Eamon shook his head and snorted before mounting his horse. “Signs say they went west. Looks like the camp fire was from last night so we’re only about half a day behind them. They’ll be moving slower than us, so if we ride hard, we’ll be able to catch them before the sun sets.”
“Finally,” Buck said. “Maybe we’ll get a hot meal tonight.”
“At the very least we’ll get to eat something besides hard tack and this damn jerky,” Eamon returned as they went single file down the hill.
“That’d be nice,” Sam said dreamily. After eleven days of trail food, everyone was ready for something new. Even Shea felt her mouth water at the thought of something besides jerky.
Conversation dropped off as they rode, each keeping an eye on their surroundings.
The group encountered more and more signs that people had come this way. From the excrement a horse left to hoof prints to the occasional piece of manmade goods. The path was easy to follow for anyone able to read it.
A man stood from an outcropping of rocks and leveled a bow at them. “Halt and state your business.”
Eamon pulled on his reins and held up one hand. “We’re scouts from the Dawn’s Rider Company here to see your commander.”
The cross bow dipped slightly but stayed pointed in their general direction. “The moon rises over the summer plains.”
“But sets over the burning snakes,” Eamon returned.
At Eamon’s response, the man pointed the cross bow to the ground and waved them past. Eamon took lead and the rest followed. Shea looked back once to see the guard settle into position behind a tangle of bushes that hid him from view. She turned forward again.
A challenge and response. An effective way of determining friend from foe.
How often did those codes change and were there different ones for different companies? If someone knew the codes, they could slip in and out of camps with little trouble.
They cantered around a copse of trees and came upon a campsite filled with their quarry. The group, numbering at two hundred, was much smaller than those they left in the valley. This was a short term camp, meant only for the night. There were no tents, but they’d set up crude pallets for sleeping and several campfires dotted the clearing. From the smell of things, someone had already started dinner.
Eamon and Buck dismounted. Shea followed their lead, unsaddling her horse and tying it next to theirs. A hand landed on her shoulder, startling her.
“You’re with me,” Eamon told her.
Sam slipped up to her and slid her pack and saddle from her hands. “I’ll set your things next to ours for when you’re done.”
“Thanks,” she said softly.
Wiping sweaty palms on her pants, she followed Eamon’s broad back as he strode through camp. What did he want from her? Had he discovered she was a woman?
That would not be good.
She started scanning for the best possible escape routes. Her secret was probably still safe, but it was best to be prepared.
“Scout Master Eamon Walker of Dawn’s Riders with an urgent message for the commander of Saw Grass,” Eamon said after coming to a stop in front of a trio hunched over a map.
A sandy haired man with a week’s worth of stubble and a broad forehead straightened. His clothes were just as lived in as the rest of the men and nothing pointed to him as the leader except the slight look of authority resting on his stern countenance.
“What do you have for me master scout?” he asked.
The other two didn’t bother standing. The woman on the left stayed leaning on her elbows while looking over the two of them. The man on the right chewed busily at a stick and folded his arms.
Shea kept her eyes from settling on any person for too long, not wanting to draw any more attention. Why was she here? Eamon could have handled the report just fine on his own.
She would have been much happier seeing to her sleeping arrangements. Or finding a way to escape.
“There’s been a change to your orders,” Eamon said.
“Figures,” the stick chewer muttered. The woman curled her lip in disgust, while the leader looked like he had bit into something sour.
Ignoring the comments, Eamon continued, “You’re to hook up with another element and provide support while they investigate Ram’s Crossing, a small village about thirty miles west of here.”
“Where?”
“May I?” Eamon asked, pointing at the map.
The leader gestured for him to go ahead. Eamon bent over, peering at it closely before pointing to a spot that was about a day’s ride north west of their current position.
The stick chewer caught Shea’s eye when she lifted her eyes from the map and raised his eyebrows. She dropped her gaze quickly not quite sure of the protocol for someone in the position she was currently occupying.
“This is bad,” the woman said, looking up at the leader. “This will take us past the revenants.”
Shea flinched. Revenants. She hated revenants. Everybody loathed the foul creatures.
The beast was hella intelligent and vicious as a wolverine after a long winter. Not a couple of qualities you wanted combined in one animal. Though only about the size of a dog, it had thick reptilian skin that was damn near impossible to penetrate and wicked sharp fangs and claws.
That wasn’t the worst part, though. Practically every beast had sharp claws and fangs. That was nothing to get worked up about. What made them so terrifying was the fact they hunted in packs and had a humanlike intelligence. They learned from their mistakes, and they never made the same one twice.
Shea had four scars on her thigh from her last encounter.
“Who’s your lad?” stick chewer asked, looking her over.
Eamon reached back and pulled Shea up to stand next to him. “My second, Shane.”
Stick chewer whistled while Perry’s eyebrows rose. Shea stiffened as she found herself under the regard of the three. Her eyes flickered from face to face trying to find a safe place to settle when she finally just gazed over the woman’s head.
“Kind of young to be a second, isn’t he?” the woman asked. “Looks like a Daisy.”
“Fiona’s right. Kid doesn’t look like much.”
“His appearance is a little misleading. Fucker’s crazier than a stallion in heat and has balls as big as one.”
“Oh?” Perry asked.
Eamon nodded. “You notice we numbered six when we rode into camp. We started with eleven.”
The stick chewer spat on the ground. “Unlucky number.”
Eamon agreed with him. “We probably wouldn’t have made it at all if it weren’t for the lad’s mischief.”
Perry looked her over slowly, noting her slim limbs, less than impressive height and smooth skin that had never seen a razor. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Took down one of those huge beetles by himself. He’s also the one who found you lot. If not for him, we would have been wandering for a lot longer.” Eamon nodded at her. “He might be young, but he knows his craft.”
“A beetle, huh?” stick chewer asked. “Most don’t walk away from an encounter like that.”
“Can’t be far out of being a Daisy,” Fiona said.
“He was a Daisy when we started,” Eamon confirmed.