In much the same way as it did with the white fuzz, it was preventing the two grindles from coming closer. The stones seemed to be a marker to determine how far the fountain’s influence went.
Dane and Peyton closed in on them. Their whompers brought up to their shoulders and lined up. They fired, the whompers roaring through the air before slamming into the sides of both beasts. There were high-pitched sounds of pain before the grindles collapsed. One was dead, the other stumbled to its feet before limping away.
The third grindle let out a scream of anger, leaving the bloody mess it had been playing with to lope toward Dane and Peyton. Realizing the danger heading toward them, Peyton grabbed Dane’s arm, dragging him behind her as she sprinted for the mist, the grindle pounding after them.
It was the best thing they could have done, unarmed and separated as they were. The mist would shield them and even the odds a little bit. In it, the grindle would have to deal with dulled senses. The two would stand a chance. Shea would have done the same in their place.
That left them with the three human enemies who were slowly making their way to where Shea and her little group waited.
Shea would have felt a lot more confident of their chances if not for the beast call hanging on one of their belts.
The three marched across the glen, their pace unhurried, and their faces shielded from view. They didn’t seem concerned about how their grindles had fared. That alone told Shea they had something up their sleeves.
The three stopped several paces away, their position reminiscent of where the grindles had hesitated.
“We can’t let them use the beast call again,” Shea said in a soft voice.
“I agree,” Braden said, not taking his gaze off their opponents.
“That’s not our only problem,” Reece said, nodding at what they held clasped in their hands.
“Long barrel boomers,” Shea said in a disgusted voice.
That was the reason they were so confident. The weapons were reason enough for the enemy to think they had the upper hand. Just one of those could kill several of them. That they had two meant they could take out the group without ever getting close enough for the Trateri to land a blow.
Still, neither of the boomers scared her as much as that beast call hanging from the belt of the one in the center.
“Give us Shea Halloran and the rest can go free,” a strong male voice said.
The students shifted, their gazes turning to Shea, suspicion and hope in their eyes. Shea didn’t blame them for the thoughts running through their head. It was human nature to grasp at the faintest of straws to ensure survival. These weren’t hardened warriors. They hadn’t spent time with Shea or gotten to know her. Her life or death would matter little to them.
There were a few people who surprised her. In addition to the Trateri who didn’t move, their faces hardening into icy stone at the proposal, Reece, Clark’s friend and a few other students looked equally unwilling to consider this way to save themselves.
“I never thought you’d be one of the traitors, Eric,” Reece said with scorn in his voice.
The man who’d spoken went still, his head turning slightly toward the man in charge.
Shea gave Reece a frown. He glanced back at her, his face set and hard. He knew what he’d done. There would be no letting the students go now that they’d heard one of the men’s names. Not when their testimony could damn the rest.
The man in charge made no move that Shea could see, but Eric must have seen something, because he reached up and pushed his hood back, revealing his face.
Eric had been the one to call her traitor during the journey to the Keep. She’d known he disliked her, but she never would have guessed he loathed her to this extent, to betray his people and attack students.
She still didn’t understand why, though. Before this, she hadn’t known him personally. Their interactions had been limited and she didn’t remember hearing about anyone he knew being on the trip to the Badlands with her.
That meant his actions were motivated by something besides revenge. The why and what eluded her. She could understand revenge. It made sense to her. Other motivations not so much.
“Who’re your friends?” Reece asked, looking at the other two.
Eric glanced over. The one on the far left sighed before reaching up and pulling their hood back. A woman with curly black hair stared at them with a wintry visage.
“Ellen,” Reece said, a shutter slamming down over his expression.
This woman meant something to him. Just what, Shea didn’t know. She’d been gone too long to guess.
“If I go with you, you’ll leave the rest of them alone?” Shea said, edging forward. She knew it was a pointless question. Not now that the students knew who they were and what they looked like. Anyone left alive could point the finger at them.
“Shea,” Braden said, his voice a growl of warning.
