocking the path. “Edgecomb’s got a bit of a reputation.”

“Would have been nice to know that before we left,” James said.

Shea grinned. It wasn’t a particularly nice grin. More a baring of teeth. “I would have, had you bothered to consult me before taking off.”

“My father’s been after you to put together an expedition to Edgecomb for months.”

“And I’ve been telling him it’s too dangerous for months. Now you know why.”

Shea jumped down and turned back to catch Cam if he fell. James supported him as Cam sat and then slid the rest of the way.

“You should have explained this to my father.”

Shea put her hands on her hips and caught her breath, before looking up at James as he made his own descent.

“Whether your father and you like it or not, I’m a pathfinder,” she told him as she caught him when he started to slide. “I’m not required to justify my decisions to you.”

Shea checked on Cam. He didn’t look so good. His face was pale, and he was panting from exertion while she and James’ were barely winded.

“What set the Edgecombers off?”

“I don’t know.”

Shea gave James a look that said exactly what she thought of that response.

“I really don’t,” he said defensively. “One moment they seemed amenable to establishing a trade partnership, and then the next they were dragging us out of our beds in the middle of the night.”

Hmm.

Cam spoke for the first time. “I think it had something to do with the strangers.”

“How so?”

“They kept us apart after we nearly escaped. It’s why they beat me. They’d been keeping us in one of their sheds. The wood at the back was rotted. I managed to break it and crawl through. Before James could follow, they spotted me. After that, they kept us in separate areas. I heard talk through my window, and they kept calling us spies.”

That made no sense.

“Spies? Why would they think you were spies?”

“I think the other two were discovered outside the village stealing horses. The villagers assumed we were there to spot weaknesses our supposed companions could exploit later.”

That could definitely have convinced Edgecomb that James and Cam were spies. That village took paranoid to a whole new level.

That didn’t give her much information on their new friends though. It left her with nearly the same amount of questions she had started with.

James peeked to make sure the strangers weren’t in hearing range. “Do you think they’re bandits?”

Shea thought about it. The description didn’t quite fit.

“I doubt it.”

“Why do you say that?” Cam had to labor to get the words out.

“They move like they’ve been trained to fight. I’m not talking about one of the village militias either.”

“You think they could be from one of the city armies down south?” James sounded skeptical. Shea couldn’t blame him.

The armies in the south had firm allegiances to their cities and almost never came as far north as the Lowland and Highland border. They were needed to defend against the barbarian hordes who lived in the Outlands.

That was the only plausible explanation Shea could think of. Their new friends just didn’t move like normal people. They weren’t farmers or herders. With the speed they moved and Whiskey’s clear grasp of strategy, she couldn’t believe they were simple villagers.

The other possibility, she threw out almost before it could fully form.

“You think they could be part of a Trateri raiding party?” Cam asked quietly.

“Impossible,” James scoffed. “They never come this far north.”

The Trateri were the dominant barbarian tribe in the Outlands. Their people led numerous raids against the southern Lowlands. Mostly they were a story northern Lowlanders told their young people to discourage them from moving to the bigger southern cities, where beast attacks were fewer and life easier.

Shea had never seen a Trateri or met any who had. Not in any of her journeys in the Highlands or the Lowlands.

“Either way, it’s clear our new friends are more than they seem,” Shea finally said. “We’ll have to make sure we’re careful in how we deal with them.”

“Agreed.” James voice was firm.

Shea shot him a look from the corner of her eye. She hadn’t really been asking for his permission.

She shrugged. It didn’t hurt to let him think he had a say.

“Over here,” Shea said, making her way to a large rock pile.

She darted around its edge, climbing onto a large outcropping before turning to pull Cam up while James pushed from below. Finding this nice little hiding place had taken a lot longer than she would have liked.

Their pace had fallen nearly to a crawl as the day progressed. Cam struggled to keep up, relying more and more on James for support until James nearly had to carry him.

Knowing their pursuers would catch them if they continued at the rate they were going, Shea had handed her pack off to Witt before running ahead in search of a hidey hole.

She’d found one not far away.

A person looking directly at the pile of boulders would assume they butted right up against the canyon wall. It wasn’t until you walked to the far right side that you could see a narrow gap where a small group of people could remain unseen by others passing by.

Best of all, the rock slide had created enough of a hill that a really determined person could probably use the resulting debris to climb to the top of the ridge.

Shea jumped back down and ordered Dane and Witt to join the other two. For once, they obeyed without arguing.

“Wait here until I come back. I’ll try to draw them off.” She pointed at the two strangers. “You’re coming with me.”

She started wiping away the tracks leading to the hiding place. There were two thuds as the strangers hopped down beside her. In seconds, they had done a hasty but reasonably thorough job of wiping the dirt clean of all traces of passage.

Just in time too as the noise of pursuit began to rise.

She really hoped this worked, that she wasn’t leaving her people cornered.

Shea and the other two darted down the path, turning the corner just as the first villager burst into sight. The strangers kept pace as Shea hurtled away from the others.

A knot in her chest loosened slightly as the villagers poured after them, leaving the others undisturbed in the hiding place.

Shea followed the twists and turns of the canyon, hastily scanning the area for a break in the rock walls or a weak spot she and the others could use to scramble to safety. If they didn’t get out of this confining space, they were dead.

Shea rounded a corner and slid to a sharp stop, nearly falling on her ass as she lost her balance.

A horse pawed idly at the ground while another shook his head, ruffling his mane as riders watched her impassively.

“Crap,” Shea whispered, backing away slowly as a rider’s horse broke from the group to take several steps forward.

She bumped into a large body and jumped. She turned with a warning to run on her lips when a pair of hands steadied her before tugging her to the side.

“Behind us,” Whiskey barked.

Shea tilted her head to look up at him. His eyes were hard, and his voice held a steely thread of command.

Shea flinched back as the men unsheathed their weapons. The riders thundered past, leaving the trio untouched.

Shea exhaled shakily. May the mist take her, but she’d thought that was the end.

She nearly swallowed her tongue when she noticed a man had remained behind.

He kicked his horse forward into a slow trot. Stopping next to Shea and Whiskey, he unbuckled the sword attached to the pommel of his saddle.

“You took your sweet time, Fallon.”

“One of our party was injured. It slowed us down,” Whiskey rumbled from behind Shea.

The man on the horse tossed the sword to Fallon, the whiskey-eyed man, who caught it easily. He released Shea to buckle the sword onto his belt.

“We’d almost given you up for dead.” The rider’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “I could practically hear the clan heads fighting over your successor.”

“They’ll just have to wait a little longer. I’m sure they have many plans for my demise. It’d be a shame if they never got to put any of them into action.”

The rider chuckled.

As the three men conversed among themselves, Shea edged slowly away, trying not to draw attention to herself.

The villagers were no longer a problem, but that didn’t mean much, only that she now had to contend with an unknown element with unknown motivations. All this talk of death wasn’t giving her a warm, fuzzy feeling.

She froze when Fallon pinned her with his gaze, giving her the full force of his attention. This man was on a whole other level than the one she had saved. That man had been intense but ultimately nonthreatening. This man in front of her was a leader of warriors. Strong. Commanding. Forceful. Used to getting his way.

“I see you didn’t escape empty handed,” the rider observed, following Fallon’s gaze to Shea. “She’s pretty.”

“And cunning,” the other man Shea had saved added. “She rescued us and two idiots from execution. Stole us right out from under the villagers’ noses.”

“Is that right?” The horse’s saddle creaked as the man sat back and turned thoughtful eyes back to Shea.

Fallon ignored this exchange. Whatever he was thinking was hidden behind an unreadable expression.

Shea was very aware of the size of the men in front of her in a way she had not been before. Fallon and the other she had rescued were over a head taller than her, their bodies covered in muscles she suspected were built over years of weapons training and combat.

She took another step backward. She wasn’t liking where this was going. A little distance between them seemed like a good idea. You know, just in case.

“I should be going.” She tried a smile, but it disappeared almost before it formed. “My people probably need help. Glad you were able to meet up with your men.”

She straightened her shoulders and nodded sharply at him, hoping he’d let her pass.

The man on the horse snorted. “Are you planning on keeping her?”

Shea stiffened. Her eyes shot back to Fallon whose face up to then had been closed off, keeping his thoughts hidden. Now it filled with a fierce possessiveness.

“You’re not going to let me go are you?” she asked with a sinking feeling.

His eyes held hers as he shook his head once. “No.”

“I saved you and your man.”

“For which I’m grateful, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine now.”

What did that even mean?

“There are too many of us for you alone to fight, and your men are still hiding,” Fallon told her, having guessed the path her thoughts had taken.

Shea’s shoulders tightened, and her mouth firmed into a straight line. What he said was true, but she wasn’t nearly as helpless as she seemed. She’d wait. Bide her time until she could get away.

“No harm will come to you from our hands, lady,” Fallon told her quietly.

That depended on his definition of harm. A man and a woman’s ideas on harm often differed.

Victorious shouts echoed off the rock walls as Fallon’s men rode into view. That split second of distraction was what Shea had been waiting for.

She sprinted for the nearest canyon wall.

“Don’t let her escape,” Fallon’s friend yelled.

Lucky for her, the wall was formed of hard rock instead of soft dirt.

Praying under her breath, she grabbed two handholds, placed a foot in a small indentation in the rock and started climbing, moving as quickly as she could. Horse hooves pounded nearer as she headed up and up, frantically trying to get out of reach. She placed her foot in a small groove, tightened her grip on the wall and then straightened her leg, stepping up and gaining another foot of height on the canyon wall. Her breath caught as she felt a hand grab her ankle before sliding off as she squirmed up another few inches. There was a loud curse beneath her as she climbed two more feet to relative safety.

It was only when she felt sure she was out of arm reach that she glanced down. Fallon glared up at her from the back of his friend’s horse. The original rider slowly sauntered towards them, seemingly amused at the spectacle. Fallon must have dumped the man off his horse to pursue her.

She threw her head back and gave a shout of relief. She’d escaped. She’d won. And boy did it feel good to have outsmarted them.

Still laughing slightly, she glanced down and teased, “Guess you won’t be keeping me after all.”

At her words, Fallon’s scowl disappeared, and his lips tilted slightly upward into a small smile as he relaxed into the saddle. “Guess not.” The horse paced in a circle as Shea climbed a few more feet, going carefully now that she couldn’t be plucked off the cliff. A fall from this height could maim or kill her. “The world’s not that big. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

She didn’t know what made her do it. Perhaps it was the high from escaping or the rush of being in such a dangerous situation, but Shea was in a bit of a playful mood.

She shot a teasing smile back down at him. “You’ll have to catch me first, and I can pretty much guarantee I know these hills better than any of you.”

“A challenge,” Fallon’s friend said, coming up to stand beside him. “Careful, lady. You’ve thrown the gauntlet down, and Fallon has never backed down from a challenge.”

Shea smiled to herself. In this case, he was just going to have to accustom himself to losing. There were few people in this world able to find Shea when she didn’t want to be found, and all of them were pathfinders like her.

No, this would be the last Fallon would see of her.

There was a sharp twang. An arrow embedded itself in the rock less than an inch from the hand reaching for her next handhold. Her body jerked back, upsetting her balance. Only the fact that she’d wedged her other hand into a crack and then formed a fist to lock herself in place, prevented her from falling. She dangled high above the ground, her weight supported only by one hand.

“Hold your fire,” Fallon shouted. “Do not fire again.”

“Who shot that?” Fallon’s friend yelled. He strode to his men and pulled the offending party off his horse. “What were you thinking? You could have caused her to fall.”

He didn’t wait for the man to defend himself, instead jerking the bow out of his hands and shoving him.

Shea placed her feet against the rock face and hugged the wall, taking deep breaths. A fine tremble invaded her limbs.

That had been close.

She shifted slightly, and her heart shot into her throat. She really did not want to move. Not to go up. And definitely not to go down.

Perhaps she could just stay here. It seemed like a nice cliff. The view wasn’t great, just ugly brown rocks and dirt, but nice scenery was overrated when compared to life and limb.

She was frozen. Stuck. And being over twenty feet off the ground with half the cliff left to scale was not a good place to be.

She shut her eyes and took a few calming breaths. “You can do this. Quit thinking and just climb. Put one hand over the other and keep going.”

Staying put was the worst thing to do right now. It took strength to cling to the side of a cliff, and every second she wasted a little bit more of her strength drained away. She chanced a glance back down. Fallon watched her carefully from the horse, his mouth pressed into a tight line. She looked back up at the distance she had left, took a deep breath and started climbing.

She focused on the task before her, ignoring all other distractions as she edged ever closer to the top. Finally, she rolled onto her back to stare up at the sky. Her arms ached. Her legs ached. Every muscle ached. After the long journey of the past two days, the headlong rush of escape and now the strength needed to make that climb, Shea was tired. She needed a nap.

She poked her head over the side of the cliff and glanced straight at Fallon. He gave her a respectful nod.

Carefully, she backed away from the edge and stood before glancing at the sharp hills and buttes before her. Fallon and the danger he represented fell from her thoughts as she was confronted with the reality in front of her. The Badlands. A place she thought she’d never see again.

She turned back to the canyon. People were waiting for her. They counted on her to do her job. That meant putting her unease and trepidation about being back here into a box and then burying it to be dealt with later.

True, the last time she’d visited the Badlands she’d nearly died. A lot of people HAD died. This trip was different. They weren’t going into the heart but rather skirting along its edges.

Her feet turned towards Dane, Witt and the others. She settled into a slow jog, dodging around sparse brush and uneven rocks. Time to get to work and lead her group home.

Fallon stared after the woman long after she was gone. Shea, he thought he’d heard one of her friends call her. It was a pretty name. Kind of sharp but feminine at the same time. Like her.

She was a unique existence to him. Calm in the face of danger with an air of command that demanded obedience from men who clearly didn’t enjoy listening. Two of the men she’d had with her didn’t look like the type to easily follow orders. Yet when she spoke, they listened. The way she had disrupted the execution spoke of strategic and creative thinking while under pressure. A rare talent. She’d made the most out of the tools she had and then executed her mission flawlessly. If she were a Trateri, she would have made a fine general with a little training and guidance.

He found that fascinating.

When he’d first seen the hood yanked back to reveal her disheveled hair and wide eyes that were equal parts scared and annoyed, he’d felt his entire attention zero in on her. This tiny figure had darted past several huge men to take the execution platform like one of the warrior goddesses his grandmother had spoken of when he was a boy.

She should have been the last thing he noticed, and yet she’d been the only thing he could see.

“I have to say, I’ve never seen anyone scale a cliff quite that way,” Darius said, walking up to steady the horse as Fallon dismounted.

A tall man with high cheekbones and a broad nose, Darius always seemed to find amusement in life. Even in battle with enemies attacking from all sides, his eyes would crinkle at the corners while a fierce grin stretched across his face. His blue eyes were very noticeable with his dark skin that was tanned even darker by the sun. It was his horse Fallon had appropriated to race after the woman.

“I told you she was tricky.” Wilhelm ambled up to them with his head tilted back to eye the cliff face with mild bemusement. He’d seen many flee before the Trateri, but never up a cliff.

“That’s what makes it interesting,” Darius returned. He patted his horse’s neck and fed him a slice of an apple before checking over the saddle and reins.

“Indeed,” Fallon said softly. It had been a long time since he’d found anything besides battle interesting. Especially a woman. His gaze sharpened on Wilhelm. “Take several men to her friends’ hiding place and retrieve them. She’ll go back for them. Catch her if you can, but I don’t want her harmed.”

Wilhelm gave a slight smile and spun on his heel gesturing for five men to follow him. Without another word, he swung onto a horse and rode down the canyon, leaving the others to trail behind.

“Did you get what you needed?” Darius asked, changing the subject and clapping Fallon on the back.

Fallon glanced at his friend “Yes, but it wasn’t the answer I wanted.”

“Oh?”

“The Trateri will be able to take the Lowlands easy enough, but from the information we gathered, there is no easy way to breach the Highlands. Every route we found involved a climb. It’d be near impossible to get the horses up there, and there’s no easy way to get a large army, equipped with supplies and weapons into position without destroying the element of surprise.”

Silence fell between the two, broken only by the sound of a horse’s whinny. Fallon stared off into the distance, lost in thought as Darius studied him.

“We’ll have to limit our plans to the Lowlands. For now.” Fallon’s head turned slowly to Darius, anticipation burning in his eyes. “Prepare your men. Our army marches on the Lowlands shortly.”

A loud whoop escaped Darius as he lunged forward to clasp Fallon in a tight hug. For nearly twenty years, they had planned for this day. They had sworn the moment they became friends at the age of ten they would lead the clans to create an empire spanning across the continent.

“I’m at your side every step of the way,” Darius declared, clasping Fallon on the shoulder.

“I never doubted it,” Fallon told him. “Come. Let’s find Wilhelm, and you can tell me what the Clan Heads have been plotting in my absence.”

Darius gestured for one of his warriors to dismount and give his horse to Fallon. They mounted and headed in the direction Wilhelm had taken. It wasn’t long before they pulled their horses to a stop as Wilhelm and his men met them coming from the opposite direction

“My lord, they’re gone,” Wilhelm said without preamble. “We found no track. It looks like they just disappeared.”

There was a moment of stunned silence at this news, and then Darius gave a bark of laughter.

“It appears you’ve found an entire clan of ghosts,” he told Fallon.

“I’m beginning to think you’re right,” Fallon said, shaking his head and spurring his horse in the direction Wilhelm had come. He wanted to see this for himself.

Wilhelm hadn’t lied. The other four were gone. The hidey hole hid nothing but dirt and a few small rocks.

Darius’ men spread out to see if there were any other places for the four to hide but had so far turned up nothing. The strangers had disappeared into thin air.

Fallon gave a considering look at the canyon walls, wondering if they had done as the woman had and simply scaled them. He shook his head. No. One had been too injured to make that climb, and since he wasn’t there, they would have taken him with them.

It was a mystery that teased at his brain. Besides thinking up new strategies for battle, life had gotten slightly boring of late. If the woman, Shea, had wanted to make him lose interest in her, she should have simply surrendered. Now, she presented a challenge. Prey to be hunted.

He turned his horse and kicked it into a trot, trusting the others to follow.

“Should we keep searching?” Wilhelm asked.

After giving Fallon a long considering look, Darius answered, “No. She’s his to find now.”

Darius clicked to his horse, breaking into a canter and quickly catching up to Fallon. He pulled lightly on the reins to slow his horse to a walk.

“What do you want to do about the village?”

“We don’t have time to deal with them now.”

“And later?” Darius asked already knowing the answer.

“Burn it.”

From her hiding place atop the cliff, Shea watched Fallon and his men ride away. When they were gone, she found a path down to the canyon and ran to the hiding place. Like Fallon and his men, she found nothing. Unlike them, she was prepared for that.

Witt would have moved the group as soon as the last villager passed. That had been the plan all along. It was why she had drawn the strangers along with her rather than leaving them behind.

She didn’t need help distracting the villagers, but the strangers had set off every instinct she had. She hadn’t wanted to chance revealing the way into the Highlands.

Witt would have known this and acted accordingly in case something had gone wrong on her end. Now, she just had to get back to the rendezvous point.

Worry niggled at her at the thought of them trying to make their way through the Badlands without a guide. Firmly, she pushed it down. Witt was a smart man with experience out in the wilds. He would know to stick to the edge and work his way back to the Highlands from there.

Either way, there was nothing she could do about it. The others were long gone. All she could do now was follow them and hope she didn’t run into any trouble along the way.

Chapter Four

Seven Months Later

“We’ve already told you our terms,” Dane argued. “If you’re unwilling to meet them, we have nothing left to discuss. We’re done here.”

Shea fought a yawn as an old man voiced sharp disagreement. Propping her head on her hand, she attempted to feign some interest in the proceedings. It wasn’t easy. Her jaw cracked as the yawn she’d been containing escaped.

Would this meeting never end?

“Let’s not be hasty,” the white-haired man’s voice cut through the chatter.

His face had an agelessness to it, making it impossible for Shea to guess exactly how old he was. Although the hair suggested age, his skin was smooth and free of wrinkles. His eyes hinted at a sharp mind. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement. There’s no need to go home empty handed.”

Zrakovi would have a shit fit if they came back without securing the trade route with Goodwin of Ria. It had taken their group nearly two months to reach the Lowland town.

They’d been here ten days already and had accomplished exactly nothing. It was frustrating and made zero sense. Goodwin of Ria was the one to initiate the talks in the first place. They’d sent an emissary to Birdon Leaf with the clear goal of establishing trade between the two villages. Only now, it seemed Goodwin of Ria no longer had any interest in the deal.

The idea of a trade route was a good one. Or it would be if both parties agreed to the terms.

Birdon Leaf would benefit from the wheat that Goodwin grew, while Goodwin would gain access to the tali root and jixy oil the Highlanders harvested from the cliffs near their village.

Tali root, which could be used as a food or textile, would help the town expand its weaving capability to offer more luxury items to the southern cities. Because the root only grew in the higher altitudes of the Highlands, the town elders were rabid to get their hands on it. The jixy oil would give the townspeople access to a more reliable fuel for lanterns and other heating sources.

For the villagers of Birdon Leaf, the wheat and a few other goods would help keep them fed when the tali wasn’t in season.

That was the idea anyway, but since their arrival the people of Goodwin had been argumentative and unwilling to compromise.

She didn’t understand why she had to be present for these tedious meetings. It wasn’t like she had anything to add. She didn’t set the terms, and more importantly, this wasn’t part of her duties.

Being outside the village perimeter enjoying the slight chill of spring as the land began to ripen with life was preferable to sitting in this tiny chamber filled with stuffy old men.

“We’ve already agreed on these terms,” Dane reiterated. “You should know as you were the ones to propose them.”

“Things have changed since our emissary visited your village,” a man said crossly.

Shea thought his name started with an R. Robert? No, she didn’t think that was it. Maybe Richard?

Clad in fine garments with intricate embroidery running along every hem, he had slicked his black hair away from his clean shaven face, showing his strong bone structure to its best advantage. When he’d shaken Shea’s hand, she’d been amazed at how smooth his skin was. Softer than a child’s, his hands had probably never seen a day of manual labor.

His two companions were attired similarly, though the man on his left had applied some type of powder to his face to cover the age spots. Nothing could hide that beak of a nose, though.

Life in the Lowlands must be easier. Highlanders just didn’t have that much time to invest in their appearance. Everyday clothes didn’t have the fine level of detail that every one of these men’s garments showcased. Shea had attended these meetings for the past ten days, and every day each man had worn something different and equally fine.

She counted herself lucky when she had one nice outfit in her wardrobe. Mostly, her clothes were made of serviceable leather or tali root. None of it had embroidery or fancy cuts and weaves.

Shea was willing to bet these men had seen very little hardship in their lives.

Dane pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been saying that for days now. We’ve offered several alternatives, and you still can’t make up your minds. The terms are fair and benefit both of us.”

“We disagree.” The hawk nose man slapped his hands on the table.

“I don’t care if you disagree. Perhaps one of the other villages will be more appreciative of the trade you scorn.”

Shea perked up at that news. Perhaps the end to this whole tedious visit was in sight.

“Gentlemen, please,” the white haired elder interrupted. “Let’s not make hasty decisions. Perhaps we should call it quits for the day and meet again tomorrow when we’ve had a chance to rest and consider what has been said.”

No, not again. Tomorrow would lead to the next day and then the day after that. She couldn’t take much more of this.

They were stalling. She knew it. They knew it.

All she wanted was for this to be over so she could gather her team and head home. That or for Dane to release her from the tedious boredom of having to listen to these men drone on and on about nothing important.

Dane’s arms relaxed from across his chest, and he nodded once. Shea drooped. Looked like they were going to be here at least another day.

The men murmured polite goodbyes as they stood. Dane and the rest of the group from Birdon Leaf filed out of the room.

Shea trailed behind absently listening as the other three discussed how to spend the rest of the day now that discussions had been derailed. Again.

The door closed firmly. Shea glanced back at it. None of the elders had joined them, which meant they had all remained behind. Perhaps to discuss how they should handle negotiations tomorrow?

Shea would have thought it would be more beneficial to do that with all parties concerned, but what did she know. She was a simple guide.

Lost in thought, she trailed further and further behind her group, losing sight of the rest before she knew it. Oh well. She doubted they’d notice she was missing.

Time to herself had become a luxury since reaching Goodwin, as Dane thought it would be useful to have her sit in on the discussions. She hadn’t minded at first. Ten days later, she did.

Shea wandered in the opposite direction of her lodging, enjoying the feel of the sun warming her face and the slight bite of a stray breeze. It brought with it the fresh smell of damp and earth.

It would likely rain during the night. She could smell it in the air. It didn’t feel like it would be a heavy rain, just enough to soak the ground.

Her feet whispered across the cobblestone streets as she found her way to the market. Stopping at a stall, she bought a piece of fruit and carried it with her as she headed to the well maintained decorative wall framing the square.

Hopping up onto the waist high barrier, she settled onto the cool stone and turned her attention to people-watching before biting into the peach. She wiped her chin as a little bit of juice escaped and then licked the small trickle of liquid off her wrist, savoring the rare treat.

She hoped Dane was able to include fruit as one of the goods to be traded. She’d come to enjoy the many varieties the Lowlands offered. It was one of the things she’d miss when they finally headed home.

This town was three times the size of Birdon Leaf in both population and the number of buildings. Like Birdon Leaf, it had a large outer wall that encased the main town, though many farms fell in the outlying territory. It was primarily a farming village, but it also performed a robust trade with other Lowland settlements.

That’s why the trade proposal had been met with such excitement.

Most of the buildings were made of stone and a clay-like plaster that dried to a creamy white. All the roofs had the grey tint of slate, while the streets were smooth cobblestone the likes of which had never graced a Highland village.

The town proper was surrounded by massive stone walls. Spreading out from the stone center, acre upon acre of farmland stretched until finally giving way to a dense crop of trees.

Every spring the region funneled the spring melt, feeding the rivers and streams that spread over the land like spidery veins into irrigation channels that traveled over miles of farmland. This enabled them to grow a decent crop even when drought hit.

They even had a market where people could buy supplies.

It wasn’t the nicest or biggest town the Lowlands had to offer, but it would seem luxurious to the men in Shea’s party. Shea had been many places and seen many things. This wasn’t the best of what she had seen, but it wasn’t the worst either. She’d guess it was middle of the road. Nice enough, but hungry to be one of the trade meccas.

The town’s atmosphere was strange today, Shea noted. A couple eyed her as they gave her a wide berth. Now that she thought about it, the fruit merchant had seemed a bit subdued as well. Normally, he was much more vocal in his welcome.

People had begun avoiding the spot where Shea sat, until an invisible circle separated her from the rest of the square.

It was as if a pall hung over the town. Fear coated the houses, and Shea felt eyes watching her from the windows. It had been in the elders’ faces as well. A tightness when they argued and a reserve that was not normal for a simple trade negotiation. It was as if they were waiting for something. Something bad.

Shea tossed the core of the peach behind her into one of the bushes.

She got up and walked slowly towards the closest stall, stopping and perusing the goods. The two men in deep conversation with the owner abruptly fell silent once they noticed her. Giving the owner a chin dip, they departed.

Shea watched them go. Not her imagination then.

She gave the owner, who eyed her hostilely, a small smile before moving away. Never letting her attention focus too long on any one thing, Shea noted that she seemed to be the center of attention.

Was it just her or were the others from her group experiencing the same thing?

She wound her way through the market, ending up on the opposite side of the square. She found a bench seat overlooking a small grassy area that was surrounded by narrow garden beds filled with the first buds of spring

Maybe if the townspeople stopped focusing on her, they would forget some of their fear, and Shea could hear something interesting.

After a while, Shea grew tired of just sitting there and leaned back, laying down on the bench to look up at the sky. The clouds today couldn’t hold her attention, and before long, she grew drowsy.

She drifted in that odd in between place of sleep and consciousness.

“The elders have a plan, I tell you.”

“They’d better. No one wants to go the way of Edgecomb.”

Shea kept her eyes closed, though she stopped drifting.

The first speaker’s reply was muted.

“They do, and I’d bet anything those strangers are factor into their schemes.”

Another response that Shea couldn’t make out.

“Let them pay the tribute….” The second speaker’s voice faded as he moved out of hearing range.

Well, wasn’t that interesting? It wasn’t much, and Shea hadn’t understood most of it, but she was surer than ever that something was very wrong in this town.

She opened one eye and grunted. The sun had begun to set, scattering stripes of reds, oranges and blues in wide arcs. It was probably best to head back to the lodging before full sunset.

She rolled off the bench, grimacing at the tight knots in her back, and stretched. Perhaps a bench wasn’t the best place to sleep.

The walk back to her temporary home went quickly. She passed few people, and the ones she met refused to meet her eyes, keeping their heads tilted down or turned away.

She entered the two story house that served as a part time inn. It was part time because the town didn’t have many visitors. As a result, there wasn’t enough room for the ten in Shea’s party. The men slept three to a room while Shea got her own chamber.

Some of the men had had a few snide remarks to say about that, but Shea mostly ignored them.

She’d have been just as happy in the stable, but the innkeeper had been aghast that a woman would even consider such a thing. No, a lady must have her own room.

Shea wasn’t a lady. She was a pathfinder.

Still. That bed was something else. Soft. Comfortable. And the sheets felt amazing against her skin. It was like sleeping on a cloud. A great, feathery cloud.

Yeah, Shea wasn’t too put out at accommodating the Lowlander’s sensibilities.

“Where have you been?” Burke said from his seat at the table.

Shea suddenly found herself the center of attention from those filling their plates full of food. Shea’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that the only thing she’d had since breakfast was a peach.

“Thought I’d check out the market. See if I could pick up any information.”

Shea grabbed a plate and frowned at the food. The meat looked stringy and the vegetables wilted. She tapped a roll against the table. It was hard.

Unsurprised, she placed it back on its plate and dished out small portions of the meat and vegetables.

She should have grabbed a meat pie while at the market.

“Oh? Learn anything?” Dane asked.

Shea settled at the table. It was a tight fit with all of them gathered and two of the men had to eat by balancing their dishes on their laps.

The inn’s matron bustled out of the kitchen, the swinging door giving a brief glimpse of the large cast iron, wood burning stove and the built in brick oven. It looked homey with its yellow painted walls and white trim. Herbs hung from drying racks and the meal’s makings littered the wooden island.

It didn’t look like the sort of kitchen that would produce such substandard food. It looked like the sort of place where the woman of the house might spend a lot of time doing something she genuinely loved.

Shea murmured a “thank you” as the woman set a pitcher of mead on the table along with several clean cups.

She waited until the woman retreated back into the kitchen before responding to Dane’s question.

“Nothing concrete.”

“So you wasted the entire afternoon on nonsense?” Paul rolled his eyes.

Shea shrugged. If that’s what he wanted to call it.

This was the first time she’d had Paul on one of her trips. It’d be the last time too. He was a large man who always seemed like he was sucking on something sour. Nothing amused him, but everything seemed to annoy him. He complained the entire trip to Goodwin of Ria.

Shea had been reduced to making up excuses for why she had to scout ahead so often. His near constant bitching had tempted her to break her oath of never abandoning or causing intentional harm to her charges.

“Useless,” Paul muttered when it became clear Shea had no intention of responding.

The table got quiet as all of the men avoided looking in her direction. Shea’s fork didn’t pause as she methodically continued to eat.

At this point, she’d become inured to his insults. He’d have to do better than that to get a rise from her.

Paul turned his attention to new prey.

“How’d it go?” he asked Dane.

Dane shook his head and settled his elbows on the table. Zrakovi had appointed him the leader for the expedition, and recently he’d earned nearly as much hostility from Paul as Shea.

Normally James was the diplomat on these type of trips, but the elders had kept him back and sent Dane instead. She thought it might have something to do with Edgecomb.

“It didn’t,” Dane said before taking a bite of his roll. “We got the runaround all afternoon. Same as yesterday and the day before.”

There was a large sigh around the table as they realized they were stuck in Goodwin for another night.

Nobody wanted this.

Paul didn’t take the news well. He looked like someone had spat in his food and then told him to eat it. He sat back, folding his thick arms across his chest as he glared down the table.

In the beginning, the stalled negotiations hadn’t bothered anybody, but as the days passed and the mood in the town became more and more tense, the men grew edgy and combative.

“Something’s happening in the Lowlands.” Witt’s voice was grim.

They nodded. It was growing more and more obvious that something wasn’t right.

Paul scoffed. “Something is always happening in the Lowlands. The wind changes direction, and they think the next cataclysm is upon them.”

“Not like this,” Shea inserted. “There’s talk of Edgecomb.”

Dane’s eyes shot to her as she carefully placed the fork back on her plate. He knew she suspected the men they rescued had been Trateri. The elders had ridiculed her suspicions, and even the guild had expressed doubt when she sent a missive recounting the events of last fall.

Everybody agreed it was probably one of the bandit groups that occasionally claimed the Badlands as home. Shea hadn’t been convinced. She still wasn’t.

Needless to say, the elders tried to place the blame on Shea for everything that went wrong. To her surprise, James stood up for her and even wrote a letter to her guild explaining his part in the events.

The village elders had gotten a slap on the wrist and a warning to start abiding by the contract or else lose their pathfinder.

This had only increased the general sense of disgruntlement the villagers felt and had sent the hostility shooting through the roof. She’d dealt with difficult expeditions all winter long. No one wanted to listen, even when it concerned their safety. Two men had been injured after ignoring her warnings. That had only made things worse, and now the people of Birdon Leaf thought she was incompetent as well as lazy.

“What about Edgecomb?” Dane asked softly.

“People are saying it’s gone,” Burke, one of the more easy going members in the group, interrupted, his eyes alight at the prospect of sharing juicy gossip. “Burned to the ground. No survivors.”

Fallon’s face flashed before Shea. She wondered if he had something to do with that. He seemed perfectly capable of punishing those who crossed him, and his men had looked disciplined and trained.

“Nobody knows how it happened?” Dane asked.

Burke shook his head.

“They do,” Witt interrupted. “Just not telling us. Too scared.”

“Whole village is scared,” Sid said into his plate.

Nobody disagreed. They’d all seen it.

“We need to leave,” Shea finally said. It had been weighing on her mind all day. Something in the townspeople’s behavior wasn’t right, and her instincts were screaming it was time to go.

Dane and Witt considered her statement carefully, though Burke openly scoffed and Paul rolled his eyes. Those two could afford to be disdainful. Dane and Witt knew better. Edgecomb had been a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget.

“We can’t leave,” Paul argued. “We haven’t completed negotiations yet. If we go back, the elders will have our heads.”

Shea wanted to groan. Typical Highlander response. Ignore the danger in favor of possible profit. Just once she’d like to lead people who had an instinct for survival.

Paul turned to Dane. “If you fail here, you won’t get another chance like this. The elders will never trust you again. Do you really want to be stuck in the village while James gets to experience Lowland luxuries?”

Dane’s jaw hardened. Everybody knew whoever established reliable trade routes with the Lowlands would have their fortune made. The expedition participants, with the exception of Shea, all got a cut of the profits.

Shea’s lips tightened. They were going to ignore her advice. Again.

She forked up some vegetables and stuffed them in her mouth to avoid saying something unwise.

“It’s true that it would look bad to return without finalizing the agreement,” Dane said slowly. His eyes flashed to Shea who was chewing busily. “What makes you think we should leave?”

Shea paused in the midst of cutting the chicken and raised her eyes to find everybody staring at her. She swallowed the food already in her mouth and brought her cup up to take a cool drink of mead, using the time to turn the reasons over in her head.

“Almost nobody was on the streets on my way home,” she said, finally able to figure out what had been bothering her on the walk home. “It was nearly dinner time but even so, how many times have those streets been totally empty? The one person I saw made it a point to avoid looking at me.”

She paused to meet the men’s eyes to see that they were listening. Or some of them were anyway.

“The elders have been stalling since we got here. It doesn’t take ten days for a simple trade agreement. All we had to do was trade the tali for the wheat. They’re waiting for something. Something big and we’re not going to want to be around when that something arrives.”

Dane’s head tilted as he considered her words. Her observations had merit. They’d all felt the tension in the town over the last few days.

“We’ll stay the night,” he decided. Shea pressed her lips together as Paul smiled smugly. It wasn’t her place to argue further. They asked for her opinion. She’d given it. On the trail her decisions carried weight, but in town it was the expedition leader’s show. “First thing tomorrow we’ll talk to the elders again, and if they continue to stall, we’ll leave.”

Shea felt a weight lift off her shoulders.

“But Dane-” Paul’s argument ended when Dane lifted a hand.

“I’m the expedition leader. Me.” His face was deadly serious.

Shea couldn’t help but feel a bit of respect for the normally easy going Dane. Since their return from Edgecomb, he’d changed. He was less likely to spend his time flirting and actually listened before opening his mouth.

“While in town, my decisions go. If you’re not happy with the way I lead, you can take it up with the elders when we return. Until then, keep your mouth shut and do your job.” To the others, he said, “Pack everything you can tonight. I don’t want any delays when it’s time to leave.”

There were a few grumbles, but they faded as Dane stared each man down. No one challenged him.

Shea tried to be happy with the decision. She really did. It was very close to what she wanted. They would be leaving one way or another tomorrow.

Her eyes turned to the window.

A feeling in her gut said tomorrow would be too late. That whatever everybody was waiting for would have arrived.

When she was finished, Shea carried her plate to the kitchen and scooped the scraps into the garbage before placing the plate in the sink. Chairs scraped across the floor as the others rose and began to clear the table.

“Guess you’re pleased that the boy is dancing on your strings,” Paul said, shouldering her aside. He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering at her breasts and hips before curling his lip in disgust. “You must have a cunt of gold to influence the ladies’ man of Birdon Leaf. And here we all thought you were some type of ice princess.”

Shea blinked at the man in disbelief. Before she could say anything, much less act. Witt grabbed Paul by the back of the neck and slammed him face first into the wood countertop. There was a whine of pain as Witt leaned close and ground the man’s face further into the wood.

“You must be some kind of stupid, boy, to be pulling this shit on a pathfinder. The very person responsible for getting us through rough country. If she wanted to, she could lead us into a beast’s nest and leave us there. Nobody would ever know what happened to you.” There was another groan as Witt picked him up and slammed him back down. “The amount of disrespect for both our pathfinder and the expedition leader that I just heard come out of your mouth infuriates me. I hear something like that from anyone else in this party, and you won’t have to worry about what she does because I’m going to rip the tongue from your head and present it to your mama so she has something to remember you by.”

Shea’s mouth hung open as Witt stepped back and shoved Paul in the direction of the stairs. It was the most she had ever heard the man speak at one time.

And it seemed he wasn’t finished.

“I’m tired of the bullshit you lot pulled on the journey here.” Witt pointed to where the rest, with the exception of Dane, watched with gaping bewilderment. “When a pathfinder tells you how it’s going to be, you listen. You don’t question; you don’t argue. Same goes for when it’s coming from an expedition leader. You got issues with an order, you shut your mouth and take it up with the elders when we get home. The next person who steps out of line, I will put back in it. I guarantee you won’t like how I do it.”

Having said what he needed to say, Witt gave Shea a firm nod and strode out of the room. Silence fell as the men looked from one to another as if to ask what had just happened. Shea, for her part, stared in bemusement after him.

She started when Dane appeared beside her.

“I’m sorry for what Paul said.”

She blinked up at him and then scowled. “Why? You’re not the one who said it, and I know you never insinuated anything like it either.”

He gave her a small smile. “Still, it was out of line.”

“That seems to be happening a lot lately,” Shea muttered, massaging her neck with one hand.

“The elders don’t like you, and the rest of the village follows their lead.”

“I just don’t know what I did to cause this much hostility.”

He shrugged. “You’re a woman, and they were expecting a much different sort of pathfinder. It doesn’t help that you’re the type of person you are.”

Shea’s head lifted, and she shot him a dark look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re quiet. You say something and expect what you say to be followed but don’t explain why.” He held up his hands when she opened her mouth to defend herself. “I know. To you, it’s obvious. To them, it’s anything but, and they need that explanation. Both the elders and the villagers fear anything outside Birdon Leaf’s walls. That’s not the case for you. You understand what’s out there and don’t fear it. For them, it’s this scary place where danger lurks. They don’t like that, and they hate admitting they’re afraid. Then this little slip of a girl tells them how things are going to be but doesn’t explain why they’re going to be that way. It freaks them out.” He smiled slightly. “The women don’t like you because you’re pretty. They think you’ll try to take their men.”

Shea frowned and then rolled her eyes at that last part. He waited patiently as she processed what he just told her. “And you? Are you the same?”

He sighed. “Before? Yes. I was exactly like the elders. Now, not so much. Edgecomb changed things.”

He didn’t have to explain. She understood. That place had changed all of them.

She didn’t know how she felt about Witt coming to her defense as he did. She thought it made her seem weak. That was something she couldn’t afford while on the trail. These men needed to respect her and having someone ride in to the rescue made that difficult.

It was kind of nice, though. It had been so long since anybody defended her.

Dane clapped her on the shoulder. “Witt and I have your back. Now these men know it, and they’ll think twice about giving you lip. That’s not a bad thing.”

The corners of her lips tilted up as she decided to be grateful rather than angry at the assistance. Changing the subject, she ventured, “Can’t say I’m happy about staying another night.”

He sighed. “I know. Me neither, but it’s almost nightfall. With these laze-abouts, we wouldn’t be ready to leave until well after dark. Just made more sense to stay the night and get a start tomorrow when there’s more hours of daylight.”

She shrugged. He was the boss while they were in town. Her eyes slid back to the window as twilight deepened outside. It was probably a good call. Still, she would have much rather have been sleeping out under the stars then spending one more night in this town. Even with the comfy bed awaiting her.

“Get some sleep, yeah?” Dane told her. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”

She looked back at him and nodded once. With the table cleared, the men gathered around it with a deck of cards.

Shea excused herself and headed upstairs to her small bedroom. A bed took up half the space, leaving just enough room for a chest to store her gear.

She crossed the floor, the wood creaking under her weight, to light a lamp. With night falling, it would be her only source of light until the moon was high enough to lend its glow.

She carried the lamp over to the chest and knelt, setting it beside her. The smell of lavender drifted up as she lifted the top and pawed through her pack until she found a clean shirt to wear to bed.

Once changed, she pulled out a map and climbed between the sheets, placing the lamp on the end table.

Since they were definitely leaving tomorrow, she wanted to look it over one last time. It was ritual more than anything else as she had already decided on the return trip’s course early on in their forced stay.

Studying the twisting lines and sloping curves of a map normally calmed her, giving her a brief taste of the freedom and empowerment she experienced when testing herself against nature. Tonight, she found her thoughts straying to other things.

It’d been a long time since someone had her back. Since well before she’d been assigned to Birdon Leaf. It was nice to have someone stand up for her. She was reluctant to dwell further on this feeling especially while the worry over what Goodwin of Ria was hiding from them lingered.

Sleep was a long time coming that night. When she finally drifted off, she did so to the image of whiskey-colored eyes and the rumble of a man’s voice.

Chapter Five

Damn horse didn’t want to cooperate.

Shea tightened the saddle’s strap one last time and bit out a curse when the dratted beast side stepped. This was why she hated beasts of burden.

Her feet could carry her anywhere she needed to go without the added frustration of dealing with such a contrary animal. She had enough of those to deal with as it was.

It took a bit of pleading, cursing, and finally bribery in the form of the apple intended for her midmorning snack, but eventually she had the saddle on correctly and her pack tied in place. She tightened the pack’s strap one last time for good measure.

Keeping her head still, she let her eyes wander around the small courtyard they were using as a staging area to prepare for their journey.

Dane and Witt had left at the earliest possible hour for their negotiations, leaving Shea in charge of packing.

She placed orders for the supplies days ago, in the hope that they’d be leaving soon. Despite her early preparation, she had difficulty prying those items from the merchants’ storehouses.

In fact, it took her most of the morning. Now, at midmorning, they were finally ready to leave. If the townspeople let them.

Given the men watching Shea’s group with thinly veiled anger, she had her doubts that their departure would be an easy one.

In these types of towns gossip spread like wildfire. News of their imminent departure had made the rounds, and a crowd began forming even before they asked for their horses.

Shea wasn’t the only one uneasy at the attention. Burke and Sid eyed the watching crowd, noting the dangerous undercurrent and grim faces.

A flutter in her peripheral vision had her looking up. Great. People watched from the windows too.

Several men had their arms crossed over their chests. One spit on the ground and walked off shaking his head.

“You ever seen anything like this before?” Burke asked, coming to stand beside her where she was cinching Dane’s saddle.

Shea glanced back at the townspeople. “Once.”

When it was clear she wasn’t going to say anything else, Burke stepped forward to rest a hand on the horse’s neck while she bent to check its hooves.

“What happened?”

“Ambush. Killed three of our party.”

“No shit?”

“I was just an apprentice then, but when a town gets this interested in your business, it’s never good.” She paused in her ministrations and gave him a long look. “James and Cam would probably tell you the same thing.”

He held her gaze for a long moment before walking off without a word. Shea watched him go before turning sharply back to the horse. Her movements were rough as she ran her hand along the saddle for a last check. When the horse tossed its head to avoid the bit, she nearly threw it at the beast. Taking a deep breath, she hid her face against the saddle.

They should have left last night. She should have MADE them leave.

Clearing her throat, she lifted her head and made sure her hands were gentle as she got the horse to take the bit and brought the reins over its head. Next, she moved to Witt’s horse. Normally, she made the men do their own preparations, but she wanted to put this town behind her as soon as possible.

She was almost finished saddling the last horse when Dane and Witt strode into the courtyard with the elders right on their heels.

Damn. She could already tell from the set expressions on both Witt and Dane’s faces that the talks had been pointless.

Seeing her standing beside three saddled horses, the elders’ faces soured. The hawk nosed one sneered before turning and hissing something at their head elder.

A thread of strain in his voice, the white haired man said, “Please. Rethink this. You’ve come all this way. You shouldn’t go home empty handed.”

“Yes,” the middle aged, black haired man said, his voice amiable and placating as he stepped in front of Dane. “What will your elders think? At this rate, you’ll have wasted months of your time with no agreement to show for it.”

Witt strode past the cluster and right to Shea, grabbing the reins. He spared a brief glance at the mob that watched.

“You were right,” he said softly.

She didn’t respond and watched as Dane threw up his hands before shoving through the three to stalk towards Shea.

A horn sounded before he reached them, blaring out in three sharp blows.

There was a breathless pause. Then with a rush of air sound returned.

“They’re here. The Hawkvale is here.”

The square exploded with movement as it emptied, leaving only Shea’s men and the elders standing there. Burke and the others looked around in bewilderment at suddenly finding themselves alone.

Shea noted the look of gloating satisfaction on Paul’s face before her attention was pulled to where the elders arranged themselves in a line facing the gate.

She got the kind of feeling she sometimes got when life was about to kick her in the teeth. The kind where all the rules got thrown out, and her world was set on its head.

She’d had that feeling only twice before. Both times had been devastating.

“We need to leave.” Shea threw the reins at Dane and headed for her horse. “Now.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

Warriors clad in leather armor over silk undershirts thundered through the gate, led by a commanding figure with broad cheekbones and smiling eyes. He pulled his horse to a stop in front of the elders, barely sparing them a glance as they sank into deep bows. He frowned at the buildings surrounding the courtyard. None were taller than two story but all were well made with solid craftsmanship.

The man pulled on the reins, wheeling his horse around and nearly hitting the hawk nosed elder with the beast’s rear. He rode up to a dark haired man with a scar on his neck, whose undershirt was a vibrant blue.

“Looks like you won that bet.” He gestured at the buildings. “Not nearly as backwards as the last. It could almost be called civilized.”

“When will you learn, Darius?” His friend caught the coin flipped at him before shooting a distasteful look around the square. “It never pays to bet against me. You’ll always lose.”

Shea’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

Of all the misbegotten things that reside in the mist.

It was the man from the canyon. The one Fallon had unhorsed to pursue her. She ducked behind her horse, using it to shield her from view. This wasn’t good.

It was in fact, very, very bad.

Why hadn’t she made everybody leave last night?

When they refused to listen to her, she should have left and told them she’d meet them on the road.

Noticing her antics, Witt shot a frown at her. She widened her eyes and nodded at Darius. He shook his head, not understanding.

She bit back a growl and peeked over her horse. The elders had straightened from their bow and the middle-aged man from yesterday stepped forward to address the warriors.

Before he could do more than offer refreshments, Darius waved him away. “I didn’t come here to drink tea and talk about dirt, Lowlander. Your tithes are due. Give us what you owe or go the way of Edgecomb.”

“Of course, my lord.” The elder’s lips twisted into a facsimile of a smile but was more of a grimace. “The townspeople are bringing the wheat out now.”

“And the men?” Darius’s companion asked sharply. “Don’t try to pawn off weaklings and half-wits like last time.”

The men at Darius’ back shifted menacingly forward. A horse, picking up its rider’s mood, pawed angrily at the ground and snorted loudly.

Shea’s mare shifted uneasily. Shea patted her and whispered encouragement. The animal just needed to stay still until Darius left.

“Of course not, my lord.” The elder licked his lips nervously before gesturing with shaking hands at Shea’s group. “In fact, that’s them. You’re welcome to take a look if you wish.”

“Might as well,” Darius drawled, kicking his horse into motion.

“What?” Paul squawked. Up until now, he hadn’t paid much attention as he and Sid whispered amongst themselves. It finally dawned on him that these weren’t good guys, and they were in a bit of danger. “What is this?” he shouted at the elder.

“Quiet, Paul,” Dane hissed, watching Darius’s approach warily.

Darius pulled his horse to a stop in front of Dane, looking down with assessing eyes. “So you’re the tribute this time.”

He examined the rest of them. He didn’t seem impressed.

Shea ducked her head further into her horse.

“Sir,” Dane said, drawing his attention back to him. Shea could have kissed him for that. “I’m afraid my companions and I are at a bit of a loss. We traveled here for trade. I don’t know what deal they’ve made with you, but they don’t speak for us.”

Darius listened. His lips curled into a broad smile as the skin around his eyes crinkled. He was handsome, Shea realized. Even charming.

If Dane was lucky, he’d have the same effect once he matured a little.

The elders held themselves stiffly as they waited in anticipation.

Darius arched an eyebrow at his companion. The blue shirted man shook his head in disgust and leaned back in his saddle, turning to spit on the ground at the elder’s feet.

Darius folded his hands across his pummel and spoke to Dane, “They fucked you over but good.”

“Sir?”

A rueful quirk tilted Darius’ lips as he turned his face to the sky. “Hate to say it, but they did. Smart bastards to find some poor fools to fulfill their tithe.” He looked back at Dane and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter how you came to be here, only that you are. Fallon Hawkvale, Warlord over the Trateri Clans, owns your ass. He’s your master now. Forget wherever you came from. Maybe if you get lucky you’ll become a horseman or foot soldier, but whatever life you lived before is gone.”

Dane’s skin turned a sickly shade of white at this pronouncement.

Shea, for her part, felt like she’d been punched in the stomach at Fallon’s name.

Looks like she’d been right about him. Fat lot of good that did her now.

Darius leaned forward and cuffed the side of Dane’s head. “Don’t worry, you’ll grow to like the clans soon enough. Now, let’s see what kind of recruits we have this time.”

Dane made a strangled sound as Darius straightened. Witt sent Dane a look that said pull it together.

It dawned on the others the situation had turned bad. They shifted uneasily under the weight of Darius’s regard.

Shea stared grimly at her saddle.

The men shifted away as the steady clop, clop, clop of a horse approached. Her mare sidestepped as the other horse invaded her space.

Shea tried to hold the animal in place, but there wasn’t much she could do against hundreds of pounds of determined horseflesh.

Abandoned by even her horse, Shea glared at the ground. Maybe he wouldn’t remember her. They’d only met briefly, and he’d been focused on Fallon for most of that time.

“What do we have here? A girl?” an amused voice said above her. When she didn’t respond, he added, “Glaring at the ground won’t make me go away.”

Fine then. She’d glare at him instead. Might as well get it over with anyway. At least this way, she’d know; he either recognized her or he didn’t.

No comprehension registered in his eyes, just a mild interest.

Perhaps she was safe.

Recognition dawned. He gave a shout.

Shea frowned even harder at him as he threw his head back and roared with laughter.

Witt and Dane gave her equal looks of puzzlement. The wheels spun in their brains as they looked at her, then at him and then back at her.

Witt lifted his hands slightly in question.

She’d told him about Fallon’s men in the canyon, so he knew how she’d escaped.

Curious as to what had caught Darius’s interest, his companion prodded his horse forward. By the look on his face, he didn’t understand why his friend found her so amusing.

“Cale, you won’t believe who this is,” Darius finally said, his laughter winding down, though humor still glinted in his eyes.

“Especially if you don’t stop laughing like a loon,” Cale complained acerbically, drawing his horse to a stop. “You’re supposed to be intimidating these dirt grubbers. I don’t see how this is going to instill fear in their hearts and terror in their minds.”

“This is her.” Darius tilted his head towards Shea.

“Her?” Cale frowned.

“Her.”

Cale’s eyes went sharply to Shea as he scanned her up and down, realization settling in. “You mean?”

Darius grinned and nodded.

“I’ll be damned.” Cale settled back in his saddle and looked at her with amazement. “Guess this village has something to recommend it after all.”

“I take it Fallon will be pleased with this tribute,” another man said, joining the two. He was brown. Everything about him was some variation of the color. He had brown hair, brown eyes and his skin had been tanned a deep walnut by the sun. With his addition, there were now three men on horseback surrounding Shea.

She kept her attention trained on them, acutely aware of the unrest behind her as Paul and Sid began muttering in discontent.

All of the men in front of her had scars on various parts of their bodies and carried swords in scabbards at their sides. They were muscled, but it was the kind that came from lifting a sword and riding a horse everyday rather than the kind developed from plowing fields and harvesting its bounty. Given the air of danger each man exuded, even Darius who seemed to find humor in everything, it was obvious these weren’t the sort of men you could piss off and expect to walk away unscathed.

She hoped Paul and the others took that into consideration.

Darius smothered a grin when she lifted her chin and glared at all three of them. She’d never liked people talking about her.

“You made quite an impression last time, little spider. Fallon doesn’t like it when his toys go missing.”

Confusion must have shown on Shea’s face because Darius gave her a long look before continuing. “Entire army has orders to bring you in if they come across someone meeting your description. It just so happens I was there that day and know exactly what you look like.”

Cale’s slight smile made a shiver rush down Shea’s back as he eyed her with hooded eyes. “I imagine Fallon will reward us well for this.”

“So our tribute meets with your approval?”

The white-haired elder had approached while the three men had been preoccupied with Shea. There was hope in his eyes as he clasped his hands in front of him.

“You’ve outdone yourself.” The elder’s face relaxed and he started to smile, when Darius added, “We’ll expect double the wheat.”

The man’s eyes widened as he physically drew back in horror. “But we’ve given you what you asked. Both in wheat and people. More than that if you include her.”

The amusement drained from Darius’ face as his eyes chilled and his expression turned hard. Menace rolled off his body as he leaned down slightly. “Yes, and you tricked others into taking your men’s place.”

“We’ll starve if we give you double the amount. What does it matter how we fill the quota as long as we fill it?” the elder interrupted.

Darius pulled sharply on the reins, spinning the horse and kicking it in the sides. The elder backed away as Darius and the horse bore down on him.

“The quota is meant to affect you. We want to keep you hungry and take your men from you. We want your boys in our army because you’ll be so worried about them that you won’t have time to resist. If they’re in the army, they’re not sowing the seeds of a rebellion they can’t hope to win. Which means we don’t have to come back here and wipe your village from the map.” The elder tripped and scrambled back in a tangle of limbs as Darius continued his advance. “You can either sacrifice your people or starve. This time you’ve chosen to starve. Now, I’ve been generous in not punishing you further. If this deal is no longer to your taste, say the word and my men and I will ride through your village. I warn you, though, that once we ride, we will not stop, no matter how you beg and plead, until everything you know and love is ash upon the ground.”

Darius drew his horse to a sharp stop as he lifted his gaze from the terror stricken form in front of him. The other two flinched from his wrath.

“We’ll up the amount of wheat to be transported,” the hawk-nosed one agreed.

Darius’s gaze didn’t waver for a long minute. Tension built as he held them trapped. There was no laughter, no hint of the handsome man. He looked like death, come to collect his due.

After a drawn out moment where Shea thought he’d call his men to ride on the town anyway, Darius jerked his head down once. The menace filling the air drained away as he made his way back to the two gathered by Shea.

“Bring her,” he ordered. “Have the others follow behind on foot and put their horses on a leader.”

Before Shea could protest, she found herself grabbed under the arms and hoisted into the air. For balance, she grabbed the horse’s neck as she was placed in front of the rider. She blinked back at the brown haired man regarding her impassively before turning forward.

She felt impossibly high off the ground since the horse was much taller than her former one. It was not a pleasant feeling.

Dane looked angry, like he wanted do something impulsive and stupid. Shea breathed a sigh of relief when Witt stepped in front of him and shoved him back.

The others just looked angry, but not like they were going to go crazy and challenge the men with swords, voicing objections when Darius’ men forced them away from their mounts. Paul glared at her as if this was somehow her fault. Though how she would have orchestrated it, or why, escaped her.

When her eyes strayed back to him, Witt shot her a questioning look and indicated their horses. She figured he was asking if they should make an attempt to overpower the warriors, most of whom had yet to dismount and still watched the surrounding buildings with suspicion. Every warrior had one hand on a weapon.

Shea shook her head.

Seeing her response, Dane finally got ahold of himself and pushed Witt’s arm away. Witt let him do this, though he gave Dane a final warning look before stepping back and folding his arms across his chest.

“You’re an odd one,” the man behind her said as he clicked his tongue at his horse. Suddenly they were moving toward the gate, their bodies swaying to the horse’s rhythm.

Shea figured a reply wasn’t really necessary and kept facing forward while she logged potential escape routes. The men holding them didn’t have many weaknesses that she could see.

The silent treatment didn’t deter the man as he added thoughtfully, “Usually when I have to grab someone, especially a woman, they plead or beg or struggle. It’s all very annoying. You act like it’s no big deal. Either you’re scary pragmatic and exactly how Fallon described you, or you lack an ounce of courage.”

Shea wiggled her jaw and clenched her fists into the horse’s mane to keep her composure. Since he couldn’t see her, she allowed some of the anger she felt to leak past her shields.

It wasn’t like she wanted to sit here like a coward. Her inner strategist simply recognized the futility of struggling. Why waste energy and risk an injury that might prevent a future escape?

From the looks on a few of her men’s faces, she knew they agreed with the man behind her.

Fools.

Counting herself, her team numbered seven. She estimated that twenty Trateri warriors had ridden into the square. From the way Darius talked, she suspected he had more men waiting right outside the town, ready to rain the Hawkvale’s wrath down on the townspeople if needed.

Better to present a weak front and lower the enemy’s guard before attempting an escape. It would make them less wary and increase her chance of success.

The sounds of a scuffle reached her. Shea peered over her captor’s shoulder.

Paul dodged under a horse and around another as Witt and Dane shouted for him to stop. He didn’t make it two steps before a man on a pale cream horse rode up and kicked him in the head. Paul stumbled. Before he could recover, he was surrounded by warriors. Shea caught a glimpse of a rage-filled face. Then he was gone.

“Don’t worry. They won’t kill him,” her companion informed her. “New recruits often have that reaction. They’ll beat him as a warning not to do it again, but mostly they try not to break bones since that would make him useless for several weeks.”

Shea flinched at the thud of flesh against flesh and the pain filled cry that followed.

“Still no reaction?” the man looked at her profile as the horse carried them out the front gate. “You’re one cold bitch.”

“What’s your name?” Shea was gratified when her voice came out almost normal despite the tight feeling in her throat.

“She speaks,” the man answered sarcastically. She twisted to glare up at him, her eyes showing just a hint of fire. He cocked his head when she faced forward again. “There she is. I was beginning to wonder if I had a mouse riding with me when everyone swore you were a lioness.”

“You’re very chatty.”

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against her back. The way she sat on the horse in front of him didn’t allow for a lot of space between them, but he was being relatively good about keeping himself to himself.

She appreciated that. Though she would have appreciated her own horse more.

They fell in with the string of horses heading out of town, taking their place in the middle. Darius and his friend with the scar were several horse lengths ahead, engaged in conversation. Witt and the others brought up the rear and were monitored by a team of rotating guards who followed along behind them. Wagons filled with wheat rolled out after them.

“You’re not the first person who’s told me that. My name’s Damon.”

Shea didn’t care. She just wanted him to stop speaking so she could think. He, of course, didn’t.

“Did you really climb a cliff to escape Fallon?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

Blessed silence reigned while Shea watched the countryside drift by. It was pretty land. Not breathtaking like the Highlands were, where the view gripped your soul in an iron fist as you were brought face to face with the wild, untamed fierceness that came from being on the edge of the known world. This land was too settled for that kind of beauty.

This close to Goodwin of Ria, the land was civilized and over-populated compared to the Highlands. Everything in its spot and hardly a leaf out of place. Nice, but not the wild beauty that Shea’s soul craved.

Goodwin of Ria got most of its water from the mountains that lurked in the distance. They weren’t the mountains of the Highlands. Their peaks weren’t so high that they stabbed the sky’s belly, but they were big enough and high enough to serve as a reminder that the relatively flat land of Goodwin of Ria was not the norm.

“Why did you put me in front rather than behind you?” Shea voiced a thought that had been bothering her.

She felt his chest move as he shrugged. “Less likely that you’ll try to run away if you’re in front. Not that you’d get far, but this way you won’t be tempted. That means I won’t have to punish you for the attempt, and Fallon won’t be upset that his new toy has a few scratches.”

Shea smoothed her fingers through the horse’s mane. It might be more difficult to escape then she had thought.

Having nothing else to say, she lapsed back into silence, keeping an eye out for anything that might be useful.

She craned her head around Damon for a look at her men. They seemed to be doing fine, though a little angry at the forced march.

Paul was the exception. Shea couldn’t help the wince of sympathy when she got a good look at his face. One eyelid had swelled closed and blood coated his chin and shirt. The skin on the right side of his face had already turned purple and blue. Not a good sign. It would be worse tomorrow.

He walked gingerly, as if his ribs were bruised. Burke and Owen shadowed him, keeping close watch in case they had to steady him.

Damon was right. His beating hadn’t left any broken bones, just a lot of bruises and some painful memories.

Witt and Dane walked near each other and every so often they would converse quietly, until one of the warriors guarding them would bark a sharp word, at which point they’d separate again.

Witt looked up just then, meeting Shea’s eyes briefly. The look on his face was blank, as if he was looking at a stranger, before he looked away.

She turned around.

A large group of men rested in the shade of the trees off the side of the road about two miles out of town. The group was double the size of the one that had ridden into the village. When Darius jerked his head at the waiting men and kept riding, Shea figured this was the other part of his company. The men moved quickly, mounting and joining the procession.

Damon lifted a hand in greeting as they passed.

Two men rode up to join Darius and his companion, while the rest fell into the back, swelling their ranks considerably.

“Who’s this?” a man asked, riding up beside them. “Did you finally find a girl you wanted to keep? She’s pretty.”

Shea swayed back from the hand reaching to touch her hair. Damon swatted him away before he could touch her.

“Hands off. She’s not for you,” Damon said. “This one’s the Warlord’s property. She’s the cliff climber he let slip through his fingers.”

The other man’s jaw dropped. Still in his early twenties, his face lacked the weight of experience or suffering that a lot of the older warriors carried like a badge of honor. His eyes were a faded blue, and his lips were full. Those lips would have made the girls in Birdon Leaf swoon.

He looked Shea over curiously. “Not what I pictured.”

Damon snorted. “Yeah. You and me both. Hard to picture a twig like her doing all the things they say she’s done. So far she’s been kind of quiet. Guess we’ll see.”

“You sure it’s her?”

“Darius swears it is.”

The man nodded. “He would know.”

Shea wondered if she could spin their assumptions to her advantage. Maybe she could play up the weak female angle and buy herself a bit of wiggle room.

Soon, the two moved on to talking about hunting and the best method for stalking prey. Shea listened at first, fascinated with the debate, but it wasn’t long before she tuned them out entirely, preferring to review her knowledge of the area.

They’d headed east, away from the Highlands when they left Goodwin. Not the best direction, as this would make her eventual escape more difficult since she would have to travel until she found familiar ground, but not impossible.

The real challenge would be freeing the others. If their captors continued to keep them separated, it make planning difficult.

The sun was sinking behind the mountains when Darius decided to make camp for the night.

Damon dismounted and then lifted Shea to the ground. A youth ran up and confiscated the horse’s reins and led the beast off to be hobbled with the others. Shea stretched, glad to be on firm ground as she worked the kinks out of her back and shook out one leg after another. They were cramped from having to stay in one position all day.

Done with her stretches, she looked up to find Damon watching her.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Not one escape attempt? I’m a little disappointed.”

Shea gave him her most innocent look. He snorted and took her elbow to escort her to a tree, forcing her down beside it.

“I have to see Darius. Stay here.”

Shea waited until he was on the other side of the clearing before looking around. Mostly the men just ignored her, going about their tasks of setting up the camp for the night. They gave her a wide berth. She was alone in the shade of the old stooped tree.

The same couldn’t be said for her companions as they made their way wearily into camp. Their shirts were stained with sweat, and their skin streaked with dust the horses had kicked up during the journey.

She leaned forward and rolled to her feet as the men were led to a copse of trees. Witt was the only one to look her way before being shoved along by a Trateri with shoulder length, greasy brown hair.

Witt and the others were forced into seated positions and their hands bound before the Trateri warrior tied them to a tree with another rope.

A guard stationed himself nearby as the rest peeled off to help with camp setup.

Shea stayed where she was for several minutes, keeping an eye out for anyone paying her attention. No one seemed to notice as she took a few steps towards her companions.

Good. Before she could talk herself out of it, she strode confidently, looking neither left nor right, to where the men were tied.

Their guard straightened from his slouch against a tree, looking like he wanted to stop her, but also like he didn’t know if he should. Shea took advantage of that and nodded at him before plopping herself down between Dane and Witt’s tree. She stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back on her palms.

They watched the well-executed dance as the warriors erected tents, started a fire, and prepared the site for the night.

“Have a nice ride?” Dane asked, breaking the silence.

Shea looked out of the corner of her eye at the guard. He had settled back into his slouch when he saw she just intended to talk but watched her intently. She figured she only had a few minutes before the Trateri separated them.

“Very nice. I got to watch the countryside go by while having a chatterbox yap at me all day. And you? Did you enjoy your stroll?”

“Oh yes. Being forced to walk miles with these warriors threatening every few minutes to cut off my legs since I obviously wasn’t using them efficiently was great fun.”

Shea allowed herself a small smile at this tart response.

“If you two are done comparing notes, perhaps we should get down to business,” Witt said crossly.

The humor in Dane’s eyes faded as he looked at her grimly. “Do you have a plan?”

“Working on it.”

The mood turned heavy as they absorbed her response. Shea always had a plan. It might not be a good one, but she usually had something.

“You should escape.”

Shea rolled her eyes to him and gave him a look.

“He’s right, girl,” Witt agreed. “Leave us and run. I know you’ve already worked out your exit. We’re just holding you back. So go.”

Shea exhaled loudly. She had worked out her exit, but she wasn’t going to leave them. A pathfinder didn’t abandon her charges. Not if they were still alive.

Besides, her maps were still in her saddle bags. It wouldn’t be a good thing if they fell into Trateri hands. They contained details on the safest routes past the Bearan Fault. Granted it was in code, but a good cryptographer would be able to decipher them given enough time.

Even if she was willing to break her vows as a pathfinder, she couldn’t leave those maps behind or the entire Highlands would pay the price.

She couldn’t let the boys know that, though. Dane and Witt wouldn’t say anything, but Paul and the others wouldn’t be able to keep their mouths shut. They’d use the maps as a bargaining chip for their freedom. No doubt about it.

“Can’t do that.”

“Shea-“

“No,” she said forcefully. She lowered her voice so only they could hear. “I’m not going to do that. At least not yet. I don’t see a way to get us all out. Right now they’re watching us too closely to make any sort of attempt. But I figure once we get to their main camp that’ll change. There’ll be too many people, and they’ll eventually be lulled into believing we have no intention of escaping. We’ll probably be separated again.”

Hopefully, the maps would remain undiscovered until then. So far, they’d left her saddle bags alone.

She looked at Dane and Witt, making sure they knew she was serious. “That’s why if you see your chance, you take it. Don’t try to rescue me. Don’t come back for me.” The look on her face silenced any disagreement they might have had. “You do that, and I promise to do the same. Once there, if I see my chance, I’ll take it.”

Witt nodded. They’d never make it if each tried to save the other. But if they focused on their opportunity, the odds increased greatly.

Seeing Damon standing with his hands on his hips looking at the tree where he left her, she knew she didn’t have much time left. She rose to a crouch in front of Dane and gave him a hug before doing the same with Witt.

She patted Witt on the calf, slipping her knife into his boot as she drew away. The blade was one of two she kept on her person at all times. Damon hadn’t taken the time to search her when he picked her up. Probably thought because she was female she was harmless. His ignorance; her gain.

Witt’s eyes were unreadable as they held hers for a long moment, knowing the risk she’d just taken. She smiled at him, the grin lighting up her face like a ray of sunshine after a cloudy day. Then it was gone. A twinkle still lingered as if inviting him to share a private joke. His lips tilted up at the corners.

She was yanked to her feet and hauled off.

“She was hugging them. Search their hands to see if she slipped them anything.” Damon tossed over his shoulder as he marched her back to her tree. He sat her down and started wrapping rope around her wrists. “I thought I told you to stay here.”

Shea watched him work silently.

“Well?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “I assumed ‘here’ meant inside camp.”

A vein pulsed in his forehead as he tried to stare her down. He took a deep breath and the tension in his body just fell away.

“You knew what I meant.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Why were you over there?”

She shrugged.

“Why?”

She sighed loudly. “Saying goodbye.”

“What makes you think you won’t see them again?”

She snorted. “I don’t know where we’re going, but from your talk it sounds like there’ll be a lot of people. As it’s unlikely you’ll keep us together, I thought I’d say my goodbyes while I still could.”

“Uh huh,” Damon said skeptically, raising both eyebrows.

She met his eyes steadfastly, not wanting him to assume deception if she avoided his gaze.

“Did you know people are twice as likely to hold your eyes if they’re lying? Otherwise they tend to avoid direct eye contact.”

She frowned. Wasn’t avoiding a person’s eyes a sign of deception?

He gave an abrupt laugh. He didn’t believe her story at all. “Guess Fallon and Darius were telling the truth. You have a little bit of fire in you after all.” He took the rope, wrapped it around the tree and then looped it around her chest. He repeated this several times before tying it off. “I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you for the rest of our journey. Wouldn’t want you to slip away before you meet Fallon again.”

Great. She could hardly wait.

Chapter Six

Shea’s breath caught as they crested a ridge and a sprawling encampment came into view.

A vast number of tents clustered together, concealing the land with their mixed shades of tan, gray and white. The less frequent vibrant red, blue and greens stood out in stark contrast.

There weren’t hundreds of warriors down there. There were thousands. This wasn’t the small number of men she had assumed they would find.

No way was this a raiding party that would eventually make their way back to their own lands. This was a full scale invasion force.

The Lowlands were lost. It was just a matter of time.

The encampment was set in a small valley surrounded on two sides by steep hills. It wasn’t where she would have chosen to bed down for the night with an element of this size. For one thing, there were only two easy exits. That wasn’t necessarily bad as it limited the direction an enemy could attack from. But the camp was located a bit too far up river, which would make getting drinkable water difficult once thousands of men got done polluting it with their waste. They should have made camp at the opposite end of the valley, that way their waste would travel down river, and they could walk up the valley for clean water.

Shea grabbed for the horse’s neck as it moved under her. The beast followed the stallion in front of it, beginning the journey down into the valley.

Nine days had passed since Goodwin of Ria betrayed Shea’s group to the Trateri. That first night had set the tone for the ones to follow. Every night, once they made camp, Damon tied Shea to a tree while he attended to his own matters. When meal time came around, he untied her, let her eat and take care of personal business and then retied her to the tree, leaving a blanket over her for warmth against the cool nights. In the morning, he’d come for her, and they’d ride together until it was time to make camp again.

She was beginning to hate sleeping sitting up.

A chance to speak with Witt and Dane never came again and neither did an opportunity to escape.

Now they were about to join the main army and butterflies were swarming in Shea’s stomach. She hadn’t counted on such a big force. Perhaps she shouldn’t have waited to escape.

Too late now.

As they made their way into the transient city, it became obvious there was order to the chaos. The Trateri had spaced their tents far enough apart to create pathways. Banners containing images of animals, plants and objects flapped from poles at the entrance of each tent.

Most of the bigger tents had hitching posts hammered into the ground off to the side. The ones that didn’t had young boys or girls waiting to hold the horse of any visiting warriors. It was an efficient way to take care of the animals and keep the young ones out of mischief.

Nightfall was still hours away, but campfires already flickered in the cleared areas. Men and women lounged or stood around them, not paying attention to the group riding in.

Several fires had pots suspended above them. The tantalizing smell of food made Shea’s stomach grumble, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since lunch. It was past time for dinner, but they’d been so close to their destination that the Trateri had refused to stop for a break.

“Don’t worry; we’ll feed you once we dismount,” Damon said. He’d been quiet all day, not trying to entice her into conversation as he normally did.

Maybe he could sense Shea’s nerves and was giving her space to process things. She’d feel more grateful if he hadn’t insisted on tying her up every night.

“One thing I didn’t miss was all these damn people,” Damon groused as he steered his horse around a group arguing in the middle of the thoroughfare.

