SHEA WOKE to an empty bed. Again. She rested one hand on the indent from Fallon’s body before rolling over and facing in the other direction. It had been several days since their argument, and neither of them had made any effort to make amends. Their exchanges had devolved into a series of icy greetings.
She’d busied herself with helping Clark and Charles and their beast classes. Something she enjoyed more than she wanted to admit. They had taken her proposal of teaching tracking and recognizing the different signs of beasts to the next level. The class size had doubled in a few short days and they were having to put people on waiting lists.
Shea knew that would change once patrols started back up in full force. A few had been sent out, but Fallon hadn’t lifted all restrictions yet.
She heaved herself to her feet and shuffled over to her trunk, pulling out a clean set of the scout uniform she’d taken to wearing when she taught. It was really just a pair of pants and a linen shirt missing any patches that would have signified her unit, division and clan.
She ducked out of the tent, using the entrance she had made in her fit of anger. Wilhelm waited for her. He gave her an easy smile and handed her a roll filled with spicy meat, the Trateri’s version of a quick breakfast. The smell tantalized, causing her mouth to water and her stomach to rumble.
“Here, I thought you might need this since you always skip breakfast,” Wilhelm said.
Shea grunted. Her relationship with her guards had been damaged by that night, and she wasn’t quite willing to forgive them for following Fallon’s orders. She accepted their presence, but she made no attempt at friendly overtures. The same couldn’t be said of them.
“Are you heading for the beast class again today?” Wilhelm asked, falling into step beside her.
She nodded, her mouth full of the roll he’d brought her.
“What’s the name of that beast you were talking about yesterday? The one with three horns?”
“A trihorn boar.”
The trihorn boar got its name from its three horns, two on its forehead and one on its nose. It had a muscular body and easily reached to Shea’s waist. It was carnivorous and extremely aggressive when its territory was threatened. It also hunted in packs.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“What about it?”
“How big did you say those packs were?”
Shea shrugged. “It depends. Most are between ten or fifteen, but I’ve seen packs of twenty before.”
“And they eat people?”
“They can, but we’re not their main prey. They’re very territorial and will attack anything that trespasses, including people.”
“That is very interesting.”
Not really. It was actually pretty typical of a beast.
They continued for several steps, each left to their own thoughts.
“You haven’t shown up for training for the last few days,” Wilhelm said after a moment.
Ah, there it was. The reason for his questions. Shea had been wondering when that was going to be brought up.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Be that as it may. That training is just as important as the instruction you give in the beast classes. You should make time for it.”
Shea didn’t respond, choosing silence as her answer.
Wilhelm didn’t let that deter him. “It would also go a long way towards making amends with Trenton.”
This time Shea couldn’t help her snort. “It is not my job to make amends with you two. Fallon has decreed that I have to have guards, so I have them. I do not need to be friends with either of you, and your emotional well-being is none of my concern.”
“You know he had no choice but to follow Fallon’s orders,” Wilhelm said softly.
Shea stopped and turned to face him. “Perhaps not. However, he made it quite clear that Fallon—and only Fallon holds his loyalty. That’s fine, both of you are Anateri. I know that means something to you, and I can respect that. You do your job, and I’ll do mine.”
Shea meant every word she said. She understood that their first duty was to their Warlord. That was fine. She’d been the one to confuse matters by thinking they had a quasi-friendship going. That was on her. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
They’d arrived at the place where she would conduct her class for the day. She gave Wilhelm a nod before turning and heading to the front of the class, picking up a list so she could note the names of those in attendance. Wilhelm let her go without trying to engage her again.
“Alright, let’s get started,” she told the men and women assembled. “Yesterday we went over what trail sign to look for to track a trihorn boar. Today, we’re going a little deeper into the forest and you’re going to practice looking at their tracks. Any questions?”
A woman raised her hand. Shea gestured for her to speak.
“When are we going to learn about the mist?”
Shea heaved an internal sigh. That question had been asked in every class she’d taught. “That’s a different class. Your division leader needs to recommend you for placement. Any other questions.”
There were a few rumblings, but no one else raised their hand. Good.
*
Fallon stifled his impatience with his council, which was made up of the various clan heads that were in camp. The clan leaders and their betas for Horse, Lion, Earth, Rain, and Ember were all present. Rain and Ember were clans who had recently made the long journey from the Outlands to join the rest of the clans.
He’d had reports that their members were causing minor disruptions throughout camp and had been less than willing when their warriors had been assigned to the other divisions. There had already been several fights that had landed the offenders on punishment duty.
“All I’m saying is there is no reason to sit here and do nothing,” Joseph, the beta for Rain, said. The rest of the clans looked disgruntled that a beta was being so outspoken in a formal session. Normally only the heads spoke. The betas were there simply to know what was going on in case they ever had to step into the position of leader.
