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 waited, 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.