Pathfinder's Way (34 page)

“You speak as if you aren’t one of them.”

Shea closed her eyes briefly. There would be
a reason for that. She hadn’t meant to say so much, especially not
so revealingly, but once she’d started everything else had just
come pouring out.

“Well, I’m a throwaway aren’t I?” She gave
him a crooked grin. “I don’t really have a people anymore.”

After that, they both kept their own council
until the group stopped for the night.

It was freezing when Shea woke, much more so
than usual. Though temperatures in the hills tended to drop sharply
at night, this wasn’t normal. Her breath created a plume of mist.
There was a brittle cracking of frost as she sat up in her
blankets.

She shivered sharply and stared down at the
rim of white coating every inch of her blanket. She looked over the
camp, noting with numb disbelief frost blanketing every still form.
Even the wagons had a light coating of silver, and the horses
looked like they had been doused with flour. Several had lain down.
Their sides barely moved.

The fires had gone out and not a soul
stirred.

“Wake up,” her voice came in a hoarse
whisper, barely recognizable with how it trembled. She shivered
harder and put as much force as possible into it. “Get up.”

She climbed to her feet clumsily and
staggered over to Eamon, dropping to one knee beside him. She shook
him. “Eamon, you have to get up.”

His eyes fluttered but otherwise there was no
response.

She slapped him sharply. “Get up, you slack
about.”

“Wha-” His voice was groggy as he tried to
shrug her off.

“Eamon, you have to get up. Something’s
wrong. Please get up.”

“S-Shane?” She nearly sobbed in relief.
“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, but I think whatever it is, is
killing us. So you need to get up and help me wake the others.”

Together they staggered from figure to
figure, shouting, shaking and slapping to rouse the sleepers.

Shea bent over a man and stumbled back as a
shadow moved where no shadow should have been. It rose from the
ground, its shape bending and reshaping. She watched it rise, her
heart in her throat. A frostling. She’d heard stories. Every
Highland child had, but there hadn’t been a sighting in nearly a
hundred years.

Pathfinder. You’ve disturbed my meal.

She inched back as it took on the amorphous
shape of a small human, no taller than her knee. Had there been any
clue in how to fight these things in the stories? Her mind couldn’t
think as the temperature dropped lower.

Should you replace it?

Her heart stuttered and thumped as the shape
formed a tentacle reaching towards her. She could barely keep her
eyes open as it came closer and closer. What had those stories
said? She couldn’t remember.

“Shane!”

A bright light came between her and the
frostling. It hissed, its voice a sibilant whisper in the dark.

Until next time.

A hand shook her sharply. She blinked dumbly
up at the flickering yellow light. Fire. She was so cold.

“Shane, don’t you dare go to sleep.”

A sharp pain landed on both cheeks. Her eyes
blinked open. Eamon’s face came into focus.

He slapped her again.

“Eamon, will you please stop hitting me.”

“Shane! Thank the gods, man.” His face was
full of concerned relief as she pushed up onto one elbow. “I saw
you drop like a rock and thought something had happened.”

“Something did happen.” She rubbed her face,
feeling the odd sensation of frost breaking apart under her hand.
“Did you see the shadow?”

“What shadow?”

“You didn’t see it then.” She dropped her
hand and looked at the torch held in one of his. “Good thing you
had that. It’s probably the only thing that saved us.”

“I guess.”

“How are the others?”

He turned to shake the man Shea had intended
to wake. “Groggy and confused.” He slapped the man when he didn’t
stir and said in a sharp voice. “Get up.” The man didn’t move.
Eamon held his fingers against the man’s still neck and then
dropped them with a sigh.

“Is he?”

“Yes. He’s dead.”

Shea sat up with a grimace.

“That’s not the only piece of bad news,”
Phillip said from the shadows.

Eamon and Shea jumped, their bodies bracing
as if for a blow.

Phillip waited until their hearts had settled
before saying, “The men on watch are all dead and one is
missing.”

