“WELL, I ASSUME you’d like to visit the board now,” Shea said to Braden as she walked up to him.
His eyes went above her head to where Fallon lingered behind her. “Yes, if the Warlord can spare you.”
“I’m sure he’ll manage without me.” Shea’s voice held an acerbic edge.
“Trenton and Wilhelm will be here shortly; they will accompany you,” Caden said before they could walk away.
“I’m sure my presence will be enough protection in camp,” Braden responded.
“The Warlord has made it clear that his Telroi is to have guards at all times, even while in camp.”
Shea grimaced. She’d forgotten about that, having made it her business over the past few months to slip away from her guards whenever possible. Good thing Fallon hadn’t been around to hear about that. She could only hope Trenton and Wilhelm kept silent. What Fallon didn’t know wouldn’t cause Shea problems.
By the significant glance Caden shot her way, she had a feeling either Trenton or Wilhelm—she was willing to bet Trenton, since he rejoiced at getting her in trouble—had spilled the beans.
“How unusual. She should be trained so she’s not so defenseless,” Braden said.
Shea gave him a look, but kept her own council. He seemed determined to twist everything. Why not let him?
“You are wrong,” Daere said, striding up to them. “The Warlord holds Shea and her skills in the highest esteem. He simply wishes to ensure she is protected from every eventuality, including being overwhelmed by surprise or greater numbers.”
Braden gave Daere a reserved nod, the gesture almost a half bow. Shea looked between the two with unease. The tension between them was already thick enough to cut.
Trenton and Wilhelm joined the group moments later, coming from the same direction as Daere. For once, Shea was happy to see them.
“Now that we’re all here, shall we go?” she asked Braden.
His answer was a sharp nod before he turned and stalked off, his strides long and purposeful. Being a Trateri, he’d probably grown up in one of these camps, so he understood the chaotic organization better than Shea did. The first few times the camp had moved, it had taken her a few days to relearn where everything was. After that, she began to find the pattern in its set-up and got lost less and less frequently.
Braden walked with his hands clasped behind his back, Shea an uncomfortable presence by his side. Away from Fallon, he did not seem inclined to talk. Since Shea had never been one for idle chatter, it meant they traveled in silence.
Shea glanced behind them to see Daere looking lost in thought, content with keeping her own council. It was a trick Shea wished she had known months ago. Wilhelm and Trenton were behind her, their faces carefully blank—the perfect expression for a guard. None of them looked like they would be willing to help Shea out.
She looked at Braden’s profile before glancing forward again. Was this one of those times that she was expected to say something? Enforce that horrible social behavior called small talk? What would she even talk about? The weather?
No. Better to be quiet. You couldn’t put your foot in your mouth if you never said anything to begin with. Besides, who was she trying to impress? Braden? He’d already made it clear he didn’t think much of her skills.
They passed several minutes in silence as they maneuvered through the bustling pathways of the tent city to the eastern side of camp where the Wind Division and Clark’s beast board was located.
Normally, when there was space and not giant trees interfering with the camp’s layout, Fallon and his closest advisors’ tents were located at the center. They were the hub around which everything else revolved. From there, the camp was split into sections, like little pieces of a pie. The higher-ups in the different division and clans were located closer to the center ring. The further out, the less rank and status you were likely to have. On the outermost edge was where the training fields and horse corrals were located.
The beast board was near that outer edge so scouts could drop off their latest intelligence and pick up any new pieces of information on their way out of camp.
The Wind Division was mostly made up of Horse clan. They had some of the best scouts in Shea’s opinion, in no small part because of the changes Eamon had implemented when Fallon promoted him. He’d made a policy requiring returning scouts to visit the board before being released from duty.
They were nearing the edge when a familiar face ducked out of a tent, an engaging grin already forming. Clark was young. About seventeen or eighteen and just growing out of his baby face. His wide brown eyes were entirely too trusting for a scout, but Shea knew he had a core of unexpected strength. He was an orphan and had adopted many of the scouts as his family, including Shea. The feeling was mutual, as she saw him almost as the little brother she’d never had.
He’d been the first to take her little journal and turn it into this amazing, life-saving thing. It had realized a childhood dream of Shea’s from when she had wanted to be a gatherer, one of those pathfinders specifically dispatched to study the world and bring their observations home.
