Pathfinder's Way (15 page)

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.

“Alright, enough talking,” the first man said
crossly, losing patience. “We’ve already lost enough time tonight.
Saddle up, we’ve got a ways to go before we can stop.”

Eamon dragged Shea to a horse and then left
without another word. Guess that meant this was her horse.

She patted its nose and smiled when it
whickered back at her in greeting.

This was almost too easy.

Minutes later they were riding into the inky
darkness. Shea spared a single glance behind before following. She
only hoped Witt and Dane met with the same luck.

The men stood as Fallon strode into the tent.
He lifted a hand in acknowledgement.

“She’s through there.” Darius nodded at the
partition.

Fallon moved past the others, tugging aside
the piece of fabric and ducking through to the other side. It was
empty.

He turned in a full circle to make sure. No
sign of the woman.

He raised his voice and asked, “Is this a
joke?”

Conversation stopped. There was an abrupt
silence before Darius ducked into the chamber.

“Damon,” Darius barked.

Fallon and Darius stared at the post. The now
empty post that Darius used to detain important prisoners, had
neither manacles nor girl attached to it

Damon shouldered in behind them and walked
over to the pillar.

“Where is she?” Darius asked him.

He seemed just as confused as them. “This
should be impossible. I put her in the irons.”

Darius swore. “If you put them on her, how
did she escape?”

“I don’t know.”

Ignoring the escalating argument behind him,
Fallon examined the post closely. There were scratches on the wood
as if something heavy had scraped against it. These marks scarred
the post all the way to the top. If he had to guess, she used the
chain to climb the pole and then worked it over the top, leaving
her free to escape.

Damon crouched by a slit in the siding and
stuck his head out. “However she got loose, she went this way.”

“Follow her,” Darius snapped. “Take men with
you.”

Damon nodded, calling for his men before
following the woman’s path.

“Fallon,” Darius started, an explanation
already on his tongue.

Fallon raised a hand, still looking at the
top of the post. He shook his head. Darius wasn’t to blame for this
oversight. This post had been used to chain much stronger men than
the girl.

She possessed an unusual amount of cunning to
have escaped one of his best generals. Very tricky. His shoulders
shook. Before long his laughter echoed in the room.

Darius watched cautiously, not used to seeing
amusement on the normally stony face. Darius followed Fallon’s
gaze. His lips twitched as he saw the humor of the situation.

“Once the troops learn of this, they’re going
to start calling her the phantom,” Darius observed.

Fallon grunted in agreement.

“I wonder how she plans on getting rid of the
chains,” Darius mused. “With the level of effort she puts into
escaping, you’d think we planned to torture her or something.”

“At least it’s not up a cliff this time,”
Fallon said.

“My heart nearly stopped when she almost
fell.”

“Mine as well,” Fallon admitted.

The woman was foolhardy. Brave, but seriously
lacking in judgment. Though this was no cliff, it wasn’t any safer
venturing into a camp full of hardened warriors. One of them might
decide to keep her. He’d hate to have to kill a man loyal enough to
follow him this long.

She was his. And he’d make sure she knew
that, just as soon as he caught her.

Knowing Darius had captured her and she was
here waiting had given him the patience to deal with his war
council’s petty squabbling. He’d been in an unusually good mood for
the rest of the session, despite having to referee the gripes and
subtle undermining that was rampant in his advisors. It had taken
another two hours before he could pull himself free. In that time,
his quarry had slipped away once again.