Shea gave him a look, but kept her own council. He seemed determined to twist everything. Why not let him?
“You are wrong,” Daere said, striding up to them. “The Warlord holds Shea and her skills in the highest esteem. He simply wishes to ensure she is protected from every eventuality, including being overwhelmed by surprise or greater numbers.”
Braden gave Daere a reserved nod, the gesture almost a half bow. Shea looked between the two with unease. The tension between them was already thick enough to cut.
Trenton and Wilhelm joined the group moments later, coming from the same direction as Daere. For once, Shea was happy to see them.
“Now that we’re all here, shall we go?” she asked Braden.
His answer was a sharp nod before he turned and stalked off, his strides long and purposeful. Being a Trateri, he’d probably grown up in one of these camps, so he understood the chaotic organization better than Shea did. The first few times the camp had moved, it had taken her a few days to relearn where everything was. After that, she began to find the pattern in its set-up and got lost less and less frequently.
Braden walked with his hands clasped behind his back, Shea an uncomfortable presence by his side. Away from Fallon, he did not seem inclined to talk. Since Shea had never been one for idle chatter, it meant they traveled in silence.
Shea glanced behind them to see Daere looking lost in thought, content with keeping her own council. It was a trick Shea wished she had known months ago. Wilhelm and Trenton were behind her, their faces carefully blank—the perfect expression for a guard. None of them looked like they would be willing to help Shea out.
She looked at Braden’s profile before glancing forward again. Was this one of those times that she was expected to say something? Enforce that horrible social behavior called small talk? What would she even talk about? The weather?
No. Better to be quiet. You couldn’t put your foot in your mouth if you never said anything to begin with. Besides, who was she trying to impress? Braden? He’d already made it clear he didn’t think much of her skills.
They passed several minutes in silence as they maneuvered through the bustling pathways of the tent city to the eastern side of camp where the Wind Division and Clark’s beast board was located.
Normally, when there was space and not giant trees interfering with the camp’s layout, Fallon and his closest advisors’ tents were located at the center. They were the hub around which everything else revolved. From there, the camp was split into sections, like little pieces of a pie. The higher-ups in the different division and clans were located closer to the center ring. The further out, the less rank and status you were likely to have. On the outermost edge was where the training fields and horse corrals were located.
The beast board was near that outer edge so scouts could drop off their latest intelligence and pick up any new pieces of information on their way out of camp.
The Wind Division was mostly made up of Horse clan. They had some of the best scouts in Shea’s opinion, in no small part because of the changes Eamon had implemented when Fallon promoted him. He’d made a policy requiring returning scouts to visit the board before being released from duty.
They were nearing the edge when a familiar face ducked out of a tent, an engaging grin already forming. Clark was young. About seventeen or eighteen and just growing out of his baby face. His wide brown eyes were entirely too trusting for a scout, but Shea knew he had a core of unexpected strength. He was an orphan and had adopted many of the scouts as his family, including Shea. The feeling was mutual, as she saw him almost as the little brother she’d never had.
He’d been the first to take her little journal and turn it into this amazing, life-saving thing. It had realized a childhood dream of Shea’s from when she had wanted to be a gatherer, one of those pathfinders specifically dispatched to study the world and bring their observations home.
Clark fulfilled her dream in a different way than she’d imagined, but it had done more good for her little slice of the world than her former dream would have. If she’d ever achieved her original goal, her knowledge would have been hoarded and kept in the Wayfarer’s Keep, where it would sit in a library, unlikely to ever be read or shared.
“Shea, where’ve you been?”
Shea’s steps stuttered. Had she made a promise to visit him and forgotten about it in the excitement of Fallon’s return?
“I would have thought since we’re friends your first stop would have been here to share what you knew. Instead, I had to learn about this mist thing from the throwaways that were brought in with Fallon.”
There was so much to address in that statement that Shea looked around in confusion for a long moment.
“First, what throwaways? And since when were you on speaking terms with any of the Lowlanders?”
“Throwaway” was a term the Trateri had coined to describe Lowlanders taken in tithe because their people had thrown them away to ensure their own safety for a while longer. Unless a scout was on a mission that dovetailed with collecting a tithe, they didn’t have much to do with the throwaways, since scouts were considered too tactically sensitive to train their enemy in this position.
Clark got a shame-faced expression, as if it had just dawned on him that she might take umbrage with that term, having been a throwaway herself at one point. “I thought you knew. Some of the men Fallon brought back were former soldiers from the city states in the south.”
Shea hadn’t noticed any prisoners among the men escorting Fallon, but then the mist had been a bit distracting when she finally found them. Later, once they were out, Fallon had gathered the advance team and they’d ridden out. The throwaways must have been among those he left behind to follow at a slower pace.
“Still doesn’t explain how you got to talking with them,” Shea said, not wanting to dwell on a practice that made her uncomfortable.
Clark shrugged. “Some of the newcomers are being given to the Wind Division. Eamon wanted to debrief them in case they knew anything of value. I just happened to tag along.”
“And who is this?” Braden asked, finally interrupting the conversation. His solemn eyes were intense as they studied Clark.
Clark looked around at the people accompanying Shea, for the first time realizing she might not have been here to see him. His eyes goggled in recognition at the sight of Braden.
Clark’s mouth snapped shut and he sprung to attention, drawing himself up to his greatest height. Thankfully, he managed not to salute, though Shea could tell it was a struggle for him. “Clark of the Southern Plains, scout of the Dawn’s Riders, Wind Division.”