Clark fulfilled her dream in a different way than she’d imagined, but it had done more good for her little slice of the world than her former dream would have. If she’d ever achieved her original goal, her knowledge would have been hoarded and kept in the Wayfarer’s Keep, where it would sit in a library, unlikely to ever be read or shared.
“Shea, where’ve you been?”
Shea’s steps stuttered. Had she made a promise to visit him and forgotten about it in the excitement of Fallon’s return?
“I would have thought since we’re friends your first stop would have been here to share what you knew. Instead, I had to learn about this mist thing from the throwaways that were brought in with Fallon.”
There was so much to address in that statement that Shea looked around in confusion for a long moment.
“First, what throwaways? And since when were you on speaking terms with any of the Lowlanders?”
“Throwaway” was a term the Trateri had coined to describe Lowlanders taken in tithe because their people had thrown them away to ensure their own safety for a while longer. Unless a scout was on a mission that dovetailed with collecting a tithe, they didn’t have much to do with the throwaways, since scouts were considered too tactically sensitive to train their enemy in this position.
Clark got a shame-faced expression, as if it had just dawned on him that she might take umbrage with that term, having been a throwaway herself at one point. “I thought you knew. Some of the men Fallon brought back were former soldiers from the city states in the south.”
Shea hadn’t noticed any prisoners among the men escorting Fallon, but then the mist had been a bit distracting when she finally found them. Later, once they were out, Fallon had gathered the advance team and they’d ridden out. The throwaways must have been among those he left behind to follow at a slower pace.
“Still doesn’t explain how you got to talking with them,” Shea said, not wanting to dwell on a practice that made her uncomfortable.
Clark shrugged. “Some of the newcomers are being given to the Wind Division. Eamon wanted to debrief them in case they knew anything of value. I just happened to tag along.”
“And who is this?” Braden asked, finally interrupting the conversation. His solemn eyes were intense as they studied Clark.
Clark looked around at the people accompanying Shea, for the first time realizing she might not have been here to see him. His eyes goggled in recognition at the sight of Braden.
Clark’s mouth snapped shut and he sprung to attention, drawing himself up to his greatest height. Thankfully, he managed not to salute, though Shea could tell it was a struggle for him. “Clark of the Southern Plains, scout of the Dawn’s Riders, Wind Division.”
“You’re an orphan then.”
Shea’s mouth dropped open and her head spun as she aimed a glare Braden’s way. How did he even guess that from what Clark offered? And what kind of person said that on a first meeting?
“Orphans are named for the closest landmark. On occasion the clan is kind and lets them claim the clan’s name as their own,” Daere said softly at Shea’s side.
Clark’s face was stiff and guarded as he gave a wary nod.
“You are the one responsible for this board I hear so much about?”
His nod this time was less hesitant.
“Show me.”
*
The beast class had assembled in a small clearing right next to the horses’ paddock. Wooden seats made of stumps and logs had been set up facing in one direction. Charles, a slight man in loose clothing, stood in front of the gathered warriors talking animatedly.
Shea was surprised to see how many had gathered. Instead of the small group she had imagined, every seat was taken, and still others leaned against trees or stood in the back. Those with seats took notes as Charles gestured to a board that had been set up next to him. Several men nodded at what he was sharing, their expressions focused and intent.
Clark said, “I’ll ask some of the men to move so you can sit.”
“No, we’ll watch from back here,” Braden said.
Shea agreed. They’d learn more if they remained unnoticed.
“How long has this been going on?” Shea asked in a quiet voice.
“A few weeks now.” Clark’s voice was hushed. “They take turns standing up and speaking. We’ve even started noticing scouts from other divisions attending.”
“Bet that causes problems,” Trenton said.
Shea cocked her head, not understanding why it would.
Seeing the question on her face, he supplied, “The divisions are largely manned by the different clans.”
She still didn’t get it.
“Every clan hates every other clan,” Wilhelm explained. “It’s about the only thing you can always count on. Just because Fallon has united them in name doesn’t mean that there aren’t still blood feuds between them.”
“There’s a lot of history, spanning generations. It’ll take time to truly unite them,” Daere said.
Shea knew that. Eamon and the others had told her at some point, but she didn’t know if she had fully realized what that meant. To most of the Lowlands, the Trateri were all painted with the same brush.
“It would help matters if the bloodlines mixed,” Braden observed, not taking his eyes off the front. “If the Hawkvale had ties of blood to some of the other clans, they would be much less likely to fight him on some of his policies.”
