Pathfinder's Way (31 page)

“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.

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.