Pathfinder's Way

by T. A. White

  If Paul’s story was true, Fallon may have just found a solution to the problems his army was currently having and a powerful weapon for the future.

  Blade to blade, his army could defeat any force the Lowlands or these Highlands, for that matter, threw at him. So far the battles had been few, and his army had annihilated all foes.

  However, there was the little matter of locating new villages and circling back to the places they’d already subdued. It was one of the reasons they had been camped in this valley for the past three months rather than pressing on to their next target.

  One out of every three supply trains went missing, and the scouts he sent out ended up dead or lost. The ones who straggled in were missing the majority of his soldiers and spoke of monstrous creatures ambushing them on patrol.

  Shea might be the answer to all his problems.

  “Can you take me to where she’s heading?”

  Paul opened his mouth to say yes, but Witt spoke first. “He can’t.”

  Witt grimaced as steel broke the skin and a trickle of blood trailed down his neck. Fallon waved the blade away, interested in what the man had to say.

  Witt straightened, not bothering to wipe away the blood. “If he tells you he can, he’s lying. He’ll lead you in circles, because he doesn’t know the way.”

  “I could find them,” Paul hissed.

  “Why do you think we use pathfinders?” Witt asked, daring to meet Fallon’s gaze head on. “Most of us have a general sense of the way home, but the Highlands have a way of expelling those it considers intruders. And everybody is an intruder.” He allowed himself a snort of derision. “But go ahead. Let the boy lead you to your deaths. It won’t matter; you’ll never catch her. She’s long gone by now.”

  “Shut up, you old fool,” Paul said, his voice rising in pitch. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were only supposed to take her. Not us.”

  All eyes turned to Paul.

  “What are you talking about?” Witt asked softly.

  “The elders knew what Goodwin of Ria were planning,” Paul spat. “Why do you think they kept James back? They sent only those they could afford to lose. Trouble makers, every one of you.”

  Witt closed his eyes slowly and bowed his head. Yes. He’d wondered why they’d chosen these particular expedition members. They were all men who’d had a problem with the elders at one point or another. Even him.

  “They knew he,” Paul lifted his chin at Fallon, “was looking for her and that he’d reward any who brought him information. So they made sure she was placed in his path.”

  Darius looked faintly appalled by this proof of betrayal, and his guards shared similar looks of distaste.

  “Why?” Fallon asked.

  “They asked for a new pathfinder to be assigned time and again. One that wasn’t as useless. She was always telling them no. She was a woman trying to tell our elders what she would do. We were tired of it,” Paul said readily. “Well, the guild wouldn’t give us a new one so the elders took matters into their own hands.”

  “You and your foolish elders have destroyed your precious village,” Witt retorted as he made a grab for Paul. His guard grabbed his hands and twisted them behind his back. “The guild doesn’t have to assign a new pathfinder.”

  “They will. They have to. It’s in the village bylaws.”

  Witt’s lips twisted into a sneer. “They don’t have to do shit. You think they’re going to send another pathfinder to a village with a history like yours? One that lost their previous one?” Witt gave an ugly laugh. “Oh no. Shea will be the last pathfinder your village ever sees. I’m glad too. You backwards, goat arsed traitors don’t deserve another one. Not after this stunt. Your village will be culled from the maps. Nobody will find their way there ever again.”

  Fallon watched the interplay, soaking up as much information from their actions as he did from Paul’s words.

  He pointed at Witt. “Take him to Trenton and tell him he’s to be kept close.”

  Witt was pulled to his feet and hauled out, but not before he sent one last warning to Paul to keep his mouth closed. The boy had already proven to have loose lips. Any secrets he knew would be the warlord’s by morning.

  Fallon turned his attention back to Paul. “Now.” He gestured for some food and water to be given to Paul who, having very little of either over the past few days, dug in with gusto. “Tell me everything you know.”

  “What do you think?” Fallon asked Darius as Paul was escorted out of the tent.

  Darius folded his arms and stared down at his feet contemplatively. “It’s an interesting story.”

  “Hm.”

  “Can’t tell if these pathfinders’ abilities are myth or fact. Could be superstition.”

  “True.”

  A thought occurred to Darius, and he called for a guard.

  “Sir?”

  “Do you know what Damon did with the woman’s belongings?”

  “I believe he left them in his tent.”

  “Get them for me.”

  The guard nodded sharply and left to retrieve Shea’s backpack.

  “What are you thinking?” Fallon asked.

  “Something he said. It made me think that these pathfinders are very like our scouts.”

  Fallon agreed and arched an eyebrow.

  “How do our scouts find their way in the wilderness?”

  Fallon’s smile was slow and wicked when it came. “Maps.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. Doesn’t matter how good someone is, they’d need a map for areas they had little experience with. I think she’s the same way.”

  The guard returned carrying the confiscated bag.

  Darius took it from him and carried it to the table where he upended it. He tossed bits of clothing and a plate and cup aside. When his search yielded nothing, he picked up the bag again and felt along the edges.

