Fallon agreed and arched an eyebrow.
“How do our scouts find their way in thewilderness?”
Fallon’s smile was slow and wicked when itcame. “Maps.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Doesn’t matter howgood someone is, they’d need a map for areas they had littleexperience with. I think she’s the same way.”
The guard returned carrying the confiscatedbag.
Darius took it from him and carried it to thetable where he upended it. He tossed bits of clothing and a plateand cup aside. When his search yielded nothing, he picked up thebag again and felt along the edges.
“Ah ha,” he said victoriously as papercrinkled.
Fallon leaned forward with interest.
After running a knife along the fabric,Darius peeled back the lining and carefully pulled out the foldedsquare of vellum.
Fallon stood, bringing a lamp closer, andlooked over Darius’ shoulder as he unfolded the paper and spread itflat on the table.
“It’s definitely a map,” Darius said.
“I agree. These lines mean elevation,” Fallonsaid, pointing to a series of closely drawn parallel curvedlines.
“I can’t quite understand all of thelandmarks.” Darius squinted at the squiggles. “There’s no way totell where it starts or stops. They could use a different method tomap.”
“Or it could be in code.” Fallon’s quietrumble said what they were both thinking. “Send it to one of thecartographers to see if they can decipher it. Make sure you chooseone we trust.”
“You think one of the clans are plottingagainst you?”
“When aren’t they plotting?”
Darius snorted. True enough. The subtlejockeying for power never stopped among the clans. Darius didn’tenvy Fallon for having to deal with it. He’d rather be stung by athousand bees than deal with a council session.
“Show Phillip to see if he has any insight,and circulate your men among the scouts.”
Darius shot him a quizzical look. “Anyparticular reason why?”
Fallon thought a minute and shook his head.“Just a feeling.
Darius nodded, thoughtfully. Fallon’sfeelings were often right and had saved both of their lives on morethan one occasion. If he said to keep an eye on their corps ofscouts, it would be done.
Chapter Eight
“We’re lost.”
“We’re not lost,” Vale said in annoyance.
Five days had passed since they’d ridden awayfrom the encampment, and in that time they had wandered south. Thecomplete opposite direction of the Highlands. Shea was further thanever from her destination.
A chance to slip away hadn’t presented itselfyet. She watched and waited, gathering information on this newLowland faction.
A pathfinder was only as good as theknowledge they had at their fingertips, whether that came in theform of maps, knowledge of beasts or insights into a potentialenemy.
So far she’d come to the conclusion that,despite the fact that all of these men were scouts and possessedthe same green jacket she did, they weren’t very adept at landnavigation.
The jacket Shea had donned as part of herdisguise was part of a uniform. Only most never wore the jacket,one because it was hot and two because they saw no need to. Peoplewere supposed to recognize their status from the way they walked.Evidently. It was a status symbol that meant more when hidden.
From the little Shea had puzzled out, the menwere on a two part mission. The first involved mapping the terrainand scouting any nearby settlements. The second had them hooking upwith another company in a few days.
