Pathfinder's Way(46)

"What do you think?"         

     



 

She left him gaping behind her as she climbed onto her horse and looked over at Fallon. "If you still want to see, follow me."

"Lead on."

In the end, they took a party of ten that included Shea, Eamon, Fallon  and Caden. It didn't take long by horseback before they were cresting  the hill. The villagers had cut the forest back, leaving a small  clearing at the top that looked down on the small settlement.

"The ancestors take them," Eamon breathed as he pulled his horse up beside her.

Shea had no words to respond. The sight broke her heart.

Pikes rose from the ground like grim headstones in a macabre imitation  of a cemetery. Bodies in various states of decomposition were tied to  each one, some with their hands above their heads, others wrapped so  they were facing the pikes.

Even with the wind blowing in the opposite direction, the smell was over  powering. Shea's nose hairs felt singed from the smell of decay.

A few of the bodies had been here long enough for the elements and  beasts to strip them of all flesh, leaving only white bone behind.  Others were newer. That was somehow worse, because those had been half  chewed and were missing hunks of skin and organs.

No wonder the revenant pack had been so large. They had a steady meal to sustain them. They wouldn't have needed to hunt.

"What is this?" Fallon asked quietly, his voice holding the beginnings of a thunderous rumble.

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.