“There are women here,” Shea said with faint surprise. They’d passed several on the way into camp. Most carried weapons and were dressed in the same leather armor as the men.

Damon snorted. “Of course there are women. Did you think all Trateri were men?”

“Not at all. It’s just most Lowlanders and Highlander’s don’t allow their women to take part in war, and they certainly don’t let them become warriors.”

“Then they’re fools. Women are some of the most vicious fighters I’ve ever seen and can be just as capable as any man.”

“Makes sense. In nature, the female is likely to be the meaner one of the species, especially when it comes to the young,” Shea said.

“Not all of our women or men are warriors. There are many roles in our society. We would be starving if there were no cooks. We would lose every battle if there was no one to make our weapons. We leave it up to the individual to decide which of their skills they feel would provide the greatest benefit to their clan.”

Shea’s guild had much the same view about the roles of men and women. If you had the talent and skill to do your job, it was yours. It didn’t matter what reproductive organs you had. It surprised her that the Trateri held some of the same beliefs.

The pace had slowed to a crawl as the group pushed further into the heart of the encampment. Gradually, the path narrowed and became congested with people and horses.

“Move with a purpose, you maggot infested swine!” Damon shouted at a pair that were trying to figure out where they needed to go.

That wouldn’t have been so bad, but then they decided what they were looking for wasn’t in that direction. They tried to turn their horses, creating a jam that quickly became a shoving match.

“You can’t turn here.” Damon made a rude gesture. “Keep going until the next juncture and take one of the other avenues.”

The two didn’t seem inclined to listen and tried to pull their mounts around. Darius growled and surged forward, forcing people to move or be trampled. He cuffed both young men on the side of the head, grabbed the reins of both horses and rode forward, forcing the beasts to ride after him.

Damon and three others followed quickly while the rest of the party, including the one containing Shea’s men, peeled off to follow a side road.

Time was ticking down as the confrontation with Fallon drew near.

Darius guided his horse to a side street and took it to another where he turned right. After several of these narrower paths, they rode into a wide-open area that was relatively unpopulated compared to the main road they just left.

He dismounted before a tent that was twice the width of those on the main road and considerably taller. Shea noticed most of the surrounding domiciles were larger than the ones they had passed but smaller than this one.

A deep blue banner with an embroidered phoenix in rebirth marked the entrance. An awning stretched out from the opening, creating a small strip of shade. If they’d been allowed to speak, the two warriors standing guard would probably have voiced appreciation for the tiny oasis shielding them from the blazing afternoon sun.

That was all Shea had time to notice before she was pulled from the horse. She caught a brief glance of the warriors’ curious stares before she was pushed inside.

A variety of candles illuminated the interior, showing that the ground was covered by rugs. So many that one couldn’t see the natural grass and dirt beneath. A table meant for dining, with a half dozen chairs surrounding it, was off to one side. Several sitting areas were dotted throughout the rest of the room. The ceiling had open flaps as did two of the walls to create air flow.

There was no sign of Fallon. Darius and the other three were the only people in the tent.

Shea felt the tightness in her shoulders relax just a little.

Her relief was short lived as Damon guided her past Darius and to the back of the tent, which she finally noticed had been partitioned off with a large canvas wall. He shoved her through the flaps. She glanced around as he pulled her over to a large wooden post located in the middle of the tiny area.

He bent, picked up a chain and then spun her around to face him. Before she could back away, he grabbed her wrists, clapping the iron manacles around them.

“What’s this?” Shea looked at the length of chain now securing her to the post. She lifted a wrist. The chain rose with it.

“You’ll wait here until Fallon arrives. This way you can’t run off.”

“So much drama for one woman. What would I do even if I did escape? There’s thousands of warriors out there. I wouldn’t get very far before I was caught.”

He shrugged and turned to leave. “Maybe so, but you’ve got a reputation. I don’t want to be the guy responsible for losing you. Just stay put. Fallon will figure out what he wants done when he gets here.”

He disappeared back to the other side of the tent.

As soon as he was out of sight, Shea bent to examine her bindings. There was a small keyhole on each manacle and a four-inch chain ran between her wrists. She had never been good at picking locks. She also didn’t have the necessary tools.

Trying to slip her wrists out of the cuff didn’t work. Her hands were too big, and she wasn’t quite desperate enough that she was willing to dislocate her thumbs.

Shea sighed. Standing took energy so she sat and leaned against the post. Anybody who spent a lot of time walking knew that when you had the chance to sit, you made the most of it because you never knew when you’d get to take a seat again.

Closer examination of her circumstances didn’t fill her with confidence. The post she found herself chained to was thicker than her waist. An experimental yank on the chain didn’t budge it. It had likely been pounded several feet into the ground. Trying to pull it up would be pointless.

She stared sightlessly at the canvas across from her.

This was quite the situation in which she found herself. Her party had been captured, the others forced to serve the Trateri. The kicker was she had been the one to rescue the army’s Warlord from death.

She was now separated from her group and had failed at creating a chance for them or herself to escape. The best part were that her maps were also still in the enemies’ possession.

That brought her to the present. Chained to a post, waiting to meet this man she had saved, and no hope for rescue or escape.

Perhaps the guild elders were right when they said she suffered from a serious lack of judgment.

Shea hoped the others would be all right. She hoped she would be all right.

She stretched her legs out and tilted her head back. And back.

She blinked. Then smiled.

Unlike the rest of the tent’s flexible, wooden supports, her post wasn’t bound to another at the top by hemp or groove. As thick as her waist, its base had been buried deep in the ground, making it impossible for anyone with normal strength to pull it free. This meant its top was free of any obstructions. And since her chain was looped rather than bolted into the post, there was a chance she could climb it. A very small chance, but a chance.

She came to her feet, her eyes glued on the top of the post. That spot meant freedom, and she was determined to reach it. If she could get the chain over the top, she could slip it free. Her hands would still be bound together, but she’d be able to move. To run. She could escape and worry about freeing herself from the manacles later.

A low rumble of voices filtered into her space, but so far no one had checked in on her. As long as they stayed in the front area, she might be able to pull this off.

With a rising sense of excitement, she wrapped her arms around the post and leapt up while trying to wrap her legs around it. Her legs banged into the canvas wall and rebounded off. Unable to support her weight with just her arms, she slid back down to the ground.

“Son of a bitch,” she swore softly before turning her eyes towards the partition. And waited.

When the conversation behind the wall continued without pause, she figured nobody was coming to check in on her.

Her next two attempts met with similar results. There wasn’t enough room to wrap her legs around it.

And time was running out. Each minute brought the confrontation with Fallon just a little bit closer.

The chain binding her hands didn’t help either. Vexed, she pulled at it, causing it to clank up the pole just a little bit. She frowned slightly as she did it again. She grasped the end and lifted it to chest level, holding the chain taught so it remained there.

She cocked her head as she studied it. That might work.

When she was younger and still in her apprenticeship, she had visited the forest of giants in the northwestern edge of the Lowlands. The trees there were so tall that it was impossible to see the top if you were standing at its base. The crowns were concealed from view on very cloudy days. The people there said giants must have tended them as saplings. Only a giant would have been able to enjoy the splendors in the trees’ canopy.

For those living there today, they wrapped long chains around the tree’s base and used the resulting tension to walk up it. She hoped to do something similar.

She didn’t even get a foot off the ground on her first try.

She stood back and bit her lip. How was she to do this? How exactly could a chain be used to climb?

Her eyebrows furrowing, she gathered the extra chain in her hands, placed one foot on the wood and leaned back creating a nice tension in the metal links. Slowly and being careful to not let the chain slacken, she lifted her other foot off the floor and placed it on the post. Her breath exhaled in a whoosh as she stayed in place. She picked up the bottom foot and moved it up, then she loosened the chains and quickly moved her arms up, taking the chain with it before leaning back once more. Another foot gained.

Her destination was about eight feet off the ground. Six feet off the ground and her arms shook with the strain, her abs screamed, and her legs trembled. It looked so much easier when the forest people did this.

Every inch she gained required a herculean amount of effort and sapped her strength further. She was breathing hard by the time she was within a foot of the top. Sweat dripped down her neck as she paused within inches of reaching her destination.

She hadn’t considered what she would do once she got to the top.

At the moment, she was using the chain to anchor herself above the ground, but once she slipped it over the top, there would be nothing holding her in place. She would fall. Probably make a lot of noise and be recaptured in short order.

The chain rattled as she forced it higher. She didn’t care. She’d come all this way and wasn’t about to quit now. As the chain slipped over the top, Shea lost her balance. Her arms jerked over her head as they were caught by the chain’s anchor. She dangled several feet above the ground.

Wondering why she hadn’t plummeted straight to the ground, she looked up to find the loop caught on the top of the post.

If Fallon came in right this minute, he’d see what she was up to, and she didn’t really want to think about what would happen next. Not after Paul’s beating.

Setting a foot against the pole, she pushed off and tried to jerk the chain free. The scrape of metal against wood was as loud as a shout in the enclosed space. Once again, she checked to make sure nobody was coming before trying again.

Using her core, she tried to jack knife up and away. With a crack the chain slithered loose, and Shea landed on her back. The impact forced the breath from her lungs. She blinked up at the ceiling as she gulped at the suddenly thin air.

Rolling onto her elbows, she looked at the partition again. She was surprised no one had come to investigate yet. That fall, especially, should have drawn some attention.

She climbed to her feet and gathered the chain up, not wanting it to drag behind her. Perhaps they had lost interest in her now that they thought they had won.

Either way, it was a little early to be getting cocky. There was no exit back here and with how tight this tent was strung, there would be no crawling under the canvas.

She ran her fingertips along the slightly rough texture of the fabric. Perhaps she could cut her way out.

Damon discovered her knife the second day when he finally searched her for weapons. By the third day, she had secured a semi sharp rock and then upgraded to a dagger one of the men forgot in his rush to pack when he overslept. She might have had a hand in his lack of sleep the night before. Who knew the sound of fog koyots would keep him up all night? The creatures were harmless as long as you didn’t approach their young.

The dagger wasn’t as sharp as her previous knife, but it was better than trying to open a hole using just her fingernails. She picked a spot she hoped wouldn’t be seen by anybody entering the front of the tent.

She stabbed, but the blade resisted cutting into the fabric. She pushed harder until she opened a small slit before attempting a downwards slice. When that didn’t work, she sawed at the canvas.

When the hole was big enough, she peeled one edge back and looked out. The back of another tent greeted her. She peeked out the other side and saw the same. Good. Nobody would raise an immediate cry when she slipped out.

For a moment she hesitated, looking back at the room. The maps were still in the enemies’ possession. She didn’t like the idea of leaving them behind. Unfortunately, she had been supervised every time they had given her access to her bag and hadn’t wanted to chance trying to slip the maps out of their secret compartment.

But if she didn’t escape now, she didn’t know if there would be another chance. She would just have to trust the code on the map was strong enough to keep its contents secret. Maybe she could figure out a way to come back for them later.

There was movement on the other side of the partition as the men stood to greet a newcomer.

Time was up.

Shea gathered the chain and slipped one leg through the hole. The rest of her body slid after it.

Outside, she rose to her feet and looked cautiously around, keeping her back pressed against the tent. Her luck held.

She released the breath she had been holding.

The tents backed into each other, leaving only a foot or two between them to create a small alley. The ropes used to secure the tents created an obstacle course that only someone as thin and small as Shea could fit through easily.

She smiled. Perfect.

She moved stealthily along the alley, being careful whenever she came to the end of one tent and the start of another. Knowing her escape could be discovered at any moment, she took a few turns so nobody following her creative exit would be able to immediately see her by stepping through the hole she’d left.

Minutes after she made the second turn shouts rose from the direction she’d escaped from. She sped up, lightly leaping over one of the ropes and ducking under the next.

“Go that way; I’ll go this way,” a voice said from three rows back and slightly to the right of her.

She ducked down another alley, ran past a few tents and abruptly burst onto a road. Eyes turned her way as people stopped and stared. She didn’t pause, crossing to the other side and ducking between two tents. She slid past barriers as voices babbled behind her.

Not long after, she caught a glimpse of a figure crossing three tents in front of her. She slid to a stop, backtracked to the last alley and ran in the opposite direction.

“Here!”

Shea looked behind and saw a burly man at the end of her row turn and beckon for others to follow. Crap.

She zigzagged between the tents, darting across another road and down another long alley.

Several men were hunting her now. It wouldn’t be long until they cornered her. All it would take was for the men to come at her from several directions and then she’d be caught. Again.

With her coloring and these clothes, she was too noticeable.

The manacles on her wrists probably didn’t help her blend in either.

Night wasn’t far off, but there was still plenty of fading light. If she could only last until nightfall, she might have a chance.

The next road she happened upon was mostly empty in both directions. Nobody noticed as she slipped from shadow to shadow.

She needed a hiding place until the peopled chasing her passed. Maybe take that time to come up with an alternate plan. She cast a desperate look around, noticing a campfire with several blacksmith tools and a small tent beside it. It appeared empty.

Not pausing to think and praying like hell her luck would hold, she darted beneath the flaps and pressed her back to the side of the entrance. Seconds later, several men spilled out of a break in the tents. She could hear them running and imagined them peering down the gaps between the tents. She held her breath and prayed they didn’t think to start checking in the tents.

“Do you see her?”

“No.”

“Where’d she go?”

“She’ll be in the wind if you lot don’t stop flapping your jaws,” a man snapped. “You and you, go that way. You, head down this road before heading into the tents. You three go back the way we came, and see if she doubled back and is hiding. You, head to the outer perimeter and let the guards know to be on the lookout for a woman in her mid-twenties with light brown hair. They’re to detain but not hurt her.”

His men departed. Shea felt it was safe to peer out. Her stomach clenched at the sight of a man standing with his back to her.

His shoulders shook as a chuckle escaped. “Woman’s a bloody escape artist.”

He ambled off in the direction of his men, leaving Shea to sag against the tent in relief. Thank goodness they hadn’t thought to check the tents nearby. She doubted it’d be long before they realized there’d been too much time between sightings and back track.

That meant it was time to rid herself of these manacles. She studied her wrists. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Dropping her hands, Shea looked around her temporary shelter. This tent was much smaller than the one Damon had chained her to. There were a few rugs spread across the ground, but these were threadbare and showed the wear and tear of usage. Not new and luxurious like the ones covering Fallon’s floor. The tent’s occupant had set up a bench in the corner. Tools were strewn across it and in the short buckets next to it.

Maybe the mess contained a tool that might help her get these things off.

She picked up a set of pliers. Those probably wouldn’t work. Back to the bench they went.

Oh! Maybe that would work. She picked up a handsaw. Maybe.

She straddled the bench. She contorted her wrists, trying several variations before giving up. It was impossible to get the right angle.

Maybe the chain binding her wrists together could be sawed through.

She tried holding the chain in place for the saw but every time she moved her arm forward or back in the sawing motion, the chain would move, making it impossible to start a cut.

“This is useless,” she hissed flinging the tool down.

Her eyes smarted, and she pressed her palms to them. No. No. She wouldn’t succumb to frustration. To do so meant giving up. Shea did not give up. Especially when this close to freedom.

She stood and walked over to the saw she’d thrown across the tent. So far it was the most useful of the tools she’d found. She grimaced at the black oily goop on the handle. It had landed next to a bucket of the sludgy substance. Beginning to wipe the black stuff on her hands off, she paused and rolled the goop between her fingers. It was slippery. Perhaps slippery enough to grease her hands so they’d slip through the manacles? It was worth a try at least.

She set the handsaw down and held her hands over the bucket, grimacing. This stuff looked disgusting.

Holding her breath, she sank into the sludge up to mid arm, shuddering at the cool, slimy feel of it against her skin. When her arms were sufficiently coated, she took them out. The substance had turned them nearly black. She shook off a bit of the excess liquid.

That should do it.

She hoped.

She set her fingertips against the rug and stepped on the chain linking her wrists together. She started pulling slowly but steadily on her left hand, feeling her heart leap in victory as it slipped half an inch out of the manacle. Biting her lip, she applied a little more pressure and then more until it felt like her wrist would pop off her arm.

With little warning, the hand slid free. It worked. Shea went immediately to work on the next hand. She stifled a grunt of relief when that hand slipped out easily. She would never complain about her small hands again.

Standing up, she held her arms away from her body. The sludge might have just saved her, but no way did she want it getting on her clothes.

Now that she’d regained mobility, she needed to see about finding a disguise. Dressing as a boy might help. The perimeter guards were expecting a woman. Not a teenage boy.

She wiped her hands against the rug, getting some of the black substance off, before walking over to pick up a worn knife from the table. She examined the dull metal. Whoever owned this tent sure didn’t care about his knives. It would work for her purpose but not much else.

Grabbing her braid in one hand, she lifted it off her neck and slid the knife under. With a sharp jerk, she sawed the length off and held the tail up in front of her. The rest of her hair fell along her jaw in soft waves as it worked itself loose of the remaining braid. Placing the other half of the braid next to her, she grabbed another hunk of hair and sawed that off, repeating the action until her hair stood out from her head in uneven clumps.

Next, she dipped her hands in some of the black sludge and ran them through what was left of her hair to darken it from her distinctive shade of honey brown. After going to all the trouble of cutting it, she didn’t want anybody recognizing the color.

A quick search of the tent yielded no alternative clothing, and Shea resigned herself to making do with what she already wore. Her shirt and trousers were baggy and didn’t immediately scream woman, but if anyone looked close enough, they’d see the outline of her breasts against the thin fabric. She needed something to put over it and maybe a few strips of cloths to bind her breasts flat against her chest.

As she turned to leave, she noticed a small knapsack sitting beside the flap and smiled. Just what she was looking for.

Moments later, she stepped outside clad in a baggy pair of black trousers and a cream-colored undershirt that was two sizes too big. She had to roll the sleeves up three times because unrolled, the fabric fell almost to her knees. Its previous owner must have been some kind of giant. Over the shirt, she donned a dark green, nearly black, sleeveless tunic, further disguising her figure.

The last piece of clothing she salvaged from the bag was a dark green leather jacket with yellow trim around the collar and at the wrists. It was the nicest piece of clothing in the bag, and Shea imagined the owner would be upset to part with it. The leather had been stretched and shaped to create patterns around the waist and on the upper arms. Someone had sewn a pattern into the edges where the coat buttoned together. Shea could tell by the slick feeling of the leather that it had been treated to withstand rain. Water would roll right off it. Best of all, it had a hood.

It was a little hot with the tunic and jacket but not unbearable. Shea hoped nobody would think the jacket was suspicious. She slung the man’s knapsack, with her former clothes stuffed inside, over her shoulder, hoping anybody who saw her would think she’d been tasked with a mission.

She tossed a handful of hair into the campfire. The manacles, she left in the tent.

It was tempting to disappear into the small spaces between the tents, but she resisted. Now that the Trateri knew she had used them, it would be best to take a different route. The soldiers probably used the easily accessible main paths. Skulking about would just arouse suspicion.

She was confident in her disguise but not enough to brave scrutiny by either Damon or Darius.

She headed to the edge of camp closest to the mouth of this valley. She wanted to be out of sight of the sentries as soon as possible and she’d be in view a lot longer if she went to the other side of camp.

She hurried along the dirt pathway, trying to project the air of someone with important matters to attend to. Meanwhile, she kept an eye out for anyone whose eyes lingered on her for too long or any shadows that might have followed her.

Shea clung to the tent’s shadows, watching as the perimeter guards conducted a systematic search of everyone heading to the outer ring of the encampment. She’d made it all the way to the end of the tent city. Now, she just had to pass the massive horse corrals and the training fields rimming the camp.

Beyond them was the outer perimeter, which would have stationary sentries watching from the high ground and roving sentries to keep an eye out for anything trying to slip through the cracks. That’s if whoever set this camp up knew what they were doing. From the looks of it, they did.

A guard tilted a young boy’s face up, turning it from side to side. Shea guessed from the thorough inspection that Darius and Damon suspected she had changed her appearance.

“Crap.”

This was the third checkpoint she’d encountered since nearing the edge of camp. Once again she would have to try to find an alternative way out.

The knot in her stomach got tighter every time she encountered one of these.

“You’re late.” A heavy hand landed on Shea’s shoulder and dragged her around to face the speaker.

She jumped and let out a loud squeak. Heat flashed up and down her back, leaving her sweating in her jacket.

A pair of annoyed brown eyes frowned down at her. She struggled against the hand holding her, but couldn’t budge it. By the way the man kept speaking without missing a beat, she wasn’t sure he even noticed her attempt to flee.

“We’ve been waiting nearly an hour for you to get here.” His grip changed to her arm, and he dragged her behind him as he headed toward the sentries. “I don’t know how they do it in Eagle Company, but in Dawn’s Raiders, when we say to be somewhere, you’re to be there on time.”

Shea stumbled after him, not really hearing everything he said, her eyes glued on the fast approaching sentries. He barely checked his pace as he waved at one of the men. The man grinned and waved back.

“Eamon. Thought your party already left,” the sentry said. He barely spared her a glance.

“We were, but then we learned that one of our scouts showed up soused. He couldn’t even put his shoes on the right feet.”

“Ah.” The sentry fought to hide a smile.

“I had to beg Landry for another scout to round out our numbers, and all he could spare was a junior just out of his apprenticeship. One who obviously can’t tell time as he’s an hour late,” this last was said with a dark glower at Shea.

She realized he meant her. He’d mistaken her for someone else. She didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

The sentry followed Eamon’s gaze to Shea. “He looks young.”

Eamon frowned at her again. “Damn it. He gave me the runt of the litter. He said he was giving me one with potential.”

“And you believed him?”

Eamon sighed. “This whole mission has been one clusterfuck after another. Everybody’s running behind tonight. What’s going on?”

“You didn’t hear?”

“Obviously not.”

“They found that ghost woman. You know, the one everybody has been looking for over the past few months. Only, get this, she’s up and disappeared again. Camp’s on high alert until she’s found.”

Shea froze, wanting desperately to fade into the steadily deepening shadows. Even as they spoke torches were being lit to provide light against the encroaching darkness.

“Great,” Eamon said. “It’s going to be a bitch trying to get past the final perimeter if that’s the case.”

“Good luck,” the sentry called to Eamon’s back as he dragged Shea behind him.

Eamon held one hand up in acknowledgement. Shea followed without protest. It couldn’t be this easy, could it? They barely noticed her once Eamon started talking.

“What’s your name?” Eamon barked at Shea.

In the waning light, Eamon’s face was mostly lost in shadow, but she could feel his irate gaze pressing down on her. She was so startled she almost let her real name. “She-ane.”

“I’m Eamon, the second in command.”

Shea nodded, forgetting he couldn’t really see her. This must have been enough for him because he faced forward.

He dropped her arm as soon as they were past the sentries, but she tagged along behind him, hoping she could use him and his party to slip past the final perimeter.

The rest of his group waited next to the corrals, their horses saddled and packed. Ten men watched them with varying degrees of interest, touched with a lot of impatience. By now the sun had fully set, and the evenly spaced torches cast small pools of orange tinged light.

Eamon walked up to a tall man who had completely ignored their approach.

Not waiting for acknowledgement, Eamon gestured at Shea, “I’ve found our second scout. His name’s Shane.”

The tall man looked her up and down, his eyes flat and unfriendly. A scar ran from ear to jaw, and his mouth was bracketed by permanent frown lines.

“You’re late, boy,” the man said.

When everyone just stared at her, Shea realized they expected some kind of response. “Yes, I got lost.”

As if, pathfinders didn’t get lost.

“How can you expect to be a scout if you get lost?” the man with a green jacket similar to Shea’s asked, looking her up and down.

It was a fair question, and if she knew exactly what a scout did she might have an answer. She had a vague inkling that it was similar to a pathfinder.

“Alright, enough talking,” the first man said crossly, losing patience. “We’ve already lost enough time tonight. Saddle up, we’ve got a ways to go before we can stop.”

Eamon dragged Shea to a horse and then left without another word. Guess that meant this was her horse.

She patted its nose and smiled when it whickered back at her in greeting.

This was almost too easy.

Minutes later they were riding into the inky darkness. Shea spared a single glance behind before following. She only hoped Witt and Dane met with the same luck.

Chapter Seven

The men stood as Fallon strode into the tent. He lifted a hand in acknowledgement.

“She’s through there.” Darius nodded at the partition.

Fallon moved past the others, tugging aside the piece of fabric and ducking through to the other side. It was empty.

He turned in a full circle to make sure. No sign of the woman.

He raised his voice and asked, “Is this a joke?”

Conversation stopped. There was an abrupt silence before Darius ducked into the chamber.

“Damon,” Darius barked.

Fallon and Darius stared at the post. The now empty post that Darius used to detain important prisoners, had neither manacles nor girl attached to it

Damon shouldered in behind them and walked over to the pillar.

“Where is she?” Darius asked him.

He seemed just as confused as them. “This should be impossible. I put her in the irons.”

Darius swore. “If you put them on her, how did she escape?”

“I don’t know.”

Ignoring the escalating argument behind him, Fallon examined the post closely. There were scratches on the wood as if something heavy had scraped against it. These marks scarred the post all the way to the top. If he had to guess, she used the chain to climb the pole and then worked it over the top, leaving her free to escape.

Damon crouched by a slit in the siding and stuck his head out. “However she got loose, she went this way.”

“Follow her,” Darius snapped. “Take men with you.”

Damon nodded, calling for his men before following the woman’s path.

“Fallon,” Darius started, an explanation already on his tongue.

Fallon raised a hand, still looking at the top of the post. He shook his head. Darius wasn’t to blame for this oversight. This post had been used to chain much stronger men than the girl.

She possessed an unusual amount of cunning to have escaped one of his best generals. Very tricky. His shoulders shook. Before long his laughter echoed in the room.

Darius watched cautiously, not used to seeing amusement on the normally stony face. Darius followed Fallon’s gaze. His lips twitched as he saw the humor of the situation.

“Once the troops learn of this, they’re going to start calling her the phantom,” Darius observed.

Fallon grunted in agreement.

“I wonder how she plans on getting rid of the chains,” Darius mused. “With the level of effort she puts into escaping, you’d think we planned to torture her or something.”

“At least it’s not up a cliff this time,” Fallon said.

“My heart nearly stopped when she almost fell.”

“Mine as well,” Fallon admitted.

The woman was foolhardy. Brave, but seriously lacking in judgment. Though this was no cliff, it wasn’t any safer venturing into a camp full of hardened warriors. One of them might decide to keep her. He’d hate to have to kill a man loyal enough to follow him this long.

She was his. And he’d make sure she knew that, just as soon as he caught her.

Knowing Darius had captured her and she was here waiting had given him the patience to deal with his war council’s petty squabbling. He’d been in an unusually good mood for the rest of the session, despite having to referee the gripes and subtle undermining that was rampant in his advisors. It had taken another two hours before he could pull himself free. In that time, his quarry had slipped away once again.

“Did she have any companions with her?” Fallon asked.

“Yes. There were six men with her.”

“Bring them to me.”

“Should I give orders they be taken to your tent?”

“No, bring them here,” Fallon said. “Several of the clan heads have been making interesting moves as of late, and I can’t be sure of their loyalty. I don’t want any information I learn to be broadcast to potential enemies.”

Darius inclined his head and left to give his men orders that the prisoners from Goodwin of Ria were to be brought to his tent immediately.

Fallon stared at the spot where Shea should have been and shook his head again. To be bested a second time by this mere slip of a woman. She would have much to answer for when he finally caught her. And catch her he would. He’d never failed in any of the challenges set before him, and he wasn’t about to start now.

His eyes glittered in the torchlight. He was looking forward to this. Almost as much as he was looking forward to conquering the rest of the Lowlands.

Witt sawed through the last of Dane’s bonds, thanking every deity he knew that the knife Shea had slipped him that first night had gone undiscovered. They’d concentrated on searching his hands and back because of the hug she’d given him. They hadn’t noticed the pat on the knee right after.

Good thing for Witt the woman was a wily one. Always thinking two steps ahead.

Dane slipped free, and Witt moved to Burke. They’d taken Shea’s advice and waited until they reached the main encampment before attempting an escape.

As always, she’d been right. As soon as they made it to camp, their captors dropped them off with a new set of guards. Ones who had no idea why their new prisoners needed to be watched so closely.

Witt and Dane’s group were escorted to a corral and given blankets along with a small meal. Their hands were bound, and they were left alone with the other captives for the night.

There were nearly fifty other men in the pen with them. It was unlikely the guards would notice when the six men in Witt’s group slipped away.

Paul and one of his friends had blustered about trying to escape that first night. Dane put his foot down when they tried to push the issue and told them if they made any attempt to leave, he’d rat them out to their captors.

The fools had no sense. If Shea hadn’t been so dead set on everybody making it out, he’d have left them to rot. But if he did that, he knew she’d try to mount a rescue. Dane knew it too. That’s why they were taking the others with them when they left. No matter how much of a pain in the ass they turned out to be.

It was going to be tough getting Dane to leave without Shea. He’d had a massive crush on the girl since Edgecomb. Witt couldn’t blame him. Shea was a looker. Only reason half the men in the village weren’t knocking down her door was because she intimidated the hell out of them. Her no nonsense gaze had a way of stripping a man down to size. Witt got a kick out of it every time she did it. She reminded him of another time. Another girl who had that same clear gaze.

She wasn’t half bad for a pathfinder. Soft hearted under the hard exterior, not like the rest of them.

Dane kept watch as Witt freed Paul. He’d saved him for last because he didn’t want the man trying to run before he cut everyone else loose.

Now freed, the six picked their way through prone bodies and one by one crawled past the guards. Though it wasn’t long since dark had fallen, most of the men in the pen were already asleep. Their Trateri captors were rigid taskmasters and worked them hard all day. By the time dinner came around most of the men were so tired their eyes were beginning to drift shut even before they finished their last bite. The sheer exhaustion the Lowlanders felt made even the thought of escaping an impossible one.

It’s why Witt and his men were making their move tonight rather than waiting even a day longer. They were already weary from the forced march. Before they were exhausted further, they needed to make a break for it.

Dane led the way to the edge of the corral, timing their movements to when the guards had their backs turned. At the edge of the enclosure, the men laid flat, as if they were sleeping, while Dane climbed over to scout the next portion.

Witt kept everybody else in line while he was gone. It was necessary since Paul and his friend were the type to get the others riled up.

Witt’s lip curled. Before the night was over, he had a feeling he’d regret saving Paul. The boy had almost as much sense as his father. Which was to say, none.

Dane, on the other hand, had come a long way since that trip to Edgecomb. He’d gotten his head out of his ass and begun paying attention to more than just the simpering village girls. He was a good man to have on your side at times like these. Even if their captors had taken his boomer.

“Alright,” Dane’s voice floated over the wall. “One by one.”

Witt knelt and cupped his hands for Burke, letting the man use his hands and shoulder as a stepping stool. One by one the others repeated the process, climbing over the wooden planks to the other side. As Paul rose for his turn, there was a commotion at the front gate of the pen.

“Get down,” Witt ordered.

He grabbed Paul by the neck, forcing him face down and following him. He lay on his stomach, keeping his face turned towards the men approaching the pen. In this light, they wouldn’t be able to tell if his eyes were still open.

These new Trateri carried torches and were dressed in finer clothes than the guards. Witt thought he recognized one of the men from their journey.

There was a heated discussion as one of the new men pointed at the sleeping men and then gestured back at the camp.

“We have to go,” Paul whispered urgently.

“Stay still.”

“They’ll catch us if we stay.”

“If you try to climb out of here right now, they’ll see you.” Witt snarled. “Do you really want another beating?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Paul spat, leaping to his feet and making a run for the wall.

The motion attracted the new Trateri’s and the guard’s attention. They lifted the gate and entered the pen quickly. The sleeping men started to wake as the Trateri ran past them.

Witt cursed loudly. He’d known Paul would make him regret freeing him. Always good to see his predictions come true.

Witt leapt after Paul, pulling him down and grabbing him by the collar while shouting at Dane, “Get out of here!”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Just get out of here.” Witt hauled Paul after him in the opposite direction of Dane, forcing his pursuers to decide which group they wanted to chase.

All but one decided to go after the easier prey, Witt and Paul. The last leapt over the wall.

Witt figured Dane could take care of one man, so turned his attention to evading capture as long as possible. It was difficult while dragging Paul along, who cursed and fought as they wove through men who minutes before had been sleeping.

He was too old for this shit. This was the kind of thing the young and dumb did. Not him.

A heavy body tackled him, taking him to the ground and pressing his face into the dirt before hauling his arms behind him. He didn’t resist, knowing the game was up. He was caught.

Paul wasn’t as smart and flailed at the man trying to grab him. He got off one lucky shot to the man’s nose before his legs were swept right out from under him. He was kicked several times in the stomach and took a couple of blows to the face before his captor secured Paul’s arms behind his back and tied them off with rope.

“Your friend’s not too smart.” Witt was lifted to his feet and made to walk before his captor.

“Nope.”

“You, on the other hand,” the man trailed off as he looked in the direction of the wall.

Witt heaved a sigh. Right now he didn’t feel very smart.

“We’ll catch them before long.”

Witt shrugged. “Maybe.”

Paul gurgled blood as he was hauled back to his feet and shoved forward.

“Where are you taking us?”

Witt didn’t think he would actually get a reply and almost wished he hadn’t given the answer.

“Hawkvale wants to see you.”

Yup. He’d had a feeling that was the case.

His guards pushed the two captives to their knees before Fallon. The younger man’s face was a mass of bruises that were already beginning to swell. His lip had been busted open a few times. Blood and snot trailed down his chin to stain his shirt.

The other man was older, with a face made leathery from the elements and a hardened look in his eyes. He had a light bruise on one cheek but otherwise was unharmed.

He didn’t look afraid. He looked slightly annoyed as if he had better things to do and wanted this over with.

Fallon was grimly amused at this. Man had balls. He’d give him that.

“Where are the other four?” Darius asked. “And I thought I told you I wanted them unharmed.”

His man shrugged. “They were trying to run. This one resisted; we showed him that was a mistake. We were able to capture these two, but the others escaped. We’ve got men searching for them now.”

“What is it with these people?” Darius asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They’re nearly as bad as she is.”

“I know you,” Fallon said, watching Witt intently.

Witt stared back impassively.

“You were there in Edgecomb.” Fallon tilted his head. “With Shea and one other.”

The slightly labored breathing of the beaten man was the only response. Darius jerked his head at the guard.

The man slapped the back of Witt’s head. “Answer.”

The other guard kneed Paul in the back

“I don’t know anything,” Paul whined. He hunched in on himself and held his arms up over his head, protecting it.

Witt didn’t respond. Even his expression remained pleasantly bored. Fallon observed the man. Assessing him, weighing weaknesses. Not much seemed to scare the man. He had the look of someone who had it all and wasn’t impressed by much. It would take a lot to get him to spill his secrets.

“You friend has escaped,” Fallon told them.

Witt closed his eyes briefly, his body sagging minutely with relief. He tensed up almost as soon as he relaxed.

Fallon’s attention sharpened on the small movement. Ah, the older man felt something for her. Loyalty, perhaps?

The younger man with the swollen face sputtered as he fought to rise.

“Shut it, Paul.” Witt’s eyes were flinty as they locked on Fallon.

Fallon’s gaze went between the two. The older man was stubborn. The way he locked his jaw said he wasn’t going to give up any information easily. The younger man, on the other hand, would share every scrap of information he had and some he didn’t if it meant he wouldn’t be hurt.

This Paul would talk.

Fallon sat back and rubbed his chin with one hand.

“We wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for that lazy slut,” Paul snapped back.

Witt’s body locked tight, but he refused to look over at Paul.

“You heard them. They all know her. Let’s just tell them what they want to know.”

“Not another word.”

“What do you want to know? If we tell you, will you let us go?” Paul asked Fallon desperately, lisping slightly as he spoke through a swelling lip.

Fallon could have been chiseled from stone, for all the movement he made. “Who is she?”

“Shea, her name’s Shea.” Paul made a movement forward but a harsh hand at his shoulder jerked him back. When nobody spoke, he figured they wanted more. “She’s our village’s pathfinder.”

There was sudden interest from all of the men surrounding them.

“Explain this term.”

“Hold your tongue,” Witt hissed.

“What do I care for her?” Paul said. “She left us here to die.”

“This isn’t just about her,” Witt warned. “Be silent.”

“A pathfinder is a village’s link to the outside world.”

Paul’s words were almost drowned out by Witt’s roar.

Fallon nodded at the guard, and a blade was held to Witt’s throat as a warning.

At the touch of cold steel, Witt went still.

“A person who has passed the test can act as a pathfinder to other villagers or escort expeditions into the wilds. They’re able to navigate the mist that creeps across the lands. Our elders say they guard the knowledge lost during the last cataclysm.”

Darius and Fallon shared a look.

The inability to circumvent cliffs and intermittent mist at the Highland borders were the biggest reasons they hadn’t invaded the Highlands yet. If this woman could do what they said, she had a talent worth seeking out even if Fallon hadn’t already been interested in her for other reasons.

This other issue about the cataclysm would need to be explored more in depth. Both men had noticed that some of the villages held weapons they’d never encountered before invading this land. Fallon’s people had no weapons that could kill over that distance with the same accuracy and efficiency.

If the Lowlanders had had the weapon in greater numbers, they would have been able to hold their land against any invader.

Fallon had already given orders to have any of these so called “boomers” confiscated and brought back. If these Highlanders really knew where to find more, he could only imagine what he could do with such a useful tool.

“I thought finding your way once the mist had fallen was impossible. How are they able to guide people through it?” Fallon queried.

Paul’s face took on a truculent look and he said, “They have some special technique they refuse to share. You have to pass several tests before they reveal their methods. It’s probably just a way to keep us dependent.”

Fallon sat back and propped his head on one hand, tapping his cheek with a finger. This guild sounded like the first form of overarching authority he’d encountered since coming to this land. Smart of them to control who learned of the mist’s weaknesses. Gave them a way to influence events without having to use force.

If Paul’s story was true, Fallon may have just found a solution to the problems his army was currently having and a powerful weapon for the future.

Blade to blade, his army could defeat any force the Lowlands or these Highlands, for that matter, threw at him. So far the battles had been few, and his army had annihilated all foes.

However, there was the little matter of locating new villages and circling back to the places they’d already subdued. It was one of the reasons they had been camped in this valley for the past three months rather than pressing on to their next target.

One out of every three supply trains went missing, and the scouts he sent out ended up dead or lost. The ones who straggled in were missing the majority of his soldiers and spoke of monstrous creatures ambushing them on patrol.

Shea might be the answer to all his problems.

“Can you take me to where she’s heading?”

Paul opened his mouth to say yes, but Witt spoke first. “He can’t.”

Witt grimaced as steel broke the skin and a trickle of blood trailed down his neck. Fallon waved the blade away, interested in what the man had to say.

Witt straightened, not bothering to wipe away the blood. “If he tells you he can, he’s lying. He’ll lead you in circles, because he doesn’t know the way.”

“I could find them,” Paul hissed.

“Why do you think we use pathfinders?” Witt asked, daring to meet Fallon’s gaze head on. “Most of us have a general sense of the way home, but the Highlands have a way of expelling those it considers intruders. And everybody is an intruder.” He allowed himself a snort of derision. “But go ahead. Let the boy lead you to your deaths. It won’t matter; you’ll never catch her. She’s long gone by now.”

“Shut up, you old fool,” Paul said, his voice rising in pitch. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were only supposed to take her. Not us.”

All eyes turned to Paul.

“What are you talking about?” Witt asked softly.

“The elders knew what Goodwin of Ria were planning,” Paul spat. “Why do you think they kept James back? They sent only those they could afford to lose. Trouble makers, every one of you.”

Witt closed his eyes slowly and bowed his head. Yes. He’d wondered why they’d chosen these particular expedition members. They were all men who’d had a problem with the elders at one point or another. Even him.

“They knew he,” Paul lifted his chin at Fallon, “was looking for her and that he’d reward any who brought him information. So they made sure she was placed in his path.”

Darius looked faintly appalled by this proof of betrayal, and his guards shared similar looks of distaste.

“Why?” Fallon asked.

“They asked for a new pathfinder to be assigned time and again. One that wasn’t as useless. She was always telling them no. She was a woman trying to tell our elders what she would do. We were tired of it,” Paul said readily. “Well, the guild wouldn’t give us a new one so the elders took matters into their own hands.”

“You and your foolish elders have destroyed your precious village,” Witt retorted as he made a grab for Paul. His guard grabbed his hands and twisted them behind his back. “The guild doesn’t have to assign a new pathfinder.”

“They will. They have to. It’s in the village bylaws.”

Witt’s lips twisted into a sneer. “They don’t have to do shit. You think they’re going to send another pathfinder to a village with a history like yours? One that lost their previous one?” Witt gave an ugly laugh. “Oh no. Shea will be the last pathfinder your village ever sees. I’m glad too. You backwards, goat arsed traitors don’t deserve another one. Not after this stunt. Your village will be culled from the maps. Nobody will find their way there ever again.”

Fallon watched the interplay, soaking up as much information from their actions as he did from Paul’s words.

He pointed at Witt. “Take him to Trenton and tell him he’s to be kept close.”

Witt was pulled to his feet and hauled out, but not before he sent one last warning to Paul to keep his mouth closed. The boy had already proven to have loose lips. Any secrets he knew would be the warlord’s by morning.

Fallon turned his attention back to Paul. “Now.” He gestured for some food and water to be given to Paul who, having very little of either over the past few days, dug in with gusto. “Tell me everything you know.”

“What do you think?” Fallon asked Darius as Paul was escorted out of the tent.

Darius folded his arms and stared down at his feet contemplatively. “It’s an interesting story.”

“Hm.”

“Can’t tell if these pathfinders’ abilities are myth or fact. Could be superstition.”

“True.”

A thought occurred to Darius, and he called for a guard.

“Sir?”

“Do you know what Damon did with the woman’s belongings?”

“I believe he left them in his tent.”

“Get them for me.”

The guard nodded sharply and left to retrieve Shea’s backpack.

“What are you thinking?” Fallon asked.

“Something he said. It made me think that these pathfinders are very like our scouts.”

Fallon agreed and arched an eyebrow.

“How do our scouts find their way in the wilderness?”

Fallon’s smile was slow and wicked when it came. “Maps.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. Doesn’t matter how good someone is, they’d need a map for areas they had little experience with. I think she’s the same way.”

The guard returned carrying the confiscated bag.

Darius took it from him and carried it to the table where he upended it. He tossed bits of clothing and a plate and cup aside. When his search yielded nothing, he picked up the bag again and felt along the edges.

“Ah ha,” he said victoriously as paper crinkled.

Fallon leaned forward with interest.

After running a knife along the fabric, Darius peeled back the lining and carefully pulled out the folded square of vellum.

Fallon stood, bringing a lamp closer, and looked over Darius’ shoulder as he unfolded the paper and spread it flat on the table.

“It’s definitely a map,” Darius said.

“I agree. These lines mean elevation,” Fallon said, pointing to a series of closely drawn parallel curved lines.

“I can’t quite understand all of the landmarks.” Darius squinted at the squiggles. “There’s no way to tell where it starts or stops. They could use a different method to map.”

“Or it could be in code.” Fallon’s quiet rumble said what they were both thinking. “Send it to one of the cartographers to see if they can decipher it. Make sure you choose one we trust.”

“You think one of the clans are plotting against you?”

“When aren’t they plotting?”

Darius snorted. True enough. The subtle jockeying for power never stopped among the clans. Darius didn’t envy Fallon for having to deal with it. He’d rather be stung by a thousand bees than deal with a council session.

“Show Phillip to see if he has any insight, and circulate your men among the scouts.”

Darius shot him a quizzical look. “Any particular reason why?”

Fallon thought a minute and shook his head. “Just a feeling.

Darius nodded, thoughtfully. Fallon’s feelings were often right and had saved both of their lives on more than one occasion. If he said to keep an eye on their corps of scouts, it would be done.

Chapter Eight

“We’re lost.”

“We’re not lost,” Vale said in annoyance.

Five days had passed since they’d ridden away from the encampment, and in that time they had wandered south. The complete opposite direction of the Highlands. Shea was further than ever from her destination.

A chance to slip away hadn’t presented itself yet. She watched and waited, gathering information on this new Lowland faction.

A pathfinder was only as good as the knowledge they had at their fingertips, whether that came in the form of maps, knowledge of beasts or insights into a potential enemy.

So far she’d come to the conclusion that, despite the fact that all of these men were scouts and possessed the same green jacket she did, they weren’t very adept at land navigation.

The jacket Shea had donned as part of her disguise was part of a uniform. Only most never wore the jacket, one because it was hot and two because they saw no need to. People were supposed to recognize their status from the way they walked. Evidently. It was a status symbol that meant more when hidden.

From the little Shea had puzzled out, the men were on a two part mission. The first involved mapping the terrain and scouting any nearby settlements. The second had them hooking up with another company in a few days.

Shea hoped to be gone by then.

It would be difficult to make their rendezvous considering they’d been going in circles for two days.

They only just now realized this.

Shea had figured it out part way through the first day.

The ravine they were in had sheer rock on either side, allowing the growing argument between Vale and Gerard to echo. It would be better if the men kept their voices down. Sound traveled in narrow spaces like this. You never knew what might be waiting around the corner.

“We should go left.”

“No, the map clearly says right.”

“How can it say that when this canyon isn’t even on it?”

The subject of the argument was the little path branching in two directions in front of them. The cliffs rising on either side meant they would have to travel one by one.

The low hanging clouds had Shea slightly concerned about the possibility of a flash flood. They’d waded through a shallow river part of the way to reach this point, and the faint mark of a water line on the rocks didn’t allay that fear.

Her horse sidestepped under her before she got it back under control. She wasn’t quick enough because the movement startled the horse next to her.

Its rider gave her a shove. “I’ve seen toddlers with more control over their mounts than you, Daisy.”

Shea patted the horse’s neck and ignored the comment. The Trateri considered it the height of insults to impugn a man’s horsemanship. As the inept outsider, she’d heard variations along the theme for the past several days.

The insults didn’t really phase her. She’d never been much of a horseman. Now if they’d insulted her navigation skills, that’d be another matter.

What was more concerning was the underlying tension she sensed in the small group. Though Lorn was the leader, most of the men looked to Eamon for their marching orders. When there was a problem, he was the one they went to.

Lorn was a bully who got off on the power of being in charge but didn’t have the skills to actually lead. Unfortunately, Lorn wasn’t blind so he knew the men preferred Eamon’s leadership, which was why he took every chance to put Eamon in his place.

It was too bad. Eamon actually had a brain in that big head of his.

As Eamon’s punishment, Lorn placed Vale in charge of the map. From what Shea could tell, Vale had rudimentary map reading skills, which was why they had been led into this death trap of a canyon and were currently lost.

“We need to go down the left branch.” Vale’s eyes narrowed into slits and his mouth lifted in a semi snarl.

The other man, his name was Gerard, but the men called him Buck, lifted one arm and pointed to the right. “We should go right.”

Shea tilted her head back and examined the cliff walls again, knowing she wouldn’t miss much. They’d been arguing about which way to go for several minutes now.

Her horse sidestepped again and pawed the ground. She looked around. All of the horses were acting uneasy, tossing their heads, shifting from foot to foot and whickering softly.

Sometimes an animal being restless meant they were just restless. But sometimes, sometimes it meant something else entirely. That something was rarely good.

She examined the narrow canyon.

There were no sounds from wildlife except the faint nickers of the horses. Could be all the arguing had scared the animals away. Or maybe something nearby had spooked them. Her eyes drifted up the rock walls, noting indentations where something big had dragged alongside the sandstone, leaving long scrapes.

She guided her horse next to one of the cliffs and looked up. Several feet above her head, three parallel scratches nearly the length of her arm had been gouged into the rock. She turned and looked at the other wall, looking for similar marks. She didn’t see any, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

“We should turn back,” she said softly. Then louder. “We need to turn back.”

The man who had scolded her earlier looked over his shoulder and frowned. Eamon’s glare told her to shut it, while another man gave a disgusted sigh.

Shea’s spine straightened. She kicked the horse in the side and guided it to Lorn. It was his team. The ultimate decision was his.

“We need to turn back.”

Vale and Buck stopped arguing.

“There are beasts ahead,” she tried again when he ignored her.

“Beasts?”

Ignoring the ridicule in his tone, Shea said, “Yes. Beasts.”

“And you know that how?” Lorn finally deigned to look at her, eyeing her with distaste and skepticism. Her hands clenched on her reins. “You? A boy who hasn’t even had his first shave or fucked his first woman. Somehow you know more than men who’ve been doing this since they could walk? I’ll believe that when fire falls from the sky.”

Shea’s ears turned red. A dozen pithy remarks wanted to spill from her tongue.

She held them back. It wasn’t like she wasn’t used to being dismissed. People rarely listened. Even when she was leading. They scorned her experience and ultimately they died. Why should these barbarians be any different?

To Eamon, she said, “Look at the cliff. It has gouges in it from something with claws. Given how high up they are, it means the thing is big.”

A sharp crack sounded through the air. Her head turned with the force of the blow, her right cheek smarting. She touched the corner of her mouth. Her fingers came away red.

Blood.

Bastard.

Almost trembling, she met Lorn’s furious eyes.

“I’m scout master,” he said tightly. “Me, not him. You do not go to him when you have issues with my orders.”

He looked at the suddenly quiet men around him. A few of them held his eyes for a moment before looking away. Eamon watched Shea closely, noting the slight tremor in her hands and the rage she quickly snuffed out of her expression.

“Is that clear?” Lorn asked.

Her throat felt tight. Words fought inside her for release.

He raised a fist slightly. “I asked, is that clear?”

“Yes,” Shea choked out.

“Good. Because next time I’ll beat you bloody.” To the others, he said, “Vale, take three men and go down the left passage. Eamon, you and I will take the rest down the right. We’ll go on foot, and after you’re done scouting, meet back here.”

She shouldn’t have been so surprised at the blow. Really. She’d have done the same if someone had questioned her orders on a mission. Maybe.

Still, they were heading into danger.

While the men prepared to split, Lorn blocked Shea’s horse with his. “Not you. Since you’re so scared of whatever’s out there, you can stay here and guard the horses. Alone.”

He dismounted, affixed his blade to his belt and joined Eamon and his men.

“Not too bright are ya, Daisy?” a man said, walking past her to join Vale.

“Never try to undermine a commander’s orders,” a voice said from her side. She looked down at light brown eyes over a big nose and pitted cheeks. “It just pisses them off and makes more work for the rest of us.”

Having said his piece, the man walked off. Within minutes, Shea was alone with the horses.

They were all going to die.

Or perhaps not. Maybe they would get lucky and those marks she saw were old. You never knew.

She dismounted and pulled her pack with her. Either way, this gave her the opportunity she’d been waiting for.

She was finally alone. It was time to head back to Birdon Leaf.

She unhooked her pack from the horse. The pack she’d picked up on a whim in that tent had turned out to be a godsend. Not only had it given her clothes to disguise her gender, but it was packed full of supplies that had come in handy over the past few days.

Granted, it wasn’t as well packed as Shea could have done. There were a few items missing, and a few things that were just dead weight, but it had all of the essentials.

Things like a fire making kit, a canteen for water, basic food stores and a change of underclothes. It even had a knife to supplement the one Shea had, and to her delight, Eamon had outfitted her with a short sword before leaving camp.

The only thing missing was rope, which Shea planned to remedy by picking through the other men’s belongings. If she remembered correctly, Buck had used rope to cobble the horses together a few nights ago when they had to seek shelter from a storm.

Opening his saddlebags, she dug around until she felt the rough hemp against her fingers. She pulled it out with a feeling of satisfaction. She’d been eyeing if for a while now and knew it could come in handy on her journey. Rope always did. She took a few strips of jerky from his bag as well, telling herself he didn’t need it as much as she would.

She headed to the cliff opposite of the scratches and peered up.

She could barely see the top, high above her head. The rock was dimpled and pockmarked. Ponderosa clung to nooks. But for the most part, it was bare and grey. That was good. Hard rock was easier to climb than dirt. Safer too.

Shea reached down and grabbed a handful of soil, rubbing it between her hands. It would make them less slippery while climbing.

Though scaling another cliff wasn’t exactly how she wanted to escape, she felt it was better than trying to backtrack with the horse. For one thing, the path they’d come through was narrow, and there weren’t a lot of offshoots. The scouts would just need to ride until they caught up with her, and she’d be hemmed in.

Also a horse couldn’t go all the places a person could. Lastly, few would think she had escaped up a cliff and so wouldn’t look in that direction when it came time to hunt her.

And she had no doubt they’d hunt her. They would consider her a deserter. They’d come after her even if it was just so they could make an example of her to other would-be deserters.

She placed her hands against the wall and wedged one foot into a small dip in the wall, so small that it was virtually nonexistent. Hand over hand, foot over foot she made her way up the vertical rock face, using tiny handholds and even tinier foot holds. More often than not she was hanging onto the cliff’s side with just the tips of her fingers.

It wasn’t her favorite place to be, especially when a gust of wind came tearing through the canyon, pulling at her body and causing her stomach to drop right into her stomach.

Finally though, she gained the top where she could rest with her legs dangling over the edge. She sighed and leaned back to watch the heavy gray clouds above her.

Her rest was short. The clouds weren’t the sort to hold her attention long. There were no shapes to be discerned or stories to be imagined. They were just one large gray blob. Not interesting at all.

Shea sighed and stood, brushing the dirt off her hands. She turned to go and hesitated, looking down at the canyon the men had ventured into. Everything inside her said they were heading into danger.

Perhaps she should follow just to make sure they were okay.

She tapped her leg with one finger.

Why should she? They’d been warned. Whatever happened next was on them. It wasn’t like they’d done anything to deserve her consideration. She grimaced and touched her cheek gingerly. The opposite in fact.

She started to walk away when a scream rent the air, echoing eerily in the enclosed space.

She took a step in that direction and stopped.

No.

It was on them. It had nothing to do with her anymore. She was out. Free. She could head back to Birdon Leaf with a clear conscience and knowledge about a previously unknown danger.

The sounds of battle and an animal scream pulled at her.

On the other hand, perhaps she could gain a little insight into how these strangers dealt with beasts.

Before she could change her mind again, she found herself running along the edge of the canyon in the direction Eamon and Lorn had disappeared down, telling herself this was just an information gathering exercise. She wasn’t going to interfere. Just see what was what.

Shea lowered herself to her stomach and peered into the narrow canyon below. She pressed her lips together at the visible carnage.

From the looks of things, they had been ambushed on their way back. Two men were already in pieces on the ground.

The first man’s torso had been separated from his lower body and the two pieces lay a few yards from each other. The second man’s body was missing an arm and half of its chest. The dirt beneath him had turned the color of rust from all the blood that watered it.

An enormous shadow beetle reared back onto its hind legs. Its razor sharp pinchers glistened with liquid. Blood, no doubt. It was easily twice the size of a horse. Its mottled grey shell was beginning to darken to obsidian as it entered a feeding frenzy.

The thick carapace shell protected its insides from blades and claws, making them nearly impossible to kill. When the shell was grey, it blended with the surrounding rocks easily, making it difficult to spot unless the creature moved. When it got the taste of blood, though, its shell darkened to black.

Though deadly, it was slow and couldn’t change direction easily. The narrow canyon was the perfect hunting grounds, as its prey couldn’t dodge out of the way. It turned the narrow space into a killing field, making escape impossible.

Run and it would use all its legs to propel itself after you. The thing was fast too. There would be no opportunity to dodge and trying to defend would be pointless.

A flash of color drew Shea’s attention. She waited until she saw movement again and inhaled. Eamon and another were alive. They were hunkered down in the rocks, using them to escape the pinchers. It was a smart play as the creature was too big to slide between the boulders, and its pinchers weren’t long enough to reach the men in the crevasses.

Shea stood and looked around. There. That tree would do.

She rushed to it and dropped the pack on the ground, pulling out her rope and tying it around the base of the tree. She slipped a glove onto her left hand then reached down and picked up her short sword with the right.

Now came the tricky part.

Reaching inside for her calm center, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

This was such a bad idea.

Breathe in.

She could do this.

Breathe out.

She stepped to the edge of the cliff and looked down. The creature wasn’t exactly under her, but that was okay. She took five steps to the right, the rope following her.

She looked down.

This was such a bad idea.

She stepped off the ledge. The bottom shot up from her stomach and into her throat.

The rope slid through her fingers. It jerked, and she swung out and over the creature. She let go and was falling.

Falling.

Then landing with a thud, her hand clenched in a death grip around her sword. She rolled, almost falling off the creature’s back, before her shirt caught on one of the spiny spikes on its shell, and she halted, dangling with her shirt half over her head.

She had the presence of mind to wrap one hand around the spike, brace her feet against its shell and crawl walk up its back as the shadow beetle thrashed beneath her.

The shirt began to tear sending her sliding before she managed to lurch up and hook her hand into a groove on its shell. She held on as tightly as she could. If she fell now, she was dead.

The creature settled back onto the ground. Before it could rear again, Shea was up and crawl running across its back until she reached its neck.

Through it all she held onto her sword. It wasn’t easy and her left arm screamed from the strain of doing the work of two, but finally she was where its carapace met the round little head that had a horn that looked like a horseshoe sticking out of it.

Straddling its neck with her legs and aiming the pointy part of the sword at its neck, she raised her hands above her head and brought it down hard, the blade entered and the beast went mad under her, nearly unseating her. She held on as it careened into a wall.

She really thought that blow would have killed it.

She tried to yank the sword out. It was stuck.

Come on, damn it.

She heaved with all of her might. It slid out a couple of inches and then got stuck again.

You. Will. Come. Out.

She wiggled the sword, sliding it out a few more inches. The beast heaved under her.

Almost there.

She lost her grip and went flying for all of a second before she came to a sickening stop, her knee on fire.

Somehow. Miraculously. She hadn’t lost her seat, her leg having gotten stuck.

She grabbed the sword with both hands and heaved, leaning backwards and pushing away with her legs. It came free with a lurch, nearly toppling her backwards.

Free now, she hacked at the neck under her with frenzied slices, her hands slipping as black blood coated the sword, her hands, her clothes.

Still, she didn’t stop. Not even when the creature was lying still. She just kept hacking.

“Daisy. It’s dead. Kid, stop. It’s dead. How long do you intend to keep working at it?” Eamon inquired from somewhere below her.

Dazed, she looked up and then around, only now realizing she was still seated on the shadow beetle, and it wasn’t moving.

“Not that we don’t appreciate the save, mind you, but hacking away like that has to take energy that might be better spent elsewhere.”

She blinked at him and then blinked at the slivers of white and black flesh where the beetle’s head used to be. She lowered her sword and backed away, having a brief moment of panic when her leg wouldn’t come loose. Buck came forward and helped her twist it free.

She crawled off the beetle and dropped to the ground.

The good solid ground that wouldn’t flail beneath her or send her crashing into one of the cliffs.

She sat down abruptly, her legs not wanting to support her now that what she’d done registered. Her hands shook as she placed the sword on the ground before her. She could have died. Probably should have.

That stunt with the rope gave her chills now that she thought about it. If she’d let go even a second earlier or later, she would have plummeted a lot farther than she had and probably been trampled or torn in half by the beetle.

A pair of boots stopped before her. Shea looked up to see Eamon staring down at her with his hands on his hips, an intense look on his face.

Buck was behind him staring up at the beetle in amazement.

“How did you know to attack it there?” Eamon asked. “Swords didn’t work on it when we tried. They just bounced off. So did our arrows.”

“You ever encounter a golden eagle?” Shea asked, knowing the answer. Of course they had. Everybody had. It was the reason they had chosen to take the canyon riddled with beasts over the plains above them. The golden eagles were similar to their smaller brethren except in color and size. The ones Shea were talking about were roughly the size of houses and could carry a horse off if they were hungry enough.

Eamon arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, so?”

Shea wet her lips and nearly groaned in relief when Buck tossed her a water bag. Evidently killing beasts made you thirsty as hell.

She felt a moment of sorrow. She normally tried to avoid killing beasts; they were just doing what they were born to do. Hunt, eat, procreate. They couldn’t help their instincts and blaming them was like blaming a snowstorm for being cold.

Sometimes, though, it was unavoidable. When it came down to her or them, she’d choose herself.

She took a long swallow of the water, her throat working. A trickle streamed from her mouth in her haste, and she wiped at it with one wrist.

Ah. That hit the spot.

Looking up, she blinked when Eamon looked at her expectantly. “Few years back, I was doing some hunting and got pinned down by one of the Shadows. Thought I was done for when an eagle came plunging out of the sky and just killed it with one blow to the back of its neck before carrying it off.” Shea rubbed at the black stains on her hands. “You see, the shadow beetle’s shell is thick and impervious to most weapons, or beast claws for that matter, but there is one spot on its body that is entirely vulnerable.”

“Its neck,” Eamon guessed.

Shea nodded. “Its neck. Most of its predators come from the ground so its shell evolved to protect them from those attacks, but for whatever reason, it never developed a protection for its neck.”

“How’d you get on top of it?” Buck asked. He was now standing right next to the beetle, and as he spoke reached up to run one hand along its carapace.

Shea turned and pointed at the rope dangling from the cliff.

Buck whistled low and shook his head. “That takes balls.”

“I didn’t think it would actually work,” Shea confided. She was still jittery from the adrenaline rush. “Actually, I wasn’t sure any of the plan would work. I’m kind of surprised it did. I definitely didn’t expect it to be so hard to saw through its neck once I was up there.”

During her confession, Eamon’s eyebrows had arched higher and higher until they almost disappeared into his hairline, and his frown got darker and darker.

Buck shook his head. “You’re fucking insane.”

“Would you rather I just let you two be beetle food?” Shea snapped, feeling a little defensive.

“Now, don’t go getting defensive. He’s not arguing with what you did. We’re both rather attached to our limbs.” Eamon grimaced in the direction of one of the bodies.

“Nope, not saying that all,” Buck agreed. “Appreciate it, but doesn’t change the fact that you got a couple screws loose.”

Shea lifted one shoulder. He may have had a point. “So are you two the only ones left?”

Eamon turned on his heel and strode to the closest body, the one that had been ripped in half. Shea wrapped her arms around her knees as he turned the torso onto its back and then dragged its lower half over to arrange it in a macabre parody of a whole person.

Guess that answered that.

“It ambushed us on our way back to the horses,” Buck said above her head. He had finished examining the shadow beetle and now watched Eamon with his arms folded over his chest. “It got John first. Lorn tried to run. You see how well that went.”

He nodded his head at the body missing its arm and half its torso. Shea could just make out the back of Lorn’s head. After a moment, she realized she recognized the clothes he had been wearing, though they were a different color now.

“We took shelter in the rocks. Didn’t think we were going to make it out this time. Not 'til you showed up anyway.” He ruffled her hair briefly. She nearly fell over in shock. “Guess you’re not such a waste of space after all, Daisy.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Eamon dragged Lorn’s body to join the other and bent down, fussing with his neck.

“What’s he doing?” Shea asked.

Buck looked down at the top of her head with a thoughtful expression. “You’re not Trateri are you?”

Shea’s shoulders stiffened.

He was asking the sorts of questions she really didn’t need him to be asking. For her disguise to work, people couldn’t be curious about her. They couldn’t look twice because if they did they might see that her bones were too small, even for a seventeen-year-old boy. That even a boy would have an Adam’s apple and that her cheeks were entirely too smooth, missing the pimples and baby fine hair that came with puberty.

“Is that a problem?”

He pursed his mouth and shrugged. “Just strange is all. Normally the Scout’s trainers don’t take any but a Trateri as an apprentice. They don’t usually trust throwaways.”

Shea shot him a sharp look.

He smirked at her. “That’s what we call those that we take from the villages. Because their people threw them away for a few months more of safety.”

Throwaways.

Huh.

Shea crooked one side of her mouth. Unbelievable. Cruel but true.

“Thought us being integrated into your army was the whole point of us becoming ‘throwaways’?”

He nodded. “In theory, but in reality throwaways aren’t trusted. They’re used as filler. Most of you go to the frontlines or work as cooks or launderers. You’re the first to die in battle with your own people, or you’re given jobs that you can’t cause a lot of damage in.”

“So we’re thrown away twice.”

“Not you, though.”

Shea slouched and looked away. She needed him off this topic.

“He’s preparing them for their trip to the afterlife.”

Shea looked up in alarm. “We don’t have time for a burial. Shadow beetles live in pairs.”

“Relax, our people aren’t interred beneath the ground like you mud squatters. If a body can be taken back to camp, we offer them up to the sky and give them a funeral pyre.”

Shea blanched. That was even worse. No way could they lug two dead bodies smelling of blood and meat all the way back to camp without encountering beasts.

“Since we’re a very warlike people and most of us die in battle, this often isn’t possible. Eamon will cut their hair and take their amulet. Later, he’ll burn the two items so their spirits have a path to follow to the other world.”

Shea relaxed. That wasn’t as bad. Though she would prefer to be out of here sooner rather than later.

“You really think there are more?”

“I know so.” She gestured at the bodies. “The shadow beetle didn’t eat the bodies. Means it probably has young it wanted to feed. Where there’s young, there’s usually a mate.”

“Great.”

Pretty much.

Eamon insisted they head back to the horses first to see if the others had returned.

Shea didn’t like the idea much, but with Lorn dead, Eamon was in charge. Since she’d given up her opportunity to escape, she was back to playing the obedient soldier.

One day she was going to get control of herself and stop doing stupid shit to save ungrateful idiots.

For now, she waited by the horses with folded arms and a tapping foot. She wanted to be gone. Hanging around wasn’t smart. Not with a mate and possible young still out there.

Vale and his team weren’t back yet.

Shea had a strong feeling they weren’t coming. She’d noticed at least one burrow hole in the rock walls. It probably led all the way to the other canyon. Chances were good the other group had encountered the same problems as Eamon’s.

“We need to go after them,” Eamon said, coming to stand beside Shea.

She sighed. She knew he was going to say that.

“Is there any way to see that thing before it strikes?”

She tipped her head back. That was a good question.

“Chances are it’s gotten to Vale and his team. If it has glutted itself on blood, it’ll lose a little of its camouflage. If it hasn’t eaten any of them yet, it will only be seen once it moves.”

“Where’s my rope?” Buck asked from behind them. He held his saddlebag up and then glared suspiciously at Shea. “I’m also missing a knife.”

She turned away and made a face at the canyon. She’d forgotten about that. That meant her pack was still sitting at the top of the cliff.

“Uh-“

“You took it, didn’t you?”

“I may have, in my haste, gone through your bags, looking for anything that might be of use.”

“And you thought my rope would be useful?”

She shrugged. “Well, it did come in handy.”

“And my knife?”

“You can never have too many knives.”

He threw his saddlebag down and glared at her. She spread her hands. “It was either take the rope and save your life or let you get eaten. Are you really going to tell me that you’d prefer to be beetle food?” She jutted her jaw out stubbornly.

“Enough,” Eamon said, stepping between them. To her, “Where’s your jacket?”

“My what?

“Your jacket. The green one with yellow trim.”

Ah, that. “It’s with the rest of my stuff on top of the cliff.”

Buck swore. “Hell, he was running.”

Shea dropped her arms. Eamon’s sharp eyes caught the movement and his face darkened.

“I wasn’t running,” Shea defended. “I was just moving myself to a better position in case things went bad.”

Buck looked skyward and shook his head. Eamon folded his arms across his chest.

“Do you really think I would have come and saved your asses if I’d planned on running?” She could tell by the shift in Buck’s stance that she had their attention and pressed her advantage. “If I’d wanted to run, I could have just left you to your fate. Nobody would have been the wiser, and I could have made it half way home before anyone noticed. If they noticed at all.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Eamon said, his voice a deep rumble. “He saved us. End of story. We need to find the others.”

Buck pointed a finger, “We’ll be taking this up later.”

Shea rolled her eyes. Yeah. Only if they were all still alive.

The canyon walls narrowed to a slim slip of space that made it impossible to walk side by side, and Eamon’s broad shoulders blocked Shea’s view of the path ahead. In several spots, the men had to squeeze to fit through. Shea, being smaller, had an easier time of it, though at certain points she had to contort her body too.

She glanced up at the sky. The gray of the rock nearly blended into that of the thin strip of cloud that was visible, making it difficult to distinguish one from the other.

Shea stepped up onto a half buried boulder, checking the ground on the other side for any potential dangers before stepping down. Buck followed, placing one hand on the wall to steady himself as he looked over their heads.

So far there hadn’t been any sign of a struggle. No blood, no bodies or discarded items.

The three had agreed to maintain silence in case the shadow beetle was attracted to noise.

As they pushed further into the canyon, the path became more and more impassable and they were forced down twisting corridors and had to climb over fallen rocks. They passed several more burrows, which Shea made sure to point out to the other two. After the last one, Eamon’s face had gotten tight and his eyes hard.

Why hadn’t the men turned around the moment it became clear the path would be impossible for the horses to travel?

Shea looked above them again, running her hands slowly down the ravine’s mottled gray walls. So far, no sign of movement.

Buck stopped when she did, his hand going to the pommel of his sword. It wasn’t the first time she’d gone still, thinking she had seen something, but no matter how many times she stopped to take a closer look at her surroundings, they didn’t complain.

Eamon held up a closed fist signaling a stop. Buck stepped back and to the side while Shea froze where she was.

Eamon crouched and pointed at a shred of cloth snagged on a rock about ten feet above the ravine’s floor. Movement on the opposite side caught Shea’s eye. There one moment and gone the next as if something had just slid out of sight.

She tapped Eamon on the shoulder and then pointed to where she thought she saw movement. Together, they backed out of sight very slowly until a boulder shielded them.

“Fuck.” Buck’s voice was low and strained.

Eamon pressed his back against the wall and peeked around it, trying to spot the shadow beetle.

“I can’t see it.” The skin around his eyes was tight, and the knuckles of the hand clenched around his sword were bleached white. “That means it hasn’t fed, right?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Buck hissed. “You said if it wasn’t black it hadn’t fed.”

“You’re acting like I’ve spent my life studying these things,” Shea snapped. “The closest I’ve ever been to one was the one I just killed. Usually when I come across beast sign, I know enough to avoid the damn things. Not stroll into its den and poke it with a stick. I’ve only seen this thing twice. Once when it was feeding and had turned black. Judging by the fact these suckers are usually the color of a rock, I figured eating turns them black. But that’s still just a guess.”

She made sure to keep her voice to a low murmur. If you knew one thing about a beast, people always expected you to know everything.

Granted, she usually did know more than she knew about the shadow beetles.

Eamon grabbed Shea by the shoulders, his larger frame dwarfing hers. “You know more about these things than either of us. That means we’re going to be looking to you for answers. It’s not fair, but that’s just the way it is. Now, you know more than you think.”

Seeing the rebuttal on her face, he shook her once.

“Neither of us would have known it had a soft spot on the back of its neck just from seeing an eagle attack it once. We would have simply assumed the eagle’s claws were sharper than our weapons. We’re not expecting miracles from you. Just give us what you know. Every piece of information is more than we had before and could give us an advantage.”

Shea held his eyes, not sure if that had been a motivational speech or just the truth.

People always expected miracles. They might say they didn’t, but when the dead were lying on the ground, the finger pointing began.

Always.

“We could leave them behind,” she suggested watching him carefully, painfully aware of the large paws still on her shoulders.

His chest expanded as he inhaled sharply, and his hands clenched momentarily, before loosening to fall to his sides.

Buck’s lip curled in derision as he looked her over, but Eamon watched her as carefully as she did him. “I can’t do that, and unless I miss my guess, neither can you.”

Shea stayed leaning against the cool rock at her back even when he released her. She bent her head and gripped her forearms.

Might as well tell them her theories and observations. It was a little late to pretend ignorance.

He was right in that she didn’t really have it in her to turn her back and leave them to their fate. She didn’t have it in Edgecomb or outside of Goodwin of Ria, and she didn’t have it now.

“I don’t know how long they stay flushed with blood,” she told them. Before Eamon could get all disappointed, she said, “Tell me everything you remember from when you encountered the last shadow beetle.”

They took turns telling her about the attack. Buck held himself stiffly as he recounted his friend being torn in two. The man had been laughing at a joke and then suddenly he wasn’t. Instead, he was in pieces on the ground, never to laugh again.

Lorn had shouted to retreat, and the beetle had taken him next. After that, Eamon had grabbed Buck and squeezed them into a crevasse between two rocks, stabbing at it with their swords when it tried to root them out.

Shea asked them to repeat certain parts and expand on others. When they were done, she crouched behind the boulder and peered into the canyon, checking for any movement. Her mind churned through the information they had given her.

She ducked back and sat on her heels.

“What do you think?” Eamon asked crouching beside her.

“I don’t think they hunt by sight or smell.”

“Why?”

“Smell because it would have found us by now. Sight, well I didn’t see any eyes on that thing, did you?”

Buck tilted his head back, trying to remember. Shea hadn’t been in the state of mind to notice much of anything when she was trying to hack its head off. Of the three, he’d been the one to look it over afterwards. Shea had still been trying to wrap her head around the fact that it was over, and Eamon was busy attending to the dead.

“There were, but they were very small.”

“Right, that leaves sound. Buck said the first person it attacked was the one making the most noise. Then it attacked Lorn next despite Buck being closer. Also, if it was where I think it was a little bit ago, it would have had a direct line of sight on us. My guess is it’s attracted to vibrations.”

Buck started looking over his shoulders and up above their heads. “If it’s attracted to sound, wouldn’t it be able to tell we’re here already.”

“Possibly, but given how big that other thing was I don’t think it’d be able to fit in this tiny space. Besides, these cliffs act as amplifiers, which can make it difficult to tell a sound’s direction. I don’t think it’ll be able to pin us down until we’re in an enclosed space with it. It might know we’re coming though.”

