Shea snorted. That couldn’t be further from the truth, especially given the wasps nestled in the very heart of this little village.
There was the faint clop of hooves behind her as Witt came up on her right side. He, like she, had experienced a rather complicated relationship with this place. It should have been home, but its villagers had betrayed the two of them in one of the worst ways imaginable.
“Home, sweet home,” Witt murmured.
Shea made a sound of derision.
“I wonder what they will say when they see us come riding up with an army behind us,” he mused.
“Probably kick themselves for not ensuring we were dead before they handed us over.”
He grunted. It was half laugh and half acknowledgement. “I would like to see Dane again, though.”
“Yeah,” Shea’s voice was soft. She’d forgotten that he’d been close with the other man, too. The three’s relationship had been short-lived, but for a short time they’d been on their way to becoming friends.
“You think he made it back?” Shea asked.
“I hope not. I hope he found a place far from here to hole up.”
Shea nodded. Yeah, that sounded about right.
On both of their minds was the question of what waited down there. Would they find a thriving village, unhappy that the prodigal son and daughter had returned, or would they find a grave site? After all, the pathfinder’s guild was not known for its forgiveness, and Birdon Leaf and its elders had broken the covenant in every way that counted. One way or another, there would be a reckoning.
Shea looked over at Fallon, who stared down at the village with a hard expression, one that lacked even a shadow of understanding or gentleness. Yeah, one way or another.
“Let’s get this over with,” Shea muttered. She flicked her reins, taking the lead down the hill. Fallon wasn’t far away, though he stayed a few lengths behind her. Shea appreciated it, though a big part of her would rather not have returned here at all.
The journey down the hill and across the meadow seemed to take forever. The village and its wooden exterior wall grew as she rode closer. Jagged holes of splintered wood in the wall put paid any hope that the inhabitants had fared well over the last few months.
No villagers came out to greet them and there was no movement on the walls, something that would have been unheard of when Shea had lived here.
Shea let out a heavy sigh. Guess it was option two then.
She led Fallon and Witt and the rest around the wall. The Trateri followed, eyeing it with a deep reserve. More than one man and woman withdrew their blades and strung their bows.
Shea arrived at the entrance of the village. Normally, there would have been men standing on the wall who would give the order to open the double doors, ones so heavy it took several men working in tandem to force them to creak open.
Today, those doors lay broken and splintered, so much tinder on the ground. The village was wide open to any beast or raider who wanted to walk right up.
Shea dismounted and slid the reins over her horse’s head. She left him grazing by the entrance.
“Shea,” Fallon warned, looking at the village with a deep mistrust. One echoed on many of his men’s faces.
She held up a hand. “I’m fine, Fallon. Whatever did this is long gone.”
Fallon made a sound of frustration before dismounting and throwing his reins to Caden. He unsheathed his sword as he strode over to Shea. She didn’t wait for him to reach her, crossing into the village proper as Witt, Eamon, and several of the Anateri dismounted to follow them.
Shea walked into the village, feeling cold and disconnected at the sight of the destruction awaiting her. The wooden buildings had been torn apart, the windows broken, and the doors torn off. Some were burnt, only a few timbers remaining.
Even the town hall, a building that predated the village by many hundreds of years and had withstood many attacks, looked like it had seen better days. The roof had been ripped off the top, and the heavy wooden door at its base breached.
Shea couldn’t help feeling like she had failed these people. It didn’t matter that they had failed her first. Maybe if she’d tried harder, been better, less argumentative, maybe things might have turned out different.
Reece stepped into the village square as Shea stared around her with a stunned numbness. She bent and picked up a child’s toy, one of those mallets you were supposed to catch the ball on. The ball was missing and the handle half broken.
“Why did you bring us here?” Fallon asked Reece.
“So you could see.”
“See what?” he asked.
“What you’re up against. The consequences if you should fail.”
“We haven’t even agreed to help you,” Caden said. He’d wandered close to one of the buildings and was examining it.
“Or even know what you want,” Buck muttered.
“There were children here, Reece. Innocent of whatever mistakes their parents might have committed.” Shea rubbed her thumb against the wood of the mallet.
His face was placid but not unsympathetic. He offered her no answer.
“You know the rules, baby girl. Sometimes you have to cut the rot from the tree, so the rest of it can survive.” A man unfolded himself from where he’d been sitting in the shadows and stepped forward, meeting Shea’s eyes. He was tall, taller than Fallon, and had crow’s feet at the corner of each eye. Laughter had cut grooves around his eyes and mouth over the years. His skin was paler than you would imagine of a man who spent the majority of his life outside.
He stared at Shea for a long moment, ignoring the weapons aimed his way. His eyes cataloged each feature, noting the grief that showed in the dark circles under her eyes and the tired slump of her shoulders. He took in all those details as if he’d come across this rare specimen, one that might disappear if he didn’t memorize everything.
After an eternity of staring at each other, he gave her a half-smile. “Hello, daughter. I’ve missed you.”
Shea took a deep breath but was unable to summon an answering smile. “Hello, father.”
He lifted an eyebrow even as amusement touched his lips. “That’s it? After all these months, that’s all you have to say?” He turned to Fallon and the rest. “All this time her mother and I feared she was dead. We worried; we agonized. I even sent your cousin to hunt down those who might have harmed you.”
Shea watched him with a careful gaze. “How long before anyone noticed I was gone?”
Some of the affableness drained out of his expression as he fixed her with a look and sighed, as if to say he was disappointed in her question. She gave him a stubborn look in return.
“Eight months.”
“So, not that worried.”
She’d figured as much. She was the black sheep. The golden child turned disappointment. The first couple roll calls she’d missed, they’d probably ascribed to her sulking. After that, they must have decided she was simply too busy, or maybe they had more pressing matters to attend to. A stray pathfinder wasn’t that odd.
“That’s hardly nice,” her father rebuked.
She waved a hand at the decimated village around them. “Neither is this.”
Her father nodded, taking in their surroundings with a careful eye. “No, I imagine not.”
Shea spotted Witt over her father’s shoulder. His face was carefully guarded as he took in the village. If she was this upset over the destruction, she couldn’t imagine how he was feeling. He’d already made clear his distaste for the pathfinder method of punishing those who opposed them.