by T. A. White
Shea’s chin wobbled as she caught sight of the smaller bodies in one corner of the clearing. Forms the size of toddlers or young children. The worst were the small bundles of blankets that had at one point cradled babes. No remains were left, only the little blankets their parents, the people who should have protected them, had wrapped them in.
In a calm, steady voice totally at odds with the rage inside, Shea gestured before her. “It’s a sacrificial altar. This is in the territory of those revenants we passed a few days ago. The villagers believe if they leave a sacrifice the beasts will spare them. Looks like they started with their young and moved on from there.”
“Does it work?” Caden asked.
Shea shrugged. “Until you run out of people or until the beasts figure out there is a lot more warm blooded, delicious meat down the hill.”
“This is- this is. I don’t even have words for what this is,” one of Fallon’s men said, shaking his head in disgust.
“And they call us barbarians,” Caden said, looking at the scene before them with absolute loathing.
“I wouldn’t think this fazed you,” Shea commented. “You were thinking of destroying the village.”
“This is different,” he told her, his intelligent eyes pinning her in place. “You don’t hurt the people in your clan, and you certainly don’t hurt children. They look to you for protection. Do whatever you want to people outside your clan but never do this to people you call your own.”
Shea looked back at the clearing, “Hmm. Interesting sentiment. Not sure I agree with all of it, but some I agree wholeheartedly.”
“Burn it, salt the ground and kill them all. I won’t have people such as these in my ranks.”
“All of them?” Caden asked.
Fallon took one last look at the scene in front of them. “Leave two alive, brand them as slaves. They can be a warning to others. The rest let this happen; they can join their young in eternity.”
Fallon wheeled his horse around and touched its sides with his heels. As he rode away, he gave Shea a sharp nod before his attention turned forward again, dismissing her.
Shea lingered as the others followed. Eamon guided his horse until he was next to her, giving her time to speak if she wanted.
Such a waste of life and for such a stupid reason. What the villagers were attempting with the sacrifices wouldn’t work. It would have eventually backfired. The beasts would have wised up, gotten hungry and gone hunting in one of the huts in the valley. That or the villagers would have eventually run out of people to sacrifice and begun turning on themselves until they were so weakened they were easy pickings for what lived in these hills.
Shea would have to live with the bloodshed about to be spilled as a result of this atrocity. It was enough to make her tired. She agreed with Fallon’s course of action. Her own people would have implemented similar measures, not with the swords and burning and such. Their methods would have involved bait for the beasts and cutting off all access to the village.
It was a slower method, and in some ways more brutal as the village withered and died a slow, agonizing death versus the short abrupt one the Trateri offered.
She didn’t know which method was worse. Not knowing disturbed her, robbed her of the belief that she acted in good stead.
“I suppose we should get back,” she told Eamon, turning her horse to face away from the remains. That left her facing the village nestled in the valley. So picturesque from up here. How deceiving.
“We can take our time,” Eamon said as he guided his horse to face in the same direction.
“Afraid I’ll object to what he’s ordered?”
“Not so much, but there’s also no reason for you 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’s face. Not so much.
Together, they soaked as much clarity and tranquility as they could from the quiet forest around them as they, accompanied by the sacrifices, watched as the village caught flame.
Only when the village was engulfed in a towering column of blues, reds and oranges and the fields surrounding it had followed the same fate did they leave the clearing.
If Shea had been given to flights of fancy, she would have said the chilly air and miserable atmosphere of the clearing lightened and warmed the higher those flames climbed.
Chapter Thirteen
One month later
Fallon leaned his head back and sighed. It had been a long day.
The campaign against the people of the Lowlands was successful. The Trateri had rode right through the pitiful armies that mostly consisted of peasants armed with pitchforks with little problem. They were already in position to control most of the western lands if they could just lock down their trade routes.
The beasts were making that impossible.
This land was very different from the plains the Trateri hailed from. Not only were they dealing with a rugged terrain that wasn’t easily traversable by horseback, but these beasts were more fierce than most of what they saw on their plains. It was making for a much more difficult campaign than anyone had anticipated.
Fallon wasn’t too worried, instead seeing the situation as a testing ground to develop a fighting force the likes this world had not seen since ages past. With each encounter his men became stronger. Leaner. Hungrier. It was everything a Trateri warrior could hope for. To prove his mettle on such a bloody battlefield.
The elders of the four clans, however, were of a different mind.
They wanted the spoils without any of the work. Nor did they want to take the time to build a lasting legacy for their children. They didn’t see that if they held the Lowlands, their people could finally flourish rather than tear themselves apart in pointless battles over limited resources. They wanted victory now and if that wasn’t possible, to pack up and head back to clan lands.
“More fire whiskey my lord?”
Fallon lifted his head and nodded. He tossed the whiskey back, feeling it burn down his throat to light a fire in his stomach. He gestured for another round to be poured into the small glass that was no larger than his thumb.
