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Fifth Quarter by Tanya Huff
Chapter One
There were guards on duty at the entrance to the marshal's tent but they'd
expected that and were accustomed to using less obvious entrances. Problem was,
there were guards on duty at the sides and rear of the tent as well.
"Looks like they're expecting us," Bannon whispered, his mouth lightly touching
his sister's ear, the esses softened to prevent the sound from carrying.
Vree nodded, right hand rising to brush at the lingering caress of warm breath,
eyes locked on the flickering circle of torches that left no paths of darkness.
The guards were spaced in such a way that removing one would alert the others.
She gestured at a sputtering flame; the thick knob of oil-soaked hemp had nearly
burned away. Soon, it would have to be replaced. Bannon signed his agreement.
They were in position, ready, when the marshal's personal body servant appeared
with a new torch. As the nearest guard half-turned to watch the exchange, they
rose from a sheltering hollow and raced into the skirts of shadow around the
base of the tent. His gaze sweeping a heartbeat behind their movement, the guard
resumed scanning his assigned area.
Contorted to fit into the triangle of darkness, they could hear only one voice
from inside, but as it rose and fell in a conversational cadence, they assumed
the marshal had company.
Pressed flat against the ground, Vree slid under the weighted edge of canvas and
continued to slide under the red-and-gold patterned carpet laid to define the
floor. When she felt Bannon's touch on her ankle, she dug fingers and toes into
the dirt and began to creep on her belly around the perimeter. The marshal's
voice grew louder, and for the first time she heard the rough whisper that
answered. Commander Neegan. She grinned. They'd expected as much and made
allowances for his presence.
The crushed and dying grass beneath the carpet made breathing difficult, but
Vree sucked air past her teeth and kept moving through the thick growth. A
parade of heavy-footed officers had mashed the floor flat in the center of the
tent, but out where the billowing walls touched the earth, it rose and fell like
the dunes of Hedyve. Between the patterns in the carpet and the flickering
shadows—the marshal was well known for conserving lamp oil—an extra pair of
lumps in the floor would not likely be noticed. When Vree finally paused, she
could feel Bannon's movement in the vibrations of the fabric against her
shoulder blades. But only Bannon's movement. She froze, listening. Wood and
leather creaked above and to her left. Both marshal and commander were seated,
discussing possible routes for a massed attack.
"They know we're coming; what makes you think they haven't moved the furniture
around?" Bannon asked, rubbing his palms together as he peered down at the
diagram sketched in the dirt.
"Two reasons." Vree sat back on her heels. "First, the marshal always sits
facing the entrance. Always. That doesn't leave a lot of options with a map
table that size. Second …" She looked up at her brother and drew a circle around
the sketch with one seemingly delicate, long-fingered hand. "… they don't think
we can make it that far."