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Rolling onto her elbows, she looked at the partition again. She was surprised no one had come to investigate yet. That fall, especially, should have drawn some attention.

  She climbed to her feet and gathered the chain up, not wanting it to drag behind her. Perhaps they had lost interest in her now that they thought they had won.

  Either way, it was a little early to be getting cocky. There was no exit back here and with how tight this tent was strung, there would be no crawling under the canvas.

  She ran her fingertips along the slightly rough texture of the fabric. Perhaps she could cut her way out.

  Damon discovered her knife the second day when he finally searched her for weapons. By the third day, she had secured a semi sharp rock and then upgraded to a dagger one of the men forgot in his rush to pack when he overslept. She might have had a hand in his lack of sleep the night before. Who knew the sound of fog koyots would keep him up all night? The creatures were harmless as long as you didn’t approach their young.

  The dagger wasn’t as sharp as her previous knife, but it was better than trying to open a hole using just her fingernails. She picked a spot she hoped wouldn’t be seen by anybody entering the front of the tent.

  She stabbed, but the blade resisted cutting into the fabric. She pushed harder until she opened a small slit before attempting a downwards slice. When that didn’t work, she sawed at the canvas.

  When the hole was big enough, she peeled one edge back and looked out. The back of another tent greeted her. She peeked out the other side and saw the same. Good. Nobody would raise an immediate cry when she slipped out.

  For a moment she hesitated, looking back at the room. The maps were still in the enemies’ possession. She didn’t like the idea of leaving them behind. Unfortunately, she had been supervised every time they had given her access to her bag and hadn’t wanted to chance trying to slip the maps out of their secret compartment.

  But if she didn’t escape now, she didn’t know if there would be another chance. She would just have to trust the code on the map was strong enough to keep its contents secret. Maybe she could figure out a way to come back for them later.

  There was movement on the other side of the partition as the men stood to greet a newcomer.

  Time was up.

  Shea gathered the chain and slipped one leg through the hole. The rest of her body slid after it.

  Outside, she rose to her feet and looked cautiously around, keeping her back pressed against the tent. Her luck held.

  She released the breath she had been holding.

  The tents backed into each other, leaving only a foot or two between them to create a small alley. The ropes used to secure the tents created an obstacle course that only someone as thin and small as Shea could fit through easily.

  She smiled. Perfect.

  She moved stealthily along the alley, being careful whenever she came to the end of one tent and the start of another. Knowing her escape could be discovered at any moment, she took a few turns so nobody following her creative exit would be able to immediately see her by stepping through the hole she’d left.

  Minutes after she made the second turn shouts rose from the direction she’d escaped from. She sped up, lightly leaping over one of the ropes and ducking under the next.

  “Go that way; I’ll go this way,” a voice said from three rows back and slightly to the right of her.

  She ducked down another alley, ran past a few tents and abruptly burst onto a road. Eyes turned her way as people stopped and stared. She didn’t pause, crossing to the other side and ducking between two tents. She slid past barriers as voices babbled behind her.

  Not long after, she caught a glimpse of a figure crossing three tents in front of her. She slid to a stop, backtracked to the last alley and ran in the opposite direction.

  “Here!”

  Shea looked behind and saw a burly man at the end of her row turn and beckon for others to follow. Crap.

  She zigzagged between the tents, darting across another road and down another long alley.

  Several men were hunting her now. It wouldn’t be long until they cornered her. All it would take was for the men to come at her from several directions and then she’d be caught. Again.

  With her coloring and these clothes, she was too noticeable.

  The manacles on her wrists probably didn’t help her blend in either.

  Night wasn’t far off, but there was still plenty of fading light. If she could only last until nightfall, she might have a chance.

  The next road she happened upon was mostly empty in both directions. Nobody noticed as she slipped from shadow to shadow.

  She needed a hiding place until the peopled chasing her passed. Maybe take that time to come up with an alternate plan. She cast a desperate look around, noticing a campfire with several blacksmith tools and a small tent beside it. It appeared empty.

  Not pausing to think and praying like hell her luck would hold, she darted beneath the flaps and pressed her back to the side of the entrance. Seconds later, several men spilled out of a break in the tents. She could hear them running and imagined them peering down the gaps between the tents. She held her breath and prayed they didn’t think to start checking in the tents.

  “Do you see her?”

  “No.”

  “Where’d she go?”

  “She’ll be in the wind if you lot don’t stop flapping your jaws,” a man snapped. “You and you, go that way. You, head down this road before heading into the tents. You three go back the way we came, and see if she doubled back and is hiding. You, head to the outer perimeter and let the guards know to be on the lookout for a woman in her mid-twenties with light brown hair. They’re to detain but not hurt her.”

  His men departed. Shea felt it was safe to peer out. Her stomach clenched at the sight of a man standing with his back to her.

  His shoulders shook as a chuckle escaped. “Woman’s a bloody escape artist.”

  He ambled off in the direction of his men, leaving Shea to sag against the tent in relief. Thank goodness they hadn’t thought to check the tents nearby. She doubted it’d be long before they realized there’d been too much time between sightings and back track.

