The first light of dawn touched the enemy camp with gold — lovely, misleading light spilling over tents, swords, and haggard faces of men bent on blood.
Amelia readjusted the frayed cloak over her head. Her heart pounded against her chest, a soft pulse attuned to the rhythm of peril. She met Clara's gaze, her friend crouched beside her close to a pile of overthrown barrels.
They had minutes to spare before they'd have to be at the command tent.
And then they'd be gone.
"There's a hole in the northern ridge," Clara breathed. "Two guards. One of them half-sleepy, the other limping more than you."
Amelia gave her a completely straight face. "Sweet."
Clara grinned. "Just trying to provide you with some hope."
They moved.
Slipping between wagons, by lines of men buffing weapons, faking to belong. No one gave two scrawny recruits a second glance. That invisibility was their strongest weapon now.
Amelia's body hurt. They'd hardly slept. Her leg throbbed, but she pushed on, her limp more noticeable than normal, attracting only a few passing glances — nothing out of place. She gritted her teeth. She would not fail. Not now.
They reached the edge of camp. The two guards stood at the makeshift checkpoint — a crude wooden barrier and a pair of spears stuck into the earth like crude flags.
"I'll take lead," Clara whispered, adjusting the tone of her voice. She made it lower, cockier, stepping forward with the swagger of a new recruit.
"Commander wants a message taken to the hill scouts. Says we're to run, no horses. Urgent."
One guard blinked at her. The other muttered, "At this hour?"
Clara shrugged. "You want to tell him no?"
That did the trick.
The tired one snorted and stepped aside with a grunt. The other waved them on, his interest already gone.
They were through.
The camp receded behind them, engulfed by smoke and trees. Beyond was a dense and heavy wood, knotted in thorns and whispering mist. And it was freedom. Each snick of dry leaves under their feet was as loud as thunder.
"We can't go back straight," Amelia explained. "Too easy to track. We take the dry riverbed."
Clara nodded. "That'll take us hours."
"Better late than dead."
They had moved fast — mud clinging to their boots, thorns catching at their clothing. But adrenaline had made them quick, even Amelia, who stifled the pain in her leg with a soldier's control.
A branch creaked beneath Clara's foot once — they stood still, holding their breath. A bird took flight.
False alarm.
They continued.
The sun was half-way up towards the sky before they topped the ridge over the Everthorne camp.
And then, from behind the treeline:"Put down your arms!"
A line of spears and swords trained on them. One of the generals — Colonel Rourke — snarled orders, his eyes squinting. "What in the—"
Then he hesitated.
"Lady Everthorne?"
Amelia's hood dropped back.
Next to her, Clara let out a sigh. "About time."
Later, at Command
Claude burst into the tent like a clap of thunder.
"Are you crazy?" he snarled, walking right up to Amelia. "You could have been killed. What in the world were you thinking?"
Amelia stood up to his anger with equanimity. She was tired, dirty, cut across the cheek — but her eyes blazed steady.
"We brought you maps, figures, names. There's a foreign company of mercenaries. They're concentrating supplies at Black Hollow."
Clara moved forward, tossing a frayed satchel onto the table. Within: drawings, soldier symbols, burned messages on wood fragments."We entered. We exited. You're welcome."
Claude glared at them both. His jaw locked. His hand clenched as if he wished to reach out — or shake them.
Colonel Rourke stopped him.
"We have to go. Now. This is the intelligence we were lacking. Their next attack — if they come out of Black Hollow, we'll be pinned down."
Claude spun around, raking his hand through his hair.
Amelia hobbled forward, placing a hand on the table.
"I didn't do this to spite you," she murmured. "I did it because I believe in this cause. Because if this war is to be won… I will not sit idle."
Clara added, softer than anticipated, "We're not ornaments. We're soldiers. Just like the rest of you."
There was silence. Then:
"You earned your place," Rourke growled. "Both of you."
Claude looked up.
There was anger in his eyes, yes. But something else as well. Admiration. Fear. A grudging acceptance that these women had risked what many men wouldn't dare.
And lived.
He nodded finally once. Barely.
"We attack Black Hollow tomorrow."