They crested a hill overlooking the war camp. Below a sentry stood guard. Well... sort of. The sentry was relieving himself, steam rising from his stream. The man finished, continued making his rounds. Another sentry was not far off.

The two Serafes were concealed where they were. The war camp lay in a large clearing.

“It will be difficult,” Serin said, moving back.

Falan nodded. Yes, it would be difficult. “Not impossible,” he said. “We have gotten into more heavily guarded camps than this.”

A wry smile cropped up on Serin’s face. “They better pay extra gold.”

Falan stifled a laugh. If a single sentry spotted them, it would be all but impossible to get into the camp undiscovered. They would not be able to break out everyone, assuming “everyone” was still alive. It was unlikely they would have killed either of the two women, especially the mage, not that they knew what she was, but she did have an air of nobility about her, and women, especially nobility, were not killed during war time, not be civilized armies at least.

“We will wait for nightfall,” Serin said, “take down a couple sentries and dawn their cloaks.”

Falan nodded. They would have to make the switch just before a change in the guard so they would not be questioned as to why they were leaving their posts. “Half the guards probably know each other.”

“Luck, Falan,” the other man said. “A little luck is all we need.”

Falan arched an eyebrow. “And if luck does not hold?”

Serin smiled. “Then we get the rope.”

The rope....

Falan looked over the crest. The sentry made his way along the outskirts of the camp, crisscrossing paths with other sentries.

“We should have never taken this contract,” Serin said quietly.

And we would be as poor as any pauper, Falan thought. After breaking out Sorela and her handmaiden Leisa, they would negotiate new terms—terms many times larger than their original agreement.

Was gold really the reason he was here?

Breaking prisoners out of a war camp was not something done lightly. The lady mage would have to return having failed. Whatever that failure was.

And then on to Valamor.

They retreated to a safer spot a mile into the forest. Falan built a pitted fire to obscure the flame from anyone wandering about who might see. Unless an intruder stumbled directly onto their camp, they had nothing to worry about. It was very unlikely that would happen. Sentries would not come out this far, and patrols... there would be no patrols—the risk of injuring horses in the dark were high, and there was no point in patrolling random stretches of the mounained forests when the roads were what needed to be watched.

When full dark was upon them, the two men moved back to the hill overlooking the war camp. They would escape with the certainty their pockets would be lined with gold. Or... they would have ropes around their necks within the next few hours.

Much must be risked in war, Falan told himself. Serafes knew that. But this was not war.