“I’ve only ever seen myself as a scout.”
It was mostly the truth. She’d once wanted to be a gatherer, a rare type of pathfinder responsible for gathering and safe guarding knowledge from the time before the cataclysm, an event so catastrophic that much of what had gone before had been lost, leading to the current state of the Broken Lands. The gatherers recorded the history of the world for future generations. That dream had died after a mission in the Badlands had destroyed any hope of achieving that future.
Eamon’s expression said he knew she wasn’t telling the entire truth but was willing to let it go for now.
“That would be a shame,” he said instead. “There’s so much more to you than someone who acts as a glorified guide to those much stupider than yourself.”
“That’s not all a scout does,” Shea argued, outraged. “It takes hard work and extensive training.”
Eamon held up a hand, forestalling any further protest. “You’re right, but you’re capable of so much more. I see that. I’ve seen it since that first mission. Fallon sees it too. You’re wasted as a simple scout. I think you know that too. It’s why you had so much trouble keeping your thoughts locked down tight when you’re given an order.”
He did have a point there, loath as Shea was to admit it. Seeing someone she led make stupid decisions and not being able to call them on it was akin to feeling like her skin was being stripped away one piece at a time.
“All I’ve known is this life. I don’t know if I can do anything else.”
“Evolve, adapt, learn. It’s the only way to get through,” Eamon said. “A Trateri scout typically only stays in the life for a short time before moving on to other endeavors. This lifestyle is too stressful on the body to stay at indefinitely.”
He gave her a look that said ‘come on’. She had to give him that point. It was similar for the pathfinders in her former guild. Once they got to a certain age, they started transitioning into other roles. They became trainers or rotated to one of the easier assignments, some took on roles in leadership and the governance of Wayfarer’s Keep.
Eamon spread his hands to encompass the tent around him. “Look at me. I loved scouting just as much as you did. Now I’m the commander of the Western Wind division. Things change; learn to change with them or life will right stampede over you.”
Shea studied Eamon and then she looked around the spacious tent. It was sparse compared to Fallon’s tent, which was decorated with the spoils of war and items made from the best Trateri craftsmen. Eamon’s quarters were considered sparse even by other commanders’ spaces. That was probably because Eamon hadn’t taken the time to outfit his tent with what his station now required. As a scout, he wouldn’t have had much, and it would take time to accumulate furnishings and luxuries.
Still, Eamon seemed to be doing well. More surprisingly, he seemed to be enjoying the challenge of the position. Something Shea would have sworn was impossible before seeing him in action.
He was like her. Happiest on the trail doing what he loved.
“You still get to go out. Leave all this behind on occasion and enjoy what’s waiting beyond the camp’s perimeter,” Shea pointed out, not willing to concede.
“Not as much as I would like.”
“How do you do it?” Shea asked, curious. “How do you stay when you want to be in the thick of things?”
His forehead wrinkled as he considered her questions. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it sometimes—the adventure, the surprises lurking in the shadows, but I’ve found happiness doing this. I suppose it’s because there are challenges to be faced and overcome here. I might miss the trail sometimes, but not all the time. Not even most of the time.”
Shea was quiet for a long moment. Eamon, used to her long silences, went back to his papers.
“You think I should give Daere a chance,” Shea stated.
Eamon lifted his head. “I think you should see what she has to offer before you make any decisions. No running and no avoiding.”
Hm.
That would take some effort. Shea didn’t know if she was up to that or if she even wanted to try.
“What are you working on?” Shea asked, shifting the topic.
Eamon gave her a look that said he knew exactly what she was trying to do. That avoiding the conversation would work for now but it wouldn’t work forever. He played along anyway.
“I’m studying a route for tomorrow. I wanted to make sure I familiarized myself with the map before we headed out.”
“Oh?” Eamon was leaving camp? After just spending the last few minutes lecturing her on branching out? “Where are you heading?” She feigned mild interest when what she really wanted to ask was if she could come with him.
Eamon didn’t look fooled. “Fallon’s due back soon. I wanted to take a group out tomorrow and meet him a few days out so we can ride back with him.”
Shea straightened in her seat. “And you didn’t bother to tell me this sooner?”
He shrugged. “I’d planned to tell you this afternoon when you were supposed to be here, but someone decided to go jaunting about camp without a care in the world.”
Shea’s mouth snapped closed on her retort. She narrowed her eyes at him. He looked entirely too satisfied with himself.
“I’m going with you.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She fought against a wince, knowing Eamon didn’t like being ordered. It would have been better to phrase that as a question.
He lifted an eyebrow.
“Please.” There, that was a little better.
His smile was slow in coming. “Fine.” Trenton shifted in his corner. Eamon’s eyes lingered on him. “But you’re bringing your guards.”
“Of course, I am,” Shea agreed immediately. “The best there is.”
“I don’t mean me either. My men and I don’t count.”
“What? Come on. I know you’re taking at least a dozen men. That should be more than enough.”
“Nope.” He leaned back and laced his hands behind his head. “I’m not the one who’s going to explain to the Warlord why his Telroi is wandering around without the protection of his Anateri.”
The Anateri were Fallon’s personal guard, handpicked by him and trained by a sadistic old man. They were deadly and fiercely loyal to Fallon and by extension Shea. Most didn’t make it through training, but for those that did, it brought honor to their families and clan.
Once upon a time, before her gender was discovered, Fallon had intended to have Shea join their ranks. She’d gotten a small taste of their training and could attest to its difficulties.
Trenton had been merciless trying to teach her the finer points of sword work. She rubbed one thigh in remembered pain.
“I don’t suppose I could get you to change your mind?” Shea asked. She aimed a sour look Trenton’s way, knowing that even if she did the nosy man regarding her with a placid expression would make it his business to ensure she didn’t step foot out of camp without a full complement of guards.