“You’re one of the best I’ve met.”
Shea felt a slight lifting of her heart.
“But we both know one with your talents isn’t sent to a place like Birdon Leaf unless they’re being punished.”
Sadly, this was true.
“What did you do to warrant such a fate?”
Shea licked lips that had gone dry. Somehow she couldn’t get the words out. To explain her failure.
Witt shrugged and turned away saying, “You don’t have to tell me, lass. But don’t expect me to have any regret over what I did today. Here’s some advice, since I really do respect your abilities. Give Fallon what he wants, and throw your lot in with the Trateri. You’ll be happier for it.”
Chapter Twenty Two
Shea readied Fallon and herself for the journey in a daze. Packing supplies for the two of them required very little thought, and as a result, her mind continually wandered back to her conversation with Witt.
She had never imagined Witt would have such a story behind him. The bitterness he held was understandable. Shea knew excising a village was one of the tactics the guild employed to make sure the rest of the Highlands kept themselves in check. As an organization whose members were spread out over thousands of miles, it was important to maintain control. Otherwise incidents like the one Birdon Leaf instigated would happen more often.
A part of her was glad the men and women of Birdon Leaf who sent her and several others into slavery would be held accountable for their actions.
An image of Aimee, with her urchin’s smile and infectious giggle, wouldn’t leave her thoughts.
There was the rub. It wouldn’t be only the wrongdoers who paid. Everyone in the village would feel the repercussions of their actions. Hatred and distrust would be bred into any who survived and the cycle would continue.
Once that wouldn’t have bothered her.
“Give the men another week of rest before breaking camp.” Fallon’s voice got louder as he moved closer to his sleeping space, where Shea sorted through his things to pack. “Meet us at the rendezvous point in two weeks.”
“The men will appreciate the break, but leaving you to take care of matters with only a small force doesn’t sit right,” Darius said.
Shea slung Fallon’s pack over her shoulder and carried it into the other chamber.
Neither man glanced up as she set the bag next to hers by the door.
She’d packed only what she thought they’d need. Luckily, another guard was in charge of securing provisions and horses. All Shea had to worry about was clothing, a hygiene kit, and other necessary items for surviving on the trail.
“No, this can’t wait. The people targeting me are getting bolder. They’ve started expanding their base and turning those loyal to me. We need to draw them out before they cause any more damage. We can’t go any further with our plans until this is addressed.”
Darius leaned on the table with both hands and bent his head. “This is risky. We could lose everything.”
Fallon straightened from where he was studying the map and slapped Darius on the back.
“The higher the risk, the greater the reward. Besides, I’ll have my own personal scout with me to help me keep me out of any trouble I find.”
Shea glanced over at him to find both him and Darius studying her. She arched an eyebrow and bent to tighten the straps on her pack. She didn’t want anything coming undone.
“More likely she’ll leave you there to rot.”
“Naw. I think I’m growing on her. She hasn’t tried to escape for a whole week.”
Shea rolled her eyes as Darius threw his head back and laughed. The statement wasn’t that funny.
Darius’ chuckles subsided, and he turned to Fallon and held out his hand. “Good luck out there.”
“Ah, just think of it this way. If I die, you become the warlord.”
Darius’ lip curled as he shuddered. “Not for all the war spoils in this world. Nothing would be worth dealing with nags on the council. I’d better find you safe and in one piece at the rendezvous.”
Fallon smiled and walked over to Shea, picking up his pack and slinging it over one shoulder. “I’ll do my best to spare you from such a horrible fate, old friend.”
“See that you do.”
Following his lead, Shea grabbed her gear. After adjusting her pack, she looked up to find Fallon watching her with an enigmatic gaze. Meeting his eyes with a neutral gaze of her own, Shea waited for him to break the silence.
He did after a drawn out moment. “We’re off then.”
Not waiting for a response, he headed outside with Shea hurrying to keep up with him. They hadn’t far to go, just to the small clearing next to his guards’ tents.
The men had arranged themselves in several neat little lines, the horses’ nose to tail and each man sitting ramrod straight. Their dress was the same as most of what Shea had seen on the trail, well made, dark cloth for pants and varying darker colors for the loose shirts. There had to be over a hundred men assembled, considerably larger than the parties Shea was used to escorting. The truly impressive thing, however, wasn’t the clothes, the number of men, or the horses, though Shea would be interested to find out how they managed to get the infernal creatures to form such crisp lines. No, what was truly impressive was the way every single man came to attention as soon as their warlord stepped into view.
As one, they saluted, banging closed fists to their chests in a near synchronous clap of sound, then bowing slightly from the waist in a gesture of deep respect.
Fallon observed with an inscrutable look and when they had returned to their upright positions, he slapped his fist to his chest in return.
Without another word, he headed for a pair of horses at the front of the line. The first was a sleek, black stallion, prancing and tossing its head. At a glance, Shea could tell he’d be a handful. Willful, spirited, and probably temperamental.
No thanks.
Her eyes went to the second. She couldn’t quite call it a horse. It could best be described as a short, furry pony, with a barrel chest and thick stocky legs. It chewed enthusiastically at a piece of grass at its feet. Compared to the every other mount out here, it was the ugly step cousin of horses. It didn’t belong at all.
Fallon immediately headed for the stallion, which meant the squat creature was Shea’s.
Great. Guess that settled how she would be treated. Not as the person who had saved their Warlord’s life, twice she might add, but as a lowly aide who couldn’t even be trusted with a real horse.
Shea sighed inwardly. She had a feeling she knew how the next few days were going to go. She doubted it would be as easy to earn these men’s regard as it had been the men of Dawn’s Riders.
“She’s steadier than she looks,” Fallon told Shea as she fastened her ruck sack to the back of her saddle.
Shea mounted and gathered the reins in her hands. “They always are.”
He gave her an appreciative grin. Lifting one hand, he pointed forward, and they were off. The party getting underway as Fallon led the way out of camp.
Shea gave her beast a kick to prod it forward. It stubbornly remained still. She prodded harder. It waited a beat longer as if to tell Shea they only moved when the beast wanted.