“Did she find shelter, Papa?”

“She did. She still had a bit of Modron’s favor. She found shelter in a town about fifteen miles away, where she did indeed lay low. When the winter snows passed, though, she started moving again. And she ended up in Bailh, a river town about fifty miles west of the Ceann, the junction between the Abhainn and its south fork, the Deas.”

***

“Get outta here, wench!” The thick barkeep grabbed her upper arm and tossed her into the muddy street. “I don’t ever want to see your face ‘round here again!”

“I haven’t done anything!”

“Get out!”

Dana glared as he slammed the heavy tavern door. It was just a few coppers, she grumbled to herself. Dana picked herself up and brushed herself off while cold droplets splattered on her tattered shirt. She glowered at the sky as if it had personally offended her. It was dark even though it was still afternoon. The early spring rains had come again, and everything, including Dana, was wet and miserable. She’d just slipped in looking for a meal. Sure, she had no money, and she looked like a vagrant, and maybe she had tried to lift a few purses while refuging inside the wooden walls from the cold wet. But was that really cause to throw a nearly thirteen-year-old girl out into the rain so close to nightfall?

Huffing, Dana stomped off down the main street that was quickly turning into a river of mud. She couldn’t tell if the rushing in her ears was from the downpour or her own anger. She glared in the orange-lit windows, cursing at the people inside, dry and warm and eating hot soup by a blazing fire. Then she caught her own reflection and jolted to a stop.

Staring back at her was a truly frightful image. Dana had thought she was just a little muddy and tattered. But her waist-length black hair—one of the most recognizable evidences of her Shea heritage—was a tangled mess, like the moss and grass she used to play in while waiting for supper to be ready. After she finished playing in it. Almost all trace of her childhood had vanished beneath sharp cheekbones, hollowed eyes that were no discernable color, and a beak-like nose. Her whole face was thin, certainly from never being fed enough. Her oversized tunic really did hang off of her in tatters, more hole than shirt. She couldn’t even see where her breeches ended and her boots began because of the mud and filth that stained both the same rotting brown color. No wonder the barkeep had kicked her out, Dana thought irritably. She looked like Bragach incarnate, the god for people like her. Troublemakers, thieves, and vagrants.

That would have to change, then, Dana decided. She’d find someone who would take her in, at least long enough to be fed properly and get a change of clothes. Maybe she’d try to steal a tunic next time instead of a coriander bun. And her hair would have to go. She never cared for it long anyway; it always got in her way. And who cared if she looked like a boy? It might even be better that way. Immediately Dana unsheathed the pitiful knife she kept in her boot. She gathered the mess into a tail at the back of her head, then chopped it all off without a second’s hesitation, letting the cut part fall to the muddy ground. She nicked her hand with the knife but didn’t care. Her hair fell back around her face, shorter in the back than in the front and still matted and tangled. But she did look just a little less pathetic. And a lot like a boy. Dana grimaced at herself again. The expression fit perfectly with her new appearance. Now all she needed was a bath. If it weren’t still so cold, she’d stand in the rain until the mud all washed away. She’d always liked playing in the rain before—that happened.

Making a face at herself again, Dana turned away from the window and continued down the street. She was soaked through and starting to shiver. She hurried toward the bakery she’d seen a few days ago. She’d been kicked out empty-handed several days ago and the tantalizing smell of baking bread had haunted her and taunted her empty stomach for two days afterward. But there was a stone oven behind the shop, covered over with an awning and sheltered by three walls. It was still warm from the days’ baking, though the shop was closed now. And the awning blocked the rain, mostly.

Dana sat against the side of the oven, facing the back wall of the bakery, and wrapped her arms around herself. She wasn’t sure which was worse—being owned and starved and whipped and yelled at, or being free and hit and starving and yelled at. At least as a slave she had a dry place to sleep. But at least out here she could go wherever she wanted, do whatever she wanted (except get a meal, it seemed). She’d been constantly on the move since her escape from being nearly sold again into slavery, in the dead of winter. All she wanted was to find someplace where she didn’t have to worry about where her next meal would come from, or whether she’d survive the next winter.

