Pathfinder's Way (17 page)

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.

“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.”