  That meant it was time to rid herself of these manacles. She studied her wrists. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  Dropping her hands, Shea looked around her temporary shelter. This tent was much smaller than the one Damon had chained her to. There were a few rugs spread across the ground, but these were threadbare and showed the wear and tear of usage. Not new and luxurious like the ones covering Fallon’s floor. The tent’s occupant had set up a bench in the corner. Tools were strewn across it and in the short buckets next to it.

  Maybe the mess contained a tool that might help her get these things off.

  She picked up a set of pliers. Those probably wouldn’t work. Back to the bench they went.

  Oh! Maybe that would work. She picked up a handsaw. Maybe.

  She straddled the bench. She contorted her wrists, trying several variations before giving up. It was impossible to get the right angle.

  Maybe the chain binding her wrists together could be sawed through.

  She tried holding the chain in place for the saw but every time she moved her arm forward or back in the sawing motion, the chain would move, making it impossible to start a cut.

  “This is useless,” she hissed flinging the tool down.

  Her eyes smarted, and she pressed her palms to them. No. No. She wouldn’t succumb to frustration. To do so meant giving up. Shea did not give up. Especially when this close to freedom.

  She stood and walked over to the saw she’d thrown across the tent. So far it was the most useful of the tools she’d found. She grimaced at the black oily goop on the handle. It had landed next to a bucket of the sludgy substance. Beginning to wipe the black stuff on her hands off, she paused and rolled the goop between her fingers. It was slippery. Perhaps slippery enough to grease her hands so they’d slip through th
e manacles? It was worth a try at least.

  She set the handsaw down and held her hands over the bucket, grimacing. This stuff looked disgusting.

  Holding her breath, she sank into the sludge up to mid arm, shuddering at the cool, slimy feel of it against her skin. When her arms were sufficiently coated, she took them out. The substance had turned them nearly black. She shook off a bit of the excess liquid.

  That should do it.

  She hoped.

  She set her fingertips against the rug and stepped on the chain linking her wrists together. She started pulling slowly but steadily on her left hand, feeling her heart leap in victory as it slipped half an inch out of the manacle. Biting her lip, she applied a little more pressure and then more until it felt like her wrist would pop off her arm.

  With little warning, the hand slid free. It worked. Shea went immediately to work on the next hand. She stifled a grunt of relief when that hand slipped out easily. She would never complain about her small hands again.

  Standing up, she held her arms away from her body. The sludge might have just saved her, but no way did she want it getting on her clothes.

  Now that she’d regained mobility, she needed to see about finding a disguise. Dressing as a boy might help. The perimeter guards were expecting a woman. Not a teenage boy.

  She wiped her hands against the rug, getting some of the black substance off, before walking over to pick up a worn knife from the table. She examined the dull metal. Whoever owned this tent sure didn’t care about his knives. It would work for her purpose but not much else.

  Grabbing her braid in one hand, she lifted it off her neck and slid the knife under. With a sharp jerk, she sawed the length off and held the tail up in front of her. The rest of her hair fell along her jaw in soft waves as it worked itself loose of the remaining braid. Placing the other half of the braid next to her, she grabbed another hunk of hair and sawed that off, repeating the action until her hair stood out from her head in uneven clumps.

  Next, she dipped her hands in some of the black sludge and ran them through what was left of her hair to darken it from her distinctive shade of honey brown. After going to all the trouble of cutting it, she didn’t want anybody recognizing the color.

  A quick search of the tent yielded no alternative clothing, and Shea resigned herself to making do with what she already wore. Her shirt and trousers were baggy and didn’t immediately scream woman, but if anyone looked close enough, they’d see the outline of her breasts against the thin fabric. She needed something to put over it and maybe a few strips of cloths to bind her breasts flat against her chest.

  As she turned to leave, she noticed a small knapsack sitting beside the flap and smiled. Just what she was looking for.

  Moments later, she stepped outside clad in a baggy pair of black trousers and a cream-colored undershirt that was two sizes too big. She had to roll the sleeves up three times because unrolled, the fabric fell almost to her knees. Its previous owner must have been some kind of giant. Over the shirt, she donned a dark green, nearly black, sleeveless tunic, further disguising her figure.

  The last piece of clothing she salvaged from the bag was a dark green leather jacket with yellow trim around the collar and at the wrists. It was the nicest piece of clothing in the bag, and Shea imagined the owner would be upset to part with it. The leather had been stretched and shaped to create patterns around the waist and on the upper arms. Someone had sewn a pattern into the edges where the coat buttoned together. Shea could tell by the slick feeling of the leather that it had been treated to withstand rain. Water would roll right off it. Best of all, it had a hood.

  It was a little hot with the tunic and jacket but not unbearable. Shea hoped nobody would think the jacket was suspicious. She slung the man’s knapsack, with her former clothes stuffed inside, over her shoulder, hoping anybody who saw her would think she’d been tasked with a mission.

  She tossed a handful of hair into the campfire. The manacles, she left in the tent.

  It was tempting to disappear into the small spaces between the tents, but she resisted. Now that the Trateri knew she had used them, it would be best to take a different route. The soldiers probably used the easily accessible main paths. Skulking about would just arouse suspicion.

