Pathfinder's Way (39 page)

Reaching their destination’s edge, they
paused only long enough to answer the sentry’s challenge question
before riding directly for the heart of camp, not stopping for
anything.

Even though it was well past midnight, the
camp was filled with a frenetic energy as men moved quickly through
the open spaces between tents. With the amount of people moving
around, Shea doubted anybody was left in bed.

Heads turned to stare as they made their way
through. Only a few at first and then more as others caught sight
of the person draped over Shea’s horse. She fought to keep her
expression bland as a man did a double take and then shot a
horrified glare at her.

Eamon rode directly for Fallon’s personal
tent. Because Shea was following him, she rode that way too,
feeling a sense of déjà vu.

No matter how many times the camp moved, it
was always configured in the same way. When Shea had first been
brought to the encampment from Goodwin of Ria so many months ago,
she’d been chained to a post in this same grouping of tents. What
she hadn’t known then was that Fallon’s tent was the big one right
next to Darius’s.

Now, despite everything she had done to hide
herself right under Fallon’s nose, here she was, back where she had
started.

Men converged on their group, spilling out of
the surrounding tents as word reached them that Fallon was alive
and needed help. Rough hands reached up to jerk him down, and Shea
pulled hard on the reins causing her horse to shy away.

The two men trying to take him swore at her
and reached for him again. Shea knocked them back, baring her teeth
and glaring. She knew it was useless unless she drew a weapon, even
as the men geared up to grab for Fallon again.

Eamon’s horse was suddenly between them and
her, and his roar caused the chaos to grind to a halt. “Enough!
Hawkvale is seriously injured and doesn’t need you lot jerking him
around.”

Buck quickly flanked them, his hand dropping
to his weapon as he eyed the soldiers nervously. He looked worried
but nevertheless took Eamon’s back.

“Then give him to us so we can get him to a
healer,” a sharp faced man with a flat nose shouted back.

“We won’t release him to any but Darius or a
healer,” Eamon said tersely.

“Are you insane, man? We’re his personal
guard.”

Shea started eyeing the possible escape
routes, mentally analyzing the quickest path out of camp just in
case a fight erupted. She had done it once before and that time she
didn’t have a horse or knowledge of the area.

Fallon’s guards outranked Eamon and under
normal circumstances an order from them within the boundaries of
camp would be undisputed. Because of the suspected betrayal that
had led to Fallon falling prey to the spinners, they didn’t have
the luxury of trusting blindly. Someone, or several someone’s, had
betrayed Fallon.

Whether Shea liked him or not, his death
would have devastating consequences for not only the Trateri but
the rest of the Lowlands as well.

When Eamon refused, Caden, having arrived
just moments ago, said in a low voice, “Scout, do you know who we
are? Think carefully because the wrong answer will see you
dead.”

Eamon’s voice was respectful but firm when he
said, “I’m aware, but I still can’t give him to you. He can’t
protect himself right now.”

The meaning behind Eamon’s words registered
with the man, and he was quiet as thoughts turned behind his eyes.
His glance flickered to where Shea was poised to run before
returning to Eamon.

“I understand your intentions, but you’re
wrong. We’re his personal guard. We were chosen specifically by him
for our loyalty and abilities. Not one man under my command would
harm a hair on his head, and each would gladly die for him.”

“Loyalty can change,” Eamon said softly.

Holding Eamon’s eyes, the man nodded slowly.
“It can, but not for us. Now, I’m willing to overlook your
accusations since you’ve been out all night searching for him and
judging from your actions have seen some things that don’t sit well
with you. But, you
will
give him to us.”

Eamon’s passenger had been quiet up until
now, but after the threat inherent in Caden’s words said, “I’ll
vouch for their integrity. I’ve fought alongside every man, and
what Caden said is true. They won’t let any harm come to him.”

Eamon listened intently before looking at the
angry faces around him. Many showed displeasure at having their
honor questioned. In a society where a man was only as good as his
word, Eamon’s doubts were a grave insult. Shea licked her lips,
knowing whatever happened over the next few seconds were
critical.

