Mist's Edge (The Broken Lands Book 2)

by T. A. White

  “What are you doing?” she asked Fallon, her voice tight. She didn’t like being blindsided, and she definitely didn’t like being volunteered for something she had no desire to do.

  “You said you were bored and wanted a challenge.”

  No, she hadn’t. She didn’t remember ever saying anything of the sort.

  “That’s not what I meant. You entirely missed the point of our conversation.”

  “Did I? I don’t think so.”

  “Never once did I say anything about being bored,” she hissed at him.

  “Maybe not in so many words. I read between the lines.”

  He read—

  Shea took a deep breath and released it. Her glare would have sent lesser men scrambling for cover. Fallon’s lips only twitched, and he got a look on his face that said he thought her anger was adorable. It made Shea want to start punching things, preferably that face, just to show him how adorable her anger actually was.

  “Fallon, you know that’s not what I meant.”

  The humor fell from his face, leaving a solemn and serious expression behind. “Maybe not, but I don’t think I’m that far off-base. Not to mention, you’re the best person for this job. You wanted meaning; this is it. You can make a sizable difference in my warriors’ ability to survive this land. You, more than any other in my army, know what they’re up against. They can use every tool in their arsenal.”

  Shea’s shoulders fell and she rubbed her forehead as she looked away.

  “You’re one person and while your skills are undeniable, you are limited by the fact you are only one person. I need you to teach others what you know. It’s the best way that I can protect my people.”

  He was right. She hated to admit it, but he was.

  “Fine.” Shea’s response felt like it was dragged out of her by wild horses. She gave him a sideways glance, noticing the mirth that was threatening to reappear. Her fist shot out, nailing him in the stomach. His breath whooshed out of him.

  Braden, a few steps away, looked horrified at her action. Caden lifted an eyebrow but otherwise remained unmoved.

  Shea stepped beside Fallon, who leveled a glare on her as he rubbed the place she’d hit. She gave him a negligent shrug that held not even an ounce of remorse. “You wouldn’t want your men to see the Warlord smile, now would you?”

  “Well played,” he murmured. Now it was Shea’s turn to bite back a smile. He leaned down, saying in a voice meant for only her ears, “I’ll have my revenge later tonight.”

  She arched an eyebrow as she stepped around him before saying over her shoulder, “We’ll see.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “WELL, I ASSUME you’d like to visit the board now,” Shea said to Braden as she walked up to him.

  His eyes went above her head to where Fallon lingered behind her. “Yes, if the Warlord can spare you.”

  “I’m sure he’ll manage without me.” Shea’s voice held an acerbic edge.

  “Trenton and Wilhelm will be here shortly; they will accompany you,” Caden said before they could walk away.

  “I’m sure my presence will be enough protection in camp,” Braden responded.

  “The Warlord has made it clear that his Telroi is to have guards at all times, even while in camp.”

  Shea grimaced. She’d forgotten about that, having made it her business over the past few months to slip away from her guards whenever possible. Good thing Fallon hadn’t been around to hear about that. She could only hope Trenton and Wilhelm kept silent. What Fallon didn’t know wouldn’t cause Shea problems.

  By the significant glance Caden shot her way, she had a feeling either Trenton or Wilhelm—she was willing to bet Trenton, since he rejoiced at getting her in trouble—had spilled the beans.

  “How unusual. She should be trained so she’s not so defenseless,” Braden said.

  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.”

  “You’re an orphan then.”

  Shea’s mouth dropped open and her head spun as she aimed a glare Braden’s way. How did he even guess that from what Clark offered? And what kind of person said that on a first meeting?

  “Orphans are named for the closest landmark. On occasion the clan is kind and lets them claim the clan’s name as their own,” Daere said softly at Shea’s side.

  Clark’s face was stiff and guarded as he gave a wary nod.

  “You are the one responsible for this board I hear so much about?”

  His nod this time was less hesitant.

  “Show me.”

  *

  The beast class had assembled in a small clearing right next to the horses’ paddock. Wooden seats made of stumps and logs had been set up facing in one direction. Charles, a slight man in loose clothing, stood in front of the gathered warriors talking animatedly.

  Shea was surprised to see how many had gathered. Instead of the small group she had imagined, every seat was taken, and still others leaned against trees or stood in the back. Those with seats took notes as Charles gestured to a board that had been set up next to him. Several men nodded at what he was sharing, their expressions focused and intent.

  Clark said, “I’ll ask some of the men to move so you can sit.”

  “No, we’ll watch from back here,” Braden said.

  Shea agreed. They’d learn more if they remained unnoticed.

  “How long has this been going on?” Shea asked in a quiet voice.

  “A few weeks now.” Clark’s voice was hushed. “They take turns standing up and speaking. We’ve even started noticing scouts from other divisions attending.”

  “Bet that causes problems,” Trenton said.

  Shea cocked her head, not understanding why it would.

  Seeing the question on her face, he supplied, “The divisions are largely manned by the different clans.”

  She still didn’t get it.

  “Every clan hates every other clan,” Wilhelm explained. “It’s about the only thing you can always count on. Just because Fallon has united them in name doesn’t mean that there aren’t still blood feuds between them.”

  “There’s a lot of history, spanning generations. It’ll take time to truly unite them,” Daere said.

  Shea knew that. Eamon and the others had told her at some point, but she didn’t know if she had fully realized what that meant. To most of the Lowlands, the Trateri were all painted with the same brush.

  “It would help matters if the bloodlines mixed,” Braden observed, not taking his eyes off the front. “If the Hawkvale had ties of blood to some of the other clans, they would be much less likely to fight him on some of his policies.”

  Shea sucked in a breath, the comment unexpected. She blinked rapidly, grateful that he wasn’t looking at her so she could compose her expression. The shock. It had never occurred to her to think Fallon’s position would be more stable if he had taken a proper Trateri woman as his telroi—and it should have.

  She took another breath and let it go slowly.

  Before she could think of a response, Daere stepped into the awkward silence. “Such a move could also result in further instability, as one clan is elevated above the rest.”

  “He could just have children with a woman from every clan. Of course, you’d face the same problem when it came time for one of those children to take up the mantle of leadership.” The response was out of Shea’s mouth before she could stop it.

  The only acknowledgement from Braden of her sarcasm was a slight turn of his head toward her. Daere smothered a smile and lowered her eyes to the ground.

  Shea fought to keep still, not wanting Braden to know how such talk of Fallon and other women had disturbed her.

  Trenton stepped into the silence. “Until then, there are flare-ups when they come into contact with one another.”

  “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 final
ly 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.”