  “Ah ha,” he said victoriously as paper crinkled.

  Fallon leaned forward with interest.

  After running a knife along the fabric, Darius peeled back the lining and carefully pulled out the folded square of vellum.

  Fallon stood, bringing a lamp closer, and looked over Darius’ shoulder as he unfolded the paper and spread it flat on the table.

  “It’s definitely a map,” Darius said.

  “I agree. These lines mean elevation,” Fallon said, pointing to a series of closely drawn parallel curved lines.

  “I can’t quite understand all of the landmarks.” Darius squinted at the squiggles. “There’s no way to tell where it starts or stops. They could use a different method to map.”

  “Or it could be in code.” Fallon’s quiet rumble said what they were both thinking. “Send it to one of the cartographers to see if they can decipher it. Make sure you choose one we trust.”

  “You think one of the clans are plotting against you?”

  “When aren’t they plotting?”

  Darius snorted. True enough. The subtle jockeying for power never stopped among the clans. Darius didn’t envy Fallon for having to deal with it. He’d rather be stung by a thousand 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. “Any particular reason why?”

  Fallon thought a minute and shook his head. “Just a feeling.

  Darius nodded, thoughtfully. Fallon’s feelings were often right and had saved both of their lives on more than one occasion. If he said to keep an eye on their corps of scouts, 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 away from the encampment, and in that time they had wandered south. The complete opposite direction of the Highlands. Shea was further than ever from her destination.

  A chance to slip away hadn’t presented itself yet. She watched and wai
ted, gathering information on this new Lowland faction.

  A pathfinder was only as good as the knowledge they had at their fingertips, whether that came in the form of maps, knowledge of beasts or insights into a potential enemy.

  So far she’d come to the conclusion that, despite the fact that all of these men were scouts and possessed the same green jacket she did, they weren’t very adept at land navigation.

  The jacket Shea had donned as part of her disguise was part of a uniform. Only most never wore the jacket, one because it was hot and two because they saw no need to. People were 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 men were on a two part mission. The first involved mapping the terrain and scouting any nearby settlements. The second had them hooking up with another company in a few days.

  Shea hoped to be gone by then.

  It would be difficult to make their rendezvous considering they’d been going in circles for two days.

  They only just now realized this.

  Shea had figured it out part way through the first day.

  The ravine they were in had sheer rock on either side, allowing the growing argument between Vale and Gerard to echo. It would be better if the men kept their voices down. Sound traveled in narrow spaces like this. You never knew what might be waiting around the corner.

  “We should go left.”

  “No, the map clearly says right.”

  “How can it say that when this canyon isn’t even on it?”

  The subject of the argument was the little path branching in two directions in front of them. The cliffs rising on either side meant they would have to travel one by one.

  The low hanging clouds had Shea slightly concerned about the possibility of a flash flood. They’d waded through a shallow river part of the way to reach this point, and the faint mark of a water line on the rocks didn’t allay that fear.

  Her horse sidestepped under her before she got it back under control. She wasn’t quick enough because the movement startled the horse next to her.

  Its rider gave her a shove. “I’ve seen toddlers with more control over their mounts than you, Daisy.”

  Shea patted the horse’s neck and ignored the comment. The Trateri considered it the height of insults to impugn a man’s horsemanship. As the inept outsider, she’d heard variations along the theme for the past several days.

  The insults didn’t really phase her. She’d never been much of a horseman. Now if they’d insulted her navigation skills, that’d be another matter.

  What was more concerning was the underlying tension she sensed in the small group. Though Lorn was the leader, most of the men looked to Eamon for their marching orders. When there was a problem, he was the one they went to.

  Lorn was a bully who got off on the power of being in charge but didn’t have the skills to actually lead. Unfortunately, Lorn wasn’t blind so he knew the men preferred Eamon’s leadership, which was why he took every chance to put Eamon in his place.

  It was too bad. Eamon actually had a brain in that big head of his.

  As Eamon’s punishment, Lorn placed Vale in charge of the map. From what Shea could tell, Vale had rudimentary map reading skills, which was why they had been led into this death trap of a canyon and were currently lost.

  “We need to go down the left branch.” Vale’s eyes narrowed into slits and his mouth lifted in a semi snarl.

  The other man, his name was Gerard, but the men called him Buck, lifted one arm and pointed to the right. “We should go right.”

  Shea tilted her head back and examined the cliff walls again, knowing she wouldn’t miss much. They’d been arguing about which way to go for several minutes now.

  Her horse sidestepped again and pawed the ground. She looked around. All of the horses were acting uneasy, tossing their heads, shifting from foot to foot and whickering softly.

  Sometimes an animal being restless meant they were just restless. But sometimes, sometimes it meant something else entirely. That something was rarely good.

  She examined the narrow canyon.