Shea sucked in a breath, the comment unexpected. She blinked rapidly, grateful that he wasn’t looking at her so she could compose her expression. The shock. It had never occurred to her to think Fallon’s position would be more stable if he had taken a proper Trateri woman as his telroi—and it should have.
She took another breath and let it go slowly.
Before she could think of a response, Daere stepped into the awkward silence. “Such a move could also result in further instability, as one clan is elevated above the rest.”
“He could just have children with a woman from every clan. Of course, you’d face the same problem when it came time for one of those children to take up the mantle of leadership.” The response was out of Shea’s mouth before she could stop it.
The only acknowledgement from Braden of her sarcasm was a slight turn of his head toward her. Daere smothered a smile and lowered her eyes to the ground.
Shea fought to keep still, not wanting Braden to know how such talk of Fallon and other women had disturbed her.
Trenton stepped into the silence. “Until then, there are flare-ups when they come into contact with one another.”
“As the Telroi you should understand this,” Braden chided. “You cannot lead if you do not know how to control your people.”
Shea stiffened next to him, taking issue with the rebuke in his tone. Daere quickly looked away, having said something similar a time or two. Shea narrowed her eyes at the two of them. For two people who barely talked to one another, they sure thought alike.
Shea gave Braden the same response she gave Daere. “I have no intention of leading. Fallon is the warlord; he’s the leader.”
Braden arched an eyebrow at her. “That is a surprisingly naïve outlook from someone I had assumed was smarter than this.”
Shea gave him a stony-faced expression, not letting him know how those words smarted.
Braden kept speaking, his voice crisp and matter of fact. “Whether you have the intention or not doesn’t matter. The fact that you stand at his side means people are going to look to you for leadership in times of crisis. How will you guide them if you don’t even understand the most basic facet of their existence? To say nothing of those who covet your influence over the Warlord, and see you as a means to manipulate him by simply bending your ear to their agenda. A wise woman would learn all she can, so she can determine the snake in the grass before she is bitten.”
Daere shifted beside Shea, drawing her attention. The other woman’s face was impassive, offering Shea no insight to her thoughts. Shea looked between the two of them. Yup, basically the same speech. She wondered if Daere had coached Braden on what to say, or if he had come up with that little talk all on his own.
“I’ve heard something similar before,” Shea finally said.
Braden looked briefly at Daere, who had still not given him her attention and was intently focused on the class. “It is sound advice.”
Shea shrugged one shoulder. “Probably.”
A man in the back raised his hand. He was dressed a little differently than the rest, his leathers a little rougher, and the crest on his back not one Shea was familiar with. A few of the others gave him a sideways glance that made it clear they weren’t quite happy with this stranger in their midst. Shea assumed he was one of those not from the Wind Division that Clark had spoken about earlier.
Charles stopped speaking and looked at him expectantly. “Yes, you had a question?”
“What about this mist that seems to be popping up everywhere all of a sudden? You haven’t given us any information on that.”
Charles looked momentarily nonplussed, glancing around the class as if they might have the answer. When everyone looked at him expectantly, he said in a hesitant voice, “The mist is a new threat that we don’t have a lot of information on yet. Does anybody here have any observations?”
There was a long pause as the rest of the men and a few women glanced around. None stood to offer their opinion. A few shook their heads and sat back.
Another stranger, this one also with a patch Shea didn’t recognize, asked, “Isn’t that what we’re here for? So you can tell us how to survive this thing?” His voice was impatient, with the barest edge of derision in it.
The feeling of the crowd shifted, the undercurrents ugly and rife with anger as the scouts and soldiers from the Wind Division glared at the man.
Charles looked around with unease, sensing the worsening mood. Everyone was on edge. It was a situation that could explode into violence as the people present turned their skills to something they could control—beating each other senseless.
He made a placating motion with his hands. “We’re all a little uneasy about what this mist is and what it can do. The purpose behind these classes is to bring our heads together so we can figure out sound strategies to overcome the obstacles we face on a daily basis.”
“This is ridiculous. I bet you have no idea how to handle this. I can’t believe my war band insisted I attend.”
A man in the front stood up. He was big, easily taller than most of the men here. He looked like he had been cut from stone with a blunt chisel, his features rough and half formed. “How ‘bout you keep your mouth shut if you’ve nothing helpful to add?”