As she tightened her arms around her chest for warmth, she felt the familiar hard shape against her sternum. For the first time in many weeks, she pulled it out of her tunic. It was far too dark to see, but she had memorized every contour long ago, even the shallow markings that looked like old writing. It had been the only thing she had to cling to on those dark, cold, hungry nights. Since she had nothing else. Dana wrapped her fingers around the talisman, holding it tightly. But that couldn’t take away the emptiness, either in her chest or in her stomach.

At some point she must have fallen asleep, because the next time she opened her eyes it was to the sun streaming blindingly through the gap between the awning and the top of the oven. Dana winced at the brightness and got stiffly to her feet, tucking the talisman back under her tunic as she did. Then she fled before the baker came out with the first batch of dough to bake.

Her day went like any other, after that. She followed the main street until she was far from the tavern, and those who had already seen her and done their best to cast her out, then she turned down an alley and wandered up and down the lower streets looking for food or employment. There were more people out than there had been in days previous, probably because it was the first day without rain or wind in some time, and the temperature was almost pleasant. Dana tried her hand again at lifting purses. She’d gotten pretty good at it, when she was careful. She just had to bump into people, and in their haste to get away from the little runaway Shea girl, they never noticed the skinny fingers slipping into pockets or under jackets to lift a few coins.

She was reasonably successful. Not many people in this town had much, so a few times she came out empty-handed, but she’d chanced upon on a merchant passing through and lifted enough coin for a good meal or two and maybe even a new tunic. When Dana went into a small bakery, the man looked at her askance. But, since she had coin, he gave her a few buns and a sweet pastry wrapped in paper. Then he told her to make herself scarce, so her manner of dress and hygiene wouldn’t hurt his business.

Scowling, but not truly angry because of the warm pastries in her hands, Dana threaded her way through the streets with no specific destination in mind. While she walked she contentedly munched on one of the coriander buns (they were her favorite). When she finished it, she tucked the other paper-wrapped pastries into her pocket for later. Then Dana took notice of her location. She stood outside the tavern, the one she’d been kicked out of. She spent the rest of the afternoon waiting outside the door or around the corner, scouting out likely victims for her “sticky fingers.” She scored enough to get a proper meal, and for the first time in a long time she went to sleep with a full stomach.

Since it had been so successful the first time, Dana decided to try the same approach again. So for the next several days, she spent the mornings trying to find someone who would let her work with no success (she was growing increasingly certain it was because of what she was, not what she looked like), and afternoons and evenings by the tavern, lifting purses and occasionally other small items of value off patrons as they left.

A few days later, just as the sun was beginning to set, Dana was leaning against the side of the tavern, counting her measly profit, when she heard unusually heavy footsteps. She looked up and saw two men whose dress was a far cry from the plain tunics and trousers of the townspeople. Their clothes weren’t flashy, but they were certainly of good quality. Both men had swords belted to their waists, and that wasn’t all that unusual, not with all the rumors and stories buzzing around, but these were nicer. Dana didn’t know anything about metal quality, really, other than it was a good thing if a blade was sharp and balanced. But from the glimpse she caught of the hilts, partly hidden under the embroidered jackets, she’d have to say they were definitely quality weapons. The men wore heavy boots, which explained the sound of their footsteps. The overall impression Dana got, though, was that these men had to have a good amount of coin to afford such quality, and probably had a good amount on them as well. So Dana waited patiently for them to re-emerge.

What felt like hours later, it was nearly dark and Dana was starting to drift off against the side of the tavern. Then she heard those heavy footsteps again, and murmurs. The tavern door creaked open and the two men emerged. One went on quickly, but the other lingered. Dana took a few steps, then deliberately stumbled into the man’s side with a force rather disproportionate to her size. She misjudged the force, though, and his mass, and stumbled backward. However, she did manage to snag a small pouch hanging off his belt. She quickly hid it behind her back.

“Whoa, there, lad. Watch where you’re going,” the man said with a slight smile. He caught Dana’s arm and kept her from falling into the mud.

Dana’s head whipped up. No one ever spoke to her that way, and certainly no one bothered to catch her (though she usually had better balance anyway, and most of her victims were drunk). The response was so unexpected that she was completely speechless. For a moment she stood there, the man still holding her arm as though expecting her to fall again. In the semidarkness, though, she did get a proper look at him.