  There were no sounds from wildlife except the faint nickers of the horses. Could be all the arguing had scared the animals away. Or maybe something nearby had spooked them. Her eyes drifted up the rock walls, noting indentations where something big had dragged alongside the sandstone, leaving long scrapes.

  She guided her horse next to one of the cliffs and looked up. Several feet above her head, three parallel scratches nearly the length of her arm had been gouged into the rock. She turned and looked at the other wall, looking for similar marks. She didn’t see any, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  “We should turn back,” she said softly. Then louder. “We need to turn back.”

  The man who had scolded her earlier looked over his shoulder and frowned. Eamon’s glare told her to shut it, while another man gave a disgusted sigh.

  Shea’s spine straightened. She kicked the horse in the side and guided it to Lorn. It was his team. The ultimate decision was his.

  “We need to turn back.”

  Vale and Buck stopped arguing.

  “There are beasts ahead,” she tried again when he ignored her.

  “Beasts?”

  Ignoring the ridicule in his tone, Shea said, “Yes. Beasts.”

  “And you know that how?” Lorn finally deigned to look at her, eyeing her with distaste and skepticism. Her hands clenched on her reins. “You? A boy who hasn’t even had his first shave or fucked his first woman. Somehow you know more than men who’ve been doing this since they could walk? I’ll believe that when fire falls from the sky.”

  Shea’s ears turned red. A dozen pithy remarks wanted to spill from her tongue.

  She held them back. It wasn’t like she wasn’t used to being dismissed. People rarely listened. Even when she was leading. They scorned her experience and ultimately they died. Why should these barbarians be any different?

  To Eamon, she said, “Look at the cliff. It has gouges in it from something with claws. Given how high up they are, it means the thing is big.”

  A sharp crack sounded through the air. Her head turned with the force of the blow, her right cheek smarting. She touched the corner of her mouth. Her fingers came away red.

  Blood.

  Bastard.

  Almost trembling, she met Lorn’s furious eyes.

  “I’m scout master,” he said tightly. “Me, not him. You do not go to him when you have issues with my orders.”

  He looked at the suddenly quiet men around him. A few of them held his eyes for a moment before looking away. Eamon watched Shea closely, noting the slight tremor in her hands and the rage she quickly snuffed out of her expression.

  “Is that clear?” Lorn asked.

  Her throat felt tight. Words fought inside her for release.

  He raised a fist slightly. “I asked, is that clear?”

  “Yes,” Shea choked out.

  “Good. Because next time I’ll beat you bloody.” To the others, he said, “Vale, take three men and go down the left passage. Eamon, you and I will take the rest down the right. We’ll go on foot, and after you’re done scouting, meet back here.”

  She shouldn’t have been so surprised at the blow. Really. She’d have done the same if someone had questioned her orders on a mission. Maybe.

  Still, they were heading into danger.

  While the men prepared to split, Lorn blocked Shea’s horse with his. “Not you. Since you’re so scared of whatever’s out there, you can stay here and guard the horses. Alone.”

  He dismounted, affixed his blade to his belt and joined Eamon and his men.

  “Not too bright are ya, Daisy?” a man said, walking past her to join Vale.

  “Never try to undermine a commander’s orders,” a voice said from her side. She looked down at light brown eyes over a big nose and pitted cheeks. “It just pisses them o
ff and makes more work for the rest of us.”

  Having said his piece, the man walked off. Within minutes, Shea was alone with the horses.

  They were all going to die.

  Or perhaps not. Maybe they would get lucky and those marks she saw were old. You never knew.

  She dismounted and pulled her pack with her. Either way, this gave her the opportunity she’d been waiting for.

  She was finally alone. It was time to head back to Birdon Leaf.

  She unhooked her pack from the horse. The pack she’d picked up on a whim in that tent had turned out to be a godsend. Not only had it given her clothes to disguise her gender, but it was packed full of supplies that had come in handy over the past few days.

  Granted, it wasn’t as well packed as Shea could have done. There were a few items missing, and a few things that were just dead weight, but it had all of the essentials.

  Things like a fire making kit, a canteen for water, basic food stores and a change of underclothes. It even had a knife to supplement the one Shea had, and to her delight, Eamon had outfitted her with a short sword before leaving camp.

  The only thing missing was rope, which Shea planned to remedy by picking through the other men’s belongings. If she remembered correctly, Buck had used rope to cobble the horses together a few nights ago when they had to seek shelter from a storm.

  Opening his saddlebags, she dug around until she felt the rough hemp against her fingers. She pulled it out with a feeling of satisfaction. She’d been eyeing if for a while now and knew it could come in handy on her journey. Rope always did. She took a few strips of jerky from his bag as well, telling herself he didn’t need it as much as she would.

  She headed to the cliff opposite of the scratches and peered up.

  She could barely see the top, high above her head. The rock was dimpled and pockmarked. Ponderosa clung to nooks. But for the most part, it was bare and grey. That was good. Hard rock was easier to climb than dirt. Safer too.