The next cupful he savored slowly, sipping as he pulled the latest report from his troops in the east.
A hanging brazier and candles placed on chests and tables around the area cast a soft glow, making it possible to read by. He sat on several pillows that had a back built into them at a wide table, low to the ground. Maps and paper were strewn over it.
“The Horse Clan sends its regards,” a voice hissed next to his ear as a burning pain entered his back.
Fallon’s arm shot back, grabbing the hand plunging the blade into his side. He twisted sharply. A soft cry sounded. Fallon shot forward, spinning to face his opponent.
A dagger whistled through the air, spinning end over end. Fallon slid easily to the side, stepping forward and planting his fist in the assassin’s stomach. The man’s breath whooshed out. Fallon grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down to knee him in the stomach.
The man went limp. Fallon grabbed his head and twisted, snapping his neck. As the man sunk to the ground, guards rushed into the tent, halting when they saw the figure lying at Fallon’s feet.
“Send for Darius,” Fallon barked.
He reached behind him, grimacing as his fingers came away with blood. If the man’s aim had been a little better, Fallon would be the one lying dead on the ground. He should have known better than to turn his back on any but a trusted friend.
Darius ducked under the flap, his eyes going immediately to the assassin.
“Another one? That makes the third this month.”
Fallon bent and using the man’s hair lifted him so his face was to the light. “Any one you recognize?”
Darius’s eyebrows pulled together as he examined the man’s face. “No. Did he say anything before he died?”
“Said it was courtesy of the Horse Clan.”
“It’s not certain it came from the Horse Clan, my friend.”
Darius shot Fallon an agonized look. “It doesn’t matter. You and I both know we can’t do anything but question anyone indicated. They knew right where to hit us. Questioning the Horse Clan’s integrity could jeopardize their loyalty.”
“Which is why I want you to hold off,” Fallon said, crossing his arms.
“You have a plan.”
Fallon inclined his head. “You’re right. Until now I have had no reason to question the Horse Clan’s loyalty. I am not going to start now because of the word of an inept assassin. My back was to him. He could have slit my throat or slid the dagger into my heart. He did neither and told me where the attempt originated. Why?”
“To throw off suspicion and drive a wedge between you and one of your closest allies. But, how can you be certain?”
“We’ll find out if my plan works.” He headed to his sleeping chamber and a clean set of clothes. “Call a meeting of the clan heads. I want to see their reactions when they see their assassin failed.”
Fallon’s face was cold and unyielding as he watched the clan leaders shift in their seats. Their unease might have something to do with the head sitting in the middle of the table.
Henry, head of the Horse Clan, hair white with age, poked at the head with one finger, causing it to roll towards the leader of Snake Clan, who batted it away with a look of distaste. Indra was a tall, lithe woman with long black hair braided into a series of interlocking braids.
Only four of the clan leaders were present, as well as Darius, who was Fallon’s right hand man. The last three were currently leading war parties.
“Why were we pulled from our beds in the middle of the night?” Van was middle aged with golden hair and a barrel chest and was the oldest except for Horse Clan’s leader. As Lion Clan, he was one of the potential traitors. Fallon had no proof. Yet.
“Someone tried to assassinate me tonight,” Fallon said blandly, watching for any betraying tick.
There was a hushed moment of silence as each processed how this might affect them. Indra arched one eyebrow but otherwise kept her expression politely interested.
Van smirked and said, “Guess someone really wants you dead.”
“They will just have to consign themselves to disappointment.”
“For now.”
“Is that a threat?” Darius asked sharply.
“Did it sound like one?” Van waved one hand. “Given the number of attempts lately, it’s just a matter of time before one is successful. Perhaps now you will reconsider heading back to clan lands. This place isn’t good for our people.”
“Yes, our mistake. How dare we take our people somewhere where they won’t have to fight over every speck of food or have to decide between giving water to their children or their horses,” Darius said.
“But we haven’t stopped fighting, have we? We’ve just traded one enemy for another,” Van said, baring his teeth.
“At least we aren’t fighting amongst ourselves,” Ben, the leader of Earth Clan said, arching an eyebrow. He was the youngest in the group and had not been tested by battle though he was in his twenties already.
“What would you know of it, Earth Clan?” Indra asked, curling a lip. “Your men aren’t out there dying.”
“My mistake, we simply make the weapons you use to defend yourselves.”
“Enough.” Fallon’s voice rumbled through the room. “I did not call this meeting so we could argue over issues that have already been settled. The Trateri will claim these lands and if you have issue with that then you can leave.”
Dirty looks were shot around the table before each settled back into their chairs.
“I don’t suppose the assassin said anything before he died?” Van asked in a bored tone.
“What makes you ask that?” Fallon asked, his eyes growing cold and fierce.