Eamon took his time looking over the men
glaring silently at him. His shoulders straightened, and he nodded
as he reached a decision. “Shane, give them the Hawkvale.”

Shea’s eyes jumped to Eamon’s back and then
down as two men immediately started for her. Should she take Fallon
and run or trust Eamon’s judgment?

The first man reached her and carefully
lifted Fallon down, handling him as if he was something precious
before handing him to another. That man turned and strode quickly
into the tent, followed closely by three men wearing the same
colors as Caden.

Shea sent up a small prayer in the hope she
hadn’t just sent him to his death.

A rough jerk on Shea’s arm pulled her from
her horse. She barely landed on her feet before her arm was jerked
again, and she was sprawled belly down with a boot in her back. A
roar came from Eamon, and then there was a thump followed by two
others.

Shea couldn’t see much but the dirt beneath
her cheek, but she had a feeling it was her friends who had made
those thumps as they were treated to the same view as her.

Inwardly, she sighed. When was she going to
learn that good deeds only ever landed her in trouble? If someone
had asked her if saving Fallon had been worth it, she would have
told them no. Both times.

“Get them up,” Caden ordered.

Shea was hauled to her feet, her arms in a
tight hold that applied enough pressure to be uncomfortable. If she
moved just a little, it would bend the elbow into an unnatural
angle and probably result in a break.

Eamon and the other two were yanked to their
feet in a similar fashion and brought face to face with Caden. Shea
remembered him from the mission with the revenants. She got the
impression, then, that he was part of Fallon’s personal guards.

Up close, Shea could see the serious lines
bracketing his eyes and the razor sharp intelligence. His dark
brown hair was partially bound to tame the tight curls in his
shoulder length hair. The hair below the top pony tail was shaved,
but this time several swirls decorated his skin, creating an
intricate pattern of ink.

He looked carefully between the four of them,
his thoughts hidden.

Shea could feel her temper begin to fray,
helped along by the lingering effects of the hallucinogenic she’d
been exposed to. She took a deep breath and released it and then
another. This wasn’t the time to lose it.

That could come later, when she was by
herself.

“What am I to do with you four?” Caden asked
them.

It was clear he didn’t expect an answer, but
Shea wanted to give him one. Preferably with a few choice words
about what he could go do to himself.

Looking above their heads at the men holding
them, he ordered, “Separate them until I or Darius can question
them. They aren’t to be harmed, just contained. For now.”

As the others were dragged in opposite
directions, Shea struggled to gain her feet. To do what, she didn’t
exactly know. She just knew that being separated was bad. Her
captors weren’t expecting the fight, and she managed to jerk one
arm free and had twisted to knee her other captor in the
stomach.

“Shane, Shane! Stop! Stop fighting,” Eamon
yelled.

The man holding her had a grip like iron and
refused to release her. Gritting her teeth, she twisted her hand so
she was clasping his hand then ducked under his arm and jerked it
back so she was standing behind him with his arm bent at an odd
angle.

Or that was how it was supposed to go.

Instead he turned with her and kicked one of
her knees, hitting it just right so it crumpled beneath her.

“Don’t hurt him,” Eamon yelled at the men
converging on Shane. “He’s the one who saved Hawkvale. Shane, stop
fighting. Please!”

Shea was on her knees trying to regain her
feet when she was bowled over by a force that carried her back to
the ground. Her cheek smarted as she once again found herself face
down in the dirt with a man pressing an elbow sharply into her
back. Her first captor had her elbow locked so the slightest
pressure would break it.

A pair of boots came into view and then
Caden’s cool voice reached her, “This was your last chance. If you
so much as lift a pinky, we
will
kill you.”

The hands holding her down remained
unyielding while Shea stayed tensed and ready to move.

“I want to hear you,” Caden said.

Oh, so that’s why she was still being pressed
into the ground. Well, he could wait until his balls rotted off,
because she wasn’t going to say shit about surrender. They might
have been able to physically subdue her, but that didn’t mean they
had won.

