Such a waste of life and for such a stupidreason. What the villagers were attempting with the sacrificeswouldn’t work. It would have eventually backfired. The beasts wouldhave wised up, gotten hungry and gone hunting in one of the huts inthe valley. That or the villagers would have eventually run out ofpeople to sacrifice and begun turning on themselves until they wereso weakened they were easy pickings for what lived in thesehills.
Shea would have to live with the bloodshedabout to be spilled as a result of this atrocity. It was enough tomake her tired. She agreed with Fallon’s course of action. Her ownpeople would have implemented similar measures, not with the swordsand burning and such. Their methods would have involved bait forthe beasts and cutting off all access to the village.
It was a slower method, and in some ways morebrutal as the village withered and died a slow, agonizing deathversus the short abrupt one the Trateri offered.
She didn’t know which method was worse. Notknowing disturbed her, robbed her of the belief that she acted ingood stead.
“I suppose we should get back,” she toldEamon, turning her horse to face away from the remains. That lefther facing the village nestled in the valley. So picturesque fromup here. How deceiving.
“We can take our time,” Eamon said as heguided his horse to face in the same direction.
“Afraid I’ll object to what he’sordered?”
“Not so much, but there’s also no reason foryou to be a part of it.”
“Won’t they think less of me?”
“Do you really care?”
A brief flash of a small smile graced Shea’sface. Not so much.
Together, they soaked as much clarity andtranquility as they could from the quiet forest around them asthey, accompanied by the sacrifices, watched as the village caughtflame.
Only when the village was engulfed in atowering column of blues, reds and oranges and the fieldssurrounding it had followed the same fate did they leave theclearing.
If Shea had been given to flights of fancy,she would have said the chilly air and miserable atmosphere of theclearing lightened and warmed the higher those flames climbed.
Chapter Thirteen
One month later
Fallon leaned his head back and sighed. Ithad been a long day.
The campaign against the people of theLowlands was successful. The Trateri had rode right through thepitiful armies that mostly consisted of peasants armed withpitchforks with little problem. They were already in position tocontrol most of the western lands if they could just lock downtheir trade routes.
The beasts were making that impossible.
This land was very different from the plainsthe Trateri hailed from. Not only were they dealing with a ruggedterrain that wasn’t easily traversable by horseback, but thesebeasts were more fierce than most of what they saw on their plains.It was making for a much more difficult campaign than anyone hadanticipated.
Fallon wasn’t too worried, instead seeing thesituation as a testing ground to develop a fighting force the likesthis world had not seen since ages past. With each encounter hismen became stronger. Leaner. Hungrier. It was everything a Trateriwarrior could hope for. To prove his mettle on such a bloodybattlefield.
The elders of the four clans, however, wereof a different mind.
They wanted the spoils without any of thework. Nor did they want to take the time to build a lasting legacyfor their children. They didn’t see that if they held the Lowlands,their people could finally flourish rather than tear themselvesapart in pointless battles over limited resources. They wantedvictory now and if that wasn’t possible, to pack up and head backto clan lands.
“More fire whiskey my lord?”
Fallon lifted his head and nodded. He tossedthe whiskey back, feeling it burn down his throat to light a firein his stomach. He gestured for another round to be poured into thesmall glass that was no larger than his thumb.
The next cupful he savored slowly, sipping ashe pulled the latest report from his troops in the east.
A hanging brazier and candles placed onchests and tables around the area cast a soft glow, making itpossible to read by. He sat on several pillows that had a backbuilt into them at a wide table, low to the ground. Maps and paperwere strewn over it.
“The Horse Clan sends its regards,” a voicehissed next to his ear as a burning pain entered his back.
Fallon’s arm shot back, grabbing the handplunging the blade into his side. He twisted sharply. A soft crysounded. Fallon shot forward, spinning to face his opponent.
A dagger whistled through the air, spinningend over end. Fallon slid easily to the side, stepping forward andplanting his fist in the assassin’s stomach. The man’s breathwhooshed out. Fallon grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down toknee him in the stomach.