“What is going on?” Cale asked as he stormed
up to them. A group of men followed, their faces drawn and stiff
from the cold.

“We were under attack,” Eamon informed
him.

“Attack?”

“Every man on watch is either dead or
missing,” Eamon filled him in, helping Shea stand.

The account seemed to shock Cale, and he
moved as if he had been struck. His eyes came to rest on Shea, who
wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to lock in some of
her warmth.

“This is your fault,” he accused. “You’ve led
us into a trap.”

The men behind him traded looks, their faces
darkening with suspicion before all eyes came back to Shea.

“Don’t be absurd,” she snapped. “I voted for
not stopping here. You’re the one who said it was too dangerous to
continue after dark.”

“Five of my men have been killed. Someone
must answer for this.”

“Well, don’t blame the kid,” Buck said,
yawning as he joined them. “He’s the one who woke all our asses up.
I don’t think we would have survived if he hadn’t.”

“Perhaps he just wanted to play hero.”

“Careful, there,” Eamon warned. “You’re
threatening the reputation of the scouts.”

“Not all scouts, just his.”

“Threaten one, you threaten all,” Eamon
rumbled.

There was a quiet moment of strained silence
as the two faced off. Then Cale said, “The men will be up and ready
to move in half an hour. You’d better be ready, or we’ll leave you
and your men behind.”

“You can’t,” Shea warned.

Cale turned and glared at her. “I’m the
commander, I can do anything I damn well pleased.”

“I mean you can’t break camp now. We have to
wait until morning.”

“If you think I’m going to wait around for
those things to come back-“

“Fire,” Shea said interrupting him. “As long
as we keep the fires lit they won’t come back.”

Cale hesitated, the promise of safety
overriding his need to leave this place behind.

“How sure are you?” Eamon asked softly. “Have
you encountered these before?”

She shook her head. “No, but I’ve heard
stories. A fire’s warmth is the best way to ward against a
frostling.”

“A story?” Cale scoffed. “You’re basing this
off a story?”

“Shane hasn’t led us wrong yet,” Eamon said
firmly.

“He’s pretty much the expert in beasts,” Buck
added.

Shea stood up straight trying to put all the
confidence she didn’t feel into her gaze. There was always a chance
she was wrong.

“The frostling left me alone when Eamon waved
his torch at it.” She nodded to the torch in his hand.

“If I lose any more men to this frostling,
I’ll have you both strung up,” Cale warned.

“Understood,” Eamon said.

“What did it look like?” Buck asked Shea as
the others moved through the camp spreading the word that a fire
needed to be kept lit.

“A shadow.” Shea’s eyes were haunted as they
stared out into the silver night.

The rest of the night passed in a tense
fashion as they waited for the comfort of day. Shea didn’t sleep.
Every time she nodded off she startled back awake at every brush of
chill breeze. The others did the same and moods were dark and
tempers frayed by the time they set out the next morning.

They traveled much faster not beset by the
same setbacks as the previous day. No doubt thoughts of frostlings
and the close call the men experienced had something to do with
that.

The rest of the trip passed uneventfully and
two days later they were winding their way through the last hills
before the encampment. It had been moved since the first time Shea
had seen it, and this time it crouched in a clearing, trees
dwarfing it on one side and a high cliff on another.

“I will be so happy when we can dump these
whiners,” Buck muttered beside her.

She grunted in agreement. Cale had been a
snarling terror to work with the past few days.

They split from the caravan as soon as they
passed the first string of guards and rode to the Dawn’s Riders’
corrals and dismounted. Once finished caring for her mount, Shea
picked up her pack and followed the other three into the tent
city.

After finding their temporary quarters, Eamon
headed out to give his report to the task commander. Shea followed
since she had to return the map to the cartographers so they could
incorporate her observations into the next generation of maps. It
also prevented the maps from falling into the wrong hands.