If a man who looked like that—with a body built for violence and a face that looked like it belonged on a berserker—spoke to her like that, Shea thought she might do whatever he asked, especially when his question had a tone that made it clear what the consequences would be if you didn’t listen.
Charles looked overwhelmed and out of his element as he tried to intervene. “Let’s not let our emotions get the best of us. We’re all just looking for answers.”
“Stay out of it, cripple,” the stranger snapped.
The other man’s face darkened, and he looked like he was going to leap across the crowd to wrap his hands around the stranger’s neck.
“You shouldn’t run,” Shea said, her voice ringing through the air. The statement was strange enough and out of context enough that both men paused to glance her way.
“Shea.” Charles looked unhappy as he glanced from her to the other man.
Many of those gathered recognized her, having been on missions with her, or having heard her story. She was a bit notorious with the Wind Division scouts. Clark and Buck liked to brag on her, trying to convince any who listened that they knew her first and taught her everything she knew. A lie, for the most part.
“The first thing to know about the mist is that you shouldn’t run from it. One—you’ll never be fast enough, and two—it knows when someone acts like prey. Running will just attract it.”
The stranger guffawed, a sound of stunned disbelief. “What’s this? Superstition is what you’re teaching these people? Who is this anyways?”
He took in her appearance, his lip curling in a sneer. Guess he didn’t recognize her. She sighed. She’d thought she was past having to deal with idiots. Looked like she was wrong. She was beginning to think there was one in every group. Perhaps it was simply her burden to bear.
“Someone who knows considerably more about the mist than you, obviously.”
Clark snorted back a laugh at her dry tone. He always got an odd joy when she put others down with the sharp edge of her tongue.
“I seriously doubt some throwaway knows anything of worth.”
There was a rumble of anger at the last statement. Clark puffed up and looked like he was going to leap to her defense. Shea shook her head at him and he settled back.
Assured that Clark wasn’t going make things worse or get himself hurt, Shea took the time to study the other man. His face was set in a belligerent expression, but she couldn’t tell if that was a cover for fear or whether he’d come here specifically to start something. Knowing the Trateri, it could be either.
She gave him the benefit of the doubt and attributed some of his hostility to fear of the unknown and the rest to having to turn to his enemy for answers. Fear was difficult to gauge. Everyone reacted to it differently. Some took it in stride, using it as an opportunity to rise to the challenge and meet it head on. Shea had seen people pull together when faced with what seemed to be insurmountable odds and overcome them. Others, when faced with fear of the unknown, became their most base selves, committing atrocities previously at odds with their core beliefs. These were the people who would sacrifice everything—including pieces of themselves and others—to survive just one more day or even an hour longer. Their fear was a wind that fanned the flame of destruction, both in themselves and what they once loved.
Perhaps it was the cynic in her or just that she was unlucky, but Shea had considerably more experience with the second reaction, having seen it time and again.
How to address this? The easy answer would be to reveal she was the Telroi of the Hawkvale. She was actually surprised that the men with her or Daere hadn’t already disclosed that little secret. She was grateful for their restraint. If she was to make a place here, to lead as Braden had said, she needed to make her own way, build respect on her own. The respect Fallon had built would only extend so far.
Shea gave an internal sigh. It seemed no matter how far she’d come, or what she did, she always came back to having to prove herself, to demonstrating she wasn’t just some throwaway with air in her head or an insignificant woman wanting a seat at the men’s table.
“The first time I walked into the mist, I was six. My mother thought early exposure would help me overcome it when it was time.”
There was a murmur among those gathered at Shea’s words. Daere’s gaze jumped to Shea’s face. Braden looked thoughtful at the revelation.
“The second time I was twelve and during my apprenticeship as a pathfinder. I’ve walked through the mist and come out the other side more times than I have fingers on my hands.” Shea let that sink into their minds, noting that the stranger seemed watchful now, as if he was weighing her words and looking for loopholes. “Treat the mist as you would a beast. It is mysterious, and dangerous, and beautiful. It will make you lose your way if it can, never to walk this world again. Be vigilant. Be brave.”
“If we can’t run, what should we do?” the question came from the mountain of a man in front, the one who had threatened the stranger.