“So we’ll have to be as quiet as possible going forward,” Eamon said.

“It’s not just speaking that we have to be careful of. It’s the way we move too.”

Eamon stood and adjusted the sword at his waist. Buck edged over to peer around their little rock shelter, taking a closer look at both cliff sides.

“We’ll spread out so if it attacks, the rest have a better chance of doing something,” Eamon said softly. “We know its weak spot now. We have a chance.”

Shea’s expression said ‘what the fuck is that going to do?’

“This is what a scout does, Daisy,” Buck said with a jaunty grin. “We go where others fear to tread. It’s why we’re the best of Hawkvale’s Army. Men fight for the privilege of being a scout. Father’s train their boys from birth for the sole purpose of joining our ranks. Who wants to be swinging a blade while hemmed in on their left and right when they have a chance at true glory? We slay beasts, and we’re not afraid of anything. Not even death.”

Buck drew his blade, crouched before looking to both sides and above, and then moved forward, walking as lightly as possible.

Eamon’s large body was framed in the opening as he looked back, giving her an inscrutable look before he too moved into the ravine. Unlike Buck, he didn’t crouch or hunch as if expecting a beast, but he did give everything a once over before stepping quietly out of their hiding place.

Shea sighed and drew her blade. She couldn’t let them go alone. They didn’t know it, but pathfinders had a similar mentality and were considered just as elite among her people. If she let them go alone, her dignity would never bear it.

Here goes.

As she stepped out, her body tensed for a blow that never came. She moved carefully, picking each foot up and setting it down softly before shifting to move the other foot, ensuring that she didn’t accidently kick any pebbles or step too hard. All the while she was on the lookout for any odd shapes, weird outcroppings or movement in her peripheral vision.

Buck had made his way to the cloth fluttering from the cliff. After scrutinizing the rock around the fabric, he pulled it down. He examined it before sticking it in his belt and returning to the middle of the canyon.

A tunnel, about half the height of Eamon, burrowed into the soft rock of the cliff. She edged around it, leaving a wide space between it and her. The empty blackness taunted her with what might be waiting to pop out. It was too small for an adult beetle to fit through. It had to be one of the ones the mother had dug to lay her eggs.

Shea crossed in front of it as quickly as she dared. Buck, on the other hand, approached stealthily and stuck his head in, trying to see into the black.

When he caught her eye, he gave a shrug that said he was curious.

These guys were crazy.

She followed Eamon, keeping an eye out and her weapon loose in her hand.

Still no sign of the others. Where did they go? It wasn’t as if there were a lot of places to hide. The sheer cliffs offered no shelter, and there were no boulders or trees to conceal themselves behind. Just rocky dirt. And burrows.

She froze, twisting to find Buck sticking his head down another one.

They couldn’t be that dumb, could they?

Eamon had stopped moving and was giving the burrows an assessing glance. He looked over his shoulder and tilted his head at the dark hole.

Yep, they could be that dumb. Shea mouthed a curse.

That’s why Buck was so all fired curious about the damn things. He thought their people might be in them.

He backed out of the latest one and shook his head at Eamon.

To those unfamiliar with the shadow beetle, it would have made sense to seek shelter in one of the smaller tunnels. The shadow beetle was too big to follow. It would seem like the safest place if you didn’t know about the hundreds, possibly thousands, of eggs filled with ravenous baby shadow beetles, just waiting to hatch.

Buck straightened and pointed at the tunnel he just checked, making the sign for tracks. It was no bigger than waist high and only about two feet across. He’d found several footprints in the dirt in front of it.

They shared looks of equal distaste.

None of them wanted to head down into the dark. Eamon rolled his eyes up to the sky as if to say ‘why me?’ while Buck rested one arm against the stone and covered his eyes.

Eamon crouched to the side and cupped his hands around his mouth whispering as loud as he could into the dark, “Vale? Anyone? Are you alive down there?”

Buck and Eamon tilted their heads, trying to hear a response.

Shea turned partially away and raised her weapon as she scanned the canyon. When no response came, Eamon duck walked a few feet, trying hard not to bump his head on the ceiling. He repeated the call.

A shout ripped through the blackness. It was piercingly loud in the quiet.

A ripple moved along the canyon wall and something scrapped against rock.

“Fuck, it heard that,” Shea hissed.

“Eamon, it’s coming,” Buck said urgently. “You need to get out of there. Get out of there, Eamon.”

As if a veil had been lifted, there came a pouring of screams from the dark.

The creature above them leapt.

Shea ducked, feeling the great immenseness of it pass within inches of her. She landed hard on her stomach and rolled, watching as the camouflaged bulk of the beast eclipsed Buck and the tunnel Eamon had been investigating.

“Shit,” she said, popping to her feet.

Once there, she wasn’t quite sure what to do.

She took a step in the beetle’s direction before moving to the side then back again. She paced back and forth. What should she do? Were the others dead?

The beetle clawed at the surrounding rock, trying to dig its way into the hole. It reared back and then rammed the rock again and again.

Shea felt a little relieved. Buck and Eamon must have escaped down it.

As it crushed rock under its pinchers and then flung it aside to widen the burrow, Shea became a little worried.

They needed a distraction.

She backed away, banging sword against rock, screaming and shouting to get its attention. She made as much noise as she could, hoping to distract it for just a little bit.

It worked, too.

Its digging paused, and the beast scuttled back to face her.

Shea gulped. She hadn’t really thought of what to do after she got its attention.

She took another step back as it cocked its head before rubbing its front legs together. She lunged away from the rock she’d been banging against right as it pounced. She crawled before leaping to her feet and running in the opposite direction.

A high-pitched chittering came from the beetle. She ducked and rolled again, barely evading a pincher. She coughed as she got a mouthful of dirt and rolled again to avoid being skewered by one of its legs, only to wedge herself against the cliff. She had no room to move.

It rose above her, exposing its underside as it prepared to deliver the killing blow. She tried to duck, but there was nowhere to go. She curled into a little ball, protecting her head with her arms.

This was it.

She was about to die.

Moments passed and pain didn’t come. Her limbs remained attached. There was a thump; the ground shook.

She lowered one arm, peeking above it. The creature lay on its stomach, looking like a particularly large misshapen bolder. Blood oozed out of a gaping hole in its now oddly shaped head.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. She used the wall at her back to stabilize her as she climbed to her feet.

Eamon rose into view above the beast’s inert body, his sword resting over his shoulder.

“How did you? Where did you?” Shea gaped at the dead beast and then up at him.

“Is that what we looked like when you saved us?” Eamon asked, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling.

Shea’s mouth snapped closed.

“Bet you’re glad you told us about their weak spot now,” Buck said, lifting a leg to step over one of the beast’s mammoth limbs. Two men followed him, their clothes dotted with blood. One had several strips of cloth wrapped around his arm to stem the flow of blood that even now was saturating the fabric to drip in a steady trickle down his arm to his hand.

“You’re alive,” Shea said stupidly.

It was hard to wrap her head around this turn of events. Moments ago she had been preparing for death. Now, the beast was dead. It was taking her a moment to catch up.

“Yup.” Buck sheathed his sword and put his hands on his hips.

“And you’re unharmed as well,” Shea told Eamon.

He jumped to the ground in a lithe movement and joined Buck. “You ever going to come out of there?”

Shea started and looked around. The cliff was at her back, and the creature had collapsed right in front of her. It had barely missed squishing her beneath its mass.

“How?” Shea asked as she climbed over one of its legs.

The limb was twice the thickness of her body, and she had to step up onto it before stepping down. Buck reached out to steady her as she joined them.

“Turns out the burrows are connected. Since we couldn’t get out the way we came because ole pincher here was trying to dig in, we had to go further down the burrow. That’s when we found the others.” He pointed his chin at the men who examined the beast with bewildered expressions on their faces. “They’d been caught in some kind of substance so we cut them out. Then we just kept following the tunnel.”

“We had to fight our way past some hatchlings, but their shells are a lot softer than the adults,” Buck interjected.

“How’d you get on top of the damn thing without it noticing?”

He turned and pointed at one of the burrows that was several feet off the ground. “I just waited for you to draw it near and then I jumped on top of it. After that, I attacked its weak spot like you said. Worked pretty well.”

“You killed it? With just one blow?”

Unbelievable.

Eamon looked at Buck and then back at her and lifted one shoulder. “Yup.”

Bastard.

Shea couldn’t believe it. One hit. It had taken her several. How many, she wasn’t exactly sure since she’d lost count in her terror.

Men had all the advantages. If she had muscles as big as his, she was sure it would have taken her only one hit too.

“Where are the rest?” she asked when she only counted three standing around.

Buck’s eyes went to the ground, and Eamon’s mouth tightened as he shook his head once.

Oh.

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. Poor souls.

Of their eleven-man party only six had survived. With no wounds, Eamon and Buck were in pretty good shape, but the three they’d rescued looked shell shocked and a little worse for wear. All of them bore cuts and were covered in blood. Theirs or their companions.

“Well, where to next?” Shea asked.

“Vale didn’t make it, but I managed to get the map off his body. Now if I’m reading this right,” Eamon pulled a folded piece of paper out of his waistband. He squinted down at it. “Hm.”

Shea rolled her eyes and snatched the thing out of his hands.

“Where are you trying to go?”

“What? You think you can read that, Daisy?” one of the rescued men asked.

Shea ignored him.

“We’ve been going in circles for several days,” she said, thinking out loud. She scanned the map. “Not that that’s surprising given this chicken scratch.”

“Watch it, kid,” another man said gruffly.

“They tell you where on this thing you were supposed to go?” she asked Eamon.

“Hey, Daisy. You best show some respect,” the man started.

Eamon cut him off with a gesture. Aiming a frown at her, he took the map back and scanned it. He pointed at their destination.

Shea took the map back and stared at it thoughtfully. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever seen, but it certainly hadn’t been done by anybody who cared about precision.

She looked up at the sky. Before they did anything else, they needed to get out of this canyon.

“Might be a good idea to get out of the canyons,” she told Eamon. “If we head to high ground, it’ll be easier to get our bearings.”

He was silent for a moment. Shea waited. Either he trusted her and her abilities or not.

The others didn’t. They saw her apparent youth and equated it with inexperience. Didn’t matter as long as Eamon trusted enough to let her get them out of this kill zone.

“You think you can do this?” he asked her.

She lifted one shoulder. “Better at guiding than I am at beast killing.”

One side of his mouth quirked. “Guess we’ll see.”

She restrained the urge to smile back and said nonchalantly, “Guess so.”

All humor dropped from his face as he looked at the others. “Well, you heard him. Head back to the horses. Night’s not far off.”

Chapter Nine

“Whoever made this map should have their pens and ink confiscated before being dropped in the middle of nowhere with no supplies. Then we’d see whether they thought they did a thorough job,” Shea muttered looking from said map into the distance.

None of the landmarks matched. Details were missing. Important details. The kind that could mean the difference between life and death.

Near as she could tell they were somewhere to the southwest of the encampment. She thought they were only about seven days ride, but given how lost Vale had gotten them, they could be closer.

“What’re you complaining about?” Eamon asked, joining her as she plotted, or attempted to plot, a route to rendezvous with the rest of the company.

“This.” She held up the map and shook it. “What do they expect people to do with this garbage? Certainly not navigate. I mean half this shit isn’t even on here. Like that mountain or that canyon we just came from. The stuff they say is here, isn’t. According to this, we should have passed a river a few miles back. I didn’t see anything resembling a river or a streambed. Did you? Nothing. Nothing was there.”

“Thought you had this. Are you sure you’re not just lost?” Eamon asked skeptically.

She shot him a nasty look before continuing, “I’ve seen some pretty shoddy maps before but nothing as half-assed as this.”

Eamon shrugged and rested a hand on his sword’s pommel while scanning the terrain. “They do the best they can, but they’re limited by the intel they get from the field. Most scouts can read a map okay, but they can’t describe the terrain well enough for the cartographers to draw an accurate record.”

Then they should get their asses into the field and do their bloody job.

She yearned for her own detailed maps back home. Not that they would do much good here. She was further south than she’d ever been and had never mapped this area. If she had, she wouldn’t be having problems.

“Are you telling me you can’t do it?” He turned to motion one of the others. “If so, I’ll have someone else take over.”

Shea’s head shot up. She glared at him, her pride stung. “Did I say I couldn’t do it?”

“That’s what it sounded like to me.”

“Well, that’s not what I said. I can find my way anywhere. This shitty little map is just an annoyance, that’s all.” She glared at the man joining them.

Eamon lifted his chin at the man. The man, noticing the daggers currently shooting his way, smothered a smile before heading back to the small campfire.

Shea grumbled, turning back to her map. She lifted her head and peered into the distance. It was late afternoon, and they had decided to make camp while they got their bearings.

Two days had passed since the encounter with the shadow beetles, and the group was beginning to appreciate Shea’s insights into the world around them. Saving someone’s life had a tendency to do that.

Try as she might, she couldn’t get the map’s features to line up with the terrain. She sat back and pinched the bridge of her nose, finding new respect for Vale’s navigating skills. It was no wonder they had gotten so lost if this was what he’d had to work with.

She sighed and pulled out a pen before bending to make notes, crossing off features that were wrong and writing in the correct ones. She didn’t like drawing all over someone else’s work, but she needed a way to keep track of the landmarks they passed.

At least she knew they were heading south with a western slant.

The light faded as Shea continued to work. By the time the map was illegible, she had a general idea of the direction they should take tomorrow.

Finished, she folded the map up and stuffed it into a pouch in her jacket before climbing off her boulder and joining the rest at the campfire. They had chosen a rock overhang for shelter, one to partially block the light of the fire and two for protection from the wind. Though the days were warm, nighttime temperatures dropped significantly out here.

She plopped down next to Buck and accepted the plate of warm food he handed her. One of the boys had shot a hare that afternoon, and they made stew with some wild potatoes Shea dug up. It was the first warm meal they’d enjoyed since leaving the encampment.

At the first taste, Shea shoveled two more mouthfuls in, swallowing without really chewing. Somehow food always tasted doubly good on the trail, probably because there was so little of it.

The meat was tender, and they had found some type of herb to dump in the pot, too. Shea tried to identify the interesting taste but gave up. Cooking wasn’t exactly her strong suit. She knew enough about plants not to kill herself but had absolutely no idea how to combine ingredients to make something tasty. She was just grateful one of the men did.

“What do you think, Shane?”

Shea gulped her latest mouthful down and was already lifting another spoonful to her lips when it dawned that they were talking to her.

She should be used to her new name by now, but the men called her Daisy more often than not. It made it difficult to get used to a name she was so rarely called by. She didn’t always react immediately.

She looked up to find all eyes on her.

“About what?”

Sam snorted and handed her a piece of hard bread. She took it gratefully.

Eamon said, “I know the food’s good, lad, but I promise it won’t disappear if you slow down a bit.”

Shea stuck her bread in the stew and spooned some of the liquid over it, hoping that by the time she ate the rest, it would be soft enough not to break teeth.

“Do you think Hawkvale’s right? That the Lowlands can be conquered and united under one banner?”

Shea paused with her mouth open before setting her spoon back in her bowl. “I don’t know enough about the situation to comment.”

Buck scoffed. “Never known a Daisy to be shy about shooting off at the mouth about things they don’t understand. You must have some opinion. Everybody does. Go ahead boy, don’t be shy. We won’t clap you in irons if we don’t like what you have to say.”

Shea shifted, uncomfortable to be the center of attention. Up until now she had tried to stay mainly on the fringes of the group, not joining conversations, just doing her job and observing.

“It’s just campfire chatter,” Eamon informed her softly. “A time to bitch and groan about what the higher ups are doing. Nothing ever comes of it.”

They said that now, but they were Trateri. Shea was not. They could get away with saying a lot more than an outsider.

“What about you?” Shea challenged.

“Ah, but we know what we think,” Buck returned. “And you would too if you’d been paying attention over the last few days. We’re interested in what you, a native Lowlander, have to say. You’d know more about this land than us. Do you think it’s possible to conquer this place and hold it?”

That would be true if Shea had been a Lowlander. She did know a lot about the country as it paid for pathfinders to know everything about the different places they might visit. Still, there was a wide gap of knowledge between someone born and raised here and someone making short forays into the area.

Still, it couldn’t hurt to share a few insights with them. Just a few, though. Nothing that might make her stand out.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe some of it.”

“Aw, that’s not an answer,” Sam said. “Stop being such a pussy and pick a side.”

“No, no,” Eamon said. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

Shea stared at them, running her tongue over her teeth. How much should she tell them? “You know by now that the Lowlands aren’t really a country. There’s no central government ruling the people. It’s just a bunch of isolated villages and towns with loose ties to each other. Each governs itself and outsiders are viewed with suspicion.”

“This isn’t news,” Buck groused. Flint, sitting next to him, gave him a shove.

“I say ‘maybe’ because there is no real ruling body that Hawkvale can defeat. Since that’s the case, he’s going to have to conquer each village individually, not only that, but he’ll have to find a way to rule people used to having no ruler.”

“On the other hand, no real government means no standing army to defend the land,” Eamon pointed out.

“True. I’ll give you that. But right now, you can’t even find all the villages because even the villages aren’t sure where each stands. I think there’s a strong possibility that he’ll claim some of this territory for his people, but the more isolated sections that no one ever visits?” Shea shook her head. “I don’t see that happening. The Lowlands haven’t been united in over five hundred years. Not since the cataclysm. Who’d even want to anyway? Place is a shit hole. Just a bunch of uneducated, superstitious louts afraid of the outside world and unwilling to challenge the status quo.”

“Spoken like someone who’s never been thirsty a day in their life,” someone muttered.

Shea jerked towards the voice but couldn’t identify the speaker. Her lip curled. “You think this place isn’t full of challenges? Look closely next time you’re in a village. You might be surprised at what you find.”

She looked each man in the eye, noting those who dropped their gaze after a moment.

“You speak like you’re not one of them,” Buck observed.

That’s because she wasn’t.

“I’m a throwaway, remember? Not a lot of love lost on either side.”

“That’s cold. Don’t think I could take that viewpoint even if I was exorcised from my clan,” Sam said.

“And you? What do you think?” Shea asked Eamon.

He might have said earlier, but she hadn’t been listening.

Shadows danced across his face as the fire flickered. “In the end it doesn’t really matter what I think. Possible or not, Hawkvale thinks the Broken Lands can be united as they were before the cataclysm. That’s enough for me.”

“That’s a lot of faith to have in one man.”

“Fallon Hawkvale is a hero to the Trateri,” Sam said softly. “His grandfather was the last Hawk of the Trateri until he was challenged by his nephew and killed through deception.”

“That was a dark time,” one of the older men said.

There were murmurs of agreement.

“We lost entire tribes warring against each other,” Sam said. “Resources are scarce in our land, and the battles for them can be savage. He instituted brutal laws that benefited him and his council. We broke apart as a people. Hawkvale changed all that when he won the right to rule and began uniting the clans. The Trateri believe he will lead us into a golden age that will rule over all of the Broken Lands.”

Sounded like Fallon had united the Trateri by giving them a common enemy. People tended to forget their differences and band together when they had something to fight against.

From their story, it didn’t sound like he’d be content to conquer just the Lowlands. To unite the Broken Lands, he would have to conquer the Highlands, Shea’s home. That couldn’t happen.

She looked at Eamon. “And you? Do you believe he will lead the Clans to a golden age?”

“I don’t know.” Eamon’s eyes, even cast in shadow, pierced through Shea. “But if any man can, it will be him.”

Focus shifted off Shea and onto conversation about their friends and family. Shea didn’t know any of those they were talking about, so it gave her an excuse to bow out of the conversation.

Her mouth full, she chewed thoughtfully as she listened to them giving each other a hard time. They seemed to enjoy coming up with the best insult. It was easy to be around them, and more than once she smiled in response to a particularly good zinger.

This was what she liked about being in the field, the easy camaraderie. It was something that had been missing in her life for a while now.

Before long, she made her way into the darkness to relieve herself, making sure she was far from prying eyes. Preparing to turn in, she found a relatively flat spot on the ground and pulled out a small blanket to cover her body, laying her jacket on top for extra warmth and arranging the pack she’d retrieved from the top of the cliff behind her head as a pillow.

She found herself softening towards her companions, no matter how many times she told herself that they weren’t her friends.

They treated her as an equal. Like someone whose opinion mattered. It had been a long time since she had that, since before the Badlands, if she had ever had it to this extent at all. She thought she might have been building toward this type of give and take with Witt and Dane, but that had been taken away before she knew if it was real or not.

She shut her eyes, determined to get some rest before they woke her for her shift as night watch in a few hours.

It didn’t take long for her body to sink gratefully into sleep.

Eamon rose from the pile of stones he’d been examining. They were assembled into a pyramid, and a short stick stuck out of the side. It pointed to the left.

“Looks like you knew what you were doing after all,” he told Shea, coming to stand beside her horse. He tilted his head back to smile at her.

She gave a short nod, her eyes going back to that pile of rocks. They had found signs where a large group had set up camp, but she hadn’t been sure it was the group they were looking for. Judging by the quick smiles of the men, nobody shared her concerns.

She had a feeling it had something to do with that pile but was afraid to ask in case it was knowledge a real scout would have.

They no doubt had their own trail sign to communicate with their people. Shea’s people had a method as well and used it for things such as a warning someone of danger or as a signal that they had come this way.

She couldn’t help but feel like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. They’d been on the trail for eleven days now, and she was beginning to worry they weren’t going to find the company they’d been tasked with locating. For the past day every time Eamon or one of the others had glanced at her, she’d tensed thinking they were about to challenge her abilities.

That hadn’t happened though, even when she had started taking them in a sweeping crisscross pattern for most of the last day, checking the back trail for signs of people they may have missed.

“What’re you talking about?” Buck asked riding up beside them. “Pip squeak could find his way blind.”

Eamon shook his head and snorted before mounting his horse. “Signs say they went west. Looks like the camp fire was from last night so we’re only about half a day behind them. They’ll be moving slower than us, so if we ride hard, we’ll be able to catch them before the sun sets.”

“Finally,” Buck said. “Maybe we’ll get a hot meal tonight.”

“At the very least we’ll get to eat something besides hard tack and this damn jerky,” Eamon returned as they went single file down the hill.

“That’d be nice,” Sam said dreamily. After eleven days of trail food, everyone was ready for something new. Even Shea felt her mouth water at the thought of something besides jerky.

Conversation dropped off as they rode, each keeping an eye on their surroundings.

The group encountered more and more signs that people had come this way. From the excrement a horse left to hoof prints to the occasional piece of manmade goods. The path was easy to follow for anyone able to read it.

A man stood from an outcropping of rocks and leveled a bow at them. “Halt and state your business.”

Eamon pulled on his reins and held up one hand. “We’re scouts from the Dawn’s Rider Company here to see your commander.”

The cross bow dipped slightly but stayed pointed in their general direction. “The moon rises over the summer plains.”

“But sets over the burning snakes,” Eamon returned.

At Eamon’s response, the man pointed the cross bow to the ground and waved them past. Eamon took lead and the rest followed. Shea looked back once to see the guard settle into position behind a tangle of bushes that hid him from view. She turned forward again.

A challenge and response. An effective way of determining friend from foe.

How often did those codes change and were there different ones for different companies? If someone knew the codes, they could slip in and out of camps with little trouble.

They cantered around a copse of trees and came upon a campsite filled with their quarry. The group, numbering at two hundred, was much smaller than those they left in the valley. This was a short term camp, meant only for the night. There were no tents, but they’d set up crude pallets for sleeping and several campfires dotted the clearing. From the smell of things, someone had already started dinner.

Eamon and Buck dismounted. Shea followed their lead, unsaddling her horse and tying it next to theirs. A hand landed on her shoulder, startling her.

“You’re with me,” Eamon told her.

Sam slipped up to her and slid her pack and saddle from her hands. “I’ll set your things next to ours for when you’re done.”

“Thanks,” she said softly.

Wiping sweaty palms on her pants, she followed Eamon’s broad back as he strode through camp. What did he want from her? Had he discovered she was a woman?

That would not be good.

She started scanning for the best possible escape routes. Her secret was probably still safe, but it was best to be prepared.

“Scout Master Eamon Walker of Dawn’s Riders with an urgent message for the commander of Saw Grass,” Eamon said after coming to a stop in front of a trio hunched over a map.

A sandy haired man with a week’s worth of stubble and a broad forehead straightened. His clothes were just as lived in as the rest of the men and nothing pointed to him as the leader except the slight look of authority resting on his stern countenance.

“What do you have for me master scout?” he asked.

The other two didn’t bother standing. The woman on the left stayed leaning on her elbows while looking over the two of them. The man on the right chewed busily at a stick and folded his arms.

Shea kept her eyes from settling on any person for too long, not wanting to draw any more attention. Why was she here? Eamon could have handled the report just fine on his own.

She would have been much happier seeing to her sleeping arrangements. Or finding a way to escape.

“There’s been a change to your orders,” Eamon said.

“Figures,” the stick chewer muttered. The woman curled her lip in disgust, while the leader looked like he had bit into something sour.

Ignoring the comments, Eamon continued, “You’re to hook up with another element and provide support while they investigate Ram’s Crossing, a small village about thirty miles west of here.”

“Where?”

“May I?” Eamon asked, pointing at the map.

The leader gestured for him to go ahead. Eamon bent over, peering at it closely before pointing to a spot that was about a day’s ride north west of their current position.

The stick chewer caught Shea’s eye when she lifted her eyes from the map and raised his eyebrows. She dropped her gaze quickly not quite sure of the protocol for someone in the position she was currently occupying.

“This is bad,” the woman said, looking up at the leader. “This will take us past the revenants.”

Shea flinched. Revenants. She hated revenants. Everybody loathed the foul creatures.

The beast was hella intelligent and vicious as a wolverine after a long winter. Not a couple of qualities you wanted combined in one animal. Though only about the size of a dog, it had thick reptilian skin that was damn near impossible to penetrate and wicked sharp fangs and claws.

That wasn’t the worst part, though. Practically every beast had sharp claws and fangs. That was nothing to get worked up about. What made them so terrifying was the fact they hunted in packs and had a humanlike intelligence. They learned from their mistakes, and they never made the same one twice.

Shea had four scars on her thigh from her last encounter.

“Who’s your lad?” stick chewer asked, looking her over.

Eamon reached back and pulled Shea up to stand next to him. “My second, Shane.”

Stick chewer whistled while Perry’s eyebrows rose. Shea stiffened as she found herself under the regard of the three. Her eyes flickered from face to face trying to find a safe place to settle when she finally just gazed over the woman’s head.

“Kind of young to be a second, isn’t he?” the woman asked. “Looks like a Daisy.”

“Fiona’s right. Kid doesn’t look like much.”

“His appearance is a little misleading. Fucker’s crazier than a stallion in heat and has balls as big as one.”

“Oh?” Perry asked.

Eamon nodded. “You notice we numbered six when we rode into camp. We started with eleven.”

The stick chewer spat on the ground. “Unlucky number.”

Eamon agreed with him. “We probably wouldn’t have made it at all if it weren’t for the lad’s mischief.”

Perry looked her over slowly, noting her slim limbs, less than impressive height and smooth skin that had never seen a razor. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Took down one of those huge beetles by himself. He’s also the one who found you lot. If not for him, we would have been wandering for a lot longer.” Eamon nodded at her. “He might be young, but he knows his craft.”

“A beetle, huh?” stick chewer asked. “Most don’t walk away from an encounter like that.”

“Can’t be far out of being a Daisy,” Fiona said.

“He was a Daisy when we started,” Eamon confirmed.

Shea’s hands curled into fists at her side, while she tried to keep all expression off her face. Please, please, please, find something else to talk about.

“Battlefield promotion then,” stick chewer said.

“We’ll need your assistance dealing with the revenants,” Perry informed Eamon. “We’re down to three scouts since our last encounter. Damn things took apart three parties before we could get away from them. Thought I’d lose my men in battle. I was prepared for that. Instead it’s these damn creatures wearing us down.”

“Understood. I’ll prepare my men for the change in plans.”

“We’ll leave at first light.”

Dismissed, Eamon turned on his heel, heading for his men gathered around one of the fires. Shea trailed in his wake.

The sun had begun to sink behind the mountains while they were giving their report to Perry, but little fingers of amber light fought off the deepening gloom.

Shea’s stomach growled at the smell of food, but she didn’t let that distract her. She needed to speak to Eamon before they reached the others.

“Eamon?”

Eamon stopped, looking over in question.

Shea gathered her courage, knowing that she was about to piss him off. Oh well, it needed to be said. If he called her a coward, so be it. “It’s suicide trying to travel through revenant territory.”

“Oh?” He didn’t say anything else, just that.

“Revenants are smart,” Shea said. “And they learn from every encounter with humans. If these guys had trouble with them earlier, they’re going to have twice as much now. Whatever tactics they used last time won’t work because the beasts have already adapted.”

“I see your point, but that doesn’t change the fact our destination is on the other side of their territory.”

“We could go around it,” Shea offered.

Eamon crossed his arms and shook his head. “Not enough time.”

“It’s better than losing half the company to an attack.”

“They’re that dangerous?”

“A small pack? No. But if there are several packs in this area, they’ll call for reinforcements. That wouldn’t be good for us.”

“Perry would never go for it.”

“But-“

“I understand what you’re saying, but we’ll be going through their territory tomorrow. We’ve got orders now. We have to follow them. End of story.”

Shea bit her lip and crossed her arms in front of her defensively, looking miserably down at the ground. His response wasn’t exactly a surprise. She’d known he was going to say something to that effect, but she’d hoped she could change his mind.

Seeing the dejected expression on Shane’s face, Eamon sighed. “I understand your concerns. I even share them, but there’s not much we can do besides make the best of the situation. Share with the boys what you know of these beasts. That’s all you can do right now. You never know, it might save their lives tomorrow.”

He patted her on the shoulder and headed for their men. Shea followed, mumbling a reply to Flint’s greeting as she took a seat beside the campfire. Leaning against her pack, she stretched her legs out and fished inside the front pocket, pulling out a small notebook with a pen tied to it. Luckily for her, she had it stashed in her jacket when Darius and his men took her captive. Otherwise it would have been lost to her like the maps.

The notebook’s cover was leather and solid black. Enough nicks and dents had accumulated on it through the years to give it an entirely new texture. Rough and pockmarked. Crumpled loose pages worn smooth from being handled too often threatened to spill onto the ground. Shea shoved them back into place before flipping through the entries to the one she wanted. She flattened the page in question, gazing at the crude sketch of a shadow beetle.

Pathfinders specialized in many areas. Some were guides, like Shea, who were embedded into a community and expected to provide whatever skills it needed. This mostly entailed leading trading expeditions or acting as the go-to person when it came to knowledge about beasts, other villages, and the easiest routes. This was the most common type of position a pathfinder undertook.

Then there were those who led expeditions into the furthest reaches of the Highlands to gather knowledge and perfect the guild’s maps. Only the most talented pathfinders rose to this station.

Next were the pathfinders who recorded and safe guarded knowledge from both the current world and the past. These were the rarest type and even they were broken further down into subcategories according to the type of information they recorded.

A younger Shea had once dreamed of being the last type of pathfinder, what her people called a keeper. As the brightest apprentice in years, she’d been well on her way to achieving that dream. She would have been granted access to archives containing endless knowledge and would lead her own research expeditions, until the fiasco in the Badlands had burned away her ambitions. One mistake cost her the position and served to demote her to a simple village pathfinder.

She might never be able to gain access to the guild libraries or contribute her own observations for future generations. That didn’t mean she couldn’t create her own catalog. It was unlikely anyone would ever see it, but she couldn’t fight the need to record things. She likened her hobby to a magpie collecting shiny treasure, only her treasure came in the form of knowledge gleaned from the world around her.

She read through the entry before adding her latest observations. Next to the hypothesis of a weak spot at the back of a beetle’s neck she wrote ‘confirmed’. Under it she gave a brief description of her encounter and added a few nuggets Eamon had given her about the beetle’s offspring, including the fact they used a hard sticky substance to keep their food trapped and fresh.

“What’re you doing?” a curious voice asked next to her ear.

Shea’s head snapped up, and she shifted back, the book held like a club in her hand.

The boy, not much older than seventeen, held up his hands in a peaceful gesture. He had wide brown eyes and an engaging grin. Spotty patches on his chin said he was trying to grow the beginnings of a beard.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He folded his legs and sat next to the spot Shea had just vacated. “I’m Clark.”

Shea relaxed, letting the notebook rest on her knee. The boy looked expectantly at her and then down at the book.

“Can I see it?”

Her grip tightened on the leather, not wanting to share this piece of her. He looked so hopeful, though, that she didn’t have it in her heart to deny him. Hesitantly, she opened it to the page she’d been working on and handed it to him.

He examined the entry quietly, flipping the page to read the back and then the next entry. Shea found herself holding her breath but released it quickly, chastising herself. What exactly did she expect from this boy? Whatever reaction he had wouldn’t matter in the long run.

“This is amazing,” he said, looking up at her while he flipped slowly through.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. It was ridiculous to feel a sense of accomplishment from a few words of thoughtless praise. He’d never seen the archives in the Wayfarer’s Keep. He didn’t know what amazing was.

“I mean, really. This is amazing. I’ve never even seen some of these beasts and wouldn’t know the first thing about dealing with them. You’ve cataloged what types of environments they like to live in, strengths, possible weaknesses. Here you have a section on what worked against,” he squinted at the writing, “an Anzo Scorpion. Nasty creature. Where did you get the idea to do this?”

Shea shrugged noncommittally. She couldn’t very well tell him she’d been training to do this since she was younger than him.

He didn’t hesitate to continue, his words running together in an endless stream. “The possibilities with something like this are endless. If even one scout in a party had something like this, it would make things so much easier. We could save lives. We might even have a chance against some of these beasts.”

Shea plopped her chin on her knee, wondering if he would even notice if she left. He didn’t seem to need anyone to carry on a conversation, happy to just talk and talk and talk.

He finally looked up and noticed her attention had wandered. He laughed and handed her book back to her. “Sorry about that. I tend to ramble when I get excited. You’re Shane, right?”

She blinked at him and leaned back. How did he know her name?

Seeing the distrust in her expression, he laughed again. “Relax. Buck’s been bragging about this amazing Daisy who saved all their asses from death. Said that you got a battlefield promotion to full scout. I just got rid of my yellow ribbon a few weeks ago so I know how exciting that is.”

Shea’s eyes began to glaze over again at this onslaught of information.

“Just tune Clark out, lad. He’s a good boy but tends to let his mouth run away with him when he gets excited,” Eamon advised, setting his pack down next to Shea’s.

“Eamon!” Clark cried, jumping to his feet and bounding over to clap Eamon on the back. Eamon grinned and slapped him on the back in return. “It’s good to see you. I hear you and your boys are going to be helping us tomorrow.”

“You heard right. We’ll be traveling with you for a spell before we head back to the main body.”

“That’s a relief. I don’t want to think what might happen if we attempted this with what remains of our company.”

“How bad was it?” Eamon asked, his voice low.

Clark suddenly seemed older and more mature as a shadow crossed his face, signaling a deep grief. “Bad. We lost four scouts and nearly twenty soldiers before we could put enough distance between us and them.”

Eamon looked pained at this news, and he shook his head in sympathy, giving Clark’s shoulder a squeeze.

“They won’t say it, but the men are uneasy,” Clark said quietly. “They’re saying these things aren’t natural. That they’re demons from the underworld.”

“They say that whenever they encounter something new.”

“Maybe. But you didn’t see the way these things hunted. It was like they learned from us. They were intelligent.”

Eamon’s were troubled as they met Shea’s. The lines bracketing his mouth deepened.

“I hear you had your own problems on the trail,” Clark said, breaking the silence.

Eamon nodded slowly and this time it was his turn to have his face pulled tight at the thought of friends who hadn’t made it. “We lost five.”

Clark winced.

“I didn’t know you’d been given your own team,” Clark said, trying to steer the subject to something less grim.

“Haven’t been,” Eamon said. “Our scout master died in route. I was next in command.”

“Fate’s a funny bitch, ain’t she?” Clark commiserated. “I know it’s not the best way to assume command but congratulations anyways.”

“Thanks, kid. You too. I know you’ve been looking to lose the yellow for a while.”

Clark grinned, letting the seriousness of the past few minutes drop. “The green looks good on me, doesn’t it?” He pretended to preen despite not having a spot of green anywhere on his person. “Much better than that yellow.”

“It does indeed,” Eamon agreed.

“Hey, did you see that book your boy’s got?” Clark asked, jerking his thumb at Shea.

That rat bastard was telling on her!

She slid the book out of sight as she became the center of attention. Clark rolled his eyes and reached around her as she tried to block him. He pulled the book out of her resisting fingers.

“Get a look at this. I bet there’s even an entry about revenants in here.” He flipped through the worn pages, taking care not to handle them too roughly, while Eamon peered over his shoulder in curiosity.

“Here it is.” Clark shoved the book, opened to the entry in question, into Eamon’s hands.

Eamon’s eyebrows lowered as his eyes moved from side to side. Shea’s fingers itched to snatch it away from him. She didn’t like people looking through her things.

She glared at Clark whose lips twitched in answer.

Eamon flipped the page and read to the end of the entry before looking up at Shea. “This is really detailed.”

“I’ve encountered them a time or two in the past.”

“From the sound of this, more than a time or two.”

She lifted a shoulder and found a spot to stare at on his chest, not wanting to answer the questions she knew were in his eyes.

She could feel the heat of his stare on her bent head as he looked from her to the book in his hands. She imagined he knew how unlikely it was for the average Lowlander to have compiled the information in the book. For starters, most Lowlanders couldn’t read or write. Beyond that, the kinds of things noted in the entries weren’t something a regular person would notice. It was the kind of stuff people only gleaned after extensive training and experience. Lots of experience. No doubt Eamon was asking himself a lot of questions right now. Questions Shea couldn’t afford for him to ask.

Snapping the book shut, he said, “Come with me.”

Shea’s head shot up to see Eamon moving quickly away from her. Confused and with her mouth slightly open in shock, she glanced at Clark who watched with a bright look of interest. He shrugged. “Don’t look at me. You’d best follow. Eamon doesn’t like repeating things.”

Her mouth snapped shut, and she leapt into motion, catching up with Eamon and tagging along behind him as he threaded through the camp.

“Sir.” Eamon stopped in front of Perry and waited to be acknowledged.

“What is it?”

Eamon knelt down and slid the book in front of Perry. “You might want to read this.”

The corner of Perry’s mouth pulled down in displeasure. “I don’t have time for games. There’s a-“

His voice trailed off as he caught sight of the smooth charcoal lines rendering a revenant. With a skeptical glance at Eamon, he picked up the book and read the description. When he was done, he leaned back, tapping the book on the makeshift table while studying Eamon and then Shea in turn.

“Where did you get this?”

Eamon gestured behind him at Shea. “It’s the boy’s.”

Those fierce eyes focused on Shea, studying her with a greater intensity than they had earlier that afternoon.

“This pickleberry juice.” Perry checked the journal to make sure he was saying it right. “Is it hard to make?”

Eamon nudged her when she was silent a moment too long. “Not at all, sir. All you need to do is crush the berries against your clothing and skin. The plants are all over these hills.”

Perry leaned forward placing the book in front of Eamon. “Ensure this information is distributed to my scouts and then the rest of the company. Send him and several parties out to find these berries. Enough for the entire company.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eamon spun and strode off. Shea lingered a moment looking in slight confusion between his retreating back and Perry, who was examining the map. Then she trailed after Eamon as he pulled several men from their campfires and assembled them in a small gathering.

Buck stopped by Shea and squinted at the group. “What’s going on?”

Clark interrupted before Shea opened her mouth. “Your boy there might’ve given us a fighting chance tomorrow.”

Shea disagreed. “I don’t think that information is going to have the effect you think it will. It was just an observation I made during my last encounter. It’s never been verified.”

Clark shrugged. “Maybe not, but we know more about the enemy than we did an hour ago. If nothing else, it’ll help the soldiers see the beast as something that’s killable. You don’t know how important that is. If they think something is impossible before they even start, they won’t last long. This way they have hope. Sometimes that makes all the difference.”

Clark watched as Eamon held up the book and explained what needed to get done before the morning. The men and women listened intently, their faces focused as they internalized his words.

Shea followed his gaze. All this time writing her observations down thinking nobody would ever see them, much less think them relevant. At times she had struggled to keep going as she wondered at the point of continuing.

This, in some small fashion, was her dream realized but not in any way she had ever imagined.

Chapter Ten

Shea tilted her head back to examine the gnarled branches of a tree. The dead forest inhabited a thin strip of land only a few hundred meters wide but stretched in either direction. Charred from some long ago fire, the trees’ bark gleamed white and smooth against a sky pregnant with rain clouds.

With every step, fine ash floated up from the scorched earth. It was a barren wasteland where nothing grew, marking the beginning of the revenant’s territory.

There should have been some sign that the earth was healing, a glimpse of green against the unrelenting gray and black, birds returning to make nests. Something. Instead, it was just a strip of land that the living had permanently abandoned.

What could have happened here to so totally consign the area to the realm of the dead?

Clark had told her that when Perry’s men fled past the first dead tree the revenants refused to step foot onto the scorched land, instead pacing back and forth as if an invisible wall separated them from their prey. Shea shivered. She could see why. Even the still air made her think of dead and decaying things.

Even knowing that revenants waited on the other side, she looked forward to putting this dreadful place behind her.

Quiet gripped the morning. There was none of the neighborly chatter that usually characterized a movement. Everyone jumped at shadows. Even yesterday’s cheerful Clark had gone missing, leaving a watchful stranger whose hand never strayed far from the blade at his hip.

There was a collective inhale when the men stepped over the clear line dividing the dead zone from revenant territory. A pall dropped over the group, turning the mood thick and heavy with grim anticipation.

A heightened awareness took hold as everyone anticipated an attack.

As the morning wore on, the group moved further into revenant territory. The forest here was thin and sparse and the underbrush thick. It made it challenging to move quickly, especially since they were going out of their way to avoid making noise. The rolling hills made it difficult to see any distance, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it might hide them from the revenants but it would also prevent them from seeing the revenants approaching until it was too late.

It was decided last night that riding horses would make them easy pickings for the revenants as the creature was too small to hit with a sword from horseback but was perfectly capable of leaping up to tear out a horse’s throat or drag a rider off its back.

Sweat dampened Shea’s hair as she trailed behind Eamon. They’d walked a fair amount, but not nearly as far as she’d have liked. Having a large party like this made it difficult to move with speed, especially when they were trying to be as stealthy as possible.

They were heading west and slightly south, hoping to skirt along the edge of the beasts’ territory.

A low warble from the front of the line alerted Shea and the others. A man held up his closed fist, signaling them to stop and find cover if possible. He pointed at the ridge running parallel to them.

A single revenant was silhouetted against the sky, its head lifted proudly as it glared out across its territory. Shea held her breath. If it let loose an ululating wail, they were all dead.

A sigh went through the company when it disappeared back into the brush.

“That’s it? That’s what everybody is so afraid of?” Sam asked. “It can’t be too difficult to kill that thing.”

Eamon cuffed him on the back of his head. “Quiet.”

“It might be easy to kill one on one,” a man said softly from behind Shea, “but it hunts in packs. I’ve never seen a more cunning animal.”

“Looks like your little berries worked, boy,” the man told Shea.

She glanced at her companions. “It works better if you all would just. Quit. Talking.”

A choked noise came from Eamon.

She frowned at him. He looked away, but not before Shea caught a hint of a smile.

Thought it was funny, did he? Well, she’d see how funny he thought it was when the revenant returned to check out all this noise. The berries disguised their scent. They didn’t mask sound.

The march resumed. The men held themselves in a constant state of readiness, with hands clutched around weapons.

The first test was passed. If they were going to retreat, now was the time.

The commander ordered them forward, further into revenant territory.

The sounds of animal life were muted in these woods. That had less to do with the company’s presence and more to do with the revenants acting like a scourge on the earth. They had no sense of self preservation. They killed and killed until there was nothing left. Then they would move on like a pestilence. Intelligent they might be, but they had no sense of restraint. They were extremely aggressive to everything.

They had an amazing sense of smell, which made up for their poor eyesight. Pickleberries were one of the most pungent smelling plants in the Highlands or Lowlands, and even a human could smell a small bush from a fair distance. Before they had set out that morning, each man had been instructed to rub crushed pickleberries on his pulse points, neck, chest, groin, and under the arms, in the hopes that the smell would conceal his scent.

It was better to slip through unseen than try to fight them off one by one.

And it seemed to be working too, until one of the beasts stumbled through the brush right on top of them.

Before Shea could move or shout, a man from Saw Grass drew his blade and threw himself at the revenant. Two men followed, killing the beast before it could emit more than a pained yip.

“Shit,” Shea breathed.

There was a heartbeat of silence and then a chorus of screeching howls mourned their pack mate’s death. The din of dozens of revenants rose as they raced through the hills all around them.

“That is not a small pack,” Shea observed softly, listening.

“Let’s move,” Perry’s low voice carried down the ranks.

The men surged up the hill, breaking into several smaller groups as they went, hoping that they could escape detection from the revenant’s weak eyesight.

Shea’s legs pumped as she stayed with Eamon and Buck who ran parallel along the hill. She saw one of the men who had slayed the revenant running to the right of them.

“Get rid of your blade,” Shea shouted.

His head jerked toward her, but he ignored her, picking up his pace. She growled and surged forward, dogging his steps.

“Your blade. Get rid of it. They can smell the blood.”

Her message given, she veered back towards Eamon and the rest. It was up to him if he wanted to listen.

A revenant surged into view, his lips bared in a snarl, drool dangling in thick ropes from its open mouth. Shea’s group froze as the beast lifted its nose, sniffing the air suspiciously, its milky white eyes moving right over them.

The creature’s skin, leathery and black like a bat’s wings, was closer to a reptiles than a mammal’s. Its front legs were slightly longer than the ones in the back. There were no ears on its broad, flat head, only small slits for the ear canal. It also had no tail.

It bared its teeth again before darting off.

“Thank the gods,” someone whispered.

“Let’s go,” Eamon said softly. “We need to make the rendezvous.”

In single file, they moved through the wood. Every time a revenant’s distinctive hunting call echoed over the hills, Shea tensed then relaxed when there was no accompanying human scream.

So far, it looked like the plan was working. But for how long?

The men in Shea’s group were moving at a fast clip towards the next landmark where they would regroup with the others. It couldn’t be far now.

Shea’s breath sawed in and out of her lungs as she raced after Buck. He was a quick little fucker and keeping up with him took every ounce of concentration she had.

She wasn’t the only one breathing heavy either.

“Revenant!” came the shout.

“Idiot,” Shea muttered. He should have stayed silent.

There was a high-pitched scream.

He wouldn’t be the last to fall. The pickleberry juice was wearing off. It was bound to happen with all this sweating. Shea had warned them that it was likely to fade the more they moved. It’s why they had spent half the night working on contingency plans.

The juice had done its job by getting them over halfway through the territory and to the rally point, but now that the ruse had been discovered, it wouldn’t work on this particular group of revenants again.

“We’ve still got a quarter mile to the next point,” Eamon swore.

“Told you, these fuckers are smart,” Shea panted.

“Pick up the pace, you slackers.”

The pace quickened, the haunting wails of the revenants lending motivation to those who were tiring.

“There,” Clark shouted.

Shea’s heart leapt at the sight of the overhang where they planned to make their stand. The space carved into the side of the hill created a large hollow that was easily defensible.

Reaching it, the men spun around, placing the overhang at their back and facing their enemy. Shea, Eamon and Buck did the same, holding their weapons at the ready and watching as the last of their party came into view.

“Come on, you lot,” Eamon shouted. “Get into position.”

Sweat dripped down Shea’s forehead, and she urgently wished for something to drink. A rustle of bushes caught her eyes. She watched as shadows snaked through the trees.

She screamed, “Run.”

Revenants burst from the trees, latching onto legs and dragging their prey, screaming, back into the shadows.

“Don’t break formation,” Perry roared as several men moved toward their fallen comrades. “Grieve later. Raise your sword and avenge your comrades.”

There was a long drawn out scream that only broke long enough for the man to draw breath.

“Why don’t they kill him?” Clark asked.

“Intimidation,” Shea said, scanning the trees for movement. “They’re trying to get in your head and scare you. It’s not easy listening to a person you know being eaten alive.”

“How many do you think are out there?” a man asked.

“Fifty, maybe more,” Eamon said.

“Here they come.”

Revenants crept from the cover of the underbrush, their heads lowered and teeth gleaming white as they darted up to the line of men, testing their defenses. They wove back and forth, avoiding the slash of steel.

“Stay on line,” Perry screamed as several men started to rush to meet the revenants.

“Come on, you demon spawn,” a man shouted on their left.

The revenant tormenting him slunk back and then lunged, never coming into range, and letting out an eerie cackle when the man hacked at him uselessly.

“Where are the rest?” Shea asked, softly.

There were only ten or fifteen of the beasts in the clearing with them. From what she knew of the beasts, they enjoyed fresh prey and wouldn’t miss this, especially after their pack mates had been slain.

So, where were the rest?

A set of teeth closed around her boot, yanking her feet out from under her and dragging her off the line. It shook its head fiercely, trying to get at the skin beneath the leather. She kicked at it with her other foot, the blow glancing off its head but not deterring it at all. She’d dropped her blade when it grabbed her, and her hands scrabbled at the dirt searching for a weapon.

Getting nowhere with her boot, it dropped her leg and lunged at her torso. She raised her hands protecting her face and neck. A blade pierced its eye, freezing it in its tracks. Shea followed the blade to Eamon who planted a boot in its side, pushing it off his sword.

“Stop wool gathering. I don’t have time to be babysitting,” he snapped, keeping a watchful eye out as Shea climbed to her feet.

She turned to get back on line, glancing up as she did. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the revenants amassing on the ledge above. They were preparing to jump on the men below.

Guess she’d found where the rest of the little bastards went.

She pointed up, yelling, “Behind you. Cover your backs.”

As if on cue, half the men pivoted while the rest stepped forward swinging their blades to meet the ones on the ground. Arrows flew, picking several of the revenants above off, but there were too many.

Shea swung her sword as one leapt, catching it in the throat. It went limp as it landed, taking her back to the ground. She cursed and wiggled out from under its dead weight. An ululating cackle sounded to her right. She pushed harder as another revenant peered around its dead companion. The weight on her doubled as its saliva dripped onto her face.

She whimpered, her hand creeping to her waist and pulling her dagger. The beast leapt, and she brought her arm up. It screeched as it buried itself mouth first on the blade. She angled the dagger into the soft tissue of its palate and then into its brain.

Great, now she was pinned under two of the damn beasts.

The sounds of battle continued around her as she grunted and shoved her way out from under the dead revenants. Bit by bit, she shifted the combined weight until she was finally free.

She reclaimed her sword and looked at the carnage. Bodies, both revenant and man littered the ground, and the previously tight lines had degenerated into a free for all as men defended as best they could.

This wasn’t going according to plan, but that was the way life went out here. You start with one idea and then something happens that totally fucks everything up.

Eamon, Buck and Clark had formed a group and were fighting the beasts as a unit, relying on each other to watch the other’s back against the devious things. It looked surprisingly effective as they killed one beast after another.

Shea turned her head, looking around the clearing. There had to be something that might make a difference. She reviewed what she knew of the beasts. They were pack animals and might or might not be afraid of fire. Not that it mattered, because she had no way to make fire.

Shapes moved in the trees beyond the clearing. Darting in and out of shadows with only the occasional reflection of light glinting off their eyes. She’d thought this was the entire pack.

She’d been wrong.

As the humans fought the beasts in front of them, the rest waited until their prey had spent its strength and thought victory was close at hand.

“Back, back. Reform the lines,” Shea screamed.

It was a lost cause. Shea knew that even as the words left her mouth. The fury of battle had left the men disorganized and slow to react. Even as some tried to fight their way to place their backs against the cave mouth, the remaining revenants surged forward, cutting them off while their pack brothers streamed from the trees.

Shea felt her breath still in her lungs as the revenants formed a black wave against the ground. There must be nearly a hundred. It was going to be a massacre.

Men streamed past her to form hasty lines. Eamon appeared at her side, his eyes wild with adrenaline, and his teeth bared in a macabre smile. Buck let out a loud war holler right beside her and raised a weapon coated nearly black from the beasts’ blood.

“Tough fuckers, aren’t they?” Buck yelled.

Eamon’s eyes glinted as he leaned slightly forward, anticipating the impact from the revenants sprinting towards them.

“Don’t mind him, boy,” Buck said, without taking his eyes from the beasts. “When he gets in battle mode he gets fixated and doesn’t talk.”

Shea hadn’t been concerned much about Eamon’s silence but rather about their current problem.

“They’ll write stories of this battle.”

Shea’s eyebrows flew up. “Only if someone survives to tell it.”

Buck chuckled even as he swung his sword down in a two handed chop severing the head of a leaping revenant.

After that, they were too busy to talk as they hacked and sliced at any body that came near. Clark joined their little group and, together, they rotated constantly, protecting each other’s backs.

Shea lost count of how many revenants had attacked and been turned back. Her arms felt like lead weights and each time she lifted her sword it got harder and harder to lift it again.

She fell into a rhythm, lift, slash, lift. Again and again. Until she reached a lull in the fighting. She looked up and realized she was all alone. The others were several feet away.

Between her and them a revenant lifted his head from his latest prey. Blood dripped from his face as he stared at her. He was huge, bigger than any other revenant in the pack and had scars all over his sides and legs, an ugly looking slice on his muzzle and another next to his eye where his enemy had missed.

The monster lowered his head, his lips pulling back in a crazy grin as if to say come and get me. He leapt over his snack. Nearly two hundred pounds of pure muscle barreled into her.

She protected her body with one arm, feeling the pressure of his fangs against the cloth and leather, and stabbed into his side with her other hand. Blood coated her hand as she pulled it away and stabbed again. It had little effect on the beast as he snapped his head side to side nearly tearing her arm from the socket.

She screamed at the pain and sunk the blade in again. A hand caught hers and guided the blade below the ribs then helped her plunge it in deeper, finding the heart and giving the blade a twist.

The light faded from the revenants eyes as his body softened on top of hers.

Hands grabbed the revenant and lifted it off her.

Shea blinked dumbly at the dead beast. Barely able to process that she wasn’t dead. That somehow she was still breathing. Her arm throbbed. It was good to be alive, to feel pain.

Blood and gore coated her from head to toe. It was in her hair, on her face, ground into her clothes. She looked like someone had slaughtered a dozen pigs right on top of her.

“On your feet, warrior,” a voice above her barked.

She looked up into a set of fierce, whisky-colored eyes.

Fallon.

Her mouth opened and closed several times as his frown deepened. She belatedly realized that they were still in the midst of the fight and popped to her feet. It was difficult since her arm didn’t want to support her.

The battle had turned as men streamed from the trees on stallions that seemed to take great delight in trampling any revenant unlucky enough to be in their path. Shea watched as a man leaned almost casually down from the side of his mount, and with a flick of his wrist, buried an ax in a creature’s head.

Shea’s party had pulled back to the cave to watch the strangers work.

Finding herself out of immediate danger, Shea found her gaze returning to Fallon. What was he doing here?

He frowned as his men cleaned up the remaining revenants.

Shea found herself studying him. She had never thought to see him again.

Tiny lines feathered out from his eyes. His mouth was a flat line as he surveyed the battle. He was so absorbed in his surroundings it was tempting to think he’d forgotten all about her standing there at his side. That was a trap. It was evident by the way he held himself alert that, despite appearances, on some level he knew she was still there, and he was ready to react in any way should she move against him.

Somehow, though, she had thought his reaction to meeting her again would be slightly different. Slightly more. Not this barely acknowledged existence.

Fallon bared his teeth and strode forward, leaving her standing and staring after him in consternation. Then it dawned on her that he didn’t recognize her.

She didn’t know if it was her attempt to look like a boy, the gore caked all over her face and clothes, or just her general insignificance as a rank and file soldier, but he hadn’t looked twice at her.

A laugh broke from her and was quickly stifled. The glee bubbled up and escaped until she was laughing so hard that she was nearly crying.

“Shane,” Eamon roared, “We don’t have time for you to have a break down. Get your ass back on the line.”

Her laughter died abruptly, and she looked over her shoulder to see Eamon glowering at her from his place in front of the ragged line that had formed at the mouth of the cave. Her eyes went from the haggard looking men to Fallon’s warriors.

Though the tide had turned in the Trateri’s favor, the fight wasn’t over. Shea was standing unprotected close to the tree line, easy pickings for any stray revenant. Even as she delayed, a clump of riders with revenants snapping at all sides shifted towards her.

“Move, Shane!”

She didn’t hesitate again and hauled ass back to the dubious safety of Eamon and the others. They waited and watched as Fallon rallied his men and drove the revenants towards the warriors waiting by the cave.

Eamon gave a war cry and tore forward, the rest of the men following as they hacked their way through the beasts while Fallon’s men on the other side did the same. Caught up in the wave, Shea followed, trying to stay close to Clark as they once again engaged the revenants.

The death cries of wounded beasts assaulted Shea’s ears as she hacked and sliced her way through body after body. After what felt like an eternity, but was likely only minutes, of furious battle, a peculiar silence fell over the group when the last revenant was killed. Panting filled the air as each man looked around noting, finally, that it seemed to be over. That they’d won.

Shea knew her face reflected the same astonishment and bloody triumph as those around her.

A single cry of victory rose from Clark, nearly deafening Shea in its intensity, since he was standing at her shoulder. A second cry followed, and then all the men were screaming their triumph at the sky.

A slight smile graced Shea’s lips as she looked around. That smile froze on her face as her eyes found Fallon watching his men with arms folded over his muscled chest. His normally stern face radiated power and an intense satisfaction.

Briefly, his eyes met Shea’s, pinning her in place for a timeless moment before moving away.

Shea’s heart stuttered and then slammed into triple time.

A hand grabbed her good arm and pulled her back, turning her to face a blood coated Eamon and an injured Buck.

She hadn’t noticed them with her thoughts turned to Fallon.

“Boy, next time I say move, you don’t just stare dumbly at me as if you got nothing but rocks in your brain, you move.”

At odds with the angry tone of his voice, Eamon pulled her injured arm gently away from her body and picked the ragged pieces of cloth out of the wound. She hissed in pain and tried to take her arm back. He held it tighter and gave her a warning look.

“You need to pay better attention,” he informed her grimly, dumping the contents of a canteen over the wound. A shrill sound escaped Shea, and she nearly passed out. That wasn’t water in there. “You could have gotten yourself and others killed today. Normally I couldn’t care less if a dirt grubber gets himself killed, but right now you’re our scout. If you get yourself dead, I’d have to explain to the quartermaster why he’s having to find me a replacement since the last one wasn’t smart enough not to go off by themselves during a battle.”

Shea didn’t think that required a response so she kept her mouth shut.

Buck handed him some gauze to wrap the wound with, and she nearly whimpered again. His version of care hurt more than the actual injury.

All the while Eamon dressed her injury he lectured her on everything she had done wrong. Buck handed Eamon the supplies he needed, his face a grim mask.

By the time Eamon was finished, Shea’s arm wasn’t the only thing that was stinging. Her pride was too. Her eyes smarted, though she attributed that to the pain. She bit her lip hard against the words she wanted to say.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Buck asked.

Eamon paused in the midst of wrapping Shea’s arm and looked at the tree line. “I don’t know.”

“Finish patching him up and then get ready to leave. Perry says we’re joining up with Fallon,” Fiona said walking past them.

With one last pass around her arm, Eamon tied off the gauze and then helped her smooth her sleeve over the bandage. Finished, he handed Buck the rest of the gauze and stood.

Shea joined him, shambling over to her gear. Her body was one massive bruise, and her forearm throbbed in time to her heartbeat. Gingerly, she holstered her sword.

“How can those creatures have been this deadly?” Clark asked, gazing at the wounded who were being loaded up on the horses.

Several men crouched beside their fallen comrades performing the same burial rite that Eamon had when they lost men to the shadow beetles.

Shea didn’t answer, ducking her head and busying herself with preparing to move out.

His gaze felt heavy on her bowed head as she fumbled with her pack. She didn’t look up.

“Shane,” Clark sounded hesitant. “Eamon’s just worried. He can be gruff when someone under his command puts themselves in danger.

Shea turned away.

Clark walked around to stand in front of her, his brown eyes worried and earnest. “You need to let it roll off you. It’s his job as a leader to correct your actions. It might seem harsh now, but it’s supposed to. You’ll get used to it.”

No. No, she wouldn’t.

“Shane-“

“I’m fine, Clark.” Shea didn’t want to talk about this any longer. In answer to his previous question, she told him, “They’re beasts.”

“What?”

“You asked how they could be so aggressive. They’re beasts.”

He looked unsure at her answer, whether that was because she was changing the subject or because he didn’t understand the significance, she didn’t know.

For a Lowlander or Highlander that would have been all the explanation needed.

“Beast,” he said softly, testing the word. He went back to staring into the distance. He and the rest were beginning to learn just how terrifying a word that really was.

Shea reached into her pack and pulled out a notebook just a little bigger than hers. The leather cover was new and unscratched, and the pages were crisp and clean. It had come with the pack.

She held it a moment before looking up at Clark.

Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. In fact, it was probably stupid. It wasn’t exactly the best time either with the wounded and dead all around them and the threat of another attack hanging over their heads.

“What’s that?” he asked, taking the decision out of her hands.

“It’s yours.”

She handed it to him and avoided his gaze as he opened it. What was she going to do with the notebook anyway? It would just be dead weight during her trip back to the Highlands. Might as well give it to the boy.

He looked back up at her when he saw the drawings and explanations.

“I didn’t really have time to copy everything, but I figured I’d start you off with a few of the more fierce beasts you’re likely to encounter. This way you can update it with your own observations.” Seeing the slightly dumb struck look in his eyes, she slumped. He probably thought it was stupid. “It’s just, you seemed to like mine so I thought you might want one of your own.”

He was silent as he looked back down at the small notebook clutched in his hands. Shea started to turn away when he pulled her into a bear hug and squeezed tight.

“Thank you. I’ll cherish it.”

Once she’d recovered from the surprise, she smiled and patted him on the back before pulling away.

“I’m glad you like it.”

Chapter Eleven

“Your timing couldn’t have been better,” Perry remarked.

Fallon observed the controlled chaos as his men walked from revenant to revenant putting any that still drew breath out of their misery. Men tended the injured, cleaning wounds, sewing them up, and in a few rare cases, setting bones.

Perry’s men had taken heavy damage. Few, if any, were uninjured.

“For a minute there, I thought I’d be meeting my ancestors,” Perry confided. “Little bastards are cunning.”

“They adapt quicker than expected,” Fallon said. “We’ll have to clear as many as possible from these hills, or they’ll just breed more. Better to deal with them now while they’re weakened, than wait for them to regain their strength.”

“I’ll get my men right on it.”

“No. Let them rest. They deserve it. I’ll have Darius send a company to destroy any dens later. I need you and your men with me in the west.”

“Understood. Our mission?”

“A couple of the local villages have decided not to meet their tithes. We’ll need to educate them otherwise.”

Perry sighed. “Stupid fools. I’d feel sorry for them if they had even the tiniest pair of balls.”

Fallon grinned. It was a sentiment echoed often among his men.

“We’ll just have to force them to gain some.”

Perry’s expression soured. “That would be like trying to stuff a rain drop back into a cloud.”

“Surely not as difficult as that.”

“Not nearly as useful either, no doubt,” a man said crossly, coming to stand by Fallon’s side. He was a short, stocky man with a barrel chest. Half of his brown hair was pulled tightly back to tame the wild curls. The skin below the half pony tail was shaved. Unlike most of the other Trateri who had brown hair and eyes, his were a startling blue.

“Caden,” Perry said, nodding in respect.

“Perry.” The greeting was returned with the same respect. “Your men acquitted themselves well.”

“We lost many, but all went down with sword in hand.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can ask for.”

There was a short silence in respect for the lives lost.

“When should I have my men ready to move again?” Perry asked. “We’ll have to send out a team to round up the horses first. I had the men cut their strings when the revenant sent out its battle cry. Figured the horses running around might be enough of a distraction to get our men to the rendezvous point.”

“I can send a few of my men out to see how many we can recover. We also brought a few extra mounts if we can’t round up all of the horses. We’ll stay the night here,” Fallon said. “You chose the place to make your stand well. It’s easily defensible and will provide decent shelter from the night’s cold.”

“Pure dumb luck we made it this far,” Perry admitted. “One of the scouts you sent happened to have a little knowledge of the area, which allowed us to make it far enough to find a defensible position.”

“Oh?” Fallen asked.

“Damnedest thing,” Perry said. “Evidently the creatures can’t see worth shit. They rely on their nose. If you can fool it, you can sneak past them.”

“Didn’t seem to help you here,” Caden said, looking at the fallen.

“If it hadn’t been for those berries, we would have made our stand much sooner. Probably would have all died too. We wouldn’t have stood a chance without decent cover at our back. Whoever you send to get rid of these beasts should be warned. It might prevent death.”

“Agreed. Write up your observations, and I’ll send them along with my orders. Darius can pass it to his men.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Tend to your men and give them the news we’re staying the night,” Fallon ordered in dismissal.

Perry nodded once more.

Caden waited until he was out of hearing distance to say, “This pack was much larger than reports indicated.”

“Yes.”

“Much larger.”

Fallon grunted.

“These men are lucky your ghost woman made her escape. If she hadn’t disappeared, we would have lingered in camp and been too late rendezvousing with them.”

“Yes. That is one way of looking at it.”

Caden took in the carnage. “This gives me a bad feeling. You think there might be a traitor in our midst?”

Fallon didn’t answer as he watched the men drag the revenants’ dead bodies off into the trees.

His silence was answer enough.

“Well. Shit,” Caden said. “That’ll make things difficult.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Fallon’s face.

His attention caught on a slim figure lurking by the horses. It was the boy he’d pulled a revenant off of in the battle. He was a tiny thing but brave as fuck.

Fallon had seen him tangle with that monster, sure the boy was dead before he hit the ground. Somehow he’d managed to survive and was in the process of killing the beast when Fallon guided his hand in the deathblow.

Something about the boy was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. His coloring said he wasn’t Trateri. Lowlander, maybe? He’d never seen a Lowlander with hair so oddly colored. It was a matted black and stuck straight up from his head in clumps.

He was a scrawny thing with barely anything to him. If Fallon hadn’t seen his bravery in battle first hand, he would have had his trainers defending their reasons for putting someone like that in one of his best units.

The boy noticed him and froze, his eyes going wide and slightly panicked before he abruptly headed for the big man directing several soldiers.

Hm. Definitely a Lowlander.

Ah, well. Maybe he was familiar because Fallon had conquered his village or something.

Dismissing the boy from his mind, Fallon joined Perry and his second in command to discuss plans for the morning.

Shea glued herself to Eamon’s side and kept her head down.

That was close. She shouldn’t have panicked like that when she found Fallon’s eyes on her. She might as well have put a sign on her that said “guilty party here.”

She needed to act like one of the guys and that meant not acting like a squirrelly Daisy who had never set foot outside the fence.

When nobody pulled her out of the group, she relaxed slightly. The first meeting with anybody new was always the worst. Once they accepted she was a guy, they never thought to look deeper.

It looked like her luck still held.

Eamon finished giving his orders to the men.

Shea quickly fell behind him. “What do you need from me?”

“Oh, so you’re talking to me again?”

She paused. “I wasn’t aware that I’d ever stopped.”

He gave her a stony look.

She wished she could achieve that level of withering scorn and disappointment with just a look.

“What?”

“You’ve been acting like a little bitch since I bandaged you up.”

“You call that bandaging? More like a mauling,” Shea muttered.

“I let you get away with your little tantrum,” Eamon continued, not responding to her comment. “You’re Lowlander. You don’t know better, and normally you’re a damn good scout. However, you’re Trateri now, and I’m you’re superior. Word of warning, you’d better sort yourself out and straighten up, or this life is going to get a whole lot more difficult for you.”

Shea listened, stunned and a little more than insulted. She had not thrown a temper tantrum. She didn’t even think she’d thrown them at the age where they were considered the normal behavior for children.

This was the most she’d heard Eamon speak, except maybe when he was ripping her a new one right after the fight. She didn’t know what had set him off this time.

“All I asked is if you needed me to do something,” she said in her defense. She hadn’t even copped an attitude. She even made sure her face was perfectly neutral. She knew better than to challenge someone’s authority like that.

Eamon’s anger took on a near physical intensity.

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”

She did too. Though, nobody had ever complained about the non-challenging way she had of challenging someone. After all, everything she did was in line with the correct behavior of a junior addressing a senior.

She gave him a confused expression and frowned as if she was thinking hard. “I have no idea. I was just trying to do my job.”

The air got even tenser.

Perhaps pushing him wasn’t the best idea.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Forget it. Buck, keep the Daisy busy and out from under foot.”

Eamon turned his back on her and moved away.

Shea stared after him, a little baffled. That was it? After that scolding, that’s all he had. She was expecting more.

“Sometimes, kid, you’re really not too bright,” Buck said, shaking his head. “It’s pretty amazing given how smart you are in other things.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Buck peered down at her, studying, weighing. One corner of his lips tightened. “Yeah, you do. But whatever, if you want to make life harder on yourself, that’s your business. For now, go help Perry’s men set up tents.”

Mentally shrugging at his dismissal, Shea moved off to help the others. Clark gave her a small smile when she grabbed the other end of the pole he was trying to lift.

“Clark,” Eamon called. “Grab one of the horse’s the Hawkvale brought and saddle up. We’re going to do a brief recon of the immediate area.”

Clark shot her a quick, concerned glance before hurrying away without a word. Shea pretended not to hear as Eamon called for Sam and Flint as well. She waited for her name to be called. She felt his eyes rest briefly on her.

“What about me?” Buck asked.

“Stay here. Keep an eye on things.”

There was a slight pause and then a murmured affirmative.

Shea worked steadily, not letting herself linger on one task for too long. She kept her head down and avoided meeting anybody’s eyes.

“Thanks a lot, Daisy,” Buck muttered as he bent to help her carry some of the kindling she was gathering for the fire pit.

Shea frowned after him. “It’s not my fault he left you behind.”

Buck dropped the kindling rather loudly next to the rest and walked back to the forest line. Shea trailed behind him.

“Someone had to stay behind and keep watch on your dumb ass.”

Shea was really getting tired of being called dumb. She’d had one brief moment in battle when she’d gotten lost in thought. Yes, it was admittedly not her smartest move. One that could have gotten her killed.

Regardless, she thought she’d proven by this point that she wasn’t stupid. One unguarded moment shouldn’t undo all of the other times she’d come through for them.

“Eamon could have taken both of us along,” she pointed out coolly.

He barked a dry laugh. “Not likely. If he can’t trust you, he doesn’t have much use for you.”

Shea snorted. “What has he been doing all this time, then? It’s not like he knew me in the beginning, and yet I managed to get you guys to your rendezvous. Now all of a sudden my job depends on trust. That’s convenient.”

“You were an unknown entity then. Someone we didn’t trust or distrust, and if you recall, you didn’t get anywhere near a map until after the shadow beetles.”

He had a point there.

“A squad like ours is dependent on the bond of trust between every person on the team. When that bond is broken, it places everybody in danger.”

Shea had never trusted her companions. “None of you have ever made a mistake while in the field? I’m not proud that I lost focus out there, but it’s hardly a reason to imply I’m no longer dependable. The only person whose life I put in danger was my own.”

“Wrong. If you had fallen, Eamon would have broken the line trying to save you. I would have followed because he’s my comrade and friend. Clark might’ve followed because he worships Eamon. That’s three lives that would have been in danger due to your carelessness. Not to mention the others because we would have left a hole in their defenses.”

Shea hadn’t thought of it that way. She was so used to acting on her own and only being able to count on herself that she had never considered how her actions might impact others.

“Just now’s the first time you’ve even admitted that you might have been wrong. Instead, you shut all of us out and acted like a sulky, spoiled child. Making a mistake isn’t the problem; not owning up to it is. We don’t need someone who’s unable to acknowledge their flaws.”

Shea didn’t have a response for that and busied herself gathering the rest of the wood. Having said his piece, Buck stalked off taking his kindling with him.

After she gathered enough wood for several fires, Shea sought out another task and then another after that until night fell.

Shea didn’t want to admit that Buck might have been slightly correct in his assessment. It had been so long since she’d been accepted or trusted by the people she led, that at the first sign of criticism, she shut down.

Even when Eamon and the other three rode back into camp, she kept to herself. Taking her dinner and leaving the comfort of the firelight to eat in solitude in the darkness.

Perhaps it was best to end things here before she got more involved. She’d never been particularly good at relating to others. Seemed things hadn’t changed.

She should continue with her original plan and look for her chance to slip away.

That night, she fought the sense of piercing loneliness as she stared up at the millions of tiny lights dotting the sky. Rolling onto her side, she closed her eyes and told herself she was okay with things. She didn’t need to rely or be relied on by the people around her. Things were fine just the way they were.

The next day Shea kept away from Eamon and the others, helping Perry’s men pack up the camp and then slipping in with his men as they moved out. Eamon, Buck and the others fell in at the back of the convoy.

Clark appeared beside her not long after they were under way, chattering nonstop. Shea gave noncommittal grunts during pauses in the conversation.

She covered a yawn. She hadn’t gotten a very good night’s sleep, and her eyes stung from the lack of rest.

The third time she nearly cracked her jaw on a yawn, Clark handed her a peeled stick.

“What’s this?”

“It’s yarrow root.”

That meant nothing to Shea.

She shook her head at him.

He grinned. “So I finally know something you don’t. I’ll have to write this down so I can remember it always.”

