Mist's Edge (The Broken Lands #2) - T.A. White Page 0,6
back to the warlord. He was not a man you wanted to make angry. She made a note of their clothes and the crest announcing their clan allegiance that decorated their backs. She’d have to investigate which it belonged to. She didn’t think it belonged to any of the ones she knew. Perhaps one of the newcomers?
Shea disregarded the first two things she wanted to say. There were entirely too many curse words and threats in them. After a moment, she disregarded the third response. It was still a little bloodthirsty.
“I know you didn’t show such blatant disrespect to someone who outranks you,” a woman’s voice barked from behind Shea.
The men snapped to attention in a way that was at complete odds with how they’d treated Shea.
Shea turned to find a shorter woman with dark brown hair pulled fiercely back from her face in several interwoven braids. Her amber eyes were flinty and fierce. There were three parallel scars across the line of her jaw. Her gaze flicked to Shea then back to the men.
“Who is your commander? Does he know the disrespect his men show their superiors?”
There was no answer.
“I’m sure Darius Lightheart or Fallon Hawkvale would be happy to personally discuss your lack—at length.”
The men glared at the woman. Shea eyed her as well, surprised at the unexpected interference.
The woman looked familiar. Shea could have sworn she’d seen her before, but she couldn’t have said where or when.
“I don’t speak just for my own amusement,” the woman said in an acerbic voice when the men failed to do more than glare. “Answer.”
“Our commander is Patrick Cloud.”
“Never heard of him,” the woman said. To Shea, “You?”
Shea shook her head. “Not familiar to me either.”
The other man looked impatient to have this over. “We’re out of Dark Cloud under clan Rain. We were told to clear these vines out to make room for sleeping quarters and storage space.”
The woman shot Shea a questioning look. Shea frowned and tilted her head in thought. Clan Rain. Wasn’t that one of the new clans? The ones discussed at the interminable meeting this morning? She looked around the area. This wasn’t either of the places they’d discussed hosting them.
It occurred to her that she should point that out. One look at the sullen faces before her convinced her to let someone else be the barer of bad news. She’d done all she planned on doing.
“We don’t have time to humor a mother hen,” the first man said. “We need this done by midafternoon so they can move some of the supplies in here before it rains again.”
The second man looked at the trees above. “This place seems to have no shortage of rain.”
A vine jerked. It was a small movement, easily missed. Shea’s gaze sharpened. Was that her imagination or did it really move? The vine looked different than the ones the Trateri had been hacking at—some of which were strewn about the ground—the violet two shades darker and edged in white.
It flicked again and then rose. The rest of the vines shifted as if disturbed by a strong breeze. Only there was no breeze. Several of the dark purple vines, thicker and a deeper color than the rest, parted the curtain. They were silent as they snaked across the ground.
“Look out,” Shea shouted.
She darted closer to the men, both of whom were just now realizing the danger they were in. A small vine closed around the tall Trateri’s leg and jerked. He screamed as it dragged him toward the nest of vines.
His friend tried to help, hacking at the rest as they swarmed across the ground to him. Shea drew the short sword Trenton insisted she carry and rushed forward.
This was why she hated getting involved. Saving stupid people was a thankless task.
The woman darted past her, swinging a sword the length of Shea’s arm. She cut one vine in half and then reversed her slash to take care of another.
Shea let the woman and the other man fight the vines while she concentrated on the one wrapped around the captive’s leg.
She hacked at it, losing the proper form her sword instructors had tried to engrave in her body. All she cared about was getting the stupid vine to let go.
Her cuts fell in a flurry of strikes, a pale-yellow substance oozing out of the wounds. It quivered and then released the man’s leg before slithering back behind the curtain of vines. The cloth the vine had touched was partially torn and bright