Eamon stopped in front of a blue and beige
patterned tent and took a breath before stepping inside. Shea
didn’t envy him the report he had to give and continued on to the
next tent. It had a banner planted in front picturing twin
mountains with a horizontal wavy line under them that depicted
water. She brushed aside the flap and stepped inside, blinking at
the sudden dimness. Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she headed to a
long table where several men were hard at work.

She sighed. It looked like Owen wasn’t
working. That wasn’t good news for her as one of the cartographers
on duty tended to take it personally when she made her own
notations on the maps. She faced questions and recriminations, and
she was so tired. All she wanted was to drop it off so she could
head back to her tent for a couple hours of shuteye before
dinner.

“Every moment you stand there is a moment
wasted.” Vincent looked up and gave her a sharp-toothed smile.

Shea fought the urge to drag her feet as she
approached the desk and handed him her rolled up map, complete with
changes and corrections. She knew from experience that he’d just
snatch the map from any of his underlings. Might as well give it
directly to him if it was going to end up with him anyway.

“What have you changed this time?” he
taunted, unrolling it before setting it in front of him. “I see you
crossed off an entire set of ridges. And a river. Silly us to have
put those in there.”

“I’m just doing as I was told. Updating the
map according to what we encounter in the field.”

“I see. I see.” He nodded and looked back at
the map. “It just amazes me that no other scout seems to make the
amount of corrections you do.”

He knew as well as she that most of the other
scouts didn’t know how to make those changes. When she didn’t
answer, he rolled up the parchment and tossed it to another man who
caught it before rolling his eyes at Vincent’s back. Seemed Shea
wasn’t the only one who thought the man was a pompous sack of
wind.

“Here.” Vincent held out a rolled up piece of
parchment tied with a red ribbon.

Shea unrolled it, her eyebrows lowering in
question. It was a map. “What’s this?”

He gave her an ‘are you stupid’ look. “It’s a
map.”

“I know that. Why? We just got back.”

“Well, I guess you’re being sent back out.”
He made little shooing motions. “Run along, now. We’ve got work to
do.”

Shea lingered, her gaze drawn to the
partition behind Vincent. From what she’d been able to piece
together from overheard conversations and what she’d witnessed in
all her visits to the cartographers, she guessed that the back room
held the majority of the Trateri’s maps. It might even hold the
maps she’d left behind all those months ago. Unfortunately, the
room was constantly occupied and she hadn’t been able to think of a
reason to go back there and snoop around.

Vincent cleared his throat, drawing her
attention and then gesturing outside.

She rolled the map back up and turned on her
heel, pushing out of the tent. Sometimes she just wanted to
strangle the man.

Outside, she blinked and shaded her eyes as
they adjusted back to the bright light. It looked like Eamon was
still talking to the task commander about whatever this next
mission was.

Wanting to speak to him before she procured
supplies, Shea stepped to the side and unrolled the map, figuring
she’d familiarize herself with their route in case they really did
have to head right out.

She’d seen this map before or one very like
it. The information in it was wrong though. A lot was missing or
mismarked.

Damn, she’d have to talk to Vincent again to
get it fixed. Just what she needed, another encounter with the
finicky map maker.

As she rolled it up, Vincent strode past her,
moving at a fast clip. Not wanting to have to come back, Shea
darted after him.

Some instinct warned her against calling out
so instead she trailed behind, wrestling with the need to address
the error filled map but also knowing something was off.

Why would he leave his post in the middle of
a shift? During the busiest part of the shift? Everything she knew
about the Trateri indicated this was against character. There was a
rule about it or something. One of those she was supposed to know
but could never seem to remember. Eamon waxed on about them all the
time.

When he abruptly turned a corner to disappear
between two tents, Shea darted after him, stopping at the last
minute. Hearing voices, she flattened her back against the
tent.

“Is it done?” a woman asked.

“Yes. I’ve distributed the maps you gave me
to the troops.”

“The correct ones?” another man asked. His
voice was familiar, though muffled, as if she had heard it before.
And recently.

“Misplaced, as you ordered.”

“Are you sure that he got the fake ones? We
need the trap to work. He’s escaped too many time in the past,” the
woman said.