Falan stepped out of the tent. A pitched skirmish was raging at the edge of the forest, Soles attacking on one side, Nelothans defending on the other.

Falan went back into the tent and began rummaging through supply chests.

Serin frowned. “What are you looking for?”

“These,” Falan finally said, holding up two oiled leather cloaks. He turned to the two women. “Put these on.”

As soon as Leisa and the mage put the cloaks on, he thrust his crossbow into the younger woman’s hands. “Pull up your cowls. Serin, give the lady mage your crossbow.”

“So we just walk out of the tent like we belong here?” Leisa asked, hunching in on herself as if she might be struck through the tent with a stray arrow. “Won’t it look strange?”

“The camp is mostly empty,” Serin said. “Chances are if anyone sees you, they will be too preoccupied to notice. Besides, they will not be expecting two female prisoners to be able to escape, much less be wielding crossbows when they do it.”

The girl swallowed.

“Let’s go,” Falan said, stepping through the flap. He glanced about. They were not noticed. Only a few straggling soldiers made their way to the front as he jumped up onto the wagon’s driver seat. Serin helped Leisa and the lady mage into the back, then jumped into the seat beside Falan.

Serin glanced over his shoulder. “Wait. Falan, we could free the others. There will only be a few guards on them at most!”

Falan turned, eyed the mage. There seemed to be no indication she approved, though she said nothing. “Go back inside the tent, both of you. Serin and I will return in a moment.”

The mage hesitated, then moved to do as told. “Come, child,” she told Leisa as she stepped out of the wagon.

Serin made for the direction of the others. There were only three guards shifting nervously as they cast curious glances in the direction of the battle that was obscured by a dozen tents.

Falan pulled open his cloak and with a soft metal on metal hiss, his sword was out. The guard was unsuspecting when he slashed at the man’s head with the flat of his blade, knocking him unconscious. Lucky the man did not dawn his helm this morning.

Falan looted the key from the guard’s belt as Serin finished up with the other two guards.

After the lock and chain were removed, Brassen pushed open the makeshift door, eyes wide with excitement. “I knew you would come, you sodding Nelothan mercenaries!The others filed out. Gorkis nodded to Falan and Serin. The stable boy looked near to retching. “Gold is a fine inspiration,” Brassen continued. “Now let’s go,” or they’ll be on us any second.”

“This way,” Falan said, trotting back. As soon as all the men were aboard—there was only Gorkis, Brassen, Jasen, and six of the men-at-arms—Falan entered the tent. “We are ready.”

They rode out of the camp, up the mountain road, away from the battle leading into Nalandor.

They would have to circle around after the battle was finished. It wouldn’t take the Nelothans long to discover their prisoners were missing, assuming they were able to push the Soles back. King Dalthan’s armies were no easy adversary.

Falan drove the horses as fast as they could pull the wagon, knowing they could not stay on the road. The cart jounced violently on the rough cobbled roads. Finally he stopped, told the others they had to leave the wagon and go afoot. Without supplies or food, the lady mage’s quest was finished. Now they had to escape pursuit through frozen mountains.

Falan obscured their trail, making it look as though they were going north as Serin unhitched the two stocky work horses. At least they had those. They wouldn’t be much use, other than food. For that, there would be plenty.