She sauntered confidently past house after house, trying to look like she belonged. People had a tendency to see what they expected. A stranger walking through town while they prepared to execute two outsiders would fall under the realm of unexpected. After all, nobody was that crazy.
With her hood up, she hoped the villagers would simply assume she was one of the herders just in from the field for the execution.
As she moved towards the center of the village, butterflies took wing in her stomach. They’d never covered last ditch rescues in pathfinder training.
A man exited a building in front of her, pausing at the sight of her.
She froze and sucked in a sharp breath. Please. Just keep moving. No need to start a conversation.
It took effort to appear casual. Like she belonged. He nodded a greeting and continued in the same direction as Shea.
She followed him at a distance, not daring to duck away, afraid that would arouse suspicions.
He wasn’t the only one moving around. Shea had several similar experiences as she moved closer to the village’s center. Each encounter got a little easier, though her heart never seemed to settle back into her chest. It remained lodged in her throat as she followed the crowd.
Her senses became hyper alert as she moved. Her hearing attuned to every sound. Beneath the hood, her eyes darted around, looking for some sign that she’d been noticed.
Did that woman’s eyes linger too long on her? That man seemed to be paying unusual attention to her cloak. What about the child she had just passed? Her back itched from the feel of his eyes.
The village square was framed by several buildings and served as the village’s central hub. Four wide dirt streets intersected at the square, making it possible to approach from any direction. A wooden platform was front and center with four posts rising into the air.
That was odd.
There should only be two. One for James and another for Cam. Shea felt a shiver of foreboding run through her at the sight. She hadn’t planned for the unexpected.
She could only hope there were extras because more outsiders had been caught and not because Witt and Dane were last minute additions.
She chanced a glance at the people chattering near her. The men had clumped into several small groups as they discussed business.
The women had gathered in their own little groups as well. Several held young children by the arm so they wouldn’t wander off, while the older children were left to their own devices. Some chased others through the crowd as the adults caught up on the day’s happenings. If not for the ominous presence of the platform, it could have been a regular village gathering.
Shea wondered if executions were so commonplace that they were treated as social hour.
As she’d said before, border towns were crazy.
These people’s clothes were simple, with men wearing plain pants and undershirts covered by light jackets in varying shades of color, though most were muted and faded. Some wore hats, but most left their head bare. The women were almost universally in dresses long enough to reach their feet and sleeves that went past their elbows. The patterns were simple and most were one or two colors. Blue seemed to be a favorite.
She noticed that few wore a cloak similar to hers and none had the hood up. Perhaps she should put hers down. She hesitated, fearing that she’d be discovered immediately as the village, at only a few hundred adults strong, wasn’t that big. All of whom would have grown up in Edgecomb. Surely, they would notice a stranger in their midst, even with all the excitement.
She lingered on the edge of the square to avoid notice, trying to blend in and fought against looking at the roofs. She really hoped the others hadn’t bolted or else she might be joining James and Cam up on the platform.
Silently, she urged the people to hurry. Every second she stood there was a second closer to discovery.
More than one person had begun to give her curious glances, a few even looked like they were about to approach when a cheer rose.
Thank God. It was starting.
The captives stumbled out of the building next to the scaffolding, blinking at the sunlight.
Hisses of anger, quickly followed by boos greeted the men. The children weaving through the crowd hurled rotten pieces of fruit.
Shea’s lips tightened with anger when she got a glimpse of her men.
James looked lost and confused with his hands bound tightly behind him as his captors prodded him forward. Cam’s face was one giant, swollen bruise. He could barely stand upright and had to be supported by one of his captors.
Two dark haired men, hands bound in a similar fashion, marched behind them with straight backs and lifted chins. They looked neither left nor right, showing no signs of fear.
By contrast, James looked terrified and struggled against his captors at the platform’s steps as if suddenly realizing what was about to happen. The men guarding him grabbed him roughly by the arms and wrestled him up the steps. He fought as they tied his arms to the post, even as his jailors rained blows down on his body. The fight seemed to have already gone out of Cam, and they bound him easily.
The strangers took their places stoically before staring coldly at the crowd as it cheered for their blood.
Shea felt a hint of admiration for the strangers’ poise. Not many could face certain death with that amount of dignity.
She took a deep breath. It was time.
She ventured deeper into the crowd, winding her way between the heaving bodies. She needed to be as close as possible before Witt set off the distraction. It’d be best to be standing by the platform when it happened. She’d just have to avoid being identified as an outsider as she moved.
Easy.
Ducking her head, she tugged her hood down as she walked into the crowd. Several startled exclamations followed her as she shoved her way forward, trusting that her companions hadn’t abandoned her.
She felt a slight tug on her cloak. Her hood jerked back.
For a brief moment, there was no reaction.
“Outsider! She’s with them! There’s another outsider.”
Several people close to Shea craned their heads to look at the shouter, their eyes coming to rest unerringly on her. At first just a few, and then others took up the cry as space opened around Shea.
She froze for just a moment.
Too late to turn back now. Too late to escape.
She darted forward.
For a long moment, Shea thought Witt and Dane had abandoned her. Left her to face the mob on her own. Her eyes lifted briefly to her goal, the platform, and were caught by the fierce whiskey-colored gaze of the stranger.
A hand caught her arm, spinning her around and breaking the connection. Her eyes widened with fear as a man, his face a mask of hatred, raised one heavy fist.
This was it. She was dead.
The ground shook slightly under her feet. At first, she thought it was a tremor in the earth, like the small quakes that occasionally plagued the area. Then a scream rent the air.
“Stampede!”
Several screams followed and suddenly there was mass chaos in the square as people shoved each other in panic.
A crack pierced the air. A fine mist sprayed Shea’s face as the man holding her dropped to the ground. A hole the size of her thumb marred the side of the man’s head.
A sob of relief left her. Witt and Dane had come through.
She spun and ran up the platform’s steps, not even pausing when a villager carrying an ax appeared. Another crack split the air. Red blossomed on his chest. He fell back; Shea leapt over him. There were two more cracks, and then Shea was alone on the platform except for the four captives.