Mist's Edge (The Broken Lands Book 2)

by T. A. White

  She touched her forehead, her fingers coming away with blood. Judging by their reactions, she must have looked pretty bad.

  She followed Trenton inside. He set the child on a chair in front of the table. He picked up a handkerchief and tossed it at Shea. “If you ever want to leave this tent without a full escort, I suggest you get yourself cleaned up before Fallon sees you.”

  She took that to mean she was right, and she looked as awful as she felt.

  He turned back to the child as Shea pressed the cloth against her head, wincing at the sting. Head wounds were the worst. They always bled way more than they should.

  Chirron entered the tent while Shea was still mopping up the blood from her forehead and neck. It had dripped onto the collar of her shirt, and her pants were ripped and bloody from the scrapes on her legs.

  Chirron’s face was carefully blank as he cataloged Shea’s injuries with a glance.

  “Help the girl first,” Shea said when it was clear he planned to attend her first.

  He spared a glance at the girl as Trenton gently lifted her arms and pressed against her ribs. Mist jumped, making a whimpering sound as she yanked her arm out of his hold and folded it against her side.

  Chirron looked back at Shea. “All due respect, but the girl’s injuries, or even death, would not affect the Trateri as much as yours would.”

  “Not to mention your Warlord is apt to throw things if he learned I was delayed in receiving a healer’s attention,” Shea observed.

  Chirron inclined his head. “I’m glad you can see my view on this.”

  Shea nodded. She hoped he could hold onto that feeling.

  She held up a hand as he reached for her. “As much as I can empathize with your position, I still insist you see to the girl’s injuries first.”

  She gave him a friendly smile. He didn’t look particularly moved by her smile. Perhaps it needed work. She touched the cloth to her forehead, or maybe it just needed less blood.

  “Telroi. Fallon would not be pleased to learn I treated another before you.”

  Shea snapped the cloth down. “I know very well what Fallon would want. Can you honestly tell me he wouldn’t wish one of his men treated before him?” She raised an eyebrow expectantly.

  He met her stare with a stubborn one of his own. She took his silence as agreement.

  “My injuries aren’t critical and hers might be. The sooner you check her out, the sooner you can move on to me.” She gave him a stony look, the one she gave Fallon when she wasn’t going to budge on something. “If you hurry, you might even be able to finish her examination before Fallon tracks us down.”

  His lips firmed, and he treated her to the glare she was more used to. “As you wish.”

  Good. She’d finally won one battle.

  Trenton stood back, setting his hand on Mist’s shoulder as Chirron took a knee before her and gave her a friendly smile.

  “Let’s get you checked out, shall we?”

  She gazed at him solemnly, her lower lip sticking out just slightly. Mist watched as he felt along her legs and arms. When he reached for her ribs, she jerked away and looked at Shea.

  “It’s alright, Mist. He’s not going to harm you. He just needs to see where you’re hurt,” Shea told her. “Can you show him where you’re hurt?”

  Mist nodded, the dirt on her cheeks making her seem even younger than she was. She lifted her shirt and pointed to the already purpling band appearing around her midsection. There were also signs of older bruises lower on her stomach and small burn marks that definitely hadn’t been created when the eagle picked her up in its claws. In addition to almost being killed by a beast, the girl had been abused in the not so distant past.

  There was a low curse above her as Trenton took a deep breath. Shea didn’t let any of the horror and pity she felt show on her face.

  “Thank you, Mist. You did a good job.” Shea gave the little girl a smile and turned her eyes to Chirron whose face had settled into a grim mask. Wrath was in his eyes as he helped the little girl lower her shirt.

  “Stay here with Trenton while I speak with the healer.” Shea jerked her head to indicate he follow her. She stood, her body protesting the movement, and led the way to the other side of the tent, far enough that Mist wouldn’t overhear their conversation.

  Shea waited as Chirron joined her. He took several deep breaths, visibly trying to calm himself, before speaking, “Her injuries from the attack by the eagle are minor, all things considered. I will need to keep an eye on her for the next little while to make sure there is no internal bleeding and create a poultice to address some of the bruising.”

  Shea watched him carefully. Despite his measured words, she got the sense he was seconds away from snapping. She liked him better for the obvious anger he felt over the apparent abuse the girl had suffered.

  “And the rest?”

  He took another deep breath and busied himself adjusting the bracelet on his wrist. Shea let him, knowing he needed time to compose himself.

  “There are signs of long-term abuse. I can’t be sure, but I believe at least one of her arms has been broken in the past. There is also scar tissue from being burned.”

  It was Shea’s turn to seek her composure, even as her blood sung for vengeance against whoever had hurt that sweet child. She had never sought violence, but she thought she might finally understand Fallon a little better. It took her considerable discipline not to tear out of this tent to hunt down the perpetrators. The only thing keeping her in place was the knowledge that it would be difficult to find those responsible.

  That’s not to say that if she ever did uncover who hurt Mist, she wouldn’t relish leading them into a spinner nest or a pack of revenants. She might even get creative and track down some of the more vicious beasts, the ones that would make the person suffer before eating them.

  “I thought the Trateri protected their young,” Shea said, unable to bite back the words.