“You haven’t known me long enough for that statement to have merit,” Shea told him.

“I feel like I’ve known you forever. I’ve got this feeling we’re going to be good friends for a long time to come,” he told her with a mischievous smile.

“Well, don’t you sound confident.”

“You’ll see,” he told her. “I’m never wrong about these kinds of things.”

“He’s right,” Eamon said, riding up behind her. “He’s got a knack. Said the same thing to me when he was no bigger than my hip. Haven’t been able to shake him since.”

“Ah.”

Shea didn’t know what to say to that. Given yesterday’s events, she couldn’t help the awkwardness she felt at his arrival. In the end she said nothing, letting Clark carry the conversation. She pulled slightly up on her horse’s reins intending to let the two ride ahead of her.

Eamon followed suit letting Clark pass. “We’ll catch up.”

Clark nodded and shot Shea a sympathetic look before touching his horse lightly in the side. It moved a little faster, jostling Clark in his seat as he caught up with someone he knew further down the line.

Eamon and Shea rode in silence for a bit. She glanced at Eamon from the corner of her eye. He looked relaxed. Not at all like they were at odds.

Maybe in his mind they weren’t. After all, why would a leader care if a subordinate was upset as long as that subordinate continued to follow orders?

“Shane, how long are you going to continue like this?”

Shea looked at him startled. “Continue like what?”

“This.” Eamon gestured between the two of them.

Shea didn’t know how to answer that. She thought she was being very civil.

Eamon sighed gustily. “You have to be the quietest Lowlander I’ve ever met. Usually you have to hit them upside the head to get them to shut up. With you, it’s the opposite. I feel like I have to knock you upside the head to get any words from you.”

Shea shot him an expressive look and guided her horse out of arms reach.

“Speak boy,” Eamon barked. “Quit giving me crazy eyes and speak your mind.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Something. Anything. How’m I supposed to trust you if I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours?”

There was that word again.

Forestalling her objection, Eamon said, “And don’t tell me there’s nothing. You’re too smart for that. And none of that damn politeness either.”

Argh.

What did he want from her? She just couldn’t win.

“What the hell do you want from me, Eamon? First you yell at me for not following orders and then when I do you’re on my ass for that too. I can’t win.”

“Finally,” he said. “We’re getting somewhere.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t talk to people.”

“I talk. I talk all the time.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “You make statements and then act all butt hurt when people don’t do what they’re told.”

Shea couldn’t help the sneer of disbelief that crossed her face. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, yes you really do,” Buck told her, riding up on her other side.

What was this? Pick on Shea day.

She kicked her horse wanting away from the two ganging up on her. It didn’t work. They simply followed.

“You’re good at what you do,” Eamon continued, as if she wasn’t actively trying to run away. “Bright, observant. But you never take the time to explain. You just make a statement and then expect everybody to fall in line.”

Shea couldn’t believe she was hearing this.

“What am I supposed to do? Take the time to talk when people are walking into danger? They’ll be dead before I get through the first explanation.”

“Trust takes time,” Eamon said.

Aaannnd, they were back to this.

“You can’t build a rapport overnight,” he continued, ignoring her small growl. “You want people to believe you? Well, you’ve got to start small. Explain why something is the way it is rather than just telling them what to do.”

“Take the shadow beetles, for instance,” Buck pointed out helpfully.

“I was right about those,” Shea snapped.

“Yes, but no one believed you when you said there was danger up ahead. What’s the point in being right if you can’t get anybody to listen?” Eamon said.

The point was that she was right, and they were wrong. If they’d listened, everybody would still be alive. They didn’t, so they were dead. Not her problem. She’d done her job.

Eamon, reading the look on her face, snorted. “It’s all very well to be right. I like being correct just as much as the next person, but one day you might regret not being able to get your point across. Your inability to influence your fellow soldiers might end up getting someone you care about killed.”

Wouldn’t be the first time.

Sensing that his words had struck a chord, Eamon said, “Think about it. You’re good at what you do, but you’d be better if you could relate to your fellow scouts. No one can survive alone out here.”

Putting those words in her head, Buck and Eamon peeled away from her and joined Clark up front.

Shea was left alone. Again. She was beginning to sense a theme.

She spent a good hour pissed at his criticism. He barely knew her but thought he could tell her everything that she was doing was wrong.

Ok, so her inability to relate to others or be remotely diplomatic wasn’t new. She’d had trouble fitting in with Highlanders and just about everybody else her entire life. At first it was because she was so young and had come from a very different background than most villagers. The guild, in many respects, was much more open minded than those living in the outlying communities. They were more accepting of a body’s differences. So few came for training anymore that anybody able to pass the tests found a place to belong.

Perhaps that’s why it had been so shocking when Shea reached her first post and found her skills casually dismissed by the male dominated society of the Highlands.

She could still remember the disaster of that first mission. She’d lost three men on a routine trade run over something that could have been prevented if they’d simply listened.

Could Eamon be right? Could she bear some responsibility for the loss of life because of her inability to communicate?

Shea shook her head. Eamon was full of it. She’d given them her informed opinion. If they ignored it because she was a woman and an outsider, there was nothing she could do about that.

Shea kept as far from Eamon and the rest of the scouts for the rest of the morning. Anytime it looked like someone was about to engage her, she went out of her way to avoid them. She was successful in her endeavors until they stopped for the evening.

Once they’d stopped, Shea didn’t know what to do with herself. The men worked as a team and whenever she tried to help she just seemed to get in the way. She’d gotten used to the responsibilities with Eamon and the others, but this was a different dynamic, and she didn’t automatically know her duties.

She drifted toward a group, containing Clark, playing a card game. She watched quietly for a while, trying to pick up the rules. It was difficult. It seemed random to her, lacking any sort of logic. They each held a set of cards with odd drawings on them. Every now and then one would pick up a pair of dice and roll them and then play a card.

“Would you like to play, Daisy?” a woman with a large scar bisecting her jawline asked. Her smile was cunning as she glanced up at her before picking up the dice and rolling.

“I don’t know the rules,” Shea said.

There was a look between the players.

“That’s okay; we’ll teach you.” This was said by a man not much older than Clark.

Clark coughed into his hand. Shea’s eyes narrowed on him. That cough had sounded very like a laugh.

“I think I’ll just watch,” she said.

She didn’t know what they were planning, but she had no intention of being the gullible newbie.

“It’s impossible to learn Bones and Cards by just watching,” a deep voice said beside her.

Shea jumped, her heart surging into her throat at the unexpected words. Fallon watched her quietly before his gaze shifted to the players as they sprung to their feet.

“Please. Sit. Continue your game.”

The game slowly resumed as Fallon lingered by Shea.

She wondered if it would arouse suspicion if she made an excuse and walked away.

“The point of the game is to gather the most points before the deck runs out,” Fallon told her.

Shea’s eyebrows rose slightly at the statement, and she nodded wordlessly.

What would be a good excuse? It had to be important enough to call her from his company but not enough to arouse his interest.

“Points are anything that have a bone on them. The dice tells you which set of cards hold ascension for each turn. It’s a game of strategy more than anything.”

“Sounds like it’s based more on luck than anything else,” Shea observed.

She fought against a wince. Why did she have to engage? What did she care what kind of game it was? She was trying to find a reason to politely leave.

Fallon chuckled, not offended at her disagreement. “I can see how it would appear so to an observer. Do you have another set I can use to show my friend the game?”

The woman with the scar nodded and reached behind her into a pack, withdrawing a set of beat up old cards and an equally dinged up set of dice.

“Oh no, that’s not necessary. I’ve never been very good at games.”

“Nonsense. It’ll be fun, and if you run with this group for very long, it’s practically a prerequisite that you learn if you want to fit in.”

That’s just it. Shea didn’t care if she fit in and didn’t intend to stick around for very long.

“Come.” Fallon found a place for them to comfortably sit. “Normally, you play this with four people, but it can be played with just two. There are seven types of cards. Warlord, scout, adviser, soldier, assassin, healer, and bone. Each type can do different things. Each role of the dice tells you how strong an action is for your turn and the possible reward. Traditionally, we used bones for the bet and to keep track of points. Now, they use rocks to represent camp chores.”

The cards blurred in his hands as he began to shuffle. Shea was already confused by the rules. It hadn’t been a lie when she said she wasn’t good at games like these.

“We each start with seven cards.” He dealt the cards to Shea and himself. He also upended a bag of colored marbles and parceled out 5 blue ones for each of them, 3 red ones and 2 yellow ones. “We’ll play the first few rounds face up so that I can explain what each move and card means.”

Shea found herself interested in spite of herself as he explained what each card meant and how each round was played. He was patient as he reminded her several times that the scout could not also take on the warlord’s role and that the healer could not kill the assassin.

She frowned down at her cards when he rolled a three. The number utterly destroyed her hand. She had several options left but strongly suspected that Fallon held the warlord and adviser, two cards that when paired were some of the strongest in the deck. The three would limit the actions he could take but not enough. She could pair her healer with her assassin or use the scout to supplement the assassin but the damage done to his cards might not be enough.

Hmm.

There might be one way. It was risky though and would mean rolling over and letting him win unobstructed until the right moment. If she won the game, it would be by the skin of her teeth and if her gamble failed she’d lose by a landslide.

She’d have to be sneaky to keep him from suspecting.

She peeked over at him, allowing a brief glimpse of worry to appear on her face. He regarded her with the same impenetrable expression he’d had the entire game.

She played her two weakest cards before picking up two more from the deck to replace them. He countered with stronger cards, winning the hand. The next several hands were more of the same.

Fallon regarded the bent head before him. He’d thought the boy would be more of a challenge. Granted, it was the first time he’d played Bones and Cards.

The game was a good chance to see how another person’s mind worked. Were they an aggressive player? Rash or cautious? Fallon hoped to learn something of this unknown entity with the game. So far, all he’d learned was that the boy couldn’t bluff worth a damn. Every expression was written on his face, letting Fallon know as clear as day what was in his hand.

His interest in the game and the boy waned with every turn.

Not paying particular attention, he laid down a scout and advisor. The boy’s face reflected pleased surprise, and he reached to clear the cards.

Surprised he’d lost that one, Fallon leaned forward. Oh well, guess he’d let his mind wander. They reached the end of their personal decks and shuffled, drawing seven more cards into their hand.

Fallon took the next hand but lost the two after that. Each time the boy seemed pleasantly surprised, and Fallon chalked it up to beginner’s luck.

When he lost his warlord on what should have been a sure win, he started paying more attention. He was surprised to see the boy’s chips had grown to a respectable size. His pile was nowhere near empty but it was much lower than it should have been.

“He’s giving you a time of it,” Caden said as he joined them. He nodded respectfully at Fallon.

Fallon focused on the game, watching as the boy threw two incredibly weak cards out in contrast to the last turn where he’d played brilliantly. Fallon countered so that he just barely won. There were three more hands in this round.

Yes, he had to agree. The boy, Shane, was doing surprisingly well. The corners of his lips twitched. Perhaps the boy had something to him after all.

Shea let out a breath. Seemed like he was finally onto her game. Luring him into a false sense of security had been easy. Keeping him there, a little less so. She’d managed to prevent him from seeing her strategy until now. She’d hoped her bluff would last through this hand to the next, but there was nothing for it now.

The next three hands would decide the game.

She smiled inwardly when the dice came up a five and placed a red stone in the middle for her bet. He matched her, and the hand commenced with him taking the first two tricks and her the last three to win the hand and the pot.

Because she’d spent most of the beginning of the game letting him take card after card, she had only the cards she wanted in her hand. Most of them weren’t considered high cards, but when paired with another, their strength increased exponentially.

As long as he didn’t roll a two, three or six, she was good to go.

“I’ll be…” he said as she took the next round.

Shea smiled inwardly. She’d settled on a neutral expression when he figured out what she was doing. Now it was time to let everything play out and see if she was right.

They were on the last hand, and Shea could practically taste the victory.

Fallon rolled a six. Shea nearly snarled.

“That wins me the game,” he said, laying his cards out.

Of all the rotten luck. Shea tossed her cards into the gaming center and sat back. So close.

Ah well, at least they hadn’t been playing for real.

“Good game,” she told him politely. “Thank you for teaching me.”

“Would you like to play again?” he asked.

She snorted. Not bloody likely.

If he’d been playing like he had in the last few hands for the entire game, it would have had a much different outcome. It was only because he underestimated her and took it easy in the beginning, that she’d done as well as she had.

“Thank you, but no. I’m sure my squad leader has things he needs me to do.”

She waited for his dismissal before she stood and left. It had been a surprisingly fun interlude, something she never would have thought possible.

Fallon and Caden watched the slight figure leave. Caden dropped into the spot the boy had vacated and picked up the hand he’d tossed aside.

“I’m surprised he did as well as he did with these cards. You should have been able to force an end to the game much sooner.”

He handed the cards to Fallon to examine.

“You’re right. He was astonishingly resourceful. Even you and I would have been hard pressed to give a good showing with a crap hand like this. Keep an eye on him, would you?”

Caden’s interest sharpened. “You thinking of recruiting him?”

“Possibly. He’s got a bright mind. He’s patient and bluffs better than most of the clan leaders I deal with on a regular basis. With a little polishing, he might be an asset in our ranks. What do you think?”

Caden considered. “It’s possible. Especially if he has the skills Perry said he has. It concerns me that he’s a Lowlander, though. Giving someone like that access to sensitive information could constitute a security risk. You’d have to make him part of the Trateri before even considering it.”

“Hm.” Fallon idly shuffled the cards. “It’ll probably be awhile one way or another. He’s too young for my guard right now. We’ll see what the future brings.”

Fallon set the cards aside. “Now, tell me. How do our forces stand?”

Chapter Twelve

Clark bounced up to Shea with all the energy of a newborn puppy. “How did you like the game? I can’t believe you played so long with Fallon. What’s he like? Did you have fun? It seemed like you had fun. I would have given anything to join.”

“Has anybody ever told you that you’re very chipper?” Shea asked, giving him a sidelong glance.

What had brought on all this enthusiasm? He was normally cheerful but not usually to this extent.

“Ah, give the kid a break, Shea,” Eamon said.

It seemed like he had forgiven her for whatever trespasses she’d made yesterday.

“He’s probably not the only one who’s going to be falling over themselves to ask you questions about your game. It’s not every day they see Fallon take an interest in someone.”

“Interest? Hardly. All he did was teach me the rules to a game.”

“I don’t know of any other person he’s done that for,” Buck said, joining them.

Maybe not, but she still didn’t see what all the fuss was about. They’d barely spoken aside from him explaining the rules.

He hadn’t recognized her, had he? Maybe he’d done so without realizing it.

“What do you think? He might be recruiting the Daisy?” Buck asked Eamon.

Eamon folded his arms. “It would be the first time someone from outside the clans has ever been considered.”

“Considered for what?” Shea found herself asking.

“His personal guard.” Clark practically hopped up and down.

“Not necessarily his personal guard,” Eamon clarified. “But something in that vein. Maybe for a position that reports directly to him.”

“That’s absurd.”

Please let it be absurd. She didn’t know how long her disguise would hold up under repeated contact or when she’d run into people, like Darius or his men, who’d seen her more recently.

“If you say so.” Buck’s tone of voice made it clear he didn’t entirely believe her. “Anyway, the men discovered a nice little pond we can use to bathe. Grab what you need and let’s go.”

Shea felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her suddenly light headed.

“Yes! Finally,” Clark said. “I’ve got enough dirt, grime and blood on me for a Lowlander to farm.”

“Indeed. Even my chiggers have chiggers at this point.” Eamon grimaced, scratching his neck. “Well hop to, Shane. We want to get to this pond before the rest of the company muddy it up with their own grime.”

“Right. Let me just get my stuff.” Shea pointed behind her and backed away.

“I’ll go with you,” Eamon said, standing up. “My stuff is over there as well.”

Shea gave him a sickly smile and turned. The smile quickly dropped from her face as soon as she had him at her back.

Panic welled inside. What was she going to do? There was no way in all of the Broken Lands that they wouldn’t know she was a female if they saw her naked. She really didn’t want to know what their response would be either.

Perhaps she could grab her stuff and slip away before anybody noticed. Making it back to the Highlands by herself, with no provisions or the proper gear, would be tough and damn near impossible, but it had to be better than waiting to be exposed.

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

Her stomach jumped up into her throat.

“Where are you going Shane?” Eamon asked. His brown eyes frowned down at her in puzzlement. “Our stuff is over here.”

She looked in the direction he was pointing. Sure enough, her pack sat next to his.

“Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking,” she told him.

She followed him to their packs.

She was overthinking this. She’d just leave something behind so that when she got to the lake she’d have to come back and get it.

Yes, that might work.

Maybe.

No, it would. It had to. The alternative was unacceptable.

“You two ready?” Clark asked from behind her. A towel was thrown over his shoulder and he held a change of clothes, soap, and washcloth in his hands.

Shea grabbed a towel and smiled back. “Yup.”

She trailed the three as they bantered among themselves. It didn’t take long to reach the pond, if it could be called that. Nestled into a smooth expanse of slippery stone, the pool was fed by a waterfall that fell in three tiers, creating smaller pools at each rock outcropping. A ledge rimmed the water allowing the men easy access. On three sides, a thin, slow moving stream trickled over moss covered rock.

It was an ideal place to bathe with the sun warming the shallow water and enough movement to prevent algae and other plants from growing. The water was slow enough that you didn’t have to be worried about being carried downstream.

Shea felt a little envious that she wouldn’t get to enjoy it. Having only been able to run a wet wash cloth over her skin the previous night, she was still covered in the filth from battle. Blood flaked away in little chips in the spots she missed. A bath would be a decadent pleasure.

Maybe she could find her way back. Later. When everyone was asleep or busy with other things.

The men began disrobing. Shea turned her back and walked to the edge of the rock and set her stuff down.

There was a shout and then a splash behind her.

“Come on, jump in, Shane,” Clark called. He ducked under the surface and then shot up in a spray of water.

Buck and Eamon leapt into the middle of the pool after him, sending water cascading over the edge.

Shea kept her eyes determinedly on the men’s faces. She hadn’t seen so many naked bodies, in well, ever. There was no way she was going in that water.

“I think I forgot some things,” she told him, edging back. “I’ll just head back and get them.”

“What did you forget? Perhaps one of us has something you can use,” Buck said. He slicked his hair back and wiped the water off his face.

Shea shook her head. “I don’t think so. I forgot a change of clothes and my soap.”

“You can use my soap, Shane,” Clark offered, swimming to the edge and grabbing the soap he left there.

“Thanks, Clark, but I’ll need to get my clothes anyway.”

“Just wear what you’re wearing now,” Buck said.

“No, I don’t want to get clean only to put on dirty clothes again.”

Buck and Clark shared a sly look. Clark climbed out and walked towards her. She held her ground. It wasn’t easy; she didn’t like the grin he was giving her.

Buck climbed out as well, and now she had two naked men closing in on her.

“I think the Lowlander is afraid of a little water,” Buck told Clark.

“I’m thinking so too. What should we do about it?”

“Well, they always say that if you want to conquer your fear, you’ve got to face it.”

Buck reached for her. Shea shied back, evading his hands only to be brought up short when Clark reached out and snagged the back of her shirt.

“What are you doing?” Shea shouted, batting at his hands.

“Don’t worry, little buddy,” Buck told her, grabbing her other arm and dragging her towards the water. “We’ll help you face your fear.”

Shea flailed trying to get the two off of her. “Damn it. Let go. I don’t need any help facing my fears.” She dislodged Clark only to have Buck grab her again and force her closer. Clark crowed and urged him on.

“Man, he really doesn’t want to go in,” Buck grunted as he muscled her near the water.

“That’s enough,” Eamon rumbled. “Let him go.”

“Ah, come on. Nobody wants to put up with his odor once the rest of us are clean,” Buck argued.

“If he doesn’t want to get in, he doesn’t have to,” Eamon told him firmly. He was giving Shea a strange look.

“Fine.” Buck released Shea.

She tugged free and whirled on him. Her fist flashed out, connecting with his solar plexus before she could think better of it.

Clark’s resulting guffaw was cut short when Shea shoved him into the water.

“Why you little shit,” Buck gasped.

Shea took off before he could recover, heading back to camp in a near sprint. No sounds of pursuit followed her. No rustling of underbrush or heavy foot falls.

She slowed and looked back, searching the woods. Looked like they had decided to stay and enjoy the water. She heaved a sigh of relief.

That had been close. She didn’t want to think what would have happened without Eamon’s intervention. She hadn’t thought they would be so persistent.

Now, all she had to do was avoid getting caught at the pool before they left in the morning.

She stopped and pulled her shirt from her neck and sniffed. Crap. Buck was right. She didn’t exactly smell like sunshine and flowers. The smell would become overpowering once the others had cleaned. Not a critical problem but one that she could avoid easily enough if only she could figure out a way to access the pool when everyone else was asleep.

If she didn’t miss her guess, there might be a similar one above the water fall. Instead of heading straight back to camp, her feet took her back in the direction of Eamon and the others in a heading that would place her above the small waterfall. She wouldn’t be able to bathe now, but it was a possibility for that night, if she could find a secluded spot.

Nobody paid much attention when she slipped back into camp an hour later. Most chores had been finished, and the men sat around playing games. A few had lain down, using their gear as a makeshift pillow as they ribbed each other or took naps.

Shea headed to her pack and reached in it for her notebook. She wanted a plausible excuse for why she didn’t go back to bathe when the others returned. Studying her notes on the area was as good a reason as any.

Her notebook sat forgotten in her lap as she people watched.

The Trateri were an interesting bunch. Very different from the Lowlanders and Highlanders. Despite the strange surroundings they found themselves in, they had no fear of the great expanses between villages.

They embraced the wild country, even going so far as to pit themselves against it whenever possible. Sometimes they won. Sometimes they lost, but they never gave up the challenge.

Every person had a job. They imposed order out of chaos.

Shea didn’t know if she admired or feared them. Either way, they were dangerous to the status quo.

“There you are, Shane. Why didn’t you come back?” Clark’s voice came from right beside her ear.

Shea jumped, almost dislodging the notebook from her lap. She looked back to find Clark crouched beside her, Eamon and Buck walking up with towels wrapped around their necks and their hair wet. Eamon’s hair curled slightly as it dried. Buck’s hair was so short it was dry already.

“You mean after you tried to throw me in fully clothed?” Shea arched one brow.

Clark had the grace to grin sheepishly. “Ah, we wouldn’t have thrown you in if you’d come back.”

“How reassuring.”

Eamon threw his towel over a branch to dry before packing away the rest of his supplies.

“So? You never answered my question,” Clark said.

He was a persistent little shit. Shea had never realized how bloody annoying that trait could be.

“To be honest, I didn’t feel like walking all the way back there, especially with you two and your grabby hands.” She lifted the notebook. “I thought it was a good idea to update my notes and study the map a little more for tomorrow.”

Clark huffed and threw himself onto the ground, his head landing in her lap.

“You workaholic. You’re no fun.”

Shea shoved him off her lap. “I’m not here to have fun.”

“Says who?” he challenged.

“Clark,” Buck began.

“Well?” Clark asked again.

Beginning to feel cornered again, Shea reacted defensively. “Your people did when you conscripted me into your army.”

She felt bad immediately after saying it. The boy had been nothing but nice, going out of his way to make her feel welcome. Giving words of encouragement after the dressing down Eamon had given her.

Clark’s face just closed down, all the emotion vanishing, until he was regarding her with the same impenetrable expression she’d seen again and again on other Trateri faces.

“Then perhaps I shouldn’t ‘conscript’ your time any longer.” He put an ugly turn on the word conscript, nearly sneering.

“Clark,” Shea said.

He didn’t give her a chance to apologize, springing to his feet and walking away before she got more than his name out.

“Shane-“

“I know,” she snapped, interrupting Eamon. “I shouldn’t have said it. He just pushed on a nerve, is all.”

She turned the pages in her book, not really noticing the words. She hated when she lost her temper and said stupid shit like that. Saying mean stuff just to hurt people wasn’t her way.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Buck said, tossing his towel on the branch next to Eamon’s. “He’s pretty forgiving. Just apologize and that’ll be that.”

Shea grimaced. She hated apologizing.

Eamon smiled at the expression. “He’s a good kid. Comes on a little strong sometimes, but has a good heart, which is impressive given his background.”

Shea felt a bit of interest perk up at those words. “Oh.”

Buck chimed in from where he had pulled out a mirror and started lathering his face. “He’s an orphan. His parents died when he was a toddler. The clan raised him after that. He has a tendency to collect big brothers. He’s probably overjoyed you joined up. Until now, he was the youngest in this division. No doubt he’s hoping to be the one imparting knowledge and wisdom this time.”

He was still the youngest, but they didn’t know that.

Now she felt doubly bad about being so short with him. It was like kicking a puppy. You could do it, but man did it make you feel about an inch high afterwards.

“Craaap,” Shea breathed, snapping the book shut and rising.

Seeing the answering grins peeking out of the lather both men now had on their faces, Shea couldn’t resist a bit of payback. “I hope you three took a piss when you got out of the water.”

“Huh?”

“You know there are little fishes that will swim up your pisser and lay eggs. Only way to get that out is to take a piss right after getting out. Forces them back out.”

Buck shot a wide eyed glance at Eamon, “He’s kidding, right?”

Shea hid her grin as she headed after Clark.

“You’re kidding, right?” Buck shouted after her.

“Am I? Guess you’re about to find out,” she shouted back.

“Son of a–“

Shea chortled when both men stopped what they were doing to find the nearest bush.

Sometimes revenge was oh so sweet. It never paid to mess with a pathfinder.

Later that night, Shea picked her way through the forest by the light of a moon that had already passed its zenith when she slipped away from camp. Lucky for her it was two thirds full or else it would have been difficult to navigate without the benefit of a torch, which was off limits since the whole point of going at night was to avoid notice.

She headed for the pool she had scouted that afternoon above the falls. Although it was late, that was no guarantee somebody else hadn’t decided on a midnight swim.

This was the best way she knew to minimize the risk of exposure while still reaping the benefits of getting clean.

Soon, she was standing before the softly rushing water. The pool she found was really just an eddy of the larger stream and was the result of a small rock outcropping jutting into the water and causing a lazy back current. The water moved slowly enough that she wasn’t in much danger of being swept downstream and over the waterfall as long as she didn’t step into the middle of the stream.

It was shallower than she’d like. She’d have to kneel and hunch over for the water to reach her shoulders. Beggars couldn’t be choosers though, and she was happy just for a chance to get clean again.

Being constantly on the move and away from the benefits of civilization made water a luxury that took a far greater willpower than hers to pass up.

She carefully checked the area before disrobing and laying her clothes on the rocks above her bathing area. The night air swept goose bumps up and down the bare skin of her stomach and legs. She shivered and walked into the water.

Cold. So cold.

Argh, if only she’d been able to sneak away earlier when the sun had been up to lend its warmth. She nearly vibrated in place in an effort to get warm. Not wanting to prolong the experience she fumbled for her soap. She quickly sluiced water all over before building up a nice lather and rinsing it away. Her hair, she left alone, not wanting the gunk keeping her hair dark to wash away.

Not willing to linger longer than she had to, Shea was done washing within minutes of stepping into the water. Years of hurried baths with men steps away had given her an ability to be quick about her business.

Voices came from below just as she stepped out and was reaching for the small towel she’d brought.

Her first instinct was to freeze in place. Pressing the towel to her, she surveyed the night. With the moon up, the scene was a monochromatic wash of greys and shadows, making it easy to see general forms but not distinct details.

No shadowy figures waited there in the dark that she could see. They could be just beyond the tree line, but she doubted it. The voice sounded like it was coming from below.

Wrapping the towel around her, she crept over the damp rock towards a slight drop off next to the falls and peered down.

A muffled curse escaped, and she flattened herself against the rock face as she ducked back out of site.

Of all the rotten luck.

She dared another glance over the edge.

The scene hadn’t changed since her last look. A torch was stuck in one of the crevasses near the pool, highlighting the surrounding area. That wasn’t what nearly sent her over the small drop.

No. The sight of Fallon disrobing did that.

Shea knew she should head back to her clothes and dress. Now that she had solved the mystery, there was no reason to linger, but she did. Oh, how she did.

Some irresistible force held her in place as Fallon first discarded his shirt then his pants, leaving him standing in nothing but the skin he was born with. And what a fine skin it was.

Sharp ridges defined every muscle in his body. Even the raw white and red marks from scars crossing his torso did nothing to detract from the fine specimen of manhood before her.

The male bodies she’d seen that afternoon in no way compared.

Fallon stepped into the pool, the cold not seeming to have the same effect on him as it had on Shea. He sunk down, dunking his head and then sluicing the water off his face.

A pleasant voice rang in the air as he sung a bawdry tale about the woes of a Trateri warrior kidnapping his Lowland wife only to find out that the “wife” was actually a male with all of the accompanying parts.

Shea snickered at the risqué lyrics. Typical Trateri view of Lowlanders.

Another voice joined Fallon’s as he sang the last chorus again. Shea had been so focused on Fallon that she hadn’t even noticed when Caden stepped onto the rocks bordering the pool.

Shea hugged the ground harder, not wanting to chance being seen. She’d only ever seen the second man from a distance, but Eamon had told her enough for her to know that she did not want him to see her spying.

On that note, it was really past time she leave.

Shea scooted back from the edge, careful not to make any noise that would alert the two below. She made her way back to her clothes and dressed quickly.

As she found her way back, being careful to avoid the path that Caden or Fallon would travel, she couldn’t help the small piece of her that wondered what would have been her fate had she remained tied to that post.

“So, what exactly is the punishment when a town refuses to pay a tithe?” Shea asked as Fallon’s troops rode towards the small string of huts that was the village proper.

It was a hovel, not like Goodwin of Ria or even Birdon Leaf. This place was cobbled together with mud and spit. Not necessarily the worst village she’d ever seen, but she didn’t understand why anybody would want to lay claim to it, not even the Trateri. These people had little to nothing, and none to spare for tithes.

Eamon’s face was grim as they rode at the rear of the party.

“Buck?” she asked when Eamon didn’t answer.

Buck looked slightly subdued as he answered. “Not good things.”

Well she’d kind of figured that part out for herself. They were in a war party after all.

“Yeah, I got that. What does that mean?”

Buck shook his head and looked away, refusing to meet her eyes.

She looked back at Eamon.

He finally spoke. “The severity of the action will depend on what they say to Fallon.”

So something would happen regardless, but nobody was willing to tell her what that something was.

She closed her eyes and bent her head. No, she didn’t have a good feeling about this at all.

“Shane, whatever happens, just stay beside me or Buck and keep your mouth shut. You can’t stop whatever’s coming so don’t even try. You’ll just get yourself in trouble.”

Eamon waited until she met his eyes before dealing a worse blow, “Our necks would be on the line too. So keep it together, yeah?”

She nodded. That bad feeling was turning into a ball of granite in her stomach.

Before she could ask any further questions, they were riding into the little hamlet. She guided her horse after Eamon’s as he rode to the left. When they stopped, their horses surrounded all of the people in the village who had been pulled from their homes and then ushered into the village center. There couldn’t have been more than thirty of them.

Fallon rode forward, much like Darius had during her first encounter with the Trateri. The villagers drew in on themselves, their small circle constricting until no space existed between their bodies.

The fear on their faces was chilling.

Shea couldn’t help but feel that whatever happened next could be laid partially at her feet. The Trateri wouldn’t have made it this far without her interference.

Her mentor from her apprenticeship would say that a pathfinder wasn’t responsible for anything that happened after their party reached its destination. Standing here, feeling that cloying terror on the air, seeing the way the villagers clutched at each other for false security, she was no longer sure how much stock she put in his words.

“Do you know why I’m here?” Fallon’s deep voice thundered in the air. Although loud, it didn’t sound as if he was shouting.

He wheeled his horse and cantered in the opposite direction.

No response greeted him.

“Ah, I see. Then let me educate you. I wouldn’t want you entering the afterlife without knowing what sent you there.”

There was a brief outcry at this. Several women fainted, their men catching them before they hit the ground.

“Several months ago when my men came upon this Lowland cesspit, they gave you a choice. Fight and be sent to meet your ancestors with honor, or submit and pay us a tithe for however long we choose to collect it. Two weeks ago your tithe came due. My men came and then returned to me empty handed. This was not what we agreed. Now, you have one chance and one chance only to make this right. Bring me what you owe and half more, today, and face the consequences of breaking your word or…. Well I really don’t suggest or.”

“I bet my last ration of Ka grass they’re too scared to speak,” one of the Trateri just beyond Eamon said.

“I’ll take that bet,” said a man with a yellow belt.

“My best knife they refuse to pay.” A third man with braids on either side of his temples.

“All right,” yellow belt said.

“Eamon,” Shea started.

“Easy, Shane. They’re just blowing off steam.”

She didn’t think so. They seemed way too jocular. Bad enough they were terrorizing these people. They didn’t have to be so damn happy about it too.

“No one will speak?” Fallon scowled down at the people below him. His horse high stepped and threw its head back. He brought it to an abrupt halt and stared at the upturned faces. As if coming to a decision, he nodded and wheeled the animal around. “Let that be your answer then.”

To the waiting Trateri, “Spread out and go through all of the homes. Find anyone who is hiding and bring them here.”

“Damn,” yellow belt said.

The first gambler let out a happy whistle

“Guess I’m getting a new knife,” the braids said.

“They could still come up with the payment,” yellow belt said.

“Unlikely,” braids said as he dismounted. “Face it, you’re going to be giving that knife to me before we leave this miserable cesspit.”

“Come on, Shane,” Buck said quietly at her elbow.

Shea looked helplessly down at him. She didn’t know if she could turn in anybody she might find.

“We have to help them look,” he said. His eyes were understanding but resolute.

She closed hers and bowed her head. No getting out of it. Time to grit her teeth and bear it. She’d help who she could and if she couldn’t- well, that could be a matter for a later time.

He waited as she dismounted. For the first time since that first night, after her conscription into Fallon’s army, her legs were unsteady and unsure they wanted to hold her. She carefully laid her horse’s reins over its head before turning and trudging after Buck.

They passed several of the mud huts, Buck leading, Shea in the middle and Eamon bringing up the rear. It felt strange not to be in front.

From the sounds coming from the huts, the Trateri were being thorough in their search and not at all gentle. There was a woman’s sharp cry and a triumphant shout. At least one had found success in their hunt.

“Shane,” Buck said.

Shea pulled her attention away from the direction of the shouts to find Buck standing in front of a hut.

“In here,” he said.

She nodded.

He drew the short sword from a sheath at his waist.

Ah, yes. Of course. Only made sense to take precautions. These people almost certainly regarded the Trateri and by extension, Shea, as enemies. They might act accordingly.

Shea fumbled for her own short sword. A calloused hand stopped her before she could draw it.

“We’d prefer if you left that sheathed for now,” Eamon told her with a wry smile.

Shea stared dumbly at him, not understanding. Then suddenly she got it.

She snorted and let go of the blade’s hilt. He had a point. She was still a new entity to the team, and these were her supposed people. A person might think her willingness to help in the field would undergo a drastic change when her fellow Lowlanders’ lives were in danger.

Hell, they probably thought she was going to turn on them in a blaze of misguided fury.

She held up her hands to signal her compliance. Eamon removed his hand and stepped back, giving her a chin tilt of approval.

“So are we going to do this or just stand around outside all day,” Shea said, looking between the two of them. “I’m good either way.”

Eamon raised an eyebrow and looked at Buck. “The lad says he’s good.”

Buck smirked back. “Guess I’ll lead on then.”

Shea didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t to see Buck turn to the door and give it a solid kick, sending it flying inwards.

“A little dramatic, but points for flair,” Shea muttered following after him.

The interior of the one room hut was dim. There were no windows to provide extra light. No doubt as a deterrent to beast attack. A window would have only provided another avenue for entry into the small home. They probably also lacked the skill to create openings in the walls without also creating severe weakness in the structure.

It was so stuffy and dark in the building. Shea didn’t know how they could bear to spend much time in it. She’d go crazy inside of a week. The walls already felt like they were closing in on her,

“It stinks. How do they live like this?” Buck asked, covering his nose.

It did stink. The pungent smell of the morning’s meal still lingered in the air. It also smelled of unwashed bodies, mold, and earth.

The floor was dirt and covered in dead grass.

“No windows means no ventilation,” Shea commented as she passed a small wooden table. “Smells get trapped.”

Two bowls rested on it. One was half filled with empty bean shells, the other with the unshelled beans. The woman was probably preparing for that night’s meal. Shea hoped she got the chance to make it.

Buck shook his head in disgust and started opening and shutting what few cupboards there were. Eamon looked under the only bed. There were no other places to search.

Shea was drawn to a baby’s crib in the corner. What would the Trateri do with the children? Would they face the same fate as their parents?

She ran her hands along the smooth, hand carved edge. It was simple but finely made. The feel against her fingers wasn’t right. She rubbed them together, noticing the slight grainy texture that lingered.

There wasn’t enough light to tell what she’d touched so she stepped closer to the door. The grayish film on her fingers was easily identifiable as dust.

Her forehead wrinkled. That couldn’t be right. Even a Lowlander wouldn’t lay their child down without dusting the crib.

Could their child already be grown? There was no other bed.

“Shane, you ready? I don’t think there’s anybody in here,” Eamon said.

She rubbed her fingers together slowly as she pondered this riddle.

“Just a minute,” she said in a distracted tone of voice.

“What’s he doing?” Buck asked Eamon as she strode to the crib and lifted the small baby’s blanket from it. “There’s nothing here.”

She examined the material carefully and held it up to her nose, inhaling deeply. She promptly sneezed. And then sneezed again.

She walked back to the door way. Stepping into the light, she gave the blanket a vigorous shake. Dust flew. Enough to illuminate the small rays of sunlight.

“Okay, what’s the deal with the blanket?” Buck asked, folding his arms over his chest. Eamon leaned against the door, watching Shea as she thought.

“Did either of you see any children?” she asked.

Buck shook his head. “I don’t think so, no. What about you, Eamon?”

Eamon looked deep in thought before he shook his head. “You think they might be hiding them?”

Hiding them? Possibly.

“How many people were supposed to live in this village?”

Both shook their heads. “The party who first came through here probably got a head count. It’s necessary to determine how big a tithe they can afford to give, but we don’t know what that number is. We’re scouts. We don’t need to know.”

“Right.”

So she’d have to do this the hard way.

“Either of you got a guess as to how many people were gathered when we arrived?”

Shea paced in a circle counting the huts. It didn’t take her long. The village wasn’t that big.

Buck shrugged. “Twenty maybe twenty-five.”

Eamon nodded. “I agree.”

“I doubt your men recovered more than five people hiding.”

“You’d be correct.”

“There’s, what, thirty huts I’d say. Unless every person in this village has their own home, there are a lot of people missing,” Shea said.

Eamon’s eyes shot to the huts, counting as she had. He straightened as realization dawned.

“Buck, head back to the village center and get them to do a headcount.”

Buck’s face was grim as he moved, without another word, to follow Eamon’s orders.

“What’re you thinking? That they’ve got their people stashed somewhere?” he asked, following her as she moved through the village.

It didn’t take long for her to find what she was looking for, a building with a rowan branch pinned to the door and two revenant skulls with blue flowers threaded through the eyes mounted on pikes on either side.

“If only that were the case,” Shea said softly.

“Are those skulls? Revenant skulls? Shane? Where are you going?”

Shea spun and took off, nearly running, as she headed back to the villagers. Eamon, with one last look at the skulls, trailed behind her.

“Shane, stop. Stop, right now,” Eamon ordered when he saw where she was heading.

Shea didn’t listen, intent on her prey. She didn’t know who it was yet, but she’d know him when she saw him.

Pushing past the Trateri still mounted, she paused to survey the crowd, barely noticing as Eamon stopped beside her.

“Shane, you cannot do this. Whatever this is. Tell me what’s going on.”

“In a minute,” she said in a distracted tone of voice.

“What’s going on?” a Trateri asked from behind them.

Shea tuned them out, not caring what was said. She’d found her target. As she’d thought, she’d known him at a glance. He stood out from the rest of the villagers. They were simple folk. Not him though. His hair was bedraggled and untamed, but the clothes he wore were high quality, if dirty. Most damning of all, he wore a necklace made of the same blue flower as was threaded through the eye sockets of the skulls. It was a pretty flower by itself and harmless if not for what it symbolized.

In nature, the flower’s scent repelled most predators as it deadened the sense of smell and lured its victim by causing hallucinations. So naturally its likeness was adopted by a religious sect who vilified and deified beasts, making them into both monsters that needed to be feared and gods that could be appeased through worship and sacrifice.

Their presence was more common in the Lowlands than the Highlands. Shea’s guild would not deal with any village that hosted one of the sect’s priests. They fed on superstition and fear, building it until it reached hysterical extremes and turning once decent people into a terror maddened and crazed imitation of themselves.

“Where are they?” Shea snapped as she strode to the priest.

A village woman stepped in front of Shea, holding her hands up in supplication. Thrusting the woman away from her, Shea continued, ignoring the building undercurrent of fear and hostility, both from the villagers and the Trateri behind her.

“Where. Are. They?”

The priest, to give him credit, did not retreat in the face of Shea’s onslaught. He held firm, looking at her from behind eyes such a dark brown they almost appeared black. Or perhaps that was how Shea saw them given what she knew of his practices.

Reaching him, she grabbed his robes and jerked him down towards her. His struggle was laughably weak, barely even phasing her. Extreme fasts and safe living had made him weak while she pushed her body to the limits on a daily basis.

Later she would be stunned by her actions. Knowing that she could have easily been injured or killed by the wary villagers surrounding her or the Trateri who had not a clue what was happening, besides the fact that their scout had suddenly turned crazy. Right now, none of that mattered. Anger filled her near to bursting and cleared sane thoughts from her mind. Right now, all that mattered was finding out how far these people had gone in the pursuit of safety.

The priest maintained his silence, giving her nothing but a blank stare. That stare said he wouldn’t answer to the likes of her. No matter how she pushed or prodded, he wasn’t giving the information up.

Fanatics. God, she absolutely loathed them.

“Not gonna answer, huh?” She bared her teeth at him, much like the revenants had days before. One by one her fingers loosened their grip, letting go and then smoothing the robes down on his chest. “That’s alright.”

She turned and walked away, only now noticing Fallon watching her from his upright position on his mount. All of the Trateri watched her, some with suspicion, others with curiosity.

“What’s going on here?” Fallon asked. His expression made it clear if she didn’t have a damn good reason for her little outburst she would be sharing the villager’s punishment.

“My lord, if I may?” Eamon waited for permission to continue. Fallon tilted his chin down. “The scout discovered the village is missing somewhere near a third to half of its population. I believe he was trying to determine where they went.”

“You believe?” Fallon’s face made it clear he didn’t care for this turn of phrase.

“He didn’t exactly share his plans.”

Fallon’s attention shifted to Shea. “Is this true, Scout? You were trying to determine where they’ve hidden the rest.”

“Sort of.”

Eamon cleared his throat loudly.

Shea tacked on a “my lord” to satisfy him.

“Perhaps next time you should go through the proper chain of command,” Caden said archly from beside Fallon.

“What is it you think you know?” Fallon asked, giving Shea the full intensity of his attention.

She grimaced, “It’d be easier to show you than try to explain. Not to mention more believable.”

“Of course,” one of the Trateri muttered.

Fallon held up his hand, signaling for silence. Then gestured for her to continue. “By all means.”

She gave him a short nod before walking to her horse. Speaking over her shoulder, she said, “I’ve learned a thing or two during my travels. The first and probably the most important is that all of these backwards, inbred, uneducated armpits of the Lowlands mainly fear one thing. Beasts.”

Shea riffled through the pack still attached to the back of her mount. Finding a small vial buried at the bottom, she smiled briefly. That should work quite nicely.

Turning back to the villagers, she composed herself, “Every aspect of your lives are spent trying to minimize any contact. You tell your children stories so they might inherit your fear and stay locked inside these mindless prisons you’ve created until their dying day.”

Could she do this? The repercussions of what came next could very well wipe this place from existence. Her mind turned to the empty baby’s bed. Yes. Yes, she could do this and so much more.

Her eyes found the priest watching her with deep suspicion.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked, showing him the vial contained in her hands. She didn’t wait for him to answer, “It’s Pyke’s blood, and do you know what Pyke’s blood does?”

By the dawning realization and hint of fear beginning to show on his face, she suspected he did. The villager’s looked confused, as usual.

“Interesting properties this blood has. In easiest terms, you could call it an attractant. All sorts of beasts think this stuff smells tasty. You spill a little bit here and there, and it’ll be the dinner bell announcing a banquet by night fall. Now me and my friends are going to ride out of here.” There was a slight protest behind her that was cut off almost as soon as it began. Fallon no doubt had motioned for silence. “But before we go we’re going to spread this stuff and several other vials worth all around the perimeters of your village. Maybe you’ll survive. Probably not. But maybe.”

She watched the villager’s faces as she let that settle. Fear does funny things to people. Some it turns brave, as it had Eamon and Buck when they rescued their men from a shadow beetle’s nest. Others, as was the case with these villagers, turn into cowards willing to sacrifice anything and everything for just one more minute, one more day, one more week of living. They didn’t care what they had to do or who they had to hurt as long as they could keep breathing.

These people fell into the latter category. Figure out what they fear, apply a little leverage and they would do whatever you asked.

It started slow. A little bit of talking, some people crying, another shouting, ‘you can’t do this’, but soon there was arguing, threatening and finally shoving.

Shea’s smile was cold as she said, “Well, you’ve had your chance. If you don’t want to tell me the location of the altar, you can take your chances with the beasts.”

She uncorked the bottle.

“Wait.” A woman stumbled from the crowd. “I’ll show you where it is.”

“Marnie, no,” a man shouted.

“Thanks, but I don’t trust one such as you. Just point me in the right direction.”

“It’s on top of that hill.” She pointed to her left. “We wanted them to always be able to see us, you know?”

Yeah, Shea was sure they appreciated that.

“I’m going to give this to my friend over there. If I don’t return or I find out you lied, he’s going to dump it and several others all over your village.”

“I’m telling the truth. I swear it.”

Fat lot of stock Shea put into her words.

Shea walked over to Buck and handed him the bottle.

“You had this on you the whole time?” he asked.

“Yup.”

“You could have used it to create a decoy with the revenants.”

She snorted. “I don’t think it would have worked very well. It’s what I use to polish my tack.”

His eyebrows rose. “You lied?”

She smirked at him. “Yup.”

“You little sneak. We’re going to have to start watching you closer. Wait, does that mean you lied about the pisser fish in that pond we bathed in?”

“What do you think?”

She left him gaping behind her as she climbed onto her horse and looked over at Fallon. “If you still want to see, follow me.”

“Lead on.”

In the end, they took a party of ten that included Shea, Eamon, Fallon and Caden. It didn’t take long by horseback before they were cresting the hill. The villagers had cut the forest back, leaving a small clearing at the top that looked down on the small settlement.

“The ancestors take them,” Eamon breathed as he pulled his horse up beside her.

Shea had no words to respond. The sight broke her heart.

Pikes rose from the ground like grim headstones in a macabre imitation of a cemetery. Bodies in various states of decomposition were tied to each one, some with their hands above their heads, others wrapped so they were facing the pikes.

Even with the wind blowing in the opposite direction, the smell was over powering. Shea’s nose hairs felt singed from the smell of decay.

A few of the bodies had been here long enough for the elements and beasts to strip them of all flesh, leaving only white bone behind. Others were newer. That was somehow worse, because those had been half chewed and were missing hunks of skin and organs.

No wonder the revenant pack had been so large. They had a steady meal to sustain them. They wouldn’t have needed to hunt.

“What is this?” Fallon asked quietly, his voice holding the beginnings of a thunderous rumble.

Shea’s chin wobbled as she caught sight of the smaller bodies in one corner of the clearing. Forms the size of toddlers or young children. The worst were the small bundles of blankets that had at one point cradled babes. No remains were left, only the little blankets their parents, the people who should have protected them, had wrapped them in.

In a calm, steady voice totally at odds with the rage inside, Shea gestured before her. “It’s a sacrificial altar. This is in the territory of those revenants we passed a few days ago. The villagers believe if they leave a sacrifice the beasts will spare them. Looks like they started with their young and moved on from there.”

“Does it work?” Caden asked.

Shea shrugged. “Until you run out of people or until the beasts figure out there is a lot more warm blooded, delicious meat down the hill.”

“This is- this is. I don’t even have words for what this is,” one of Fallon’s men said, shaking his head in disgust.

“And they call us barbarians,” Caden said, looking at the scene before them with absolute loathing.

“I wouldn’t think this fazed you,” Shea commented. “You were thinking of destroying the village.”

“This is different,” he told her, his intelligent eyes pinning her in place. “You don’t hurt the people in your clan, and you certainly don’t hurt children. They look to you for protection. Do whatever you want to people outside your clan but never do this to people you call your own.”

Shea looked back at the clearing, “Hmm. Interesting sentiment. Not sure I agree with all of it, but some I agree wholeheartedly.”

“Burn it, salt the ground and kill them all. I won’t have people such as these in my ranks.”

“All of them?” Caden asked.

Fallon took one last look at the scene in front of them. “Leave two alive, brand them as slaves. They can be a warning to others. The rest let this happen; they can join their young in eternity.”

Fallon wheeled his horse around and touched its sides with his heels. As he rode away, he gave Shea a sharp nod before his attention turned forward again, dismissing her.

Shea lingered as the others followed. Eamon guided his horse until he was next to her, giving her time to speak if she wanted.

Such a waste of life and for such a stupid reason. What the villagers were attempting with the sacrifices wouldn’t work. It would have eventually backfired. The beasts would have wised up, gotten hungry and gone hunting in one of the huts in the valley. That or the villagers would have eventually run out of people to sacrifice and begun turning on themselves until they were so weakened they were easy pickings for what lived in these hills.

Shea would have to live with the bloodshed about to be spilled as a result of this atrocity. It was enough to make her tired. She agreed with Fallon’s course of action. Her own people would have implemented similar measures, not with the swords and burning and such. Their methods would have involved bait for the beasts and cutting off all access to the village.

It was a slower method, and in some ways more brutal as the village withered and died a slow, agonizing death versus the short abrupt one the Trateri offered.

She didn’t know which method was worse. Not knowing disturbed her, robbed her of the belief that she acted in good stead.

“I suppose we should get back,” she told Eamon, turning her horse to face away from the remains. That left her facing the village nestled in the valley. So picturesque from up here. How deceiving.

“We can take our time,” Eamon said as he guided his horse to face in the same direction.

“Afraid I’ll object to what he’s ordered?”

“Not so much, but there’s also no reason for you to be a part of it.”

“Won’t they think less of me?”

“Do you really care?”

A brief flash of a small smile graced Shea’s face. Not so much.

Together, they soaked as much clarity and tranquility as they could from the quiet forest around them as they, accompanied by the sacrifices, watched as the village caught flame.

Only when the village was engulfed in a towering column of blues, reds and oranges and the fields surrounding it had followed the same fate did they leave the clearing.

If Shea had been given to flights of fancy, she would have said the chilly air and miserable atmosphere of the clearing lightened and warmed the higher those flames climbed.

Chapter Thirteen

One month later

Fallon leaned his head back and sighed. It had been a long day.

The campaign against the people of the Lowlands was successful. The Trateri had rode right through the pitiful armies that mostly consisted of peasants armed with pitchforks with little problem. They were already in position to control most of the western lands if they could just lock down their trade routes.

The beasts were making that impossible.

This land was very different from the plains the Trateri hailed from. Not only were they dealing with a rugged terrain that wasn’t easily traversable by horseback, but these beasts were more fierce than most of what they saw on their plains. It was making for a much more difficult campaign than anyone had anticipated.

Fallon wasn’t too worried, instead seeing the situation as a testing ground to develop a fighting force the likes this world had not seen since ages past. With each encounter his men became stronger. Leaner. Hungrier. It was everything a Trateri warrior could hope for. To prove his mettle on such a bloody battlefield.

The elders of the four clans, however, were of a different mind.

They wanted the spoils without any of the work. Nor did they want to take the time to build a lasting legacy for their children. They didn’t see that if they held the Lowlands, their people could finally flourish rather than tear themselves apart in pointless battles over limited resources. They wanted victory now and if that wasn’t possible, to pack up and head back to clan lands.

“More fire whiskey my lord?”

Fallon lifted his head and nodded. He tossed the whiskey back, feeling it burn down his throat to light a fire in his stomach. He gestured for another round to be poured into the small glass that was no larger than his thumb.

The next cupful he savored slowly, sipping as he pulled the latest report from his troops in the east.

A hanging brazier and candles placed on chests and tables around the area cast a soft glow, making it possible to read by. He sat on several pillows that had a back built into them at a wide table, low to the ground. Maps and paper were strewn over it.

“The Horse Clan sends its regards,” a voice hissed next to his ear as a burning pain entered his back.

Fallon’s arm shot back, grabbing the hand plunging the blade into his side. He twisted sharply. A soft cry sounded. Fallon shot forward, spinning to face his opponent.

A dagger whistled through the air, spinning end over end. Fallon slid easily to the side, stepping forward and planting his fist in the assassin’s stomach. The man’s breath whooshed out. Fallon grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down to knee him in the stomach.

The man went limp. Fallon grabbed his head and twisted, snapping his neck. As the man sunk to the ground, guards rushed into the tent, halting when they saw the figure lying at Fallon’s feet.

“Send for Darius,” Fallon barked.

He reached behind him, grimacing as his fingers came away with blood. If the man’s aim had been a little better, Fallon would be the one lying dead on the ground. He should have known better than to turn his back on any but a trusted friend.

Darius ducked under the flap, his eyes going immediately to the assassin.

“Another one? That makes the third this month.”

Fallon bent and using the man’s hair lifted him so his face was to the light. “Any one you recognize?”

Darius’s eyebrows pulled together as he examined the man’s face. “No. Did he say anything before he died?”

“Said it was courtesy of the Horse Clan.”

Darius’s jaw dropped as his eyes widened in rage. “Horse Clan? They’re your ally!” He strode to the prone figure and spit on it. “I’ll have my men make inquiries. If any of them had anything to do with this, I’ll find them.”

“It’s not certain it came from the Horse Clan, my friend.”

Darius shot Fallon an agonized look. “It doesn’t matter. You and I both know we can’t do anything but question anyone indicated. They knew right where to hit us. Questioning the Horse Clan’s integrity could jeopardize their loyalty.”

“Which is why I want you to hold off,” Fallon said, crossing his arms.

“You have a plan.”

Fallon inclined his head. “You’re right. Until now I have had no reason to question the Horse Clan’s loyalty. I am not going to start now because of the word of an inept assassin. My back was to him. He could have slit my throat or slid the dagger into my heart. He did neither and told me where the attempt originated. Why?”

“To throw off suspicion and drive a wedge between you and one of your closest allies. But, how can you be certain?”

“We’ll find out if my plan works.” He headed to his sleeping chamber and a clean set of clothes. “Call a meeting of the clan heads. I want to see their reactions when they see their assassin failed.”

Fallon’s face was cold and unyielding as he watched the clan leaders shift in their seats. Their unease might have something to do with the head sitting in the middle of the table.

Henry, head of the Horse Clan, hair white with age, poked at the head with one finger, causing it to roll towards the leader of Snake Clan, who batted it away with a look of distaste. Indra was a tall, lithe woman with long black hair braided into a series of interlocking braids.

Only four of the clan leaders were present, as well as Darius, who was Fallon’s right hand man. The last three were currently leading war parties.

“Why were we pulled from our beds in the middle of the night?” Van was middle aged with golden hair and a barrel chest and was the oldest except for Horse Clan’s leader. As Lion Clan, he was one of the potential traitors. Fallon had no proof. Yet.

“Someone tried to assassinate me tonight,” Fallon said blandly, watching for any betraying tick.

There was a hushed moment of silence as each processed how this might affect them. Indra arched one eyebrow but otherwise kept her expression politely interested.

Van smirked and said, “Guess someone really wants you dead.”

“They will just have to consign themselves to disappointment.”

“For now.”

“Is that a threat?” Darius asked sharply.

“Did it sound like one?” Van waved one hand. “Given the number of attempts lately, it’s just a matter of time before one is successful. Perhaps now you will reconsider heading back to clan lands. This place isn’t good for our people.”

“Yes, our mistake. How dare we take our people somewhere where they won’t have to fight over every speck of food or have to decide between giving water to their children or their horses,” Darius said.

“But we haven’t stopped fighting, have we? We’ve just traded one enemy for another,” Van said, baring his teeth.

“At least we aren’t fighting amongst ourselves,” Ben, the leader of Earth Clan said, arching an eyebrow. He was the youngest in the group and had not been tested by battle though he was in his twenties already.

“What would you know of it, Earth Clan?” Indra asked, curling a lip. “Your men aren’t out there dying.”

“My mistake, we simply make the weapons you use to defend yourselves.”

“Enough.” Fallon’s voice rumbled through the room. “I did not call this meeting so we could argue over issues that have already been settled. The Trateri will claim these lands and if you have issue with that then you can leave.”

Dirty looks were shot around the table before each settled back into their chairs.

“I don’t suppose the assassin said anything before he died?” Van asked in a bored tone.

“What makes you ask that?” Fallon asked, his eyes growing cold and fierce.

Van shrugged and waved a hand. “Why else would we be here?”

“You are correct, he did say something before I snapped his neck.” Fallon’s voice was silky as his eyes narrowed to slits.

“Well do tell us.”

“He said, ‘The Lion Clan gives its regards.’”

Van sprang to his feet and pounded a fist into the table. “Absurd.”

“Is it?” Indra asked. “Just moments ago you sounded as if you would like to shake hands with the assassin.”

“Lion Clan did not do this. On my honor, we did not.”

“I did not say you did,” Fallon told him. Van relaxed back into his seat and inclined his head in gratitude. Fallon’s next sentence made him tense and his face turn red. “I would, however, be a fool if I didn’t have Darius investigate. He won’t limit his investigations to just Van’s men either.”

“What?” Indra popped to her feet. “Why must the rest of us be subjected to suspicion when the assassin as good as pointed the finger against him?”

Fallon’s head turned slowly. He allowed his mask to slip for a moment, letting the burning rage through for just a moment. Indra gulped and lowered herself back into her seat. “Because I said so.”

The meeting wrapped up quickly after that and before long the clan heads, except for Darius, filed out.

“It could have been any of them,” Fallon said, turning his head as Darius took a seat next to him. “Have your men to check into all of them.”

“This would be easier if we could use Henry’s connections to find the traitor.”

“We can’t chance it,” Fallon said. “Not given what the assassin suggested.”

“So the assassin won in the end. He managed to cast doubt upon a staunch ally.”

The cup Fallon held up to his mouth hesitated before Fallon tossed back the contents.

“Work as fast as you can. Van was right in one sense. Sooner or later an assassin is going to get lucky.”

A commotion at the tent’s entrance drew both men’s attention. They looked up to see a dark haired man pushing his way through Fallon’s men.

“Great, how did Cale hear about this?” Darius muttered.

Fallon gave him a warning look. Darius held up a hand and shrugged.

“Brother, I came as soon as I heard,” Cale said, striding across the room.

“Oh? You have good ears,” Darius said, tapping one finger against his thigh.

Cale gave him a cool look and slightly bowed his head in respect. There was no love lost between the two. Cale was jealous of the close relationship Darius shared with Fallon, while Darius felt Cale was a complete waste of space who constantly used his connection with the Warlord to make his life easier.

“As you can see, the attempt was unsuccessful,” Fallon said.

“Have you caught the parties responsible? They should all be given the traitor’s reward,” Cale said heatedly.

“Yes, well, when they’re caught I’m sure you’ll be first in line to give them that reward,” Darius said sarcastically.

It was well known that Cale liked to attend such events. A bloodthirsty man, he tended to take advantage of those in weakened states.

“I thank you for your concern, but we have much to discuss. You should retire for the night. I’m sure Henry will have much for you to do tomorrow,” Fallon said in dismissal.

“I would be a horrible brother to let a little missed sleep keep me from your side. I wouldn’t want you to have to rely on the loyalties of others in this dark time. After all, family can always be counted on,” Cale said with a sidelong glance at Darius.

“And what assistance might you provide? You don’t know the first thing about such things,” Darius said.

Fallon interrupted before the discussion could degenerate any further. It would not be the first time a shouting match had erupted between the two. He’d hoped placing Cale under Darius’ command several months prior would help to reconcile the two or at least make them less antagonistic, but it had only seemed to worsen their relationship. Each man had his strengths, but both refused to see any good in the other.

“Enough,” Fallon said. “I am tired and would like to see my bed before the sun rises. Cale, thank you for the offer, but Darius has experience in such matters and is as close to me as you. I have no reservations about his loyalty and would thank you not to question it again.”

Cale face reflected anger for a moment before it smoothed back into a pleasant expression. He bowed his head and said, “As you wish, brother.”

He turned and left.

Darius leaned his head against his hand as he watched him go. “It is interesting that he knew of the assassination attempt so soon after. It makes one wonder where he came by the information considering my men were under orders not to share news of the attempt with anyone.”

Fallon stared after his half-brother, his face lost in thought. “It does make one wonder. Keep an eye on him just in case.”

Darius lifted his head and gave Fallon a penetrating stare, “You think he might be involved?”

“It would not be the first time a close family member has plotted against a Warlord.”

Darius nodded, knowing that was how Fallon’s grandfather lost his life.

“As you will.”

“Hot food, showers, maybe even a clean change of clothes.” Buck leaned his head back and rolled his eyes in imagined bliss.

“I can practically taste the stew already,” Eamon said, smacking his lips.

Shea snorted as she steered her horse onto safer ground. Every time they returned to the main camp all they wanted to talk about was what they would do first.

Assigned to a supply party tasked with gathering the monthly tithes, the three had just finished guiding their charges to the three villages on their route. Now they were heading back to the main Trateri camp, also known as home.

Despite the bitching that had followed their orders, they’d rather enjoyed their time on what scouts considered light duty. Though the terrain was still rough, the villages rarely put up any fight and every one of them was clearly marked on a map. It was easier than a lot of the mapping missions they drew, but it was also considered bitch work since there was little to no glory to be had.

“This time you’re getting a shower if I have to throw you in myself,” Buck groused at Shea.

She stuck her tongue out at him. He was only half joking. Though she ensured she stayed as clean as possible, the others had begun to notice that when it came time to bath or whip out their dicks to take a piss, Shea was always conspicuously absent. She found ways to take care of business later when no one was around. She’d been doing it so long that for the most part they chalked up her shyness to a Lowlander thing. They were beginning to push, though. The Trateri didn’t have the same body consciousness that Lowlanders did and often bathed in open showers or in streams.

“I’m in no hurry to get a look at your damn dicks,” Shea told him.

“But they’re such fine dicks, Shane.”

“Fine they may be, but I prefer a little privacy in my bath.”

“Why? Do you need a little alone time to jack off? You know if you use your hand too much it’ll just make what’s between your legs fall off.”

“I think you might want to take your own advice, Buck. Maybe there’s a nice village girl somewhere out there who can give your nether regions a bit of attention.” Eamon grinned.

Buck’s nose wrinkled in disgust, and his mouth pursed as if it had just bitten into something sour. “A Lowlander girl? Impossible. I’d break her in half. These Lowlanders are just too frail. If she got anywhere near my cock, she’d faint dead away.”

“Wow,” Shea said shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s quite an ego you have there.”

“It’s the truth. Lowlanders have twigs between their legs.” He shot her a sly grin. “Why else would you be afraid to shower with us?”

“That’s it,” Shea said dryly. “That’s the reason right there.”

The past month and a half had been an eye opening experience for Shea as she settled into the team. On the Hawkvale’s recommendation, Eamon had been given his own scouting team and made Shea his permanent second. She thought that might cause problems with new members who were older and thought they had more experience, but Buck was quick to set any newbie straight. He did that by beating them to a pulp the first time they challenged her authority. She reinforced it by ensuring that person got all the worst jobs like digging the trenches for waste.

For reasons that were a mystery even to her, she hadn’t escaped after that first mission but had instead guided her team back to the base camp.

Every night Shea had promised herself she would leave, but she put off her escape night after night as they got closer to camp. That last night she’d risen with every intention of leaving, but Eamon had woken as well, making it impossible to sneak off. She pretended that she needed to do a perimeter check. By the time Eamon settled into sleep, Buck was up and ready for his watch. The night continued like that until dawn arrived, and her chance was gone.

Now, nearly a month and a half later she was still with them. Every time she thought about slipping away and heading home something stopped her. Camaraderie and companionship bound her to them more effectively than Fallon’s chains.

Besides, what better place to hide out than under her enemy’s very nose? After her escape no one would ever think she would be dumb enough to return. If they were still searching for her, they’d focus on the roads to the north. Maybe even return to Goodwin of Ria to see if she went there. No, she felt pretty safe masquerading as a boy in Fallon’s own army.

“When will we get there?” Cale, the expedition leader for the supply train, barked as he rode up beside them. Shea remembered him from Goodwin of Ria and was grateful he didn’t recognize her. He hadn’t given her a good feeling in the last meeting. He was well on his way to providing an even worse one on this encounter.

He had a sharp beak for a nose and very pronounced eyebrows. He wasn’t soft, none of the Trateri were, but he was softer than the soldiers Shea was used to seeing, lacking that chiseled edge of lethality most carried. The only thing that saved him was the scar on his neck and his well-muscled body. Despite that scar, he would be considered handsome by most. For Shea, he seemed too put together. Despite being on the trail, he spent an hour every morning attending to his appearance.

“We were supposed to arrive hours ago,” he said.

Buck rolled his eyes where Cale couldn’t see him and mouthed the last sentence mockingly. Shea bit her lip and looked down trying to contain the smile threatening to break out. The man said something similar every time they got close to a village. They had come to expect it and could practically repeat the conversation verbatim now.

“We’re closer to camp than you think. Probably just a day or two more,” Eamon said.

Cale looked up at the ridgeline and sniffed. He’d already made the argument that they should just go over it and was shot down by Eamon courtesy of Shea. It was one of the reasons the trip was taking longer than expected. They had to detour around several hills to find land that could support a wagon.

Despite Cale’s expectations, it wouldn’t have been faster to go over. The climb would take just as long because of the steep grade. Their breaks would have to double, and they’d most likely have had to leave the wagons and horses behind as the steepness meant they wouldn’t be able to make the climb.

“Is there anything else?” Eamon tilted his head expectantly when Cale didn’t move.

“I plan to bring your insubordination and general bad attitude to the attention of your superiors,” Cale said vehemently.

“In that case, you’ll want to make sure your concerns are sent directly to Mathias. He’s the one who deals with issues of this nature. If you give it to Thomas or William, they’ll forget all about it as soon as you’re gone,” Buck told him helpfully.

“You think this is funny?” Cale’s lips twisted angrily. “I’ve heard about you three and that your captain doesn’t think much of you. After I get done with you, you won’t be fit to wear the green. Maybe they’ll even put you on the frontlines with the rest of the throwaways.”

“Sir, I’ll thank you not to threaten my men.” Eamon’s eyes had gone flinty. “I am the scout master for this expedition, and you agreed upon this route. If you have a problem, I will not stop you from raising your concerns with my superiors, but you will not speak to my men like that again.” His lips parted in a nasty smile. “They don’t like that, you see. Shane, there, has delicate feelings and when he’s out of sorts he makes mistakes. Don’t you, boy.”

Shea startled and did her best to appear delicate, lowering her eyes before nodding slightly.

Buck said seriously, or as seriously as he could with his lips twitching. “You never want your scout upset, sir. They might lead you into a jagger nest or a revenant’s den.”

Cale gave them a look of disdain before pulling hard on his reins and riding back the way he’d come. Not many chanced pissing their scouts off for exactly the reasons Buck just explained. Out here in the wilderness there were few rules and it was terrifyingly simple to get away with murder. Beasts were so prevalent that either scenario would be plausible and unquestioned. Cale wasn’t all that intelligent to threaten them out in the open.

“Gods save me from having deal with the lazy scut ever again,” Buck muttered.

“Watch it, friend,” Eamon warned. “Lazy and useless he might be, but his brother is the most powerful man in the army.”

Buck spat to the side. “Half-brother. Hawkvale would do well to force him to make his own way in the world rather than letting him ride on his coat tails.”

“He’s related to Hawkvale?” She would never have guessed. The two couldn’t have been more different. They looked and acted nothing alike.

“They’re half-brothers,” Phillip said, riding up.

A new addition to the team, he was on his first mission with the three. Shea didn’t trust him. He asked too many questions and saw too much. She had to constantly be on her guard. Though he made her suspicious nature run rampant, he was also one of the best trackers she had ever seen.

She could tell the other two weren’t sure of him either. They were polite, but there was none of the normal easy joking.

“Either way, just watch yourself,” Eamon cautioned Buck, “You never know who is listening.”

Both were careful not to look at Phillip, but it was clear they wanted to change the subject when Buck said, “What kind of expression was that, Shane?”

“Hey! What the hell?” Shea raised a hand to her head. “I was trying to look delicate and frail.”

Buck hooted and cackled. “Delicate? You looked like you were about to take a dump.”

“I did not.”

Eamon roared in laughter. “Yes. Yes, you did. I thought I was going to fall off my horse trying not to laugh.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shea muttered, spurring her horse to move faster. “That was my delicate look.”

The two just roared louder as Shea cantered away. Rounding the bend, Shea shook her head. Something she had learned over the years, men could be immature regardless of age.

Chapter Fourteen

“Whoa, halt.”

“Again?” Phillip muttered, pulling on the reins.

Shea stood in her stirrups, craning her head to see around the supply wagon in front of them. It was their turn to pull rear guard while Eamon and Buck scouted in front.

“I’ll ride up and see what’s taking so long,” she told him.

He nodded, frowning sourly. Her mood echoed his, though she was careful to keep her face neutral as she rode down the line looking for the reason for this most recent delay. It had been one obstacle after another for the past several days, and the men were getting impatient. Everyone wanted to reach the safety of camp, and the delays were making them careless.

“What’s the hold up?” she barked as she rode up to several men gathered at the back of one of the wagons.

“Wheel’s stuck,” a man with a crooked nose said crossly, gesturing at the wheel in question.

Cale rode up, his expression darkening as he caught sight of her. “Why are we stopped?”

The glare he shot her said he blamed her for this delay. She met him with a stony look of her own.

“Wheel’s stuck,” the man said again.

“Well, how long will that take?”

“No idea. It takes as long as it takes.”

“Hurry it up,” Cale said crossly.

“It’ll take as long as it takes,” the man enunciated clearly. “If you want it to go faster, get down here and help us dig it out.”

“Just do your job.” Cale whirled his horse and cantered back to the front.

Shea and the man watched him go with similar looks of disgust.

“I’m impressed,” she told him.

“I wasn’t always a softie.” He held up one mangled hand curled into a twisted claw.

Shea winced, the question of what happened forming in her mind but remaining unspoken.

“Got smashed when a horse trampled it,” he said with a self-deprecating grimace. “After that, I wasn’t fit to serve on the lines or in the scouts so they sent me to collect tithes with all the other sluggards.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Could be dead or cast out for being dead weight.”

“Cast out?”

“They do that sometimes when you’re no longer a productive member of the clan.” He gave her a gap toothed grin when he saw the horrified look on her face. “They don’t do that so much anymore, not since Hawkvale took charge. Now, they just send you to units like these where you can help but not be a burden to anyone.” A distant look came over his face. “I don’t know which is worse.”

He shook himself and turned to examine the stuck wagon. It had veered off the path and wedged itself against a couple of rocks. One wheel was wedged deep into the mud while the other was spinning idly in the air.

“Do you need some help? I can push,” Shea offered.

He snorted. “Your scrawny body would just get in the way, scout. You just concentrate on finding the best path out of here.”

She smiled shyly at him. “I’ll do my best.”

Turning to the men staring at the stuck wagon, he roared, “Alright you slack abouts, I want this wheel dug out in the next thirty minutes, and then you’d better be prepared to push this back onto the road. Next time you veer off the path, you’ll answer to me.”

A deep war cry filled the air in response.

Shea rode down the line to Phillip and informed him of the holdup. He squinted at the sky, the sun sinking lower and lower by the minute, and sighed.

“We’ll probably be making camp here.”

Shea protested. “Once it’s on the road, we can make several more miles before dark.”

“If you say so.” The expression on his face said he didn’t hold out a lot of hope and was just humoring her. Phillip dismounted. “We might as well stretch our legs while we wait.”

Seeing the sense in those words, she swung her leg over and hopped down, letting the reins dangle to the ground. Trateri horses were well trained, and it wouldn’t run off unless she called for it. She stepped away, twisting this way and that to stretch out her back. Down the line, others dismounted as well with the same purpose. It seemed no one held much hope that this would be a short delay.

Two hours later Shea had just won her third game of Bones.

“Looks like it’s time to move,” Phillip observed as men began heading towards their horses.

Her current opponent groaned. “I was just about to beat him.”

“Ha,” his friend snorted. “He’s trounced you every time you’ve played. You’d think you were tired of losing by now.”

“I was just about to unleash my secret strategy.”

“I’ll look forward to this ‘secret’ strategy next time,” Shea teased. “In the meantime be sure to do my chores when we stop for the night. Oh, and I’ll make sure to get that piece of jerky from you when we make camp.”

“We won’t be traveling long,” Phillip said as he prepared his horse for travel. “Just far enough to find a decently defensible campsite.”

“Fine with me. Every little bit of distance means we’re that much closer to camp.”

“Not a fan of the warlord’s brother, are you?”

Shea was silent as she waited for the caravan to move. It could take a while yet. They probably should have waited a few minutes before getting back on line because it was the same old story every time. Everybody rushed to mount and then waited and waited for the person in front of them to go.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Shea finally said. “Just prefer to be on missions that have fewer people is all.”