He had a kind face—which was almost as strange as seeing such fancy dress in such a pitiful town—and a scruffy beard. The grey sprinkled in his dark hair told Dana that he was in the latter end of middle-aged, but his grip on her arm was proof that age had done nothing to deteriorate his physical fitness. Not to mention he did carry a sword, and from the scuffs on the scabbard and the hilt it was obvious it wasn’t for ornamentation.

“Lad? Are you all right?”

Dana snapped back to her senses at the sound of his voice. “F-fine,” she said, straightening. She tried to tuck away the pouch she’d taken off his belt without him noticing, but an instant later he’d caught her other hand and took it back.

“I do believe this is mine,” he said with a raised eyebrow. Dana stared at him for a moment, then her natural stubbornness kicked in.

“It’s mine, actually. I took it, so it’s mine,” she said, snatching it back and pointedly tucking it into her pocket. She then crossed her arms and glared at him defiantly, as though daring him to say something or take it back again. The man raised another eyebrow, but instead of getting angry, he gave her an offer.

“Then why don’t you do something for me to earn it?”

“What do you want from me, then?” Dana asked suspiciously. She tried to squash the rising hope that someone was, for once, treating her like a human being and not dirt on the bottom of their shoe.

“Well, since you’ve resorted to stealing I can assume you’re on your own. And you obviously have the drive to get what you want, no matter the cost. Considering you targeted a man with an obvious weapon.” He tapped the hilt of his sword and winked. “So I have a task for you.”

“Oh?” Dana asked, raising her own eyebrow. The other man chuckled.

“Truly. As it happens, my companion and I—whom I’m sure you saw, since you were lying in wait—have a load of supplies to take back to our camp. However, we need someone to ride the pack horse, because he’ll run off if left unattended, and those supplies are vital. You’re small enough that he’ll hardly notice the extra weight. Once we reach the camp, what you do afterward will be up to you.”

Dana thought for a moment, but figured that if she could rightfully earn a bit of coin—and the weight of the pouch told her that it was more than enough for her to live on for a month or more, if she was careful—then she might as well. Anything would be better than getting yelled and shouted at and kicked out of nearly every shop she entered. (Plus it would be nice to actually be wanted, even if it were for such a menial task.)

“I accept,” she said determinedly. The man chuckled again.

“I thought you might. Meet us back here at dawn and we’ll be off.”

Dana nodded shortly and the man chuckled once more before going after his companion.

The next morning Dana waited impatiently at the entrance to the tavern. The sky was just barely beginning to lighten and the air was chilly. She shifted from foot to foot, rubbing her arms for warmth. Were they actually going to show up? Or were they just going to give her a tiny glimpse of hope and then snatch it away like everyone else? Would they use her and then toss her back into the street? That had happened before, the first time she wandered into a town after escaping. A shopkeeper had lured her in with the promise of a hot meal if she’d scrape the soot from the hearth and get rid of the old, nasty, smelly, rotting food piling up against the back of the shop. Naïve as she was, Dana had agreed instantly, done the hard work, then asked for the meal—only to be laughed at and literally tossed back into the muddy snow.

Dana scoffed at herself. She wouldn’t let that happen again. She was older and wiser than before. If they hadn’t shown up by the time the sun fully rose, she wasn’t going to bother. She’d find some other way.

Dana was just about ready to give up when she heard the rattle of supplies hanging off a saddle. She whipped her head up and saw the two men from the night before approaching, leading three horses. The first two horses were fine beasts, with a minimal amount of supplies in the saddlebags. The last horse, though, wasn’t quite as fine. It was also clearly a pack horse, from the bags and boxes and packages hanging off the saddle. Though, there was still room for a small person to ride in the saddle. When the men spotted her, the one on the left raised a hand in greeting. Dana didn’t bother to wave back; she was too surprised. No one had ever kept their word to her before. Ever.

“Are you ready, lad?” the man asked once he was in hearing range. Dana nodded dumbly.

“Are you certain he won’t just run off with the horse?” Dana heard the other man ask in an undertone. Dana couldn’t help a grim smile, despite the stab of hurt. That was more what she expected.