Shea was quiet as she thought. She’d been truthful with Fallon when she said it was impossible for her to teach them how to walk in the mist. That would offer little comfort to these men who risked their lives every time they set foot outside the camp’s perimeter. She needed to give them something to hold onto, no matter how small. Something that would offer some protection, even if it wasn’t much.
“Carry rope on you at all times. Your biggest challenge in the mist is getting lost. It’s easy to get separated. If you can, gather your people and have them hold onto the rope. It’ll at least give you a chance.”
As Shea spoke, she saw that several of those present began to write—their faces as attentive and intense as they had been when they listened to Charles. It made Shea uneasy to know they were giving her words such weight. She hoped she didn’t fail them by offering useless advice.
“There are many things that are still unknown about the mist even in the Highlands where it is a constant threat.” She rubbed her hands together as she thought. “This may just be observation and hypothesis. Not everything is proven. What I can tell you is that the mist has limitations. Most of the time it seems to avoid large populations of life, leaving it alone or barely skirting along the edges. Its effects are greatly mitigated where there are large settlements. You have more of a chance of coming back to this world in a group than you do by yourself.”
She chose to leave out the fact that after the cataclysm, when the mist was at its worst, it could carry off entire cities teeming with people. That’s how the Badlands formed. Once settled by thousands of people, they were now a desolate wasteland where only the insane, foolhardy, and desperate visited.
“Some of Eamon’s men said you had them tie themselves to one of these trees,” Fiona said from the front, her eyes piercing and intent.
Shea hadn’t noticed her among the crowd. She nodded. “I did. The soul trees are deeply rooted in this world and their size acts as an anchor. My suggestion would be to find one and stay with it until the mist abates.”
The stranger snorted, a sound filled with skepticism. “This is all you have? If you walked out of the mist when you were six and twelve, it doesn’t sound too dangerous. Why should we believe you?”
Shea shrugged, the gesture careless. “Believe what you like. It’s your life to live as you choose. Its loss makes no difference to me. I think, though, you know on some level that the mist is dangerous. Why else would you be here? Why else would any of you be here?”
“Easy words for a throwaway to say. You’re not the one who is going to be out there. For all we know everything you just said will get us killed.”
Shea gave him a long look filled with disdain. Guess she should have expected that as his next volley.
Before she could reply, Daere’s voice was a whip through the air. “Watch how you speak to the Hawkvale’s Telroi.”
Her words had an immediate effect on those who didn’t already know. The strangers and a few of Wind Division studied her with new eyes, assessing, cataloging, and trying to decide what about this throwaway had so drawn their warlord. Shea fought not to react, though she’d always loathed being the center of attention in matters not related to pathfinding.
She knew what they’d see, a woman with unruly hair just brushing her shoulders. One who was of average height and average looks. Sometimes she questioned what he saw in her too. She wasn’t politically powerful, and since she’d burned the maps that showed the secret paths to the Highlands—she didn’t have leverage with him that way. She’d be the first to admit she had a bit of a temper, and she wasn’t the nicest of individuals on occasion.
Daere’s words seemed to work, acting like a blast of cold water. However, Shea was pretty sure by the way the stranger was eyeing her that she hadn’t managed to sway him much. She gave a mental shrug. He’d believe her, or he wouldn’t. She’d tried. She’d even taken Eamon’s advice and tried to explain rather than just tell. What he did with that information was now on him. She just hoped he didn’t get others killed through his own hardheadedness.
A few of the others seemed to take her words to heart, dutifully inscribing them in the notebooks she knew Clark had passed out to any scout who would take them. At least someone would get something from this. It would have to be enough.
The crowd gradually dispersed. Charles walked over to them as the others left, some in groups as they compared notes, and others trickling off alone.
“Thanks, Shea. I don’t know what I would have done without you here,” he said, his gait stiff as he limped over to them. It was enough to ensure he was unable to become a soldier or join any other combat positions. He was smart, though. Smarter than most. His intellect should have guaranteed him a spot in the upper echelons, but his leg kept him back.
“Does that happen often?” Braden asked. If he thought less of Charles because of his physical ailment, he didn’t show it.
“The scouts and soldiers from Wind Division don’t usually challenge me like that. We’re having more problems when some from other divisions join in a class. Most are respectful, but a few feel the need to throw their weight around. Soldiers from Ember and Lion seem to be the worst.”
“Which clan and division was that man from?” Shea asked.
“Rain clan, Tempest division.”
