Pathfinder's Way (14 page)

Unlike the rest of the tent’s flexible,
wooden supports, her post wasn’t bound to another at the top by
hemp or groove. As thick as her waist, its base had been buried
deep in the ground, making it impossible for anyone with normal
strength to pull it free. This meant its top was free of any
obstructions. And since her chain was looped rather than bolted
into the post, there was a chance she could climb it. A very small
chance, but a chance.

She came to her feet, her eyes glued on the
top of the post. That spot meant freedom, and she was determined to
reach it. If she could get the chain over the top, she could slip
it free. Her hands would still be bound together, but she’d be able
to move. To run. She could escape and worry about freeing herself
from the manacles later.

A low rumble of voices filtered into her
space, but so far no one had checked in on her. As long as they
stayed in the front area, she might be able to pull this off.

With a rising sense of excitement, she
wrapped her arms around the post and leapt up while trying to wrap
her legs around it. Her legs banged into the canvas wall and
rebounded off. Unable to support her weight with just her arms, she
slid back down to the ground.

“Son of a bitch,” she swore softly before
turning her eyes towards the partition. And waited.

When the conversation behind the wall
continued without pause, she figured nobody was coming to check in
on her.

Her next two attempts met with similar
results. There wasn’t enough room to wrap her legs around it.

And time was running out. Each minute brought
the confrontation with Fallon just a little bit closer.

The chain binding her hands didn’t help
either. Vexed, she pulled at it, causing it to clank up the pole
just a little bit. She frowned slightly as she did it again. She
grasped the end and lifted it to chest level, holding the chain
taught so it remained there.

She cocked her head as she studied it. That
might work.

When she was younger and still in her
apprenticeship, she had visited the forest of giants in the
northwestern edge of the Lowlands. The trees there were so tall
that it was impossible to see the top if you were standing at its
base. The crowns were concealed from view on very cloudy days. The
people there said giants must have tended them as saplings. Only a
giant would have been able to enjoy the splendors in the trees’
canopy.

For those living there today, they wrapped
long chains around the tree’s base and used the resulting tension
to walk up it. She hoped to do something similar.

She didn’t even get a foot off the ground on
her first try.

She stood back and bit her lip. How was she
to do this? How exactly could a chain be used to climb?

Her eyebrows furrowing, she gathered the
extra chain in her hands, placed one foot on the wood and leaned
back creating a nice tension in the metal links. Slowly and being
careful to not let the chain slacken, she lifted her other foot off
the floor and placed it on the post. Her breath exhaled in a whoosh
as she stayed in place. She picked up the bottom foot and moved it
up, then she loosened the chains and quickly moved her arms up,
taking the chain with it before leaning back once more. Another
foot gained.

Her destination was about eight feet off the
ground. Six feet off the ground and her arms shook with the strain,
her abs screamed, and her legs trembled. It looked so much easier
when the forest people did this.

Every inch she gained required a herculean
amount of effort and sapped her strength further. She was breathing
hard by the time she was within a foot of the top. Sweat dripped
down her neck as she paused within inches of reaching her
destination.

She hadn’t considered what she would do once
she got to the top.

At the moment, she was using the chain to
anchor herself above the ground, but once she slipped it over the
top, there would be nothing holding her in place. She would fall.
Probably make a lot of noise and be recaptured in short order.

The chain rattled as she forced it higher.
She didn’t care. She’d come all this way and wasn’t about to quit
now. As the chain slipped over the top, Shea lost her balance. Her
arms jerked over her head as they were caught by the chain’s
anchor. She dangled several feet above the ground.

Wondering why she hadn’t plummeted straight
to the ground, she looked up to find the loop caught on the top of
the post.

If Fallon came in right this minute, he’d see
what she was up to, and she didn’t really want to think about what
would happen next. Not after Paul’s beating.

Setting a foot against the pole, she pushed
off and tried to jerk the chain free. The scrape of metal against
wood was as loud as a shout in the enclosed space. Once again, she
checked to make sure nobody was coming before trying again.

Using her core, she tried to jack knife up
and away. With a crack the chain slithered loose, and Shea landed
on her back. The impact forced the breath from her lungs. She
blinked up at the ceiling as she gulped at the suddenly thin
air.

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 the 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.