Soldiers on graspads guarded the rear perimeter of the camp, so there would be no sneaking back south and hiding until after the surrender. My best chance might be to try to blend in with the army after all. I would need to leave camp fast, before Garan checked on me and raised the alarm.
I worked from tent to tent, avoiding the little knots of people still at camp. Some assembled supply wagons and loaded spare arrows and other weapons; others cooked in huge clay pots over campfires. The smells of simple food wafted over me as I darted about in the shadows, and the warmth of the fires only highlighted the unseasonable cold of the morning. A few camp followers lounged about the outskirts, chatting, paying me no attention. I drew closer to the end of the camp, trying to figure out how to cross the gulf between me and the organized force ahead. Once I crested the slight rise I’d be visible from anywhere around.
A great horn blasted in the distance, making me jump. My stomach sunk into a tight ball as I realized what had happened.
The army was charging the city.
Though I couldn’t see the breached wall from here, the roar of the army at its sudden push forward echoed over the land. There would be no surrender. My eyes burned again, anger, frustration, and confusion tearing at me. Aven wasn’t joining the rebels. So what did she want? Not that it mattered right now. Whatever her reason, she was the city’s enemy, not its savior, and there had to be some way of warning them.
But now that the army had charged the city, I couldn’t slip in along with them; I’d be in the middle of the fighting. I had no illusions about my ability to survive that. Even if I got hold of a shield and somehow survived the arrow fire I’d never make it through the open fighting.
A figure burst through the distant mass, riding a graspad, bright red sash marking him as a messenger. I backed into the closest tent and ducked behind the door flap, heart pounding. My ill-fitting uniform and soft physique wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny. I waited until the big paws thumped past the crack in the tent, then, tentatively, peered through the gap.
The messenger cried out as he reined in his graspad, and people in the camp hurried over to hear the news. Fortunately, the man’s voice carried. “The rebels have refused to surrender,” he said. “The Warrior-Guilder has signaled the attack. We’re taking back the city!”
A woman with thick arms and a hammer slung over her shoulder spat out of the corner of her mouth. “And what’s our expected damage? We don’t have siege weaponry.”
“We don’t need it,” said the messenger, edging his graspad a little farther from the smith. “We’re sending troops back to transport the rest of the weaponry and moving into full attack. They never repaired the breached wall. They’ll not hold the pass for long.”
A uniformed man with a long moustache nodded. “I suppose they’ll do what they need to do,” he said. “Mayhaps we’ll be home by lunch.”
The small group let out a raggedy cheer, but I found no heart in the words. I slunk back into the tent. If I didn’t survive the day, no one would ever suspect Aven. Whatever her plans, she would have free rein at them, riding in to a hero’s welcome. No one knew the truth but one woman stuck on the wrong side of two armies. I slumped back against a crate. All this way, and what had I achieved? I’d been nothing but a helpful cog in Aven’s great machine.
The crate dug into my back. I shifted, trying to summon some thought or idea, but nothing came to me. I could just stay here, hiding in a tent full of spare arrows, and hope no one looked inside … except, I realized, I’d just heard mention of troops returning to collect additional weaponry, so someone would be back for these arrows to take to the battlefield, probably any moment now.
And then a germ of an idea wormed its way in after all.
* * *
Fingers trembling, I worked through the arrows, one at a time. The fletching was far superior to the ones we’d made back in the city; even, regular barbs, thick and straight. I counted carefully, mumbling as I broke the right barbs down.
It was stupid to think this would work. But I had no other ideas, and the arrows were right here, ready to be sent back out into the battle. My fingers were quick and sure; I’d always been able to trust my hands. Consisting as it did of only two symbols, Etan’s code was simple to recreate in the fletching, but the chances of one of the arrows finding its way to my brother were so minuscule, and the chances of him recognizing it as a code even lower.…
Still, I counted and bent, hoping. If I didn’t get out of this, at least there would be some possibility, however slim, that someone would find out what Aven had done.
The sound of approaching troops warned me. I scurried to the back of the tent, sweating despite the chill dawn air. Stay or run? I watched the tent flap, barely breathing, hating my indecision. Then I heard the cry, “Warrior-Guilder!” and my bowels turned to ice water. The shaking in my hands turned to a full-body shudder, and I wasted a few moments staring, paralyzed, at the tent flap, imagining Aven pushing it back, striding in.…
Move, you idiot! I shoved the back of the tent up off the ground, half-crawling, half-scrambling through the gap. I stumbled to my feet and looked around. Lighter than before, but still shadowy and gray. Around the edge of the tent the small group of men and women came by, followed by servants carrying dress armor. I caught a glimpse of the Warrior-Guilder’s cloak flapping crimson in the breeze and ducked back again. Aven and her lieutenants were getting into full regalia to ride into the city. She would want to lead the heroic charge, no doubt. So I had two choices. Stay in the camp and hope she did not look for me, or make a break for it now and hope not to be spotted in the long stretch between here and the wall. And then hope not to be killed in the battle, of course.
The sick feeling inside me gave me my answer. I couldn’t bear to hide here, waiting and wondering whether Aven would discover me missing. Better to take my chances now. I crept around the corner, and then, preparing to run, saw something that gave me a burst of hope.
My little graspad, separated from the others, had not been sent into the battle or used as a messenger animal. He was tied up not fifty treads away, distinctive with his shaggy, ungroomed coat and agitated pacing. On the back of a graspad, I would be faster and look more like a messenger and less like someone fleeing. I took a moment to force my curls into a rough braid and took a few steadying breaths. Keeping to the shadows and the shelter of the tents, I made my way closer to the graspad, not daring to look over my shoulder. I slowed, kept my head up, and strolled over to the little beast. My veneer of confidence wouldn’t fool anyone, not with the sweat exploding from every pore and the shaking no amount of effort could hold back, but from a distance, hopefully, it looked like I was doing nothing unusual.
The graspad greeted me warmly, licking my hands and arms as I untied him, and swishing his heavy tail in pleasure at being free. They hadn’t bothered to saddle him, but the bridle they’d used to tie him up would help me, at least. “We’re going home,” I told him, and found a note of hysteria in my whisper that turned into a giggle. “We just have to get through a few armies first.”
I clambered on and the feel of his lean, bushy weight gave me a moment of true confidence. “Let’s go,” I whispered, and urged him forward.
But I was jerked off his back suddenly and hit the ground hard on my backside, too stunned to even cry out. A firm hand pulled me up by one shoulder, and I turned, everything moving slow and thick, as if underwater. Hard eyes unblinking, one hand gripping me and the other on her scabbard, the Warrior-Guilder smiled. I had never seen anything so terrifying in my life.