Pathfinder's Way(72)

"It's true. Your beauty isn't the type to outshine the likes of Indra."

Ha. Shea knew it.

"But there's more to attraction than the exterior packaging. The color  of your eyes has been burned into my brain since that man ripped away  your hood in Edgecomb. The feel of your body when I caught you on the  wagon has tormented me in dreams ever since. I never know what is going  on behind those eyes of yours." He gave her a wicked smile and Shea's  breath caught at the sight. "You are a constantly evolving puzzle. It  drives me mad, and for someone like me, who can guess an opponent's move  before they even make it, that is more attractive than a fragile thing  like appearance could ever be. You ask why you. How could it be any but  you?"

Shea's heart felt like it was going a mile a minute. She felt like she  was suspended and any movement would send her plummeting to the ground.

For a warlord used to spending time killing or practicing to kill, he  could sure talk pretty. Even Dane didn't have as glib a tongue as this  man.

Shea had to be careful, or he'd wrap her around his finger before she even know what hit her.

"So it's not because I'm one of the few who can get you past the cliffs?"

Fallon didn't move, the expression on his face remained unchanged, and yet the room felt saturated with his anger.

Shea held very still, somehow knowing that a single movement could reap consequences she was in no way prepared to deal with.

A quick movement and Fallon caught Shea behind the neck, slowly forcing  her up with him as he stood. Water sluiced down her body as she rose.

The pulse at her neck beat wildly as his gaze held her rapt attention.

"I will admit that is a significant benefit to our union    ," he told  her, his voice a deadly whip in its quiet intensity. "But you would have  led me past the cliffs and the mist whether I claimed you as my Tolroi  or not. Those weapons you had in Edgecomb are too important to walk away  from. You forget, little cat, I am the warlord. I don't need pretty  words to get what I want from you."

She grasped his wrist tightly for balance. He wasn't hurting her. His grip was firm on her neck but not harsh.

He put his mouth against her ear and whispered, "I suggest you enjoy  your run while you can. In the end, you will still be mine, and you will  give me what I want." He drew back and smiled his dark smile at her. "I  will certainly enjoy the chase you lead me on."

With that, he released her and was gone before she had caught her balance.

She sank back into the water no longer feeling the warmth.

She'd been pretty sure he wanted her to get him past the mist and into  the Highlands. To be truthful, she'd been expecting that all along. The  Lowlands were civilized to a point. They didn't have as many beasts, or  they hadn't before this summer, so they weren't as isolated as the  Highlands. At the same time, that isolation was the Highlands greatest  advantage. The only way to attack it was from the border near the  Badlands and few would brave that land long enough to launch an  invasion. As a result, the Highlands hadn't been conquered or seen a  significant invasion in over a thousand years.         

     



 

For the same reason, the Highlands kept the secrets of a long dead  civilization locked away in its stretches of thinly populated land.  Shea's people held the key.

The most obvious secret, and the one Fallon would be most interested in,  was the boomer. The Lowlands simply didn't have anything to like it. To  be truthful most of the Highlands didn't either. Shea's people, the  conclave that trained guides, did though. If Shea hadn't angered the  elders, she would have probably been given her own weapon to look after.

Her people's cache of weapons were kept secret from the rest of the  Highlands. Though boomers were common knowledge, the worst of the  weapons, the ones that sparked the cataclysm, were kept hidden. Shea  didn't know how Fallon had found out about them, but she could guess.  Paul. If she was ever alone with him again, she'd probably kill him.

She crossed her arms over her knees and rested her head on them. She  never should have stayed with Eamon and the others as long as she had.

Shea picked up the soap again and scrubbed at her skin. Her pleasure in  the luxury had fled on Fallon's heels, and she simply wanted to be done.

Minutes later she contemplated the outfit Trenton had given her. This  couldn't be all of it. Two tiny scraps of unadorned cotton lay on the  bed. The first was a band designed to wrap around her chest, leaving her  stomach, shoulders and arms bare. The small skirt that went with it  looked like it would barely cover her ass.

