There were murmurs of agreement.
"We lost entire tribes warring against each other," Sam said. "Resources are scarce in our land, and the battles for them can be savage. He instituted brutal laws that benefited him and his council. We broke apart as a people. Hawkvale changed all that when he won the right to rule and began uniting the clans. The Trateri believe he will lead us into a golden age that will rule over all of the Broken Lands."
Sounded like Fallon had united the Trateri by giving them a common enemy. People tended to forget their differences and band together when they had something to fight against.
From their story, it didn't sound like he'd be content to conquer just the Lowlands. To unite the Broken Lands, he would have to conquer the Highlands, Shea's home. That couldn't happen.
She looked at Eamon. "And you? Do you believe he will lead the Clans to a golden age?"
"I don't know." Eamon's eyes, even cast in shadow, pierced through Shea. "But if any man can, it will be him."
Focus shifted off Shea and onto conversation about their friends and family. Shea didn't know any of those they were talking about, so it gave her an excuse to bow out of the conversation.
Her mouth full, she chewed thoughtfully as she listened to them giving each other a hard time. They seemed to enjoy coming up with the best insult. It was easy to be around them, and more than once she smiled in response to a particularly good zinger.
This was what she liked about being in the field, the easy camaraderie. It was something that had been missing in her life for a while now.
Before long, she made her way into the darkness to relieve herself, making sure she was far from prying eyes. Preparing to turn in, she found a relatively flat spot on the ground and pulled out a small blanket to cover her body, laying her jacket on top for extra warmth and arranging the pack she'd retrieved from the top of the cliff behind her head as a pillow.
She found herself softening towards her companions, no matter how many times she told herself that they weren't her friends.
They treated her as an equal. Like someone whose opinion mattered. It had been a long time since she had that, since before the Badlands, if she had ever had it to this extent at all. She thought she might have been building toward this type of give and take with Witt and Dane, but that had been taken away before she knew if it was real or not.
She shut her eyes, determined to get some rest before they woke her for her shift as night watch in a few hours.
It didn't take long for her body to sink gratefully into sleep.
Eamon rose from the pile of stones he'd been examining. They were assembled into a pyramid, and a short stick stuck out of the side. It pointed to the left.
"Looks like you knew what you were doing after all," he told Shea, coming to stand beside her horse. He tilted his head back to smile at her.
She gave a short nod, her eyes going back to that pile of rocks. They had found signs where a large group had set up camp, but she hadn't been sure it was the group they were looking for. Judging by the quick smiles of the men, nobody shared her concerns.
She had a feeling it had something to do with that pile but was afraid to ask in case it was knowledge a real scout would have.
They no doubt had their own trail sign to communicate with their people. Shea's people had a method as well and used it for things such as a warning someone of danger or as a signal that they had come this way.
She couldn't help but feel like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. They'd been on the trail for eleven days now, and she was beginning to worry they weren't going to find the company they'd been tasked with locating. For the past day every time Eamon or one of the others had glanced at her, she'd tensed thinking they were about to challenge her abilities.
That hadn't happened though, even when she had started taking them in a sweeping crisscross pattern for most of the last day, checking the back trail for signs of people they may have missed.
"What're you talking about?" Buck asked riding up beside them. "Pip squeak could find his way blind."
Eamon shook his head and snorted before mounting his horse. "Signs say they went west. Looks like the camp fire was from last night so we're only about half a day behind them. They'll be moving slower than us, so if we ride hard, we'll be able to catch them before the sun sets."
"Finally," Buck said. "Maybe we'll get a hot meal tonight."
"At the very least we'll get to eat something besides hard tack and this damn jerky," Eamon returned as they went single file down the hill.
"That'd be nice," Sam said dreamily. After eleven days of trail food, everyone was ready for something new. Even Shea felt her mouth water at the thought of something besides jerky.
Conversation dropped off as they rode, each keeping an eye on their surroundings.
The group encountered more and more signs that people had come this way. From the excrement a horse left to hoof prints to the occasional piece of manmade goods. The path was easy to follow for anyone able to read it.
A man stood from an outcropping of rocks and leveled a bow at them. "Halt and state your business."
Eamon pulled on his reins and held up one hand. "We're scouts from the Dawn's Rider Company here to see your commander."
The cross bow dipped slightly but stayed pointed in their general direction. "The moon rises over the summer plains."
"But sets over the burning snakes," Eamon returned.
At Eamon's response, the man pointed the cross bow to the ground and waved them past. Eamon took lead and the rest followed. Shea looked back once to see the guard settle into position behind a tangle of bushes that hid him from view. She turned forward again.
A challenge and response. An effective way of determining friend from foe.
How often did those codes change and were there different ones for different companies? If someone knew the codes, they could slip in and out of camps with little trouble.
They cantered around a copse of trees and came upon a campsite filled with their quarry. The group, numbering at two hundred, was much smaller than those they left in the valley. This was a short term camp, meant only for the night. There were no tents, but they'd set up crude pallets for sleeping and several campfires dotted the clearing. From the smell of things, someone had already started dinner.
Eamon and Buck dismounted. Shea followed their lead, unsaddling her horse and tying it next to theirs. A hand landed on her shoulder, startling her.
"You're with me," Eamon told her.
Sam slipped up to her and slid her pack and saddle from her hands. "I'll set your things next to ours for when you're done."
"Thanks," she said softly.
Wiping sweaty palms on her pants, she followed Eamon's broad back as he strode through camp. What did he want from her? Had he discovered she was a woman?
That would not be good.
She started scanning for the best possible escape routes. Her secret was probably still safe, but it was best to be prepared.
"Scout Master Eamon Walker of Dawn's Riders with an urgent message for the commander of Saw Grass," Eamon said after coming to a stop in front of a trio hunched over a map.
A sandy haired man with a week's worth of stubble and a broad forehead straightened. His clothes were just as lived in as the rest of the men and nothing pointed to him as the leader except the slight look of authority resting on his stern countenance.
"What do you have for me master scout?" he asked.
The other two didn't bother standing. The woman on the left stayed leaning on her elbows while looking over the two of them. The man on the right chewed busily at a stick and folded his arms.
Shea kept her eyes from settling on any person for too long, not wanting to draw any more attention. Why was she here? Eamon could have handled the report just fine on his own.
She would have been much happier seeing to her sleeping arrangements. Or finding a way to escape.
"There's been a change to your orders," Eamon said.
"Figures," the stick chewer muttered. The woman curled her lip in disgust, while the leader looked like he had bit into something sour.
Ignoring the comments, Eamon continued, "You're to hook up with another element and provide support while they investigate Ram's Crossing, a small village about thirty miles west of here."
"Where?"
"May I?" Eamon asked, pointing at the map.
The leader gestured for him to go ahead. Eamon bent over, peering at it closely before pointing to a spot that was about a day's ride north west of their current position.
The stick chewer caught Shea's eye when she lifted her eyes from the map and raised his eyebrows. She dropped her gaze quickly not quite sure of the protocol for someone in the position she was currently occupying.
"This is bad," the woman said, looking up at the leader. "This will take us past the revenants."