Mist's Edge (The Broken Lands #2) - T.A. White Page 0,141

the rest. We’ll leave as soon as that’s done.” To appease Van, Fallon told Zeph, “Gather several men and have them stand watch at these doors. At the first sign that they’re failing, we’ll leave, regardless of whether the injured are ready or not.”

Seeing his Anateri approaching with Reece in tow, he dismissed the other men and summoned Caden and Braden with a flick of his hand.

“Where is she?” Fallon didn’t waste any time cutting to the heart of the matter.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Fallon said. He was ready to rip this man’s head from his shoulders. “She opened your damn caverns. She should be here, so where is she?”

“I’m sure she’ll be here. She’s probably just delayed.” Reece didn’t look too concerned about Shea’s fate. A fact that had Fallon clenching his hands to keep from attacking the other man. He still had need for Reece, which was the only thing that saved him. “We should get going as soon as possible. I’m sure she’ll catch up when she’s able.”

“We’re not going anywhere until I know she’s safe.” He took a step closer to Reece. “You’d better pray she survived, or this trip and your life are going to be very short.”

Reece sighed. “I’m growing weary of all of these threats.”

“Are you now?” Had Shea been here, she could have told Reece that the amusement on Fallon’s face was a dangerous sign. She wasn’t here, so her warning went unspoken.

“If you’d planned to kill me, you would have done it by now.”

Fallon’s hand landed around Reece’s neck. He squeezed, relishing the gurgling sound the pathfinder made. “Perhaps I should make good on some of my threats then. Since you are so weary of them, of course.”

Reece’s voice came out in a babble, not making much sound.

Fallon drew him forward, turning his ear towards Reece. He shook his head. “Nope, sorry, I’m afraid I still can’t hear you.”

Fallon released him. Reece staggered back, his hand to his throat as he glared. Fallon regarded him with amusement. The pathfinder looked like a stray pup debating whether to go for its master’s throat. Fallon almost wished he would. It would give him pleasure to put the pup down.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” Reece croaked.

Fallon didn’t respond, knowing silence was sometimes the best weapon.

“I’m going to remember this,” Reece said.

“We hope you do,” Caden said, amusement on his face and in his voice as he walked up. “Perhaps it will serve as a reminder not to antagonize the Warlord.”

“Now that we’ve established that my threats contain some bite, perhaps you would care to share your theories on what might have happened to Shea.” Fallon’s voice was silky. His time playing with this man was almost at an end. If he didn’t learn what he needed to know, he’d be all too happy to kill him.

“I don’t know. She should be here.” It was a bold thing to admit, given how clearly Fallon had demonstrated his feelings for the other man. It almost made him respectable. Almost.

Witt’s presence behind Reece drew Fallon’s attention. “Warlord, you’re going to want to see this.”

Fallon cocked his head as he considered the other man. He hoped for Witt’s sake, that he’d interrupted for a good reason, and not just some misbegotten assumption that he could redirect Fallon’s wrath.

Fallon headed for Witt, telling his men, “Bring him.”

They followed Witt into the gloom, the torch he held the only light revealing their way.

Fallon didn’t miss the way his men eyed their surroundings with a deep unease. It was a feeling he shared. Men weren’t meant to exist underground. It felt like he was walking in a tomb, one Highlanders had created for their forgotten dead. The Trateri didn’t believe in burials, thinking that interment underground trapped the spirit in the decaying body. They usually left the dead to the elements, or burned the corpse, so the person’s soul could return to the world, closing the circle of life.

“There.” Witt pointed the torch down into a deep trough that had been dug into the dirt. In the trough were skeletons, many of them. There were half-gnawed bones and discarded weapons, the metal rusted and brittle with age. Whatever garments these poor bastards had worn to their deaths were preserved by the cool air in the caverns, denied the chance to decay and fall apart.

“Horse lords protect us,” Caden said.

Witt knelt next to one of the bodies, using a stick to raise the arm. “The flesh was stripped from their