“Oh?” It was a clear invitation to continue.

The caravan began moving again, and Shea was saved from answering. Phillip was always poking and prodding, trying to get people to say more than they should. For someone like Shea, who preferred to keep her own council, it was an uncomfortable experience every time he started asking questions.

When it was clear she had no intention of answering, he said, “Is it the people you don’t like or is it collecting tithes from the villages?”

Shea shot him a glance. So that was what he was after. He gave every semblance of being uninterested in her answer as he kept his attention on examining the hills.

“Is that what you think?” she finally asked. “That I care about the villagers? That maybe I’ll lead everybody into a trap as revenge.”

He shrugged. “It does seem odd that you have no qualms about working with the people responsible for conquering your land.”

Logical assumption. If this was her land.

“Hmm. How many villages have you visited?”

He frowned. “Just these three.”

She gave a cold smile. “So you have no real idea of what the people of this land are like, then.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Everything. What is it your people call people like me? Throwaways, wasn’t it?”

“I doubt your loyalty is so fleeting as to be destroyed by a single act of self-preservation,” he responded.

“You know me that well?” Shea said. “Well, how about this? Do you know what these people do to keep the beasts from their door?

He didn’t answer.

“They sacrifice men and women, often times even children, to give themselves a few more days of safety.” Her laugh was low and ugly and utterly devoid of humor. “Can you believe that? Ignorant savages think spilling blood can protect them.” The humor dropped from her face. “It’s what attracts them. The ironic part is that if they just shared information they might figure out how useless such acts are. But, no, everyone in this fucked up land hates everyone else. The only people you can trust are those that you grew up with. Everyone else is just an outsider. So they bury their heads and pretend they’re safe if they just stay behind their fences and walls.”

“You speak as if you aren’t one of them.”

Shea closed her eyes briefly. There would be a reason for that. She hadn’t meant to say so much, especially not so revealingly, but once she’d started everything else had just come pouring out.

“Well, I’m a throwaway aren’t I?” She gave him a crooked grin. “I don’t really have a people anymore.”

After that, they both kept their own council until the group stopped for the night.

It was freezing when Shea woke, much more so than usual. Though temperatures in the hills tended to drop sharply at night, this wasn’t normal. Her breath created a plume of mist. There was a brittle cracking of frost as she sat up in her blankets.

She shivered sharply and stared down at the rim of white coating every inch of her blanket. She looked over the camp, noting with numb disbelief frost blanketing every still form. Even the wagons had a light coating of silver, and the horses looked like they had been doused with flour. Several had lain down. Their sides barely moved.

The fires had gone out and not a soul stirred.

“Wake up,” her voice came in a hoarse whisper, barely recognizable with how it trembled. She shivered harder and put as much force as possible into it. “Get up.”

She climbed to her feet clumsily and staggered over to Eamon, dropping to one knee beside him. She shook him. “Eamon, you have to get up.”

His eyes fluttered but otherwise there was no response.

She slapped him sharply. “Get up, you slack about.”

“Wha-” His voice was groggy as he tried to shrug her off.

“Eamon, you have to get up. Something’s wrong. Please get up.”

“S-Shane?” She nearly sobbed in relief. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, but I think whatever it is, is killing us. So you need to get up and help me wake the others.”

Together they staggered from figure to figure, shouting, shaking and slapping to rouse the sleepers.

Shea bent over a man and stumbled back as a shadow moved where no shadow should have been. It rose from the ground, its shape bending and reshaping. She watched it rise, her heart in her throat. A frostling. She’d heard stories. Every Highland child had, but there hadn’t been a sighting in nearly a hundred years.

Pathfinder. You’ve disturbed my meal.

She inched back as it took on the amorphous shape of a small human, no taller than her knee. Had there been any clue in how to fight these things in the stories? Her mind couldn’t think as the temperature dropped lower.

Should you replace it?

Her heart stuttered and thumped as the shape formed a tentacle reaching towards her. She could barely keep her eyes open as it came closer and closer. What had those stories said? She couldn’t remember.

“Shane!”

A bright light came between her and the frostling. It hissed, its voice a sibilant whisper in the dark.

Until next time.

A hand shook her sharply. She blinked dumbly up at the flickering yellow light. Fire. She was so cold.

“Shane, don’t you dare go to sleep.”

A sharp pain landed on both cheeks. Her eyes blinked open. Eamon’s face came into focus.

He slapped her again.

“Eamon, will you please stop hitting me.”

“Shane! Thank the gods, man.” His face was full of concerned relief as she pushed up onto one elbow. “I saw you drop like a rock and thought something had happened.”

“Something did happen.” She rubbed her face, feeling the odd sensation of frost breaking apart under her hand. “Did you see the shadow?”

“What shadow?”

“You didn’t see it then.” She dropped her hand and looked at the torch held in one of his. “Good thing you had that. It’s probably the only thing that saved us.”

“I guess.”

“How are the others?”

He turned to shake the man Shea had intended to wake. “Groggy and confused.” He slapped the man when he didn’t stir and said in a sharp voice. “Get up.” The man didn’t move. Eamon held his fingers against the man’s still neck and then dropped them with a sigh.

“Is he?”

“Yes. He’s dead.”

Shea sat up with a grimace.

“That’s not the only piece of bad news,” Phillip said from the shadows.

Eamon and Shea jumped, their bodies bracing as if for a blow.

Phillip waited until their hearts had settled before saying, “The men on watch are all dead and one is missing.”

“What is going on?” Cale asked as he stormed up to them. A group of men followed, their faces drawn and stiff from the cold.

“We were under attack,” Eamon informed him.

“Attack?”

“Every man on watch is either dead or missing,” Eamon filled him in, helping Shea stand.

The account seemed to shock Cale, and he moved as if he had been struck. His eyes came to rest on Shea, who wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to lock in some of her warmth.

“This is your fault,” he accused. “You’ve led us into a trap.”

The men behind him traded looks, their faces darkening with suspicion before all eyes came back to Shea.

“Don’t be absurd,” she snapped. “I voted for not stopping here. You’re the one who said it was too dangerous to continue after dark.”

“Five of my men have been killed. Someone must answer for this.”

“Well, don’t blame the kid,” Buck said, yawning as he joined them. “He’s the one who woke all our asses up. I don’t think we would have survived if he hadn’t.”

“Perhaps he just wanted to play hero.”

“Careful, there,” Eamon warned. “You’re threatening the reputation of the scouts.”

“Not all scouts, just his.”

“Threaten one, you threaten all,” Eamon rumbled.

There was a quiet moment of strained silence as the two faced off. Then Cale said, “The men will be up and ready to move in half an hour. You’d better be ready, or we’ll leave you and your men behind.”

“You can’t,” Shea warned.

Cale turned and glared at her. “I’m the commander, I can do anything I damn well pleased.”

“I mean you can’t break camp now. We have to wait until morning.”

“If you think I’m going to wait around for those things to come back-“

“Fire,” Shea said interrupting him. “As long as we keep the fires lit they won’t come back.”

Cale hesitated, the promise of safety overriding his need to leave this place behind.

“How sure are you?” Eamon asked softly. “Have you encountered these before?”

She shook her head. “No, but I’ve heard stories. A fire’s warmth is the best way to ward against a frostling.”

“A story?” Cale scoffed. “You’re basing this off a story?”

“Shane hasn’t led us wrong yet,” Eamon said firmly.

“He’s pretty much the expert in beasts,” Buck added.

Shea stood up straight trying to put all the confidence she didn’t feel into her gaze. There was always a chance she was wrong.

“The frostling left me alone when Eamon waved his torch at it.” She nodded to the torch in his hand.

“If I lose any more men to this frostling, I’ll have you both strung up,” Cale warned.

“Understood,” Eamon said.

“What did it look like?” Buck asked Shea as the others moved through the camp spreading the word that a fire needed to be kept lit.

“A shadow.” Shea’s eyes were haunted as they stared out into the silver night.

The rest of the night passed in a tense fashion as they waited for the comfort of day. Shea didn’t sleep. Every time she nodded off she startled back awake at every brush of chill breeze. The others did the same and moods were dark and tempers frayed by the time they set out the next morning.

They traveled much faster not beset by the same setbacks as the previous day. No doubt thoughts of frostlings and the close call the men experienced had something to do with that.

The rest of the trip passed uneventfully and two days later they were winding their way through the last hills before the encampment. It had been moved since the first time Shea had seen it, and this time it crouched in a clearing, trees dwarfing it on one side and a high cliff on another.

“I will be so happy when we can dump these whiners,” Buck muttered beside her.

She grunted in agreement. Cale had been a snarling terror to work with the past few days.

They split from the caravan as soon as they passed the first string of guards and rode to the Dawn’s Riders’ corrals and dismounted. Once finished caring for her mount, Shea picked up her pack and followed the other three into the tent city.

After finding their temporary quarters, Eamon headed out to give his report to the task commander. Shea followed since she had to return the map to the cartographers so they could incorporate her observations into the next generation of maps. It also prevented the maps from falling into the wrong hands.

Eamon stopped in front of a blue and beige patterned tent and took a breath before stepping inside. Shea didn’t envy him the report he had to give and continued on to the next tent. It had a banner planted in front picturing twin mountains with a horizontal wavy line under them that depicted water. She brushed aside the flap and stepped inside, blinking at the sudden dimness. Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she headed to a long table where several men were hard at work.

She sighed. It looked like Owen wasn’t working. That wasn’t good news for her as one of the cartographers on duty tended to take it personally when she made her own notations on the maps. She faced questions and recriminations, and she was so tired. All she wanted was to drop it off so she could head back to her tent for a couple hours of shuteye before dinner.

“Every moment you stand there is a moment wasted.” Vincent looked up and gave her a sharp-toothed smile.

Shea fought the urge to drag her feet as she approached the desk and handed him her rolled up map, complete with changes and corrections. She knew from experience that he’d just snatch the map from any of his underlings. Might as well give it directly to him if it was going to end up with him anyway.

“What have you changed this time?” he taunted, unrolling it before setting it in front of him. “I see you crossed off an entire set of ridges. And a river. Silly us to have put those in there.”

“I’m just doing as I was told. Updating the map according to what we encounter in the field.”

“I see. I see.” He nodded and looked back at the map. “It just amazes me that no other scout seems to make the amount of corrections you do.”

He knew as well as she that most of the other scouts didn’t know how to make those changes. When she didn’t answer, he rolled up the parchment and tossed it to another man who caught it before rolling his eyes at Vincent’s back. Seemed Shea wasn’t the only one who thought the man was a pompous sack of wind.

“Here.” Vincent held out a rolled up piece of parchment tied with a red ribbon.

Shea unrolled it, her eyebrows lowering in question. It was a map. “What’s this?”

He gave her an ‘are you stupid’ look. “It’s a map.”

“I know that. Why? We just got back.”

“Well, I guess you’re being sent back out.” He made little shooing motions. “Run along, now. We’ve got work to do.”

Shea lingered, her gaze drawn to the partition behind Vincent. From what she’d been able to piece together from overheard conversations and what she’d witnessed in all her visits to the cartographers, she guessed that the back room held the majority of the Trateri’s maps. It might even hold the maps she’d left behind all those months ago. Unfortunately, the room was constantly occupied and she hadn’t been able to think of a reason to go back there and snoop around.

Vincent cleared his throat, drawing her attention and then gesturing outside.

She rolled the map back up and turned on her heel, pushing out of the tent. Sometimes she just wanted to strangle the man.

Outside, she blinked and shaded her eyes as they adjusted back to the bright light. It looked like Eamon was still talking to the task commander about whatever this next mission was.

Wanting to speak to him before she procured supplies, Shea stepped to the side and unrolled the map, figuring she’d familiarize herself with their route in case they really did have to head right out.

She’d seen this map before or one very like it. The information in it was wrong though. A lot was missing or mismarked.

Damn, she’d have to talk to Vincent again to get it fixed. Just what she needed, another encounter with the finicky map maker.

As she rolled it up, Vincent strode past her, moving at a fast clip. Not wanting to have to come back, Shea darted after him.

Some instinct warned her against calling out so instead she trailed behind, wrestling with the need to address the error filled map but also knowing something was off.

Why would he leave his post in the middle of a shift? During the busiest part of the shift? Everything she knew about the Trateri indicated this was against character. There was a rule about it or something. One of those she was supposed to know but could never seem to remember. Eamon waxed on about them all the time.

When he abruptly turned a corner to disappear between two tents, Shea darted after him, stopping at the last minute. Hearing voices, she flattened her back against the tent.

“Is it done?” a woman asked.

“Yes. I’ve distributed the maps you gave me to the troops.”

“The correct ones?” another man asked. His voice was familiar, though muffled, as if she had heard it before. And recently.

“Misplaced, as you ordered.”

“Are you sure that he got the fake ones? We need the trap to work. He’s escaped too many time in the past,” the woman said.

Who was this he? Whoever it was seemed to be important enough to sabotage?

The voices moved away. Shea stayed where she was, knowing if she followed her chances of being discovered spying increased. It didn’t seem like the sort of conversation she wanted to be caught listening to.

Shea walked away, taking the first path to the right, taking another and another until she was well and truly away from the trio.

What had she just heard? It was momentous, whatever it was.

There was a plot against someone in the Trateri ranks. Someone extremely important from the sound of it.

The question now was, what should she do about it? She wasn’t Trateri. Their politics didn’t affect her since she still had plans to escape. For all she knew, these plotters had a legitimate reason for their actions.

Shea frowned. No, that was unlikely since Vincent was involved. That guy had greedy, bottom feeder written all over him.

If she did tell someone, would they even believe her?

One thing was clear; the map Vincent had given her was absolutely worthless.

“Shane! Shane!” a voice called.

Shea turned to find Clark darting toward her waving, a hank of brown hair flopping over his eyes as he stopped in front of her.

“Thought that was you, but I wasn’t sure since you didn’t respond when I called.”

“Sorry, I was lost in thought.” That and occasionally she sometimes forgot people knew her as Shane as opposed to Shea.

“No problem.” He waved her apology away. “You just get back?”

“Yeah,” Shea’s voice was distracted as they stepped to the side of the dirt road to give others right of way. “Oh, last time we were out, we encountered something Lowlanders call frostlings. They look like shadows and seem to fear fire. Not sure how to kill them, though.”

His eyes lit up and he nodded as he made note of her information. “That reminds me. You need to see this.”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her in his wake, winding through the tents as they left the more commonly used paths and went down one of the smaller routes. She ducked under a line securing the tent to a stake as she followed him.

“Is this going to take long? Because I still need to gather some supplies and to talk to some people. Our team just got another mission.”

“You’re on that too?”

She nodded. “Wait a minute. You’re going?”

He looked back and grinned. “All the scouts are. Someone important didn’t show up as scheduled and now every scout in camp has orders to look for him. Don’t worry though, they’re still discussing how the manhunt will be conducted. It’ll probably be a couple hours before everything is settled.”

“Looks like we got back just in time,” Shea said. This had to be part of the plot she overheard. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Clark, but she held back. She didn’t want to get him involved in something that could be dangerous.

“Looks like.”

They zig zagged down another set of alleys and across a wider road.

“Here we are.”

“Where is here?” Shea asked, stepping over a saddle and apologizing as she bumped into one of the servant caste carrying an armful of laundry. She got a glare for her pains as the servant hurried off.

She looked around curiously, following Clark over to an awning. Several lines anchored the canvas in place, causing the edges to dip down with the tension. The only fabric present was the roof and back wall.

Under it, someone had set up a large wooden board and tacked small sheets of paper to it. They fluttered in a stray breeze.

Shea stepped closer to examine the paper. A rough sketch was drawn on each one and names were written under the sketch. She reached out and flattened one sheet to read it better.

Revenant: Compensates for poor eyesight with highly developed sense of smell and hearing. Pickleberry juice can be used to slip past its senses but fades fast and needs to be replenished or they will pick up your scent. Tactics that have worked in the past…

Shea removed her hand and bent to examine another flyer, and when she was done with that another one. Clark fidgeted anxiously next to her while she read one after another.

“I thought the book of beasts was a great idea, but then it occurred to me that other scouts could benefit from the information or even have information of their own to contribute.”

Shea’s face was unemotional and her thoughts shuttered as she glanced over at him.

Not seeing the reaction he expected, Clark continued with his explanation. “I asked a couple other scouts I knew if they had anything they wanted to add to any of the entries. Next thing I knew, they wanted books like mine. So we started this.” He nodded at the board. “Any scout can come and update an entry or add a new one. If they see information they need, they can copy it into their own book.”

Shea looked back at the board. There were over fifty flyers up there, each with its own list of observations. Some were nearly black with the amount of information while others only had one or two lines of description.

“Say something,” Clark burst out.

Shea stared at the board for a long moment. His shoulders drooped.

Shea, for her part, didn’t know how to respond. This was- It was unbelievable. Amazing and overwhelming. She never would have thought to do something like this, and yet it was exactly what she had always wanted. Better even, because anybody who had something to share about their experience could. They didn’t need a special rank or training. Instead, they relied on actual encounters as their proof of necessity. This had the potential to save lives.

Her voice slightly hoarse, she said, “I don’t see the creature I encountered last time. Should I start a new entry, or is there some way to check older ones?”

He looked up, his face hopeful as she smiled slightly at him. If she hadn’t been pretending to be a boy, she probably would be tearing up at this. Or perhaps not given how hard she worked to make people see her as a pathfinder rather than a woman.

“I’ll ask the board’s keeper and also get you a piece of paper,” he said eagerly.

Shea waited as he rushed over to a thin man with shoulder length, light brown hair tied back. He was Shea’s age, maybe a little older, and his face was all angles and planes. The man shot a glance at Shea and then picked up a thick leather bound book before placing a crisp white piece of paper on top of it.

He ambled over to Shea with a slight limp and observed her, a keen intelligence behind his eyes.

“Shane, this is Charles. He’s the one who manages all the entries. Otherwise, it would just be chaos.”

“So you’re the one who came up with this.” His voice was raspy and low as if he’d damaged it at some point in his life.

“This?” Shea looked at the paper board and shook her head. “No. I never would have thought to do this. That’s all Clark.”

Clark flushed at the praise. “But I never would have thought of this, if it hadn’t been for that original journal. This all started with you.”

Her eyes drifted back over the board. It may have started with her, but it hadn’t ended there.

“Let’s see if we can find your creature,” Charles said. “What did it look like?”

Shea described the frostling while he flipped through entries, shaking his head the entire time.

“Are you sure it was a shadow?” he asked. “Because that just doesn’t sound right.”

“I’m sure.”

“Maybe your mind just made this shadow creature up to explain what happened.”

“I know what I saw,” Shea said firmly. She wasn’t surprised he was having a hard time believing her. Even she couldn’t believe it. Needless to say, she left out the part where it had spoken to her. Well, she thought it had spoken to her. She still wasn’t sure about that. Sentience hadn’t been in any of the stories.

“If Shane says he saw it, then he saw it,” Clark said, folding his arms and glaring down at Charles.

Charles sighed and gave him a slightly put upon look. Shea snorted, covering her mouth quickly to keep the rest of the laughter in. She had seen that look before when she was younger, but usually it had been aimed at her.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Charles told her stiffly when she finally stopped laughing. “It’s just that I want to be sure before we put it up there. We don’t want unfounded superstition being put into the scouts’ heads. They have enough of that.”

“I understand and agree, and if I had time, I’d find some of the men who were there to corroborate my story.”

He held up a hand. “No need. If you say it happened, I believe you. I’m sure you know the difference between myth and fact.”

She took the piece of paper and a quill already dipped in ink. She set the paper on one of the small tables and bent to sketch what she’d seen. Several minutes later, she lifted her hand and rubbed her aching wrist. She cocked her head and read over what she had written. There wasn’t a lot there, and she wished there had been more to put in the description but the encounter had been brief. There would have been too much supposition in if she had added any more. Perhaps someone else would be able to fill in the details.

When she was finished, Charles tacked it onto the board.

“What’s this?” a voice asked at their backs.

Shea went ramrod straight, cursing her luck. Charles and Clark spun and snapped to immediate attention, turning from the friendly men she knew into hard faced soldiers. Shea was slower to turn.

Darius squinted past them at the board. Wanting a better look, he came closer, pausing by Shea as he straightened one flyer to read it.

“It’s a record of beast encounters,” an old man said, stepping into the shade. His back was slightly hunched with age, and his white hair was braided into a tail at the back of his neck. Despite the seeming frailty of his body, the strength of his personality along with a shrewd intelligence blazed from his eyes. “From what my men have told me, when scouts return after an encounter with a beast they record its strengths and weaknesses so others may know them.”

Darius had turned to listen, but now he turned back to the board with a renewed purpose. “That’s brilliant.”

“It works too,” the old man said. “Haven’t you wondered why there was drop in Horse Clan casualties over the past few weeks?”

“This is why?”

The old man nodded. “It hasn’t spread to the other clans yet, but it seems to be working.”

Darius turned to the three of them. Unlike the last time she had seen him, there was only a small spark of the continual good humor he seemed to carry. Today, he seemed tired and worn. Worry had carved deep grooves around his eyes and mouth, though he tried to insert a bit of his old self into his voice when he asked. “Whose idea was this?”

“It was his, sir.”

Shea wanted to punch Clark when he nodded at her. Suddenly, she found herself the focus of the two men. One of whom had met her before, as a woman, and the other of which seemed much sharper than she would have liked.

“Only the beginning, sir,” Shea said quickly deepening her voice as much as she dared without drawing attention to herself. She needed to get out from under their notice. “The rest of it was his.”

Clark puffed up and stood straighter, if that was possible, as Darius’s focus swung to him.

Shea stepped back, putting a little more space between her and them. The old man’s eyes flicked to her, and she froze as he studied her with a thoughtful expression. She dropped her eyes quickly from his, staring at the ground before peeking back up. She sighed in relief to find he was no longer watching her, giving his shrewd attention to the board behind her instead.

Clark was explaining the concept behind the board.

Both Clark and Charles seemed intent on impressing Darius, taking turns in the explanation while Darius looked on thoughtfully.

Now would be the time to tell someone what she’d heard. Darius was pretty high up in the army, and she didn’t have to worry about involving him in something dangerous. He probably even knew the missing person.

Telling him would expose her to scrutiny though, which was dangerous given her secrets. Right now people thought she was a boy, but that was mostly because they were used to thinking of her that way. Revealing a plot of this magnitude would automatically guarantee Darius would take a closer look at her.

It might be selfish, but Shea didn’t want to take the chance. She’d keep her council for now and see if there was a better time to advance what she’d learn. She just had to hope her silence didn’t cost somebody their life.

“And this all sprang from your journal?” Darius asked her.

All eyes swung to her.

“Ah, yes.”

“That’s impressive.”

Her tongue felt thick as she said, “Thank you.”

“Very impressive,” Darius said, idly looking over the board one last time. He turned to leave. “I won’t keep you from your assignments. I pray you meet with success on your journey.”

Clark and Charles made the proper parting remarks, and Shea hurried to join in as Darius and his companion departed. They moved slowly, meandering down the road deep in conversation. Darius shortened his stride, keeping to his friend’s pace as he bent his head toward the man, listening intently.

“Can you believe Darius Lightheart, the Warlord’s right hand man, complemented our project? Even the head of Horse Clan knows about us.” Clark slapped Shea on the shoulder, almost bouncing on his toes from excitement. Even Charles looked slightly amazed, his eyes wide and disbelieving as if this had been some wild hallucination.

“Who knows what might happen after this? We’ve impressed a General. He said it was amazing! I need to tell my team.” Clark started off before turning around to walk backwards and giving them a “who could have believed it” expression.

For a moment, Shea forgot her concerns and smiled at Clark’s antics. He looked his age as he buzzed from the excitement of meeting one of his heroes. She was glad for him.

Charles had turned to study the board. “I think we need another board and maybe a couple more journals. I can make this bigger and better. Maybe we can give those journals to a person from every scout team. What do you think?”

He didn’t wait for her response, moving as fast as his limp would let him, presumably to track down pens and journals, leaving Shea standing there by herself.

She looked over her shoulder at the board, letting herself feel a small sense of accomplishment. Clark and Charles deserved the credit, but it made her feel good that she’d had some part in this no matter how small. Perhaps her time here had done some good after all. A little worried that this might make their jobs easier in conquering the Broken Lands, but for the most part she felt good.

She stepped out of the canopy’s shade. This excursion had taken time that she didn’t really have, and though it had been a welcome distraction, she needed to figure out what she was going to do about the conversation she’d overheard. Until then, she needed to get back to work on preparing to be sent back out.

Procuring supplies didn’t take long, and soon, she joined her party back at the corrals to prepare for their journey.

“You know what this is about?” Shea asked Buck as she made short work of saddling her horse. She cinched the last buckle tight and patted the beast on the neck. It stamped one foot and shifted but held still as she secured a sleep roll on the back of the saddle.

“No idea.” Buck hurried through his preparations so he could start on Eamon’s horse. “Whatever it is has the higher ups walking on hot coals though. My friends in the Stray Wind Troop said the heads are at each other’s throats.”

The Stray Wind Troop from what Shea had been able to gather was made up of, for lack of a better word, spies. Its members belonged primarily to Horse Clan but Snake and Lion Clan were always trying to get its men in there. Word around the campfire said the Stray’s were all over the army, listening for plots against Fallon and doing his bidding. If they were involved, it wasn’t good.

“Here comes, Eamon,” Phillip warned. His watchful gaze was even more intent than usual, and his features were tense. He didn’t look like he was willing to share whatever was bothering him.

“Good, you’re ready.” Eamon shooed Buck away and made short work of preparing his horse. “Sorry we’re leaving so soon, but we have a mission.”

“Eamon, can I speak to you?” Shea asked. She didn’t want to reveal her knowledge in front of the others.

“Not now. We need to get moving.”

“It’s kind of important, and I think it might pertain to the mission at hand.”

“What is it?” Eamon asked impatiently, his hands making quick work of readying his horse.

Shea’s response was cut off when another man shouted from the entrance of a tent. “Scout master, get a move on. You needed to be on the trail yesterday.”

“Alright, alright. We’re going. Keep your pants on,” Eamon yelled back. To Shea, he said, “This’ll have to wait. People are acting like the sky is about to fall. We need to get moving.”

Shea tried to protest, but Eamon had already swung onto his horse.

“All of the scouts are on this mission it seems,” Buck said.

“Doesn’t matter what they’re doing; we just need to follow our orders. Are you guys ready?”

Her chance missed, she nodded with the others.

“Good. Then let’s head out, I’ll tell you more when we’re underway.”

“Are there any others joining us?” Shea asked.

“We’ll be traveling alone, but if we find what we’re looking for, we can call for help with this.” He held up a long, slender black tube with red painted on the bottom of it.

Buck whistled, impressed. Even Phillip raised an eyebrow.

Shea looked from man to man. “What is it?”

“It’s a beast.”

“That?” It wasn’t very impressive, or alive for that matter.

“You probably wouldn’t know about it as they grow on the plains, but when you light a match at the bottom, the animal inside starts to glow. When it gets hot enough, it’ll erupt from its shell to shoot into the sky. We use them to send messages or to warn of attack back home.” Eamon handled it carefully as he set it back in his bag.

“They’re getting scarce the further into the Lowlands we push,” Buck told her as he mounted, “so only commanders and above are allowed to use them. Whatever we’re looking for must be pretty damn important.”

“It’s a who, not a what,” Eamon said. “Whoever he is, I hope someone finds him alive or blood will spill.”

On those grim words, Eamon set his heels into his mount’s sides and burst into a gallop. The rest of them followed quickly. Together, they rode out of camp, the sentries letting them go without the typical challenge.

As they rode, Shea heard hoof beats off to the side and looked over to find another group of four pounding through the brush, keeping pace with them before peeling off in their own direction.

Shea set her eyes forward watching the scenery pass as she leaned low over her horse’s neck and felt hair from its mane brush her lips as they moved as one through the hills.

She’d have to find a time to bring up her concerns on the trail.

Though she was disappointed to leave the comforts of camp so soon after arriving, a part of her thrilled at being back in the wilderness, feeling the freedom of the open skies and the deep serenity the sight of towering mountains and sharply dipping hills provided. For all the danger inherent in this land, it fed a portion of Shea’s soul that always felt slightly empty when she was behind high walls of canvas or stone.

Chapter Fifteen

Though night had fallen several hours ago, Shea’s group passed three other scouting parties. From the focus on both Eamon and Phillip’s faces, Shea figured they wouldn’t be stopping until they found whoever they were looking for.

A whisper of sound, like that of something brushing against rock, reached Shea. Her hand dropped to her hip where her short sword was buckled as she scanned her surroundings. It was dark but the moon was out, not quite as full as it had been when they encountered the frostlings, but there was enough light to see by.

Eamon stepped out of the gloom, raising a hand and nodding at her. She relaxed and murmured a soft ‘hello’ as he joined her where she perched at the edge of a cliff.

“Anything?” he asked her.

How much did she tell him?

“No.”

“Damn.” He settled into a crouch beside her. “I’m beginning to think they sent us on a wild goose chase.”

Pretty much. The map was wrong, which meant they were searching in the wrong place. She’d bet her life on it.

The group had found nothing and were nearly through the area they’d been given to cover. As no fire lights had shot into the sky, they assumed no one else had met with success either.

Should she tell him about what she’d overheard? Would he believe her? As time ticked by, it got harder and harder to tell him. He’d have questions about why she hadn’t said something sooner. He’d be right to be suspicious. She should have made him listen back in camp.

Shea went back to staring at the mountain silhouettes, whose hulking forms blocked the stars and were only a few shades darker than the rest of the night. Little specks of firelight winked in and out in the valley below as men combed the land.

“Maybe not,” Shea said slowly as an idea occurred to her. She could point them in the right direction without revealing how she knew what she knew. “I need you to light a torch.”

Used to the way her mind worked, Eamon didn’t ask questions and busied himself with creating light to see by. Shea pulled out the map and flattened it on the rock between them, taking the torch from him and leaning the light as close as she dared to the parchment.

“Careful, Shane. I’m not sure how happy they’ll be if you set their map on fire.”

She was quiet as she studied the markings. Not all of it was wrong. That would raise too many suspicions from scouts who’d traveled the area. Just parts of it, and she was pretty sure she knew which parts.

“What’re you two doing?” Buck asked, appearing out of the dark with Phillip close behind him.

“Anything?” Eamon asked hopefully.

They both shook their head in a negative.

Eamon sighed. “Shane thinks he’s onto something.”

“Oh?” Buck leapt onto their rock and squatted next to Shea. “What do you have?”

“Something.”

She pulled out her little journal and flipped to several smaller maps at the back. They weren’t as detailed as what she held in her hand, but it was enough to give her a general idea of the land.

“Is that a map?” Buck asked. “You’re not supposed to be copying the maps, Shane. They could flog you for that.”

“I didn’t copy troop movements or anything sensitive, Buck. You know as well as I do half the time the maps they give us are crap. I wanted a way to keep track of where we’d been so we didn’t have to start from scratch every time we left camp.”

She went back to comparing the two maps.

Seeing the look on her face, Eamon asked, “What? What is it?”

They all regarded her anxiously.

“This map is wrong,” she stated the obvious. This next part might be a little tricky. She needed to convince them while not telling them everything.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean whoever worked on this fucked up. Big. Half the routes are wiped out, and it’s out of date. See here,” she pointed at a broken line that was to the right of their current position. “We went through this area last month with Lance’s boys.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, when we were done, I told Vincent that they shouldn’t send any more men that way unless they wanted them to end up dead.”

“Maybe they disregarded your advice. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“That’s just it,” she said, touching the map lightly. “The next map they sent out had the updates on it. This one doesn’t. Not to mention there are some routes that aren’t even on here anymore. They’re not marked as either dangerous or safe. It’s like they don’t even exist.”

“I don’t see why this is important,” Eamon said.

Shea was silent a moment as she considered her options. She wasn’t Trateri and had only lingered so long because she liked Eamon and Buck. This was the point of no return. Either she acted on her knowledge or she let nature run its course. Did she really want to get more involved than she already was?

“Let’s consider the facts, then,” she said finally. It wasn’t in her to just walk away even if it was easier. “Every scout that was in or around the encampment was mobilized to locate someone. It’s someone important, which means enemies. Pretty well connected enemies if my hunch is right. What if those enemies gave him a map that was wrong? Kind of like this one.”

The dark prevented her from reading the men’s faces so she was unable to tell the effect her words were having on them.

“Maybe it steered this person toward some of the more dangerous routes, or maybe it was some mistake. All I know is we’re almost through our area and whatever it is we’re supposed to be looking for isn’t here.”

She didn’t want to make it seem too obvious that she knew it was on purpose.

“What do you suggest we do?” Phillip asked. He had been a silent presence until now, and she had almost forgotten he was there.

She shrugged. “We look through some of the routes that should be on here but aren’t.”

Silence met her statement. Not knowing how they were taking her idea, she kept quiet and waited. In the end, she didn’t know the person lost out there, and she wasn’t Trateri. She’d laid out their options and pointed at the inconsistencies in the information they’d been given. Whatever happened next was on them.

She told herself she didn’t care as she busied herself with studying the map, but that was a lie. She did care, and she hated the idea of leaving someone alone in the dark, especially since she felt slightly responsible for not speaking up sooner.

It was the same reason she worked with the people of Birdon Leaf despite the fact she was treated as the village pariah. She knew the fear of being out there in the great wild expanse knowing nobody was coming for you. Now, when faced with the thought of abandoning someone to that same fate, she couldn’t do it.

“That’s a lot of ground to cover,” Buck said uneasily.

“Yup.”

There were a number of trails that had been mismarked or left off the map. It would be impossible to cover all of the area with just the four of them in a time frame that could make a difference to the men who were lost.

“Is there a way to narrow it down a little?” Phillip crouched beside her and peered at the parchment in question.

Shea shut her eyes, allowing herself to feel a moment of relief. This was the reason she hadn’t left yet. Every time she steeled herself against their disdain or disbelief they did something completely incomprehensible like follow her down whatever rabbit hole she found.

“It would have to be a trail that had shown up on other maps but had recently been declared a danger zone,” Buck said, crouching on her other side. “That way if the intended target had any familiarity with previous maps it wouldn’t be too suspicious.”

“I’m guessing the route would have also been left off the maps given to the scouts so none of them got it into their heads to check it just in case.” Phillip picked up Shea’s journal and squinted at it, trying to decipher her scribbling’s in the dim light and compare them to the bigger map.

Shea looked up at Eamon, the only one of them who hadn’t said anything and also the one who would ultimately decide if they would investigate this theory or continue following their orders.

The torch cast harsh shadows on the sharp planes of his features, concealing his thoughts. He placed both hands on his waist and rocked back and forth, bending his head slightly. Shea knew from prior experience that it was the pose he used when he was thinking over his options.

The two at her side pretended to ignore Eamon’s internal struggle, but, like her, they held themselves tight in anticipation.

“It probably wouldn’t be too far off the area we’re searching so as to further allay suspicion,” Eamon finally added.

The three exhaled in relief before bending to compare notes and observations. The hunt was on, and if there was anything Shea had learned in her time with the Trateri, it was that they loved a hunt, whether of man or beast.

They decided their quarry had been coming from the north and a little to the east since most of the scouts had been sent north and slightly to the west. After discarding some of the more mountainous paths and the ones with little probability of beast activity, they were left with four strong possibilities and a remaining three that held an outside chance.

“That’s still too many,” Eamon said, looking at their work.

They all sat back, disappointed. Even if they were right, it wouldn’t help them unless they could narrow their search to a smaller area. While Eamon and the others were convinced of Shea’s theory, there was very little possibility other scouts would be.

Searching outside their designated area was dangerous. If they failed, it could be seen as a sign of insubordination, leaving them open for challenge. If Eamon lost a challenge then he’d be stripped of his rank, and they could all be punished. It wasn’t a happy thought.

“We could split up,” Phillip offered. “Each take a separate route.”

Eamon was already shaking his head. “No, that’s not going to happen. If they were set on by beasts, I don’t want any of us out there alone trying to save them.”

“How about groups of two?” Buck said.

Eamon bent his head in thought.

“That might work,” he said. “I still don’t like it, though.”

“It’s probably our only option,” Shea said softly. “If we narrow the search any further, we risk eliminating a path they could have taken and missing them entirely.”

Eamon nodded in agreement, though his expression in the flickering light made it clear he didn’t like it. Shea sympathized and knew that he’d blame himself if anybody didn’t make it back to the rendezvous alive. That was the burden that came with being in charge, and it was one she didn’t envy him.

He unhooked one of the oblong canisters from his hip and handed it to Buck. “Alright, but if you find him or get into any trouble, shoot one of the firebugs into the sky for help. I’ll pair up with Shane, and we’ll take the three that are the furthest northeast. You two take the rest. When you’re done, meet at the fork in the river that we passed this morning.”

Back at the horses they mounted and together traveled through the shadowy valley, with the white cliffs nearly glowing in the moonlight.

Buck and Phillip angled away. Buck lifted one hand in farewell, his dark figure disappearing quickly into the gloom. Shea watched them go, praying that this theory of hers didn’t get them all killed. Her horse followed Eamon without any urging from her, and they rode in silence as they made their way to the closest route Shea had marked off as theirs.

Hours later Shea was kicking herself for opening her mouth. They were halfway through the second path and still no sign of their quarry.

Shea stopped her horse suddenly. Something was off.

“Eamon.”

No questions asked, he pulled his horse to a stop, looking around alert for possible danger.

Shea’s horse moved under her and tossed its head. Patting its neck in wordless comfort, she paid close attention to any details that might tell her why her senses were screaming danger.

This happened every so often when her subconscious recognized a threat. She’d learned the hard way to pay attention to these little warning signs and let her consciousness relax enough to find that detail that could explain why the skin on her neck was trying to crawl its way down her back.

Nothing on the ground seemed amiss. There were no sounds she would classify as overtly threatening either. No beast screams or growls or soft, nearly silent movements in the dark.

So what was it? Why did she feel like she was missing something?

A thin almost barely perceptible glint of moonlight caught her attention, and she looked up, noticing the fine, nearly invisible threads spanning from one canyon wall to the next. She looked down, suddenly able to see the anchors in the rocks and the bushes that seemed to be bound in a filmy white.

“Spinners,” she hissed.

Eamon curse was soft but heartfelt as he looked around seeing what she did now that he knew it was there.

Spinners were giant insects with broad flat heads that contained four eyes and fang filled mouths under short snouts. With four legs and a set of arms complete with hands, they spun webs that had a hallucinogenic coating to make their prey euphoric and lethargic. This kept their prey content and incapacitated enough to stay put in the web while the spinner stopped by now and then to have a nibble. When breeding, they laid eggs in their live food so the babies would have something to eat immediately upon hatching.

“We won’t be able to take the horses any further,” he said darkly.

Shea swung her leg over and dismounted before leading her and Eamon’s horses back the way they’d come. She tethered them close to the mouth of the canyon where there weren’t as many webs. Hopefully, they’d be safe here. At least until Eamon and Shea returned.

“Ready?” Eamon asked.

Shea blew out a breath. No, but that hadn’t stopped her before.

They moved quickly and quietly down the canyon, taking turns watching the cliffs for signs of spinners. Unlike the shadow beetle, spinners didn’t have the ability to completely blend in with their surroundings.

Would their quarry really have come this way? Especially in the day when the webs would be much easier to see?

Eamon held up a fist, his entire body going still as he scanned the night. Shea braced, planting her feet while her senses tuned to any sound or movement.

Eamon looked over his shoulder to make sure she was paying attention and pointed off to the right. Shea squinted but couldn’t see what had sent him into high alert.

The spinner webs were thicker here with entire sections of the canyon wall hidden by thick ropes of white.

Finally she heard what Eamon must have as a guttural groan reached her ears. She tapped him on the shoulder to indicate she heard, and together they crept across the ground strewn with huge boulders towering above their heads. Shea’s skin crawled just thinking of a spinner sitting unseen on top of one as they lay in wait for unsuspecting prey.

The fourth time she stole a glance at the shadowy heights, she stumbled nearly knocking Eamon down in the process. Hitting the ground with a loud thump, she cringed, silently mouthing several choice words. When nothing happened, she released a breath and heaved herself to her feet, brushing the dirt from her stinging hands. She must have scraped them when she fell.

Eamon waited, his silent presence still managing to radiate disbelief and humor despite being cast in shadow.

They made their way to where the webs were thickest, following the indistinct groaning.

So far no sign of spinners. Shea hoped it stayed that way.

The two split up to investigate the area. Eamon headed deeper into the canyon while Shea moved along the webs.

She stopped near where she thought the sounds originated and peered closer at the way the webs strands crisscrossed in an intricate pattern that might have been beautiful if it hadn’t been so damn scary.

Seeing the dim shadow of a figure, she stepped closer and was able to make out an arm that led to a slumped man, only the strands holding him upright. His head lolled making it impossible to see his face.

“Eamon.” Shea’s excited whisper sounded like a shout after the tension filled quiet. “I found something.”

He moved back to her as Shea tried to find a way to the man without disturbing any of the spinner strands. The slightest brush would alert their makers, much like a fly struggling in a spider’s web would the spider. That or she might become entangled and find it impossible to escape.

As she slipped closer, she made out the slouched figures of two others in addition to the man she’d found.

“Shane,” Eamon said in a low voice, tension threading into it. “I’m not sure you should get any closer.”

Shea dipped beneath another complicated set of threads and straightened in front of her man.

“Is that them?” Eamon asked.

“Not sure, but who else could it be?” Shea whispered back.

The man groaned again, and Shea took a chance that he was conscious enough to understand her.

“Try to stay still,” Shea warned. “The strands have a hallucinogenic that will get stronger the more you struggle.”

She needed him semi-conscious so he could run when they freed him.

“Who’re you?” the man asked, his voice hoarse with pain.

“Shane.” As she tried to get closer to see some of the others, she kept talking trying to keep him calm and awake. “I’m a scout. What’s your name?”

“Fallon.”

Son of a bitch.

What was he even doing out here? He should be drawing up battle plans, strategizing or whatever, safe in the confines of the encampment, not caught in a spinner’s web somewhere in the Lowland wilderness.

“I take it from your silence you know who I am.”

That was a stupid statement considering she’d told him she was Trateri, and every Trateri knew who Fallon Hawkvale was. Guess he was a little more out of it than she thought.

Lifting her voice a bit, she said, “Eamon, we’ve found our quarry.”

Damn it.

“Who is it?”

“Hawkvale.” Her voice was flat and unemotional.

There was a moment of stunned silence and then a low, “Fuck.”

That about summed it up.

“There are two others as well.”

The other two men were set further back in the webs and didn’t seem to be moving. Neither stirred at Shane and Eamon’s voices. She was afraid to shout in case the noise attracted a spinner.

The venom coated on the webs had most likely already been absorbed into their skin. It was amazing Fallon was as awake and alert as he was considering the amount of web wrapped around him.

“Can you cut them out?” Eamon asked.

Shea observed the threads skeptically, not daring to touch them. “Not unless we want to attract the whole nest.”

There was restrained cursing from Eamon. In any other situation it would have been funny given how quiet he was trying to be.

Shea’s skin itched with the need to get out of there. They were entirely too exposed. It was only a matter of time before their luck ran out.

She could always abandon Fallon and his men to their fate. Take Eamon and run. No one had to know they found the Trateri’s leader. That would be the smart plan – the safe plan.

Shea wasn’t going to do that though. No, she was going to try to save them just as soon as she figured out a semi decent strategy. She blamed her mother for this overwhelming sense of duty and responsibility to those who didn’t always deserve either.

But the only plan she could come up with meant someone acting as a decoy.

“Shane, wait ten minutes and then start cutting. If you can’t get the other two to wake up, leave them and get Hawkvale away from here.”

“I can’t-“

“You can. I’ll keep the spinners distracted while you work, but you won’t have much time before they’re on you.”

“Wait, Eamon,” Shea whispered as his shadow moved.

“Someone has to act as the decoy, boy.” Eamon’s voice was strong and firm. “Don’t worry about me. I’m Trateri. We’re not so easy to kill as you Lowlanders.”

Knowing that arguing with him was useless, she dropped her head and stared at the ground, wishing she could be honest with him about who she was, that she could tell him that he was an amazing leader and an even better friend.

Clearing her throat, she forced down words that might make her feel better but were ultimately useless. “They’re not overly fond of fire so setting their webs aflame might give you enough time to get away.”

She couldn’t see it in the dim light, but she knew he nodded before his shadow disappeared.

She whispered, “Good luck and thanks for everything.”

Her fingers found a loose thread at the bottom of her shirt and pulled nervously as the minutes crept by.

Seeing Fallon’s head sag, Shea made her way over to him and said his name softly. When he didn’t respond, she slapped him.

Fallon’s head jerked when she slapped him again. She needed him awake. There was just no way she could carry him out of here.

He lifted his head and shot a glare her way. It wasn’t very impressive as his eyes were unfocused and slightly glazed, but she shrugged in feigned sympathy just in case he did remember this later.

“Stay awake,” she ordered. “I can’t carry you so you’ll have to walk out yourself.”

He mumbled something indistinctly. Seeing that he was struggling to stay awake, she moved on to the other two. The first one’s form was small and misshapen. Even with the poor light she could tell pieces of him were missing, and there were black stains on the ground near his body. He was dead or likely wished he was if he was still conscious. Still, she reached out and felt his neck, flinching at the waxy feel of cold flesh under her fingers.

Dead. Poor guy. At least he wouldn’t have felt it.

The next man seemed to have all his body parts, but it was difficult to tell with the coating of white that shone with a star like beauty in the moonlight. The skin on his neck was warm, and she let out a gratified sigh when she found the pulse pumping strong against her fingers.

He groaned and struggled to move his arms.

“Sir, you need to wake up.”

When he didn’t respond, she felt her spirits sink. Eamon had been clear what he wanted her to do if anyone was unconscious when things got started. Biting her lip, she looked between him and Fallon and shrugged. If it worked for one maybe it would work for the other.

A crack filled the air and her hand stung from the slap, but besides a slight stirring and another groan he was silent. She slapped him again. He roused a little only to sink back into his bonds. What she wouldn’t give for some water right now.

Third time was the charm. She let her hand fly and then held her breath.

“Will you please stop hitting me?” a groggy voice asked.

“He did that to me too,” Fallon said tiredly.

“Guess he’s got balls then,” the stranger said as his eyes drifted shut.

Shea stepped forward, drawing her hand back. “Oh, no you don’t. Stay awake. There’s no way I’m carrying your ass.”

“Do not hit me again,” the man warned.

Shane snorted. His warning lacked oomph.

“Don’t fall asleep, and I won’t have to.”

“Balls.”

Not really. Just desperation.

“What happened?” Fallon asked, his voice sounding fatigued.

“You wandered into a spinner’s nest.”

“That’s not good,” the stranger said.

No, it wasn’t.

“What about Jason?”

“Who?” Shea asked, looking over at the dead man. She didn’t want to be the one to tell them their friend was dead. Nor did she want to have to cut him out of his web if they insisted on bringing his body with them.

“There was a third man,” Fallon told her.

She held her silence, wondering if she should just say she hadn’t seen him or if that would necessitate a search. Should she tell them he was dead or wait until they were safe?

Fallon shut his eyes as he said, “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

He got quiet after that. Shea left him to his thoughts. She edged forward, trying to see out of the webs while listening for anything that suggested Eamon had made his move. Enough time had passed for him to get into position and set up. Had he started already? Perhaps he had and his distraction was being wasted while she hesitated.

On the other hand, if she started cutting them down too soon, the spinners would descend on her and any action he took would be pointless. She wished they had arranged some signal so she could be sure.

As she waffled, a bright red light shot into the sky followed by a high pitched whistle. The red briefly cast the canyon into sharp relief showing dark blotches high up on some of the walls and closer than Shea would like on the ground. A high screech echoed off the cliffs, and the blotches burst into movement, heading towards the light’s origin.

Shea drew her blade, moving to Fallon first. She sawed furiously at the strands holding him, careful not to touch any of the threads with her bare hands. Falling into a euphoric stupor wouldn’t help any of them at this point.

Getting one of his hands free she shoved a spare knife at him, directing him to cut himself free before heading for the stranger. The web strands were thicker around him, nearly cocooning him from the neck down. There might not be enough time to cut through everything before whatever distraction Eamon had created wore off.

She hacked at the strands above him with a single-minded desperation. Counting on the surge of adrenaline to counter the effects of the web, she used her other hand to pull threads away. He fought and struggled against the thread binding him, nearly driving his skin onto her blade a few times.

Only a quarter of the web had been cut away and already she could hear the enraged screams as the spinners realized their prey was escaping.

She cut faster, tugging and pulling, as a sweet euphoria stole through her veins making her head feel light and disconnected. Still, she hacked and cut, nearly jumping out of her skin as hands appeared before her to help pull the last resisting threads from the stranger’s body.

She blinked dumbly up at Fallon as he shoved his shoulder under his friend’s arm and half dragged him out of the web. The stranger’s lower body was still covered in the white strands, but he was no longer chained in place.

All around them spinners screeched in anger and pain.

Free at last, Shea glanced down the canyon, noticing the orange light bouncing off the walls as web after web caught fire. Larger than life shadows were cast against rock as spinners fought to smother the flames with anything they could. More than one cast their own bodies onto the flame. Their black bodies caught fire, and they fell from their webs, the canyon’s walls reverberating with their death screams.

It was a tension fraught run from the spinner’s lair. Shea was still feeling the effects of the webs and knew the other two were probably dealing with a lot more. Her fingers felt thick and her legs heavy. She was overcome with the urge to just stop, lie down, and sleep.

Her mouth opened in a jaw-cracking yawn, and she focused grimly on the task at hand- setting one foot in front of another until they reached safety.

It was easy to find the horses, for which Shea was grateful. She wasn’t too confident about being able to find her way in anything but a semi straight line at this point.

Once there, she stared stupidly at the beasts and then at her companions. There were three of them and only two horses. How were they supposed to ride if there were only two?

Maybe two of them could ride and the third person could run alongside. Then they could trade off after a few minutes. Would it be possible for a half a horse to carry one person?

Shea was deep into trying to figure this problem out when Eamon came sliding down the canyon’s sloped wall.

Great, now there were four people and only two horses.

“Shane, what are you doing? We have to get out of here,” Eamon said, moving to his horse and preparing to mount.

“But there are only two.”

“What?”

“Two horses, four of us. The math doesn’t add up,” Shea told him.

“So two people to a horse,” he said, stress making his voice tight and tone sarcastic.

She blinked at the horses again and then at the other two who looked even more befuddled then her. Oh. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

“Tonight, Shane. Before those things catch up.”

Shea nodded, forgetting it might be difficult to see her in the dark and then kept nodding until she reached up and grabbed both sides of her head to make it stop.

“Fallon’s with you.” Eamon mounted and helped the stranger up behind him.

Shea turned to look at Fallon’s dim figure. “But I don’t want to ride with him.”

“I don’t care,” Eamon said sounding angry. “What’s the matter with you?”

“He must have touched the webs,” Fallon answered for her. “It can make acting normal difficult.”

“We don’t have time for this. Get on the horse, Shane.”

Shea crossed her arms over her chest and glared mutinously up at him. Suddenly, it seemed very important that she get her way, and she wasn’t moving one inch until she did.

“Shane,” Eamon warned.

Fallon abruptly sat down before falling backwards as he passed out. It was so unexpected that Shea started giggling.

“Son of a bitch.” Eamon’s words were heartfelt as he carefully dismounted, doing his best not to disturb his passenger. “Shane, I swear to all the gods that if you don’t stop giving me trouble, I will beat the living shit out of you once we’re safe.”

Even in Shea’s slightly drugged state, she knew he meant what he said.

“Fine.”

She helped him get Fallon up so he was laying facedown over the horse’s back before climbing up after him.

Chapter Sixteen

When a few rocks skated down the hill next to them, the party halted abruptly. With a flick of his fingers, Eamon signaled Shea to gain some distance from him while he steered his horse further down the path.

She waited, her hands tense on the reins, prepared to take off at a moment’s notice. Fallon, a still presence before her, hadn’t stirred since they placed him face down over the horse.

Small pebbles skittered down a few feet behind Eamon, and they both looked up. The moonlight shone off the exposed rock in the near vertical slope. While the hill was too steep for the horses, it was manageable for people or beasts. The names of every nocturnal beast that favored these environments ran through Shea’s mind— she didn’t want to encounter any on a night like this.

Eamon circled around and drew his sword, his eyes trained on a dim figure sliding down in a hail of dirt and rock.

Sensing their riders’ mood, the horses were quiet and motionless as if they too waited for the next shoe to drop.

Eamon waited until the two men were midway down before threatening in a low growl, “Stop where you are, or we’ll open a few extra holes in you.”

One of the men looked down, his expression lost in the dark. “Eamon?”

“Buck?” Eamon’s voice was puzzled but pleased. “What are you doing here?”

Buck and Phillip made it the rest of the way down the slope, sliding the last few feet. Safely on the ground, Buck said, “We saw the flare and figured you had found the package. Thought you might need help, so here we are.”

He waited, obviously hoping they would fill him in on what they had discovered, but Eamon kept his council, telling him instead, “We need to head back to camp. Are your horses close? Otherwise you’ll have to follow when you can.”

If Buck was disappointed Eamon didn’t answer his unspoken question, he didn’t show it. He pointed back up the slope and said, “We left them up there. It shouldn’t be too hard to retrieve them and then meet you on the trail.”

“Do that. Catch up when you can.”

Until now, Shea had thought Eamon trusted his men implicitly. It was something he’d harped on to the point of annoyance when she first joined up with them. It didn’t sit well now that he wished to keep Fallon’s identity a secret even from those who’d always had his back.

Over his shoulder, he told Shea, “Stay close and don’t stop for anything.”

“I don’t suppose-” she began wistfully, eyeing Buck and Phillip.

“No.”

She grumbled to herself and pulled faces in the dark. He hadn’t even let her finish her question.

Sensing something was off, Buck asked, “What’s up with Shane?”

“Don’t ask. Shane, follow me and stop asking to trade companions,” Eamon hissed.

“Fine.”

She didn’t see why Phillip or Buck couldn’t take her place. One rider was the same as the other. At least they were passable with a blade and could defend their passenger if need be.

Airing her grievances became impossible as Eamon tore down the trail, Shea following close behind. They couldn’t travel too fast for fear of dislodging Shea’s unconscious passenger, but the pace was faster than before.

For the most part, she kept her eyes focused on the rump of Eamon’s horse as he led the way. As she was usually point, this wasn’t a role she was unaccustomed to. He probably didn’t trust her, which was totally unfair. So she’d been a little argumentative after exposure to the webs. That didn’t mean she couldn’t navigate. Hell, there had never been a time when she couldn’t find her way from point A to point B. She could be on her deathbed and still be able to lead an expedition into the wilderness. His suspicion was totally unwarranted.

“Eamon,” Shea shouted, finally noticing his passenger swaying dangerously. “Secure your man.”

Eamon reached behind him, saying sharply, “Stay awake.”

The man jolted upright and looked around.

“Stay awake. The last thing we need is for you to fall off. We didn’t save you from the spinners only to have you break your neck on the way back to camp,” Eamon warned.

The man nodded wordlessly and straightened in an attempt to stay more alert.

“Shane-“

“I know,” Shea interrupted. “Keep an eye on him. I will.”

After the close call with his passenger, Eamon slowed the pace a little, which was for the best as the terrain became rougher.

She felt slightly more herself as two large forms approached, traveling fast enough to overtake Shea and Eamon. One of their horses neighed a greeting, and Shea’s horse answered by snorting loudly.

Buck rode past to take up position on Eamon’s flank while Phillip did the same with Shea. There wasn’t much conversation as they continued in grim silence, pushing their horses harder once the other two had caught up.

Hours later the camp’s many fires and torches lit up the sky, creating a halo effect against the mountains. Eamon pushed the group even faster and, with a grimace, Shea leaned forward to urge her horse to keep pace.

Reaching their destination’s edge, they paused only long enough to answer the sentry’s challenge question before riding directly for the heart of camp, not stopping for anything.

Even though it was well past midnight, the camp was filled with a frenetic energy as men moved quickly through the open spaces between tents. With the amount of people moving around, Shea doubted anybody was left in bed.

Heads turned to stare as they made their way through. Only a few at first and then more as others caught sight of the person draped over Shea’s horse. She fought to keep her expression bland as a man did a double take and then shot a horrified glare at her.

Eamon rode directly for Fallon’s personal tent. Because Shea was following him, she rode that way too, feeling a sense of déjà vu.

No matter how many times the camp moved, it was always configured in the same way. When Shea had first been brought to the encampment from Goodwin of Ria so many months ago, she’d been chained to a post in this same grouping of tents. What she hadn’t known then was that Fallon’s tent was the big one right next to Darius’s.

Now, despite everything she had done to hide herself right under Fallon’s nose, here she was, back where she had started.

Men converged on their group, spilling out of the surrounding tents as word reached them that Fallon was alive and needed help. Rough hands reached up to jerk him down, and Shea pulled hard on the reins causing her horse to shy away.

The two men trying to take him swore at her and reached for him again. Shea knocked them back, baring her teeth and glaring. She knew it was useless unless she drew a weapon, even as the men geared up to grab for Fallon again.

Eamon’s horse was suddenly between them and her, and his roar caused the chaos to grind to a halt. “Enough! Hawkvale is seriously injured and doesn’t need you lot jerking him around.”

Buck quickly flanked them, his hand dropping to his weapon as he eyed the soldiers nervously. He looked worried but nevertheless took Eamon’s back.

“Then give him to us so we can get him to a healer,” a sharp faced man with a flat nose shouted back.

“We won’t release him to any but Darius or a healer,” Eamon said tersely.

“Are you insane, man? We’re his personal guard.”

Shea started eyeing the possible escape routes, mentally analyzing the quickest path out of camp just in case a fight erupted. She had done it once before and that time she didn’t have a horse or knowledge of the area.

Fallon’s guards outranked Eamon and under normal circumstances an order from them within the boundaries of camp would be undisputed. Because of the suspected betrayal that had led to Fallon falling prey to the spinners, they didn’t have the luxury of trusting blindly. Someone, or several someone’s, had betrayed Fallon.

Whether Shea liked him or not, his death would have devastating consequences for not only the Trateri but the rest of the Lowlands as well.

When Eamon refused, Caden, having arrived just moments ago, said in a low voice, “Scout, do you know who we are? Think carefully because the wrong answer will see you dead.”

Eamon’s voice was respectful but firm when he said, “I’m aware, but I still can’t give him to you. He can’t protect himself right now.”

The meaning behind Eamon’s words registered with the man, and he was quiet as thoughts turned behind his eyes. His glance flickered to where Shea was poised to run before returning to Eamon.

“I understand your intentions, but you’re wrong. We’re his personal guard. We were chosen specifically by him for our loyalty and abilities. Not one man under my command would harm a hair on his head, and each would gladly die for him.”

“Loyalty can change,” Eamon said softly.

Holding Eamon’s eyes, the man nodded slowly. “It can, but not for us. Now, I’m willing to overlook your accusations since you’ve been out all night searching for him and judging from your actions have seen some things that don’t sit well with you. But, you will give him to us.”

Eamon’s passenger had been quiet up until now, but after the threat inherent in Caden’s words said, “I’ll vouch for their integrity. I’ve fought alongside every man, and what Caden said is true. They won’t let any harm come to him.”

Eamon listened intently before looking at the angry faces around him. Many showed displeasure at having their honor questioned. In a society where a man was only as good as his word, Eamon’s doubts were a grave insult. Shea licked her lips, knowing whatever happened over the next few seconds were critical.

Eamon took his time looking over the men glaring silently at him. His shoulders straightened, and he nodded as he reached a decision. “Shane, give them the Hawkvale.”

Shea’s eyes jumped to Eamon’s back and then down as two men immediately started for her. Should she take Fallon and run or trust Eamon’s judgment?

The first man reached her and carefully lifted Fallon down, handling him as if he was something precious before handing him to another. That man turned and strode quickly into the tent, followed closely by three men wearing the same colors as Caden.

Shea sent up a small prayer in the hope she hadn’t just sent him to his death.

A rough jerk on Shea’s arm pulled her from her horse. She barely landed on her feet before her arm was jerked again, and she was sprawled belly down with a boot in her back. A roar came from Eamon, and then there was a thump followed by two others.

Shea couldn’t see much but the dirt beneath her cheek, but she had a feeling it was her friends who had made those thumps as they were treated to the same view as her.

Inwardly, she sighed. When was she going to learn that good deeds only ever landed her in trouble? If someone had asked her if saving Fallon had been worth it, she would have told them no. Both times.

“Get them up,” Caden ordered.

Shea was hauled to her feet, her arms in a tight hold that applied enough pressure to be uncomfortable. If she moved just a little, it would bend the elbow into an unnatural angle and probably result in a break.

Eamon and the other two were yanked to their feet in a similar fashion and brought face to face with Caden. Shea remembered him from the mission with the revenants. She got the impression, then, that he was part of Fallon’s personal guards.

Up close, Shea could see the serious lines bracketing his eyes and the razor sharp intelligence. His dark brown hair was partially bound to tame the tight curls in his shoulder length hair. The hair below the top pony tail was shaved, but this time several swirls decorated his skin, creating an intricate pattern of ink.

He looked carefully between the four of them, his thoughts hidden.

Shea could feel her temper begin to fray, helped along by the lingering effects of the hallucinogenic she’d been exposed to. She took a deep breath and released it and then another. This wasn’t the time to lose it.

That could come later, when she was by herself.

“What am I to do with you four?” Caden asked them.

It was clear he didn’t expect an answer, but Shea wanted to give him one. Preferably with a few choice words about what he could go do to himself.

Looking above their heads at the men holding them, he ordered, “Separate them until I or Darius can question them. They aren’t to be harmed, just contained. For now.”

As the others were dragged in opposite directions, Shea struggled to gain her feet. To do what, she didn’t exactly know. She just knew that being separated was bad. Her captors weren’t expecting the fight, and she managed to jerk one arm free and had twisted to knee her other captor in the stomach.

“Shane, Shane! Stop! Stop fighting,” Eamon yelled.

The man holding her had a grip like iron and refused to release her. Gritting her teeth, she twisted her hand so she was clasping his hand then ducked under his arm and jerked it back so she was standing behind him with his arm bent at an odd angle.

Or that was how it was supposed to go.

Instead he turned with her and kicked one of her knees, hitting it just right so it crumpled beneath her.

“Don’t hurt him,” Eamon yelled at the men converging on Shane. “He’s the one who saved Hawkvale. Shane, stop fighting. Please!”

Shea was on her knees trying to regain her feet when she was bowled over by a force that carried her back to the ground. Her cheek smarted as she once again found herself face down in the dirt with a man pressing an elbow sharply into her back. Her first captor had her elbow locked so the slightest pressure would break it.

A pair of boots came into view and then Caden’s cool voice reached her, “This was your last chance. If you so much as lift a pinky, we will kill you.”

The hands holding her down remained unyielding while Shea stayed tensed and ready to move.

“I want to hear you,” Caden said.

Oh, so that’s why she was still being pressed into the ground. Well, he could wait until his balls rotted off, because she wasn’t going to say shit about surrender. They might have been able to physically subdue her, but that didn’t mean they had won.

As soon as they gave an opportunity, she was gone. This time she wouldn’t allow sentiment to hold her back.

“Shane, please.” Eamon sounded more rattled than Shea had ever heard him, even worse than that time he’d ripped her apart after the run in with the revenants. She didn’t like that tone in his normally authoritative voice. The man should never sound like his world was about to cave in on account of her. It didn’t sit well with her.

The elbow in her back dug deeper while the hand holding her arm tightened.

“Shane.” This time there was a crack in Eamon’s voice that shouldn’t have been there.

Her elbow creaked as it was slowly twisted.

“Fine. I won’t fight.”

Immediately, the elbow pressing into her back lightened and the hand holding her arm loosened. She was still held immobile, but it didn’t hurt anymore. It was just uncomfortable and humiliating.

Shea was jerked to her knees and forced to look up into Caden’s unsmiling face.

“That was your only free pass,” Caden warned. “Next time we won’t bother subduing you, we’ll just cut off your head.”

Shea bit her tongue against the words that wanted to spew out, reminding herself that she needed to watch for her chance. Without waiting for an answer, Caden jerked his chin at the men holding her. They lifted her and force marched her away from the tent and her companions.

They didn’t have far to go as they pushed her before them into another tent one row down from the one Fallon had been taken to. They walked her to a heavy looking metal chair and sat her down before forcing her arms to its armrests. Cool metal slid against her skin as they fastened two handcuffs to her wrists, securing them to the chair before repeating the action with her feet.

Once they had her secured, one of the men left the tent while the other stepped back and folded his arms across his broad chest. She twisted her wrist surreptitiously, testing her restraints without being too obvious. Her guard’s watchful eyes noted the movement and narrowed slightly.

She glared back at him. She jerked hard against her restraints, giving up on hiding her actions. They were secure. She wouldn’t be breaking the chair arm to get away, and the limited range of movement made it impossible to attempt picking the locks.

As long as she was handcuffed to the chair, she wasn’t going anywhere. Evidently, they’d learned a few things from last time.

Giving up on escape, for the moment, Shea relaxed into the seat and looked around.

The Trateri had made an art form of turning their tent’s into luxurious homes. They were typically better decorated than most Lowlander or Highlander homes, containing beautiful, hand carved furniture made from old oak and rugs dyed the richest shades of blue, green and yellow that Shea had ever seen. As a people, they appreciated surroundings that were comfortable as well as beautiful to make up for the times when they had to live rough.

This wasn’t one of those tents. Empty of all furniture except the chair Shea was handcuffed to, there were no rugs, no tables, no sitting pillows or brightly colored fabrics. The walls were just the unadorned white base canvas over a weed covered patch of ground. Only two hanging braziers kept the space inside well-lit with an orange glow.

Something told Shea this was where they brought prisoners when they needed to extract information. It wasn’t even as nice as the area Darius had stuck her in that first day.

The second man ducked in, allowing a brief glimpse of a campfire before the tent flap dropped. He was in his late twenties and slimmer than his companion with a leaner, rangier frame. His face was thin and his eyes spaced the slightest bit too far apart, but their pretty hazel color made up for that. If Shea had never met Fallon, she would say this man’s eyes were the prettiest she’d ever seen.

They were a dark brown that was almost black and his skin was darker than most of his companions. His was broad and chiseled out of stone and his body big and filled with muscles. His hands were the size of boulders. One hit from them would crush her.

Shea really hoped they wouldn’t be hitting her before the night was through.

The second man approached, carrying a bag of water. He also held one of the meat pastries the soldiers packed when heading outside the camp. They were filling and traveled well.

Her stomach growled, loudly, and her mouth was suddenly dry and filled with sand. Until the smell of food taunted her, she hadn’t realized just how hungry and thirsty she was. Hours had passed since she’d last eaten.

She eyed the food warily, her mouth filling with saliva. Just what was he going to do with that stuff? Maybe he and the other guy had missed dinner too.

He held the pastry to her lips. She moved her head back.

“Eat,” he ordered.

Her eyebrows lowered as she looked from him to the next guy. What was this? How did they go from threatening to kill her to wanting to feed her? It could be some trick, but why? She doubted it was worth the effort of poisoning her. They were much more likely to torture a prisoner to death.

“It’d be easier to eat if my hands were free,” she tried.

“No. Eat.”

The smell of meat was making her hungrier. She could refuse, but the only one she’d be hurting would be herself. Eating would refuel her strength. Strength she might need shortly.

In the end, there was really no choice.

Feeling like an idiot she moved her face forward and took a tiny bite out of the pastry. She chewed and swallowed and then took another one. When neither man acted threateningly, she allowed herself to relax, just a tiny bit, and applied herself to eating as fast as possible.

Finished sooner than she would have liked since her stomach still twisted itself into knots from hunger, she couldn’t help darting her eyes to the water bag in his hand. Seeing where her attention had gone, he held it to her lips until she was finished.

Fed and hydrated, Shea sat back and scrutinized the two of them as the second man took up a position next to his companion. Neither attempted to question her, letting the time pass in silence as they stayed locked in a three way staring contest.

This was a fine mess she found herself in. She hoped the others were safe and well. Were they being treated the same or were they right now faced with less friendly service?

It was tempting to let worry consume her over her friends fates, but she couldn’t let that happen. She had to keep her wits about her and see what she could do about getting out of this situation. Only then would she think about what could be done for the others.

Several hours later, exhaustion was tugging at Shea as the adrenaline faded and nothing, good or bad, happened. Her eyes kept wanting to slide shut, and her head jerked up as she felt herself nodding off. She squirmed in her seat and tried to tap her foot to keep herself awake.

This worked for a bit before the effects of the past few days and the sleepless night began taking a toll. She fell asleep, her head sagging forward and her body slumping in the chair.

After what felt like seconds a forceful hand shook her awake.

Startled from the abrupt departure from slumber, she tried to stand but was brought up short by the bindings on her wrists and ankles.

She squinted up and felt her heart almost stop at the sight of Darius staring down at her with a slight quirk to his lips. Caden flanked him with the cool expression from before.

Shea cleared her throat and looked around in confusion before focusing back on the two men in front of her. She’d have liked to stand or maybe disappear into her chair, but that was impossible. All she could hope for now was to bluff her way through this and hope Darius didn’t recognize her.

“Glad to see we’re not keeping you from your sleep,” Darius said as the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly.

Shea shifted in her seat and looked at Caden. How was she supposed to respond to that? Unable to think of something that would be appropriate for the situation, she kept quiet.

“You look familiar,” Darius told her.

Her heart gave a painful thump before hammering away in her chest at a breakneck pace.

“Uh,” was the only thing she could think to say.

“I’ve met you before.” He looked at Caden and then snapped his fingers. “You’re that scout, the one who came up with the beast board.”

Shea’s mouth was frozen open in astonishment for a moment before it snapped shut, and she nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes. That’s how we met.”

“What’s this?” Caden asked.

Darius partially turned and filled him in on their previous encounter. “Henry was curious why Dawn’s Riders had significantly fewer field casualties from beasts. During our most recent tour of their operations, we came across this strange looking board covered with paper. Someone had come up with the idea to compile the scouts’ experiences in a central location where they could compare notes before heading into the wilderness.” He looked back at Shea. “It was an ingenious idea. Don’t know why we didn’t think of it before now.”

Shea kept very still, hoping that would be the only encounter he remembered. Her brown eyes were wary and her body stiff under his penetrating regard.

“That was your idea, wasn’t it?” Darius asked casually.

Shea licked her lips and shook her head. “That was all Clark’s doing.”

“But it sprung from something you created.”

“I guess.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” Darius told her. “There’s talk that that board is to going to be implemented by some of the other clans as well.”

Why was he telling her this?

“It’s something that could save lives,” Caden said softly, his eyes steady on her face.

Shea’s gaze shot to him while her wrists twisted against her bindings uneasily.

“Talked to your scout master and fellow scouts,” Darius inserted out of the blue, bringing Shea’s eyes back to him. “They said it was your idea to check the other trails.”

Again Shea shrugged.

“That was pretty smart. You probably saved the Hawkvale and his guard’s life.”

He was leading up to something, Shea realized. That’s why he’d brought up where he knew her from and then praised her initiative. He’d probably known exactly who she was before he ever walked in here. Chances were he’d talked with anybody she’d ever interacted with. That’s why she was in here for so long. Long enough for the adrenaline to fade and for her to fall asleep.

But to what purpose? Maybe to catch her in a lie or get her to boasting about all her achievements.

Impressive. He was good. He probably expected to shake some information loose before she even realized what she had revealed. It was clearly a tactic he’d used before. Caden too, if the way they played off one another was anything to judge by.

“How’d you know which routes to look for him on?” Darius asked.

“Didn’t know. I got lucky.”

Darius arched an eyebrow and pulled a face as if to say he was impressed. “That’s some luck, you happening on the exact right place.”

Yeah, some luck. She was handcuffed to a chair facing an interrogation. If this was good luck, she kind of preferred having no luck.

“No answer?” Darius asked, arching an eyebrow.

Caden was a dark shadow at his back, his hands hanging loose by his sides as he cataloged every fleeting expression that crossed Shea’s face.

“You didn’t ask a question.”

Darius straightened and gave her a sidelong glance. “I don’t know quite what to make of you. From what I’ve gathered from your fellow scouts, they don’t know either.”

Shea met his gaze with an impassive look of her own.

He clasped his hands behind his back and said, “Shane, last name unknown. A Lowlander. Village also unknown. You’ve got skills that are highly unusual for a Lowlander and most Trateri. Not only can you read a map, but you’re skilled in creating them as well.” Seeing little reaction, he continued, “I’ve talked with our scout trainers.” That got some reaction, though a minor one. “They’ve never heard of any Lowlander named Shane. In fact, they said no Lowlander had ever completed an apprenticeship. They were quite insulted when we suggested one had. Seems they don’t think much of your people.”

Well, crap.

Darius wasn’t done. “Now normally, at this point, it would be assumed you’re either a liar or a spy. You’re not entirely a liar because your companions tell me you’re the best scout they’ve ever worked with. You are also in possession of an exceptional amount of knowledge about beasts. If you’re a spy, you’re perhaps the worst one in history. Not only have you been turning in accurate maps for months now, but you led a scouting party to the Trateri leader and then put yourself in great danger to save him.”

Shea resisted the impulse to shift or look away. She may not have been a spy, but she was definitely a liar. They had no idea how deep her lies ran.

“Yes, you’re a total mystery,” Darius said, running his eyes over her.

That had not been her intention. Her hope had been to appear boring and ordinary so nobody would think to look closer.

“How did you know to look there?” Darius asked, a trace of steel threading through his voice.

