As she found her way back, being careful to avoid the path that Caden or Fallon would travel, she couldn’t help the small piece of her that wondered what would have been her fate had she remained tied to that post.
“So, what exactly is the punishment when a town refuses to pay a tithe?” Shea asked as Fallon’s troops rode towards the small string of huts that was the village proper.
It was a hovel, not like Goodwin of Ria or even Birdon Leaf. This place was cobbled together with mud and spit. Not necessarily the worst village she’d ever seen, but she didn’t understand why anybody would want to lay claim to it, not even the Trateri. These people had little to nothing, and none to spare for tithes.
Eamon’s face was grim as they rode at the rear of the party.
“Buck?” she asked when Eamon didn’t answer.
Buck looked slightly subdued as he answered. “Not good things.”
Well she’d kind of figured that part out for herself. They were in a war party after all.
“Yeah, I got that. What does that mean?”
Buck shook his head and looked away, refusing to meet her eyes.
She looked back at Eamon.
He finally spoke. “The severity of the action will depend on what they say to Fallon.”
So something would happen regardless, but nobody was willing to tell her what that something was.
She closed her eyes and bent her head. No, she didn’t have a good feeling about this at all.
“Shane, whatever happens, just stay beside me or Buck and keep your mouth shut. You can’t stop whatever’s coming so don’t even try. You’ll just get yourself in trouble.”
Eamon waited until she met his eyes before dealing a worse blow, “Our necks would be on the line too. So keep it together, yeah?”
She nodded. That bad feeling was turning into a ball of granite in her stomach.
Before she could ask any further questions, they were riding into the little hamlet. She guided her horse after Eamon’s as he rode to the left. When they stopped, their horses surrounded all of the people in the village who had been pulled from their homes and then ushered into the village center. There couldn’t have been more than thirty of them.
Fallon rode forward, much like Darius had during her first encounter with the Trateri. The villagers drew in on themselves, their small circle constricting until no space existed between their bodies.
The fear on their faces was chilling.
Shea couldn’t help but feel that whatever happened next could be laid partially at her feet. The Trateri wouldn’t have made it this far without her interference.
Her mentor from her apprenticeship would say that a pathfinder wasn’t responsible for anything that happened after their party reached its destination. Standing here, feeling that cloying terror on the air, seeing the way the villagers clutched at each other for false security, she was no longer sure how much stock she put in his words.
“Do you know why I’m here?” Fallon’s deep voice thundered in the air. Although loud, it didn’t sound as if he was shouting.
He wheeled his horse and cantered in the opposite direction.
No response greeted him.
“Ah, I see. Then let me educate you. I wouldn’t want you entering the afterlife without knowing what sent you there.”
There was a brief outcry at this. Several women fainted, their men catching them before they hit the ground.
“Several months ago when my men came upon this Lowland cesspit, they gave you a choice. Fight and be sent to meet your ancestors with honor, or submit and pay us a tithe for however long we choose to collect it. Two weeks ago your tithe came due. My men came and then returned to me empty handed. This was not what we agreed. Now, you have one chance and one chance only to make this right. Bring me what you owe and half more, today, and face the consequences of breaking your word or…. Well I really don’t suggest or.”
“I bet my last ration of Ka grass they’re too scared to speak,” one of the Trateri just beyond Eamon said.
“I’ll take that bet,” said a man with a yellow belt.
“My best knife they refuse to pay.” A third man with braids on either side of his temples.
“All right,” yellow belt said.
“Eamon,” Shea started.
“Easy, Shane. They’re just blowing off steam.”
She didn’t think so. They seemed way too jocular. Bad enough they were terrorizing these people. They didn’t have to be so damn happy about it too.
“No one will speak?” Fallon scowled down at the people below him. His horse high stepped and threw its head back. He brought it to an abrupt halt and stared at the upturned faces. As if coming to a decision, he nodded and wheeled the animal around. “Let that be your answer then.”
To the waiting Trateri, “Spread out and go through all of the homes. Find anyone who is hiding and bring them here.”
“Damn,” yellow belt said.
The first gambler let out a happy whistle
“Guess I’m getting a new knife,” the braids said.
“They could still come up with the payment,” yellow belt said.
“Unlikely,” braids said as he dismounted. “Face it, you’re going to be giving that knife to me before we leave this miserable cesspit.”
“Come on, Shane,” Buck said quietly at her elbow.
Shea looked helplessly down at him. She didn’t know if she could turn in anybody she might find.
“We have to help them look,” he said. His eyes were understanding but resolute.
She closed hers and bowed her head. No getting out of it. Time to grit her teeth and bear it. She’d help who she could and if she couldn’t- well, that could be a matter for a later time.
He waited as she dismounted. For the first time since that first night, after her conscription into Fallon’s army, her legs were unsteady and unsure they wanted to hold her. She carefully laid her horse’s reins over its head before turning and trudging after Buck.
They passed several of the mud huts, Buck leading, Shea in the middle and Eamon bringing up the rear. It felt strange not to be in front.
From the sounds coming from the huts, the Trateri were being thorough in their search and not at all gentle. There was a woman’s sharp cry and a triumphant shout. At least one had found success in their hunt.
“Shane,” Buck said.
Shea pulled her attention away from the direction of the shouts to find Buck standing in front of a hut.
“In here,” he said.
She nodded.
He drew the short sword from a sheath at his waist.
Ah, yes. Of course. Only made sense to take precautions. These people almost certainly regarded the Trateri and by extension, Shea, as enemies. They might act accordingly.
Shea fumbled for her own short sword. A calloused hand stopped her before she could draw it.
“We’d prefer if you left that sheathed for now,” Eamon told her with a wry smile.
Shea stared dumbly at him, not understanding. Then suddenly she got it.
She snorted and let go of the blade’s hilt. He had a point. She was still a new entity to the team, and these were her supposed people. A person might think her willingness to help in the field would undergo a drastic change when her fellow Lowlanders’ lives were in danger.