Mist's Edge (The Broken Lands #2) - T.A. White Page 0,114

see his resolve.

Reece’s lips broadened into a smug smile, the kind the cat gave a mouse that had just played into its paws. Fallon felt a small tug of amusement at the other man’s assumption that he had everything under control. Many men had thought similar things before, yet the Warlord was always the one to come out ahead. Reece and his fellow pathfinders would soon learn the full meaning of what it meant to poke a warlord.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

IT WAS nighttime before Shea made her way back to her tent after checking on her friends. They were lucky. They’d come through the attack with minor injuries. Clark and Charles had been in the underbrush tracking down those Trateri who hadn’t made it back to the starting point at the assigned time. Once they’d heard and seen the attack, they’d led those with them to shelter under the web of roots from the soul tree. Neither one had suffered any injuries.

Eamon and Buck had been less fortunate. Both had been in one of the fields competing when the attack began and instead of taking cover had rallied those around them into small groups to harry the birds. Both had taken minor injuries. Buck would have a scar from his shoulder to the middle of his chest from the eagle’s claws as a reminder.

She was just glad they were safe. She didn’t need even more deaths to feel responsible for. Though according to Fallon, she had assumed a responsibility that wasn’t hers to begin with.

Both Trenton and Wilhelm were a silent presence at her side throughout. She was too tired to resent their presence.

She stepped inside her tent after murmuring a greeting to the Anateri standing guard. Trenton, her ever present shadow, stopped to have a discussion with them as she pushed her way inside.

Darius, Braden, and several of the clan leaders were gathered around the dining table, maps spread out before them. Everyone was still dressed in their battle armor and armed with weapons.

Fallon looked up at Shea from where he leaned against the table. He nodded his head at the plate by his side.

Shea was tempted to just keep walking. The events of the day had drained her. She didn’t know if she had it in her to sit through whatever this was. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the morning meal.

She walked to Fallon’s side. He nudged the plate piled high with her favorite foods her way as Darius gave a status report.

“We lost twenty during the attack,” he said, looking around the table. “Most of those were unable to defend themselves—the old or the very young. A few warriors but mostly noncombatants.”

“A relatively minor amount, considering some of the battles we fought down south,” Van said, his face pulled into a frown.

“The problem is the blow to morale.” Braden’s serious gaze touched on Shea before moving on. “Our people take attacks aimed at our heart seriously. They will be out for blood once they’ve recovered their equilibrium.”

“My men are already threatening to lead a war party to these eagles,” an unfamiliar man said. Shea guessed he was the clan leader for Ember or Rain. She wasn’t sure which.

“They’ll have to travel quite a ways,” Shea inserted, after swallowing the piece of meat in her mouth.

“And you are?” The man’s gaze was cold as he observed Shea the way one might a bug.

She didn’t let his tone deter her, used to it by now. “Someone familiar with the golden eagles’ territory and habits.”

She pulled one of the maps closer to her. They’d chosen one that represented most of the Broken Lands, though the spaces where the Badlands and the Highlands should have been were mostly blank. Just a few mountains drawn in, with the Trateri sign for danger interspersed throughout.

“They make their nests in the mountains near here.” Shea pointed to a spot at the top of the map, well past their known landmarks; it was just blank space. In reality, their home was further north than she’d indicated, but she thought this made her point quite nicely. “To get to them, you’d have to climb Bearan’s Fault before walking a few hundred miles over extremely rough terrain until you reach the passes that make up the Dragon’s Tooth mountain range—it spans three hundred miles—and then cross the plains of Eire. You’ll be easy pickings for the eagles on those plains, but perhaps you’ll get lucky.”

The other man’s gaze was even more remote and cold