Shea bit the inside of her lip as thoughts turned over in her head. As far as she could see, it hurt nothing to share about the conversation she’d overheard and the rest that had led to finding Fallon.

Hiding the truth or downplaying what she knew might even be seen as more suspicious.

“The maps they gave us were wrong.” Shea watched them carefully for a reaction, but whatever they felt was kept locked down. Caden’s face stayed serious and stony, but Darius was just as good at keeping his emotions locked down behind his blandly amused expression. “Routes were missing and others were mismarked as dangerous when they weren’t. I tried to talk to the master cartographer on duty about it, but he left his post before I could. When I followed him, I overheard him and two others, a man and a woman, discussing the fact he’d distributed false maps. From there, it was just a bunch of little things that added up considering the situation.”

“And what situation was that?”

She gave him an incredulous look. “You don’t send every scout available out to search for some run of the mill foot soldier. It had to be somebody important. Important people always have enemies. It’s not a far jump from there to someone trying to assassinate the man.”

Darius allowed his lips to tilt upward in a small smile. “And yet, you’re the only one who leapt to that conclusion.”

Shea couldn’t help that and in truth it said more about their fighting force than it did her.

They were wasting time interrogating her when they should be talking to some of the cartographers. They made the maps. By now, they had probably checked the maps in question so they should know she was telling the truth.

The second man could also have corroborated her story. The fact they were still questioning her said they were playing some kind of game.

She didn’t know what time it was, but she was tired. Even with adrenaline keeping her alert, she could feel exhaustion crouched right below the surface like some great beast waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“If you checked the maps or even talked to the other guy we saved, you could find out if I’m telling the truth,” Shea burst out. Her patience was fast disappearing and with it the brakes she normally kept on her mouth.

“We have,” Caden said quietly.

Shea inhaled sharply. Then what the hell was the last half hour about. They must know she wasn’t a spy.

“Indeed. I’ve got men out hunting down the cartographer responsible for creating the faulty maps. The cartographer master, scout overseer and Vincent are being held. Once we’ve got all the information from them we can, we’ll give them the trial. Those that survive will be exorcised from the clans.”

“Then why am I still tied to this chair?” Her voice snapped with anger.

Darius shrugged one shoulder. “Because we can.”

A power play. Great.

“And for all the reasons I spelled out before. You’re an enigma that just doesn’t fit.”

Darius waved one of the guards over. Shea felt a surge of relief as he pulled out a key and began unlocking her cuffs.

“You’re free to go now. On the behalf of the Trateri, I extend our heartfelt gratitude at your actions.”

“If this is how you treat people who do you favors, no wonder no one thought to stray from their orders.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Shea wanted to draw them back.

Caden’s face darkened at her insubordination, and the guard drew in a deep breath before giving her a look to say he thought she was an idiot.

Right now, she kind of agreed. She was an idiot with a big mouth.

Darius gave her a sidelong look, one that held a trace of recognition.

“I’ve heard something similar before.”

Shea felt the weight of his eyes as she looked away to rub her wrists. They didn’t hurt, but she needed an excuse to avoid his gaze just then.

“It’s odd, but you remind me of her.” Darius’s voice was thoughtful. “You even have the same color hair.”

Damn it, she knew she should have kept dying her hair. After that first night when she had used oil, she hadn’t bothered. Being out of camp and in the wild for long periods made it near impossible to keep her hair dyed without drawing attention.

Keeping her voice calm, she said, “Do I? It’s a pretty common color in the Lowlands.”

“Hm,” was Darius’s only answer.

“If that’s all, I’ll be on my way,” Shea said standing and meeting his eyes. It took everything in her not to bolt at the speculation she saw there.

He waved his hand to dismiss her. She didn’t delay, giving them a sharp nod and striding to the tent flap. The whole way it felt like his eyes were burning a hole in her back

“Oh,” Darius said and Shea froze, turning her head slightly back to him. “Hawkvale will probably want to thank you himself when he’s recovered.”

She inclined her head and ducked out of the tent before he could stop her again.

She was going straight to the operations master and getting orders for the first scouting party leaving here. She had stayed too long, and it was time to do what she should have done months ago. Leave.

Chapter Seventeen

“Shane, wait up.”

Shea turned to see who was calling her, but her feet didn’t slow a beat even when she saw Eamon ambling towards her. She increased her pace until she was walking as fast as she could without running.

“Shane, kid, wait up.” Eamon jogged after her. Catching up, he placed a hand on her shoulder and forcibly pulled her to a stop. “Why didn’t you stop?”

She jerked one shoulder up in answer and looked down at her feet.

“Shane.” Eamon’s voice held a note of warning.

She looked him in the eye and said through gritted teeth. “Was just in a hurry is all.”

His eyes narrowed as they took in her closed off expression, and the way she immediately dropped her gaze after answering him.

“Bullshit.”

Shea glared at him while her jaw took on a mutinous slant.

“Are you just now being released?”

Shea’s face froze as she squinted up at him before glancing over her shoulder at the tent she’d just left. Darius and Caden walked out and were heading for Fallon’s quarters. Caden tossed a glance her way, taking in Eamon’s worried stance and her angrier one.

She turned her back. “Just now? Do you mean to tell me you and the others were released earlier?”

“I was freed shortly after we were separated. Phillip was released even before that and Buck not long after me.”

“What?” Shea semi screeched as her eyebrows climbed to her hairline.

That’d been hours ago. The sun had risen at some point during her detainment and was now a giant ball of orange hanging low over the mountains as the sky lightened to an almost painfully vibrant blue.

Shea’s stomach grumbled reminding her that it was early morning, and her last meal had been the pastry the guard had given her.

“I take it they just finished debriefing you.”

She gave him a glare and spun on her heel. She was going to find one of the cook’s fires, get some breakfast, then head to her tent for a nap. Afterwards, she’d head for the operations master and see what she could do about getting out of here.

Eamon’s long legs easily kept pace with her shorter ones, content to leave her to her thoughts as she strode along, her face holding all the warmth of a thunder cloud.

“Your story couldn’t have been that different from ours.”

“What?”

“I’m just trying to figure out why they kept you so long.”

Shea turned her head slightly as if she’d seen something, not wanting him to see the caution that was suddenly there.

“With us, they just asked why we thought to leave the main search. Once they thanked us for saving Hawkvale, they released us. Was it not the same for you?”

Shea shrugged, careful to keep her face turned away. “I think they were a little more suspicious since I’m a Lowlander.”

Eamon frowned as he considered this piece of information.

“They thought I might be a spy so I think they checked out your stories before they debriefed me.” She tried for a grin but only managed a half-hearted grimace. “Guess they believe that now, since they released me.”

“Suppose so.” Eamon’s eyes were alive with suspicion and a little bit of concern.

Shea smothered the guilty feeling she had at telling him half-truths. “This’ll be a pretty amazing story to brag about when you get together with the other scout masters later, huh?”

He gave her a half grin. “I probably won’t have to fetch my own ale for a while.”

“Maybe you’ll even get that promotion to field master they should’ve given you ages ago.”

He made a pleased expression and looked off into the distance.

“Go ahead and sleep as long as you need,” Eamon told her after they had gotten a plate of biscuits, eggs and bacon. “We’re off the mission roster for the time being.”

Shea nearly choked on the mouthful of fluffy, buttery biscuit. Swallowing harshly, she gasped, “What?”

“The orders of the Warlord’s second. He wants us close for the time being.” Eamon was absorbed in trying to pick up the last scraps of egg with one of his biscuit halves and missed Shea’s stricken expression. “I think it’s because he wants us there when Hawkvale wakes up.”

Shea’s eyes widened slightly, and she became absorbed in fiddling with her food.

“Whatever the reason, we’re tied to camp until the restriction is lifted.”

Mistaking the slump in her shoulders for disappointment at being sidelined, he clapped her on the back. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll put us back on the roster soon. They’ll probably have so many expeditions for you that you’ll wish you were still stuck at camp.”

Shea’s lips stretched tight across her teeth in a smile that felt more like a grimace. “You’re probably right.”

“I’ll see you at supper then,” Eamon told her.

She nodded as he left before staring unseeing at the tents across from her.

What was she supposed to do now? If she’d been taken off the roster, that meant no assignments. She was stuck here.

Already, Darius was suspicious of her. He’d outright told her she reminded him of herself. Caden’s sharp eyes hadn’t missed anything either. She doubted she could get through too many more encounters with them before her secrets were revealed.

Somehow she had to find a way onto one of the outgoing parties. How was still a mystery, but she’d figure it out. If it came down to it, she would try to sneak past the sentries. She knew their habits now. It’d be difficult but not impossible.

She got to her feet and brushed the dirt from her pants. Sitting here would get her no closer to freedom. She needed to put a plan in place before people knew she’d been restricted to camp. Sleep would have to wait a few hours.

Hopefully, she could trade with another scout. Maybe one that had been out hunting for Hawkvale last night. Chances were a scouting party wouldn’t leave until later in the morning which might even give her enough time to get a nap.

She cut down a small alley sandwiched between two tents and plodded past a few campfires with the smell of breakfast clinging to them. Though it was still the early hours of the morning, the sun was up which meant the Trateri were up.

She headed for the tent where the scouts were given their assignments. Usually there were a couple of scouts hanging around outside. She hoped she’d find someone she knew.

“Shane!”

Clark’s hand was a blur as he stood up and waved madly to attract her attention. The men sitting with him studied her as she made her way over to the group.

She felt her stomach sink as she was greeted with an open curiosity verging on approval. They possibly knew about Fallon’s rescue.

Clark bounced to her side and grabbed her arm to drag her in front of the other men.

“This is Shane. He’s the one who came up with the idea to start the board of beasts.” The two on the left dipped their chins in acknowledgement.

“That’s a pretty impressive idea you had,” the larger one said gruffly. His hair was a scraggly mess reaching down to his shoulders, and his features were blunt and weather beaten. “The knowledge I’ve picked up from that book saved mine and my men’s asses more than once now.”

“My captain has made it an order that one of us is to report to the board of beasts before and after a patrol to get updates in case any new information has been put up there,” the younger one said. His warm, brown eyes twinkled with good will and his features still had a trace of baby fat.

“Clark played a bigger role in that than I did,” Shea said uncomfortably, grateful that they were talking about beasts and not Fallon.

“Don’t sell yourself short, boy,” the first man said. “Way Clark tells it, it was your idea originally. You got to accept praise when it comes your way. Else people begin to think you got false modesty, and you’re thinking you’re better than them.”

He finished his speech by taking a huge bit out of a biscuit and then gulping down some of his drink.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Clark piped up again. “Shane, is it true you’re the one who found the Hawkvale? That’s all anybody has been talking about since we rode into camp.”

Damn. She was hoping he hadn’t known. This meant everybody here knew as well.

“I heard you and your men refused to give Hawkvale to his personal guard and got punished for it,” the brown-eyed man said eagerly.

Shea gritted her teeth. Did everything from last night make the rounds? These men gossiped worse than the old biddies in Birdon Leaf.

All eyes were on Shea. Even those outside the circle of men she was talking to. Those at neighboring fires had given up any pretense of ignoring them and had turned to listen.

Left with no choice, Shea confirmed, “My team and I did find Hawkvale.”

Clark let out a whoop, and Shea cringed as his brown-eyed friend echoed it. The bigger man chewed thoughtfully on his biscuit while examining her closely. A low rumble came from the neighboring campsites, and three men stood and ambled closer to stand with arms folded over huge chests behind the three men sitting before Shea.

She shifted uneasily. So much for not drawing attention to herself.

“I told you,” Clark crowed. “I told you I knew him. I can’t believe this. I’m friends with the man who saved Hawkvale. You’re going to be a legend, Shane. After this, you’ll probably be promoted, and I’ll get to say I knew you when you were just a Daisy.”

Shea smiled tightly in response to the nods of appreciation and crossed her arms over her stomach.

“Clark, could I speak to you alone for a second?” Shea grabbed Clark’s arm and hauled him away before he could answer.

“Shane, what’s the rush?” Clark asked, nearly stumbling as she swept around a corner.

Her eyes darted around, making sure they were as alone as they could get in this tent city. No one seemed to be paying undue attention to them, but there was an itching sensation drilling into the back of her head as if they were being watched. Another subtle scan of the area didn’t reveal what set off her instincts, but she’d learned over the years to pay attention to them. They’d saved her life more than once.

There were men dressed in the distinctive green of a scout and the more common browns and tans of a front liner. None paid undue attention to Shea or her companion and continued on their way.

She took a deep breath, forcing a composure she didn’t feel.

“When’s your next mission?” she asked.

She felt a twinge of guilt at the innocent questions in his eyes.

“Not ‘til tomorrow morning. They wanted us to rest up a little. Why?”

How much should she tell him? Not the truth, but maybe a version of it.

She allowed some of the frustration she was feeling to register on her face and dragged a hand through her short hair. “This stuff with the Hawkvale is just making me a little antsy. All the attention is kind of getting to me. Not to mention our squad has been taken off the register for at least a week.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “I’ve never been in camp that long. I guess I was just hoping that I could tag along the next time you or one of the others head out.”

“I can ask Perry if you could come with us,” Clark offered.

As a scout, he understood what she was talking about. Sometimes spending all your time with a small group of men out in the great wide expanse made it difficult to come back to the chaos of camp life. Being forced into a rest could wind a scout up quicker than any beast encounter.

She considered his offer. Tomorrow would be too late. She needed to leave today. Preferably ten minutes from now.

“Still, it’d be a shame missing all this recognition,” Clark continued. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Hawkvale doesn’t throw you some kind of feast.”

She shrugged off-handedly. “I’ve never really been a fan of attention. Besides, I doubt they’ll invite me to any feast. I’m not Trateri.”

“I don’t think it’ll matter if you’re Trateri. You might even get adopted into a clan because of this.” Clark’s eyes lit in excitement. “That’d be something. If you became a true Trateri. You’d be one of us.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know of anybody who’s leaving sooner? For instance, this morning?”

Clark sighed, disappointment clear in his eyes. “I think Remy’s group is leaving this morning. I’ll ask if they can use another scout.”

Shane nearly leapt forward to hug Clark but at the last minute turned her excitement into a brisk pat on the back.

“Meet me at the corral in an hour,” he told her. “If he says yes, you’ll leave directly from there.”

Shea smiled big, and Clark stilled. He blinked, as if seeing something he hadn’t before. The smile fell from her face.

“Thanks, Clark. I owe you for this,” Shea continued, ignoring the look of surprise and speculation on Clark’s face.

“No problem.”

Shea’s mind was already on her small tent and its belongings, mentally cataloging what she needed for her journey and what she could leave behind. She gave him another distracted smile before setting off for her tent.

An hour later Shea leaned against the rough fence encircling the corral, bag packed, waiting for Clark and his friend. The sun felt good on her face and the morning had warmed significantly. It was going to be a hot one.

She straightened as Clark came into view with a taller, skinnier man following close behind. The second man looked like a stick, complete with knobby elbows and long, thin limbs.

“Shane meet Remy.”

Shane nodded briefly, not offering her hand. The Trateri weren’t big on handshakes as it was too easy for an enemy to use them to disable their opponent.

“If you’re serious about heading out this morning, my commander and I would be grateful for the extra help out there,” Remy said, his voice nearly a whisper. “You’ll have to keep up though. We won’t be stopping until well after nightfall.”

Shea smiled, her lips barely tilting up at the corners. “That won’t be a problem.”

“Really? You have to be tired. I know you were out all night last night and before that you were on a two week mission.” Remy’s serious eyes held hers. “I know your reputation so I know under normal circumstances you can keep up, but every man needs rest at some point. We’re covering rough ground this time. We won’t be able to stop if you get tired.”

Shea paused, looking away for a moment before looking him straight in the eye. “I won’t be a problem.”

His concerns would be valid under normal circumstances. This time she had every intention of leaving the group at the first possible chance.

Remy looked unimpressed with her statement but said, “My commander said if you can keep up you can come.”

Shea fought from whooping in relief and settled for a small smile before bending and grabbing her pack.

“Going somewhere,” a cool voice asked as a man wearing the distinctive colors of Hawkvale, golden yellow and dark brown, strode up to the trio. It was Caden.

Shea froze in the midst of slinging her pack on her back as Caden’s knowing eyes examined her. Damn.

Seeing Shea had been stricken mute, Clark jumped in. “Shane’s heading out on a mission with Dark Light troop.”

“Is he?” Caden asked his hands clasped behind his back as he gave her an inscrutable glance.

“Yes, my commander thought it would be good to have some fresh blood around,” Remy said softly, his posture alert and wary.

“I’m afraid he’ll have to get that blood elsewhere. This one’s off the mission register until further notice. Orders of Hawkvale himself.” Caden gave Shea a sidelong glance. “It’s a good thing I caught you before you left. Shane has been promoted to the Anateri, Hawkvale’s personal warriors. I’m afraid your days as a scout are over.”

Shea clenched her jaw in disbelief as Remy’s eyes widened, and Clark’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

“I told you this meant a promotion.” Clark punched her in the arm.

“But I’m a scout.”

Caden’s face held a bland disinterest as he said, “Not anymore.”

Picking up on her distress, Clark clasped her shoulders saying earnestly, “Shane, this is a good thing. The Anateri are the elitist of the elite. Every Trateri boy dreams of growing up to be one.”

“But,” Shea said, feeling out of touch with her surroundings, “I’m a scout.”

“Being an Anateri won’t keep you tied to camp,” Clark said, thinking she was distressed at the thought of being restricted. “They go on just as many missions as scouts. You’ll probably even be sent on better ones than the babysitting details we usually pick up.” He shook her slightly. “This is a good thing. You should be proud of yourself. Only the best make it to their ranks.”

Shea came out of it enough to see how worried she was making Clark. Caden was watching closely, cataloging every reaction and assessing every word out of their mouths.

Knowing she needed to keep her guard up, she gave Clark a timid smile that she didn’t feel.

Satisfied she was feeling better, Clark stepped back, once again looking excited for her fortune. He was like a puppy, nearly vibrating out of his skin from having to stay still when he was this excited.

“Good. Now that that’s settled, I’m sure your commander would be happy to have his scout back,” Caden told Remy in dismissal. “Safe travels.”

Catching the hint, Remy gave him a chin dip saying, “To you as well, warrior.”

Remy grabbed Clark’s shoulder and hauled him away.

“I can’t wait to tell everyone,” Clark said excitedly.

Shea missed Remy’s response as the distance between them widened. She was left alone with Caden.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Clark and Remy’s backs feeling suddenly bereft and adrift. Her perfect plan was a nonstarter, and she was left in the company of a lethally dangerous man whose motives were unknown.

He tugged her bag from her back, and she let it go, feeling unsure with things changing so drastically. Did this mean he was her commander instead of Eamon?

She didn’t like that thought.

“Your quarters have been moved. You’ll be residing with the rest of the Anateri,” Caden informed her. “Also, since I don’t want you disappearing without my knowledge, one of my men will be accompanying you until I say otherwise.”

Shea saw a man join Caden out of the corner of her eye.

His next sentence made Shea close her eyes in disbelief.

“Hawkvale is awake and wants to meet you and the others for the evening meal. Trenton can show you the way. Don’t be late.”

He left with her bag, and Shea couldn’t even unlock her voice enough to ask for it to be returned. Not that he would have given it to her anyway.

What was she to do now? She was no longer a scout, and since Clark knew she was promoted to the Anateri, there would be no getting on an outgoing mission. Her new shadow wouldn’t allow that anyway.

Hiding among a different group of Trateri was impossible as well. Her presence around camp and on missions all these long months made it likely she would be recognized fairly quickly.

No, her only choice was to bluff her way through this meeting with Hawkvale and pray he didn’t recognize her. When they had relaxed a little she would try to sneak away.

“We must go,” her companion said, breaking into her silent contemplation.

She looked up, startled, only then noticing he was one of the men who had sat watch over her through the prior night. He’d brought her the food and water. Caden had called him Trenton.

His head tilted as he studied her.

“Where do we need to go?”

“You need to bathe and change first.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

She plucked her shirt away from her body and gave it a small sniff. He was right about that. Weeks in the field with a bunch of guys meant she’d had little time for the luxury of a bath.

“You can’t go before the Hawkvale looking or smelling like that.”

Shea sighed inwardly. No, she supposed she couldn’t. Finding a way to get cleaned up, while keeping her gender a secret, was going to be a pain. With the way exhaustion was beginning to pull at her, she didn’t have much faith she was going to be on her feet for much longer.

Sleep was probably going to have to wait. Shea’s mood plummeted at the thought.

She began walking toward her old quarters.

“Where are you going?” Trenton asked.

She gave him a silent sidelong look, unsure if she really wanted to engage in conversation right now. Perhaps if she just kept quiet he’d get the hint that she didn’t really want to talk.

He gave her an expectant look while grabbing hold of her elbow and pulling her to a stop.

Guess her hint wasn’t good enough.

“I was going to head to my old quarters.” The querulous tone of her voice let him know how much she appreciated him grabbing her.

“Why?”

Her eyebrows lowered as she glared at him. He didn’t seem impressed with her glare and just raised an eyebrow.

“My stuff is there.” She pulled against his hold and was relieved when he let her go.

“Not anymore.”

She had already turned in the direction she needed to go. Her head whipped around. “Wait. What?”

“Caden had everything moved to your new tent.”

“Son of a-” She bit her tongue to keep the last word from being said.

Trenton frowned at her forbiddingly. It probably wasn’t a good idea to curse his commander in front of him. Loyalty and all that.

“That was thoughtful of him.” She hesitated over the word thoughtful and offered him a tense smile.

He frowned harder at her and grunted.

“I guess I’ll follow you then since you know where you are going,” Shea told him.

He eyed her narrowly before setting out in the opposite direction she had intended to go. She mouthed a curse word at his retreating back.

She needed to get a hold of herself. She couldn’t keep saying the first thing that popped into her mind. She’d get through this. She would. She just had to be careful. Speak only when spoken to and then only the absolute minimum.

Trenton led her to a tent only two rows away from Fallon’s. As his personal warriors, Fallon expected the Anateri to be close at all times.

Though small compared to Fallon’s, it was luxurious. Far better than the one she’d used over the past few months. For one, it had a comfortable looking bed piled high with blankets and furs. Every square foot of the tent was covered with brightly colored rugs. It even had a small wooden table, a chair, and several lamps.

The best part was the tub of steaming, hot water.

“It’s a little small, but it’s the best we could put together on short notice,” Trenton was saying as Shea looked around with wide eyes. “We’ll get you some nicer things, but it’ll do for now.”

Nicer? This was better than anything she had left behind in Birdon Leaf.

Trenton turned around and folded his arms across his chest to regard her closely. Shea blinked back at him, nonplused. Her eyes went from him, to the bath, to the rest of the room and back again.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Get in your bath.”

Her eyebrows climbed into her hair. With him in the tent? She didn’t think so.

“Are you planning on sticking around for it? Because I’d kind of like some privacy, if you know what I mean.”

She cringed inwardly at that last part, knowing exactly how he was going to take it, but whatever worked.

He grimaced at the insinuation but didn’t budge. “I’m to keep an eye on you until the midday meal.”

Shea made a show of looking around. “Where am I to go?”

He glared at her, making it clear he didn’t like her response but then dropped his arms and walked to the tent flap. Shea breathed an inward sign of relief. Another crisis averted. Maybe she’d make it out of this with her secrets intact after all.

“I’ll be right outside.”

Shea didn’t respond. Only when the flap swung shut behind him did she allow the tension running through her to relax. Not by much but enough that she didn’t feel like every muscle was wound to the breaking point.

Her ears strained as she listened for any sound indicating he might have changed his mind and was planning to come back. Moving quickly she flung off her clothes, nearly groaning in relief when it came time to unwind the bindings that kept her chest flat.

Angry red welts marked her skin from the uncomfortable but necessary wrappings.

She climbed into the warm water. This time her groan was long and drawn out. Her muscles immediately responded to the heat by loosening and letting some of the tightness float away. She allowed herself a moment to enjoy a luxury she hadn’t had in months before grabbing the soap and making short work of cleaning off.

Every stolen moment enjoying the water meant a greater possibility of someone walking in on her. Truthfully, she shouldn’t have even undressed all the way to climb in. Up until now she had contented herself with birdbaths where she took a rag and cleaned the pertinent areas. It allowed her to stay mostly clothed while getting clean enough that she didn’t want to scratch her own skin off in disgust.

This was too big a temptation to walk away from though. She compromised by rushing through it.

She was just settling a clean shirt over her head when the flap lifted and Trenton ducked inside.

She fought the urge to spin around and bit back the scathing words on her tongue. This sort of thing was normal for Trateri. Objecting would just raise suspicions.

“It’s time to go.”

Shea’s head bent as she fussed with the sleeves of her too big shirt, tugging at them so they lay just right over her wrists. The pants, too, swam on her and had to be held up with a tight belt. The previous owner had been several inches taller so she had rolled the hem to fit her height.

“Your clothes are too big.”

Shea lifted her head and squinted up to see Trenton frowning at her. He pinched the fabric of her shirt between his fingers and pulled on it.

Shea slapped his hand and jerked away.

“They’ll get in the way if you’re ever attacked,” he told her sourly.

Shea made a noncommittal sound and edged around him to pick up the green leather coat that designated her as a scout. It fit better than the rest of her clothes but not by much, having been made for a man with much wider shoulders than hers.

“You’re not a scout anymore.”

She growled and stalked out of the tent.

“You’re one of Hawkvale’s warriors now. You should be wearing his colors.”

“Since I haven’t been issued a new jacket, I’m forced to go with what I have,” Shea snapped.

“Still-”

“Didn’t you say we needed to go?” Shea interrupted, not wanting to hear about the jacket again.

He frowned at her, the bridge of his nose crinkling, and then grunted before turning and walking away. Shea followed, already irritated. Her anger level rose with every foot step until she was fairly simmering by the time they stopped in front of Fallon’s tent.

He didn’t wait to let her enter first but continued in before her, stepping to the side only when she followed. Two of the sides had been rolled up to allow light in and to take advantage of the nice breeze.

The space inside was huge not only in length and width but also in height. The gently moving ceiling was at least the height of two men, making the room even larger than the great room at Birdon Leaf.

An abundance of tantalizing smells greeted them and place settings had been set on two long tables. Normally, Trateri tended to perch on any available surface when eating, or if they were dining more formally, they sat on cushions and ate at low tables.

This table was normal sized, in the tradition of the Lowlanders, and had sturdy wooden chairs with low backs. For a normal sized man, the top of the chair would only reach his lower back. It wasn’t much better than a stool.

Eamon, Phillip and Buck were huddled at the farthest end of a table. Shea headed straight for them, feeling relieved to see familiar faces. Buck and Eamon tried to keep the excitement they felt under wraps. Phillip was his normal indecipherable self.

“Where have you been?” Eamon asked as soon as she arrived.

She opened her mouth to answer but was cut off by Trenton. “He tried to leave on another mission.”

“What?” Both Eamon and Buck looked at her like she had grown three heads.

She tried to speak but didn’t get even a word out.

“What were you thinking?” Eamon asked.

“We just got back.” Buck’s words ran over Eamon’s. “Aren’t you the least bit tired?”

“Never mind.” Buck waved away her response. “I’m being made a scout master. I’m getting my own team.”

Shea couldn’t believe her ears. The assignment of scout master was very competitive. Not every scout got the chance. Only the best

“That’s great.” She didn’t have to fake the enthusiasm in her voice. It was great. Buck deserved it.

He grinned at her. “Not as great as this guy’s news. Tell her.”

She looked expectantly at Eamon whose grin nearly split his face.

“They’re promoting me to the Western Wind Scout Division Commander.”

She blinked twice, not quite believing she’d heard right. There were only five Scout Division Commanders in the Trateri army. One for each of the military elements. It wasn’t just a promotion, it was an elevation in rank and status.

He’d have complete control in the way the scout units in his division were run. He’d be responsible for assigning units to missions, their training, everything.

“I don’t believe it,” she finally said.

“I know,” he told her. “I didn’t either, but the Hawkvale himself gave me the appointment. It’s as good as done.”

An awkward silence fell as they waited for her excitement.

The smile she gave this time was slightly strained, but she meant it when she said, “Congratulations. There’s no one who could do a better job than you.”

He gave her another smile which she returned.

She looked at Phillip, expecting him to tell her what he’d gotten.

He looked a little ill at ease as he said, “I’d prefer to keep what I received to myself for now.”

She nodded. She understood. Maybe he was like her and would have rather returned his ‘gift.’

“What about you?” Buck asked.

“What do you mean?”

“We all got something. What did you get?”

Another silence fell as Shea wrestled with what to tell them. For some reason, she was unwilling to share her draft into Hawkvale’s personal guard.

“He’ll be one of Hawkvale’s warriors,” Trenton spoke up behind her.

A silence fell as she found herself scrutinized by Eamon and Buck. She gave Trenton a dirty look. He stared back at her unfazed.

“I’ll be damned,” Buck nearly whispered.

“I didn’t think it was possible for someone who wasn’t Trateri to become an Anateri Warrior,” Eamon said.

“Hawkvale is making an exception in Shane’s case.” To Shea, he said, “You’re the only one of your team the Hawkvale hasn’t spoken to yet, and he wants that done before the meal so you need to come with me.”

Every muscle on Shea’s body locked, and she took a deep breath. She nodded and followed Trenton into the walled off portion of the tent. She braced herself as she stepped through, feeling the fabric drop behind her, cutting her off from the rest of the gathering.

The other side surprised her, and she stopped mid step. She looked around wide eyed. The Trateri’s ability to adapt their surroundings to their specific taste and preference always impressed her. They had a way of taking what should have been a humble lifestyle and inserting into it a grandeur and elegance not often found in the Broken Lands.

Fallon Hawkvale’s chambers embraced this concept so well that it was difficult to believe this space existed in a simple tent that could be packed up and moved on a weekly basis.

Tapestries alive with intricate embroidery were stretched across ornately carved wooden frames, giving the room the impression of painted walls. The sloped canopy of the ceiling had several fabric panels cut out to allow air flow to keep the space cool and fresh. In the possibility of rain or cold weather, each ‘window’ had fabric that could be rolled over it to attach to the sides.

There wasn’t just one large rug on the ground but several, each piled one on top of the other so when a person walked across it their feet sank into the plush fabric. It was soft and thick under Shea’s shoes, leaving no impression of the uneven ground below. No bumps from rocks or clods of dirt marred the geometric designs and vivid colors.

The edge of one had the distinctive pattern of a Lowland city known for their weavings. No doubt many of these were the spoils of war.

That thought helped break Shea’s surprise and led her to recognize other familiar objects, such as the gleaming black wood on the chest at the foot of Hawkvale’s low bed. Shea knew of only one place that made furniture with wood that black.

Having noticed the chest, she found herself cataloging the bed and its comfortable nest of furs and blankets before finding her gaze inexplicably drawn to the figure sitting at the side of the bed.

Shea came to attention, assuming that was what a Trateri would do in this situation.

She examined this man who had caused such an upheaval in her life and the lives of thousands of others.

He looked tired. It wasn’t much, but something in his posture suggested he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. That same exhaustion was present behind his eyes and in the tightness of the skin around them.

In all honesty, she was surprised he was awake. The spinner hallucinogenic tended to linger for days. There was no way his system had gotten rid of all of it. The fact he was upright and alert was a testament to the fierce determination and stubborn drive of this man.

What would it be like to have both of those traits focused on a single person?

Terrifying? Or would it make them feel like they were the only thing that mattered in a world where very little mattered?

Shea dismissed these idle thoughts. She would never have cause to find out.

Fallon’s perusal of her was much more direct. It felt as if his whiskey colored eyes were peeling back her secrets one by one. Something she could not afford.

The taut silence lasted as he looked his fill. She pretended to examine the embroidered panel directly across from her.

“I’m told you’re the reason I’m still alive.” Fallon’s gravelly voice scrapped across Shea’s nerves.

When he fell silent again she realized with a start he was waiting for an answer. Finding her voice was difficult with the full force of his attention focused solely on her.

“That’s not entirely true.”

Fallon’s lips quirked in a semi smile. “So you weren’t the one who figured out my men were looking in the wrong place?”

“I did do that,” Shea admitted. Caden and Darius already knew that much.

“Were you not the one who decided what the most likely routes I might have taken were?”

“I was responsible for that, too.”

“I admit things were hazy, but I’m pretty sure it was your face I saw when I was cut out of the web.”

Shea held her silence stubbornly. That was true.

“How exactly is it not true?”

“None of that would have been possible if not for the men in my team. Eamon created the distraction that gave me time to get you and the other man free. If he hadn’t done that, we would all have been food for spinner babies. If Phillip and Buck hadn’t eliminated the other routes, we would never have thought to look for you there. So I’m not the only reason you’re alive. You have them to thank as well.”

There was a muffled snort behind her. Given the magnetism of Fallon’s presence she had forgotten all about Trenton.

“Each man from your party has been rewarded. You’re the last.”

Shea’s face remained placid and unmoving as she kept her eyes trained somewhere above his head. She already knew what came next.

Fallon stood with a small grimace and walked over to place his hands on Shea’s shoulders. His palms’ warmth sank through her shirt, scalding her.

“You’re about to receive one of the greatest gifts we have to give an outsider,” he told her.

Shea was left with no choice but to meet his eyes squarely with her own. It would have been odd to continue staring over his head. Like all Trateri he was big, not just in height but in the breadth of his shoulders and the size of his arms. He made her seem dainty in comparison.

“What’s that?”

He gave her shoulders a small squeeze. “You’re going to become one of us.”

“Uh-huh. And how am I to do that?”

He gave her a toothy grin. “We’re adopting you.”

“I have parents, thank you.”

“And now you’ll have a clan.” He let her go and stepped back.

“And if I prefer to remain as I am?”

There was a small growl behind her. The humor on Fallon’s face drained leaving a deadly expression behind.

“The offer to adopt an outsider into a clan is not one that is made often. It is considered an honor.” Fallon’s face thawed as a bit of his earlier humor peeked through. “I would advise caution when making your decision.”

Ah, so it was one of those gifts. The kind you might not want but couldn’t refuse.

Shea sighed. It wasn’t like this would affect her decision to escape one way or the other.

“I would be honored to be accepted into the ranks of the Trateri.”

“I thought that might be your answer,” Fallon said in a wry voice.

Bet he did.

“You’re also to be promoted to the ranks of my Anateri.” He inspected her body, paying attention to her arms and legs. He didn’t seem impressed. “You’ll have to undergo training. Hopefully, you’ll put on a few more inches before you stop growing. Until then you’ll serve in whatever capacity Caden or his men see fit.”

Shea took the news sourly. She had a feeling this was another ‘gift’ she didn’t dare refuse.

“You’ll need a new uniform,” Fallon said with a grimace at the oversized one she had on. To Trenton he said, “Do we have any that small?”

Trenton gave Shea a skeptical glance. “Probably not. I’ll have one of the Snakes alter one to size.”

“Good. Now, let’s get this feast over with before I collapse on my ass.”

Shea blinked. She hadn’t been expecting such a frank admittance of weakness. Not from the Hawkvale.

Fallon continued past her, stepping gingerly. Trenton pushed aside the fabric for him. Two steps before crossing into the other room, Fallon’s shoulders straightened and his stride smoothed out until he prowled passed Trenton. If Shea hadn’t seen it, she never would have guessed he suffered any weakness.

Seeing the confusion on her face, Trenton explained, “Whatever is said or done behind these curtains is never repeated outside this chamber. You would not like the consequences should you share his personal business.”

Trenton’s eyes were steely as they held hers. She swallowed at the not so veiled threat and nodded.

He gave her a pleased smile. “After you, little brother. The feast can’t begin until the guest of honor appears.”

Shea gave him a squinty eyed glare and ducked past him. From the slightly amused glint in his eye, he knew exactly how she felt about this so called ‘honor.’

Chapter Eighteen

The dining space had filled with people in the short time Shea spent speaking with Fallon. The low roar of voices quieted as she became the focus. One by one, the men and women gathered returned to their discussions.

Shea searched the crowd for Eamon or Buck, wanting the reassurance of a familiar face.

Trenton stepped up beside her, grabbing her arm and tugging her behind him as he plunged into the crowd of faces.

“The Snake Clan’s Cobra,” he murmured in her ear while indicating a striking woman with straight, long black hair and a sleeveless tunic that left her toned arms bare.

If Shea remembered correctly, Cobra was the term Snake Clan used to refer to their Clan Leader.

Trenton said, “The Snake Clan is the only one with a female Clan Leader. They have a long history of woman rulers. Before the clans united under Hawkvale’s grandfather, many thought a female leader was a sign of weakness. The Snake’s taught them otherwise.”

The Cobra was beautiful, but the cold, calculating look in her eyes was evidence of the deadly being residing just under the pretty surface.

“She’s speaking with Jarak, an Earth Clan Amethyst Leader. He’s quite handy with a blade but always looks for the easiest ways to win.”

Jarak was a plain looking man with alert eyes and a crooked smile. His dark brown hair was pulled back tight against his head.

The only Earth Clan Shea had encountered were some of the cartographers. She knew they were also the blacksmiths responsible for the weapons the Trateri carried to battle. They had many soldiers in the army, but most served on the west and south battlefronts.

Trenton’s commentary slowed as people began lining up behind the short chairs rimming the tables.

“It looks like dinner will begin soon. We should find our seats,” Trenton said.

She saw Eamon and Buck heading to the far side of the table and moved to follow. Trenton touched her shoulder and nudged her in the opposite direction, towards the head of the table.

“Come, your seat is this way.”

Shea resisted, shooting a glance back at her companions. They were engaged in conversation with several men, except for Phillip who watched the crowd around him carefully.

Shea caught his eye briefly and received a brief nod before his gaze moved on.

Defeated, Shea followed Trenton as he walked confidently through the crowd. She was dismayed to find she was to sit to the right of the chair at the head of the table. Fallon’s chair.

Uncomfortable, but not wanting the people around her to know it, Shea kept her face as blank as possible as she came to a stop. Trenton stepped to her immediate left where he waited, exchanging nods when he was greeted by their fellow diners.

Shea was largely ignored except for the assessing glances that slid her way as they waited for dinner to begin.

Unexpectedly, she was hungry. Breakfast had been a long time ago and with all her plans to escape and then the stress of being caught, she’d forgotten to eat. She wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. The faster they were done, the faster she could start making new plans. Ones that wouldn’t rely so much on chance.

The low murmur suddenly trailed off and then abruptly rose to a dull roar as Fallon strode to the head of the table, all earlier appearance of weakness gone. He was once again the ultimate warrior, the man who had guided Shea’s hands in a killing blow and then pulled the dead revenant off her.

Shea found her eyes glued to him as the force of his presence sucked all of the oxygen out of the room.

There was something about him. Even from the beginning. Only now it was stronger because Shea had seen what he had created with his people. She knew what lengths he had gone through to rise to his position and how he battled daily to keep it amid a people who could just as easily tear themselves and the rest of the Lowlands apart. Despite herself, she respected him.

On one level he fascinated her, and on another, he absolutely terrified her.

As if sensing her thoughts, he looked up from where he was exchanging a nod with the Leo of Lion Clan to meet her eyes. Whatever he read there caused him to pause and then his eyes narrowed as if something had just occurred to him.

“What’s she doing here?” a strident voice asked from the door.

Shea frowned and looked at the man standing just inside the entrance, the sun at his back and his face still in shadow. She noted that a few had cast the newcomer disgusted looks while the others steadfastly ignored him. Whoever he was, he wasn’t liked.

“You finally have her, so let us go,” the man demanded, taking another step into the chamber.

Who was he talking to?

She looked where he was looking and felt her throat tighten when she saw Fallon looking back at him with a dark look on his face.

“You need to keep a muzzle on your friend,” Fallon spoke above the first man’s head to another just ducking into the tent.

“I’ll speak with him,” a familiar voice said.

Shea’s eyes swung back to the two men as the air thickened and froze around her. A pair of brown eyes flicked in her direction and then just as quickly away as he collared the first man and started to jerk him from the room.

Witt’s mouth was set in a hard line as he started herding the man she was just recognizing as Paul out of the tent.

They hadn’t made it out of the encampment all those months ago as she had hoped. She’d looked for them, for any of her men, every time she came back but hadn’t found any sign of them.

Now, in possibly the worst situation, she had.

She took a tiny step back as Paul continued to fight against Witt. Trenton’s eyes came sharply to her as the movement drew his attention and she stilled.

“No! She’s right there!” Paul yelled at Witt, flailing an arm in the direction of the table’s head, where Shea was inching back step by tortuously small step. Several pairs of eyes swung her way. She looked blankly back at them and then glanced behind her.

No one there but her.

“That’s who you wanted, isn’t it?”

“What is he going on about?” Darius asked impatiently.

“He’s imagining things,” Witt said tersely, “or trying to cause trouble. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I’m not,” Paul stated loudly.

Witt yanked him harshly around and shoved him. Paul fell to one knee and struggled up only to be caught roughly by the shoulder and propelled to the door.

“Hold up,” Fallon’s quiet voice stopped the pair. “Let him speak.”

Paul shoved free of Witt and stepped around him. Witt’s head dropped slightly, and it looked like his fists clenched before he too turned to face the Trateri’s leader. Unlike Paul, whose face was victorious as he eyed Shea with a smirk, Witt was careful to keep all thoughts hidden behind a hard mask, leaving him to watch the room and Fallon guardedly.

Shea noticed Henry, the Horse Clans leader, eyes linger on her a moment as his mouth pursed thoughtfully. He suspected what was coming. She was sure of it. Her body flashed hot as the skin on the back of her arms and neck started prickling and sweat popped up on her forehead.

“Tell me why you felt the need for your outburst,” Fallon said. Despite the feeling of heat bouncing around Shea’s nervous system, she still shivered at his tone.

“You mean you don’t know?” Paul asked, cocking his head. “I can’t believe this. Your entire army is out looking for her, and now you don’t even recognize her when she stands next to you at dinner.”

That was her cue. Time to go. Though the entire gathering was between her and the exit, she didn’t plan to let that stop her as she loosened her grip on the dinner knife she had palmed the moment she’d recognized Witt.

The nice thing about tents as opposed to houses is that the former was made of cloth, which could be cut. So really there were an infinite number of escape routes if someone was inventive enough. Shea was extremely motivated to be inventive.

“I suggest you make your point quickly, boy.” Darius sounded tense as if he had already guessed where this was going.

A hand caught Shea’s shoulder and another reached down to jerk the knife from her hand. “Going somewhere?” Trenton asked in her ear.

Slowly, Shea raised her eyes to meet Fallon’s gaze. His eyes held a startled recognition that quickly changed to a fierce look of victory before a shutter dropped down, masking his thoughts from her.

Shea drew in a sharp breath. Possession had been there too.

“Everybody out,” Fallon said softly, still pinning her with his gaze.

“It’s Shea,” Paul kept going, ignoring the order. He pointed at her, “That is Shea. The woman you’ve been looking for.”

“Out,” Fallon roared.

The room emptied quickly. Many of the men slid her sidelong looks. The Cobra smiled coolly as she moved lithely out of the room. Shea barely registered this, finding herself unable to move her attention from Fallon’s intense regard.

“I do not envy you the next few minutes,” Trenton said softly. Then he too was gone.

Shea was afraid to move for fear of what would happen once this moment was broken.

Her gaze flitted about the room.

“Trying to escape would be pointless,” Fallon informed her. “By now Darius has stationed my men all around this tent. We wouldn’t want you escaping the same way you did last time.”

That was good to know, though she hadn’t really been thinking of cutting her way free. For one thing, Trenton had taken her knife. For another, escape would only delay the inevitable. There was no way she would ever make it out of camp. Running would only see her recaptured.

Fallon moved to the table and poured himself a cup of wine. Shea’s hands clenched and unclenched at her sides and that damnable prickly heat was back, racing up and down her spine and neck.

Fallon lifted the cup and took a drink, looking at her over the rim the entire time.

Shea gathered the courage to ask, “So you’ve caught me, what do you intend to do with me?”

He took another sip and then put the cup down only to pick up another and pour some wine into that. He offered it to her, and when she blinked dumbly at it, he set it on the table next to him before picking his cup back up.

The silence unnerved Shea as did his steady, unwavering gaze.

She held her tongue as the silence grew, determined not to ask again. That would make her seem unsure and possibly desperate. Some instinct told her that was a dangerous thing to be in front of this man.

He set his glass next to him and crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles in his biceps thrown into sharp relief, as he ran his eyes thoughtfully over her.

“Tell me what happened once you escaped Darius,” he finally said. “How did you end up a scout?”

“Why?”

He snorted before smiling lethally at her. “That is not what I want to hear.”

That smile, those words. Pushing him right now would end badly for her.

“I was being chased by your men so I hid in a tent where I stole some clothes, cut my hair and rubbed a dark oil in it to disguise its color.” She stopped and watched as he settled himself in a chair. He gestured for her to continue. “I never made it out of camp. Eamon spotted me as I was trying to slip past your sentries and assumed I was a scout because of my clothes. We ran into trouble on that first mission, and I was able to help. After that, well you know the rest.”

“Why did you stay with them? I’m sure you had plenty of opportunity to leave.”

She shrugged. “Meant to. Just never did.”

“And now you’re here.”

His gaze was inscrutable as the silence fell between them. Shea was beginning to settle. With every moment that passed where nothing bad happened, she began to believe her unmasking wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe the only reason he’d chased her was because she kept running.

The distrust with which she had regarded him since their first meeting had faded sometime in the past few months. As conquerors go, he wasn’t the blood thirsty savage the Lowlanders painted him as. He kept his men in check. And, while there was plenty of looting and pillaging, there wasn’t the raping there would have been had another man been in charge.

In all these months, Shea had never heard even a whisper of him forcing someone to his bed. Oh there were plenty of women in it. Just, they were all there voluntarily. Even some Lowland girls. So the rumors went.

He was honorable. To an extent. As long as the villages he conquered obeyed the rules he set in place and didn’t try to get out of paying their tithes, he dealt fairly with them. If they didn’t, well, nobody wanted to go the way of Edgecomb.

“Did your men know you were a woman?”

Shea started and said forcefully, “No!”

He arched one eyebrow and ran his eyes down her figure, telling her clearly he didn’t believe that for a moment.

Stung, she glared. “You didn’t realize I was a woman either. Not last night and not when we were dealing with the revenants.”

Of course he also hadn’t dealt with her closely day in and day out for months.

The guys might have suspected something was off but hadn’t asked, and she certainly hadn’t told.

He surveyed her from under half closed eyes. She folded her arms across her chest.

The question of what was to be done with her hung unspoken in the air.

“Trenton,” he called.

A moment later Trenton walked into the room. He must have been standing right outside the whole time.

“Watch her. Don’t take your eyes off her. Not even for a moment.”

Fallon stood and strode out of the tent without a backwards glance.

Trenton surveyed her before pouring himself and her a glass of water out of a pewter carafe. He picked up the cups and made his way over to where she was standing frozen.

She watched him come, unable to act one way or the other. He frowned and then held out one of the glasses. She took it and then just held it as she watched him warily.

“You should drink,” he told her. “Then you should eat.”

It was good advice, and she found herself lifting the glass and taking a long gulp. The cool water slid down her throat. She savored the feeling before forcing herself to take a seat at the table where she fixed herself a plate and ate mechanically. It tasted good. A feast fit for a king.

Trenton let her eat in silence for which she was grateful. It did, however, leave her entirely too much time to think and worry.

Fallon watched the entrance of his tent as if it held the answer to a mystery that had been plaguing him for months. The scout, Shane. No, Shea. Even now he could scarcely believe the deception she had pulled on not just him but most of his army as well.

A part of him was beyond furious and wanted to make a painful example of her as a warning of what happened when someone deceived him. Another part, this one larger, admired the ingenuity and strength that allowed her to hide in plain sight. What better place to seek shelter than in the very stronghold of the enemy.

After those first few days, none of his men had even thought of continuing to search within their own army for the woman.

It was madness. It was brilliance. And now he had to decide what to do with her.

Now she was in his grasp, and he was just as confounded as before. He didn’t like it.

“I never imagined she would be hiding right under our noses all this time,” Darius mused from his side.

Fallon grunted.

“It’s rather genius. You have to admit.”

“No doubt the clan heads have already begun to spread this story.” Darius continued the one sided conversation, used to the way Fallon got when he was trying to figure out the answer to a problem. “Bunch of gossips that group is. Worse than a gaggle of women.”

By nightfall, the story of the female scout would be all over camp.

Fallon really ought to make an example of her. If it wasn’t for the fact she had saved his life twice and looked so damn delicate, he would have.

“What are you going to do?”

Fallon gave Darius a dark look.

“You have no idea, do you?” Darius said softly as he watched Fallon disappear into his tent.

Fallon gave a sharp nod to Trenton. The man nodded back and excused himself quickly, leaving the two alone. Fallon loomed over Shea half surprised to find her where he’d left her.

She looked peaceful in sleep. She rubbed her chin against the hand under her cheek as if she was snuggling down for the night. She’d curled up in one corner of the room on a pile of rugs.

Her face was bonier than the first time he’d seen her. Her wrists were too. It wouldn’t take much strength to snap them. It was hard to imagine she had the ability to keep up with a scouting party, much less have the strength to free him from a spinner web.

She was much shorter than the shortest Trateri. Even the women were several inches taller than her. She was slimmer too, lacking the muscled bulk of the women he was used to. Despite her slender limbs and bony features, he still couldn’t understand how he had ever thought her a boy.

There was a fine boned femininity about her face. Her lips were full and kissable and when he looked closer he could see the curves of the hips and thighs she tried to hide with loose clothes.

No, when looking now, it was nearly impossible to see how she had hidden for so long in their very camp.

It was inconceivable, enraging and not to be tolerated.

He could have her whipped in front of his men. That would set a nice example. If he did that, however, it might make her hesitant to bed him.

He could force her.

Like hell.

He had never had to force a woman in his life. They came to him. Begged to be let into his bed and protested when he ordered them to leave when he was finished.

No, she’d come to him of her own will. That meant physical punishment was out.

He couldn’t let this insult go, though. He’d be a laughing stock in front of the men and sooner or later the clan heads would use it as an excuse to try to force him from his position. It wouldn’t work just as their last attempt hadn’t, but in the meantime, it would be tedious to deal with.

He reached down and carefully lifted her. She slept through the transition, settling into his arms more firmly. His chest tightened at the sensation before he pushed it away and headed to the bed chamber. He needed to think on her punishment. It wouldn’t do to rush these things. No, the punishment would have to be perfect.

Shea felt warm and comfortable as she drifted up from sleep. When had they gotten such comfortable mattresses in the scouts’ transient tents? It had been so long since she’d slept on a decent mattress. Months, at least.

She stretched and rolled onto her stomach. Or tried to at least. An iron band around her chest kept her pinned on her side

Lifting her head, she looked blearily down her body, coming more awake at the sight of a bronzed arm wrapped around her ribs, right under her breasts. A muscled leg was thrown over hers.

All traces of sleep fell away, and she put her head back down as she cursed silently. She ran through her memories of the previous day. Fallon had discovered her identity. For someone who seemed hell bent on capturing her, he hadn’t been that pleased when she turned up right under his very nose.

He’d left her to her own devices for hours. The afternoon had fallen into night and driven by a stomach that hadn’t seen much food in the past few days, Shea had finally eaten some of the meal. Fed, her body had decided it was time to catch up on rest. She’d curled up on some rugs as they were the softest surface in the tent besides the bed in the personal chambers, and she wasn’t getting near that.

Shea examined the fur covering her and looked around. She recognized the furnishings from her visit yesterday.

Well, just because he had carried her to bed didn’t mean she had to stay there. She shifted carefully under the weight of his limbs as she started edging toward freedom.

“Trying to escape again?” a deep voice rumbled next to her ear.

She froze.

His arms tightened, bringing her body more firmly against his. Her face burned as a very firm body part nudged her ass. She tested his hold but gave up quickly when his arm and leg didn’t budge.

“Not very talkative this morning, are you?” his amused voice asked. “I’m sure we can find other things to fill our time.”

One thumb caressed the side of her breast, leaving no question as to his meaning.

Shea found her voice quickly. “Is this how you treat all the people who save your life?”

“Of course not.” He bit her ear gently and a shiver worked its way down her body. “Just the tiny, delicate ones who think they can disguise themselves as a boy.”

“So you need rescuing a lot, then? Your poor army. It’s a wonder they ever managed to conquer the Lowlands if they always have to worry about your safety.”

Shea could have bitten her tongue at those words. She didn’t know what possessed her, but whenever she was around him the filter that normally existed between her brain and mouth seemed to disappear.

His arms tightened around her momentarily before his chuckle rumbled against her back.

“What do you plan to do with me?” Shea asked sharply.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

It was difficult to keep her concentration on the conversation at hand when his fingers were drawing maddening symbols on the shirt covering her belly. It was distracting. She wished they could have this conversation in slightly different circumstances. Maybe when they weren’t touching. Preferably with an entire room between them.

One of his large hands drifted up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. She was beginning to get the unsettling idea of what he wanted. He’d have a fight on his hands if that was the case.

“Would you stay with me? Be my Tolroi?”

A gentle kiss dropped on the side of her neck. Shea shivered as lightning arched across her skin.

Through suddenly dry lips, she said, “Your mistress, you mean?”

The Trateri didn’t marry, not in the sense the Lowlanders and Highlanders did. They didn’t often see the point in tying themselves to only one person for the rest of their lives, instead preferring one night liaisons for the most part. Occasionally though, one would choose a partner, a Telroi, who would bare their children and share their tent on a more permanent basis. More often they took a Tolroi. In the Lowlands, the closest equivalent would be a mistress. It was often a more temporary relationship then a Telroi.

Either position was considered a great honor. Doubly so when the man offering was the Trateri’s Hawk himself. Shea didn’t want to be honored. She just wanted to be left alone to do her job.

“That is a Lowlander term,” Fallon growled behind her.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t-“ Shea couldn’t think of a polite way to decline. “I just want to be a scout.”

“I’m afraid that path is closed to you.”

She huffed. Because of him. Because she’d saved his ass. Again.

She held her body stiffly, making it clear she wanted to be anywhere but in his arms. His sigh ruffled her hair and slid across her skin.

His arms loosened, and Shea rolled out of them, not giving him a chance to change his mind. She spun to face him after standing. His head was propped on one hand, his gaze a physical brand on her.

“Since you refuse to be my Tolroi, you’ll continue in the role I originally planned for you.”

He didn’t mean—

The slightly smug expression on his face said he did. Shea had never stomped her foot before in her life, but right at that moment she came close.

“You want me to be your personal guard?” Her voice rose slightly on the last word.

His lips tilted up in a roguish grin. Son of a misbegotten revenant, he did.

“Why?”

The grin fell from his lips, leaving the ruthless warlord behind. Shea stepped away from the fierce expression. This was the man who had burnt Edgecomb and several other villages to the ground and then salted the earth. Those places had been devastated to the point where nothing would grow for years. In another generation nobody would even know they’d existed, such was the devastation he had wrought.

“Because it’s what I want.”

And there was the rub. This entire army revolved around his whims. If he wanted to camp in the middle of a river, they’d figure out a way to make it happen.

Her shoulders sagged in defeat, and her eyes dropped to the ground

“Trenton is waiting outside to run you through what is expected of you,” Fallon said.

Shea nodded and moved towards the door. His voice brought her up short.

“You’re known to many soldiers now. Trying to disguise yourself as a boy to escape won’t work again. If you try to run, I will have the three other men in your team stripped, flogged and then dragged behind the army until we next make camp.”

Shea was frozen in place. Horror gripped her by the throat as she numbly turned back to him.

“Why?” she whispered. “They had nothing to do with this.”

His face was a mask of stone and his eyes darkened dangerously as he said, “You know the answer to that.” She swallowed hard. “Eamon figured out you were a woman on your first mission. Buck took longer, but he’s known for a while too. Neither one came forward. That would be reason enough to have them punished.”

They had known? Shea’s world tilted. They had known this entire time and hadn’t said anything.

“I am sparing them because they saved my life and because they make a good incentive for you not to disappear again. You obviously care for them, or you wouldn’t have stayed so long.”

She looked at him from beneath lowered eyelashes. He was right, damn him. She wouldn’t be going anywhere with that threat over her head. They probably wouldn’t escape with her either. For them, these people were home.

All of her barely formed plans crumpled around her. There would be no waiting for the right moment. No great escape. She was well and truly caught.

Her mouth firmed into a tight, thin line. Icily, she asked, “If that is all?”

His lips quirked in an acknowledgment of having won this battle, and he raised one hand to flick his fingers at her in dismissal. “For now.”

She ground her teeth in annoyance and batted the door flap out of her way. Vexing bastard. He may have won this round, but she’d find some way out of this. Eventually.

Chapter Nineteen

Shea stormed out of the tent into the sunshine. Though it was bright and nearly blinding, she didn’t squint or shield her eyes until they adjusted, as she would have normally. She was too mad for that.

“Guardsman.”

The encampment that had seemed so huge suddenly felt stifling. She wanted out. To walk into the great beyond until there was not another soul for hundreds of miles. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel as if her skin was too tight for her body.

People. God, people. Men especially.

“Guardsman Shea.”

Stupid, stupid man. She had saved him when he was helpless in a spinner’s web. If she had left him there, he would have been sucked down like a man sized drink of water. But did he thank her? Nooo. He threatened her, tried to fit her inside a little box.

“Shea,” a voice yelled right next to her ear.

“What?” she snapped back, thinking better of it when she met Caden’s irate gaze.

She gulped and quickly rearranged her scowl into some semblance of a pleasant expression. Judging by the way his mouth turned down, she didn’t think he appreciated her effort.

Shea took a deep breath and then released it slowly. This man could make her very miserable for the foreseeable future. It paid to get on his good side.

“I apologize, sir. I didn’t hear you calling.”

Caden grunted and snapped, “Follow.”

Caden didn’t stop to look behind him, simply assuming she would follow. Though it rubbed her already raw nerves, Shea didn’t disappoint and trailed behind as he led her back to Fallon’s tent and then past it to a smaller one at the end of the lane.

Shea looked around curiously once inside, noting the sacks of clothing threatening to overtake the small space. She had never seen so many shirts and pants in one place.

“Meynard,” Caden said loudly.

He took up a position next to the screen divider on the far side of the room where he could watch Shea and the exit.

“Meynard,” Caden called loudly. “Get your ass out here, man. I don’t have all day.”

“Must you yell every time you’re here,” a voice said crabbily from the divider. A weathered hand pushed the screen aside, and a white haired man with sagging jowls and a slightly crooked back stepped into the room. “You’re the most impatient Daisy I’ve ever met.”

Daisy wasn’t exactly a term she would assign to the scarily capable Caden.

The old man looked up, his slightly cloudy blue eyes, coming to rest on Shea. His head tilted and he shuffled forward a few steps.

“This her, then?”

Caden grunted.

“Hm,” the old man said.

He stuck his face close to hers and craned his neck like a giant, white feathered bird. Shea leaned away, disconcerted at the close scrutiny.

“Not very pretty.” The old man looked her up and down and then cocked his head. “Kind of scrawny too.”

Shea stared back at him with the blankest expression she could muster. He’d have to do better than that if he wanted to offend her. She’d never put much stock in her looks. They were always just there. Like the sun or the sky. Neither helping nor hindering. Her strength, speed and capability were infinitely more important.

She disagreed, however, with his assessment of scrawny. Scrawny implied she was just skin and bones. It implied weakness, and Shea wasn’t weak. Her body was lined with trim muscle.

“Not easy to bait, then.”

“Doesn’t seem so.” Caden’s lips twitched. Barely. The motion was so small Shea wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t imagined it.

“Quiet.” The old man hadn’t taken his eyes off Shea since his first observation, but now he gave Caden a sidelong glance.

“Her squad said she prefers to keep her own council.”

The white haired man hacked deep in his lungs. Shea started when she realized it was his version of a laugh.

“That’s not good. The Clan Heads will run right over her.”

“Maybe.” Caden folded his arms and leaned back against one of the tables stacked high with clothes before crossing his legs at the ankles. “But not necessarily. Her squad leader said she won’t shut up if she thinks she’s in the right. Said he’s never seen someone do quiet insubordination so well.”

Meynard gave his hacking laugh again. “So there’s a little bit of fire behind those pretty eyes. That’s good. She’ll need it.”

“Fallon wants her outfitted in his colors.” There was a distinct pause. “She’s to be one of his personal guards.”

The old man’s bushy eyebrows rose in surprise. “Not his Tolroi?”

“She refused.”

The old man’s lips pursed as if he’d just tasted something sour.

Shea hadn’t expected anybody to know about that. Fallon was popular with his army and some might be insulted on his behalf that she had rejected his offer. Of course, the other half would have been enraged if she’d accepted.

“Did you now?” he asked her.

Her chin jerked once in affirmation.

“And why is that?”

One shoulder rose. “I’m a scout, not a bed mate.”

“Not anymore,” Caden informed her. “You’re a guard now.”

Shea’s composure cracked momentarily as a visceral denial fought to be released. The implacable expression on Caden’s face froze her. He let her know without ever speaking a word that he was willing to beat that fact into her body until she agreed.

She closed her mouth on what she had been about to say and looked away briefly as she brought her emotions under control.

“So? Why are you here?” Meynard asked.

“I need you to give her the test.”

The man shuffled over to Caden. “Does the Hawkvale know about this?”

“It’s his order.”

The old man’s head dropped forward as he studied the ground at his feet for a moment before giving Shea an assessing glance.

“I don’t think I’ve ever given it to a woman before.”

Caden grunted.

Shea shifted under their regard. Had she ever heard anything about a test? The way Caden said ‘The Test’ made it seem important.

She fidgeted slightly as they discussed details, the tight feeling of being closed in on all sides coming back.

She hoped this was just a skills test. Maybe a personality test.

This wouldn’t be as bad as the last test she’d taken. Probably.

Shea jerked back as a crack rent the air. The old man flicked a thin whip again, curling it around her thigh and leaving a smarting welt behind. She hadn’t even seen him pick up the weapon.

Shea reached for the dagger at her back and cursed silently when she felt nothing but air. She’d been disarmed yesterday before meeting Fallon, and they never returned the blade. She dropped into a crouch and watched the man’s torso carefully as she prepared for the next blow.

“Her pain tolerance is pretty high.”

“Was that supposed to hurt?”

“She speaks,” Meynard cried. He fainted to the left with the whip. Shea went right only to gasp as he nailed her in the ribs. “I had begun to wonder if you were a mute.”

He cracked the whip several times on either side of her, driving her back with each flick of his wrist. Despite her best efforts he caught her twice more. Once on the ribs and another on her left hand.

“You can avoid these any time you’d like,” he told her.

She snorted. “Why? I can barely feel it.”

“Oh?”

She wanted to hiss as fire raced down one arm before blood slowly trickled out of the cut he’d opened. He had excellent control. Until then, he hadn’t drawn blood, just raised a few welts.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” she told him.

Taunts and bluffs were all she had to defend herself with at the moment. Caden had very carefully made sure she was unarmed for this meeting, and the old man was good enough with his weapon that every attempt to sidestep or escape was thwarted.

Perhaps this was the test.

The last ‘test’ she had taken had nearly killed her. All pathfinders were subjected to the trial at the end of their apprenticeship. Many died in the dangerous rite of passage. She didn’t like to remember that time.

“So does this test consist of torturing your target until they try to kill you?” Shea asked idly.

The old man cocked his head, observing her from under bushy eyebrows. “No. What makes you think that?”

“Oh, because you keep hitting me WITH YOUR WHIP.”

Two more cracks and welts formed under her pants.

“Don’t be a goat brained Lowlander. This is the easiest way to test your mental fortitude.”

Of course. She winced as one of his blows landed across a previous one.

She’d had enough. She didn’t care if she failed. Maybe if she couldn’t pass their little test, they’d let her go back to being a scout, or better yet forget all about her so she could get back to her life.

She reached back, grabbed a stack of clothing and then threw it in the air between the old man and her. He drew back, raising one hand to protect his face. Shea dropped low and lunged, reaching out and twisting the whip out of his hand in a smooth movement.

She backed away quickly. She looked from it to the old man. He wasn’t getting this thing back.

“Took you long enough,” the old man said, making no move to take the whip from her. “Takes a little to get her going.”

Caden nodded once. “That was my assessment as well, Meynard.”

“But once she gets going, she acts with clear decisive intent.” The old man made a ‘hm’ of approval. He clapped his hands together. “Next phase then.”

There were phases. This was going to be worse than she thought.

She could always purposefully fail.

As if reading her thoughts, Caden said, “I should warn you that if you fail, your friends, both the ones from your village and the men you’ve been riding with over the past few months, will suffer for it.”

Shea was quiet as that sunk in.

“What makes you think I care for a bunch of Trateri trail pounders?” she finally asked.

“You’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Uh huh.” She let a bit of amusement bleed through, hoping it would cast just a little bit of doubt in his mind about her motives. Maybe it would be enough that they would stop threatening the other three to ensure her good behavior.

By the pitying look he gave her, she was willing to bet he didn’t buy her attempt at subterfuge one bit.

Not that she was surprised. She’d never been very good at misleading others through word or gesture. Her teachers had always lamented her directness.

Yeah, Caden wasn’t buying her lies for one minute.

“So what’s this next test?” Shea asked.

“Physical endurance.”

Shea felt a cautious relief. The life of a scout and a pathfinder was geared towards one thing above all others and that was endurance. If you didn’t have the ability to walk or run for miles on end for hours upon hours, you wouldn’t last through your first year. Shea had spent her entire life building up those abilities.

Despite her confidence, she knew everybody could be pushed beyond their breaking point. Even her.

“And that entails?”

The old man’s lips parted in a wrinkly smile. “You’ll see.”

Shea’s thighs burned as a sharp ache dug deeper and deeper into the muscle right between her shoulder blades. Her shirt had turned several shades darker, and her hair was plastered to the side of her head. She blinked away the sharp sting of sweat and concentrated on her grip on the blade.

She had been right to be leery of the old man’s endurance test. His workout menu was as bad as any pathfinder she had ever studied under. Worse, because pathfinders were cautious not to permanently break the youths who had been given into their keeping. She didn’t think this man had any such reservations.

The morning began like every morning, with a brisk run around the encampment four times. Not the tent city but the outer circumference, just past the sentry lines that were patrolled by Trateri soldiers. One time around was roughly three miles. The old man followed behind on horseback and any time he thought she was going too slowly, he’d flick the whip against the backs of her legs.

When the fast paced run from hell was finally finished, he had her strap a carrying pole across her shoulder and added a full bucket of water on either side and then had her carry it up the steep quarter mile hill on the far side of camp.

At the top of that hill, he threw a round, leather sand-filled ball at her, making her catch it. More often than not, it hit her stomach before she could grab it. There was blood on her shirt from when she missed and gotten hit in the face, causing her nose to bleed.

After he’d judged this phase finished, he forced her back down the hill. She’d thought it was over.

She should have known better.

Next, he escorted her to the spacious training pen where Hawkvale’s personal guards practiced their weapon work. He paired her with her guard from the day before, Trenton, and had them run drills. Or more accurately, Trenton pushed Shea back and forth across the arena as Shea had yet to successfully block any move he had thrown at her.

He would attack and she would stumble back. Rinse and repeat. For hours. By the time it was over, she collapsed onto the small cot Fallon had stationed in his quarters, too tired to offer even a token protest. She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow. The next morning she woke to more of the same.

This routine continued for several weeks. At the crack of dawn, Shea was up and attending to Fallon. Getting his breakfast, carrying the water for his bath, dressing him. Once he left for council meetings or to inspect his warriors, Shea was released to Caden and the old man’s care. Each day they invented new ways to test the limits on Shea’s endurance.

She lost toenails because of the distances they made her run and became a walking bruise from the number of blows Trenton landed.

The day’s training always ended the same way, with Shea sparring against Trenton. Currently, the blade trembled in Shea’s grip as she fought to stay standing. If she could just block one blow, she might be able to get through this with a small piece of her pride intact.

Another bead of sweat dripped into her eye, and she shook her head, blinking rapidly. Trenton moved forward, taking advantage of the moment’s distraction. Shea brought her blade up, parrying his blow. The next moment the world spun as she flew before landing hard. She blinked dumbly at the sky, noting distantly that it was a perfect day for cloud gazing. The white pieces of fluff danced and swirled in time to the wind.

Caden’s head imposed itself between her and the sky.

“Have you had enough?”

Yes. Most definitely yes. She’d been ready to quit this test after getting hit in the face with the sand-filled ball, and definitely after the second time she’d landed face first in the dirt during the weapon’s test.

It was an odd thing to ask, though, considering his earlier threats.

“You’re trying to get me to give up,” she said in realization. “The last few weeks have been to get me to reconsider becoming Hawkvale’s Tolroi.”

“It would certainly be a lot easier than this.”

“Was this his idea?”

Caden gave one of those shrugs again. One that meant neither yes nor no and left her to draw her own conclusion.

“I can’t. That’s not who I am.”

“Guess I can respect that.”

Didn’t mean he agreed with it. This day was probably going to get a lot worst before the end.

“You should find your feet. The old man likes to kick people when they’re down, and all of his recruits have been trained to do the same.”

Shea grunted. She didn’t think she could get up again.

The man who had been beating, oh excuse me, sparring with her, took several determined steps towards her, and she popped to her feet. Guess she could get up after all.

He grinned and raised his blade. She brought hers up to a defensive position. It wasn’t easy. The muscles in her shoulders and arms trembled with the effort.

“Try to block this time,” the old man shouted at her from his seat on a barrel.

Shea ignored him. If she had taken her focus off the man in front of her for even a moment, he would have nailed her three times with his wooden practice sword. He’d done it twice today. Anytime her attention wavered he punish her with three quick blows. Her wrist and thigh still ached from the last time.

Trenton led with a butterfly cut, which Shea blocked before dancing to the side and parrying with a slash. He blocked and twisted his wrist, sliding his blade along hers and forcing it out of his way. The tables turned and her attack quickly became a race to defend herself as he used his blade’s momentum to lunge forward.

She blocked its forward motion but stumbled back and nearly fell when her ankle wobbled from stepping on a loose pebble.

With a movement she felt rather than saw, he knocked her blade from her hand and rapped her harshly on the offending ankle.

Pain lunged up her leg. She gritted her teeth, her eyes smarting. She would not cry. Not in front of these men. That just wasn’t going to happen.

Trenton stepped back and looked over at the old man who watched them sourly.

“You know, that blade in your hands isn’t merely for show,” the old man told her. “You can attack at any time.”

A chorus of laughter came from the gathered onlookers. Most were here to watch the little Lowlander’s abilities tested against one of their best. Some had come convinced they were in for a good show. After all, this was the woman who rescued their warlord, not once but twice.

“Perhaps she needs a lesson in how to hold a sword,” a woman’s voice shouted from the crowd. “You know how soft these Lowlanders’ hands are.”

Trenton stood relaxed, his sword held casually at his side while he waited for Shea to get enough motivation to raise her sword again. She didn’t want to. Not at all. Her arms and shoulders begged for a reprieve.

Rather than attack head on as she had been for the last couple of hours, she waited, with her sword down, and observed Trenton. Since he wasn’t immediately following up with another flurry of attacks, she planned to use this time to think.

Sword play wasn’t her strong suit. It never had been. She carried a sword because it had a longer reach than a dagger and came in handy when fighting off beasts. Part of her training had included work with the sword, but her trainers had mostly concentrated on defense and quick attacks that were a prelude to retreat. Most of her training had been spent gaining wilderness survival skills. You could get just as dead eating the wrong berry when your food ran out as you could with a blade in your gut. So swordplay had been covered but not extensively.

She had just enough skill to defend herself for a short period of time.

Fallon’s men, on the other hand, had extensive experience. The way Eamon told it, they were given a blade on their first birthday and spent the rest of their childhood learning to use it.

There was just no way her small amount of skill could match up to Trenton’s expertise. It made her wonder why Fallon wanted her as his guard in the first place. Even when she had been Shane, it would have been obvious she didn’t measure up to the others.

Trenton quickly moved towards her. The blade whistled through the air where her head had been. She ducked out of the way and then tripped when he shoved his foot into her path. She managed to turn the fall into a roll but had no time to recover as his wooden blade bit into the grass next to her head.

All of a sudden his attack stopped. He sighed and then went back to where he’d originally stood.

Shea got her feet cautiously and wiped her hands against her trousers.

Trenton’s head was turned slightly away from her and his eyes fixed on something behind her and to the right. She turned to look.

Fallon stood with his arms crossed over his muscular chest, watching the session.

So that’s why.

It was a little surprising considering Fallon was the one who’d ordered this stupid test. He’d practically given them free reign to do anything they wanted so long as they said it was part of the testing process.

Trenton closed in on her, pounding at her defense with blows that had the force of a mountain behind them.

“Where is your fire?” Trenton asked, every word punctuated with another blow.

Shea kept silent and concentrated on getting out of the encounter with no internal bleeding. With the way he was hammering at her guard, he’d cause an injury if a blow landed.

“Is this the woman who convinced her men to follow her on a fool’s errand?”

Shea didn’t respond.

“Where is the spirit that drove you off a cliff onto a shadow beetle?”

He was very talkative as he drove her across the small practice ring. She envied him the ability.

“You’re weak.”

Now he was onto insults.

“You don’t belong here.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. She’d heard that one before.

He closed with her, bearing down with his blade until her arms were shaking with the strain. His face was close to hers as their match became a test of strength. “Your stupidity is going to get everyone killed.”

Abruptly, Shea released the blade with one hand, sidestepped and launched a punch straight into his ear. His head rocked to the side and Shea, taking advantage of his distraction, grabbed his arm and hooked her leg around his before pushing with all her might.