  Chirron’s nostrils flared. “They do, but we have our bad seeds, just as everybody else. Those that did this will be found and dealt with. The Warlord will make sure of it.”

  Fallon moved into view, his eyes coming to rest on Shea and Chirron. He had a streak of blood on one cheek and a cut on his arm. He looked like he’d been in a battle, his body tense, and his posture poised for an attack at any time. His expression darkened at the sight of Shea, still bloody, her wounds untreated.

  “I had not realized I had given you permission to make promises on my behalf,” Fallon said, his tone silky.

  Chirron watched him with caution, like one would a large mountain lion that you were pretty sure saw you as its next meal.

  “May I ask why my Telroi is standing with her wounds untreated and blood covering her while you make such claims?” he asked, his voice rising with every word.

  “Perhaps because there was someone here who needed help first,” Shea told him, shooting a meaningful look in Mist’s direction. The girl cowered in her seat, her chest heaving up and down as she looked at Fallon like he was a wolf about to pounce on her. “Or would you like to tell me that her needs are less important than mine?”

  Shea’s expression told him there was only one right answer to that question.

  His jaw flexed, and he lowered his chin to send her a look that could have shorn boulders in half. Chirron and Trenton looked like they were trying to make themselves invisible during the silent showdown between Shea and Fallon.

  “My mistake. Of course, the child should receive attention first. They are our future.” Fallon conceded his loss with a graceful incline of his head. “Now that she has been helped, perhaps Chirron can get on with tending to your injuries while you update me on who I am supposed to find and kill.”

  Shea’s shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath. That was probably the best apology she was going to get. The implacable look on Fallon’s face told her he wasn’t budging from his spot until she let Chirron tend to her.

  “They’re super
ficial wounds,” she told Fallon.

  “Then this should go quickly so Chirron can tend to the more gravely injured among my people.”

  Or he could drop this and allow Chirron to get to more important duties now. That wasn’t going to happen though.

  Shea’s sigh was gusty as she held the cloth she’d used to blot away some of the blood out to Chirron. He took it and pointed her to a seat.

  She sat and held still as he pressed against the skin around the cut on her forehead. A cool, almost numbing sensation spread from the places where he touched. It wasn’t enough to dim all the pain, however. Fallon hovered over them looking like he wanted to shed Chirron’s blood every time Shea winced.

  She needed something to distract her from Chirron’s probing fingers or else she feared he wouldn’t live through tending to her wounds.

  “How are your men?” she asked.

  “Fine. There were a few casualties, but we managed to bring down several of the eagles.”

  Several. She still found that strange. It was damn near impossible for that many to gather.

  “We were lucky they attacked here, where their movement was hampered. On the plains or in the mountains we would have faced much greater losses.”

  That was another thing. Why had they attacked here? This wasn’t their natural hunting grounds. She’d listened to many stories told by the Airabel villagers, and they had almost no references to the golden eagles that plagued much of the Highlands and Lowlands.

  “How did the Airabel villagers fare?” Shea asked.

  “They suffered some losses. Many of their warriors fought honorably from above to keep the eagles from carrying off their victims. Their actions have won them much favor from my generals. Eckbert has volunteered his healers to help assist the wounded,” Fallon said.

  “I need to talk with Eckbert.” Shea pushed Chirron’s hands away. Something about this didn’t sit right with her.

  “I’m not done,” Chirron snapped, slapping a hand onto her shoulder and pushing her back down. “You’ll go nowhere until I’ve cleaned and put stiches in this cut.”

  Shea glared up at Chirron. She had places to be and people to question. There were more important things to take care of than treating her superficial injuries. Chirron raised one eyebrow, his expression saying he wasn’t impressed with her glare. He gave Fallon a pointed look.

  Fallon stood watching them, with his arms folded across his chest and a frown on his face. He looked seconds away from throwing things.

  Shea saw his point. “At least send someone for Eckbert.”

  Fallon gestured and one of the men in the room with them left. Shea presumed on the errand of summoning the village elder.

  “Now that that’s taken care of, perhaps you can hold still.” Chirron didn’t wait for her agreement, pressing a cloth he’d soaked with a liquid to the cuts on Shea’s forehead. She hissed as it stung.

  “The pain will do you good,” Chirron said, bending closer to get a better look at what he was working with. “The liquid will keep you from getting an infection and reduce signs of scarring.”

  “Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired,” Shea told him.

  He picked up her hand and pressed it to the cloth on her head. She kept it there as he turned and busied himself with his satchel of supplies.

  “I treat warriors all day. Men who think they are immune to such common ailments as infection. I’ve learned to be direct.”

  Shea snorted. She could believe that.

  “If this can reduce scaring, it’s a wonder your soldiers have so many of them,” Shea told Fallon.

  Chirron paused in what he was doing and looked up. “His men can’t be bothered with such things. They believe scars are a sign of strength.”

  Fallon’s eyebrows were just barely lifted, and his mouth curved down with just the slightest hint of disdain. He gave them a long stare that said he had no interest in this conversation.

  “Warlord, I’ve brought the village elder,” one of Fallon’s Anateri said from the entrance. He stepped aside to allow Eckbert to enter.