“I believe he values his life more than his next meal,” the first man replied. They were only twenty feet in front of her now, and the first man turned to her. “Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

Dana scoffed. “Of course I have.” And just to prove her point, she hauled herself up into the saddle and assumed the proper riding position, just like Papa had taught her when she was really small. “Are we going or are you just going to stare?” she snapped. “Because if it’s the latter I might change my mind.”

The first man chuckled. “Quite the sharp tongue you’ve got, lad. But I daresay you’re right; we should be on our way.” Then he mounted his own horse. His companion still looked doubtful, but he followed suit. Then the second man spurred his horse forward and took off at a steady trot down the muddy street. The first man did the same, and Dana brought up the rear. She noticed that the first man held a lead rope to the horse she rode, and frowned. It seemed that despite his bravado, he didn’t completely trust her either. Well, not like it mattered to Dana; no one completely trusted her. No one in Llyr ever trusted a Shea. Not anymore, anyway.

The trio rode for a while in silence, which suited Dana just fine. She hated idle conversation. And probing questions, which it looked like the second man was dying to ask.

“Don’t even know the kid’s name,” he muttered after some time on the road. Apparently Dana had tuned in at the end of a rant. She scowled.

“You never asked,” she snapped. “Why should I bother giving my name when you haven’t given me yours?”

“By Mathas, he’s right. How remiss of us. My name is Kell Brannon,” the first man replied. Then he gave his companion a sharp look.

“I’m Garth Morgan,” he answered reluctantly.

“What do they call you, lad?” The first man—Kell—asked.

Dana opened her mouth, then smirked. “They call me lots of things. None of them are very pleasant. I could give you a list if you like,” she said sweetly. The second man—Garth—looked askance. Kell opened his mouth in surprise, then laughed heartily.

“A very sharp wit, too, I see. Very well. What is your name, lad?”

Dana hesitated a moment, then shrugged to herself. “I’m Dana,” she replied simply. Kell looked surprised for a moment, then he smiled.

“I suppose I must apologize, lass, for mistaking you for a boy.”

“I prefer it that way,” Dana answered. “Being a girl hasn’t done me any favors anyway,” she muttered to herself. Then she refused to speak again, despite the questions Kell and Garth asked her. For some reason, Garth seemed to trust her more now that he knew she was a girl. And that certainly didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t like she was expecting special treatment because of it.

They traveled most of the day with little passing between them by way of conversation. Dana just enjoyed the chance to travel by horseback again. Even if the horse was skittish and wanted his own way, and the package behind her on the saddle kept digging into her lower back. At least they stopped for a meal around noon, and again when they stopped to make camp for the night. For the first time in a long time, Dana also got to sleep on a blanket, instead of in the mud or dust. That put her in a good mood for the next day.

Around dusk, Dana could make out the silhouettes of tents a short way off, lit every here and there with firelight. Kell and Garth pointed them out and said that was the camp they were heading for. Dana grew wary as they approached, because it was obvious now they were soldiers. And Dana hated soldiers. All they ever did was kill and steal and make life miserable for the people just trying to live their lives in peace. Kell and Garth had been okay so far, but Dana doubted the others would be as kind. They were, after all, still in Llyr, as least as far as Dana could tell. At any rate, there were hardly any trees.

Dana’s unease continued as they entered the camp and a handful of other men in similar but less expensive garb to Kell and Garth unload and distribute the supplies. At first she went unnoticed, her small frame mostly hidden behind the horse or among the boxes and packages. But then someone spotted her and the murmurs started. She received many sideways looks, most of the time suspicious. Dana crossed her arms and wore a scowl to hide her uneasiness. That only got her more looks that she didn’t like.

Before long the supplies were distributed and stored properly, but a group of men still lingered. Some of them went to greet Kell and Garth; others just wanted to stare at the runaway they’d picked up. Dana continued to scowl and ignored anyone who tried to speak to her. She was only waiting until Kell told her the job was done and officially gave her the money, then she was leaving.

Finally, Kell turned to her. “It’s nearly dark. I’d hate to make you wander at night, and I’m sure you’re hungry. Why don’t you linger for a night before you make your grand escape?”

