Shea suspected that was because the villagers didn’t see the Trateri as a true threat. While their military prowess would guarantee them victory on the ground, it would be difficult to fight a battle where the opponent had the advantage of the high ground. Quite literally in this case.
The moment the Trateri tried to ascend to the world above, the villagers could fade into the forest, using the numerous interlocking branches that created a network of paths. The Trateri would be hard pressed to follow.
Fallon and his generals knew all this, which was why they couldn’t understand why the villagers had agreed to provide him with a tithe and a few of their hunters. Had in fact seemed overjoyed to do so.
Shea suspected it was because the villagers saw in the Trateri an opportunity. In many ways the tree people of the Forest of the Giants were advanced, more so than any in the Lowlands. They’d managed to build houses that defied gravity and logic. They did this because the dangers on the ground far outweighed those of the air.
There were two worlds in this forest, that of the below and that of the above. The forest floor had its beauty, but it was filled with numerous more dangerous plants and beasts than the canopies. Because of this danger, only the best hunters ventured to the forest floor. It led to their people being isolated with little trade with the rest of the Lowlands.
The Airabel saw the relationship with the Trateri as a way to become connected with the outside world again. Their population was small, and they were in danger of inbreeding. They hoped the exposure to the Trateri might lead to an influx of new blood.
Until the Trateri became a direct threat to the Airabel, they would act in good faith with Fallon. Since Shea was sort of responsible for their discovery, she hoped that continued to be the case. She’d like to avoid having their blood on her hands.
“I’m amazed these people could build that,” Fiona said gesturing to the village suspended high above them.
Shea looked up. It was impressive. Breathtaking—the first, second, and third time you saw it. A feat that defied the imagination as it integrated seamlessly with the nature around it.
This place was one of Shea’s favorite to visit. She respected them, and for her, that was rare. They worked with nature instead of against it, and it paid off.
“Are there more places like this?” Fiona asked.
“I’m not sure. I think there are a few other villages throughout the forest, but this is the only one I’ve ever visited.”
“I was raised to see Lowlanders as weak, ineffectual people who wasted the abundance of riches their lands provided. For the most part, that view has held true.”
Shea kept her own council. Fiona wasn’t necessarily wrong. Shea had said something similar to Eamon and Fallon once. Still, it was more complicated than that, and Shea knew that you couldn’t make sweeping assumptions with any accuracy.
“And now?” she asked. “How do you see them now?”
Fiona flashed a smile. “Still ineffectual and weak. Cowards for the most part.” They walked several more steps. “But I’m beginning to realize that might not be true for all Lowlanders. That maybe there are a few exceptions.”
Shea threw her a questioning look. That sounded like it was directed a little closer to home. Fiona looked back at her with an open expression.
“We Trateri are a hard race. We think we know a person’s measure as soon as we meet them and can be slow to change our minds.”
Shea looked away, wondering where Fiona was going with this.
Fiona continued after a beat. “Once our loyalty is given, though, it’s forever. You’ve already started on that path. Don’t let a few stupid people convince you to stray from it.”
Ah, Shea saw now. Fiona was trying to comfort her, give her something to hold onto when things got rough. Shea was tempted to tell her it was unnecessary, that she’d been here before, and the things said then were much worse. She hadn’t had friends like Eamon, Buck and Clark to stand up for her. She hadn’t had the support of a warlord.
She didn’t say any of that though, taking the advice in the vein it was meant. She gave Fiona a respectful nod.
“Don’t worry, I’m a lot more stubborn than I look. It would take more than a few harsh words to run me off,” she assured.
Fiona snorted. “Good. I’d expect nothing less from the Warlord’s Telroi.”
The two parted ways shortly after, Fiona heading to see if her commander had any need of her and Shea off to see the scout commander of the Western Wind Division. She wanted to see if she could twist the commander’s arm into sending her out on a mission. He owed her a favor or two from all the times she’d saved his ass.
CHAPTER TWO
SHEA STOPPED in front of a canvas tent with a dark blue banner that had a stylized image of a bird with wings spread on it. The tent dwarfed the last quarters she’d visited the commander in. He was certainly coming up in the world.
A man ducked out of the tent and blinked rapidly at the sight of her before freezing. By the looks of the stack of rolled parchment under one arm, he was a mapmaker.
Shea waited. As one of the cartographers, he would recognize her. She’d been instrumental in having one of their own executed for treason. To be fair, the man had passed out hideously inaccurate maps and tried to lure Fallon to his death. Somehow, she wasn’t too torn up about his fate. For a scout, a map could mean the difference between life and death. Fuck with that and you get what you deserve.
The man gathered himself and offered a brusque nod and a low rumble of a greeting. Shea nodded back as he passed her.
Huh. That had been almost cordial. It made her want to chase the man down to ask him what was going on.
She had friends among the cartographers, but he wasn’t one of them. The rest tended to see her as a mild threat at best and an ogre intent on their destruction at worst. It had led to some tense discussions when she ran into a supporter of the former head cartographer.
She stepped inside to find the commander of the West Wind Division surrounded by a mound of paper as he stared down at his desk with a perplexed frown. Trenton followed her moments later.
“Eamon, you look like that paper is going to jump up and bite you on the nose,” Shea said with a grin.
It was a scene so at odds with the environment Shea normally associated him with. She was used to him as the scout master, the one fearlessly leading them into the great wilderness and possible death. The person who insisted they complete their mission even when sanity said they would be better served to give up and go home. Death by an avalanche of paper was not even in the realm of possibility for her old scout leader.
Eamon Walker lifted his head and aimed a grin her way. He was in his late thirties with brown eyes and a face chiseled with grooves. He liked to tell her that some of those grooves had her name on them. The sharp planes and valleys of his face made it easy for him to appear a stone-faced cynic. A fact he’d used to his benefit to intimidate idiotic commanders when he and Shea used to run missions together.
“Look who finally arrived. You were only supposed to be here several hours ago.” Despite the harsh words, the smile in his voice let her know he didn’t mean anything bad by it.
Shea gave him a careless shrug. “I got a little sidetracked.”
He aimed a look her way that said she wasn’t fooling anyone. “You mean you wanted to avoid her at all costs.”