All humor dropped from his face as he looked at the others. “Well, you heard him. Head back to the horses. Night’s not far off.”
Chapter Nine
“Whoever made this map should have their pens and ink confiscated before being dropped in the middle of nowhere with no supplies. Then we’d see whether they thought they did a thorough job,” Shea muttered looking from said map into the distance.
None of the landmarks matched. Details were missing. Important details. The kind that could mean the difference between life and death.
Near as she could tell they were somewhere to the southwest of the encampment. She thought they were only about seven days ride, but given how lost Vale had gotten them, they could be closer.
“What’re you complaining about?” Eamon asked, joining her as she plotted, or attempted to plot, a route to rendezvous with the rest of the company.
“This.” She held up the map and shook it. “What do they expect people to do with this garbage? Certainly not navigate. I mean half this shit isn’t even on here. Like that mountain or that canyon we just came from. The stuff they say is here, isn’t. According to this, we should have passed a river a few miles back. I didn’t see anything resembling a river or a streambed. Did you? Nothing. Nothing was there.”
“Thought you had this. Are you sure you’re not just lost?” Eamon asked skeptically.
She shot him a nasty look before continuing, “I’ve seen some pretty shoddy maps before but nothing as half-assed as this.”
Eamon shrugged and rested a hand on his sword’s pommel while scanning the terrain. “They do the best they can, but they’re limited by the intel they get from the field. Most scouts can read a map okay, but they can’t describe the terrain well enough for the cartographers to draw an accurate record.”
Then they should get their asses into the field and do their bloody job.
She yearned for her own detailed maps back home. Not that they would do much good here. She was further south than she’d ever been and had never mapped this area. If she had, she wouldn’t be having problems.
“Are you telling me you can’t do it?” He turned to motion one of the others. “If so, I’ll have someone else take over.”
Shea’s head shot up. She glared at him, her pride stung. “Did I say I couldn’t do it?”
“That’s what it sounded like to me.”
“Well, that’s not what I said. I can find my way anywhere. This shitty little map is just an annoyance, that’s all.” She glared at the man joining them.
Eamon lifted his chin at the man. The man, noticing the daggers currently shooting his way, smothered a smile before heading back to the small campfire.
Shea grumbled, turning back to her map. She lifted her head and peered into the distance. It was late afternoon, and they had decided to make camp while they got their bearings.
Two days had passed since the encounter with the shadow beetles, and the group was beginning to appreciate Shea’s insights into the world around them. Saving someone’s life had a tendency to do that.
Try as she might, she couldn’t get the map’s features to line up with the terrain. She sat back and pinched the bridge of her nose, finding new respect for Vale’s navigating skills. It was no wonder they had gotten so lost if this was what he’d had to work with.
She sighed and pulled out a pen before bending to make notes, crossing off features that were wrong and writing in the correct ones. She didn’t like drawing all over someone else’s work, but she needed a way to keep track of the landmarks they passed.
At least she knew they were heading south with a western slant.
The light faded as Shea continued to work. By the time the map was illegible, she had a general idea of the direction they should take tomorrow.
Finished, she folded the map up and stuffed it into a pouch in her jacket before climbing off her boulder and joining the rest at the campfire. They had chosen a rock overhang for shelter, one to partially block the light of the fire and two for protection from the wind. Though the days were warm, nighttime temperatures dropped significantly out here.
She plopped down next to Buck and accepted the plate of warm food he handed her. One of the boys had shot a hare that afternoon, and they made stew with some wild potatoes Shea dug up. It was the first warm meal they’d enjoyed since leaving the encampment.
At the first taste, Shea shoveled two more mouthfuls in, swallowing without really chewing. Somehow food always tasted doubly good on the trail, probably because there was so little of it.
The meat was tender, and they had found some type of herb to dump in the pot, too. Shea tried to identify the interesting taste but gave up. Cooking wasn’t exactly her strong suit. She knew enough about plants not to kill herself but had absolutely no idea how to combine ingredients to make something tasty. She was just grateful one of the men did.
“What do you think, Shane?”
Shea gulped her latest mouthful down and was already lifting another spoonful to her lips when it dawned that they were talking to her.
She should be used to her new name by now, but the men called her Daisy more often than not. It made it difficult to get used to a name she was so rarely called by. She didn’t always react immediately.
She looked up to find all eyes on her.
“About what?”
Sam snorted and handed her a piece of hard bread. She took it gratefully.
Eamon said, “I know the food’s good, lad, but I promise it won’t disappear if you slow down a bit.”
Shea stuck her bread in the stew and spooned some of the liquid over it, hoping that by the time she ate the rest, it would be soft enough not to break teeth.
“Do you think Hawkvale’s right? That the Lowlands can be conquered and united under one banner?”
Shea paused with her mouth open before setting her spoon back in her bowl. “I don’t know enough about the situation to comment.”
Buck scoffed. “Never known a Daisy to be shy about shooting off at the mouth about things they don’t understand. You must have some opinion. Everybody does. Go ahead boy, don’t be shy. We won’t clap you in irons if we don’t like what you have to say.”
Shea shifted, uncomfortable to be the center of attention. Up until now she had tried to stay mainly on the fringes of the group, not joining conversations, just doing her job and observing.
“It’s just campfire chatter,” Eamon informed her softly. “A time to bitch and groan about what the higher ups are doing. Nothing ever comes of it.”
They said that now, but they were Trateri. Shea was not. They could get away with saying a lot more than an outsider.
“What about you?” Shea challenged.
“Ah, but we know what we think,” Buck returned. “And you would too if you’d been paying attention over the last few days. We’re interested in what you, a native Lowlander, have to say. You’d know more about this land than us. Do you think it’s possible to conquer this place and hold it?”
That would be true if Shea had been a Lowlander. She did know a lot about the country as it paid for pathfinders to know everything about the different places they might visit. Still, there was a wide gap of knowledge between someone born and raised here and someone making short forays into the area.