Pathfinder's Way by T.A. White

None were taller than two story but all were well made
with solid craftsmanship.
    The man pulled on the reins, wheeling his
horse around and nearly hitting the hawk nosed elder with the
beast’s rear. He rode up to a dark haired man with a scar on his
neck, whose undershirt was a vibrant blue.
    “Looks like you won that bet.” He gestured at
the buildings. “Not nearly as backwards as the last. It could
almost be called civilized.”
    “When will you learn, Darius?” His friend
caught the coin flipped at him before shooting a distasteful look
around the square. “It never pays to bet against me. You’ll always
lose.”
    Shea’s eyes nearly bugged out of her
head.
    Of all the misbegotten things that reside in
the mist.
    It was the man from the canyon. The one
Fallon had unhorsed to pursue her. She ducked behind her horse,
using it to shield her from view. This wasn’t good.
    It was in fact, very, very bad.
    Why hadn’t she made everybody leave last
night?
    When they refused to listen to her, she
should have left and told them she’d meet them on the road.
    Noticing her antics, Witt shot a frown at
her. She widened her eyes and nodded at Darius. He shook his head,
not understanding.
    She bit back a growl and peeked over her
horse. The elders had straightened from their bow and the
middle-aged man from yesterday stepped forward to address the
warriors.
    Before he could do more than offer
refreshments, Darius waved him away. “I didn’t come here to drink
tea and talk about dirt, Lowlander. Your tithes are due. Give us
what you owe or go the way of Edgecomb.”
    “Of course, my lord.” The elder’s lips
twisted into a facsimile of a smile but was more of a grimace. “The
townspeople are bringing the wheat out now.”
    “And the men?” Darius’s companion asked
sharply. “Don’t try to pawn off weaklings and half-wits like last
time.”
    The men at Darius’ back shifted menacingly
forward. A horse, picking up its rider’s mood, pawed angrily at the
ground and snorted loudly.
    Shea’s mare shifted uneasily. Shea patted her
and whispered encouragement. The animal just needed to stay still
until Darius left.
    “Of course not, my lord.” The elder licked
his lips nervously before gesturing with shaking hands at Shea’s
group. “In fact, that’s them. You’re welcome to take a look if you
wish.”
    “Might as well,” Darius drawled, kicking his
horse into motion.
    “What?” Paul squawked. Up until now, he
hadn’t paid much attention as he and Sid whispered amongst
themselves. It finally dawned on him that these weren’t good guys,
and they were in a bit of danger. “What is this?” he shouted at the
elder.
    “Quiet, Paul,” Dane hissed, watching Darius’s
approach warily.
    Darius pulled his horse to a stop in front of
Dane, looking down with assessing eyes. “So you’re the tribute this
time.”
    He examined the rest of them. He didn’t seem
impressed.
    Shea ducked her head further into her
horse.
    “Sir,” Dane said, drawing his attention back
to him. Shea could have kissed him for that. “I’m afraid my
companions and I are at a bit of a loss. We traveled here for
trade. I don’t know what deal they’ve made with you, but they don’t
speak for us.”
    Darius listened. His lips curled into a broad
smile as the skin around his eyes crinkled. He was handsome, Shea
realized. Even charming.
    If Dane was lucky, he’d have the same effect
once he matured a little.
    The elders held themselves stiffly as they
waited in anticipation.
    Darius arched an eyebrow at his companion.
The blue shirted man shook his head in disgust and leaned back in
his saddle, turning to spit on the ground at the elder’s feet.
    Darius folded his hands across his pummel and
spoke to Dane, “They fucked you over but good.”
    “Sir?”
    A rueful quirk tilted Darius’ lips as he
turned his face to the sky. “Hate to say it, but they did. Smart
bastards to find some poor fools to fulfill their tithe.” He