  She was confident in her disguise but not enough to brave scrutiny by either Damon or Darius.

  She headed to the edge of camp closest to the mouth of this valley. She wanted to be out of sight of the sentries as soon as possible and she’d be in view a lot longer if she went to the other side of camp.

  She hurried along the dirt pathway, trying to project the air of someone with important matters to attend to. Meanwhile, she kept an eye out for anyone whose eyes lingered on her for too long or any shadows that might have followed her.

  Shea clung to the tent’s shadows, watching as the perimeter guards conducted a systematic search of everyone heading to the outer ring of the encampment. She’d made it all the way to the end of the tent city. Now, she just had to pass the massive horse corrals and the training fields rimming the camp.

  Beyond them was the outer perimeter, which would have stationary sentries watching from the high ground and roving sentries to keep an eye out for anything trying to slip through the cracks. That’s if whoever set this camp up knew what they were doing. From the looks of it, they did.

  A guard tilted a young boy’s face up, turning it from side to side. Shea guessed from the thorough inspection that Darius and Damon suspected she had changed her appearance.

  “Crap.”

  This was the third checkpoint she’d encountered since nearing the edge of camp. Once again she would have to try to find an alternative way out.

  The knot in her stomach got tighter every time she encountered one of these.

  “You’re late.” A heavy hand landed on Shea’s shoulder and dragged her around to face the speaker.

  She jumped and let out a loud squeak. Heat flashed up and down her back, leaving her sweating in her jacket.

  A pair of annoyed brown eyes frowned down at her. She struggled against the hand holding her, but couldn’t budge it. By the way the man kept speaking without missing a beat, she wasn’t sure he even noticed her attempt to flee.

  “We’ve been waiting nearly an hour for you to get here.” His grip changed to her arm, and he dragged her behind him as he headed toward the sentries. “I don’t know how they do it in Eagle Company, but in Dawn’s Raiders, when we say to be somewhere, you’re to be there on time.”

  Shea stumbled after him, not really hearing everything he said, her eyes glued on the fast approaching sentries. He barely checked his pace as he waved at one of the men. The man grinned and waved back.

  “Eamon. Thought your party already left,” the sentry said. He barely spared her a glance.

  “We were, but then we learned that one of our scouts showed up soused. He couldn’t even put his shoes on the right feet.”

  “Ah.” The sentry fought to hide a smile.

  “I had to beg Landry for another scout to round out our numbers, and all he could spare was a junior just out of his apprenticeship. One who obviously can’t tell time as he’s an hour late,” this last was said with a dark glower at Shea.

  She realized he meant her. He’d mistaken her for someone else. She didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

  The sentry followed Eamon’s gaze to Shea. “He looks young.”

  Eamon frowned at her again. “Damn it. He gave me the runt of the litter. He said he was giving me one with potential.”

  “And you believed him?”

  Eamon sighed. “This whole mission has been one clusterfuck after another. Everybody’s running behind tonight. What’s going on?”

  “You didn’t hear?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “They found that ghost woman. You know, the one everybody has been looking for over the past few months. Only, get this, she’s up and disappeared again. Camp’s on high alert until she’
s found.”

  Shea froze, wanting desperately to fade into the steadily deepening shadows. Even as they spoke torches were being lit to provide light against the encroaching darkness.

  “Great,” Eamon said. “It’s going to be a bitch trying to get past the final perimeter if that’s the case.”

  “Good luck,” the sentry called to Eamon’s back as he dragged Shea behind him.

  Eamon held one hand up in acknowledgement. Shea followed without protest. It couldn’t be this easy, could it? They barely noticed her once Eamon started talking.

  “What’s your name?” Eamon barked at Shea.

  In the waning light, Eamon’s face was mostly lost in shadow, but she could feel his irate gaze pressing down on her. She was so startled she almost let her real name. “She-ane.”

  “I’m Eamon, the second in command.”

  Shea nodded, forgetting he couldn’t really see her. This must have been enough for him because he faced forward.

  He dropped her arm as soon as they were past the sentries, but she tagged along behind him, hoping she could use him and his party to slip past the final perimeter.

  The rest of his group waited next to the corrals, their horses saddled and packed. Ten men watched them with varying degrees of interest, touched with a lot of impatience. By now the sun had fully set, and the evenly spaced torches cast small pools of orange tinged light.

  Eamon walked up to a tall man who had completely ignored their approach.

  Not waiting for acknowledgement, Eamon gestured at Shea, “I’ve found our second scout. His name’s Shane.”

  The tall man looked her up and down, his eyes flat and unfriendly. A scar ran from ear to jaw, and his mouth was bracketed by permanent frown lines.

  “You’re late, boy,” the man said.

  When everyone just stared at her, Shea realized they expected some kind of response. “Yes, I got lost.”

  As if, pathfinders didn’t get lost.

  “How can you expect to be a scout if you get lost?” the man with a green jacket similar to Shea’s asked, looking her up and down.

  It was a fair question, and if she knew exactly what a scout did she might have an answer. She had a vague inkling that it was similar to a pathfinder.