Hm. That was good to know. She thought the patches on the men from the sleeper vine incident were similar to that of the stranger’s.
“That does not surprise me,” Trenton said. “Rain took a lot of the exiles from Snake Clan when Fallon disbanded it. Their clan leader was good friends with Indra. They seem to hate everyone who is not them. It doesn’t matter what clan or division you’re in.”
“You’ve got an interesting concept here,” Braden told Charles. “It could use a little work and fine tuning, but the idea is sound.”
Charles blinked at the general as if just realizing who he was. His mouth dropped open as surprise dawned on his face. “You’re General Braden Thorisdon. You’re responsible for the victory against the Oorumicon.”
“I did fight in that battle, but there were many who fought alongside me.” Braden’s words were humble, sparking Shea’s curiosity.
Who were the Oorumicon? Were they another enemy of the Trateri that she didn’t know about? Had they been conquered and assimilated into Fallon’s clans? There was so much to learn about the Trateri, their culture and history. It seemed never-ending.
“This is such an honor,” Charles said. “I have listened to the stories and songs about you and have followed your path up the ranks.”
Before Braden could respond, a woman with blond hair pulled back in a single braid and wearing a determined expression approached. She was trailed by a tall thin man with a long face and a pained expression. He was Trateri; Shea was willing to bet the woman wasn’t.
“Eva, don’t,” the man warned in a soft voice.
His words caused the other woman to hesitate before she shrugged them off and lifted her chin. Her eyes fastened on Shea’s. “I’m told you can help us.”
Trenton turned and looked at the woman, edging her away from Shea with a subtle movement. “And who might you be?” he asked with a flirtatious grin.
Eva stopped short, eyeing Trenton for a moment before dismissing him and looking past him to Shea. “We’re having problems in the pasture. We’ve lost three horses in the past week and two others were injured. We need help from somebody who knows this place.”
“You should direct your complaints to your clan,” Braden said.
The woman’s face turned frustrated, her petite features belying the force of personality behind her eyes. “We have. They’ve neglected to do anything meaningful, and meanwhile we stand to lose even more.” Her eyes turned to Charles, an accusation in them. “This is the second time I’ve come here for help and have been turned away.”
Charles blustered, “The beast class isn’t here to help a throwaway do their job. We have important business that takes priority.”
Eva snorted. “You would think you people would care for your horses a little better, instead of just leaving them to be picked off one by one.”
“Eva,” the other man cautioned again, his eyes flicking from Braden to Trenton to Wilhelm.
Eva’s mouth tightened, and her chin lifted, stubbornness written on every line of her body.
“Do you know what’s attacking the herd?” Shea asked.
Eva’s eyes turned to Shea, a cautious hope in them. Shea didn’t know how this woman came to be among the Trateri, but it was clear she felt passionate about her horses.
“I found tracks. They look like bandisox, but they’re about four times bigger and a lot meaner.”
Bandisox were a rat-like animal that had bands of black circular rings around its body and white feet. It had a rodent-like face and a tail. They were normally not a threat. While carnivorous, they were too small to bring down a human and were mostly scavengers.
“You should take this to Mountain division,” Charles complained. “The herd belongs to them.”
Eva made a sound of frustration, one that sounded very like a growl. “I’ve already told you I did. They haven’t been able to help. Aren’t you all part of the same people?”
“While I sympathize with your plight, we are unable to help,” Braden said, his tone a clear dismissal.
Eva’s face fell before she rallied enough to hide her thoughts.
“I’ll help,” Shea said. “Can you show me where your herd is?”
Hope lit in Eva’s eyes, and she gave a sharp nod, before shooting the rest of the group a grim look.
Charles looked offended. “The Telroi is too important to waste her time on such insignificant matters.”
“I think I should be the judge in how my time is spent.” Shea kept her voice gentle to soften the rebuke.
Charles felt the sting of it, nonetheless. His face flushed and his mouth tightened in a frown.
“If you don’t mind the company, I’d be interested in seeing this as well,” Fiona said. She and two other men stood off to Shea’s left, watching them with curious eyes. “My men and I have a lot of energy to spend since we’ve been cooped up in camp for the last few weeks.”
Eva studied Fiona and her men before nodding. “We’ll take any help we can get at this point.”
Eva’s friend looked no less worried than he had before Eva had confronted Shea, but he did squeeze her shoulder in support. “If you’ll follow us, we can show you where we keep the herd and the tracks we found.”
