Pathfinder's Way

by T. A. White

  Shea swung her sword as one leapt, catching it in the throat. It went limp as it landed, taking her back to the ground. She cursed and wiggled out from under its dead weight. An ululating cackle sounded to her right. She pushed harder as another revenant peered around its dead companion. The weight on her doubled as its saliva dripped onto her face.

  She whimpered, her hand creeping to her waist and pulling her dagger. The beast leapt, and she brought her arm up. It screeched as it buried itself mouth first on the blade. She angled the dagger into the soft tissue of its palate and then into its brain.

  Great, now she was pinned under two of the damn beasts.

  The sounds of battle continued around her as she grunted and shoved her way out from under the dead revenants. Bit by bit, she shifted the combined weight until she was finally free.

  She reclaimed her sword and looked at the carnage. Bodies, both revenant and man littered the ground, and the previously tight lines had degenerated into a free for all as men defended as best they could.

  This wasn’t going according to plan, but that was the way life went out here. You start with one idea and then something happens that totally fucks everything up.

  Eamon, Buck and Clark had formed a group and were fighting the beasts as a unit, relying on each other to watch the other’s back against the devious things. It looked surprisingly effective as they killed one beast after another.

  Shea turned her head, looking around the clearing. There had to be something that might make a difference. She reviewed what she knew of the beasts. They were pack animals and might or might not be afraid of fire. Not that it mattered, because she had no way to make fire.

  Shapes moved in the trees beyond the clearing. Darting in and out of shadows with only the occasional reflection of light glinting off their eyes. She’d thought this was the entire pack.

  She’d been wrong.

  As the humans fought the beasts in front of them, the rest waited until their prey had spent its strength and thought victory was close at hand.

  “Back, back. Reform the lines,” Shea screamed.

  It was a lost cause. Shea knew that even as the words left her mouth. The fury of battle had left the men disorganized and slow to react. Even as some tried to fight their way to place their backs against the cave mouth, the remaining revenants surged forward, cutting them off while their pack brothers streamed from the trees.

  Shea felt her breath still in her lungs as the revenants formed a black wave against the ground. There must be nearly a hundred. It was going to be a massacre.

  Men streamed past her to form hasty lines. Eamon appeared at her side, his eyes wild with adrenaline, and his teeth bared in a macabre smile. Buck let out a loud war holler right beside her and raised a weapon coated nearly black from the beasts’ blood.

  “Tough fuckers, aren’t they?” Buck yelled.

  Eamon’s eyes glinted as he leaned slightly forward, anticipating the impact from the revenants sprinting towards them.

  “Don’t mind him, boy,” Buck said, without taking his eyes from the beasts. “When he gets in battle mode he gets fixated and doesn’t talk.”

  Shea hadn’t been concerned much about Eamon’s silence but rather about their current problem.

  “They’ll write stories of this battle.”

  Shea’s eyebrows flew up. “Only if someone survives to tell it.”

  Buck chuckled even as he swung his sword down in a two handed chop severing the head of a leaping revenant.

  After that, they were too busy to talk as they hacked and sliced at any body that came near. Clark joined their little group and, together, they rotated constantly, protecting each other’s backs.

  Shea lost count of how many revenants had attacked and been turned back. Her arms felt like lead weights and each time she lifted her sword it got harder and harder to lift it again.

  She fell into a rhythm, lift, slash, lift. Again and again. Until she reached a lull in the fighting. She looked up and realized she was all alone. The others were several feet away.

  Between her and them a revenant lifted his head from his latest prey. Blood dripped from his face as he stared at her. He was huge, bigger than any other revenant in the pack and had scars all over his sides and legs, an ugly looking slice on his muzzle and another next to his eye where his enemy had missed.

  The monster lowered his head, his lips pulling back in a crazy grin as if to say come and get me. He leapt over his snack. Nearly two hundred pounds of pure muscle barreled into her.

  She protected her body with one arm, feeling the pressure of his fangs against the cloth and leather, and stabbed into his side with her other hand. Blood coated her hand as she pulled it away and stabbed again. It had little effect on the beast as he snapped his head side to side nearly tearing her arm from the socket.

  She screamed at the pain and sunk the blade in again. A hand caught hers and guided the blade below the ribs then helped her plunge it in deeper, finding the heart and giving the blade a twist.

  The light faded from the revenants eyes as his body softened on top of hers.

  Hands grabbed the revenant and lifted it off her.

  Shea blinked dumbly at the dead beast. Barely able to process that she wasn’t dead. That somehow she was still breathing. Her arm throbbed. It was good to be alive, to feel pain.

  Blood and gore coated her from head to toe. It was in her hair, on her face, ground into her clothes. She looked like someone had slaughtered a dozen pigs right on top of her.

  “On your feet, warrior,” a voice above her barked.

  She looked up into a set of fierce, whisky-colored eyes.

  Fallon.

  Her mouth opened and closed several times as his frown deepened. She belatedly realized that they were still in the midst of the fight and popped to her feet. It was difficult since her arm didn’t want to support her.

