“They aren’t going to kill us,” Narissa said.
Telsa lifted her head from where it had been propped on the top of her knees. “They’re not?”
“No,” the older woman said with a slick grin. “They’re going to do a whole lot worse.”
“Narissa!” Rascal glared at the older woman. He had his arm around Sasha, who looked to be on the verge of tears. “There, there, child. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Narissa humphed. “You might as well promise her the stars.”
Rascal ignored her. “You haven’t said much, Ferrin. What’s your opinion? You have the look of a man in deep thought.”
“Routine,” Ferrin said, keeping his eyes on the white-robed men outside.
“Routine? Not sure I follow.”
Without looking, Ferrin could tell he had their attention. He could feel their stares. “Routine is their weakness.”
Brennon, on Ferrin’s right, leaned forward. “Care to elaborate?”
Ferrin nodded toward the guards setting up camp. “Goat Face over there is a former lancer officer, or I’ll eat my shirt.” He glanced down at the rips, tears, and soiling and sighed. “Or what’s left of it.” He looked back at the captain. “He organizes his men like typical rank and file. The strength of a soldier is routine. It’s ingrained into them from the moment they sign up. Discipline and routine. It’s also their greatest weakness.”
“How so?” Sora asked, clutching her husband’s arm as she turned and looked out the bars.
“It makes them predictable. Take Longs Legs over there, for instance. While the others start looking for a tree to cut, his task is searching for kindling. This means a trip into the woods for fallen branches. So, which direction do you go when you are surrounded by woods? If you haven’t noticed, Long Legs over there will take the southern route, not because there appears to be a better selection of dried brushwood, but because he likes to stay as far away from the cages as possible.
“And Bladder there,” Ferrin said with a nod to a short guard on the far side of the pit who kept glancing their way, “he tends to empty his at least three to four times a night, and always by way of our wagon. Either he has the smallest bladder of any man I’ve ever seen, or he likes the way Telsa smiles at him when she thinks no one’s looking.”
Telsa’s eyes bulged, her mouth dropping open. “I do not! I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Are you daft?” Narissa said, and threw a handful of straw at Telsa from across the wagon. She would have said more but Ferrin cut her off.
“I wouldn’t be so quick to cast judgment just yet. Her flirtation is going to be the reason we escape.”
If there was any doubt of having their attention before, there certainly wasn’t now. Just the mention of escape had everyone holding their breath and scooting closer.
Rascal unhooked his arm from Sasha and leaned forward. “I like the way you think, smith.”
“You might not after you hear the rest of it.”
Chapter 8
NIGHTFALL HAD NEVER taken so long to arrive. Ferrin could see the fear resting in the eyes of those staring back at him. The eight other members of his wagon fidgeted with restless anticipation.
Ferrin had spent every day for the last month studying his captors. He knew them better than they knew themselves. Each of them had a different reason for being there, reasons he had puzzled out by listening to their conversations and watching how they treated the prisoners. It was knowledge that would benefit them in their attempt to escape.
Ferrin had managed to divide the guards into three groups.
Those in the first group were there out of a sense of duty. They truly believed in what they were doing. They hated wielders and considered it their highest duty to help the White Tower purge them from Aldor. Men like Goat Face would be the most determined to pursue escapees.
Then there were those of the second group, men who were there for no other reason than that they needed the work. Their sense of loyalty only went as far as the Tower’s purse strings would take them. They didn’t exactly hate wielders, but they didn’t distrust them, either. If Ferrin and the others managed to escape, these would be less motivated to give chase than the first group.
Last, there were the outliers, whose motives were sketchy at best. As long as they were getting paid to hurt people, they were more than willing to stick around. These men were dangerous, not only to the wielders but also to the other guards. Ferrin had noticed how Hatch had kept them at arm’s length, making sure to never turn his back on them. The captain must not have been allowed to pick his own men. These were the guards Ferrin was most unsure of.
Supper was finished and cleared, and those guards who had been assigned first watch had found their spots around the fire to settle down for the evening. The rest rode into town.
They weren’t going to get a better chance than right now.
“What’s your plan?” Brennon asked as the group huddled so as not to be overheard by the guards.
“In order for this to work, we’re going to need some bait.”
“Bait?” Sora asked. “What kind of bait?”
“One of us is going to have to make a run for it.”
Beese held his son, letting him rest his head on his shoulder. “I thought we were all going to make a run for it?”
“I mean one of us is going to have to draw the others away, giving the rest a chance to escape.”
No one said a word, furtive glances passing from one to the next.
“Don’t look at me,” Narissa said. “I’m not sacrificing my chance for freedom just so the rest of you can leave me behind.”
Ferrin sighed. “You won’t have to. I’m going to be the bait.”
“Are you sure about this?” Rascal asked, Sasha still clinging protectively to his arm. “It doesn’t make much sense for you to take all the risk.”
“Sure it does,” Narissa interjected. “Don’t you see. He’s the one they want the most.”
Ferrin was about to say the same. “We should use that to our advantage.”
“Doesn’t seem like it’s much of an advantage to you,” Telsa said; the young woman seemed even more troubled than usual, her eyes casting about from one person to the next.
“It’s the best choice we have.”
Rascal didn’t argue. He simply nodded and placed a thick-knuckled hand on Ferrin’s shoulder. “Good luck to us all . . . and may the Creator smile on us this evening.”
Ferrin felt his temperature rise. “If the Creator was smiling on us, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”
Some of the guards left the fire to start dropping the canvases back over the cages for the evening. It was no surprise that Bladder was the one to attend their wagon. The last time one of the other guards had attempted to draw the canvas on their wagon, a fight had broken out. Since then, the other guards were more than happy to give him the duty.
Ferrin nodded to Telsa, and she crawled to the back of the cage where Ferrin normally sat, in order to quietly talk with the guard while he untied the bands holding back the thick material. He was at least twenty years her senior and his hair was thinning in the back, revealing a patch of bald that his swipe-over hadn’t managed to cover. Ferrin couldn’t see what she saw in the short man other than it was someone willing to look at her in a way she had probably never experienced before, being a wielder.
“I saved this for you,” Bladder said as he passed a small cut of meat through the bars for her to eat.