Shea gestured for them to lead the way.
*
Eva was right; these did look like bandisox tracks, only they were bigger than any Shea had ever seen. Nearly as big as her head, they were also set almost an entire arm length apart. That meant the stride was pretty long. Shea was guessing from these that the beast was as tall as her waist and probably her weight as well.
Fiona crouched a few feet away and pressed her hand down into the track. “Piss and bollocks. This thing is huge.”
“Looks like more than one of them,” one of Fiona’s men said from where he crouched.
“The smaller bandisox tend to scavenge in packs,” Shea said, standing and walking along the tracks. “I wouldn’t be surprised if these are the same.”
While big compared to their smaller cousins, the bandisox in this forest would still be small when compared to many other predators. Horses, dangerous in their own right, and perfectly capable of killing their predators, were probably less aggressive than some of the other animals here. They would be easy prey if enough bandisox attacked en masse.
“What are you looking for?” Trenton asked as he shadowed Shea. She’d followed the tracks to a tree.
“A nest. There are too few tracks for this to be a colony. My guess is a few broke with their original colony when resources became plentiful and that they’re setting up their own nest close to a food source.”
Eva followed, listening with an attentive expression. “Are you saying there are going to be more of them?”
“Probably sooner than you think,” Shea warned. “It’s good that you brought this to our attention when you did. A colony can grow to several hundred strong. At that point, they wouldn’t have only attacked the horses. You would have been prey as well.”
Eva looked apprehensive at that news, her eyes going to the forest around them as her body tensed.
Seeing the alarm in her face, Shea gave her a reassuring smile. “Your warning came in time. I think this is a small nest so far. We shouldn’t have a problem uprooting it.”
Fiona and her men trailed Shea and Trenton as they swept through the forest. The horses were allowed to roam in the meadow that had popped up due to a gap in the canopy above. The wildflowers and long grass made it perfect for grazing, and the open space made it easy for Eva and her friend to care for them.
One of the horses, a white gray mare with a black mane and tail, and gray spots on her lower legs trotted up to Eva. She butted the woman playfully and then tossed her head. Eva patted her absently, her eyes on the meadow around them.
“She’s a beauty,” Fiona said, her eyes on the horse.
“Last herd master wanted to put her down because he thought she was too aggressive,” Eva said stroking the mare’s nose. To the mare, she crooned, “You just thought the man was an idiot, didn’t you sweetheart?”
One of Fiona’s men stepped close, his hand going up to touch the horse’s neck. The mare squealed and wheeled, her lips pulling back as she tried to nip the man. Eva grabbed the horse’s head and pulled before the mare could trample the other man.
“Hey, just ignore the fool,” Eva told the mare, her voice soft and gentle. “Just because someone’s rude doesn’t mean we have to go get all bent out of shape.”
Shea chuckled. She liked the herd mistress.
“How long have you been with this herd?” Shea asked.
Eva continued patting the mare even as she threw a glance at Shea. “Not long. A few months at most.”
“We don’t normally accept women as tribute,” Braden said, thoughtful eyes on Eva.
Eva’s smile was humorless. “I wasn’t tribute.”
“Someone claimed you as a telroi?” Trenton asked.
She shook her head. “My village cast me out. One of the warbands found me and offered to take me with them. I didn’t see much of a choice.”
“Brave,” Fiona said, a bit of respect on her face. “Not many women would be so accepting.”
Eva’s smile was gentle as she looked up at the mare. “Their horses made the risk worth it.”
The mare let out a loud snort as its ears laid back and its tail swished aggressively. It lifted its head and pawed the ground.
Eva stepped back, her gaze going to the forest around them as the mare alerted them to the danger. The others with them immediately went on alert, weapons coming out as they eyed their surroundings.
The forest was quiet—the trees looming like silent watchers.
The mare lifted half up and then came back to the ground, stomping as she released a scream of challenge.
Charles took several unsteady steps back, fear showing on his face. Clark had already drawn the bow and arrow he’d brought.
A large form, about the size of a dog, appeared in the grass not far from them. Its yellow eyes focused on Shea and her group. It was a bandisox, smaller than the tracks had indicated, but bigger than any she’d seen before.
The mare used her shoulder to herd Eva away from the bandisox.
“Don’t shoot.” Shea’s voice was eerily calm.
