Emerahl pulled the fur collar of her tawl close. Turning to face the tent’s entrance, she sighed deeply, then straightened her back and strode outside.
At once she felt eyes upon her. The first were those of the guards charged with watching her. They were supposed to be her protectors but their role was more akin to jailors. She had endured their polite attention since the day the brothel had left Porin.
When Rozea had heard of Emerahl’s “accident” with formtane she had decided that she must announce her new favorite that day to prevent any more “foolish and destructive habits.” Since then Emerahl had travelled in Rozea’s tarn and was given the best of everything - including her own personal guards.
The other whores stood farther away. Emerahl had barely spoken to them since leaving Porin. She knew from short snatches of conversation with Tide that they believed she had planned her little “accident” with formtane in order to get an audience with Rozea and persuade the madam into promoting her.
It didn’t help that Rozea wouldn’t let Emerahl visit Tide or Brand, or allow them to see her. She knew that Brand had purchased the formtane for Emerahl, and didn’t trust either of Emerahl’s friends not to smuggle something else to her.
There was one dubious benefit to her new position. Her customers were always the richest nobles of the army. The few priests who did visit the brothel’s tents could not afford the services of the favorite. So far.
Emerahl almost wished she hadn’t told Rozea she didn’t want to go on this trip. Once Star had related Emerahl’s gloomy predictions for the trip, Rozea had decided there was a chance her favorite’s fears might get the better of her. The tents were arranged each night in a way that ensured Emerahl’s was watched from every direction. No sharp tools were allowed, and her customers were asked to remove all weapons before visiting. Rozea loved fanciful adventure stories and knew that a stolen knife and quiet slash of an unwatched tent wall had given many a fictional heroine the means to escape her captors.
None of these precautions were keeping Emerahl from leaving, however.
She looked around at the empty field they had camped in. The remnants of an already harvested crop had been trampled well into the ground - first by the army and now by Rozea’s caravans. She felt a twinge of anticipation. So far they’d managed to keep up with the Toren army. The troops often disappeared into the distance during the day, but the brothel caravan always managed to catch up late that night.
Last night they hadn’t. A small party of wealthy customers had ridden back to visit them and had left in the early hours of the morning. Emerahl’s customer, a second cousin of the king, had told her that the army was now travelling as fast as men could be driven so that they would join the Circlian army in time for the battle.
Every night of the journey before this last, the brothel had camped among the troops. Every night priests wandered among these soldiers, bolstering spirits and keeping the general sense of purpose high. It was this that had prevented Emerahl from leaving. Any confrontation between herself and her guards was bound to draw attention. Even if she did manage to slip away unnoticed, the news that Rozea’s prize whore had run away would fill many soldiers’ heads with ideas of a free roll with a coveted beauty, and a reward when they brought her in. She could defend herself easily enough, but doing so would, again, attract attention, and she didn’t have much chance of avoiding that if the entire army was looking for her.
Now that the army had moved ahead of the caravan the danger was gone. Soon the brothel would be too far behind for nobles to visit it at night. She had only to arrange a distraction for her guards and slip away, and with no customer in her bed all night her absence probably wouldn’t be noticed until morning.
“Jade.”
Emerahl looked up. Rozea was walking toward her, her high boots caked with mud. The woman was obviously relishing this travelling lifestyle and always spent each morning stomping around the camp issuing orders.
“Yes?” Emerahl replied.
“How are you feeling?”
Emerahl shrugged. “Well enough.”
“Come along, then.”
Rozea led her to the lead tarn and ushered her inside. A servant handed them goblets of warmed spicewater. Emerahl drank hers quickly, intending to lie down and sleep as soon as she was finished. She was in no mood for conversation with Rozea today, and if she had the chance to escape tonight she wanted to be as rested and alert as possible.
“You’re quiet this morning,” Rozea noted. “Too early for you?”
Emerahl nodded.
“We have to start early if we’re going to catch up with the army tonight.”
“Do you think we will?”
Rozea pursed her lips. “Perhaps. If not, at least we’ll keep ahead of Kremo’s caravan.”
Kremo was one of Rozea’s competitors. The man’s caravan was larger and he catered to all but the poorer soldiers, who could only afford the lone, sick-looking whores that trailed the army like carrion insects.
“I’d better get some sleep, then,” Emerahl said.
Rozea nodded. Emerahl lay down on the bench seat and fell asleep straightaway, waking only briefly when the tarn jerked into motion. When she woke next, the tarn had stopped. She looked up and discovered Rozea was gone.
Closing her eyes, she started to drift into sleep again. Shouting male voices jolted her awake. She opened her eyes, cursing the noisy guards.
Screams erupted somewhere beyond the tarn.
Emerahl scrambled upright and yanked the door flap of the tarn-cover open. Trees crowded the road. Men she did not recognize were rushing through them toward the caravan. Emerahl heard Rozea somewhere in front of her tarn, bellowing orders to the guards, who were already moving to meet the attackers.
They were wearing the armor and brandishing the swords and spears of Toren soldiers, Emerahl realized. She stared hard at one of them. His emotions were a mix of greed, lust and a gleeful exultation at being free of endless orders and restrictions.
She looked around, heart racing. There didn’t appear to be many attackers, but more could be hiding in the trees. She paused as she noticed the fallen tree lying in front of Rozea’s tarn. The trunk had been hacked at; this was no natural obstruction.
A stranger suddenly stepped in front of her. She recoiled in shock, shrinking back into the tarn. He grinned up at her and ripped the flap aside. As he started to climb into the tarn, Emerahl gathered her wits. She drew magic, then hesitated. Best make it look like a physical blow. She sent it in a ball of force at his face.
His head jerked backward and he grunted with surprise. Blood began to pour from his nose. He growled in anger and heaved himself into the tarn.
Emerahl crept toward the doorway. She jumped as another figure stepped into view, then relaxed as she recognized the face of one of the brothel guards. He bent and she heard a chopping sound.
“He won’t be bothering you again, lady,” the guard called cheerily.
“Thanks,” she replied dryly.
“Now keep out of sight. Kiro and Stillo need a bit of help.”
The whores’ screaming had changed to a panicked shrieking. As the guard moved away, Emerahl ignored his order and peered out the door.
Three of the deserters were backed up against one of the tarns. They were fighting two guards - now three as her rescuer joined them. The girls inside the vehicle sounded hysterical. As she watched, the skinny, wasted- looking attacker lashed out - faster than he looked capable of moving - and the guard that had been fighting him sagged to the ground.
The skinny man paused to regard his remaining two comrades. Instead of joining them, he stepped behind