He toppled backwards, landing hard on the ground for the first time that day. Shea didn’t wait for him to recover and kicked him in the ribs. He rolled into her legs as she prepared to do it again, bringing her to the ground with him.

She kicked, punched and wiggled her way back to standing and quickly backed up as he rose to his feet.

He didn’t look happy. Shea backed up even further.

The dark expression on his face was a bit scary. Guess she shouldn’t have kicked him when he was down. The biting probably didn’t help either. Trying to dig her fingers into his eyes had been a low blow. Even she could admit that. This was practice. Some things were just off limits.

He started for her, not even bothering to pick up his practice sword. Shea prepared to run. New energy coursed through her as she felt genuine danger rolling off Trenton.

“Test complete,” the old man crowed.

“What?” Shea asked in disbelief.

“You passed.”

“That’s it?”

The test had been difficult but not impossible. She’d been expecting impossible given the hesitation the old man showed in testing her.

“Mostly.”

That’s what she thought.

“So the little outsider managed to pass the first phase.” Snake Clan’s leader sauntered into the training ring. “Honey, that’s the easy part. It’s what happens next that most don’t survive.”

“What business do you have here, Snake Clan?” The cantankerous bastard who had so joyfully tortured Shea over the last few weeks was gone and a remote stranger had taken his place.

The dark haired woman shrugged slim, tan shoulders that were bare from a dark green, sleeveless top. The top had a high collar and a cut out over her chest showing a hint of cleavage. Heavy bands of metal adorned each wrist. Her hair fell in a thick, straight sheet to her waist.

“I just wanted to see the outsider everybody’s talking about.”

Meynard looked like he had bitten into something sour.

“So far I’m less than impressed,” the woman said, examining Shea with arms crossed over her chest.

Well, Shea wasn’t overly impressed with the woman either. She hadn’t met many from Snake Clan. They didn’t usually serve on the front lines.

“You’re really considering making this your Tolroi?” she asked Fallon.

Shea didn’t know if she liked being referred to as a ‘this’. She had a name and a title. Shea folded her arms over her chest and gave the woman her best non-expression. It was the one she had perfected during the long winded lectures the elders of Birdon Leaf had subjected Shea to when they disagreed with something she’d done.

“Look at her. She doesn’t even have the spirit to defend herself when someone insults her.” The woman turned her head towards the crowd as if it was them she was trying to convince rather than Fallon.

“Our leader needs someone who has the fire to stand up for her people, not some gutless Lowlander.”

“Watch your mouth, woman,” the old man cautioned. His voice was low and dangerous, making a person forget the frail body that went with it.

“Indeed, Indra,” a man moved into view. “You’ve always been one to speak thoughts that have no wisdom behind them.”

If she remembered right, he was the Horse Clan leader. Henry, she thought she remembered. He had been with Darius when they had investigated the beast board. Shea hadn’t really gotten a look at him then, being more concerned over the danger of imminent discovery, so she took the time now.

He had white hair that was well kept and brushed sharply away from his face, leaving his softly lined features on proud display. He walked with a straight back, placing each foot carefully. You could tell he was once a warrior, and a good one too, simply from the way he kept his balance evenly distributed at all times and the absolute awareness he had of his surroundings.

A limp became evident after a closer look. It didn’t hold him back as he moved fluidly towards them, so it wasn’t a result of age. If Shea had to guess, she’d say it was an old wound from when he was a child or one he was born with. Age would have made his gate jerky and stiff. The way he moved said he had found ways to turn a potential weakness into a strength.

“She couldn’t even successfully defend against Trenton.”

“I’d warrant you wouldn’t be able to either,” Henry said. “None of Fallon’s guard could when they first sought his esteem. That’s not what Meynard is testing for.”

“This Lowlander has no right to be tested at all,” a male voice said from the edge of the training arena.

This clan leader Shea knew. She wasn’t a fan. The Lion Clan’s leader, Van, joined the other two leaders.

“She isn’t Trateri. The position of the Hawkvale’s guard is one of honor. It’s never been held by an outsider.” Van’s slightly too small eyes were scornful as they ran over Shea, noting every bruise and the hole in her pants from when she had dove out of the way of Trenton’s blade.

Shea didn’t let his disregard bother her. Better men than him had found fault with her.

“Her actions have earned her the right to be tested,” Henry stated.

“Ha,” Indra scoffed. “She’s nothing better than a scout. Any idiot could do that job. Her squad must have been full of fools to need the help of a Lowlander.”

Shea scowled. She didn’t mind them running her down. All they were doing was helping her. If they managed to convince the group she shouldn’t be here, Fallon might give up on this strange obsession. She drew the line at insults aimed at the men she considered her friends.

They’d gone through a lot together. She’d come to respect them. That was the kind of thing that deserved to be defended. Some oversexed woman and an inept Lion Clan leader wasn’t going to malign them while Shea stood by and took it.

“So who deserves to be tested?” Shea asked. “You?”

“It’s certainly not some gutless Lowlander.”

“Gutless, huh?”

That was a pretty strong word considering the number of times she’d saved their warlord. The expressions on some of the faces in the crowd said they agreed with the woman. If it had just been Shea’s reputation on the line, she’d have let them go on believing that. Eamon, Buck and the others didn’t deserve that stigma, and it wouldn’t be long before slurs against her honor became slurs against theirs. That, Shea wouldn’t stand for.

“When’s the last time you journeyed into the wild by yourself?” Shea asked.

It was a safe question and one Shea already knew the answer to. The Snake Clan wasn’t especially known for their bravery. They, and their clan leader, liked to stay close to the combined might of Fallon’s army.

Shea could tell she had scored a point from the soft mutterings that traveled through the crowd. The fact that Snake Clan tended to hand their field duties off to other clans was a bit of a sore point among the Trateri.

“I’ll make it easier on you.” Shea had no such intention. “When’s the last time you ventured out in a party of four, including yourself. That’s how many scouts normally set out on a reconnaissance mission.”

There was a pregnant silence. The crowd behind her grew more restless.

“That has nothing to do with this,” the woman tried to deflect. “You’re not one of us. How dare you try to get close to Hawkvale?”

“Never, huh?” Shea rolled right over the woman’s words. “You know, somehow gutless just doesn’t have the right amount of impact coming from you.”

“You forgot idiot,” Eamon’s voice rumbled from the crowd.

Shea snapped her fingers and pointed at him in acknowledgement of the reminder.

Eamon and Buck stood at the edge of the clearing, having pushed their way through the growing crowd.

A year ago, even five months ago, Shea would have let the woman have her say before ignoring whatever insults came her way. Not today, though.

“How about this? I’ll give you a chance to prove how gutless and stupid I am. We’ll each take two weeks’ worth of supplies and walk for a week in whatever direction strikes us. Then at the end of that week we’ll find our way back to the camp.”

“I’m not- That’s not- I’m not doing that,” the woman sputtered. She looked around for support. The people in the crowd dropped their eyes. Even the men and women wearing Snake Clan colors avoided her gaze.

“Oh?” Shea asked, arching one eyebrow. “It should be easy. After all, if a gutless idiot can do it, you should have no problems.”

Seeing that she wasn’t going to be able to win against Shea, the woman changed tactics.

“I don’t have to stand for this. I am a clan leader and what are you? Nothing. You’re filth. Even your own people didn’t want you. They gave you to us as tribute.”

It was a good tactic. Shea had to give her that. Its intention was to strike at a fact that should have been gnawing at Shea all these months. But, Shea’s people hadn’t been the ones to abandon her. Birdon Leaf might have orchestrated everything to get rid of a pathfinder they found inferior, but Shea didn’t consider those back country dirt grubbers her people.

The only ones Shea considered her own were the pathfinders. She doubted they even knew she was missing. Their organization didn’t keep close tabs on each other.

“Enough Indra,” Fallon ordered in a low voice.

Indra’s mouth snapped shut her next retort. Even Shea found what she had been about to say dying on her tongue.

“This is my decision. I’ll consider any further words against it a blood challenge.”

Faced with that ultimatum, Indra backed down but not before sending an impotent glare at Shea.

“A moment, if you please, my Hawk,” Eamon inserted while stepping into the clearing.

A small smile tugged at Fallon’s lips, and he gave a short nod.

Eamon lifted his chin in acknowledgement before a mask fell over his features, hardening them into a merciless cold granite. Shea blinked. She’d never seen that expression on Eamon before, not even when she’d pissed him off.

“The Western Wind scouts will no longer guide any Snake Clan expeditions,” he informed the crowd.

“You can’t do that,” Indra shouted.

“I can and I have. Gutless idiots have to stick together.”

“You don’t have the authority.”

“He does,” Henry inserted.

“My lord Hawkvale, promoted me to scout master of the Western Wind division as a reward for my part in his rescue.”

“He can’t do that.” Indra’s voice rose as she turned to Fallon.

“He can. He did,” Fallon told her lazily. “Perhaps you will be more careful in your insults next time.”

Indra’s hands clenched into fists at her side. She swept away as her followers melted into the crowd as if they had never been there.

The volume in the crowd rose as she disappeared.

“Disperse.” Fallon’s voice cut through it all, leaving no room for argument.

Faster than Shea had thought possible, the normally stubborn Trateri scattered, leaving only Fallon, the old man, Trenton, the Horse Clan’s leader and Shea standing in the clearing.

The Horse Clan’s leader gave her a small nod before continuing on his way.

Trenton grabbed her around the neck and tugged her in his wake. “Come on, you. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I thought there was another phase.”

Trenton grinned at her. “Don’t worry. You can be clean for it. In fact, it’s kind of a requirement.”

“Hmm.”

Chapter Twenty

“What’s the verdict?” Fallon asked.

Meynard’s bushy white eyebrows lowered over his eyes thoughtfully. “She’s not much of a bodyguard.”

Fallon waited patiently, knowing it was useless to rush Meynard when he was in a mood.

They already knew Fallon would never let her place herself in danger in his stead.

“Her sword skills are shit. She’s got pretty good endurance though.”

“Pretty good,” Caden snorted. “That’s an understatement. He threw everything he could think of to get her to cry mercy, and she just kept on coming. I’ve known hardened warriors who have puked after the sessions he put her through, and she acted like it was no big deal.”

Meynard smacked his lips in displeasure at Caden’s interruption. With a shrug, he conceded the point.

“Would’ve liked to see what sort of training got those sorts of results,” Meynard said. “Maybe I could use it to light a fire under some of these lazy slugs you keep sending me.”

Caden snorted again. Meynard said that about every batch of young warriors he trained.

Fallon felt a thread of impatience at the direction of the conversation.

“Will she pass?” he asked.

The other two got quiet.

“Well?” Fallon rumbled.

“Hard to say.” Caden spat on the ground.

“She’s got her endurance going for her, and she has spirit,” Meynard added. “With the right kind of training, she might have given Trenton a run for his money. And did you see how she stood up to Indra? Not many willing to take that viper on.”

“This is not what I want to hear,” Fallon told them.

Meynard shrugged. “You know there’s no way to tell. It’s up to the gods at this point.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Caden asked carefully.

Fallon ran one large palm along the back of his neck. “There’s no choice at this point. Too many people know what she’s done. If I let it go unanswered, they’ll assume I’m weak and challenge my authority. I can’t punish her in the traditional manner without losing any trust and loyalty she might have after the last few months. The Trateri’s venom is considered enough of a punishment, while having the added benefit of making her a Trateri in full.”

“You really think we hold any part of her loyalty?”

“She could have disappeared at any point. Her men say she saved them time after time. Something had to have kept her here. Whatever it is, I intend to capitalize on it.”

Shea took her time in the bath, luxuriating in the warmth, something she hadn’t done in ages. A sweet jasmine scent wafted from the water, coating her skin and relaxing her muscles.

Trenton had given her orders to wash well before putting on the garments lain aside for her. Shea intended to take her time in the water, feeling a near bliss as the heat soothed her aches and pains.

The water had begun to cool before she stirred, reaching for the soap to begin washing. She took her time as for the first time in months there was no reason to rush. A man wasn’t going to come charging in intending to take advantage of the communal bath the Trateri set up at every stop. There was no pressure to keep her gender hidden.

It was just her and the water.

Bliss. Definite bliss.

“I would never have guessed you’d be the type to take a long bath,” an amused voice said beside her ear.

Shea squeaked and sank into the water until only her shoulders and head were sticking out. She wrapped her arms around her breasts and drew her knees up to her chest.

“It’s such a feminine trait.” Fallon drew circles in the bathwater beside her knee.

Shea glared. Perhaps she should have been worried about one person intruding.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

She refused to act like some virginal maiden. She was a scout, one of the most coveted positions. She’d faced down beasts that made others turn and run. This was nothing.

“I’m the Warlord. I can go anywhere I want.”

He flicked water at her. She ducked and then glared harder.

“My little tomboy has an ounce of softness in her after all,” he murmured as he stood.

She sunk lower, feeling vulnerable in the milky water.

Shea had never been particularly body shy. In the wilderness, things happened. People saw each other’s naked bits occasionally. You got used to it.

With Fallon, it was different.

“What do you want?”

Why wouldn’t he just leave?

“You know what I want.”

She rolled her eyes. For her to be his Tolroi. Yeah, right.

“What do you want from me? Really?” Feeling vulnerable and off balance by her nakedness, she attacked the only way she could. Verbally. “We both know it’s not to be your Tolroi. My face and body aren’t the type to engender such passion in another. So tell me, what do you really want?”

The water sloshed against the sides of the tub as she moved restlessly.

“How long have you been with us?” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. The back of his fingers trailed down her cheek, her neck and across one shoulder in a stray caress that sent shivers racing down her back.

He smiled as the gentle ripples in the water gave away her disquiet. It was a conqueror’s smile, full of dark thoughts and decadent intentions.

Shea was so in over her head.

“Roughly eight months?” His thumb rubbed delicately against the rim of her ear. “I wonder how much you learned in that time.”

He rested his chin on the arm draped across the tub. Shea watched him, spellbound by the liquid warmth in his whiskey colored eyes.

“Do you know how most Trateri chooses their Telroi, the bearer of their children?”

Shea shrugged. She’d heard stories. That was it. Some of them had seemed a little farfetched.

“Most pairings happen when one abducts the other.”

Shea hid her skepticism. That was pretty much another way to say kidnapping. There wasn’t a lot of places a relationship could go from there.

“Yes,” he said to the clear doubt in her face. “Our people have a long standing tradition of seeing a potential partner and then claiming them whether they want to be claimed or not.”

“Doesn’t seem like an ideal start to a life together.”

“You forget that for the past four generations our people were not united. They were scattered in tribes, and every tribe regarded the others as enemies. Carrying our potential mates off into the night was the only way to survive as a people.” He tugged at a strand of hair. “It also added spice to a couple’s beginning.”

Some spice.

“That still doesn’t tell me why you’re so all fired up to have me as your Tolroi. If I recall, the first time you tried to make off with me, I was coming off a three day journey across country and had just mounted a rescue mission. I hardly compared to the beauties in your own camp.”

Shea didn’t lie to herself. Her strengths lay in her brain and her talent for navigation, not in how fair of face she was. She was happy with that much and saw no need to aspire to more. The fact that a warlord professed to want her was baffling and set her instincts twanging. There was more.

“It’s true. Your beauty isn’t the type to outshine the likes of Indra.”

Ha. Shea knew it.

“But there’s more to attraction than the exterior packaging. The color of your eyes has been burned into my brain since that man ripped away your hood in Edgecomb. The feel of your body when I caught you on the wagon has tormented me in dreams ever since. I never know what is going on behind those eyes of yours.” He gave her a wicked smile and Shea’s breath caught at the sight. “You are a constantly evolving puzzle. It drives me mad, and for someone like me, who can guess an opponent’s move before they even make it, that is more attractive than a fragile thing like appearance could ever be. You ask why you. How could it be any but you?”

Shea’s heart felt like it was going a mile a minute. She felt like she was suspended and any movement would send her plummeting to the ground.

For a warlord used to spending time killing or practicing to kill, he could sure talk pretty. Even Dane didn’t have as glib a tongue as this man.

Shea had to be careful, or he’d wrap her around his finger before she even know what hit her.

“So it’s not because I’m one of the few who can get you past the cliffs?”

Fallon didn’t move, the expression on his face remained unchanged, and yet the room felt saturated with his anger.

Shea held very still, somehow knowing that a single movement could reap consequences she was in no way prepared to deal with.

A quick movement and Fallon caught Shea behind the neck, slowly forcing her up with him as he stood. Water sluiced down her body as she rose.

The pulse at her neck beat wildly as his gaze held her rapt attention.

“I will admit that is a significant benefit to our union,” he told her, his voice a deadly whip in its quiet intensity. “But you would have led me past the cliffs and the mist whether I claimed you as my Tolroi or not. Those weapons you had in Edgecomb are too important to walk away from. You forget, little cat, I am the warlord. I don’t need pretty words to get what I want from you.”

She grasped his wrist tightly for balance. He wasn’t hurting her. His grip was firm on her neck but not harsh.

He put his mouth against her ear and whispered, “I suggest you enjoy your run while you can. In the end, you will still be mine, and you will give me what I want.” He drew back and smiled his dark smile at her. “I will certainly enjoy the chase you lead me on.”

With that, he released her and was gone before she had caught her balance.

She sank back into the water no longer feeling the warmth.

She’d been pretty sure he wanted her to get him past the mist and into the Highlands. To be truthful, she’d been expecting that all along. The Lowlands were civilized to a point. They didn’t have as many beasts, or they hadn’t before this summer, so they weren’t as isolated as the Highlands. At the same time, that isolation was the Highlands greatest advantage. The only way to attack it was from the border near the Badlands and few would brave that land long enough to launch an invasion. As a result, the Highlands hadn’t been conquered or seen a significant invasion in over a thousand years.

For the same reason, the Highlands kept the secrets of a long dead civilization locked away in its stretches of thinly populated land. Shea’s people held the key.

The most obvious secret, and the one Fallon would be most interested in, was the boomer. The Lowlands simply didn’t have anything to like it. To be truthful most of the Highlands didn’t either. Shea’s people, the conclave that trained guides, did though. If Shea hadn’t angered the elders, she would have probably been given her own weapon to look after.

Her people’s cache of weapons were kept secret from the rest of the Highlands. Though boomers were common knowledge, the worst of the weapons, the ones that sparked the cataclysm, were kept hidden. Shea didn’t know how Fallon had found out about them, but she could guess. Paul. If she was ever alone with him again, she’d probably kill him.

She crossed her arms over her knees and rested her head on them. She never should have stayed with Eamon and the others as long as she had.

Shea picked up the soap again and scrubbed at her skin. Her pleasure in the luxury had fled on Fallon’s heels, and she simply wanted to be done.

Minutes later she contemplated the outfit Trenton had given her. This couldn’t be all of it. Two tiny scraps of unadorned cotton lay on the bed. The first was a band designed to wrap around her chest, leaving her stomach, shoulders and arms bare. The small skirt that went with it looked like it would barely cover her ass.

The towel she wore covered more than the proposed clothes.

“Are you ready yet?” Trenton said impatiently from outside.

“I think there’s been some mistake.”

There was a silent pause and then the leather tent flap was slapped aside as Trenton entered.

Shea stiffened and clutched her towel tighter.

He rolled his eyes and told her, “Relax. I have no intentions towards you. Just imagining what the warlord would do to me is enough to kill any of those thoughts.”

Shea watched him carefully as he approached.

“What’s the problem?”

She pointed at the bed. “What am I supposed to do with these?”

He looked from her to the bed before raising his eyebrows and giving her a look as if he thought she was a bit of an idiot. “Put them on.”

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. He knew what she meant.

“Where’s the rest of the outfit?”

“That’s it.”

Shea could feel her blood pressure rising. She was not wearing that. If need be, she’d put her old clothes on. At this point, she didn’t care if they were coated in dirt and sweat from a day spent training.

She looked around. Not finding her old clothes, she asked, “Where are the clothes I was wearing?”

He crossed his arms and shrugged.

“Where. Are. The. Clothes. I. Was. Wearing?”

The sardonic twist of his lips told her everything she needed to know.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

They were gone. Either Fallon had taken them while she’d been lazing in the tub or someone else had come in while she was distracted and gotten rid of them.

“This is ridiculous,” she hissed softly to herself.

“Put those on and get out there.”

“I’m not wearing these.”

“You are.”

Shea let her silence speak for her.

She knew she was acting childish. The scraps of clothing would cover the pertinent pieces of her body, but she was tired of being pushed around.

“You are.” He leaned forward, invading her space. She stiffened but didn’t back up. “You will also have them on in the next five minutes so we can leave.”

She didn’t think so.

“You will not like it if I have to come back in here.”

With those ominous words, Trenton exited, leaving Shea fuming in his absence. After a long moment, she moved to comply, pulling the clothes on with angry movements.

Dressed, she took a deep breath and composed herself. It took a long moment and several deep breaths before some of the anger melted away and a bit of perspective to creep back in.

Only when she had control of herself again, did she exit.

Trenton led her out to the very edge of the camp where a crackling fire waited. Meynard and Caden sat on smoothly worn stumps on either side of the fire.

It seemed odd for a fire to be going full blast in the middle of day, especially when it was this warm out.

Trenton prodded her forward when she hesitated.

He maneuvered her until she stood on the other side of the fire. She coughed as a gust of wind blew smoke in her face.

Meynard lifted his arms and proclaimed in a voice as ageless and old as the mountains, “Shea of the Highland people, you come seeking to mingle your being with that of the grassland people.”

Shea coughed again as a deep burning spread down her throat. Had she inhaled ash?

“The grassland people are fierce with roots dating back to the beginning of time. You are either born of us or become one of us through fire.”

Shea didn’t know what he was talking about. Grassland people?

“Fire is the great catalyst. It can destroy, but it can also be an instrument of change and bring forth the seeds of a new beginning. It is life.”

The world around her rippled and then tilted. A burst of light flared behind Caden’s head and then Trenton’s. She fell to a knee as she looked around in confusion.

The old man was droning on and on. “You must survive the fire and be reborn to be fully accepted as one of us.”

She didn’t want to be one of them. She liked herself just the way she was. Shea, a pathfinder of the Highland guilds, a scout for the Dawn’s Riders.

The burning in her lungs intensified, and she coughed hard, nearly choking. A sweet smell, like that of vanilla, invaded her nose. Its scent so strong she almost imagined she could see it carried along on the breeze in ever widening arcs.

The strength left her body, and she rolled onto her back. The blue, blue sky looked down at her. It smiled at her with a delicate slice of cloud right before a bunny hopped across, leaving trails of white tufts floating after it.

There must have been something in the smoke, she realized finally.

After that she didn’t do a lot of thinking, but simply experienced things with a wide-eyed wonder as images and thoughts raced by. Sometimes these things collided in a brilliant cascade of color and light.

The first warp took her back to her childhood.

She was holding tight to a woman’s hand. In Shea’s eyes, that woman was the most beautiful woman in the world. Shea paid close attention as the woman explained the difference between a thistle thorn paw print and that of a red tail’s.

“Understand, Shea?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Lainey, are you teaching that girl tracking again?” a deep voice asked affectionately.

Shea’s mother gave the man a crooked grin. “It’s never too early to start. Huh, sweet pea?”

Shea was engrossed in studying the paw print her mother had pointed out and her little forehead puckered as she concentrated.

The man slung an arm around Lainey’s chest, pulling her firmly against him as he settled his chin on her head.

“I see you’re determined to have her follow in your footsteps.”

Shea’s head shot up, and she frowned at him. “I’m not going to be like Mommy. I’m going to be a gatherer and go on many adventures where I learn things nobody else knows.”

“Are you now?” Shea’s mother asked.

Shea nodded once, firmly.

Both her mother and father laughed. Her father leaned down and scooped her small body up.

“I guess you’d better soak up everything your mom has to teach you, then. It’s even harder to become a gatherer than it is a pathfinder.”

The world froze before twisting and bursting into a starburst of bright light.

“Pick up the pace,” Shea barked, looking back at the rear. “We need to find cover before nightfall.”

A chorus of weary groans answered. She allowed herself a brief moment as she looked over her group of twenty travelers. They, like her, were exhausted.

The journey’s stress and the constant worry of being in the Badlands were taking their toll.

Already, ten in their party had fallen. Mostly to beasts, three to the mist that fell while they’d navigated the border between the Highlands and Badlands.

A small part of her was beginning to think the elders had been right. Highlanders were simply not meant to explore this desolate land of dust and death.

“Eagle!” shouted through the ranks, as each man on the line repeated it until the shout resounded over the plateau.

Terror struck deep as a large shadow fell over them.

A draft of wind passed right over her and she tripped and fell. Brown wings trimmed in white spread wide, blocking out the sun as its owner brushed past. Screams pierced the quiet and the eagle dipped and then rose again, two men clutched in its claws.

Something inside Shea shriveled as the beast winged its way higher and higher. That same something withered further when two more eagles dropped out of the sky to claim more of her men. She’d never seen so many of them. Shea watched, motionless and helpless, as her dreams died all around her.

Her arrogance had gotten them killed.

She could do nothing but wait for her turn.

Light burst all around her and then the world went dark.

Shea opened her eyes slowly to stare up at a night sky marred by the warm glow of the fire next to her. The low murmur of voices was accompanied by the crackle and snap of the burning logs.

Her body felt as if it had been wrung dry. She swallowed, feeling like sand had been poured in her mouth.

“I see you’re finally back.” Fallon’s voice came from the dark on her left.

She turned her head, slowly, so slowly. It felt like it weighed three times what it did normally. “Did I go somewhere?”

That rough, scratchy noise didn’t sound like her voice. A cool cup of water was passed to her and a large hand on her back helped her sit. She gulped the water down gratefully, not even minding when some of it missed her lips and spilled down her front.

Fallon tilted the cup away from her. “Easy.”

When he let her drink again, she forced herself to go slow even though it felt like the water evaporated as soon as it touched her parched tongue. She was numb, as if all the emotion had been stripped from her and the only thing left was a pervasive nothingness.

“What was in the fire?” Shea asked. She didn’t really care if he answered, it was just that questions had been a part of her life for so long they rose without thought.

“It’s wilder root,” Fallon told her. “My people refer to it as our venom. It’s used when a door needs to be opened between the present and the past. It’s supposed to strip away the blinders and make everything clear again. It’s not without danger, though. Some get lost in the dreams and never find their way out.”

She’d never heard of such a thing. Part of her knew she should be filing that little tidbit away to be documented later, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“You’re one of us now.” Fallon picked up her hand, his felt warm against her chilled skin.

“What does that mean?” Shea found herself asking. “I’m one of you?”

“You have the same rights as a Trateri. You can claim war spoils as one of us, proclaim challenge. Any children you bear will be raised Trateri. In essence, you have become as much a Trateri as if you’d been born of us.”

“Isn’t that nice.” A little of Shea’s normal personality began to peek through. “So in the end you’re just like them.”

Fallon tilted his head and watched her carefully.

“Let me ask you something. Once you’ve conquered all of the Lowlands, what do you plan to do with this land?”

“They will be integrated into my own people as we create a country under one ruler.”

“Ah. So you mean they’ll be your servants. Good enough to work in your army and die for you but not really be one of you.”

“That’s right.” Fallon had no hesitation in his answer.

Shea snorted back a laugh. That’s a conqueror for you.

“That’s how it works. The strong rule the weak. They had their chance, and they’ve squandered it. Without my men, these people would be dead in another generation or two.” Fallon’s voice hardened, and Shea saw the ruthless intellect behind the warrior’s mask. “Look around, my people never should have been able to conquer this land. There hasn’t been a significant battle since we invaded. The biggest threats aren’t from men but beasts. This land is fertile and capable of supporting a population three times its size whereas where we come from every drop of water has to be measured so as not to be wasted. Every scrap of food that passes our lips has to be rationed carefully. Hunger isn’t something you feel; it’s a state of being.

And yet nothing has stopped us from sweeping across this land. Your villages are laughably small and even your cities are capable of sustaining many more. You have entire towns that disappear in the night. These people have done nothing to save themselves. It will be my people who brave the wilds to secure their safety. They will reap the benefits.”

She agreed with everything he’d just said. The Lowlands and the Highlands were dying a long, slow death. Populations were declining and every year another village seemed to disappear. It’s why she’d helped Eamon and Buck for so long.

Despite the short term loss of life, Fallon’s people could save thousands if he was successful. The Trateri might have been brutal in their interactions with themselves and others, but they worshipped knowledge and continually strived to understand their surroundings. They fought to tame the world around them and adapted when they could not. Both of these were qualities that Lowlanders sorely lacked. It was the same for Highlanders as well.

It was also the reason she could never take Fallon and his men across the mist. Her people were just disorganized enough that he would have a real chance at conquering the Highlands, that and the weapons left over from the ancients made her cooperation with him impossible. Although it would make sense to unite the lands under one ruler, Shea could not see her people ever submitting to being the servants of another. It would never work. They would fight to the last man, and she could not subject them to that.

“You know I will never take you past the mists,” she told Fallon. The steel resolve in her voice filtered through. Something about the wilder berry clarified things for her, if there had been any doubt about this fact in her before, it was gone now.

She needed to get this over with. She needed him to understand that no matter what he did, show her the world or torture her, she was never going to help him.

Her loyalties weren’t divided anymore. She felt no regret for helping them in the Lowlands but she would never take them to the Highlands.

“I would rather die.”

She tightened her grip on her knees and waited.

A light touch ran up and down her back, and a pair of lips pressed against her head.

“I know that you believe that,” he told her softly. A finger turned her head towards him. “You’re Trateri now. The wilder root assured that. It would be best to forget past loyalties. It’ll only make things more difficult on you the harder you hang onto your previous life.”

She’d never been accused of taking the easy way.

After a moment of silence between them, he said, “Come. Rest by the fire. Tomorrow is early enough to start fighting.”

She smiled softly and let him pull her up. In this, he was right. The battle could begin again tomorrow.

Fallon placed her close to the fire and then sat behind her, pulling her back into his arms. They were alone. Sometime in their conversation Caden and Meynard had drifted out of sight.

Fallon stroked the skin of her arms gently and pressed a soft kiss against her neck, nearly searing a brand into her flesh for all the heat the soft touch generated. The feel of his lips lingered long after they left her neck. He rested his chin on top of her head. His arms tightened around her slightly, tucking her more firmly against him. The evidence of his arousal was firm against her hip.

Shea’s breath shuttered in her lungs as her eyes drifted shut. She wanted this man. Even given the very real possibility that he’d kill her when he realized she wouldn’t give him what he wanted, she craved him. The wilder root had helped clear the veil from her eyes on this subject too. She’d wanted him for a long time. Before the glimpse of his naked body at the pool by the water fall. Perhaps since the first moment she’d caught his eyes in Edgecomb.

What she did with that knowledge was entirely up to her.

He was still behind her as he waited for her choice. She smiled slightly. Who would have thought the conqueror would be so considerate. Or patient.

She was tired of denying herself what she wanted.

She turned in his arms and pressed her lips against his. Like that, whatever had been holding the warlord in check went up in flames. With a growl, he attacked, conquering her lips with his in a feverish rush as his tongue sought entrance. She quickly opened her mouth under his, and he surged inside.

His hands roamed over her body, sending flames racing down her nerve endings. He maneuvered her to her back as one hand slid over her breast band, caressing her through the cloth. It wasn’t enough. Not near enough.

It had been so long since she’d been with a man. Years. Her one glimpse of him months ago had inspired several vivid, sweaty dreams. Now, it was all she could do to keep from tearing his clothes off.

He agreed and ripped the constricting fabric of her breast band away, revealing what lay underneath. She groaned as warm lips closed over one nipple. She keened and arched her back as he rolled it against the roof of his mouth. A sharp nip brought a cry to her throat and sent a rush of sensation down to her core before he soothed the injured area with gentle kisses.

Her nails dug into his back as he palmed her through the loin cloth. She tilted her hips to give him better access and felt her sex pulse as he cupped her firmly while his other hand rose to tweak the other nipple.

“I have wanted to do this since I spotted you in Edgecomb,” he rasped against her skin.

His hands moved between them as he dragged the scrap cloth down her legs. Her hands busied themselves undoing the laces of his pants.

In very little time, they were both naked.

The fire was just enough to see shapes. Shea panted as she stared up at him, his cock jutting proudly as he knelt over her. He leaned down and claimed her lips, his passion consuming her. She whimpered as his hands skated down her body.

His fingers parted the lips of her sex and rubbed firmly against the sensitive bundle of nerves there. As if it had a mind of their own, her pelvis rolled against his fingers. A long, thick digit penetrated, before moving in and out. The pace quickened as her breath became heavier.

Her breasts swelled, her skin heated from the inside out. If the night was chilly, she couldn’t feel it.

“Please. Hurry.” Her hands wandered over his skin caressing and clutching as her need built.

She tried to pull him down on top of her. He resisted with a chuckle.

“So pretty. Come for me, pretty girl.”

With a loud keen, she did exactly as he asked. He kept working her as she came down from her orgasm, wringing every drop of pleasure from her.

Finally her breath evened out. She blinked up at him as he moved between her legs, feeling her heart start to race again.

“My turn.”

He began to push inside. She couldn’t help wriggling a little at the discomfort. It had been a long time since she’d last shared her bed. But finally, he was fully inside her. He reached and drew her legs up to either side of him and slowly, oh so slowly, began to withdraw until just the tip of him rested in her. With a powerful thrust, he sank his shaft deep, only to withdraw slowly.

She moaned as he set the pace, alternating slow strokes with fast ones, and driving her mad with desire. Unbelievably her pleasure began to climb again, until she was meeting his thrusts with ones of her own.

“Faster.” She clutched at his back to her urge him on and tilted her hips towards him.

“I set the pace, little one.”

“You’re killing me.”

A rough chuckle was her only response.

How did he have so much stamina?

Planting one foot, she pushed up with her hips and then heaved, rolling him onto his back. She ended up on top with him fully inside her. She closed her eyes at the delicious feeling.

With a wicked smile she lifted herself before grinding down. That felt good.

She did it again and again, adding a slight twist to her hips. That felt really good.

He let her set the pace for a moment before rolling her onto her back and pinning her hands beside her head.

“I decide when to finish this,” he growled.

She didn’t think she could take much more and whimpered.

His hips thrust came faster and faster. She was almost there. Almost.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

Her eyes opened to stare into his fierce ones. The moment became all the more intimate. She felt as if he could see into her soul. She wanted to hide but couldn’t. His gaze held her spell bound.

He reached between them and rubbed her clitoris. Every nerve in her body drew tight and then exploded as her vagina gripped his cock with rhythmic pulses. He thrust harder and faster as she reached her finish, his own building.

She wrapped her arms around his back and held on as he found his own release. His eyes drilled into hers as he thrust once and then twice more, spending himself.

“You are mine.”

Shea started to turn, breaking the gaze. He caught her chin forcing her eyes back to his. Whatever he saw there must have pleased him. He dropped a kiss on her mouth and pulled out, then rolled over. She could hear him rummaging through bags.

He lay back down and settled her head on his chest before spreading a blanket over the both of them. His arms were warm around him and, as she drifted off to sleep, his words kept repeating in her head. ‘You are mine’.

She very much feared he was right.

Chapter Twenty One

The pillow under her cheek was firm and lumpy. Shea rubbed her cheek against it and opened her eyes to see a smooth chest. Shea went very still for a long moment. When Fallon’s arms did nothing but tighten slightly before relaxing again, she lifted her head to look at his sleeping face.

It was relaxed with a softness she’d never seen on him before. When he was awake, the force of his personality animated every feature. This wasn’t the warlord but simply a man.

When he woke, he’d go back to being a leader, and Shea’s enemy.

She dropped a light kiss on his chest before gently extricating herself from his arms, making sure to cover him again with the blanket.

She shivered in the predawn air as she quietly pulled her clothes on. The moon had set but the sun hadn’t quite risen high enough to relieve the black.

Finished tying her shoes, she stood and, for a long moment, looked down at Fallon. A big part of her wanted to crawl back into his arms and wait for him to wake her once the sun had risen.

But that wasn’t who she was. It was best to hurry back to camp and pretend this never happened. It’d be difficult. Fallon didn’t seem like the kind of man who took rejection well.

She pondered that thought as she headed back to the camp. Managing others wasn’t exactly her strong suit.

Caden watched the woman disappear into the darkness from his seat next to the cold campfire.

“She’s more stubborn than I thought,” he told the still figure on the ground. “Not too bright, if she thinks this will be the end of it though.”

Fallon sat up, the blanket sliding to his lap, and stared in the direction Shea had disappeared.

He’d woken as soon as she started moving but feigned sleep to see what she would do. As usual, she had surprised him.

He’d won the battle, not the war. A slight smile stole across his lips. He so enjoyed a challenge.

“Continue with the previous plan,” Fallon ordered. “If she wants to be a guard, treat her like a guard.”

“Your duties from now on are to attend to the warlord’s needs. You’re to be by his side whenever he needs you. You’ll sleep in his tent on a pallet in case he has a task for you in the middle of the night. The only times you’re to be away from him is for an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening when you’ll attend a special course of training or if he sends you on an errand.” Trenton shoved a pile of clothes into Shea’s arms. “These are your uniforms. It is your responsibility to keep them clean and orderly. Ask one of the guards if you have any questions.”

Basically, Shea was to be at Fallon’s beck and call. She was so good at taking orders, too. She’d be dead in a week. If Fallon didn’t kill her, the other guards just might.

Maybe she was being too pessimistic. She thought she’d been making progress in her people skills with Eamon. If she kept those in mind, she might survive. Maybe. She just needed to keep her mouth closed and not insult anyone.

She was already wearing the same uniform she’d seen the other guard’s wear. By the feel of the clothes in her arms, she figured she’d been given three spares. That was better than what she’d had as a scout.

She hoped whatever had possessed her last night was well and truly gone because from now on she was treating Fallon as an enemy captor. Someone she had to show respect if she wanted to live, but not someone you shared your body with.

“You’d better get to work now,” Trenton said. “He’ll be expecting breakfast shortly.”

“Uh, right.”

She stored her gear and grabbed a warm biscuit from one of the cooks. Shea tugged at her uniform one last time as she stared at the entrance to Fallon’s quarters. She ignored the examining look the guard was giving her.

She could do this. She could. She’d just go in there, figure out what Fallon wanted to eat and get it for him. This was nothing. It would be like every other morning for the past few weeks.

“Food won’t serve itself.”

Shea looked sharply at the guard. He stared back in challenge.

“A word of friendly advice, the warlord doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He scoffed. “Don’t just keep it in mind. When he’s in a mood, everybody suffers. We don’t need to suffer because you can’t do your job.”

His tone wasn’t hostile. At least not totally. It was more that he was giving it to her straight, with no regard to feelings or dancing around the issue.

It had the welcome effect of quelling some of Shea’s nerves. His way of talking was something Shea was familiar with.

“I understand.”

“If you understood, you’d quit flapping your gums and get your ass inside to attend to your warlord.”

Shea sighed inwardly. Yup. This was familiar.

She kept what she might’ve said to herself and walked into the tent.

It appeared empty at first glance. The table had an assortment of food, enough to feed Shea’s entire squad for days. Warm biscuits, sweet pastries, wild berries, thinly cut ham and several types of cheeses gave off a tantalizing aroma that set Shea’s mouth to watering. That biscuit she had gobbled down was a faint memory in the face of this feast.

The one thing missing was Fallon. Shea moved further into the room, not seeing him anywhere. He couldn’t still be at last night’s campsite. Though dawn was barely gone, Fallon didn’t strike Shea as the type to sleep in.

The guard had indicated he was here as well.

Slowly, her eyes were drawn to the partition that hid his sleeping quarters.

She rolled her eyes up at the ceiling, questioning her luck. Procrastinating wouldn’t help and would only delay the inevitable. Might as well get it over with.

Shea moved closer to the partition and called out softly, “Fallon?”

She tilted her head slightly, listening for an answer. All she heard was the faint splash of water.

Louder, she called, “Fallon?”

“I’m back here.”

Shea glared at the partition. Of course he was. She didn’t want to go back there. For her continued peace of mind, not to mention her new vow to treat him as an enemy and not a man she found attractive, she wanted to stay on this side of the partition.

“Did you need anything?” She cringed as the words left her mouth. Just what he needed, a perfect opening.

“A plate of food.”

Thankful for the temporary reprieve, Shea busied herself selecting a few pieces of the meat, two biscuits and a handful of the berries. Once the plate was complete, she faced the same prospect as earlier.

Holding the plate of food, she hesitated at the entrance to Fallon’s sleeping chamber. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat at the table?”

“Get in here already,” came the forceful reply.

Shea grimaced at the slight edge to his voice even while she stepped past the partition. Her eyes were drawn immediately to where Fallon reclined in the water. His head was propped back on a folded towel and both arms were resting on either side of the bath.

She stopped several feet from him and held up the plate of food. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just guessed.”

Her eyes kept wanting to stray to where the water distorted the view of his hard body. Even distracted as she was, she braced for the interrogation she knew was coming. She’d already thought up a dozen excuses as to why she left his arms before dawn. She had no doubt he would think their previous intimacy was a reason to continue in the same vein.

“Bring it here. You’ll have to feed it to me. As you can see, my hands are a bit wet.” He lifted his hands out of the water as if to prove his words true.

The slight smile and the challenge in his eyes dared her to argue.

Shea fought back a growl. She’d be damned if she’d react the way he expected her to. If he thought she was too shy to function around a naked man, he was wrong. She’d beat him at his game and show him his body held no appeal.

Her chin jutted bullishly, she stepped forward and knelt. Water soaked into the knees of her pants.

“What would you like to start with?” Shea asked.

“The meat.”

Shea picked up a strip of the ham and held it out to him. He jerked his head back.

“Bite size pieces. I don’t want any of it dropping into my water.”

Her promise to herself that she would keep her patience and her mouth shut already seemed impossible. Quickly, she tore the meat into smaller pieces and then shoved a piece toward Fallon’s face. Anything to get this experience over faster. He caught her wrist before she could knock him in the face and then held it as he slowly pulled the meat from her fingers, swiping them with his tongue to clean off any of the juices.

Shea felt an answering tug deep inside as tingles raced outwards from the skin he’d licked. Not allowing herself to dwell on the feeling, she tugged her hand free making a point of wiping her fingers on her sleeve before picking up the next piece.

He smiled at her, not offended at her actions.

“Tell me, what duties have you been given?” Fallon asked.

Shea repeated what she had been told that morning, finishing by saying, “So basically, I’m supposed to stick by your side to fulfill whatever needs you may have.”

As soon as the last words left her mouth, she wanted to pull them back. The wicked glint in his eyes told her all she needed to know about what he was thinking.

Instead of clarifying what she had said, knowing that would only make things worse, she pinched off a chunk of biscuit and shoved it into his mouth.

Once he swallowed, he informed her wryly, “I think that’s enough food for now.”

Shea nodded, glad this particular torture was over and stood.

“If you could grab the towel for me.”

Shea stiffened and forced herself to set the plate gently on a stool before making her way over to the bed to grab the carefully folded towel. The towel was plush and soft under her fingers and smelled clean and fresh.

Even caught up with the urge to rub her face back and forth against its softness, she heard the slosh of water as Fallon stood. Once again she turned her eyes to the ceiling as her hands tightened on the towel in a death grip. Why, oh why.

Her willpower could only take so much.

“I’d like the towel while there is still something to dry off.”

He was just a man and if his previous actions were to go by, he wasn’t going to jump on top of her to have his wicked way. No, he was going to seduce her and given her heightened awareness of him, that wouldn’t be too hard.

He was just a man, Shea told herself. She’d seen plenty of naked ones during her time as both a pathfinder and a scout. He had the same equipment. It was just arranged a little nicer than most.

This body, unlike those she’d seen on the trail, belonged to Fallon. She had intimate knowledge of its attributes.

Not letting her thoughts progress any further down that path, Shea turned. Her face burned as she glared in the vicinity of his face. She crossed the few steps she needed and tossed the towel towards him.

He caught it one handed and wrapped it around his waist as he stepped out of the bath.

“Will that be all?” Shea asked, clinging to her dignity.

“For now, but don’t leave the tent. I will have need of you soon.”

Shea sketched a half bow as she’d seen others in his guard do and retreated to the other side of the partition.

Shea fidgeted as she waited for Fallon to finish dressing. She walked from one end of the chamber to the other.

She had finished one circuit when a man ducked past the tent flap from outside.

“Witt.” Shea still couldn’t quite believe it.

Her eyes went past him, remembering that Paul had been with him last time, but he was alone.

“Shea,” he said softly. His feelings were hidden and he stayed near the entrance.

Some of the relief she felt at his entrance faded. She laced her hands behind her back and moved to the middle of the room. With a reluctance she hadn’t expected from him, he joined her, stopping only a few feet away.

“I had hoped you and the others would have been able to escape safely,” she told him.

“The Trateri came for us as we were escaping. Dane and the rest got away safely. Paul and I were caught.”

The silence between them became awkward after his explanation. Had it always been this way? She remembered he’d always been quiet. She had been too, but they’d had things to talk about anyway.

“I would have thought you’d have made it back to the Highlands long before now,” Witt told her.

She shrugged. “I meant to. Something just always came up.”

That was the worst answer. How could he understand from that?

“Witt,” Fallon said before she could explain further. “Join me for breakfast. We’ll go over your intel as we eat.”

Witt waited until Fallon was seated at the head of the table before taking his own seat.

Shea fidgeted as she tried to figure out what she was supposed to do with herself. Somehow she didn’t think she was supposed to join them at the table, and standing like an idiot in the middle of the room didn’t seem right either.

Finally, with no idea what to do she took up a position beside Fallon’s left shoulder. She thought she remembered one of the other guards doing that.

Witt gave Shea a pointed look. She gave him a shrug. She had no idea what he was trying to tell her.

In response he looked at the food and then Fallon, repeating it several times before she caught the hint.

Fallon waited with both his arms resting on either side of his setting, staring pointedly down at the empty spot where the food was supposed to be. Well, shoot. Evidently, she was supposed to be serving him.

Since she had brought him a plate of food in the bath, she hadn’t realized that he would want to eat again with Witt.

Moving quickly she picked up his plate and filled it with another assortment of food. Figuring he would be less hungry given the activities of earlier, she chose a lighter fare that featured several of the fruits with a few pieces of the smoked sausage links.

Her stomach growled angrily as she set the plate down in front of Fallon. The smell of food tempted her appetite.

Shea stepped back to her previous position and clasped her hands behind her back. She knew if she left them by her sides she’d be fidgeting in no time. At least if they were behind her back no one could see them move.

A throat was cleared, drawing her attention back to the duo at the table. This time Witt’s head was bowed while he stared pointedly at his own placemat.

Shea sighed. Of course he’d need to be fed too. Didn’t anybody feed themselves?

As she filled his plate, Fallon began speaking.

“How was your trip north? Did they give you any trouble up there?”

Witt’s eyes rose briefly toward hers in acknowledgement as she set his plate down. He dug in, taking several bites before answering.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle. Two of the villages decided not to honor their commitments. They were dealt with quickly and decisively enough that I don’t think others will follow in their footsteps anytime soon.”

Shea kept her wince inward. Outwardly her face was flat and disinterested. That probably meant a lot of bloodshed and most of the able bodied men and women being taken as cattle, what the Trateri called their slaves.

Oddly enough, villages who fought from the beginning before being defeated were treated as honored enemies as long as they didn’t violate the terms of their surrender. The moment they went back on their word, Trateri justice was swift and brutal.

“Will they hinder our plans?” Fallon was asking. Shea had lost the thread of the conversation as she pondered what roll Witt played for the Trateri. How did he have enough access to the Warlord to be invited to breakfast? As an outsider, he should never be in the position of an advisor.

“Doubtful.”

“Good. Gaining a foothold in the Highlands will be difficult enough. We don’t need the Lowlanders instigating a rebellion at the same time. We’ll need to keep the supply lines open.”

Shea felt her heart drop at this news. She’d thought any action against the Highlands was months away if not a year.

“Agreed. Resources can be scarce up there and the problem with beasts will be double what we’ve faced here,” Witt replied. “We’ll need to be careful of the pathfinders,” he continued. “They might sound harmless, but they’re the most organized guild in that land and can forge the Highlanders into one force. Their weapons beat anything we have, and they know the lay of the land like they know their own face.”

Shea couldn’t count the covenants Witt was breaking. If any in the Highlands found out how much he’d just revealed, he’d be marked as a traitor before being stoned. And then, just because Highlanders were slightly vindictive, they’d probably burn him.

“We’ll need to disrupt their communication as much as possible, then. We’ll choke off their routes and keep anything or anybody from slipping through. If they can’t talk, they can’t organize,” Fallon responded.

Impossible. A few hundred horsemen couldn’t keep a Highland pathfinder from his or her destination. Not when that pathfinder was in the Highlands.

Both men looked up and nodded briefly as Caden entered. The conversation continued as Caden grabbed a plate and began piling it high with food. Once he’d gotten a nice selection, he sat across from Witt and listened as he slowly consumed his breakfast.

“Your biggest obstacle is going to be the mist. Our patrol couldn’t find any way through it. It starts about five hundred feet from the Highland cliffs. We went up and down that entire area and no luck. It continues on for miles without end. I even took a small group into the Badlands, and it’s just as difficult there. Almost lost a couple of men.”

“We could always try going through it,” Caden suggested, taking a seat at the table.

Witt leaned back and pinned Shea with his eyes. “The pathfinder would be the best one to explain why that would be a bad idea.”

Three sets of eyes trained on Shea. Fallon even turned in his seat. Shea glared back. She could, but she wasn’t going to. She had some loyalty still. If they wanted to brave the mist, they were more than welcome to.

Reading those thoughts in her face, Witt smiled wryly in acknowledgement before continuing. “When a true mist shrouds the Highlands, a normal man gets lost, disoriented. If they’re lucky, they simply wander in circles until it dissipates. If they’re unlucky, they disappear. Strange things happen during a true mistfall. You’ll be lucky if a quarter of your men make it to the other side. What’s more likely is that you’ll become one of the lost ones.”

“Sounds like the sort of story we use to scare Daisies,” Caden remarked.

“Except this one is real.” Witt wasn’t lying or exaggerating. His face had the sort of look one got when they were relating an experience that had left a mark on the soul.

Shea’d had her suspicions about him, but his expression as he explained the mist confirmed it. He had encountered a true mist and lived to tell about it. Such men were rare. As he’d said, when a true mist fell, few people found their way back to the real world. He’d evidently been one of them.

It explained why he’d been less combative than the rest of the adults in Birdon Leaf. He actually understood the true purpose behind the tithes the Highlanders paid the guild. Only a pathfinder stood a good chance of finding their way. It was why they held such a unique position in a land as fractured as the Highlands.

“If what you say is true,” Caden said, “how does anybody in the Highlands travel?”

“Most are unwilling to chance the routes. In addition to the mists, the beasts are thicker up there and more aggressive. They’re a people ruled by fear. Luckily for them, there is a small, a very small, segment of the population that is able to find their way no matter how thick the mist gets. Isn’t that right, Shea?”

A muscle in Shea’s jaw twitched.

“It’s why the pathfinders are such a powerful influence,” Witt continued, holding Shea’s gaze. “Not many will risk upsetting the guild if it means they could be cut off from the rest of the lands. Anger the guild and they’ll forget your village exists. For a while. By the time they circle back around, the forgotten village is usually a fraction of what it was before, if it still exists.”

“They sound like they could be a powerful ally,” Fallon stated.

Shea looked sharply at the back of his head.

Witt shrugged. “It’s unlikely they’d agree. They’re not good at cooperating with outsiders.”

“We find their headquarters, and they’ll have no choice.” Fallon’s voice was steely as he made this observation.

“That’s the sticking point, isn’t it? You’d have to find it first.”

“Capture one of the villages and force them to tell us,” Caden said.

Shea begged silently for Witt to stop talking. This was information they shouldn’t have.

“They won’t know it.”

Any hope Shea had that he’d be willing to help her escape disappeared. Just like that. Helping the Trateri survive in the Lowlands and not sabotaging them every moment of the day was understandable. Neither one of them was a native and had no real loyalty to the people below the cliffs. Revealing Highland secrets. Revealing guild secrets. There was no coming back from that.

Worse, he was betraying Shea. She’d counted him as a sort of friend once. She even looked for him on the rare occasions she was in camp in the hopes that she might be able to help him escape.

His fingers tapped idly against the table. After that last revelation, he very determinedly avoided looking in her direction.

“Who does?” Caden asked.

Witt didn’t answer. His finger tapped faster.

Shea’s chest rose on a shaky breath as her gaze darted from one end of the tent to the other. If she thought she was in trouble before, she’d been wrong. Very wrong

“The pathfinders,” Fallon said, his voice as loud as a shout to Shea’s ears.

Caden looked up at Shea. Her eyes were fixed on a point behind them, but sensing his gaze, she straightened her shoulders and stood taller. There would be threats. Probably pain.

“I do not envy you,” Caden told Fallon.

Shea didn’t hear Fallon’s response, but whatever it was caused Caden to smile and rise. He clapped Witt on the back.

“Let’s go. I have other tasks for you today.”

Witt rose, giving Fallon a sharp nod and followed Caden towards the exit.

Shea darted after them reaching out to grab Witt’s arm. She deserved an explanation. She didn’t understand. Why? Why had he gone to the other side?

“Shea.” Fallon’s voice rang loudly in the small space. Shea came to a stop while the other two gave her small looks, Witt’s slightly apologetic, Caden’s amused. The amount of force Fallon put behind the unspoken command kept her in place even as her mind urged her to follow Witt and demand answers.

She turned back to Fallon, forcing herself to ask politely, “Is there something you needed, Warlord?”

His eyes burned coldly into hers. “I have not given you permission to leave.”

Shea took a deep breath. Composure came slowly and was paper thin when she asked with as much deference as she could muster, “May I be dismissed?”

He advanced on her until he was just inches away, invading her space. Shea kept her eyes on a stray thread on the collar of his shirt. The anger and hurt that had been growing during their conversation was written on her face.

“Look at me,” he said in a low deadly voice.

Inch by inch her eyes lifted until they trained on his forehead. His face gave no quarter and held none of the lover she’d seen last night.

“Since this is a new position with new duties, I have tried to be lenient. That may have been a mistake,” he began. Shea barely managed to conceal her flinch at the ice in his voice. “For future reference, my personal guards do not ask to be dismissed. They leave when I tell them to. They also do not accost my guests in my own chambers. If this happens again, I will have you stripped to your skin, tied to a post and whipped bloody. You are not my Tolroi. You chose to throw that offer back in my face. You’ve chosen to be a guard, and you will act with all the décor of one. If you fail, you will be disciplined just as I would any of my men. I am the Warlord, and you will treat me with all the respect that position deserves. Is that clear?”

“Very.” Shea’s hands were shaking with the strength of her emotions.

“Now, you are dismissed. Inform the captain of the guards that I intend to ride out in an hour, and I want ten of my guard and one squad from Earth Clan’s army and another squad from Horse Clan’s to march with us.”

“Understood.”

Shea turned to leave.

“In case it’s not clear in that thick head of yours already, you will be joining me. I wouldn’t want to leave without my personal scout.”

Shea’s eyes closed. She’d expected as much but had hoped he’d leave her behind.

She nodded once and left.

Outside, she waited until she was out of sight of the men guarding his quarters before allowing herself to fall apart. Her body trembled, and she had the urge to curl up in a protective ball.

They were planning to invade the Highlands, and they needed her to do it. How long before Fallon tired of seduction and chose torture instead? Furthermore, Shea was about four months overdue to check in with the guild. Were they aware she was missing? Were they even now sending out a party to discover what had happened to her?

Pathfinders were scarce since most prospects died during the final test. When one disappeared, the elders usually tried to discover what happened, whether it was because of the wilds or more suspicious circumstances.

Witt had been right when he said the elder’s had been known to abandon settlements to the wilds. However, the reasons behind such an act were usually more serious than a simple political disagreement. It usually involved the death of a pathfinder at the hands of villagers.

Not everybody was content to give the guild tithes for its continued help. Sometimes they took that emotion out on those responsible for acting as a link to the outside world.

The unspoken threat of abandonment usually worked, and pathfinders were left un-accosted, even as they remained outsiders in the settlements they were sent to serve.

Shea could only hope Birdon Leaf had come up with some excuse to waylay the elders. Even that hope was slim after four months. If they hadn’t already, they would send someone before much longer.

From the way Fallon had thrown her refusal to be his Tolroi in her face, she guessed he wasn’t as sanguine about her rejection as he first led her to believe. No man enjoyed rejection and that double for a warlord used to taking what he wanted.

He now saw her as something of a challenge. If it had been any other type of man, she might have been able to turn that to her advantage. But with a man like that? A man incapable of being influenced or led around by his dick? No. Fallon would demand any woman to follow his pace, dance to his tune.

Shea had made the right decision this morning. Best not to fall any deeper in with him.

Composed again, Shea stood. She needed to find Caden and give him Fallon’s message. She might even be able to use this situation. Two squads and Fallon’s ten men would be a lot easier to slip away from than a whole army.

She’d wait and bide her time.

After asking several men for Caden’s location, Shea finally tracked him down at the training fields. He was in the midst of sparring with another man. They flowed back and forth across the field, their blades parrying and striking with a liquid grace. It was elegant, terrifying and amazing all at once.

Both men were masters of their craft, and it showed in the speed with which they moved and the precise blows they struck.

Shea lingered at the edge of the practice area, unsure whether she should interrupt or not. On one hand, the message from Fallon was important, and he was the warlord. On the other, Caden was technically Shea’s superior and could make things very difficult for her if angered. Pissing off just one person this morning was enough.

Shea hated this indecisiveness. It wasn’t like her. She wasn’t used to not knowing what to do. On the trail, she rarely felt overwhelmed and always had a plan. But here? This place was a never ending maze of frustration and questions.

A loud grunt rose as the stranger saw his chance and lunged forward. Caden parried at the last moment, sliding his blade under and then over his opponents to sneak under his guard and land a blow squarely on his opponent’s chest.

Caden drew back and said, “You saw victory and got careless.”

“I should have known you wouldn’t drop your guard like that.”

Seeing her chance, Shea stepped forward drawing Caden’s attention.

“What is it, girl?”

Shea related Fallon’s message.

“Understood.” When Shea just stood there, not knowing what to do next, Caden ordered sharply, “Return and help your master prepare for the journey.”

Shea dipped her head in reply and turned to do just that.

“Is that the girl the men are talking about?”

“Yes.”

“What is she doing running messages for the warlord?”

“She refused the position of his Tolroi. He made her one of his guard instead.”

There was a low whistle before the stranger said, “Talk about poking a lion when it’s asleep.”

Caden barked a laugh. Whatever was said next, was lost as Shea moved out of hearing range.

As was her habit, Shea scanned the area for possible dangers even while lost in thought. It was why, despite being distracted, she noticed Witt coming out of a tent.

Seeing her chance, she moved quickly, catching up to him and saying softly, “Witt.”

His head turned. He didn’t seem surprised to see her standing behind him and waved the two men he was with to continue without him.

“Shea. Somehow, I’m not surprised that you would track me down.”

“That makes one of us.”

He sighed wearily. “I expect you have questions.”

Her silence spoke for her.

“Perhaps we could do this later.”

Her glare and crossed arms didn’t intimidate him, and the two lapsed back into silence.

Shea, knowing she didn’t have much time before she was missed, broke first. “Why?”

Witt looked away from her, staring into the distance.

“Why did you tell him all of that? If anybody in the Highlands finds out, you’ll be exiled or stoned. Why couldn’t you have just kept silent? They wouldn’t have known any different.”

“Did you ever wonder why we were sent to that village to discuss trade negotiations?”

Shea blinked at Witt. That wasn’t an answer to her questions.

“What?”

His eyes slid back to hers. “I know you’re smart enough to have put together that Goodwin of Ria was a setup. That you, Dane and I were thrown away because we were considered expendable.”

Shea’s mouth clicked close, and her eyes dropped from his. Yes. She had suspected as much.

“Then you have your answer,” he told her simply.

She caught his arm as he moved away from her.

“What answer? You have a few suspicions and suddenly your loyalties shift? That’s not an answer, Witt. That’s an excuse.”

“It’s not a suspicion,” he said in a gruff voice. “Paul confessed as much when Fallon questioned us after you escaped. The idiot thought he’d be somehow exempt from being taken prisoner since he helped the elders set it up.”

Shea dropped his arm abruptly.

Witt’s eyes held pity as he watched the expression drain from her face, leaving her feeling numb.

What fools they were.

The guild was going to have their blood when they found out.

“Still, that doesn’t mean you should punish the entire Highlands for the actions of a few blind, self-serving men.” Shea meant what she said, even if her voice currently lacked conviction.

Witt’s snort was ugly as his lips twisted in sneer.

“A few men? Those same men are in every village, every city and every fort in the Highlands. It’s a sickness of the soul, and it’s sunk so deep I doubt there is a single settlement left unaffected.”

The bitterness in his voice was too potent, too raw for him to be speaking from anything but experience.

Shea’s thoughts went back to him describing the guild excising villages that angered them. Had something similar happened to Witt? She knew he wasn’t native to Birdon Leaf. It was one of the reasons she’d related to him. He was an outsider like her, although more accepted.

“Why do you say that?” she found herself asking.

“My home village, the one I grew up in, was much like Birdon Leaf. It had elders who just pushed and pushed and pushed until one day their stupidity got a pathfinder killed. That was the beginning of the end. The guild refused to place another pathfinder with us. We were cut off from everybody and everything. People stopped trading with us, which meant we didn’t have enough food or supplies. All the men who left, trying to find their way to help, never came back. They probably died in the wilderness somewhere if they weren’t carried off by the mist.”

Shea knew what came next. She’d grown up on stories of what happened to villages that killed their pathfinders.

“It wasn’t long after that the first beast attacked. At first it just picked off one villager after another. Before long, we had an infestation, not just the big ones like revenants or red backs, but lichkers and flesh eaters as well.”

“How did you survive?” Shea asked when he stopped talking.

“My mother put me in the cellar. She followed the old ways and had warded it with lope root and beast blood. Too bad, though. There wasn’t enough food for two. She starved so I could live.”

Shea’s nose prickled as she imagined the horror as one day bled into another, and his mother slowly wasted away right in front of him.

“I did live. Barely. When the beasts had picked our village clean, I made my way to the next outpost. I almost died three times.

“So you see Shea, I do know what I’m talking about because after my village perished, I saw the same stupidity again and again in so many other villages. I have no problem with the Trateri marching on Birdon Leaf. At least that will be quicker then what your people will do to them.”

“You know Birdon Leaf won’t be the only one to suffer,” she said as he turned away. “It’ll be the rest of the Highlands as well.”

“That’s fine with me,” he informed her. “I consider myself Trateri now. I’ve taken their venom and are as much a part of them as if I’d been born to the clans. I hope they find the Wayfarer’s Keep and force them out. As far as I’m concerned the Highlands would do better with the Trateri than the pathfinders.”

“I’m a pathfinder.”

“You’re one of the best I’ve met.”

Shea felt a slight lifting of her heart.

“But we both know one with your talents isn’t sent to a place like Birdon Leaf unless they’re being punished.”

Sadly, this was true.

“What did you do to warrant such a fate?”

Shea licked lips that had gone dry. Somehow she couldn’t get the words out. To explain her failure.

Witt shrugged and turned away saying, “You don’t have to tell me, lass. But don’t expect me to have any regret over what I did today. Here’s some advice, since I really do respect your abilities. Give Fallon what he wants, and throw your lot in with the Trateri. You’ll be happier for it.”

Chapter Twenty Two

Shea readied Fallon and herself for the journey in a daze. Packing supplies for the two of them required very little thought, and as a result, her mind continually wandered back to her conversation with Witt.

She had never imagined Witt would have such a story behind him. The bitterness he held was understandable. Shea knew excising a village was one of the tactics the guild employed to make sure the rest of the Highlands kept themselves in check. As an organization whose members were spread out over thousands of miles, it was important to maintain control. Otherwise incidents like the one Birdon Leaf instigated would happen more often.

A part of her was glad the men and women of Birdon Leaf who sent her and several others into slavery would be held accountable for their actions.

An image of Aimee, with her urchin’s smile and infectious giggle, wouldn’t leave her thoughts.

There was the rub. It wouldn’t be only the wrongdoers who paid. Everyone in the village would feel the repercussions of their actions. Hatred and distrust would be bred into any who survived and the cycle would continue.

Once that wouldn’t have bothered her.

“Give the men another week of rest before breaking camp.” Fallon’s voice got louder as he moved closer to his sleeping space, where Shea sorted through his things to pack. “Meet us at the rendezvous point in two weeks.”

“The men will appreciate the break, but leaving you to take care of matters with only a small force doesn’t sit right,” Darius said.

Shea slung Fallon’s pack over her shoulder and carried it into the other chamber.

Neither man glanced up as she set the bag next to hers by the door.

She’d packed only what she thought they’d need. Luckily, another guard was in charge of securing provisions and horses. All Shea had to worry about was clothing, a hygiene kit, and other necessary items for surviving on the trail.

“No, this can’t wait. The people targeting me are getting bolder. They’ve started expanding their base and turning those loyal to me. We need to draw them out before they cause any more damage. We can’t go any further with our plans until this is addressed.”

Darius leaned on the table with both hands and bent his head. “This is risky. We could lose everything.”

Fallon straightened from where he was studying the map and slapped Darius on the back.

“The higher the risk, the greater the reward. Besides, I’ll have my own personal scout with me to help me keep me out of any trouble I find.”

Shea glanced over at him to find both him and Darius studying her. She arched an eyebrow and bent to tighten the straps on her pack. She didn’t want anything coming undone.

“More likely she’ll leave you there to rot.”

“Naw. I think I’m growing on her. She hasn’t tried to escape for a whole week.”

Shea rolled her eyes as Darius threw his head back and laughed. The statement wasn’t that funny.

Darius’ chuckles subsided, and he turned to Fallon and held out his hand. “Good luck out there.”

“Ah, just think of it this way. If I die, you become the warlord.”

Darius’ lip curled as he shuddered. “Not for all the war spoils in this world. Nothing would be worth dealing with nags on the council. I’d better find you safe and in one piece at the rendezvous.”

Fallon smiled and walked over to Shea, picking up his pack and slinging it over one shoulder. “I’ll do my best to spare you from such a horrible fate, old friend.”

“See that you do.”

Following his lead, Shea grabbed her gear. After adjusting her pack, she looked up to find Fallon watching her with an enigmatic gaze. Meeting his eyes with a neutral gaze of her own, Shea waited for him to break the silence.

He did after a drawn out moment. “We’re off then.”

Not waiting for a response, he headed outside with Shea hurrying to keep up with him. They hadn’t far to go, just to the small clearing next to his guards’ tents.

The men had arranged themselves in several neat little lines, the horses’ nose to tail and each man sitting ramrod straight. Their dress was the same as most of what Shea had seen on the trail, well made, dark cloth for pants and varying darker colors for the loose shirts. There had to be over a hundred men assembled, considerably larger than the parties Shea was used to escorting. The truly impressive thing, however, wasn’t the clothes, the number of men, or the horses, though Shea would be interested to find out how they managed to get the infernal creatures to form such crisp lines. No, what was truly impressive was the way every single man came to attention as soon as their warlord stepped into view.

As one, they saluted, banging closed fists to their chests in a near synchronous clap of sound, then bowing slightly from the waist in a gesture of deep respect.

Fallon observed with an inscrutable look and when they had returned to their upright positions, he slapped his fist to his chest in return.

Without another word, he headed for a pair of horses at the front of the line. The first was a sleek, black stallion, prancing and tossing its head. At a glance, Shea could tell he’d be a handful. Willful, spirited, and probably temperamental.

No thanks.

Her eyes went to the second. She couldn’t quite call it a horse. It could best be described as a short, furry pony, with a barrel chest and thick stocky legs. It chewed enthusiastically at a piece of grass at its feet. Compared to the every other mount out here, it was the ugly step cousin of horses. It didn’t belong at all.

Fallon immediately headed for the stallion, which meant the squat creature was Shea’s.

Great. Guess that settled how she would be treated. Not as the person who had saved their Warlord’s life, twice she might add, but as a lowly aide who couldn’t even be trusted with a real horse.

Shea sighed inwardly. She had a feeling she knew how the next few days were going to go. She doubted it would be as easy to earn these men’s regard as it had been the men of Dawn’s Riders.

“She’s steadier than she looks,” Fallon told Shea as she fastened her ruck sack to the back of her saddle.

Shea mounted and gathered the reins in her hands. “They always are.”

He gave her an appreciative grin. Lifting one hand, he pointed forward, and they were off. The party getting underway as Fallon led the way out of camp.

Shea gave her beast a kick to prod it forward. It stubbornly remained still. She prodded harder. It waited a beat longer as if to tell Shea they only moved when the beast wanted.

Even when it began moving, the animal did so grudgingly. They weren’t even out of camp before the lead horses and their riders passed her.

Shea kept her face stubbornly pointed forward, not acknowledging the amused grins passing over her head as the riders passed on either side of her.

By the time the party crested its first hill, Shea and her stubborn mount were firmly at the back with only the rear guard behind her, and that only because they absolutely refused to pass her.

Being utterly unable to inspire the beast to go any faster, Shea sat back to enjoy the ride. If she ignored the three men behind her and tuned out the distant sounds of the group in front of her, she could almost pretend she was on a solo journey in the Highlands with the sun on her face, the wind in her hair and hundreds of miles of empty expanse between her and the nearest person.

The path curved and the last two riders in the party came briefly into view, ending Shea’s fantasy.

The pony kept a steady, short legged trot, completely different from the smooth gaits of the larger horses. It was by no means a comfortable ride, sending the teeth rattling in her head.

Shea caught up with the main group between one twist of the path and the next, surprised to find they had taken a break so soon in the trip.

A man intercepted her as she began to dismount. “Better to just stay seated, girl. You took too long catching up. We’re taking off directly.”

“I see.” Shea settled back into place, looking at the commotion around her. Sure enough, the men were heading for their mounts.

Looked like she wasn’t getting any rest during this stop, or any stop, given how slow this infernal creature was.

Sure enough, the pattern repeated with Shea and her mount falling behind almost immediately after setting off. When she caught up with them a few hours later, she didn’t even pause before continuing. She’d had a lot of time to think, riding along by herself and had worked out what was happening.

The time between breaks wasn’t long enough for an elite unit. No, they were waiting for her to fall behind so they could stop and then set off as soon as she caught up, leaving her no time to rest or eat. They’d probably picked the pony just for this reason. Their own personal brand of hazing.

Inwardly, Shea smiled. She wondered if this was Fallon’s plan or his men’s. In the end, it didn’t really matter. They miscalculated if they hoped to make her miserable. She enjoyed riding alone as it spared her from having to make conversation with Fallon or his men, though she loathed being the one dragging everyone down.

“Where are you going?” a man questioned as she rode past.

“Thought I’d get a head start. I’m sure you’ll catch up.”

He snorted and let her pass without a challenge.

Shea felt a tingling between her shoulder blades but resisted the urge to turn, knowing who it was drilling a hole in her back.

A half hour hadn’t even passed before Fallon rode past with his men hard on his heels. They flanked her briefly before she was once again left alone with her thoughts.

That set the tone for the rest of the day, though Fallon no longer let her pass them, instead having them mounted and moving out as soon as she came into sight.

She was exhausted that evening when she finally lifted her leg over the pommel and slid to the ground. Even that wasn’t to be the end, as she had to feed, water and then hobble her horse with the others.

Finished settling the beast for the night, she gave its neck an affectionate pat. They’d come to an understanding of sorts during the course of the day. She wouldn’t try to make it go any faster than a moderate trot, and the pony wouldn’t come to a complete stop and refuse to take another step. Not quite the relationship Shea usually had with her mounts, but she’d take it.

Sleeping pallets littered the small campsite. As was usual for fast journeys such as theirs, the Trateri hadn’t set up a shelter that would need to be torn down in case of a quick exit.

Fallon’s bags sat abandoned near the hobbled horses. Shea picked up on the unspoken order, shouldering them and heading for a spot near the middle of the proceedings, intending to set his pallet up where he’d be surrounded by his men.

“Fallon prefers to be on the edge,” a man spoke over her shoulder as she unrolled his blankets.

He pointed in the direction he meant. Shea gave him a quick nod and gathered both packs and the half unrolled blankets, before making her way to a little spot just far enough from the fire that its light wouldn’t bother him as he slept. She chose a site at the base of a tree with bark the color of ash and branches that bent gracefully under the weight of its leaves. After placing his pack at the head of the nest she created, she grabbed hers and stood.

Now, where should she set up hers?

Immediately, she discarded anywhere inside the circle of Trateri. Like Fallon, Shea preferred to be on the edge of things.

She found her ideal sleeping area on the opposite side of the campsite from Fallon’s. No one had bedded down within ten feet of her, leaving a nice little bubble of privacy. Just the way she liked it.

“You might as well pick those up and carry them back to where you set me up,” Fallon said from behind her.

Shea paused in the act of rolling out her blankets. “I prefer this spot,” she told him politely, determined not to let any action of his fluster her.

“And I prefer you next to me.”

There were several responses she could make to that statement. None of them polite.

“We don’t always get what we want,” she said.

She was tired. Muscles she hadn’t been aware of in years ached. Her lower back was one giant throb, and her ass hurt something dreadful. All she wanted to do was roll into her blankets and sleep.

“Indeed. You don’t.”

Well, she should have seen that coming.

“I’m not moving,” she told him flatly. “You have nearly a hundred men. I doubt I’ll be able to sneak off without at least one of them noticing, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

It was not quite the diplomatic, non-confrontational reply she had composed in her head, but it had been a long day and a headache was beginning to nag at the base of her neck.

“I’m done with this conversation.”

That was good. She was too.

Shea turned back to what she was doing.

