Pathfinder's Way(19)

The encampment was set in a small valley surrounded on two sides by  steep hills. It wasn't where she would have chosen to bed down for the  night with an element of this size. For one thing, there were only two  easy exits. That wasn't necessarily bad as it limited the direction an  enemy could attack from. But the camp was located a bit too far up  river, which would make getting drinkable water difficult once thousands  of men got done polluting it with their waste. They should have made  camp at the opposite end of the valley, that way their waste would  travel down river, and they could walk up the valley for clean water.

Shea grabbed for the horse's neck as it moved under her. The beast  followed the stallion in front of it, beginning the journey down into  the valley.

Nine days had passed since Goodwin of Ria betrayed Shea's group to the  Trateri. That first night had set the tone for the ones to follow. Every  night, once they made camp, Damon tied Shea to a tree while he attended  to his own matters. When meal time came around, he untied her, let her  eat and take care of personal business and then retied her to the tree,  leaving a blanket over her for warmth against the cool nights. In the  morning, he'd come for her, and they'd ride together until it was time  to make camp again.

She was beginning to hate sleeping sitting up.

A chance to speak with Witt and Dane never came again and neither did an opportunity to escape.         

     



 

Now they were about to join the main army and butterflies were swarming  in Shea's stomach. She hadn't counted on such a big force. Perhaps she  shouldn't have waited to escape.

Too late now.

As they made their way into the transient city, it became obvious there  was order to the chaos. The Trateri had spaced their tents far enough  apart to create pathways. Banners containing images of animals, plants  and objects flapped from poles at the entrance of each tent.

Most of the bigger tents had hitching posts hammered into the ground off  to the side. The ones that didn't had young boys or girls waiting to  hold the horse of any visiting warriors. It was an efficient way to take  care of the animals and keep the young ones out of mischief.

Nightfall was still hours away, but campfires already flickered in the  cleared areas. Men and women lounged or stood around them, not paying  attention to the group riding in.

Several fires had pots suspended above them. The tantalizing smell of  food made Shea's stomach grumble, reminding her she hadn't eaten since  lunch. It was past time for dinner, but they'd been so close to their  destination that the Trateri had refused to stop for a break.

"Don't worry; we'll feed you once we dismount," Damon said. He'd been  quiet all day, not trying to entice her into conversation as he normally  did.

Maybe he could sense Shea's nerves and was giving her space to process  things. She'd feel more grateful if he hadn't insisted on tying her up  every night.

"One thing I didn't miss was all these damn people," Damon groused as he  steered his horse around a group arguing in the middle of the  thoroughfare.

"There are women here," Shea said with faint surprise. They'd passed  several on the way into camp. Most carried weapons and were dressed in  the same leather armor as the men.

Damon snorted. "Of course there are women. Did you think all Trateri were men?"

"Not at all. It's just most Lowlanders and Highlander's don't allow  their women to take part in war, and they certainly don't let them  become warriors."

"Then they're fools. Women are some of the most vicious fighters I've ever seen and can be just as capable as any man."

"Makes sense. In nature, the female is likely to be the meaner one of  the species, especially when it comes to the young," Shea said.

"Not all of our women or men are warriors. There are many roles in our  society. We would be starving if there were no cooks. We would lose  every battle if there was no one to make our weapons. We leave it up to  the individual to decide which of their skills they feel would provide  the greatest benefit to their clan."

Shea's guild had much the same view about the roles of men and women. If  you had the talent and skill to do your job, it was yours. It didn't  matter what reproductive organs you had. It surprised her that the  Trateri held some of the same beliefs.

The pace had slowed to a crawl as the group pushed further into the  heart of the encampment. Gradually, the path narrowed and became  congested with people and horses.

"Move with a purpose, you maggot infested swine!" Damon shouted at a  pair that were trying to figure out where they needed to go.

That wouldn't have been so bad, but then they decided what they were  looking for wasn't in that direction. They tried to turn their horses,  creating a jam that quickly became a shoving match.

"You can't turn here." Damon made a rude gesture. "Keep going until the next juncture and take one of the other avenues."

The two didn't seem inclined to listen and tried to pull their mounts  around. Darius growled and surged forward, forcing people to move or be  trampled. He cuffed both young men on the side of the head, grabbed the  reins of both horses and rode forward, forcing the beasts to ride after  him.

Damon and three others followed quickly while the rest of the party,  including the one containing Shea's men, peeled off to follow a side  road.

Time was ticking down as the confrontation with Fallon drew near.

Darius guided his horse to a side street and took it to another where he  turned right. After several of these narrower paths, they rode into a  wide-open area that was relatively unpopulated compared to the main road  they just left.

He dismounted before a tent that was twice the width of those on the  main road and considerably taller. Shea noticed most of the surrounding  domiciles were larger than the ones they had passed but smaller than  this one.

A deep blue banner with an embroidered phoenix in rebirth marked the  entrance. An awning stretched out from the opening, creating a small  strip of shade. If they'd been allowed to speak, the two warriors  standing guard would probably have voiced appreciation for the tiny  oasis shielding them from the blazing afternoon sun.         

     



 

That was all Shea had time to notice before she was pulled from the  horse. She caught a brief glance of the warriors' curious stares before  she was pushed inside.

A variety of candles illuminated the interior, showing that the ground  was covered by rugs. So many that one couldn't see the natural grass and  dirt beneath. A table meant for dining, with a half dozen chairs  surrounding it, was off to one side. Several sitting areas were dotted  throughout the rest of the room. The ceiling had open flaps as did two  of the walls to create air flow.

There was no sign of Fallon. Darius and the other three were the only people in the tent.

Shea felt the tightness in her shoulders relax just a little.

Her relief was short lived as Damon guided her past Darius and to the  back of the tent, which she finally noticed had been partitioned off  with a large canvas wall. He shoved her through the flaps. She glanced  around as he pulled her over to a large wooden post located in the  middle of the tiny area.

He bent, picked up a chain and then spun her around to face him. Before  she could back away, he grabbed her wrists, clapping the iron manacles  around them.

"What's this?" Shea looked at the length of chain now securing her to the post. She lifted a wrist. The chain rose with it.

"You'll wait here until Fallon arrives. This way you can't run off."

"So much drama for one woman. What would I do even if I did escape?  There's thousands of warriors out there. I wouldn't get very far before I  was caught."

He shrugged and turned to leave. "Maybe so, but you've got a reputation.  I don't want to be the guy responsible for losing you. Just stay put.  Fallon will figure out what he wants done when he gets here."

He disappeared back to the other side of the tent.

As soon as he was out of sight, Shea bent to examine her bindings. There  was a small keyhole on each manacle and a four-inch chain ran between  her wrists. She had never been good at picking locks. She also didn't  have the necessary tools.

Trying to slip her wrists out of the cuff didn't work. Her hands were  too big, and she wasn't quite desperate enough that she was willing to  dislocate her thumbs.

Shea sighed. Standing took energy so she sat and leaned against the  post. Anybody who spent a lot of time walking knew that when you had the  chance to sit, you made the most of it because you never knew when  you'd get to take a seat again.

Closer examination of her circumstances didn't fill her with confidence.  The post she found herself chained to was thicker than her waist. An  experimental yank on the chain didn't budge it. It had likely been  pounded several feet into the ground. Trying to pull it up would be  pointless.

She stared sightlessly at the canvas across from her.