An old soldier dragged a struggling figure on the end of a rope up a slight rise in the sand dunes. His obvious goal was a cluster of round canopy tents, slaked with guy wires and pennants that stood at the top of the rise. The location provided a commanding view of the desert. At a distance away around the promontory, the noonday cookfires of the surrounding army drifted lazy smoke lines up into the sky.

The old soldier looked capable. A man of many battles and no rank. A scallywag skilled in the art of avoiding both hard work and discipline.

He tugged cruelly on the rope tied to the smaller figure in a too-large cloak as he neared the large tent. He grinned at the two men on guard duty in the shade of the entrance awning.

“Our boys ‘ave stared pillaging the far shore,” he said too loudly from a wet mouth with brown teeth. He tugged the rope again. “I’ve got this one. Caught her chopping creeper vine for firewood. She’s a feisty one. Almost took my ear off with her hatchet.” He laughed a harsh chuckle. “You boys let me take er in there, and you can keep her,” he said and then spat to his side in the sand.

Both guards looked at the figure, stooped with her face concealed in the shadows of the deep hood.

“This is the field marshall’s tent, you idiot,” the taller guard said.

The old soldier jerked his head back towards the ruin of the airship—a pile of white awnings and delicate metal crumpled on the sand like a dead orchid.

“The great Field Marshall Daktor is back there, ain’t he? Along with the rest of the command, all stirred up about their wrecked airship. Someone kicked them square in the nest.” He tugged the rope again. “I’m tellin’ you boys, this one is young and sweet and pretty. Things will go fine as long as we don’t stand around gabbin’ about it all day.”

The tall guard glanced to the other guard and then back at the old soldier.

“We got a prisoner in there,” the shorter guard said.

“Well, they’re tied up, ain’t they?” the old soldier asked. “What? You boys can’t perform with a little audience?” He grinned. Spittle ran from his mouth. The guards exchanged looks again.

“Tell you what. You guys go first. Since you have the tent and all, it is your right, as facility holders and all that. ‘Keepers of da lodgings.’”

“We’re in plain view,” the taller guard said. “They will see if we’ve left our post.”

“I’ll stand your post for ya. One, and then the othuh,” the older man said, handing him the rope. To the shorter guard, he said, “When he comes back out, you go in. So to speak.” He cackled a raucous laugh.

“Do you know who’s in there? It’s Old B—”

“Shut your mouth,” the taller guard said. “It’s dark in there. Only one prisoner. And he ain’t in such good shape since they’ve been questioning him all morning. He’s blindfolded and gagged. Last I checked, passed out,” he said, and handing the old soldier his stun baton, he slipped through the folds of the closed entrance, dragging the robed figure through after him. “You don’t move from your spot, Doggy, and keep with this old codger,” the tall soldier’s voice came muffled through the canvass.

The old soldier stepped to where the tall soldier had been standing, did an about-face as if he had performed that drill movement a thousand times, and set the baton to the easy rest position at his side.

“Nice view from up here, laddie. Maybe you’ll want to stay out here instead and just enjoy the view. Let the little lass go. Skip your turn?” the old man said. He took a glove from his soldier’s belt and slipped it on. The guard gave him a sideways glance.

“Oh, if Jal went in, I’ll be going in. You can bet that for sure.”

A muffled cry and then a blow sounded from inside the tent. The guard glanced over his shoulder towards the sound.

“I warned you she was feisty,” the old soldier said and let go with that harsh chuckle again.

The guard continued, “No. I wouldn’t miss a chance at this for—” The guard’s voice caught. A shocked expression broke over his features.

“I didn’t think so.” The old man’s voice didn’t sound like an old man’s voice anymore. It sounded young. The voice had changed into a woman’s voice. The old soldier, who now sounded like a woman, held the gloved hand in the shape of a claw, as if holding an invisible thing.

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The short guard dropped his baton and clawed at his neck. His fingers found something that he could not budge. He thrust his feet in an instinctive attempt to bolt, to run away, then at the sound of a sharp crack, he went limp. The front of his leather trousers turned dark.

Cam didn’t move from her position. She forced the glove of flowers up under an invisible weight. On the opposite side of the entrance, the limp form of the guard drifted backwards, boot heels dragging furrows in the sand until his back was forced against the canvas.

A rope—the same one that the prisoner had been led into the tent with was dropped down over a wall cross member from inside. While keeping the clenched glove unmoving, she used the tip of the baton to slip the noose end over the guard’s head. Relaxing the glove, the guard sagged, and his knees bent.