“You and your clan have not been here the past few months,” Henry, the leader of Horse clan, explained. “You do not understand the deeper strategy or the dangers afoot. Your plan would see many deaths.”
“We’re Trateri, not Lowlanders. We do not let fear of death dictate our actions,” the clan leader of Ember said. Zeph was a tall man with dark skin and dark eyes. He was one of the few Trateri to grow a beard. He was also known for his skill with bow and arrow and spear. His people were great hunters in their homelands and were second only to the Earth clan in creating weapons. “Your time here has made you soft, old friend.”
“There is a difference between courage and foolhardiness,” Fallon said before there could be any more argument. “Every hunter learns their prey and its habits before they strike. It is the same concept here. You are used to fighting the south-eastern cities. This is a different scenario, one that requires patience and learning a different set of tactics.”
Ben spoke, his eyes solemn. “Our enemy here is not the Lowlanders. We lose more men to beasts than we do in battle.”
Zeph grimaced. “There is no honor in such a death.”
Many in Fallon’s army agreed. It was causing dissent. The forced inactivity was making the discontent more vocal. Fallon needed to give them a direction for their frustration.
“My people are getting restless with all this sitting around and doing nothing,” Van said. He lounged in his chair with all the grace of a feline.
“What about a tournament?” Henry’s face was thoughtful.
That could work. It would give his soldiers an outlet and let them compete against each other for the glory of their clans.
The other clan leaders looked like they were considering the idea.
“There could be a prize for the winner,” Ben said. “My blacksmiths have several expert caliber swords that could be offered up.”
“Perhaps a prize from all the clans depending on the event,” Zeph said.
There were several murmurs of agreement.
“This still does not solve our problems,” Gawain said. He was the head of Rain, a short man that had a permanent scowl of dissatisfaction on his face.
Van’s exhale was angry. “All Rain seems capable of is complaining. Perhaps he is afraid that the months that he languished in the Outlands have made his people soft while the rest of us were conquering the Lowlands.”
Gawain glared at the other man. It was a sore point to him, since the clans who remained behind would not share in the war spoils. Those who had followed Fallon had reaped the rewards in tithes and would continue to do so now that the Lowlands were all but conquered. It was why Rain and Ember were so vocal about invading the Highlands.
“I don’t see why we haven’t made our move on the Highlands,” Gawain said. “We’ve captured one of theirs. From what I’ve heard, they all but gave us an engraved invitation.”
Fallon’s body went still, and his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. Darius stiffened beside him.
“And where did you hear that?” Fallon’s voice was silky as he leaned forward, every muscle in his body tensed to pounce. This was the Warlord speaking, and every one of them knew it as they looked at him with guarded expressions.
Gawain’s face was tight, but he didn’t back down. “Are you saying it’s not true?”
Fallon tapped his finger on his thigh, considering very carefully what tactic he wanted to take with this. Loyalty was a fickle thing. Doubly so when dealing with the clans. He had the backing of the soldiers and many in the lower castes. However, the clan heads and their betas were used to power. Some were with him because they wanted a reprieve from the infighting and thought consolidating the powerbase would keep them in their positions longer and prolong their life. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t turn on him at the first opportunity. How long could he hold the Trateri without their backing?
“I do not answer to you,” Fallon said. He looked at each clan head in turn. “To any of you. Your presence here is at my discretion. When I have news that I think pertains to you, I will share it. Until then, attend to your people. Rain and Ember—you are new to this camp, yet your people have caused many problems since arriving. I would be careful if I were you not to become too big of a nuisance. You would not want what happened to Snake clan to be repeated.”
More than one person looked away from Fallon. News of what he’d done to that clan had become a cautionary tale. Their leader had sought to assassinate Fallon and had even come close a time or two. When he’d caught up with her, he’d returned the favor and then executed her and all of her advisors. The rest of the clan, he’d disbanded. Some became outcasts, forced to the edges of their society where they still struggled to eke out a living.
Fallon stood, his point made. He might need the council’s good will but he wouldn’t be controlled by it.
“Henry, since the tournament was your idea, I’ll leave the planning to you,” Fallon said. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of a tournament, of a chance to pit the skills of his men against each other. He might even find time to join in on the events.
*
“Shea, Shea,” Clark’s voice called over the crowd. Shea looked up to find his curly hair bobbing up and down as he jumped and waved to her. He was shorter than most of the men surrounding him and disappeared as soon as he landed, only to pop back up again.
“He’s certainly an energetic guy,” Trenton observed with a wry voice next to her. He’d relieved Wilhelm at the midday meal.