Dana’s scowl deepened, but she nodded curtly. She was used to going hungry, but she was hardly going to turn down an offer of food. She followed Kell to a tent that was slightly larger than the others. He held the flap open for her, then followed her in. There were a few more men inside, all of them dressed in expensive-looking clothes, like Kell. They had to be at least merchants, if not minor nobility. No one else could afford that kind of clothing. They had been chatting idly, but when Kell entered they fell quiet. It looked like he was the leader. Dana didn’t bother to listen to his brief report or explanation of her presence and instead examined the interior of the tent.

It was lit by lanterns at either end and candles on the low table in the middle. There were no extra decorations, just a few cushions for seats. Dana could smell faintly the smoke from the candles, but mostly she could smell the meal spread on the table. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but there was bread and meat and vegetables and a bottle of wine. She tried to quash down the hope that she’d be allowed to have some of that meal.

“What’s a little Shea girl doing so far from home?”

Dana started in surprise as being addressed. She turned her attention back to the people at the table, and saw that all of them were looking at her curiously. She tried not to squirm under their gaze, suddenly acutely conscious of how tattered and dirty she was. The one who had spoken was younger than Kell—at least, there was no grey in his sandy brown hair yet. And he was clean-shaven. There was no accusation or mocking in his voice, either. Just curiosity. And as Dana glanced around the table, she saw that same curiosity on the other four faces, including Kell’s. No one was moving to tell her she didn’t have to answer.

By habit, Dana frowned to hide her discomfort. “And what business is it of yours?” she retorted, ignoring the little voice inside her that said she should be polite because these men seemed important. At the very least, they were probably the leaders of this camp, whatever its purpose was.

The sandy-haired man smiled a little, though he seemed surprised by her rudeness. “It’s merely a curiosity, child. Most of the Shea I’ve known or heard of are either slaves or dead. And you are a long way from your lands.”

“So I’m a runaway. So what?” Dana shot back. “I only came because he said he’d pay me for helping transport supplies.” She pointed at Kell, then crossed her arms and glared at the group. A few of the men began to murmur, and from the little she could make out, they were displeased—or amused, from the smirk on one of them wore—with her manner and her attitude. One of them gave her a cursory look and adopted a slightly disgusted expression. He’d probably only just noticed how tattered her clothes were and how dirty she was. Like it was her fault she couldn’t find clean clothes and take a bath every now and then.

“The lass is right. I asked her to help Garth and I with the supplies in exchange for payment, and offered her a place to stay until sunrise. She is under no further obligation to any of us,” Kell cut in after a moment. Then he turned to Dana. “Come, lass. Help yourself. Don’t mind these fellows. They’re surrounded by sweaty men every day. They don’t know what to do with a young girl like yourself,” he added with a wink. Against her will Dana felt the corners of her mouth curving up into a smile. She took the plate Kell offered and served herself a reasonable helping of all the food on the table.

“By the way,” Kell began in an undertone as Dana began to eat, “There’s a creek about a quarter mile outside camp. I highly doubt you’ve chosen to wear dirt.”

Dana frowned and didn’t answer. She sat toward the entrance of the tent, where she could feel the cool night breeze, and ate in silence while the men bantered over their meal. Despite the food and the kind words Kell had given her since their meeting, Dana felt more out of place here than she’d ever felt on the streets. She wasn’t accustomed to kindness, and so didn’t know how to respond when she received it. She couldn’t even be certain this was kindness; it could just be pity.

As Dana finished eating, she began to grow sleepy. Snatches of the men’s conversation reached her ears as she struggled to stay awake.

“—still don’t have enough supplies for everyone.”

“—too dangerous—stay—Llyr—move the camp?”

“—treason if we’re found—what about—do with—girl?”

Dana perked up as they mentioned her.

“—stay forever. There’s no place in a soldier’s camp for a ten-year-old girl.”

I’m thirteen, Dana thought irritably. Or nearly, at least.

“You never know. I daresay she’s accustomed to hard work. She could be a big help here.” Kell, of course, was defending her. Dana wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“Or she could be a spy,” one of the men muttered bitterly. One or two of the other men shifted uneasily. Dana scowled even as her eyelids drooped.

“What motive could a small girl like her have to be a spy?”

“Why don’t we just ask the girl herself what she wants?” one of the other men said. They all turned to look at Dana, but she had already fallen asleep.