Suddenly, she was up in the air, blankets and all, before finding herself lying belly down over Fallon’s shoulder. She let out a sound disturbingly close to a squawk.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, struggling to right herself.

There was a sharp crack and then a stinging in her ass cheeks. A series of catcalls and whistles sent Shea’s face up in flames.

“I told you I was done with the conversation.”

“I cannot believe you just did that,” she muttered at his back.

“You sleep next to me.”

He set her on her feet next to his sleeping pallet and walked away, his message clear. If she persisted in being stubborn and tried to set up somewhere else, he would escort her right back here, even if he had to manhandle her to do it.

She threw her stuff down, glaring at his retreating back.

Stupid, stubborn man.

Even if an aide normally stuck close to his master, Shea wasn’t doing that. Especially since both of them knew it was a bullshit title, made to keep her in his vicinity. He no more needed an aide than she needed an extra head. He hadn’t even had her perform any of an aide’s normal tasks.

Fine, if that’s the way he wanted it. No one said what time she had to go to bed. She’d just take a nice walk, maybe catch a nap while she was out. As long as she was back before they took off in the morning, he couldn’t accuse her of running off.

She stalked away, heading into the woods.

Her feet whispered through dead foliage as she made her way silently. She’d chosen to head into the deep forest, following a nearly nonexistent game trail. Coming to a steep hill, Shea veered off the path, picking her way past boulders and up a steep slope until she stood on the ridge.

Behind her lay the valley Fallon and his men camped in, while in front of her was a panorama of jagged hills and shadowed hollows. And trees. Lots and lots of trees.

She walked along the ridge line, careful of where she put her feet, not wanting to misstep and roll down the hill. It required all of her concentration and soon the frustration and anger from her encounter with Fallon drained away as the peace and serenity of her surroundings soothed her soul.

She missed the wide open expanses of her Highlands something fierce, where the only thing that shielded her view were steep mountains so tall they touched the stars. The heather and wild flowers in spring that turned an austere landscape into a thing of beauty. The enduring glory of the terrain that had existed for thousands of years and would continue doing so for thousands more.

After a day of constant riding, her legs and back welcomed the movement, though they began protesting before long. Noting an interesting formation of boulders in the distance that would give her an excellent vantage point over the valley and surrounding area, she pushed on with a goal in mind.

Finally she stood at the top of a rocky ledge jutting out from the side of the ridge, allowing her to walk out and sit on its edge, her feet dangling over the side. The sun was a giant orange ball as it set over the valley. In an hour, maybe two, it would be hidden from sight behind the mountains and the entire valley would be cast into shadow until true night fell.

Shea would have to head for lower ground before then or be stuck up here for the night. The path she had taken to her perch was too uncertain to attempt in the dark. For now though, she enjoyed the last of the day’s light and breathed deep as she basked in the calm of the world around her.

Shea shut her eyes to listen harder. Something didn’t belong. A sound, so faint and discordant from the normal sounds of animals, wind or trees, that she would have discounted it if she’d had less experience. Shea couldn’t quite place her finger on what it was about the sound that seemed off. All the dips in the hills made sound travel and rebound.

Shea tilted her head.

There.

Voices coming from not too far away.

Crap. Had Fallon sent men after her?

No. The voices were coming from the wrong direction. Furthermore, she thought she heard horses as well. No way could his men have gotten the horses up the path she’d taken.

Shea moved away from the ledge, keeping low. Since she didn’t know who these people were, it was best to approach the situation with caution. They might just be traders traveling from one town to the next. They could be Lowlanders out hunting. Or they could be decidedly less friendly. Staying hidden afforded her better protection than the sharpest blade and best weapons training ever could. You couldn’t harm what you didn’t know was there. She could always reveal herself later. Or not.

The noise sounded like it was heading directly towards her. Shea moved further away from the ledge, finding a little hollow between two of the rocks and tucking herself inside it.

Then she waited.

“Do you really think her plan will work?” a man asked plaintively.

“Of course, it will. The lady hasn’t been wrong once.”

Their voices were slightly muffled but perfectly understandable. Shea resisted the urge to stick her head out for a glimpse of the speakers. Hearing their conversation was more than enough. There was no need to risk discovery. Especially since they were making no attempt to be furtive.

“She did say she was forming a union with Fallon,” the first man pointed out. “That never happened, and she never made good on her promise to elevate our clan’s status.”

Fallon? What did these two have to do with him?

“You know he led her on, making promises until she allied with him and then breaking every single one. The man’s an oath breaker.”

“It doesn’t feel right, though? What we’re doing. This is dirty business. If she wanted him out of power, she should challenge him, face to face, as is our way.”

“And be killed? Where would our clan be then? You know he’s never lost a challenge.”

There was a pause. Then the first man declared, “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it,” the second man scoffed. “Just do what you’re told.”

Another silence followed, broken only by the sounds of the two moving around. It sounded like they were on the outcropping Shea had rested on earlier.

“Where is he anyway?” the first man burst out. “We’ve been looking for him and his men for hours.”

“Oh for the love of all that is holy, will you quit whining?”

“He may not even be out here. How do we even know the intel is good?”

“He’s out here.” Shea could hear the struggle for patience in the second man’s voice. “The lady herself came this time. The information’s from a very reliable source.”

The two lapsed back into silence.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, but was no doubt minutes, the second man said, “Let’s go. I don’t think we’ll be able to take the horses any further, and we can’t see anything here. Too many trees in the way. We’ll head back and see if any of the others have pinpointed their location.”

There was a murmured assent and then the sounds of movement heading away. Shea waited several minutes after the last sound had faded before peeking out of her hiding spot. Seeing no one, she stepped out.

That was a very interesting conversation. One that could have ramifications for her.

From what she could tell, the two men were part of an ambush party led by a mysterious woman. A woman, Shea strongly suspected was the same woman she had overheard the cartographer talking to right before Shea rescued Fallon.

This would make the second attempt on Fallon’s life that Shea knew of. If she was a betting woman, she’d say her first encounter with Fallon in the village of Edgecomb had been another. Three attempts on one man’s life. An important man with an army at his back controlled only by his iron fist.

She knew that despite Fallon’s brutal tactics in conquering the Lowlands, things could be much worse for the people here. She shuddered to think what his army would do should he be murdered.

The traitors in his own camp would likely cast doubt on the Lowlanders in the area to distract his men from finding the real murderers.

The Lowlands would run red with rivers of blood as the Trateri avenged their fallen leader. Someone they counted as a hero who would lead them into a golden era. At the end of it all, the traitors would probably have exactly what they wanted, control of the Trateri and all the Lowlands but without the vision Fallon brought to his conquest.

Or, conversely, it could cast the Trateri back into turmoil with each clan battling with the next. And the Lowlanders with a front row seat to it all.

Either scenario didn’t end well for the Lowlanders.

But.

This could also be a golden opportunity for Shea.

On one hand, Fallon’s men were well trained, elite fighters. Shea had never seen them fight, but from what she’d seen of Fallon and his skills, she had no doubt they were lethal men.

With the element of surprise and an attack at precisely the right time from an overwhelming force, even an elite group could fall.

Shea could go home. With Fallon dead, there would be no one to exercise the penalty on Eamon, Buck and the others.

Home.

Back to Birdon Leaf. The people who had sent her on a mission knowing that she and the others would be sold into Trateri hands. People who, in the entire time she resided in their village, had not made one attempt to get to know her, show her any respect or extend even an ounce of compassion.

Of course, she didn’t have to return to Birdon Leaf. Given the village’s crimes, Shea was sure the guild would station her elsewhere.

She missed her Highlands.

But.

If she left, Fallon would die. That vexing, frustrating, man with the godlike body and a razor sharp mind would cease to exist in this world.

Shea hurt, her heart actually hurt, at the thought of never matching wits with him again. At never verbally sparring with him.

For the first time in almost longer than she could remember, Shea felt like she was a part of something. She had friends here. People she trusted. She would not, could not abandon them for a people she felt no kinship for and furthermore did not trust to have at her back.

Going home would feed a need in her. Yes. But the sad truth was that the home she wanted no longer existed. All that was left for her back there was heartbreak and disappointment.

If it had been otherwise, she would have taken one of the countless opportunities she had to escape. They had been there, over and over again, but she always found some reason to stay a little bit longer.

Feeling her decision settle around her, Shea smiled. It was bittersweet. Full of loss and hope. One path had closed to her. It had been gone a long time. She had just been too stubborn to see it. There would be no winning redemption. No rejoining the fold.

She missed her Highlands. Yes. But she knew better than anybody, home wasn’t a place; it’s a state of mind. It’s the people you’re with. And for her, those people were all here.

Perhaps, if she had truly believed that Fallon’s death would have been the better option for the Lowlands, she might have taken this easy way. But the cork was out. The Trateri wouldn’t stop coming, even with Fallon gone. She’d rather he shape what this land could be than allow others to pervert it.

Shea headed along the ridge, careful to keep her silhouette small to limit the potential of someone seeing her. At the first opportunity, she slid down the hill, moving as quietly as she could as she made her way back to camp.

Night was coming fast now. The sun had sunk behind the mountains, leaving only dim shadows behind.

Shea snuck past the two men they had left on lookout. She hadn’t been gone long and hoped they hadn’t noticed her absence. It was a faint hope, but she didn’t want to start this off with a confrontation between herself and Fallon. She needed him to believe her and the chances of that happening dwindled if he was already furious.

She had just stepped into camp when a dark form hurtled at her from the side, tackling her and sending her face down into the dirt. Rough hands yanked her arms behind her back, tying them with a rope.

The man dragged her to her feet and marched her to a trio engaged in an intense conversation. Fallon was one of those men. He looked furious.

Perhaps it had been foolish to think he might dismiss her disappearance and attribute it to the call of nature. She had a feeling the next few minutes were going to be rough.

Eamon’s advice from their first mission echoed through her mind. She really hoped this wouldn’t be the scenario he’d warned her against. She needed these men to trust her.

“Fallon,” Caden said. “Your little mouse has returned.”

The men broke off their conversation to fix her with varying degrees of threatening stares. None looked particularly relieved to see her. If anything they seemed even angrier.

“Hello,” Shea said weakly.

Fallon stepped forward, looming over her. He brushed her hair away from her face and then rubbed his thumb lightly at a spot of dirt on her cheek.

Dropping his hand, he said calmly, “Where have you been?”

“I thought I’d take a walk.”

It was the truth. Such as it was.

“A walk.”

“Yes, a walk.”

“And why did you feel you needed to take a walk?” his voice never once varied from its eerie calm.

Shea felt more anxiety from that calm tone than she would have if he’d just started yelling.

“Well.” She stopped. How could she put this in a way that would make her actions seem perfectly reasonable? “I was angry.”

“You were angry?” The first sign of emotion began to show on his face.

“Oh boy,” Caden said softly.

Shea wasn’t encouraged when he jerked his head at the other two who turned and walked away, leaving Shea facing Fallon with Caden at her back.

“Yes. You upset me when you bodily moved me from where I intended to sleep.” Remembering the events sent a thread of that same anger through her body. She might have decided she didn’t want him dead, but that didn’t mean she’d forgotten all the insults he’d piled on over the past few days.

“I see.”

He did?

Without warning, he grabbed the front of her shirt and jerked her up to his face, leaving her balancing on tiptoes as he snarled down at her.

“Do you have any idea what I would do to you if you were any other person?” He shook her. “Any other man in my army would be up on charges for abandoning a post.” Another shake. “The penalty for that is death. Death, you daft woman. You drive me mad. I could have you beaten bloody and then quartered.”

“Yes, yes. I get it,” Shea said sarcastically. She even rolled her eyes for emphasis. All of her good intentions flew the coop in the face of his fury. “You’re the big, scary warlord, and I’ve embarrassed you in front of all your men. Shame on me. Should I apologize My Lord High and Mighty?”

All of a sudden the anger drained from his face, leaving behind a man oozing lethality with every move he made, as he gently drew one finger down the column of her throat. “Is that all you think you’ve done, my fire? Embarrass me?” he chuckled, his voice sinfully low. “If you had been my Tolroi, maybe. As my aide, you’ve disobeyed me, flaunted our laws and abandoned your duty. That contains entirely different repercussions. Now what am I going to do with you?”

Shea swallowed hard, feeling his hand encircle the base of her throat, his thumb moving up and down the side of her neck in a caress that sent shivers rushing down her back.

“If I were you, I would be thanking me for coming back, especially when you hear what I have to say. I could have left. Headed for home, but I came back. To you. That should grant me some mercy.”

His eyes sharpened with interest, though he didn’t move his hand, just kept up that maddening caress.

Receiving a slight nod to continue, Shea said, “There’s an ambush coming. I’m not sure where or how many men lie in wait, but I know there are men posed to strike.”

Fallon’s caress stopped and Caden moved around front, watching her carefully.

“Continue,” Fallon said.

“I overheard two men talking out there about looking for someone. I think they were looking for you, and I don’t think they planned to be very friendly when they finally caught up to you. They were planning an ambush.”

“Did you know them or see what they were wearing?” Caden asked.

Shea shook her head. “No, I heard them coming and hid since they were coming from the opposite direction of camp.”

The two men shared a look, but neither seemed surprised. As if they were expecting an attack.

Shea thought back to Darius’s concern over Fallon leaving with only a hundred men, seeing it in a different light. Had he known even then?

If so, why? As bait, maybe? A way to draw out the traitors hiding in Fallon’s ranks?

This whole excursion could be one giant trap. A counter ambush that took care of Fallon’s opposition in one fell swoop.

Shea looked around the clearing with new eyes, seeing things she had missed before. There was none of the ease the men would typically have at the end of a day. Instead of playing cards or bones, men polished swords and fixed what little armor they wore. There was an alertness about them that said they were prepared for an attack at any moment.

Shea had thought nothing of it earlier, attributing it to behavior befitting an elite group of warriors. The best in the army if camp fire gossip was to be believed. Now, she saw it as something else entirely.

“You knew about the attack,” Shea said, a little dazed at the astounding risk he was taking.

“We hoped our enemies would take advantage of our situation,” Fallon told her.

“We never thought it would come this soon,” Caden groused. “We’re barely a day out from the main encampment. Considering slow poke’s pace today, we didn’t make it nearly as far as we would have normally.”

“Hey!” Shea exclaimed. “You gave me a pony that was half as tall as your mounts.”

Caden scoffed and turned back to Fallon. “We can send scouts to pinpoint their position. It might give us an idea of where and when they are planning to attack. Might even tell us who is behind everything.”

“Their leader is a woman from the sound of it,” Shea chimed in, tired of being on the periphery of the conversation.

“What do you mean? I thought you didn’t see them. You couldn’t have seen if they were wearing clan covers if you didn’t lay eyes on them.” Caden sounded suspicious.

“I didn’t say I saw them. However, they kept talking about a lady. Said Fallon was an oath breaker who led her on and broke her heart.”

“Indra,” Fallon spat out.

“I told you that woman wouldn’t take your refusal of her bed lightly.” Caden groused.

“I never made her promises or indicated she would rule beside me as Telroi.”

“Aye. I know it, and we know she’s not in this alone. There has to be at least one other feeding her information and helping her plan,” Caden said.

When they both looked at Shea, she shrugged. “Don’t look at me. That’s pretty much the extent of what I heard out there. Anything else and you’ll have to figure it out on your own.”

“You’ve been very helpful,” Fallon observed.

Caden cleared his throat hiding what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. “I’ll see to the men while you tame your mouse.”

With Caden’s departure, Fallon focused solely on Shea, pinning her under an intense gaze that saw through her every defense straight to the person hiding inside.

It was a heady feeling, imagining he knew her every secret, her every desire. For someone whom loneliness was practically a state of being, it made her feel wanted, cherished even.

“You have a choice to make,” Fallon said, stepping close and bending his head towards her. “You either become my Tolroi or you leave, tonight. Where you go, I don’t care as long as you’re gone from here.”

Shea’s breath stuttered and she blinked. Then blinked again. She’d expected him to yell. Castigate her for taking off alone. Maybe, if she was lucky, thank her for the intelligence she had happened across. Offering to let her go back to the Highlands was not even on the list. It was nowhere near the list and in fact would be the very last thing she ever thought to hear from his mouth.

“You’d do that. You’d let me go back to the Highlands?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

No thoughts showed on his face, no hint as to his feelings. He was every inch the untouchable warlord in that moment.

He reached behind her and undid the rope binding her hands.

Shea couldn’t help the feeling of uncertainty. As recently as that afternoon, she would have taken the second option without a moment’s doubt. Her inner struggle on the ridge had thrown all of that off center. She had decided to come back, to give this life a chance, to see if it held what she’d been searching for since the moment she could walk.

Now he was telling her she had a choice.

It was easy to stay when there was no choice. It was even easy when a person’s life hung in the balance.

But this choice would be different. She would have to choose it willingly. Eyes opened and accepting of any consequences that might come.

She had warned Fallon. He and his men wouldn’t be surprised by any ambush. Eamon and the others’ lives were no longer in the balance. She could walk away free and clear and never suffer a crises of conscience.

“What if I stayed as a scout?”

“No. You’d have to be my Tolroi.”

Shea wanted to stomp her foot like a three year old. She settled for a grimace. “You’re being absurd. Let me stay as a scout, and I’ll consider becoming your Tolroi.”

“You already know my answer to that.”

“Why? Why is this so important to you?”

He moved then, grabbing the front of her shirt and pulling her up to his face before wrapping one arm around her back to support her. “Because you have already made your choice whether you’re willing to admit it or not. Because when you were gone I knew fear such as I have not known since I was a boy watching my father die, and my mother take her own life rather than face dishonor, not because I thought you had run to my enemies but because you were out there somewhere on your own, perhaps hurt or scared or in pain, and I wasn’t there to help you. But mostly, because you are mine, and I crave the same commitment from you.”

He snarled such sweet words in such an angry voice, as if he wasn’t thrilled with these reasons but accepted them none the less.

The most profound words Shea had ever heard, the kind that etched themselves deep into the soul. She knew if she lived a hundred years she would remember them.

Slowly, inch by slow inch, she slid out of his arms until she was fully supporting her own weight. He straightened and stared impassively down at her. An outsider looking in would never have suspected the depth of emotion he’d just given her seconds ago.

Arching one eyebrow, he told her, “You should also know, should you choose to return to your Highlands, that once I have dealt with the traitors in my midst, I will march my army into the heart of those lands and not stop until I have you again.”

After a stunned moment, Shea threw her head back and laughed. “You are a warlord.”

The laughter faded and her gaze was soft as it landed on him. A small smile played on her lips.

Her choice was an easy one. It had been made a long time ago. Perhaps as long ago as that day she had looked up at the platform and seen a pair of whiskey colored eyes staring back at her.

It wasn’t in her nature to give everything so easily, however.

“I’m staying,” she informed him before turning her back and making her way over to her blankets.

“As my Tolroi,” he bellowed after her.

“We’ll see,” she called back.

A grin overtook her face as she headed for their sleeping area. Cocky bastard.

That was the last moment of levity that night. After that, the men were busy with preparations. Everyone knew an attack was imminent, but not where it would come from or what odds they faced. Caden dispatched scouts following a conversation with Fallon. Shea tried to volunteer to show them where she had encountered the enemy, but Fallon said no and once the warlord decided something nobody was willing to argue.

After that, there was nothing to do but wait.

Fallon joined Shea where she had bedded down for the night, scooping her up and pulling her with him under his blankets.

“My Tolroi sleeps with me,” he informed her.

He arranged her so her front was pressed to his side and her head on his chest. He cushioned his head on one arm and looked up at the starry night sky peeking through the trees.

“Is this going to become a thing? Where you make a statement of what your Tolroi does and expect me to follow it?” Shea asked, drawing her fingers in a light caress on his chest.

“It is not a statement. It’s fact.”

Shea smiled. In their past interactions, she hadn’t noticed how funny he was. He’d always struck her as serious.

This thing between them felt so new and yet old at the same time. She pressed a kiss against his skin. She hoped they lived long enough to explore it further.

Chapter Twenty Three

Shea stirred when her pillow shifted under her. A rumble under her ear and a voice speaking quietly over her head brought her fully to consciousness.

“What’s going on?” she asked sleepily as Fallon carefully slid out from under her, lowering her to the ground.

“The scouts have returned.”

Shea sat up.

“Go back to sleep,” he told her.

“Listen, you. If this thing between us is to work, you’re going to have to treat me as a partner or I walk. Not in everything.” She held up a hand to forestall the automatic refusal she saw coming. “You’re the warlord. I get it and I have no interest in being involved with every little thing you do, but when it concerns me and my wellbeing or a skill I excel at, you will involve me and treat me as an equal.”

“I do not respond well to ultimatums,” he informed her.

“I don’t respond well to being pushed to the side or patted on the head.”

The man who had woken them left as they had a mini stare down. In this, Shea was not budging. She knew that in many things she would have to compromise, but this was one thing she knew to be essential to her happiness and continued well-being. He either learned to live with it, or she would take him up on the other choice he’d offered her last night.

“Fair enough,” he said grudgingly.

Shea held back the relief she felt, knowing that at the first sign of smugness he might recant.

“It won’t always go your way this easily,” he told her.

“I’m counting on it. What’s life without a little challenge?”

A flash of teeth in the darkness should have warned her. He grasped her behind the neck and hauled her to him, pressing his lips against hers, consuming her in a passionate kiss that left her panting afterwards.

He buried his face against the side of her neck as they both struggled to catch their breath. She felt his lips curve in a smile as he pulled away. “Well, let’s go, my fire.”

Caden, Trenton and another man waited for them near the fire. Shea looked around, picking out the outlines of the rest of Fallon’s men in the dark. Though it was the middle of the night, very early morning to be precise, all were awake. Either sitting, standing or in the process of packing their gear.

A map was spread out close to the flames and pinned to the ground with small rocks. Colored pebbles were placed where Shea estimated their current position to be. Different pebbles were placed a fair distance further down the map as a representation of their enemy.

“We’ve managed to locate their force and believe they plan to attack once we reach this point.” Caden indicated the spot on the map.

“Why there?” Fallon asked.

“They’ll be able to place archers on the cliff here.” Another pointed finger. “Since our way narrows up ahead with a thick forest of trees and brush on one side and the hills closing in on us behind it. There’s no way we’d be able to veer left. If they cut off both our way forward and to the rear, they could potentially deal heavy damage even with a small force.”

The area Caden had shown on the map was several miles further north and west of where Shea had traveled the previous evening so she didn’t have firsthand experience with the territory. It seemed a fairly accurate assessment from the information laid out before them.

“How did they even get in front of us? We were riding slowly, but not that slow,” Trenton said.

“We only told this route to one person. The rest of our suspects were given an alternate route.” Caden said with his eyes firmly fixed on the map. “We have a traitor, someone high up in the ranks.”

Fallon sighed heavily. “You mean my half-brother.”

Shea’s head lifted in surprise. She’d met him. The half-brother had been Fallon’s polar opposite. Convinced of his own superiority but without Fallon’s charisma and force of presence to back it up.

“You know he’s been jealous of you for years,” Caden said softly.

“Jealousy is a long leap to assassination,” Fallon said. “No, until we have concrete proof I will not accuse him. The information could have leaked another way.”

“Fallon-”

“Enough. No more on this subject,” Fallon snapped. “We’ll learn one way or another in a short time.”

“Unless the mastermind slips back to the main camp,” Shea said. When all three pairs of eyes came to rest on her, she shifted. Perhaps she should have kept her observation to herself. She shrugged, “It just seems he or she has been good at covering their tracks up until now. It would be an unnecessary risk to stick around to make sure the deed is done when you’ve slipped from their trap so many times before.”

“That’s exactly why I think the involved party will be here,” Fallon told her. “They’re growing frustrated. They’ll want to make sure nothing goes wrong this time and to gloat at finally having my neck under their sword. You attribute a level of intelligence to them they simply do not possess.”

Shea didn’t know about that. Their plans seemed pretty clever to her. It was pure dumb luck she interfered on two separate occasions.

“We’ll need to turn their trap against them,” Fallon said. “With the difficult and unfamiliar terrain, it would be foolish to try to attack before first light.”

He was right. If he tried to have his men attack now, they were just as likely to fall off a cliff in the dark, or get thrown from a horse and break their neck, as carry out the attack successfully. Not knowing the land greatly hindered them. Lucky for them, their opponent wasn’t any more familiar with this territory.

Fallon studied the map for a long moment before finally saying, “We’ll need to spring the trap. I’ll lead my men into it. Caden will take a group and attack the archers waiting above on the cliff. If we take care of them, it will be easier to fight our way through the men in the valley.”

Easier, but not guaranteed. Fallon’s men would be fighting on two fronts. Nobody had mentioned the numbers they faced so Shea figured they didn’t have a good estimate. That number could be significantly greater than the small force Fallon had brought.

Trenton sighed. “Looks like the boys are in for a time of it.”

Fallon clapped him on the back. “Wouldn’t be the first time, nor I suspect, the last. We’ll leave before dawn. If we can get there before they’re expecting us, we can throw off their timing.”

To Shea, he said, “You’ll be going with the group heading up the cliffs. The pony shouldn’t slow you down as much there. She’s better with the hills and rocky terrain than our plains horses.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Shea said.

The rest of the night passed both too slowly and too fast. Sleep was impossible after the strategy session. Fallon spent the few hours before their departure with his men fine tuning their plans and talking with them.

He rotated from group to group, slapping backs and just being there for them. Chances were good that some might not come out of tomorrow alive, and he let them know they were appreciated, that they meant something.

They loved him for it. They loved him.

As they got into position the sun was beginning to rise above the twin mountain peaks in the east. Brilliant oranges, magentas and reds billowed across the horizon. It was the most brilliant sunrise Shea had ever seen. She fervently hoped it wasn’t her last.

“Lass, the Warlord gave orders for you to stay out of sight when we attack,” Caden said softly next to her.

Shea considered his words and found she had no problem with that. Unlike the rest of his men, she had little training when it came to weapons and what she did know was defense based. Mostly how to defend long enough to run away. Up until she had fallen in with the Trateri, she’d only drawn a blade against a beast.

Furthermore, she had no desire to use a weapon against another human being. She would if it was her life or theirs, but preferred it didn’t come to that.

“I understand,” she whispered back.

“That means you are not to leave this hiding spot,” he clarified.

“That’s fine.”

“No running out into the middle of battle, distracting my men.”

“Heard you the first time.”

“It would be dangerous.”

“Yup, I understand.”

“And no-“

“Caden! I understand. I’ll stay hidden. I won’t run out to get killed or distract others who could get killed.”

He watched her skeptically. “You’re awfully understanding. Completely different from your scout master’s description.”

She grinned. Ah, to be arguing with Eamon again. She missed driving him crazy with her latest stunt.

“Believe me. I have no intention of interfering in your mission. I know as little about swords as you do about beasts. I am quite aware and embrace my limitations.”

Their entire conversation took place nearly silently, as they kept their mouths close to each other’s ears.

A bird’s call came trilling through the forest. That was the first sign.

Caden’s body hardened next to hers as he used his hands to signal his men.

The archer’s must have come into view. Now all they had to do was wait until Fallon sprung the trap for the action to begin.

Shea settled down and rested her chin on the ground. It wouldn’t be too long now.

They waited.

And waited.

And waited an eternity more.

Or so it felt.

The second bird call came.

Rustling came from where the archers hid. Shea could see the barest hint of movement from her hiding place amid the underbrush.

Caden glanced to his left and with his right hand pointed forward twice before looking to his right and signaling those men. They crept silently from their hiding spots, moving swiftly and lethally to the hidden archers. Caden tapped Shea on the shoulder before following them.

A furor rose from below, the furious sound of men engaged in battle, some killing, some being killed. Fallon must have set off the trap and was even now engaging the enemy.

Caden’s men dispatched the archers with little to no fuss. He emerged into Shea’s vision and signaled ‘all clear’ then gave her the sign for ‘stay in place’.

Shea heaved a sigh of relief that one part was done. At least Fallon and the rest would have a fighting chance.

Caden disappeared back behind the trees, leaving her to her thoughts. And the growing boredom.

She raised her head as she heard a rhythmic pounding. Rising, she peeked out of her hiding place. A large, brown stallion thundered over the hill carrying someone. Hair flared behind the rider’s head, and the flash of a face was briefly highlighted before the rider was gone. Up and over the hill and racing at breakneck speed along the ridge.

Indra.

Shea didn’t have time to call for Caden. She was up and racing down the hill at an angle to Indra in an effort to intercept her. If the woman had any hope of escaping, she’d need to head over the hill and then pick her way back down to the valley floor. The ridge would grow too steep and ragged for travel by horseback.

Shea ignored the men’s shouts behind her. She raced over uneven ground, leaping down steep grades, trusting her legs to hold her. She sank deep into her mind, visiting a place she had made her home over the years. A place where the protests of her body, the aches and pains, disappeared and all that was left was the surge of her muscles, the air pumping in her lungs and the blood flowing through her veins. The serenity of this place and the single minded purpose of taking that next step made her feel like she was flying, like she would never stop. In that moment, it felt like she could run all the way to the Highlands without ever stopping.

Her feet found firm purchase without her even thinking about it and almost immediately she left Caden and his men behind, their voices fading as she widened the distance between them.

Shea caught glimpses of Indra and her mount racing through the trees. Their progress was much slower than hers as the horse struggled with the uneven surface.

Sea leapt through the air, using a fallen tree as a spring board to give her jump height and tackled Indra, their combined weight carrying them both to the ground for a bone jarring thud. They rolled down a sharp incline, tumbling end over end. Shea landed one punch and then a vicious kick to Indra’s stomach before the momentum carried them away from each other.

A tree caught Shea in the side, bringing her to an abrupt halt. Grimacing and touching her split lip gingerly, she found her feet and staggered towards the other woman.

Indra whirled on Shea, drawing her blade in the process. It was no longer then her forearm but looked more than sharp enough. The way she held it said she’d spent many an hour practicing.

“You?! I should have known,” Indra spat.

Shea watched Indra and her body language very carefully. She had her own blade out as they circled each other.

“You and your damn interference are the reason nothing has gone according to plan.”

Shea couldn’t argue with that and didn’t even try, concentrating instead on catching her breath. She’d need it for the upcoming fight.

Indra gave her a cruel smile. “It’s to my fortune that you stopped me. I can finally dispose of the hindrance. Once you’re dead, Fallon should be easy enough to kill.”

Shea snorted inwardly at that. She doubted it. The lady was mad if she thought so.

“Thank you for making it so easy to get rid of you,” Indra continued. “It’ll spare me the trouble of having to do so later.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” Shea asked.

Indra gave her another smile that didn’t touch her eyes and then feinted towards her. Shea leapt back and watched carefully.

Indra closed in, her blade moving almost too fast to follow. It was mostly luck that Shea parried at the last moment. The more experienced woman forced Shea back as she executed a series of complicated maneuvers, scoring a strike on Shea’s forearm and left leg.

Shea sidestepped and circled quickly in the opposite direction, feeling the sting on both her arm and leg and then the cold slide of blood. The one on her arm wasn’t bad, striking close to bone but still shallow and being no longer than a finger length. It was the wound on her leg that worried her more. That one had bitten deep and bled profusely from a slice longer than her hand.

She needed to finish this quickly, before blood loss weakened her.

“Why do this?” she asked.

Indra liked to talk. Shea hoped to indulge that need.

“Why? Why?” the woman’s voice rose higher on each word. “Why not? That man had everything I ever wanted, and he wouldn’t even look twice at me. When I proposed our union, he laughed at me. Me! He should have been licking my feet in gratitude for even offering to mate with one from such poor family lines.”

Anger suffused Indra’s face, turning her beauty into a thing of ugliness. She swung at Shea, her movement lacking the same grace and pinpoint accuracy of moments before.

Shea evaded and then reversed her swing, missing but only because the other woman stumbled, falling and then rolling out of the way.

“I though Fallon’s grandfather was the warlord before him?”

“But his mother was a common Lowland strumpet,” Indra spat. “He’s not even full Trateri. His father used the Trateri’s venom to bring her into the clan. The same ritual he used to make you one of us. I guess he and his father share similar tastes. All the more reason to get him out of the way so he can’t taint our bloodlines any further.”

Shea gave her a wicked grin. “Sounds to me like you have more in common with a strumpet. Trying to bargain your way into power with what’s between your legs and all.”

Her words had the effect she intended, driving Indra into a rage. She attacked without hesitation, hammering at Shea’s defense.

Shea waited for her moment. Numbness was spreading from the cuts on her legs and arms, making her slow. She blocked Indra’s attacks over and over again, her arm growing weary and heavy.

Anticipating victory, Indra fell into a repetitive pattern, her blows becoming predictable as she committed all of her strength behind them.

Shea smoothly stepped to the side of one strike, letting Indra’s forward momentum carry her as Shea twisted and drove the point of her blade into Indra’s shoulder.

Indra made a peculiar gasp as she bent and flailed with one arm, trying to knock Shea back.

Shea ducked and then hooked one leg behind Indra’s, grabbing the flailing arm and bringing it down over her waist to force the other woman off balance.

She felt it as the woman’s weight reached the point of no return, following up smoothly as Indra fell to the ground with Shea on top of her. She trapped Indra’s sword hand with her knee and then brought her blade up to her neck.

“Shea!”

“What was that you were saying?” Shea asked, panting slightly “Something about removing the hindrance. How about I help you with that?”

“Shea, that’s enough,” Caden said from right next to her. His sword was out and pointed at Indra.

“Do it,” Indra hissed, raising her head and trying to impale herself on Shea’s blade.

Shea smiled at the woman under her. It wasn’t a very nice smile, evidenced by Indra’s barely perceptible flinch. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But, no, I think that would be too easy a punishment for you. I’m sure Fallon and Caden have some questions for you.”

“Coward.”

Shea paused in the act of climbing off Indra. She bent down, bringing her face close to the other woman’s.

“I don’t think so. I’m not the one fleeing from the consequences of my actions. That would be you. Seems those pure bloodlines you have don’t protect against common defects of character. Such a pity.”

With that, Shea stood and let Caden take over.

Two men moved past her and grabbed Indra, flipping her over and binding her arms behind her.

“Thought you agreed to stay hidden and not interfere,” Caden said, glaring at her.

Shea shrugged. “That was before I saw her fleeing. I saw a need and pursued it.”

He rubbed his head. “Fallon’s going to have my head.”

“I don’t see why. I did catch one of the conspirators.”

He gave her a look. One that said he was this close to relegating her to idiot territory. He grabbed her injured arm and jerked it forward. Shea couldn’t help the moan that escaped, fighting to stay on her feet as black spots ate at the edges of her vision.

He grabbed a length of cloth and pressed it against the wound to staunch the bleeding, forcing another moan out of her.

“This, this right here is why he wanted you to stay hidden,” he said, wrapping another strip of cloth around her arm to hold the compress in place. “He wants you safe, girl.”

“There’s no such thing as safe in the Broken Lands,” Shea said faintly. Boy, she was beginning to feel a little lightheaded. “I think I need to sit down.”

Caden cursed, the words out of his mouth heated enough to blister the air. A pair of firm hands guided Shea to a resting spot. It was a good thing too because black spots had stolen nearly all of her vision, and she wasn’t entirely sure she would have been able to find her seat on her own.

“I’ll let you tell him that,” Caden told her, continuing their previous conversation.

He jostled her as he pressed another wad of bandages against the wound on her thigh and then wrapped it tightly.

“Tell him what?”

“That there’s no such thing as safety when it comes to you. Then I’ll sit back and watch the explosion. It should be a good show.”

“I don’t know why you think that. It’s a fact. Had he left me back at the camp, his enemies might have been just as likely to eliminate me. And, in this situation, I did capture the woman.”

A dry bark escaped Caden. It took Shea a second to realize it was a laugh.

“Fallon lives to keep the people he cares about safe. He’s done all this to build the foundation of something that will guarantee the survival of the family he intends to have someday. You willingly jeopardizing that is not going to go over well.”

“Family?”

Caden sighed, his intense gaze meeting hers. “You. And whatever children the two of you create.”

Shea’s faintness returned.

“I thought I was just a passing fancy. That he’d eventually grow bored and move on,” she whispered.

Caden snorted. “For all your brains, you’re a bit slow.”

He stood and shook his head. Shea watched him go with an open mouth.

Family. Her. And Fallon.

She’d just begun to accept that they might have a chance at a small romance. That she might have some feelings for him. That she’d miss him if he was no longer in this world.

Last night. She’d accepted that fact last night.

She wasn’t ready for the rest of it. And definitely not the tiny people who would depend on her for everything. No. Just no.

“Bring the traitor. Fallon will want to see her,” Caden ordered. He pointed to a third man. “You. Help the idiot down to the valley. Things should be wrapping up there by now.”

The trip went quicker than she would have thought. In her pursuit, she had steered dangerously close to the battle and was more than half way there already.

Fallen had indeed wrapped things up and emerged victorious from the ambush. The lack of attack from above combined with the poor timing of the two ambush groups had worked in Fallon’s favor. His men had routed their attackers handily, sustaining no casualties on their side and only minor injuries.

The enemy had been decimated. Bodies clad in black were strewn between the trees, their life’s blood watering the forests’ roots. Only a handful had been left alive. Shea had little hope they were long for this world.

Amid this carnage was Fallon, standing apart from the rest.

“My lord, we’ve brought you a present,” Caden announced. “It seems you were right, and she couldn’t resist watching your defeat.”

Indra was shoved to her knees at Fallon’s feet, her hair grabbed and head dragged back.

Fallon’s eyes skipped over Indra to land on Shea’s blood stained figure. He stiffened. Rage gripped his face, flooding the air around him until the nearest people took a step away. Indra whimpered.

Even Shea, all the way across the clearing, fought to keep from retreating. It was scary. He was scary. His anger, so intense that it felt like the roar of a wildfire, singed her skin even at this distance. It was like being stared at by a great, wild beast held in check by only a thought.

His eyes shot to Caden. “I thought I told you to keep her hidden and safe.”

Caden glared dourly at Shea. “She had other thoughts. She chased the woman down before I could stop her.”

Fallon’s eyes said they would discussing this later. Shea’s responded that there was nothing up for discussion.

He finally looked down at the woman at his feet. The rage drained from him, leaving a dispassionate disinterest in its place.

In a way, that unsettled Shea more than the anger. You could accomplish some truly heinous things once emotion has been tucked away.

Anger dies, eventually, if you sate it with enough blood. Hate fades. Grief dwindles. There are reasons behind emotion. Such is not the case with true detachment.

“Where is her blade?”

Caden held out the blade Indra had used during her fight with Shea. Fallon took it, examining the dried red still staining it.

Shea’s blood. She swallowed hard, not liking seeing evidence of it outside her body, where it did not belong.

She wanted, no, needed, to sit down. Shea stiffened her legs. There would be no showing weakness right now. Not with the air so thick with tension and anger she nearly choked on it.

It was the response of a wild animal, trying to avoid the attention of a bigger predator.

Fallon touched the blade gently. His arm flashed out carving a path down Indra’s arm and leg before she could react.

For one long moment, there was silence as she stared up at him disbelieving. Then, a small sound escaped. A longer wail followed as Indra fought against her two captors, trying to stand, to get away.

The wounds Fallon had made were in the exact same spots as Shea’s.

“Who are your co-conspirators?” Caden asked.

“No one,” she cried.

Nobody moved as Fallon drew the blade down the opposite arm.

“You are not smart enough or bold enough to have planned all of these assassination attempts. Tell us who helped you.” Caden crouched beside her. “Tell us quick, and we’ll give you a clean death.”

“I was in it alone.”

Shea couldn’t help feeling a grudging smidgeon of respect. Not much. Just a hint really.

Caden heaved a sigh and stood. Fallon joined him.

“Shea, come here,” Fallon ordered.

Shea didn’t care for being called to heel but obeyed. She didn’t know how he would react to any resistance in his current frame of mind.

Fallon’s hands lightly skated over the bandage on her arm and leg before one came to light softly on her neck. A thumb lightly caressed the skin there, sending a shiver racing down her back.

Speaking to Indra without taking his eyes from Shea’s face, he said, “You hurt the one most precious to me. Do not imagine for a moment that I retain even an ounce of mercy for you.”

“Your precious one,” Indra nearly spat out the last two words, “is nothing more than a mongrel’s leavings. She is not fit for even the lowliest of our people. I only wish I had finished her when I had the chance.”

“But you couldn’t,” Shea snapped. “You weren’t good enough. This lowly mongrel beat you. I won. You lost.”

Fallon’s lips twisted into a semblance of a smile as his hands dropped from Shea. “This woman is going to rule at my side as I conquer these lands and lead my people into a golden age of prosperity. Our children will rule long after we have left this world and their children after them.”

Shit. He really did plan on children.

No, she hadn’t agreed to that yet.

“They will do this never having heard of you or the Snake Clan. In my future, there are only six clans. I am going to wipe every person who ever claimed kinship with the snake from this world. You have a child among the snake, if I remember correctly.”

“No,” Indra moaned, her mask of calm superiority crumbling. “You can’t. He’s just a babe. He has nothing to do with this.”

Shea felt a stirring of unease.

“Fallon-,”

Caden grabbed her and rasped, “Hush. Trust him.”

“I can and I will. You know me well enough to know I never say anything I don’t mean. Give us a name, and I will merely disband your clan. Those who were ignorant of this plot will be allowed to petition the other clans for entry. This is the best offer you will get.”

“No other clan will take someone from a clan tainted with this,” she said bitterly. “You will doom my son to grow up clanless.”

“At least he will grow up,” Fallon said fiercely. “Now, a name. I will not ask again.”

Indra sobbed. Snot ran down her face as her skin turned red and blotchy. “Please!”

“You brought this on yourself,” Caden said. “You knew the consequences if you failed. You’ve even enacted them on failed challengers yourself.”

When she didn’t answer, Fallon made a sound of frustration and stood.

“Cale. It was Cale,” she cried as he turned his back. As if released from a dam, her words poured out. “It was his idea to alter the maps given to the scouts. He said the more men you lost, the lower the morale. He was the one who had your maps exchanged for an older set and marked the route next to the spidren nest as safe. It was all him.”

Fallon bent his head and rubbed his forehead. The curve of his neck spoke of sorrow.

Caden looked sour but unsurprised. Neither man looked shocked, more like resigned.

“It doesn’t matter,” Indra suddenly said. “You may have won this battle, but we’ve finally managed to decipher the Highlander’s maps. When I don’t return, Cale will take them and head north. Once he gets his hands on those weapons, it won’t matter how great your army is.” Sobbing nearly hysterically now, Indra collapsed, sinking facedown into the ground.

What? Shea started for the woman. She needed to know details. Had they deciphered all of it? Or just parts?

Fallon nodded once, sharply to his men.

The one on the left drew his sword and swung down on her neck, cutting Indra off in mid sob. The air came alive with the sharp zing of metal clearing scabbard and then the aborted quick cries of men before they died.

It was over almost before it had begun. At the end, every conspirator lay dead in a pool of their own blood.

“You ride with me,” Fallon ordered, grabbing hold of her good arm and hustling her towards the horses. “Caden, prepare the men to ride. We need to get back to Darius. Shea, how accurate are those maps?”

“They’re dead.”

“Yes.”

“You killed them.”

“Yes.”

“You killed them all.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Shea couldn’t help the question spilling from her mouth.

She understood death and violence. She couldn’t get away from it as a pathfinder. Both existed out in the remote wilds. It was a dangerous world, one where death shadowed your footsteps, waiting for you to make that one mistake that would destroy everything.

This, she did not understand. Not this wholesale slaughter.

“They betrayed me. There was no way they were leaving this place alive.”

That was not an answer.

“I don’t-“

“Shea.” He hauled her around to face him. “We are not Lowlanders. We rarely exile our people. We have no jails. This is the only way to do things. I could not leave them alive to try again, nor could I let them go to unite with my other enemies. It was quick and merciful. Previous warlords have been known to drag it on for days. I would have preferred not to have killed all these men or the ones I’m preparing to end, but that’s the world we live in. I will do anything to safeguard you and the future I’m building, even stain my hands with blood. Do you understand?”

Shea searched his eyes, struck by the feeling that if she gave the wrong answer this would be the end of them.

“No,” she said. Steeling herself against the disappointment in his eyes, she continued, “I will never understand bloodshed of this scale. I abhor it with every fiber of my being.” He started to turn from her, and she grabbed the front of his shirt. “No, I don’t understand, but I don’t have to. I will not agree with it; I can’t. It goes against the very bedrock of my being, but I will trust you. And I will not judge you. Though, I had questions she could have answered.”

Relief, an expression she never thought to pair with him, dawned behind his whiskey colored eyes, and he touched her hands lightly.

“As to the maps, it depends on which part of the cipher they broke. There are several. Also, if the mist still covers the cliffs, those maps will be useless. They’ll never be able to get through it. Probably. It’d be best if we could stop them from attempting it, though.”

“It’s agreed then,” he said.

Shea let go, smoothing the fabric back into place as she did. “Well. That part is. The rest is still up in the air.”

“It’s agreed,” he reiterated.

To his back, she muttered, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Chapter Twenty Four

The trip back to the encampment went much faster with Shea riding passenger with Fallon. The group took only one short break to rest and water the horses, then they were off again, riding as fast as the uneven terrain would allow.

It came as no surprise when they rode into camp hours earlier than the trip out had taken. There was no pony to slow them down, nor did they have to wait for the enemy to take the bait.

The camp was much the same as they left it, though there were signs here and there of the impending movement. Many of the sleeping tents had been disbanded and not one fire was lit.

Their pace didn’t pause as they rode through the tent city. People dove out of their way to avoid being trampled. Fallon and his men had a single-minded purpose, and they were going to let nothing or no one stand in their way.

The man was damn near unstoppable once he put his mind to a task.

It didn’t take long to make their way to a trio of tents located right on the border of the area allotted to Lion Clan and Snake Clan. Fallon’s men fanned out, encircling the tents. As one they drew their blades. The circle constricted. Nobody would escape.

They had drawn a large audience.

Shea sat behind Fallon, peering over his shoulder. He had placed his horse directly in front of the center tent’s entrance and now waited quietly. His sword sheathed.

“Cale of the Lion Clan, half-brother to Fallon of Hawkvale, come out and meet your end with honor.” From his position to Fallon’s right, Caden projected his voice so that everyone could hear.

A commotion at the end of the lane drew Shea’s attention. A line of horses rode toward them, Darius at their lead.

The new additions reinforced Fallon’s men, creating a second ring behind them. Darius rode to join Fallon, Caden and Shea.

“I see your trip was successful,” Darius observed dryly.

Fallon grunted, not taking his eyes from the tent.

“In more ways than one,” Darius continued, his gaze falling on where Shea sat behind Fallon.

Shea rolled her eyes.

The group turned their attention back to the tents. No one was forthcoming. With a hundred of the fiercest warriors she had ever seen, Shea didn’t blame them.

They waited.

Shea was beginning to think they would wait until the end of time.

“I was hoping he’d end this with a little dignity,” Fallon said softly.

“That’s just not who he is. He always did have to be as difficult as possible,” Darius responded, sympathy in his tone.

Fallon sighed.

“Go get them,” he ordered Caden.

Caden nodded and then signaled several of his men.

They dismounted then broke into groups as they headed into the three tents. Almost immediately, shouts and the sounds of struggle came. Fallon’s men emerged, first from the smaller two tents, shoving their captives, looking the worse for wear with red and swollen faces and various wounds on their bodies, in front of them.

After another long drawn out moment, men emerged from the largest tent. Cale was the first to exit, followed by Paul and one other. Fallon’s men brought up the rear.

Unlike the men from the other two tents, these men sported no evidence of a struggle. Each was unharmed.

Cale walked to stand before Fallon’s horse, looking up at his half-brother with a self-absorbed insolence. From the anger on the faces of Fallon’s men, it was clear they did not appreciate his sneer.

Darius and Caden were as composed as if they were out for an afternoon ride.

“What insult is this, brother?” Cale asked, gesturing to where his men were held at sword point.

“Indra confessed everything. You and any who supported your plans will face the Warlord’s Judgment,” Fallon said, his voice a quiet rumble.

“This is ridiculous,” Cale scoffed. “I’m your brother. She was obviously stirring up trouble and hoping to turn you from your allies. She lied, brother.”

Shea leaned forward and said softly so only Fallon could hear, “I recognize his voice. He was the third man plotting with the cartographer.”

He could do what he willed with that information.

“No, she didn’t, Cale. You’ve coveted my position and rank for a long time. We know it was you.”

Seeing he wasn’t going to be able to weasel out of the charges with claims of brotherly affection, Cale switched tactics. “You have no proof. Just the word of that Lowland slattern behind you and that of a traitorous clan leader.”

Shea was not and never had been a Lowlander or a woman of loose moral fiber.

“You forget, boy. The Hawkvale needs only his own council for proof,” Caden said.

“We never said Shea brought evidence against you,” Darius observed.

Cale blustered, “Well, who else would seek to turn my brother against me. She is trying to destabilize us so her people can rise against the Trateri.”

When Fallon said nothing in response, Shea drew back. He didn’t believe his brother’s words, did he? She had done nothing of the sort. She hadn’t even been the one who fingered him originally. That had been all Indra.

Shea put as much distance between the two of them and prepared to jump down if it became necessary.

“My lord,” one of Fallon’s men stepped forward holding rolled up paper. “We found this in his quarters.”

Fallon reached down and took the paper tube from him and unrolled it. Curious, Shea peered over his shoulder and then bared her teeth.

It was one of her maps or at least a replication of her map. By the markings, it looked like they had indeed broken one of the ciphers. Now that she saw Paul was with them, she even knew how they had done it.

“So, what did Paul promise you?” Shea asked, running one finger down the map in Fallon’s hands. “Did he say he would take you to his village and give you their weapons? Too bad they only have one boomer in the entire place, and that was taken as part of the tithe when my party was handed over to Darius. That wouldn’t be near enough fire power to sufficiently arm your soldiers to gain an advantage.”

Paul would have used his knowledge of landmarks on their route down to Goodwin of Ria to give Cale’s people a starting point on the cipher. It wouldn’t have gotten them all the way back to Birdon Leaf, but it would have gotten them above the cliffs at the very least.

“Brother, she’s lying,” Cale said desperately.

His time had run out, and his words held no weight. He could see that in Fallon’s impassive regard not a single hint of brotherly affection leaked through.

“Please,” Cale tried again.

“Cale of the Lion Clan, I no longer claim any ties with you. You are to be excised from the clans and given my judgment. Your men will follow your fate and any other supporters of the traitors Indra of the Snake Clan or my former brother Cale will be put to death.” Fallon’s voice rumbled through the clearing so all nearby could hear the pronouncement.

He nodded at Caden, who lifted his hand and lowered it. The two men flanking Cale grabbed him, holding him firm and forcing him to watch as Fallon’s men slew the other men they had rousted from the tents.

“Shea, wait. You can’t let them do this,” Paul desperately pleaded as he backed away.

Shea forced herself to watch as Paul’s begging abruptly ended with a sword thrust to the stomach.

“Goodbye, Paul,” she said softly.

It was over as quickly as the executions of Indra and her men. In the end, Cale was the only one left standing.

Fallon turned his horse and gestured for the men holding Cale to march in front of him. They forced Cale to move, with him pleading and screaming the entire time. Fallon and the rest of his men followed the slow procession out of camp to the top of one of the nearby rolling hills.

As they crested it, Shea saw a crowd waiting for them. All of the clan leaders were present, watching grimly as Cale was led towards them.

Brightly colored rugs covered the grass. Cale was forced onto them while the two men escorting him bound his hands behind his back and then did the same with his feet.

Cale’s pleas had fallen silent and his ragged breathing was the only sound.

The men laid him flat and then rolled him up in two of the rugs. They wrapped several lengths of rope around the struggling form and stepped back once he was properly secured.

Shea couldn’t figure out what they intended or why Cale hadn’t been killed back at the tents.

Seeing her confusion, Darius spoke quietly, “Since Cale is a member of the warlord’s family and the same blood runs in his veins, it would be considered treason to spill it with steel. Instead, they roll him in rugs to protect his skin. They’ll pile rocks on top of him until he suffocates or is crushed. This way the sanctity of the blood is protected but those he put in harm’s way will be avenged.”

Shea watched as they began piling large stones on the form. Two men worked in tandem to complete their work.

“It is a brutal and long way to go,” Darius said almost as an afterthought. “I think I’d prefer to meet my end by the sword instead.”

“I second that,” Caden said.

Shea’s gaze went to the back of Fallon’s head. She could tell nothing about his emotional state from here. Was he glad to be rid of the traitor? Did he mourn for his brother? Did he feel nothing?

She touched his back lightly. There was a barely perceptible flinch. Invisible to any of the onlookers.

Grief then.

It couldn’t be easy to know your own flesh and blood had taken part in repeated attempts on your life. Having to watch as someone you grew up with be slowly crushed and suffocated must be agonizing.

Shea slowly slid her arms around his waist, ready to withdraw if he indicated she wasn’t welcome. When he didn’t move to reject her, she hugged him and slid forward pressing her front to his back and then laid her cheek against his shoulder, offering comfort in the only way she could in this moment.

So gently, she could almost believe she imagined it, he touched the top of her hand in a brief caress before lacing his fingers with hers.

Together they waited as the body struggled less and less until it finally went still. The men continued to stack the rocks until long after all movement had stopped.

“That should be enough,” Fallon said.

The men nodded and began to reverse the process, removing the stones one at a time. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they uncovered the rug and cut the rope off before unwrapping it. The body rolled out, its limbs flopping as if boneless.

Shea knew even before they checked the pulse Cale had drawn his last breath.

“He’s dead, my lord.”

Fallon nodded. “Bury him in the rug. He is no longer Trateri and will not be released from this world in our way.”

The same two men gave him respectful nods and reached for the shovels lying next to the rugs.

One by one the onlookers drifted back down the hill, leaving only Fallon, his two friends and Shea behind to watch.

“Caden can give you a ride back to our tent,” Fallon told her.

Her arms tightened, and she didn’t hesitate. “I’ll remain.” The ‘with you’ was added silently.

Together they waited as the men completed their task, one shovel full of dirt at a time. Finally, the body was buried and Caden, Darius and the other two departed.

Fallon dismounted and approached the grave. He knelt and bent his head, touching the freshly turned dirt before him.

His goodbyes, if he said any, were silent. After a long moment he stood, grief etched in the way he held his body. Shea knew that had it been any but her there in that moment he would have kept even that hidden.

The sorrow made him seem more like a man, with a man’s emotions, instead of the lofty warlord that all held in high esteem.

Shea’s heart hurt for him even as she rejoiced that the danger Cale presented to the Highlands was ended. There were still the maps to consider, but the immediate threat had been eliminated. All that held her tied to the Trateri now were her own attachments.

Fallon mounted and they rode back to camp in silence. Once they reached Fallon’s tent, he helped her dismount before saying, “There should be a bath ready for you inside. I have a few things to take care of before I join you for the night.”

He was gone before Shea could respond. She was left addressing thin air as he walked away.

She shut her mouth with a click and glanced at the two men standing guard on either side of the entrance.

Back to reality.

Shea sighed and headed inside. The inevitable confrontation she knew was coming would be easier once she was clean and fed.

The warm water beckoned. Shea stripped.

She caught her breath as her arm twinged when she tried to raise it above her head, the skin pulling uncomfortably. It was painful getting her shirt off and the same with her pants.

Only when she was standing naked in front of the tub full of warm water, steam wafting off it, did she realize there was a problem. There was no way she could submerge her arm and leg. Not with the depth of the cuts. The one on her arm would probably be fine. It was shallow enough that it would sting like acid was being poured into it, but the wound on her leg was deep and would probably need stitches.

She settled for stepping inside and scooping the water up to let it slide down her skin. Grabbing a sponge lying next to the tub on a stool, she soaped it up and then lathered it on, wiping away the dirt and blood before rinsing it off.

Once clean, she grabbed one of the fluffy white towels that had been left on another stool and dried off before dressing again.

Fallon walked in just as she was sitting down to eat the food that had been laid out for them. She paused in the act of filling her plate.

He came directly to her, advancing into her space and leaning down. He cupped her head in one hand, threading his fingers in her hair, bending her face back and taking her lips in a kiss that set flame to her senses.

He poured all of the stress, heartache and fury of the past day into that kiss until it fairly singed her lips.

Her hands dropped what they were holding and came up to grab his shirt and pull him down hard, meeting his intensity with her own.

The kiss built and built until the firestorm of passion boiled over and they were clutching at each other. He picked her up and set her on the table, stepping forward and parting her legs with his hips. Almost feverishly he grasped her shirt and eased it over her head, being careful of her wound. She let him, before doing the same to his.

Her pants followed and suddenly his lips were trailing down her neck to pause and nip at the skin on her breasts. They continued their journey, pausing to explore the dip of her stomach until finding their destination at her center.

She cried out and arched as he settled down to play, licking and nipping with a single minded purpose.

“Fallon, please,” she begged.

He ignored her, sucking hard. Just as her body clenched preparing for the avalanche of a climax, he stood, taking away the sensation and leaving her panting with need.

“Damn it,” she swore.

He chuckled and pulled her up, sealing her lips with his. She could taste herself on him before he cupped her bottom and guided his cock to her entrance.

Slowly, unbearably slowly, he sank in. Shea dug her nails into his back and tried to urge him faster.

He grabbed her arms, being careful of her wound. “I set the pace. Not you.”

“You’re going to kill me,” she told him.

The change in pace from fast and urgent to slow and unhurried was driving her mad.

“What a sweet death it would be,” he teased.

She gave a small scream and struggled to move, trying to fuck herself on him. He pinned her, tilting her back and making it impossible to move without risking falling.

She stilled and looked up at him. He looked back, tenderly, fiercely, with just a hint of wicked playfulness behind it all.

He was enjoying this. He was enjoying sending her into a frothing fury of need. The bastard.

Only when he was sure she knew just who was master in this moment, did he begin to move. At first slow thrusts that had her gasping for air. After only a couple, he adjusted his angle until he began bumping a spot inside her that sent every muscle in her body clenching with need.

Her orgasm built quickly as he repeated the thrust, sending her higher and higher. The walls of her clamping down tight until finally, finally he shoved her off the cliff into a mind melding, dizzying climax.

She moaned as her body clenched around his and sparks of pleasure raced up and down her nerve endings. With a low groan he followed her.

When it was over and they were both panting, he released her hands and lowered her fully onto the table, coming down to kneel in front of her and resting his head on her stomach. Shea touched his hair, running her fingers through it as they caught their breath.

She stared up at the canvas, her mind lost in itself, thinking of nothing in particular.

“When Cale made his accusation against you, before my man gave me the maps, you thought I believed him,” Fallon finally broke the silence.

It was unexpected after what they just shared. Enough so that Shea stiffened and would have sat up if his arms hadn’t suddenly tightened around her waist.

She forced herself to relax.

“I thought it was a possibility,” she admitted. “He was your brother. It would have been natural to believe him over a woman you haven’t known for very long.”

He lifted his head, peering at her disbelievingly. “You will have to get over this habit of believing the worst of me and all those around you. It is insulting and unbecoming.”

“What?” she sputtered. “It’s happened before. People naturally side with their own.”

“You are one of us now. Constantly assuming we’re going to betray you belittles us and doesn’t say very good things about you either.”

Shea lapsed into angry silence. She tried to ignore the soothing patterns he was drawing on her skin. He was not going to take the sting out his words so easily.

“What will you do with the maps Cale deciphered?” she asked.

“That’s it. You’re not going to discuss this anymore?”

She shrugged. “What is there to discuss? We are not going to agree on this subject. Might as well discuss something that has merit.”

He blew sharply on her belly, sending pleasure skittering up her front. She wasn’t happy with the way her body seemed to roll over for him so easily.

“Shea, I have already told you that you are my Tolroi. That is something I have never offered to any other. I’ve never even considered it. I would not choose another over you.”

Shea fought the softening in her heart.

He bit her lightly. “Ack, woman, you are stubborn. More so than any I have ever met. Why can’t you see the effect you have on those around you? Your men love you. Even Darius and Caden, my own advisors, respect you. Only you persist in keeping everyone at a distance.”

Her eyes met his.

He stood and leaned over her, brushing her hair back from her face. “Perhaps this is one of those lessons that can only be learned with time.” He dropped a light kiss on her lips. “I will enjoy teaching it to you until it is one that has been engraved in your heart.”

Shea touched his face gently and ran her thumb along his cheekbone. She wanted to believe him, but didn’t know if she could. A few months wasn’t enough time to undo a lifetime of being on guard.

“Perhaps we can start the first lesson with your maps.” Naked as the day he was born and not modest about it either, he picked up his pants and withdrew the re-creations Cale had made and the originals Shea had left behind. “My men found the originals in one of the apprentice cartographer’s belongings. These should be all of them.”

Shea sat up. Now that he had them, what would he do?

What would she do? She didn’t know if she could stand by if he invaded her homeland, intent on the weapons her people hid. She didn’t know if she could stop him if he did.

This emotion she felt for him. This fragile stirring of love could be crushed if handled wrong.

To her complete shock, he held out both sets to her.

She took them slowly, not quite believing it.

“Do with them what you will,” he told her. “Keep them or burn them. I don’t care. I can’t promise I will never turn my attention to the Highlands, especially if they present a threat to what I am building here. But for now, I need to address the problems in my ranks and focus on strengthening the Lowlands.” He shot her a wicked grin, appearing in that moment carefree and ten years younger. “Besides I have a Tolroi to keep satisfied, and I think such an endeavor will take many, many nights and my entire focus to accomplish.”

She stood and walked to the brazier, holding the pieces in the flame until they caught fire. When they had been reduced to ash, she shot him a coy look. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re right about that.”

Discover More by T.A. White

Dragon-Ridden

Thank You for Reading!

I appreciate your support and if you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review on your favorite retailer’s site.

About The Author

Writing is my first love. Even before I could read or put coherent sentences down on paper, I would beg the older kids to team up with me for the purpose of crafting ghost stories to share with our friends. This first writing partnership came to a tragic end when my coauthor decided to quit a day later, and I threw my cookies at her head. Today, I stick with solo writing, telling the stories that would otherwise keep me up at night.

Most days (and nights) are spent feeding my tea addiction while defending the computer keyboard from my feline companion, Loki, who would like to try her paw at typing.

Connect With Me

Follow me on Twitter: @tawhiteauthor

Friend me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/tawhiteauthor/?ref=aymt_homepage_panel

Or visit my website for information on upcoming books.

Excerpt for Dragon-Ridden

A woman with no memory. A tattoo with a mind of its own.

Tate leads a life full of secrets. Having dragon tattoo that moves when nobody is looking and no memory of her past makes things challenging. When a momentary impulse leads Tate to return a hairpin to its owner, it sparks a chain of events that soon affects Tate's survival. Now with several people convinced that she holds the key to unimaginable power, Tate’s about to learn how a single action can have unintended consequences.

With no allies to watch her back, Tate’s going to have to move fast if she wants to survive in the city of Aurelia, where people are never who they seem. She’ll find that monsters walk the labyrinth beneath Aurelia’s streets where the secrets to Tate’s past rest. Unlocking her hidden memories might just be the only thing keeping Tate alive and preventing the coming war.

Prologue

It was cold. So cold. The kind that sunk below the skin and dove straight for the bone. So deep she couldn’t even shiver. There was no sense of self or place, just a vast dark nothingness. The silence was so loud it practically screamed.

Ages passed, each moment the same as before. In time, the tiny existence floating through the emptiness became aware of a second presence. It curled itself around her like a shield— unyielding. And silent. Sometimes she’d rail against its silence begging for a word, a feeling, anything. Through it all, the presence was a beacon of light that drew her like a moth to the flame. Sometimes it felt as if that light was simply a shadow on her mind, created to keep her company as the long years passed. Real or not, she watched its glow with the hunger of a woman starved for thousands of years.

She couldn’t tell you her name, what she was, or how she came to be. Her world revolved around that beacon of light. It was a hypnotic and soothing distraction that flickered and danced in the darkness just for her.

Time passed.

Pain ignited along her nerve endings. Startling, after an eternity of nothingness. The ground reeled beneath her as she shivered and convulsed. She prayed for the pain to end. An odd sort of keening began, assaulting ears used to silence. And then there was the thumping beat that was felt more than heard.

Her chest rose and fell. The keening developed into a pattern, one that started and stopped in time to her chests’ movements. The floor beneath her felt hard and unwelcoming. She shrank from it, rejecting the alien sensation. Something stirred against her skin, a gentle kiss of sensation. Air, her mind supplied, it was air.

Her nerve endings were alive with sensation and spots danced across her closed eyelids. Her eyes opened slowly and blinked rapidly against the encroaching light. She held up a hand against the assault. Unable to see anything but a blur, she closed her eyes seeking the relief of the previous dark. But the light was too much. It followed her. Even with her eyes closed, it sunk below the lids and seared her retinas.

Gradually, though, her eyes adjusted, and she stared curiously at the room she occupied. She was lying at the bottom of a glass cylinder, one big enough to accommodate her curled up body. Her knees were pulled to her chest, her arms hugging them close as she hid her face against her knees.

On weak arms she pushed herself upright and propped herself against the glass. The pants and thin shirt she wore did nothing to provide warmth.

What was her name? She couldn’t remember. She was a somebody. Surely. Her mind grasped desperately at a word that might define her. After eons locked inside the emptiness, her mind was slow to provide her information.

Name, she thought. Name. Name. Name.

And then, slowly, a word drifted up from the recesses of her mind. It was a short word, but it was hers nonetheless. Tate, her name was Tate.

Chapter One

The breeze caressed Tate’s face and arms, teasing several copper colored strands from its tight braid as she leaned against the ship’s railing. It brought with it the salty smell of the ocean, a smell she’d become familiar with over the last eight months she’d spent aboard the Marauder. It was a comforting smell, one that invoked memories of being rocked to sleep by the waves and sharing meals with friends.

She rubbed a finger over the weathered wood of the railing and folded her arms over it. It was time to make a decision. She grimaced and plopped her chin onto her folded arms. She’d spent the last week lying awake at night, unable to sleep as she went over every detail of her plan. Even now she didn’t know if she had the courage to leave the ship at the next port or if she would choose the familiar and stay.

“What do you think?” a voice said to her right.

Guilt made Tate jumpy, and she tightened her grip on the rail as she straightened, not wanting her companion to know where her thoughts had strayed. Instead she made a noncommittal sound and hoped he’d move along.

“When I first saw the jewel of the Aurelian Empire, I was in awe,” he said about the city, resting tanned forearms beside hers on the rail. His tall figure dwarfed her considerably smaller one. Standing straight, she still only came up to his shoulder. “It took a while for me to see that it wasn’t so different from other cities. There’re still murders, double dealings and, luckily for me, work for men intent on skulking about.”

“Is that so?” Tate said, keeping her attention on the city coming into view.

The captain was right; it was a magnificent view. The sun was just coming up and dawn gently cradled the city in its arms, setting it alight with orange and pinks. A slim peninsula embraced one side of the harbor forming a half crescent moon that was mirrored on the other side by high cliffs. It allowed a strip of open water that ships could pass through before deepening into the wide pool that formed the harbor. On one side a tower stood sentry. Its purpose was to house the massive chain that was strung across the harbor in times of siege and would protect the city from a sea invasion. Framed by the tower and cliffs the city sprawled in a maze of buildings and streets. A palace with its majestic towers and gleaming windows, sat atop cliffs formed from a black rock that sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight. It was an architectural wonder, the crowning piece of the city, and people came from all over the empire to see it.

“First time in Aurelia?” he asked lightly.

She kept her sigh to herself. It figured that he’d want to chat right then. He hadn’t had much of a presence on deck for the last few weeks, instead choosing to remain in his cabin and plan the next job. Now when she was thinking mutinous thoughts, he popped up like a bad luck charm. And leaving the ship would mean mutiny in his eyes. Since she hadn’t exactly volunteered to get on his ship in the first place, she saw her departure more as a continuation of her life’s journey. He, on the other hand, would see it as a revolt. It wasn’t that she wanted to leave, quite the opposite in fact. She loved the freedom of being on the open seas and seeing the world one country’s port at a time. But it had been made abundantly clear to her over the last few months that there was only so much weirdness a crew could take, especially from a female. When members of the crew cornered her in her bunk and told her to leave or else, Tate had gotten the message. Being a female on an all-male crew was difficult enough. Add odd things happening when she was around and the situation was impossible. She’d considered telling the captain. He might have even come to her rescue, but she knew that his involvement would only turn the rest of the men against her.

She was in danger if she stayed and more if she didn’t. There was no doubt in her mind that the captain would hunt her down if she left. She’d seen him do it before when a man jumped ship without a word in her third month on ship. She still had nightmares about what they’d done to him.

Tate faked a grin as she looked up at the captain. A tall man, his face was tanned and showed his age in the weathered lines around his eyes and mouth. Captain Jost’s brown eyes were fastened on the city as the ship’s crew bustled around him, preparing to weigh anchor.

“Not that I remember,” she said.

Jost stared at her with penetrating eyes. He was a canny old seadog, unused to not knowing a person’s secrets. Tate, however, still remained a mystery to him. He’d picked her up about eight months ago wandering a strip of rocky shore not known for being settled by humans, unable to speak any language he’d ever heard, and he’d heard a lot. She claimed memory loss, her past before the ship a complete blank.

“That’s right,” he said softly as if he’d forgotten. They both knew he hadn’t. The man’s mind was a steel trap. Nothing escaped. “It’s amazing how fast you picked up our language,” he said, changing the subject. “What language did you speak again?”

Used to his probing questions, Tate ignored him. He often tested her, throwing out random questions that seemed harmless but which were designed to catch her unawares.

His comment about her aptitude for the language was true, though. She had picked the language up quickly. Almost too quickly. Just another puzzle in her life. It was one of the many reasons that some on the crew wanted her gone. They called her a witch, and a witch had no place on a pirate crew.

“Is there something you needed, Captain?” Tate asked, hoping to move him along.

“Just wanted to make sure you won’t be going ashore alone.” One of his main rules for sailors was they were to have a buddy when visiting a city. There were two reasons for this. One to make sure the men had someone at their back in case of trouble. And two, it prevented malcontents from just disappearing or turning crew into the authorities.

“Danny, Riply and Trent offered to take me with them when they went ashore.”

“Good, good.” Jost seemed like he was waiting for something. Tate waited awkwardly, unsure whether she was dismissed or not. It felt odd to see the normally decisive captain acting unsure.

“Is that all, Sir?” Tate asked. His scrutiny was making her uncomfortable. It would be very easy to start acting paranoid and give away all her carefully laid plans. A knot of fear and uncertainty tightened in her chest the longer she was in his presence.

He seemed to come out of his thoughts. “Yes, of course. You’re dismissed.”

Tate turned to go, exhaling with relief until he called her back. Instantly she was on guard again, convinced that he knew her plans. A small leather purse sailed through the air. She caught it before it could hit her in the face.

“Tate, for your work these last few months,” Jost said. “Thought you might be able to use some spending wages while in Aurelia.”

More than he could know. The bag felt heavy to Tate. She knew without looking that it was far more than her usual shore allowance. It felt like all the extra wages she’d earned over the months. She hadn’t dared ask for them, not wanting to alert anyone to her real intentions before she’d even gotten started. Now that she had the money, there was nothing she wanted more than to return it. Jost didn’t need another reason to come after her when she was gone.

“A boat is ready, sir,” a sailor said from behind them.

Jost held out his hand to Tate, and she shook it. This was it. Goodbye. He’d never know how grateful she was to have been forced onto his ship and made part of his family. No doubt if she hadn’t met him, she’d be dead, killed by one of the monstrous beasts that roamed the northern territories.

His calloused skin was rough against her smaller hands. Though her hands had toughened over the months she’d spent on the ship becoming blistered and cracked and eventually developing calluses, they didn’t compare to a veteran sailor’s.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you when I get back,” she said. Her lips stretched tight over her teeth, but the smile she offered him was tense.

“Not if the boys take you to their usual place. Most of the crew stays there while we’re in port.”

She nodded. It was good to know. If she did this thing she was contemplating, she’d have to lose them in the city or sneak out in the middle of the night while they slept.

Still, she could decide to stay. Take her chances. She’d given the men who’d come for her more bruises and pain than they gave her. They knew she wouldn’t be an easy mark if they came for her again. But even as she thought it, she knew it wouldn’t work. They had the advantage of numbers. Next time there would be more until there would be no way she could fight them all. She’d never get a full night's sleep for fear of attack.

No, it was better to leave. She could control the risk better that way.

She savored the feel of the ship under her boots as she followed the sailor to the boat. It was unlikely she’d walk its decks again.

The small oar boat bucked against the ship as waves rolled gently under it. Several crewmen had already climbed in, eagerly anticipating shore leave, no doubt. She threw her leg over the side. The crewman standing next to the ladder grabbed her wrist tightly. His grip was firm and unyielding. Tate refused to let any sound of pain escape her. Weakness was a luxury she could ill afford.

“Remember, witch,” he whispered harshly. “This ship is no place for you. If you’re on it when we set sail we’ll consider you fair catch. Perhaps you’ll have a little pleasure before we throw you overboard.” His gaze darted down her body in case she missed his meaning.

She jerked away, her skin crawling. She more or less slid the rest of the way down. The rope ladder swayed jerkily under her weight, the hemp cutting into her hands as she raced down. Seawater made the rungs slippery, and she almost slipped. Arms steadied her as she stepped into the boat and sat down.

She didn’t look up, not wanting to see the cold eyes glaring down at her in anticipation. Tate folded her arms across the sick feeling in her stomach and hunched in on herself. He hadn’t been part of the group that had attacked her. Anger at the unfairness of it all churned within her.

Table of Contents

- 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
- Discover More by T.A. White
- Thank You for Reading!
- About the Author
- Excerpt