They’d stopped at one of the cooks’ campfires to pick up something to eat before the afternoon classes that Shea was teaching on the mist. Daere was supposed to join them shortly, as was fast becoming her habit.
Shea ignored his comment and focused on Clark’s arrival. The younger boy looked excited as he finally made it to them.
“Did you two hear? There’s going to be an all-clan tournament in three days.”
Trenton whistled. “We haven’t had one of those since we began this campaign.”
“What’s an all-clan tournament?” Shea asked.
“It’s a series of contests designed to test the different skills of a warrior,” Trenton explained.
“But anybody can compete. Even an Outclan can compete. The only requirement is that you are Trateri. Some compete to gain recognition. A lot of the mentors will pick an apprentice based on how they do in the different skill sets.”
“So, the throwaways can’t compete,” Shea said. Figured. For all Fallon’s speeches on how he wanted to unite the Broken Lands, it was still very much the Trateri against everyone else.
Clark’s brow furrowed as he frowned. “We haven’t had an all-clan since we took on the throwaways. I wonder if they’ll modify the rules so they can take part.”
“They probably wouldn’t acquit themselves well even if they competed,” Trenton said. His gaze was fastened on Shea as if he was expecting a rise out of her.
Shea lifted an eyebrow. Nice try, but she wasn’t that easy.
Clark ignored Trenton. “That’s not even the best part. Every division gets to come up with three events. Eamon’s asked us to put together an event.”
Shea stared at him with a blank expression. That’s it? She didn’t get why he was so excited by this.
He rolled his eyes at her lack of enthusiasm. “Do you know what an honor this is? The event planners are nearly as famous as those who win the events. This is our chance to put the beast class on the map for the other divisions. If we plan something that they remember, they might consider implementing our model in their own divisions.”
“Hm.” Shea still didn’t get it since it sounded like a pain in the ass to her, but she was happy for him anyway. “Sounds like you and Charles have a lot of work to do.”
“Not just us; you’re part of the team too. We couldn’t do this without you.” He put a hand out. “Unless you wanted to compete. In which case, you couldn’t take part in the planning. That might work even better. This way you can prove you’re the best.”
Shea’s eyes widened and she was shaking her head before he’d even finished. “No, I don’t think so. I’ll help you plan, but competing isn’t really my thing.”
“I’m going to tell Charles the good news. He’s going to be stunned.” Clark didn’t wait for their goodbyes, hustling off in search of his friend.
Shea turned back to her food, noting with a frown that Trenton was resting his chin on his hand and grinning at her. He fluttered his eyes at her when he noticed her attention.
“Not even a Trateri a full year and you already have followers.”
“Clark’s my friend.”
He made a hmm sound that failed to denote agreement.
“What?”
“I see through you. For someone who likes to pretend they’re an outsider, you sure have a lot of friends in your corner. Not everybody gets asked to design an event. The Trateri take their tournaments very seriously. It’s one of the few activities we can gather for without intentionally shedding blood but still compete for the honor of our clans.”
Shea took a bite of her food.
“And this is something Fallon didn’t give you either. You got it all on your own merit,” he observed.
Shea looked at him in question.
“If you were wondering, that is.”
She hadn’t been, but she was now. Just how much of her life was Fallon responsible for? Was he the reason Clark and Charles were so interested in having her help with the Beast Board? And despite Trenton’s assertion, was he the reason they were getting this chance?
She took a slow bite of her food. It was something to think about.
*
Shea walked towards the tent she shared with Fallon with a slight limp, looking forward to washing off the thin coating of grime she was carrying around. One of the classes had startled a pair of wylde pigs, the slightly smaller cousin of the trihorn boar; Shea had played decoy while they brought the pigs down. Unfortunately, not before one had rammed her leg, leaving a nice sized bruise.
Trenton had not been happy when he found out. He may have even cast aspersions on Shea’s intelligence and muttered about hard-headed women who didn’t know their limits, before he stalked off after leaving her in front of her tent.
One little bruise and he was acting like a child. He’d left worse injuries on her during some of their training sessions.
Shea gave the two guards a resigned nod, not registering their surprise at her acknowledgement. Wilhelm and Trenton hadn’t been the only two to suffer from her withdrawal. The rest of the Anateri had been treated to the same remoteness.
She limped inside the tent and drew up short, noticing that Fallon and several men were seated around the table discussing plans. They quieted at the sight of her, and she found herself the center of attention.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were busy. I can come back,” Shea offered.
Henry stood, aiming a friendly smile her way. Shea hadn’t realized he was there until now. “Nonsense, our matter is unimportant, and we were almost finished anyway.”
Shea looked at Fallon in question. She really hadn’t meant to interrupt.
He nodded, his face guarded and remote. “Henry’s right. This can be continued later.”