Van shrugged and waved a hand. “Why else would we be here?”
“You are correct, he did say something before I snapped his neck.” Fallon’s voice was silky as his eyes narrowed to slits.
“Well do tell us.”
“He said, ‘The Lion Clan gives its regards.’”
Van sprang to his feet and pounded a fist into the table. “Absurd.”
“Is it?” Indra asked. “Just moments ago you sounded as if you would like to shake hands with the assassin.”
“Lion Clan did not do this. On my honor, we did not.”
“I did not say you did,” Fallon told him. Van relaxed back into his seat and inclined his head in gratitude. Fallon’s next sentence made him tense and his face turn red. “I would, however, be a fool if I didn’t have Darius investigate. He won’t limit his investigations to just Van’s men either.”
“What?” Indra popped to her feet. “Why must the rest of us be subjected to suspicion when the assassin as good as pointed the finger against him?”
Fallon’s head turned slowly. He allowed his mask to slip for a moment, letting the burning rage through for just a moment. Indra gulped and lowered herself back into her seat. “Because I said so.”
The meeting wrapped up quickly after that and before long the clan heads, except for Darius, filed out.
“It could have been any of them,” Fallon said, turning his head as Darius took a seat next to him. “Have your men to check into all of them.”
“This would be easier if we could use Henry’s connections to find the traitor.”
“We can’t chance it,” Fallon said. “Not given what the assassin suggested.”
“So the assassin won in the end. He managed to cast doubt upon a staunch ally.”
The cup Fallon held up to his mouth hesitated before Fallon tossed back the contents.
“Work as fast as you can. Van was right in one sense. Sooner or later an assassin is going to get lucky.”
A commotion at the tent’s entrance drew both men’s attention. They looked up to see a dark haired man pushing his way through Fallon’s men.
“Great, how did Cale hear about this?” Darius muttered.
Fallon gave him a warning look. Darius held up a hand and shrugged.
“Brother, I came as soon as I heard,” Cale said, striding across the room.
“Oh? You have good ears,” Darius said, tapping one finger against his thigh.
Cale gave him a cool look and slightly bowed his head in respect. There was no love lost between the two. Cale was jealous of the close relationship Darius shared with Fallon, while Darius felt Cale was a complete waste of space who constantly used his connection with the Warlord to make his life easier.
“As you can see, the attempt was unsuccessful,” Fallon said.
“Have you caught the parties responsible? They should all be given the traitor’s reward,” Cale said heatedly.
“Yes, well, when they’re caught I’m sure you’ll be first in line to give them that reward,” Darius said sarcastically.
It was well known that Cale liked to attend such events. A bloodthirsty man, he tended to take advantage of those in weakened states.
“I thank you for your concern, but we have much to discuss. You should retire for the night. I’m sure Henry will have much for you to do tomorrow,” Fallon said in dismissal.
“I would be a horrible brother to let a little missed sleep keep me from your side. I wouldn’t want you to have to rely on the loyalties of others in this dark time. After all, family can always be counted on,” Cale said with a sidelong glance at Darius.
“And what assistance might you provide? You don’t know the first thing about such things,” Darius said.
Fallon interrupted before the discussion could degenerate any further. It would not be the first time a shouting match had erupted between the tw
o. He’d hoped placing Cale under Darius’ command several months prior would help to reconcile the two or at least make them less antagonistic, but it had only seemed to worsen their relationship. Each man had his strengths, but both refused to see any good in the other.
“Enough,” Fallon said. “I am tired and would like to see my bed before the sun rises. Cale, thank you for the offer, but Darius has experience in such matters and is as close to me as you. I have no reservations about his loyalty and would thank you not to question it again.”
Cale face reflected anger for a moment before it smoothed back into a pleasant expression. He bowed his head and said, “As you wish, brother.”
He turned and left.
Darius leaned his head against his hand as he watched him go. “It is interesting that he knew of the assassination attempt so soon after. It makes one wonder where he came by the information considering my men were under orders not to share news of the attempt with anyone.”
Fallon stared after his half-brother, his face lost in thought. “It does make one wonder. Keep an eye on him just in case.”
Darius lifted his head and gave Fallon a penetrating stare, “You think he might be involved?”
“It would not be the first time a close family member has plotted against a Warlord.”
Darius nodded, knowing that was how Fallon’s grandfather lost his life.
“As you will.”
“Hot food, showers, maybe even a clean change of clothes.” Buck leaned his head back and rolled his eyes in imagined bliss.
“I can practically taste the stew already,” Eamon said, smacking his lips.
Shea snorted as she steered her horse onto safer ground. Every time they returned to the main camp all they wanted to talk about was what they would do first.
Assigned to a supply party tasked with gathering the monthly tithes, the three had just finished guiding their charges to the three villages on their route. Now they were heading back to the main Trateri camp, also known as home.