  The battle had turned as men streamed from the trees on stallions that seemed to take great delight in trampling any revenant unlucky enough to be in their path. Shea watched as a man leaned almost casually down from the side of his mount, and with a flick of his wrist, buried an ax in a creature’s head.

  Shea’s party had pulled back to the cave to watch the strangers work.

  Finding herself out of immediate danger, Shea found her gaze returning to Fallon. What was he doing here?

  He frowned as his men cleaned up the remaining revenants.

  Shea found herself studying him. She had never thought to see him again.

  Tiny lines feathered out from his eyes. His mouth was a flat line as he surveyed the battle. He was so absorbed in his surroundings it was tempting to think he’d forgotten all about her standing there at his side. That was a trap. It was evident by the way he held himself alert that, despite appearances, on some level he knew she was still there, and he was ready to react in any way should she move against him.

  Somehow, though, she had thought his reaction to meeting her again would be slightly different. Slightly more. Not this barely acknowledged existence.

  Fallon bared his teeth and strode forward, leaving her standing and staring after him in consternation. Then it dawned on her that he didn’t recognize her.

  She didn’t know if it was her attempt to look like a boy, the gore caked all over her face and clothes, or just her general insignificance as a rank and file soldier, but he hadn’t looked twice at her.

  A laugh broke from her and was quickly stifled. The glee bubbled up and escaped until she was laughing so hard that she was nearly crying.

  “Shane,” Eamon roared, “We don’t have time for you to have a break down. Get your ass back on the line.”

  Her laughter died abruptly, and she looked over her shoulder to see Eamon glowering at her from his place in front of the ragged line that had formed at the mouth of the cave. Her eyes went from the haggard looking men to Fallon’s warriors.

  Though the tide had turned in the Trateri’s favor, the fight wasn’t over. Shea was stan
ding unprotected close to the tree line, easy pickings for any stray revenant. Even as she delayed, a clump of riders with revenants snapping at all sides shifted towards her.

  “Move, Shane!”

  She didn’t hesitate again and hauled ass back to the dubious safety of Eamon and the others. They waited and watched as Fallon rallied his men and drove the revenants towards the warriors waiting by the cave.

  Eamon gave a war cry and tore forward, the rest of the men following as they hacked their way through the beasts while Fallon’s men on the other side did the same. Caught up in the wave, Shea followed, trying to stay close to Clark as they once again engaged the revenants.

  The death cries of wounded beasts assaulted Shea’s ears as she hacked and sliced her way through body after body. After what felt like an eternity, but was likely only minutes, of furious battle, a peculiar silence fell over the group when the last revenant was killed. Panting filled the air as each man looked around noting, finally, that it seemed to be over. That they’d won.

  Shea knew her face reflected the same astonishment and bloody triumph as those around her.

  A single cry of victory rose from Clark, nearly deafening Shea in its intensity, since he was standing at her shoulder. A second cry followed, and then all the men were screaming their triumph at the sky.

  A slight smile graced Shea’s lips as she looked around. That smile froze on her face as her eyes found Fallon watching his men with arms folded over his muscled chest. His normally stern face radiated power and an intense satisfaction.

  Briefly, his eyes met Shea’s, pinning her in place for a timeless moment before moving away.

  Shea’s heart stuttered and then slammed into triple time.

  A hand grabbed her good arm and pulled her back, turning her to face a blood coated Eamon and an injured Buck.

  She hadn’t noticed them with her thoughts turned to Fallon.

  “Boy, next time I say move, you don’t just stare dumbly at me as if you got nothing but rocks in your brain, you move.”

  At odds with the angry tone of his voice, Eamon pulled her injured arm gently away from her body and picked the ragged pieces of cloth out of the wound. She hissed in pain and tried to take her arm back. He held it tighter and gave her a warning look.

  “You need to pay better attention,” he informed her grimly, dumping the contents of a canteen over the wound. A shrill sound escaped Shea, and she nearly passed out. That wasn’t water in there. “You could have gotten yourself and others killed today. Normally I couldn’t care less if a dirt grubber gets himself killed, but right now you’re our scout. If you get yourself dead, I’d have to explain to the quartermaster why he’s having to find me a replacement since the last one wasn’t smart enough not to go off by themselves during a battle.”

  Shea didn’t think that required a response so she kept her mouth shut.

  Buck handed him some gauze to wrap the wound with, and she nearly whimpered again. His version of care hurt more than the actual injury.

  All the while Eamon dressed her injury he lectured her on everything she had done wrong. Buck handed Eamon the supplies he needed, his face a grim mask.

  By the time Eamon was finished, Shea’s arm wasn’t the only thing that was stinging. Her pride was too. Her eyes smarted, though she attributed that to the pain. She bit her lip hard against the words she wanted to say.

  “Do you think they’ll come back?” Buck asked.

  Eamon paused in the midst of wrapping Shea’s arm and looked at the tree line. “I don’t know.”

  “Finish patching him up and then get ready to leave. Perry says we’re joining up with Fallon,” Fiona said walking past them.

  With one last pass around her arm, Eamon tied off the gauze and then helped her smooth her sleeve over the bandage. Finished, he handed Buck the rest of the gauze and stood.