“He’s short, but not that short. Take some slack out. About a foot.” The rope was shortened, and the bend left his knees, and the guard was pulled upright to lean back against the tent. “Stop. Good. Right there. Tie it.”

After a moment. “Done,” came Biter’s voice from inside. “Come and get the other one.”

Outside, around them, soldiers were carrying on business as usual and cooking at their tent lines. The People’s Army had surrounded the Western City, but the sacking of it had been delayed. The airship of The People had been sabotaged by some lucky Wayfarers. A spy had been captured. The word was it was the badger to the princess, but that was difficult to believe. Whomever they had actually accused of spying, their questioning had gone on for quite some time. The flail could be heard being applied in the field marshall’s tent. The soldiers of the People’s Army were very familiar with this sound. The whip was often employed when order and good conduct had been found lacking.

But no one paid any attention to the subtle movements of the two soldiers on guard at the entrance of the headquarters tent. Two men on duty, destined to stand for hours in the heat, were checking on their prisoner and hunkering back into the small dark pocket of shade below the awning—something any soldier would do.

The old soldier brought the deceased guard out from inside and strung him up, back against the canvas, helm canted low over dead eyes, a mirror to his shorter counterpart. The deception would last until someone walked up to either guard and addressed them.

Cam slipped back inside the tent. The darkness in here was nearly complete, and kneeling before the man slumped in a backwards chair, she struck a small flint.

“He’s in rough shape,” she said, studying him. His head drooped over the chairback. She moved around him, studying his back in the dim flame. “Real rough shape. They’ve whipped him nearly to the bone.”

Biter turned from her spot, with one eye out the slit in the entrance flaps.

“I know,” she said. “At least they left him his eye patch.”

“We’ll get caught if he can’t walk out of here,” Camomile replied.

“I don’t care what we have to do. He comes with us.”

“It’s high noon. We’re surrounded by an entire enemy army. To pull this off now, he’s gotta walk. We can’t carry him. Three of us have to walk away from here. Together.”

“Well, he’s in no shape to walk, and I’m not leaving without him,” Biter said.

“And I’m not going to die trying to rescue him. I’m telling you he needs to be able to walk for this to work.”

“And I’m telling you he’s coming with me. If you want to leave without him, then leave now. Go.” Biter was moving in the darkness. She had stripped the large robe off that she had been wearing over her own.

“You see very well in the dark,” Camomile commented.

“Yes.” Biter stepped up beside her, knelt, and started to fit the large robe over him. “Go on, then. We don’t have much time.”

Cam hesitated. “I have beetle smoke. I’ll use it on him.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“This is all dangerous. I actually don’t think there is anything more dangerous we could be doing right now.”

“I use the smoke on him he’ll be up and going. If we’re discovered, neither of us is good enough to get away from this. They’ll have us looking like him… or worse.”

“Oh, you can bet we will look worse, and I’ve also seen beetle smoke used. When it’s over, he’s either alive, alive with half a brain, or dead.”

“Two out of three ain’t bad.”

“I’d call that one out of three.”

“Half a brain is not a bad thing. People run on half a brain all day long and aren’t even aware of it. I see it all the time. They are quite contented, actually.”

“Are you always calculating and defining your options?”

“Not always. I don’t do it while I’m sleeping.”

“This is not all about you. It’s about him. You agreed to help me, remember? I decide. You’re not using that smoke on him. If you’re afraid, leave. I’ll get him out of here, and his brain won’t be cooked. I’m done talking.”

“I’m not a sacrificial lamb.” Cam stood.

Biter was back at the entrance, peering out.

“Eventually, someone is going to come close enough to notice the guards. Before you go, help me pull the robe over him.”

“You won’t make it. The odds are bad. I think I take out the counsellor’s boat right now by myself, and you stay here and wait to use the distraction to get him away.”

Biter turned. “Now, that’s finally a good idea, but that’s a lot of heat you’re going to bring down on yourself.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll try to figure out a time delay. It’s full of tech. There will be something I can use as a fuse.”

“Whatever you do, make it big.”

“Don’t worry. It will be big.” Cam joined her to gaze through the crack in the curtains. “That cart we passed on the way in. I’ll go get it. You’ll have to wait for the explosion and then get him out of here. With the distraction, hopefully, no one will notice.”

“Ok,” Biter replied. “Thanks. This will all have to be quick.”

“After the explosion, I’ll find you.”