Taking that as their dismissal, the rest of the group filed past Shea and out of the tent. Henry was the last to go. There was a slight hitch to his gait as he moved towards her.
He patted her on the shoulder as he reached her. “He’s a difficult man, but I think you’ll find the rewards worth it in the end.”
Shea gave him a confused look as Henry chuckled and made his exit, leaving Fallon and Shea alone for the first time since their argument.
Fallon busied himself, pouring another glass of wine as Shea moved closer.
“I really am sorry to have interrupted. If I’d known, I would have waited,” Shea said, feeling awkward. She hated the distance she could feel between them, but she didn’t know how to bridge it.
“It’s fine. This is your home too. You should never feel that you have to wait to enter it.”
He poured her a glass of water and slid it her way. She took it and sipped, relishing the cool feeling as it hit her parched throat.
“I hear there’s an all-clan tournament,” she ventured.
He arched an eyebrow. “Do you know why they’re excited for one?”
She shook her head ruefully, “Not a clue. Clark couldn’t wait to tell me, but I have no idea what the hubbub was about.”
Fallon chuckled and Shea felt the weight on her shoulders lighten. “An all-clan is rare. It’s a holdover from when we were divided. When one was called, any clan in attendance declared a truce with the rest of the clans.”
Made sense. No one would want to show up for a tournament if they would face an ambush at the end of it. Of course, with the Trateri, that might have been part of the fun.
“It was a chance to gather and pit their skills against one another without bloodshed.” He thought a moment and then revised that statement. “Without much bloodshed. Now, it’s a way for young warriors to showcase their skills in the hopes of raising their status or securing a position in my elite units. The clans also stake their pride on the outcome.”
“Eamon’s asked Clark and Charles if they would design an event.”
Fallon looked surprised. “That’s a pretty big complement. The organizers are very particular about who they allow to arrange the individual events since all are open to anyone who wishes to compete.”
Shea shrugged. “Clark seemed to be very excited about it.”
“He should be. They don’t let just anyone help. Will you be involved?”
“He seemed to think I would be. Not too sure though.”
His gaze sharpened on her. “Why?”
She lifted one shoulder. “I’ve never been to one of these. I wouldn’t know the first place to start, and shouldn’t the credit go to a Trateri?”
He scowled. “You are Trateri.”
She looked away and shrugged again.
He took a deep breath. “Do your people ever have tournaments like this?”
Shea thought about it. “I don’t think so. They’re mostly focused on training. Once an apprentice passes the last test, they’re assigned to a village or their next posting. It can be years before they circle back to the keep again.” She tilted her head. “Some of the towns have festivals where there are occasional competitions, like who can toss a rock the farthest.”
Shea had never been very interested in attending those, not understanding the interest in comparing whose throw had the longest reach.
“There are events like that, but most test a skill. My favorites have always been hand-to-hand combat or tests of horsemanship.”
Shea would have liked to see him compete in one of those. “And how many of these have you won?”
He gave her a wicked smile. “Every single one.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Every one? Even your first?”
“I’m a legend. Haven’t you heard?”
She snorted. “You’re something all right.”
He had a crafty expression on his face when he asked, “Shall I prove it?”
She tapped her glass with one finger as she considered him.
He leaned forward, setting his wine aside. “Let’s make things even more interesting with a bet. I win, and you owe me a boon.”
“Fine, but turnabout is fair play. If you lose, you owe me one.”
“Deal.” He held his glass out for her to toast.
“Alright, deal.”
They drank to seal the deal.
Fallon finished his with a long gulp. “It’s too bad you’ll be considered an organizer and ineligible to compete. I would have liked to have seen you victorious.”
Shea’s drink went down the wrong pipe kicking off a storm of coughing. “In what event? There’s nothing I could beat the Trateri at.”
“I don’t know. You have shown a surprising resourcefulness over these past few months. I’m sure you could have brought my men to their knees.”
His statement struck her as funny, Shea snorted and threw her head back to laugh. “In what world are you living? Have you not seen me these last few months practicing with Trenton? Last week I nearly fell off my mount. I make toddlers seem skilled.”
He pointed at her with his glass. “You forget these tournaments test more than just skill with a weapon. They’re designed to test your mind and body and mental fortitude. There will be endurance courses, even navigation courses. Also, Trenton is considered elite. You can’t judge your skills by his. Most of my soldiers would have similar difficulties. You are better than you believe.”
“Hm.” Shea wasn’t quite convinced.
“I have faith in you. I will be here to push you until you have the same belief in yourself,” he told her.
She gave him a sideways look before dropping her eyes and taking a sip of her drink. He lifted an arm. She shifted over, turning her back and leaning against him.
Fallon pressed a kiss on the side of her forehead. “My world is grey and cold when you’re not in it.”
“Mine too.”