As soon as they gave an opportunity, she was
gone. This time she wouldn’t allow sentiment to hold her back.

“Shane, please.” Eamon sounded more rattled
than Shea had ever heard him, even worse than that time he’d ripped
her apart after the run in with the revenants. She didn’t like that
tone in his normally authoritative voice. The man should never
sound like his world was about to cave in on account of her. It
didn’t sit well with her.

The elbow in her back dug deeper while the
hand holding her arm tightened.

“Shane.” This time there was a crack in
Eamon’s voice that shouldn’t have been there.

Her elbow creaked as it was slowly
twisted.

“Fine. I won’t fight.”

Immediately, the elbow pressing into her back
lightened and the hand holding her arm loosened. She was still held
immobile, but it didn’t hurt anymore. It was just uncomfortable and
humiliating.

Shea was jerked to her knees and forced to
look up into Caden’s unsmiling face.

“That was your only free pass,” Caden warned.
“Next time we won’t bother subduing you, we’ll just cut off your
head.”

Shea bit her tongue against the words that
wanted to spew out, reminding herself that she needed to watch for
her chance. Without waiting for an answer, Caden jerked his chin at
the men holding her. They lifted her and force marched her away
from the tent and her companions.

They didn’t have far to go as they pushed her
before them into another tent one row down from the one Fallon had
been taken to. They walked her to a heavy looking metal chair and
sat her down before forcing her arms to its armrests. Cool metal
slid against her skin as they fastened two handcuffs to her wrists,
securing them to the chair before repeating the action with her
feet.

Once they had her secured, one of the men
left the tent while the other stepped back and folded his arms
across his broad chest. She twisted her wrist surreptitiously,
testing her restraints without being too obvious. Her guard’s
watchful eyes noted the movement and narrowed slightly.

She glared back at him. She jerked hard
against her restraints, giving up on hiding her actions. They were
secure. She wouldn’t be breaking the chair arm to get away, and the
limited range of movement made it impossible to attempt picking the
locks.

As long as she was handcuffed to the chair,
she wasn’t going anywhere. Evidently, they’d learned a few things
from last time.

Giving up on escape, for the moment, Shea
relaxed into the seat and looked around.

The Trateri had made an art form of turning
their tent’s into luxurious homes. They were typically better
decorated than most Lowlander or Highlander homes, containing
beautiful, hand carved furniture made from old oak and rugs dyed
the richest shades of blue, green and yellow that Shea had ever
seen. As a people, they appreciated surroundings that were
comfortable as well as beautiful to make up for the times when they
had to live rough.

This wasn’t one of those tents. Empty of all
furniture except the chair Shea was handcuffed to, there were no
rugs, no tables, no sitting pillows or brightly colored fabrics.
The walls were just the unadorned white base canvas over a weed
covered patch of ground. Only two hanging braziers kept the space
inside well-lit with an orange glow.

Something told Shea this was where they
brought prisoners when they needed to extract information. It
wasn’t even as nice as the area Darius had stuck her in that first
day.

The second man ducked in, allowing a brief
glimpse of a campfire before the tent flap dropped. He was in his
late twenties and slimmer than his companion with a leaner, rangier
frame. His face was thin and his eyes spaced the slightest bit too
far apart, but their pretty hazel color made up for that. If Shea
had never met Fallon, she would say this man’s eyes were the
prettiest she’d ever seen.

They were a dark brown that was almost black
and his skin was darker than most of his companions. His was broad
and chiseled out of stone and his body big and filled with muscles.
His hands were the size of boulders. One hit from them would crush
her.

Shea really hoped they wouldn’t be hitting
her before the night was through.

The second man approached, carrying a bag of
water. He also held one of the meat pastries the soldiers packed
when heading outside the camp. They were filling and traveled
well.

Her stomach growled, loudly, and her mouth
was suddenly dry and filled with sand. Until the smell of food
taunted her, she hadn’t realized just how hungry and thirsty she
was. Hours had passed since she’d last eaten.