  Eckbert was clad in leather armor and carried a quiver in one hand and a bow across his back. His face had been painted so that he would blend in with the forest and his eyes held a fierce light. One that she had seen many times in Fallon’s. This man was a warrior—old and past his prime, but he still held that spirit, and his garments and weapons said he was prepared to defend his people to the death.

  Shea blinked at the odd vision. Eckbert had always seemed like a harmless old man.

  “I’ve positioned my men in the trees surrounding this area. If there is another incursion by the eagles, they will sound the horn so our vulnerable can take cover.” Eckbert’s eyes landed on where Chirron was tending to her cuts and softened. “I am glad to see your adventures haven’t left you too worse for wear.”

  Shea stiffened as her eyes slid to Fallon. She’d been hoping he wouldn’t hear about her jumping onto the back of a golden eagle while it was in flight. The downward turn of his mouth said that was a futile hope and probably had been since the beginning. The Trateri gossiped as much as any group of old wives she had encountered in the Highlands.

  “Thank you,” she told Eckbert. “Your men’s assistance saved my life and Mist’s. I don’t think I would have been able to get the eagle to drop us if they hadn’t attacked it from above.”

  “Yes, you have my gratitude,” Fallon said, his voice a deep rumble. “Your people have shown honor and bravery. I will be glad to have them in my army.”

  Eckbert eyes got that familiar crafty gleam. “Perhaps my men will bring back Trateri wives and cement our bond by combining our bloodlines.”

  Fallon’s lips twisted in amusement. “Perhaps.

  “Did you lose many?” Trenton asked.

  Eckbert’s eyebrows lowered and his cheeks sagged. Sadness coated his face. “Any loss cuts deep. Our people weren’t prepared, many of our most vulnerable fell to these creatures.”

  “Has there ever been an attack of this nature before?” Shea asked, leaning to the side so she could see Eckbert better. She received a cuff to the head from Chirron. She glared up at him but sat back and let him clean the wound.

  “I’ve asked my elders to review our oral history. I can say they haven’t attacked in so many generations that they’ve faded from our collective memory. It seems many things that were once myth are returning to this world.” His face turned grim. “I fear my people are not prepared for this.”

  Shea feared the same. The Airabel knew the dangers of their forest and could slip through it like ghosts. With the outside world encroaching on their lives, they would have to adjust quickly or fall into the void like so many villages before them.

  “Have your men get in touch with the Wind Division commander, Eamon,” Shea said. “He can give you some basic information about what you might be facing.”

  It wasn’t much, but it was all she could give right now.

  “What about your people?” Eckbert asked. “I know they have much knowledge that can be shared, and we have been on friendly terms in the past.”

  Shea’s gaze turned inwards. The pathfinders, for all their knowledge, were loath to help others seeking guidance. They hoarded what they knew like dragons on a pile of gold, viewing any who had not taken their oaths as being unworthy.

  “They are far from here. It would take months for any message you sent to reach them and be returned.” Shea settled on her response.

  “And the pathfinder Reece?” Eckbert lifted an eyebrow, intelligence shining in his face. This was no befuddled old man. There was a reason he’d gotten to his position. Shea was willing to bet he used the persona of a kindly old man only intent on procreation to lure many off their guard. “I assume he is still alive. He could have much to share with us.”

  Fallon unfolded his arms. “He is alive, but he will stay with us. I still have business with him.”

  Yes, the pathfinder Reece. A man who had shown u
p mere days before this attack.

  Chirron held up a needle and thread. “Hold still.”

  He pulled the skin taut.

  Something didn’t sit right with Shea. There was more to this. And she was betting Reece had some of the answers.

  Shea pushed Chirron’s hands away, ignoring his squawk of protest. “I want to see Reece.”

  She popped to her feet without waiting for a response.

  “Where do you think you’re going? Sit back down. I still need to stitch up your wounds.” Chirron’s voice was angry as it followed her out of the tent.

  Fallon was beside her. “Shea.”

  “Where is he?” Shea waited a beat, holding Fallon’s eyes. He frowned at her, his eyebrows lowering.

  She turned away. Fine. If he wasn’t going to answer, she’d find him herself even if she had to search every tent in this place.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “YOU’RE GOING the wrong way,” Fallon informed her.

  Shea stopped, her shoulders tightening before she did an about face. Fallon waited for her with an expression that was both expectant and amused. She swept by him and stalked along the tents.

  “Do you know where you’re going?”

  He knew she didn’t.

  She’d stormed out of the tent when he failed to answer, and now she was wandering around the encampment with no real clue as to where to find Reece. She was faced with admitting her hotheadedness or committing to this course of action.

  Fallon paced along beside her, his large form shadowing hers. “How long do you intend to waste your time when you could just ask for help?”

  Shea took a deep breath and stopped, turning to meet Fallon’s eyes. He lifted one eyebrow expectantly. Nope. She couldn’t do it. She turned on her heel and kept walking.

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. His lips covered hers before she could form a protest.

  Need rose in her—a torrential feeling threatening to subsume her beneath its fury. The pure gratitude that they were both alive to fight, and love, and everything that came with it.