  Shea joined him, shambling over to her gear. Her body was one massive bruise, and her forearm throbbed in time to her heartbeat. Gingerly, she holstered her sword.

  “How can those creatures have been this deadly?” Clark asked, gazing at the wounded who were being loaded up on the horses.

  Several men crouched beside their fallen comrades performing the same burial rite that Eamon had when they lost men to the shadow beetles.

  Shea didn’t answer, ducking her head and busying herself with preparing to move out.

  His gaze felt heavy on her bowed head as she fumbled with her pack. She didn’t look up.

  “Shane,” Clark sounded hesitant. “Eamon’s just worried. He can be gruff when someone under his command puts themselves in danger.

  Shea turned away.

  Clark walked around to stand in front of her, his brown eyes worried and earnest. “You need to let it roll off you. It’s his job as a leader to correct your actions. It might seem harsh now, but it’s supposed to. You’ll get used to it.”

  No. No, she wouldn’t.

  “Shane-“

  “I’m fine, Clark.” Shea didn’t want to talk about this any longer. In answer to his previous question, she told him, “They’re beasts.”

  “What?”

  “You asked how they could be so aggressive. They’re beasts.”

  He looked unsure at her answer, whether that was because she was changing the subject or because he didn’t understand the significance, she didn’t know.

  For a Lowlander or Highlander that would have been all the explanation needed.

  “Beast,” he said softly, testing the word. He went back to staring into the distance. He and the rest were beginning to learn just how terrifying a word that really was.

  Shea reached into her pack and pulled out a notebook just a little bigger than hers. The leather cover was new and unscratched, and the pages were crisp and clean. It had come with the pack.

  She held it a moment before looking up at Clark.

  Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. In fact, it was probably stupid. It wasn’t exactly the best time either with the wounded and dead all around them and the threat of another attack hanging over their heads.

  “What’s that?” he asked, taking the decision out of her hands.

  “It’s yours.”

  She handed it to him and avoided his gaze as he opened it. What was she going to do with the notebook anyway? It would just be dead weight during her trip back to the Highlands. Might as well give it to the boy.

  He looked back up at her when he saw the drawings and explanations.

  “I didn’t really have time to copy everything, but I figured I’d start you off with a few of the more fierce beasts you’re likely to encounter. This way you can update it with your own observations.” Seeing the slightly dumb struck look in his eyes, she slumped. He probably thought it was stupid. “It’s just, you seemed to like mine so I thought you might want one of your own.”

  He was silent as he looked back down at the small notebook clutched in his hands. Shea started to turn away when he pulled her into a bear hug and squeezed tight.

  “Thank you. I’ll cherish it.”

  Once she’d recovered from the surprise, she smiled and patted him on the back before pulling away.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Your timing couldn’t have been better,” Perry remarked.

  Fallon observed the controlled chaos as his men walked from revenant to revenant putting any that still drew breath out of their misery. Men tended the injured, cleaning wounds, sewing them up, and in a few rare cases, setting bones.

  Perry’s men had taken heavy damage. Few, if any, were uninjured.

  “For a minute there, I thought I’d be meeting my ancestors,” Perry confided. “Little bastards are cunning.”

  “They adapt quicker than expected,” Fallon said. “We’ll have to clear as many as possible from these hills, or they’ll just breed more. Better to deal with them now while they’re weakened, than wait for them to regain their strength.”

  “I’ll get my me
n right on it.”

  “No. Let them rest. They deserve it. I’ll have Darius send a company to destroy any dens later. I need you and your men with me in the west.”

  “Understood. Our mission?”

  “A couple of the local villages have decided not to meet their tithes. We’ll need to educate them otherwise.”

  Perry sighed. “Stupid fools. I’d feel sorry for them if they had even the tiniest pair of balls.”

  Fallon grinned. It was a sentiment echoed often among his men.

  “We’ll just have to force them to gain some.”

  Perry’s expression soured. “That would be like trying to stuff a rain drop back into a cloud.”

  “Surely not as difficult as that.”

  “Not nearly as useful either, no doubt,” a man said crossly, coming to stand by Fallon’s side. He was a short, stocky man with a barrel chest. Half of his brown hair was pulled tightly back to tame the wild curls. The skin below the half pony tail was shaved. Unlike most of the other Trateri who had brown hair and eyes, his were a startling blue.

  “Caden,” Perry said, nodding in respect.

  “Perry.” The greeting was returned with the same respect. “Your men acquitted themselves well.”

  “We lost many, but all went down with sword in hand.”

  “Sometimes that’s all you can ask for.”

  There was a short silence in respect for the lives lost.

  “When should I have my men ready to move again?” Perry asked. “We’ll have to send out a team to round up the horses first. I had the men cut their strings when the revenant sent out its battle cry. Figured the horses running around might be enough of a distraction to get our men to the rendezvous point.”

  “I can send a few of my men out to see how many we can recover. We also brought a few extra mounts if we can’t round up all of the horses. We’ll stay the night here,” Fallon said. “You chose the place to make your stand well. It’s easily defensible and will provide decent shelter from the night’s cold.”