“Kill it,” Charles said, his voice tight.
“No, not yet. Look in the trees above it,” Shea said.
Above them, massed on the branches like crows, were a swarm of bandisox. The grass rustled on both sides of their group.
“I was wrong. The colony is much bigger than I thought.” Shea’s voice was grim. It had probably grown in the weeks that it had taken for Eva to get someone to listen to her.
Two bandisox, ones that dwarfed those in the trees, slunk closer. A high-pitched chittering escaped them as they broke off to circle Shea and the others. The mare whirled as one of the bandisox came close, rising onto her hind legs and trying to stomp the rodent under her hooves. The bandisox darted out of the way, letting out a high screech of its own. Another sought to take advantage of the mare’s distraction, sailing across the grass to attack the hindquarters.
Eva let out a war cry and hit it with a rock she grabbed from the ground. There was a pained grunt as the bandisox landed before turning on Eva. It didn’t make it far before the mare gave a rear kick, sending it sailing back into the grass.
This seemed to be a signal for the rest. They surged forward.
The Trateri next to Shea let out bloodcurdling cries as they met the surge with naked blades and a fearsome ferocity. The next few minutes were a tangle of images as the Trateri fought off the bandisox, the mare at their side.
Shea wielded her blade against several as they converged on her. She suffered several bites as she stabbed and swung. One landed on her shoulder, its small teeth sinking into her back, before Trenton knocked it off her.
A mad light flared in his eyes before he turned to attack the next bandisox with a battle cry.
It wasn’t long before they had killed all those that attacked them. Shea panted as she watched her surroundings, bandisox dead all around them.
“I think that’s the last,” Fiona said, coming to stand beside Shea. She clapped Shea on the shoulder. “Glad we tagged along with you. This was fun. We should do it again sometime.”
Shea eyed the other woman with an expression close to disbelief. Fun. Right. Their definitions differed wildly.
“Your throwaway did a pretty good job herself,” Fiona said, gesturing with her chin to where Eva stood, exhausted, the mare dropping her chin onto Eva’s shoulder. “Better than some of us, anyway.”
Fiona eyed Charles with a hint of distaste as the other man limped back towards them. He’d tried to abandon them when the bandisox attacked, leaving them to fend for themselves. Unfortunately, the bandisox had surrounded him so he hadn’t gotten far.
“He’s not a warrior,” Shea said in his defense.
“Neither is the Lowlander,” Trenton said in a soft voice at her side.
“Not everybody is made for battle,” Shea returned.
The quiet that answered her made the others’ stance on Charles clear. He’d lost respect by trying to run. Shea didn’t fault him for his actions. Everyone’s response to danger was different. The Trateri didn’t see it that way, and there was a definite difference in how the others treated him, with the exception of Clark, who greeted the other man with relief.
Shea turned away and began walking into the forest.
“Where are you going?” Braden asked.
“There’s a nest somewhere around here. We need to take care of it, or else Eva will have the same problem in a week or two.”
Fiona and her men pulled themselves up. Fiona stepped forward. “My men and I will help. We’re not bad trackers.”
Shea gave them a nod of appreciation.
Eva patted the mare on the neck before joining them. “I will help as well since I’m the reason you’re here.”
Trenton and Wilhelm didn’t offer their services. They didn’t need to. Where Shea went, they did as well. Yet Shea couldn’t help noticing the respect on both of their faces when they looked at Eva.
“Clark, take Charles and head back. This could take a while, and I’m sure you both have other duties,” Shea said.
Charles’ face darkened. “We can help. You don’t have to protect us.”
“Yes, you can,” Shea agreed. “You can write up the description and a few points from this experience, and then make sure it gets into the hands of the rest of the herd masters. They need to know what to watch out for so they can protect their herds.”
Shea wasn’t lying. The task was an important one. Even if it hadn’t been, she would have found some way to send Charles back. He wasn’t suited for this work. Nothing wrong with that, but it didn’t change facts.
The look on Charles’ face said he doubted her reasoning but a glance at Braden told her he didn’t want to argue in front of the general.
Clark covered for his friend. “Of course, Shea. We’ll make sure that it’s done.”
The two set off towards camp.
“That was kind of you,” Braden observed.
“Not particularly. I needed it done.”
He made a hmm sound that was neither agreement nor disagreement.
Shea took the lead, trusting the others to follow. It was going to be a long afternoon.