The towel she wore covered more than the proposed clothes.

"Are you ready yet?" Trenton said impatiently from outside.

"I think there's been some mistake."

There was a silent pause and then the leather tent flap was slapped aside as Trenton entered.

Shea stiffened and clutched her towel tighter.

He rolled his eyes and told her, "Relax. I have no intentions towards  you. Just imagining what the warlord would do to me is enough to kill  any of those thoughts."

Shea watched him carefully as he approached.

"What's the problem?"

She pointed at the bed. "What am I supposed to do with these?"

He looked from her to the bed before raising his eyebrows and giving her  a look as if he thought she was a bit of an idiot. "Put them on."

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. He knew what she meant.

"Where's the rest of the outfit?"

"That's it."

Shea could feel her blood pressure rising. She was not wearing that. If  need be, she'd put her old clothes on. At this point, she didn't care if  they were coated in dirt and sweat from a day spent training.

She looked around. Not finding her old clothes, she asked, "Where are the clothes I was wearing?"

He crossed his arms and shrugged.

"Where. Are. The. Clothes. I. Was. Wearing?"

The sardonic twist of his lips told her everything she needed to know.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

They were gone. Either Fallon had taken them while she'd been lazing in  the tub or someone else had come in while she was distracted and gotten  rid of them.

"This is ridiculous," she hissed softly to herself.

"Put those on and get out there."

"I'm not wearing these."

"You are."

Shea let her silence speak for her.

She knew she was acting childish. The scraps of clothing would cover the  pertinent pieces of her body, but she was tired of being pushed around.

"You are." He leaned forward, invading her space. She stiffened but  didn't back up. "You will also have them on in the next five minutes so  we can leave."

She didn't think so.

"You will not like it if I have to come back in here."

With those ominous words, Trenton exited, leaving Shea fuming in his  absence. After a long moment, she moved to comply, pulling the clothes  on with angry movements.

Dressed, she took a deep breath and composed herself. It took a long  moment and several deep breaths before some of the anger melted away and  a bit of perspective to creep back in.

Only when she had control of herself again, did she exit.

Trenton led her out to the very edge of the camp where a crackling fire  waited. Meynard and Caden sat on smoothly worn stumps on either side of  the fire.

It seemed odd for a fire to be going full blast in the middle of day, especially when it was this warm out.

Trenton prodded her forward when she hesitated.

He maneuvered her until she stood on the other side of the fire. She coughed as a gust of wind blew smoke in her face.

Meynard lifted his arms and proclaimed in a voice as ageless and old as  the mountains, "Shea of the Highland people, you come seeking to mingle  your being with that of the grassland people."         

     



 

Shea coughed again as a deep burning spread down her throat. Had she inhaled ash?

"The grassland people are fierce with roots dating back to the beginning  of time. You are either born of us or become one of us through fire."

Shea didn't know what he was talking about. Grassland people?

"Fire is the great catalyst. It can destroy, but it can also be an  instrument of change and bring forth the seeds of a new beginning. It is  life."

The world around her rippled and then tilted. A burst of light flared  behind Caden's head and then Trenton's. She fell to a knee as she looked  around in confusion.

The old man was droning on and on. "You must survive the fire and be reborn to be fully accepted as one of us."

She didn't want to be one of them. She liked herself just the way she  was. Shea, a pathfinder of the Highland guilds, a scout for the Dawn's  Riders.

The burning in her lungs intensified, and she coughed hard, nearly  choking. A sweet smell, like that of vanilla, invaded her nose. Its  scent so strong she almost imagined she could see it carried along on  the breeze in ever widening arcs.

The strength left her body, and she rolled onto her back. The blue, blue  sky looked down at her. It smiled at her with a delicate slice of cloud  right before a bunny hopped across, leaving trails of white tufts  floating after it.