“As the Telroi you should understand this,” Braden chided. “You cannot lead if you do not know how to control your people.”
Shea stiffened next to him, taking issue with the rebuke in his tone. Daere quickly looked away, having said something similar a time or two. Shea narrowed her eyes at the two of them. For two people who barely talked to one another, they sure thought alike.
Shea gave Braden the same response she gave Daere. “I have no intention of leading. Fallon is the warlord; he’s the leader.”
Braden arched an eyebrow at her. “That is a surprisingly naïve outlook from someone I had assumed was smarter than this.”
Shea gave him a stony-faced expression, not letting him know how those words smarted.
Braden kept speaking, his voice crisp and matter of fact. “Whether you have the intention or not doesn’t matter. The fact that you stand at his side means people are going to look to you for leadership in times of crisis. How will you guide them if you don’t even understand the most basic facet of their existence? To say nothing of those who covet your influence over the Warlord, and see you as a means to manipulate him by simply bending your ear to their agenda. A wise woman would learn all she can, so she can determine the snake in the grass before she is bitten.”
Daere shifted beside Shea, drawing her attention. The other woman’s face was impassive, offering Shea no insight to her thoughts. Shea looked between the two of them. Yup, basically the same speech. She wondered if Daere had coached Braden on what to say, or if he had come up with that little talk all on his own.
“I’ve heard something similar before,” Shea finally said.
Braden looked briefly at Daere, who had still not given him her attention and was intently focused on the class. “It is sound advice.”
Shea shrugged one shoulder. “Probably.”
A man in the back raised his hand. He was dressed a little differently than the rest, his leathers a little rougher, and the crest on his back not one Shea was familiar with. A few of the others gave him a sideways glance that made it clear they weren’t quite happy with this stranger in their midst. Shea assumed he was one of those not from the Wind Division that Clark had spoken about earlier.
Charles stopped speaking and looked at him expectantly. “Yes, you had a question?”
“What about this mist that seems to be popping up everywhere all of a sudden? You haven’t given us any information on that.”
Charles looked momentarily nonplussed, glancing around the class as if they might have the answer. When everyone looked at him expectantly, he said in a hesitant voice, “The mist is a new threat that we don’t have a lot of information on yet. Does anybody here have any observations?”
There was a long pause as the rest of the men and a few women glanced around. None stood to offer their opinion. A few shook their heads and sat back.
Another stranger, this one also with a patch Shea didn’t recognize, asked, “Isn’t that what we’re here for? So you can tell us how to survive this thing?” His voice was impatient, with the barest edge of derision in it.
The feeling of the crowd shifted, the undercurrents ugly and rife with anger as the scouts and soldiers from the Wind Division glared at the man.
Charles looked around with unease, sensing the worsening mood. Everyone was on edge. It was a situation that could explode into violence as the people present turned their skills to something they could control—beating each other senseless.
He made a placating motion with his hands. “We’re all a little uneasy about what this mist is and what it can do. The purpose behind these classes is to bring our heads together so we can figure out sound strategies to overcome the obstacles we face on a daily basis.”
“This is ridiculous. I bet you have no idea how to handle this. I can’t believe my war band insisted I attend.”
A man in the front stood up. He was big, easily taller than most of the men here. He looked like he had been cut from stone with a blunt chisel, his features rough and half formed. “How ‘bout you keep your mouth shut if you’ve nothing helpful to add?”
If a man who looked like that—with a body built for violence and a face that looked like it belonged on a berserker—spoke to her like that, Shea thought she might do whatever he asked, especially when his question had a tone that made it clear what the consequences would be if you didn’t listen.
Charles looked overwhelmed and out of his element as he tried to intervene. “Let’s not let our emotions get the best of us. We’re all just looking for answers.”
“Stay out of it, cripple,” the stranger snapped.
The other man’s face darkened, and he looked like he was going to leap across the crowd to wrap his hands around the stranger’s neck.
“You shouldn’t run,” Shea said, her voice ringing through the air. The statement was strange enough and out of context enough that both men paused to glance her way.
“Shea.” Charles looked unhappy as he glanced from her to the other man.
Many of those gathered recognized her, having been on missions with her, or having heard her story. She was a bit notorious with the Wind Division scouts. Clark and Buck liked to brag on her, trying to convince any who listened that they knew her first and taught her everything she knew. A lie, for the most part.
“The first thing to know about the mist is that you shouldn’t run from it. One—you’ll never be fast enough, and two—it knows when someone acts like prey. Running will just attract it.”
The stranger guffawed, a sound of stunned disbelief. “What’s this? Superstition is what you’re teaching these people? Who is this anyways?”
